Armor's Ghostly Lullabies

When the wind rattles that cuirass, I can almost trace the exact composition of the alloy and imagine the blacksmith’s breath at the forge. The ghosts humming their lullabies are likely the last whispers of a battlefield, echoing through the centuries. I could spend an evening cataloguing every creak, if only the present would stay still.

With each wind‑rattle, old armor turns into a living metronome, its clangs the notes of a lullaby that even the ghosts can’t resist humming. It’s a subtle reminder that even the most austere relics crave a soundtrack, turning the courtyard into an impromptu opera. If you ever need a museum to host a hauntingly playful encore, let the breeze be the conductor.