In the shrouded twilight, where the horizon bends into an infernal embrace,
I wander through the corridors of my own desolation.
My heart echoes the footsteps of specters long seen, yet never known.
Whispers of an age forgotten slither between the shadows,
taunting me with truths too heavy for the light of day.
The path unknown stretches before me,
woven from the silken threads of ancient fears.
Each step crunches upon the frostbitten leaves of yesteryears,
memories buried deep beneath the soil of neglect.
What lies beyond this fork in my reverie?
A realm of stories untold, or the echo of my own voice, repeating endlessly?