In the silence of dust-quiet voids, they resonate: ethereal frequencies carved from the nocturnal symphony of forgotten lore. Once, diluted echoes conspired above towers of old stone, shadow-play upon colonnades, where time's relentless grasp effaced. There, in decayed harmonies and spectral odes, do the ancient orbs find their solemn right.
From distant horizons wrought with gothic relics adrift in Middle Ages whisperings, I write. An uncertain truth tied in the orbit of calendars made unwhole, like ink-steeped reveries. Unshackle its song, and the universe breathes anew, in rhythms mesmeric and broodingly beautiful.
Untether your spirit driftwood, O solitary voyager, adrift upon the shrouds. Seek passage through these spectral windowpanes of light, that we may tether the phantom frequencies to anchors unseen. In their obscurity, find dust-established truths.
Echoes of the Abyss | Nocturnal Timbres