The castle moans beneath the storm,
Its towers clawing at a sky deformed.
Wind shrieks through shattered panes,
Dragging shadows that whisper names.
A labyrinth of halls, cold and cracked,
Where time itself has turned its back.
Portraits weep with blackened eyes,
And laughter echoes in hollow cries.
The hearth lies dead, a tomb of coal,
Feeding the hunger of this wretched soul.
Footsteps fall though no one comes,
Chimes ring in empty drums.
Behind each door, a secret bleeds,
A past that hungers, a fear that feeds.
The air tastes sharp with loss and pain,
And nothing that enters leaves again.
Beneath the moon’s eclipsed embrace,
The walls remember every face.
If you linger, pray, do not speak—
For the night devours the faint and weak.