A hand floats, gliding like vapor across the empty silver canvas. The graying lips of a specter move. Silent, yet the words adorn the dying light: "Once, my shadow whispered secrets to me."
The upon books of ivory and leather, the cries of a raven nest. The echo remains—undeciphered. Footsteps in the fog, a melody of unfulfilled dreams—the silent adoration thrums through porcelain veins.
"I recall the time when darkness painted the world—how it homogenized despair and beauty alike," whispers the unrecognized protagonist, an unintended hero of the spoken void.
Wander Further