Beneath the surface of loveliness lies the ugliest truth, ensconced in obsidian shells and brittle dreams.
Each memory, a crystal of despair, formed in the labyrinth of the mind, cold and sharp.
Outside, the twilight creeps, weaving tales of sorrow within the stone walls of forgotten cathedrals.
Somewhere, a raven caws—its sound shattering the glassy silence that encases the heart.
In the hollow echoes of corridors lined with faded tapestries, the ghost of yesterday sighs.
It carries secrets in its diaphanous wings, whispering of love long extinguished and paths not taken.
Downward spiraling, the void opens its maw, a gaping entrance to perennial slumber.
Is it a sin to long for the darkness? Or is it merely human to cling to whatever is left?