In the sepulcher of memory, timeless shadows flit across the dim inscriptions, bedewed with secrets unwoven by time. A labyrinthine garden of yearning unfolds, where the chill breath of specters enshrouded in whispers roam.
Hearkens the chime of recurrent whispers, why do you flee? Time deciphers only in echoes—lost within veracity ensnared within mirage.
Within this ephemeral landscape, shadows grow long. Recurring dreams echo the lament of distant moons entwined—filling chambers with the nectar of longing vomited forth from sleep's ever-hungry abyss.
Dare ye traverse this veil? Seek the fractured days behind these whispered mists?
Spidery fingers gently trace the umbra of kindred spirits, forever oscillating between the coils of existence. Dismal Horizons beckon cruelly; visions woven into the brittle webs of profound, dream-bereaved souls.