Breathe in the shadows; exhale the whispers of ebon night. Here lies the silence of dreams lost beneath the weight of eternity, where souls shift like spectres.
In the folds of dying twilight, every breath is tethered to the forgotten echoes, trembling under the weight of mourning moons as they cast their gaze into the abyss.
Oft does the heart stumble over the hem of despair, each thud resembling the stealthy footfalls of that which haunts our beings. The arteries swell, harboring truths unseen.
With every exhalation, reality bleeds into the shadowy corners of insanity. Lull yourself with whispers—layers of found and lost memories, commingling like fallen leaves in the grip of autumn's chills.
Amongst the raven's cries, gravity ebbs; its touch—a shiver that drapes itself over the soul, binding dreams into the fabric of what remains unseen.