I see them in the shifting shadows, in the wet-black reflections on the cobbled streets. They whisper my name with the wind’s hollow sigh, and my own breath is a thief, stealing the air that should be silent. Is...

𝕳𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖒𝖊, 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖍𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖚𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖗𝖞𝖕𝖙𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖆 𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖚𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙, 𝖚𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘𝕴...

A spectral wail, a cold and hollow soundThe tea kettle hissed a tune of pure despairAnd plates and glasses slid across the groundA phantom draft did stir a maiden's hairOf plaster saints, now chipped and hollow-eyedWhile in the corner,...

<span;>Whether the welkin is painted in shades <span;>of blue or obsidian, <span;>the moon's <span;>ethereal<span;> candlelight <span;>has always dawned a quelling kiss atop <span;>my often somber laced mind, <span;>and smiles to eagerly anticipatory eyes.. <span;>... As " in these moments...