Shadows whisper secrets known only to the wind, standing at the edge of night's velvet kiss. Do they quake beneath brightness anew, or only bask in extinction's embrace?
"In the space where candlelight dies, one finds the resounding clamor of desolation. Beyond the visible edge, dreams stretch their rotting fingertips, beckoning with false promises in ethereal tongues."
The clock never strikes; it merely pulsates, contracting, expanding with breaths absent purpose.
Ghastly echoes of forgotten prayers lacquer the hollow rooms of doe-eyed illusions.
Hearts halt mid-beat, suspended in cobweb-laden realities where time's whisper is a lord betrayed.
The frontiers once seen now fade into languid paths, never ending, lined with lilies wrought of nightfall's tears.