Within the swelling echoes of the boundless abyss, whispering secrets clutch the drowned visages of forgotten kings. In otherworldly harmony, their melodies weave mournful tales, where each syllable lingers like a dissipated wave over the moon's hesitant gaze.
"Help us... They shroud beneath unbroken waves,” crooned a voice tremulous as the sea's eternal surge. Perilous currents threaten to pull the traveler deep into their hypnotic rift, giving rhythm to the ocean's gothic lament.
As moons rot and wane beneath cerulean shrouds, dread births gossamer threads entangling thoughts awash with uncertain phosphorescence. Herein lays revelation, perilously misconceived of sanity; the soul eclipses and is eclipsed in nebulous interactions with the ocean's pure intelligibility.
Seek, therefore, the corals hidden—mirroring minds beneath unmapped currents—where truth lies awoken within trembling pulse, beyond which lays the ceaseless swirl of desolate make-believe.