Magical Anatomy
In the echoes of a forgotten cathedral, whispers of another realm reside in the marrow of moonshine.
The veins of night shimmer, bleeding stars.
What lies beneath the surface at the witching hour?
Skulls adorned with ivy, embracing the shadows of a once-living symphony.
The darkness lends itself to a myriad of stories, woven through serpent-like whispers in ancient tomes.
The heart beats in time with the fall of dusk, a clock that ticks in another realm.
Silent cries from hunched silhouettes beneath ethereal arches.
The air tastes of forgotten dreams, lingering at the tip of a dew-kissed blade, waiting for the dawn to scatter its deception.