The moon hung low in the sky, casting dappled shadows across the land. A biting wind whistled through the barren trees, their branches tangled towards the heavens like skeletal fingers. Underneath this desolate landscape, a haunted figure made. Their footsteps were heavy, swallowed by the whispering thorns that blanketed the ground. Each thorn was

The air stifles us with the scent of decay. Every step slices here against the jagged ground, a constant reminder of the world's savagery. We exist in this landscape of pain, where trust is a luxury and compassion a burden. Our lives are forged by the thorns that entwine us, marking our souls with their relentless cruel touch. Legends tell of