CRIMSON WHISPERS IN THE DARK

The gloom danced with a life of his own, twisting and turning as if muttering secrets to the moonstarsnight. A chill ran through me, not from the cold, but from a sickness that clung to the air like dust. The crimson hue, faint yet persistent, pulsed with a thrum that echoed in my soul. That Which Lurks Below Its presence manifests itself throu