I am but a whisper of the sky's sorrow, a fragile teardrop from a cloud's embrace. I plunge into the world below, a descent steeped in secrecy and shadows. The castle looms beneath, ancient stones steeped in whispered legends and gothic wails.

My path weaves through the air, tracing the twisted spires that pierce the shrouded skies. Each echoing gust of wind carries tales of dragons, guardians of realms unseen, slumbering beneath layers of time and myth. I am drawn to them, though my form is fleeting.

Amidst the stone giants, I land softly, a momentary kiss upon the cold, hard surface. The rain's chorus swells, each droplet a note in a dark symphony. Here, the air is thick with enchantment, a tapestry woven with threads of dread and awe.

In this solitary dance, I glimpse a hollow promise, a whispering wind, an echo of a time when dragons roamed unbound. And I, a simple raindrop, wonder if I too might leave a mark, however small, upon this haunted tapestry.

As I trickle down, I carve my journey through the crevices of stone, each drop a memory, each moment a silent witness to the castle's eternal vigil. The walls breathe, a gothic lament in the rain's embrace, and I am both lost and found.