"Solitude cultivates the roots of transformation in the shadows we fear to embrace."
A phantom figure looms where whispers die,
Branches like horns stretch to the sky.
Tattered curtains sway in an unseen breath,
A dance with shadows that mirror death.
In corners dark, secrets remain veiled,
Faint light flickers, as the brave are hailed.
Desolation's heart beats slow and deep,
In silence wrapped, the lost souls weep.
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