Feet shuffle past oblivion in search of whispered legends.
Yet, truth stands loathsome at the crossroads, branding palms with hot, unyielding knowledge.
In the village, rumor hums like the growl of a distant thunder, gnawing on the fabric of night.
Heroes fall, garments threadbare on a loom of crumpled realities.
"Do you see?" they chant, circling the unsightly glow of actualities,
their arms a chorus line of frantic, electric motions.
The ugliest truth, the kind that births monsters disguised as mentors,
lurks in every shadow, a vine of thorns entwined around fragile certainties.