Whispers and Cries

In this sepulcher of brine, voices without form call eternally. The sea, a mirror to their silence, grants no grace nor armor.

Here I am lost amongst shadows, caves carved out by time, breathless stories of venom and velvet lurking in every tide.

Even the kiss of salt upon the wound tastes bitter on tongues woven with the strands of long-lost inner kingdoms.

A ship draped in ebony sails glided past a crescent moon. The dark epitaph of none spoke, written only in the language of floating lanterns and pale sea-foam. In some grasp of circumstance, the sailors found cages that once held stories of mermaids, all decorated in rust and folly.

ventures into the abyss

mysterious reroutes

gothic scrolls