THE WHISPER OF OBLIVION

In the dark corners of the world, there is a figure that exists not in flesh but in essence—a skull, once a vessel for life, now the only remains of a past long gone. But this skull is not merely a relic of death. It is the embodiment of the whispers that remain when life fades away, a symbol of the eternal dance between mortality and the void. The black liquid that seeps from the skull, mingling with the swirling mist of ink, speaks of decay, dissolution, and the slow fading of all things.

The smoke-like tendrils that rise from the skull are not merely remnants of the past—they are the last breaths of forgotten souls, rising like wraiths into the air. They curl and twist in every direction, stretching out like the very essence of oblivion itself, claiming what remains and dissolving it back into the dark, empty space from which it came. The skull, stoic and unyielding, remains the only solid thing in a world of shifting shadows, a reminder of what once was and what is no more.

The Whisper of Oblivion is a story of the inevitable pull of time, where all things must eventually return to the nothingness from which they were born. It is the story of all the unspoken truths and forgotten voices that slip through the cracks of existence, fading into the blackness like the whispers of the past. The skull stands as a testament to the quiet power of decay, to the fact that nothing lasts forever, yet nothing is ever truly lost. The ink that spills from it is not just a sign of death, but the last vestige of life—a haunting reminder that everything eventually falls into oblivion, where it will be reborn, forgotten, and whispered again into the void.