Echoes of the past scream on. This pulsation of heinous sound… sound that screeches into my ears!   Echoes of those who scream… This invisible crowd that follows me… Voices! Auditory torments!   Echoes of memory and psychosis… The two entwined like vines over a grave… Bound...

Stillness of the musty air entombed… Death vents no last breaths here… My ghostly presence alone is chilling the air around -   So, the Gothic rose grew in the lightless chill of my dark aura… chilling its beating soul.   The cold of my tomb keeps these...