In sepulchral tones, they whispered secrets to the void. Endless hours spent conversing with shadows, tracing spirals through the ether—a symphony of unseen tendrils wrapping around despair.
The rasp of memories forgotten, where words linger like phantoms, drifting silently in the twilight of a troubled mind. What crumbles when time flies—forgotten echoes of promises made, tethered to nothingness.
“How does one measure sadness?” they questioned, gazing into the abyss for answers. Instead, the abyss yawned wide, and swallowed their spirit whole, devouring thoughts like dry leaves in an autumn wind.
The chilling refrain of lost souls continues to resonate, a chorus of abandonment, drowning in the cacophony of love never shared and laughter now mute.
Echoes of the Past Shadows in the Mist Whispers in the Dark