The eerily hushed streets of Ravenstone lay beneath an eternal shroud, memories of warmth swallowed whole—silent entities dwell within this nebulous locale. Time slips through the fingers like grains pressed beneath whisper-touched seashells.
Here, silence murmurs, and like ancient statues, the town's visage holds us enraptured. But the clamorous revelries of nights past remain walled within our crumbling narratives—strung out like moments forgotten on a spider's inky web.
Above the vaulting moors, spirits flicker briefly—like candle flames, breaths frozen in mid-tremor. Across the lane, shadows stretch their arms, inviting warmth from entirely unreal sources, ciphers waiting beneath the stone.
The skeletons of our dreams rattle with discontent. Here lies the tale again: borne into legend by invisible hands, those sanguine ink drops stain every parchment corner of our entangled yesterdays. Isle-adorned thoughts of adventure bloom like moss beneath scattered moonlight.
Unearth a shadow