The ancient inkpots, now diluted... gray ghosts trawling the murky depths, swirling in agony.

Whispered voices, fragmented like shattered mirrors:

Did you hear... the silhouette?

Through the inky tendrils, a figure—

Shrouded in whispers, Echoes, Lost Shadows

Silhouette flickers... etches of charcoal against a moonless abyss.

Beyond the twisted trees, your breath suspends, waiting for the unseen.

The forest... alive. Breathing. Expanding. Constricting. The inkpot overflows.

To the Void, Silhouette Revelations

And then it fades, like an echo in the dark horizon.