The cathedral of the night remains opened only to shadows. Their whispers, symphonic, echo in the silence of bright absence. An unheard hymn that holds the weight of forgotten stars. The moons, like marionettes, dangle from strings unseen, their movements orchestrated by an unseen hand.
Below, silhouettes await on the precipice of dreams, cast not by light, but by the luminescence of memory. Figures draped in secrets, attired in illusions. Meet them, speak not their name, for it dissolves in twilight.