In the hollow of the night, she found him, cradling the moon's shadow in crooked palms.
His voice was a stream, whispering softly through the stones of an abandoned castle:
"I sing to the silence, for its tender embrace knows the secrets of my heart."
The room reverberated with echoes of tales untold—
tales that danced like specters upon the goblin's enshrined visage,
tales that brushed against her gently, like the first touch of dawn.