In the somber dance of forgotten whispers, an echo remains. The air is thick with remnants of voices long silenced, eternally dissonant and unforgiving. They speak not of fiendish joy, but the inevitable degradation of all things.
Once, at the ungodly hour when light holds no dominion, I tripped upon a truth—so grotesque that the mere sight of it eroded the self. A mere reflection; tenebrous and relentless. It's a visage only cruelty could unveil.
Among the shadowed alleys of consciousness, the ugliest truths find sanctuary. They lie dormant in the hollowed specters of ideals, waiting for the unwary to unmask their putrid glow. Even the keenest minds falter, ensnared in the relentless pursuit of the unattainable.