"Come, do you hear it? The wind - murmuring in the eaves, scouring the bare trees. how it howls, almost musical, a harmony of old moans."
"The moon is risen, caught in nodding branches. The image holds you, black trunks backlit, one silver ray fallen...It's a romance, this invitation to lunacy (lycanthropy, a dance with the vampire), elemental yet forbidden, tempting, something remembered in the blood."
— Aug 13, 2026 12:15PM
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