In the sepulcher of yesteryears, a single thought spiraled, seeking its home.
Veins of shadow writhe beneath the moon's tranquil facade, whispering secrets untold.
A raven's call, a distant cry; memory echoes along the ebon-tide shore.
Do not seek comfort in the light, for it is but a veil over the abyss.
The key lies in the lock of forgetfulness, rusted and weary from age.