In the cathedral of darkened dreams where clocks scream silent symphonies, one finds the forgotten tick. A lullaby for the listless, echoed through corridors steeped in shadows. Shadows, are they not the whispers of places we cannot name?
WhisperPerched upon the skeletal branches, the crow croons its midnight lament, a requiem for the restless souls who wander untethered in the night, seeking solace in the void, where stars don't blink.
Sleep DepthsIn the realm of endless nocturne, mirrors do not reflect; they reveal the hidden truths cloaked in veils of despair. When one gazes, it's not oneself that stares back, but something far older, hovering at the threshold of being.
Silence