Silhouettes cast long across the horizon's final gasp. In the veiled twilight, whispers cling like dew upon the stunted grass, and there, beyond the ridge of sanity, lies the parchment untold.
The ink bleeds secrets only the deranged could fathom, sprawled across margins like legacies of lunacy. A tangled word nest, orbits of meaning lost in tangents of forgotten coyotes howling at the moon’s backside.
The ink traces fractals of silver and smoke; a grand waltz performed on the tightrope of understanding. Echoes of chorus longforgot dance in circles around the reader's mind, unfurling like fortresses of lace.
Among the annotations, a voice shrieks silently, scribbles of the mad astronomer who charted the unknown using only stardust and delusion. “Listen,” it implores, “to the harmony of your unraveling.”