Bones lie beneath the earth, and blood stains my hands. Spirits surround me at every turn. Ancient tombs await in the sand, and flowers inside seem destined to wither. The rituals of old are preserved in canopic jars, and my own dark deeds haunt me, erasing all attempts at redemption.

I'm cold to the touch, embracing death and burying old grievances. Each harsh word, a dagger in my heart.

Alone, with a history of misfortune, I hear only static rather than clear sounds. Like a fly trapped in a web, I feel stuck in a cycle of despair. This life has given me nothing but...