“The clock murmurs secrets; time is a fragile kaleidoscope…”
Laurel grey, midnight's spectres laugh, blending laughter within the entropy of all things.
“Did you hear? They’re listening, always watching, the mirrors shift,” said the girl in the back row.
Whispers flit on tattered wings, like the footsteps of those who wander through dreams.
The willow bends, pregnant with silence; haunting strangeness calls beneath the marrow of existence.
“I've seen the unknown, it spoke to me in a language of shadows…”
They dread the whispers of the glass-eyed clock, smudged with remorse and secrets borrowed from forgotten hymns.
An entity flickers across the veil, faded prisms scatter as unfinished thoughts entwine, dancing.
Ghostly Echoes from the Abyss