Under the eternal shadow

of the obsidian castle

Where the solstice sun falters and dies,

The walls glisten like tears

frozen in blackened glass.

Each gleam carries the weight

of a thousand unspoken laments

and the air hums with the agony of time unraveling.

Beauty here is not salvation but a cruel specter,

a sharp-edged reminder that even light is powerless against the void.

And in that void

hope is devoured

it's faint echoes swallowed by the

endless corridors where no warmth can reach.

The solstice marks no rebirth here,

only the stillness of a sun that refuses to rise,

its fire extinguished by the castle's unyielding embrace.

Every step taken within its halls is a descent,

a surrender to the weight of forgotten sins,

where even the shadows seem to mourn.