𝐒𝐚𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧, 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨 | 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚 | 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚

[@Tenebrarum-Manuss]

Tears of Eldriva
In the city of Eldriva, time is but a whisper, hushed beneath the weight of centuries. Nestled in a valley cloaked in perpetual mist, the city appears eternal, as though its age-old stones have witnessed both the dawning of kingdoms and their crumbling dusk. It is autumn now, and with the season comes rain that falls as softly as sighs from a thousand forgotten souls, wrapping the cobblestone streets in a veil of melancholy.
Eldriva was once a place of radiant hope. Long ago, the grand cathedral in the heart of the city stood as a beacon for travelers from distant lands. Pilgrims came to marvel at its towering spires and the echoing chimes of its bells, which sang not only of faith but of prosperity. From this high ground, they would look out over a bustling city, where artisans and scholars, traders and poets mingled freely. The streets, now darkened with moss and memory, once brimmed with vibrant voices, laughter, and song.
But then came the war. No one remembers now who it was fought against or what cause demanded such sacrifice; history has a way of erasing details when sorrow lingers too deeply. One by one, the houses emptied as fathers, brothers, and sons were called away, leaving only the silence of waiting hearts. Eldriva sent her best and brightest, her joy and her future, to battle in lands unknown, and so few of them ever returned. The city, it is said, wept through endless autumn rains that year, the dark clouds mirroring the grief of mothers and wives who stood in doorways, searching the roads for shadows that never came home.
With the war's end came famine, for there were not enough hands to tend the fields, nor enough strength left in the survivors to rebuild. The laughter that once filled Eldriva’s taverns faded, and the city itself seemed to age, to grow weary. The grand cathedral, once ablaze with the light of stained glass, began to dim as neglect left its mark. Ivy crept up its walls, and the bells-so beloved once-began to rust in their tower, ringing only in the ghostly winds that swept through empty squares.
Legends say the city is cursed, that it mourns forever the souls it lost, and that each autumn the spirits of the departed return, wandering through the mist-laden streets. Locals speak in hushed tones of faint figures seen through the rain, faces pressed against darkened windows, or footsteps heard echoing on silent paths. Some claim that if you listen closely on a stormy night, you can still hear the faint strains of a lullaby carried on the wind-a melody sung by mothers whose children never returned.
Now, Eldriva stands alone in its quiet valley, a monument to sorrow and resilience. Red leaves cling to the trees, the last flames of life before winter's cold embrace. The rain falls endlessly, washing over rooftops, down gutters, and into the narrow alleys where time stands still. Lanterns flicker faintly in the mist, casting a warm but fading light over stones that have witnessed a lifetime of loss.
And so, Eldriva slumbers under the rain, a city wrapped in the memories of a forgotten past, where every shadow and stone seems to echo the ache of a love that will never die. In its silence, it is as if the city itself remembers, whispering tales of a brighter age to those who pause to listen, those few souls who find themselves caught in its spell, just as autumn's golden leaves cling stubbornly to the branches, defying the inevitable fall.

[@pampapaul1210]

Mind-blowing and heart touching melodies that peaceful of our mind.

[@2brnt2b]

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[@Nelli-i4u]

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