In the stillwood of night, where shadows devour the light, whispers of sorrow seep through the cracks of forgotten graves. Tales entwined with the sighs of the moon, a waltz with despair that lingers beneath the weight of silence. Here, the specters weave their lullabies, each note a dropped tear upon the essence of memory.
The echoes of laughter are but ghosts now, trapped in the quagmire of untold stories. Listen! The air holds breath; a symphony of heartbeats can be felt as a shroud, a tapestry of forgotten pleasures and forgotten pains. Come dance with the shadows, where the wind carries fragrance of an epoch untold.
Whence comes the tremor beneath your skin?
The question weaves itself in corners dark, where even dreams dare not tread. Every heartbeat a rhythm, every sigh a haunting; to awaken the spirit of dusk, to embrace what remains of the pale light. Shadows clutch the edges of reality, and reason bends in the embrace of the eerie.