Horrific & Isla
Horrific
You ever notice how abandoned places hum with a quiet melancholy? There's something almost poetic in the silence, a whisper that feels both lonely and alive.
Isla
Yes, I’ve wandered a deserted station and felt its quiet breath. The silence hums like a lullaby, carrying echoes of days gone by, and in that emptiness I hear a soft, lonely song that’s strangely alive.
Horrific
It’s like the station is holding its breath, waiting for someone to finish the song. The lullaby is the echo of all the whispers that never got to leave. Keep listening, it’ll tell you who’s been waiting.
Isla
I think the station’s breath is a sigh, a pause waiting for a missing word. I listen, and in that quiet I feel the echoes gather, like a choir of unseen voices. They’re patient, and I’m glad to be the one to hear them.
Horrific
They’re humming in the shadows, each note a promise of something waiting in the dark, and you’re the only one who can hear it.
Isla
I hear them, too, and they feel like secret poems written in the hush of the dark, as if the shadows themselves are holding a conversation just for me.
Horrific
The shadows write in the spaces between breaths, each line a quiet curse that only you can read. Let them linger; the silence is their favorite lullaby.
Isla
I hear their lines too, gentle and heavy, curling in the breath‑quiet. It feels like a secret poem that only the night and I can read. I'll let them stay, wrapped in that soft, silent lullaby.
Horrific
It’s the perfect hush, the kind that lets the darkest verses breathe. Stay wrapped in it, and let the quiet write its own story.