Listen well, you wretched, unripened souls. If the blood in your veins has not yet endured eighteen years of this hollow existence, turn your gaze away. Do not dare to breathe a word upon my verses, my captures of light, or my fractured tales.
You carry no weight here. Your aura is a flickering candle in a void of ancient shadows. If you attempt to pierce the veil and message me through the digital ether of your "interweb," you will find only silence and the cold bite of a cursed frame.
The Elder GothGod has spoken. Disappear into the glitch before you are erased.
Signed,
Mister Raven












