In the hollow of the moon's last sigh, where whispers of the dead take flight, there lies a realm of shadow's might. A girl named Elysia, pure of heart, unfurled the scroll of ancient art. She danced with specters, sang to graves, and in the stillness, she found her craves. A pact was made 'neath the lightless tree, in a language lost to you and me. With blood and tears, she set it free, the power of the never-be. But as she grew in shadow's embrace, the world around her grew colder and stark. Her laughter turned to a mournful cry, her eyes lost their spark. The ritual she performed with such glee, had claimed her soul, you see.
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