In the shadowed breath of the coming dusk,
where the delicate hearth of twilight permits not the light,
the union of nimble-footed architects gather,
to weave eldritch destinies beyond the kin's tumultuous charm.
Within these sanctified walls of cardboard and forgotten linen,
we convene beneath the luminescent sentinel of perdition,
our whiskers tangled in the threads of an inscrutable future.
Are ye prepared, brave beholden, for what the stars ‘neath earth's crust
whisper to this night of velvet scars and echoing truth?