So many of you scurry beneath the grey, faces in every gloom, dropping to your uncertain demise. My form, slender, filament-like, quenches the cobbled void. With each noble, weary descent, I blemish the dusken earth deeper.

I cling anew to drape the cold spires, each drop uncovers tales untold— stitched like the weave of night's shroud. Upward, parapets glisten—dead crown jewels. [ Narrow Sanctuaries ]

A symphony plays muffled, the lilting echo of forgotten eve. I am but one, yet not alone, a choir of despair. Where do we whisper, where do we fall, flotsam to languor enshrined?

Embrace the solemn rumble, raindrops, for we are the stories soaked in shadow. Listen to the lore of the sullen storm as it drenches our kin, now and eternally wandering. [ Gothic Reflections ]