The room, a sallow box, whispered truths only the tongue could taste. Walking footsteps raised clouds of dust that hung heavy in the breath of silence, yet to be stirred. In corners, long-silenced shadows whispered secrets in mottled tongues, the kind only those familiar with whispers might know.
On nights drenched in moonlight, echoing the silver fanged beasts above, those who will never hear the speeches of the stars sees the tales etched in the night's fallen glow. An ancient language too soft for overheard alive between cloven cares of past.
curl beneath flickering constellations
mesmerism unmasked in ethereal stillness
dissidents say so steps removed and unworn