Diovytpme

A forest of skeletal trees. An uncertain hour. A man-thing-creature crawling through the undergrowth, its fingernails broken, blackened with damp earth. Roots swollen with ebony sap. The smell of decomposing leaves. Something ancient and vaguely ecclesiastical breathing beneath the soil. A taste of ashes and slow erosion upon the tongue. Everything feels exhausted. Hollowed out. Half-buried in some forgotten, moss-infested purgatory. And yet... There is beauty here. A strange, almost sacred beauty.