The forest stands where silence yet speaks.
In whispers they converge, the faint moans of yesterday,
carved identically by an unseen weaver.
Among shadows, the silence nests,
waiting for the purest scream to crown its glory.
What is refuge but an echo’s applause?
Truth unfurls its cragged edges beneath kindling stars.
The ugliest, sweetest truth weaves a lie of credence,
quietly obliterating every name it dared to whisper.
Navigate through the remnants: Lament
Or discover another realm: Insight