In the corridors of the night, two voices, wreathed in mist, met the unseen.
"The raven spoke, did it not?" asked the other, shrouded in nightshade.Echoes flicker; shadows play upon walls unseen, where empires of dust float silently through dreams.
Among the spectral realms, one may overhear fragments of lives lived, yet unsung:
"Meet me where the moon forgets its glow," a farmer said beneath the ancient willow.Beyond, a ghastly lantern flickers, its flame a pale reminder of what once was. Unfold the shadows.
The winds carry voices, fading into oblivion, yet always returning, circling like lost souls. Listen again.