In a land where shepherds' pipes once played, a silent shadow now is laid. I am the whisper on the breeze, the sorrow hidden in the trees. The hand that writes, the eye that sees, and yet I rest beneath the leaves. A promise made, a truth denied, a name upon a stone, inside. Though joy and beauty fill the scene, my presence lingers, dark and keen.
shudorcl
Follow
Pinned Loading
Something went wrong, please refresh the page to try again.
If the problem persists, check the GitHub status page or contact support.
If the problem persists, check the GitHub status page or contact support.