In caverns where echoes no longer dare to linger, I find myself. Alone. The dusky terrain whispers in symphonies only I seem to know. Do the stars reflect my longing, or are they merely dancing in a duet I was never invited to?
Here, in the reach of ancient stone, a rockworm wriggles across textures forgotten by time's tender embrace. I reach and clutch at the possibility of contact, a yearning to intertwine with something true, pure—yet only the rockworm knows its own destiny.
Your reflections haunt me still, shadows engraved upon my memory like constellations charted in the blood of a forlorn artist. What tender cares did we exchange as the rhythms of our strangers’ chorus recited our entangled fates?
Venture into the haunted silhouette
Chase the whispers of the crimson phantom