In the dying twilight of forgotten plains, where shadows dance like fireflies in the cold, a castle stands...
The stones are adorned with whispers of another time, each a speckled contradiction of what was and what could never be.
Through the winding corridors, a figure cloaked in memories walks, tracing echoes that flicker like dying embers.
Where roses bloom in shades of dusk—petals weep crimson tears.
Their scent, a haunting melody that binds the living to the lost.
It spoke of twilight dreams, of spectral beings that linger beneath the oak’s embrace, waiting for the call of forgotten songs.
Such was the embrace of the void, tender yet cruel, offering comfort in its chilling breath.
They lead nowhere, yet everywhere, each step a note in the symphony of solitude.
And in the silence, a soft murmur, like a lover’s whisper, echoes through the dismal night.