Within the unlit depths, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of rust and despair, we wander through the corridors of time lost.
Eldritch whispers crackle in the silence—a thousand cries entombed in the marrow of the walls, bearing witness to the decay of once proud hearts.
Like sepulchral echoes, abandoned thoughts ripple into the nothingness, children of an unseen artist molding shadows into form.
Every heartbeat is a candle's flicker against the encroaching darkness; every sigh a remnant of dreams forgotten beneath a cathedral of ash.
Important to note—the fabric of reality unravels like frayed silk, exposing the void's hungry maw, always seeking.