Bubbles ascend, whispering tales trapped beneath the murky veneer.
Echoes of forgotten laughter—vanished, like shadows at dawn.
The surface—brimming with secrets untold, trembling under the night's zephyr.
Lies buried in viscous silence as the water-weaver spins her cruel web.
Windows to the soul—or windows to the void? The whispering waters decide...
Mired in the pull of erratic consciousness, a plaintive wail rides the currents.
Not unlike the cry of the raven—this mournful symphony echoes
within the hollow caverns of the heart.
She kneels by the edge; ripples of disruption—a dance of fading light.
Hands clothed in liquid night, reaching, seeking.
A tether, severed... lost amidst crashing despair and tranquil abyss.