Shadow dances across the cobblestone path, its owner long forgotten. The echoes fade into the heart of gloom, quiet as the moonlit tides. In these streets, footprints wane and vanish, creating a tale only the unseen can narrate.
Here the mist clutches at memories like the grasp of an old lover. Silence wears a crown, its presence palpable, as if whispering secrets once written in forgotten tomes. No beginning, no end, just a slow dance.
Enter the Nightshade GrooveAmong grave seats barbed whispers dwell under a crescent glow. Here, the air tastes like beginnings swallowed by endings distilling eternity in each breath of autumn's sigh.