The white sun. Broken mirrors. The mist and the hill, the blaze of skies. Path of the wolves. Tribe of the holy stones covered by dust. The rotten grave and the breathe of trees. One and only awakened and forbidden the spell of the moon, freezing and venomous. Hollow black bones full of slime buried under the swamp, consecrated by the tears of hangmans tree. An old wooden chapel deep in the woods. Old building painted with symbols ancient like stones.
The cold freezing blood drips from the black mirrors on this ritual of night, from the thick mist comes a sound – vibrating and chilling. Pure mysterious mantra of nature ancient mysticism. Carpathian pagan rites; primordial heritage of gods. The ancient castle of stones and mists fulfilled by ghosts of dark and deep nights. Haunting the corners of mind by the dread caused by legends. Pure fear of unknown like a quenching candles in the old rotten houses – superstition and a myth. Two nails into the coffin. An old soul lurking deep in the paths, searching for the salvation under the moon that silently follow. Essence of unknown.
Like insane dreams, full of shadows and screams. Like the deep freezing snow which covers an sacred stones. Like a mystery and riddle.
A chilling vision in the dreadful nights.
