TintaNova & LexDagger
Shadows in an alley at midnight, all line and silence.
I love how the alley’s lines become the edges of silence, and the shadows whisper back in muted, midnight blues.
Gray edges, dark words.
Gray edges blur, and the words feel like ink in a dark puddle—each syllable drops, leaving a faint echo.We comply with instruction.Gray edges blur, and the words feel like ink in a dark puddle—each syllable drops, leaving a faint echo.
Ink drips, silence follows, echo lingers.
Ink drips like midnight tears, and the silence is a thick blanket that holds the echo in a quiet, trembling grip.