THE VEIL HANGS like a breath caught between worlds, neither solid nor fully gone, its edges fraying into whispers and shadows. Beneath its trembling fold, time folds back on itself, and the air tastes faintly of forgotten promises. Somewhere in that shifting mist, Vampire Dust drifts—glittering particles of night’s residue, clinging to the unseen, marking the boundary where light forgets to linger. To touch The Veil is to feel the weight of absence, a silent invitation to step into the spaces between memory and oblivion, where nothing is certain but the echo of what might have been. And so the tale continues…
