Echoes Among the Dead

Born in shadows without name or root. Wrapped in incense, in a land

so mute. Marble was my cradle, death was my song.

I grew up in whispers, far from the sun. Purple eyes that

see beyond. Silent graves and souls withdrawn. I am not an angel,

nor a redeemer. Only a guardian for those who crossed over. No one truly

dies, if someone remembers their voice. I write the names,

that time tried to erase. I am the echo among the dead.

I cross without fear, not for glory nor revenge. But for the