Amidst the towering ashen towers, whispers caress the cobblestones. A maiden with a serpent's tongue quips, "Scratch my back, and I'll carve horizons." The echo invites a chuckle, shadowy figures huddled, shivering joy-filled sighs.
Just as Edgar forgot his signature raven greeting, a broom fell from an existential closet. Juxtaposition: comedy began where darkness was supposed. "It’s laundry day in the abyss!" announced a ghost with mismatched socks.
Even the chandeliers joined in. Flickering, twirling, then crashing like a romantic tragedy staged poorly, where laughter was both savior and villain.
Dance around the spectral tables, lifted awkward rehearsed moves. Behind curtains, midnight snacks awaited with grim smiles. Experience jaw-dropping surprises! Join the foghorn fiasco, find destiny (or dessert).
And just like that, a skeleton pulled a victorious card from its rib cage, "Two scoops of chaos with a hint of vanilla?" proclaimed like a twisted barista.
Darkness isn’t merely absence of light, it's where your leftover pizza wanders astray. Hear gibberish considered gourmet.
As the laughter's crackle faded, a hush fell; not from solemnity but uproariously mismatched timing. Was it Halloween, or merely Tuesday?