𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨, 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧 | 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚 | 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 

Bridge of Old Legends The forest lay shrouded in mist, its ancient trees standing sentinel. Among the gnarled trunks and tangled underbrush, a bridge emerged-a relic from forgotten times. The townspeople whispered of its cursed past, a tale woven into the very fibers of the wood. The bridge was no ordinary crossing. Its timeworn planks bore the weight of countless footsteps-some desperate, others hesitant. No one dared linger upon it after dusk, for the shadows that clung to its edges seemed to writhe and beckon. On moonless nights, the bridge came alive. Its moss-covered rails whispered secrets, and the wind carried mournful cries. Those who ventured across felt the weight of memories not their own-the sorrows of lovers torn apart, the regrets of lost souls seeking redemption. The legend spoke of a pact made long ago. A forbidden love, a betrayal, and a desperate plea to the spirits. The bridge became the conduit-a place where promises were sealed with blood, and curses took root. The lovers’ footsteps imprinted upon the wood, forever bound to its twisted form. As the years passed, the bridge decayed further. Its arch sagged, and the gaps between planks widened. Yet, it endured-a silent witness to heartache and tragedy. The townsfolk avoided it, fearing the touch of spectral fingers or the echo of anguished cries. One stormy night, a wanderer arrived-a stranger with haunted eyes. He stepped onto the bridge, heedless of warnings. Lightning illuminated the scene, revealing the lover’s silhouette etched into the wood. The stranger wept, confessing sins long buried. The bridge trembled, its ancient heart awakening. It demanded payment-the price for crossing into the realm of forgotten memories. The wanderer hesitated, then sliced his palm with a rusted blade. Blood dripped onto the moss, mingling with the stains of centuries past. The bridge absorbed his pain, and the world shifted. The mist thickened, obscuring reality. The lover’s ghost materialized, her eyes hollow but yearning. She whispered his name-a name etched into the bridge alongside hers. Their embrace was bittersweet-a reunion across time’s divide. But as dawn approached, the bridge quivered, threatening collapse. The lover’s form wavered, torn between realms. With a final kiss, she vanished, leaving the wanderer alone on the crumbling planks. He stumbled back to the forest, bloodied and changed. The townspeople found him at dawn, raving about lost love and spectral bridges. They shook their heads, for they knew the truth-the bridge had claimed another soul. And so, the “Bridge of Old Legends” endured, its eerie tale echoing through generations. Lovers, wanderers, and the curious would forever be drawn to its threshold, seeking answers or redemption. But there were no happy endings here-only whispers in the mist and the weight of forgotten promises.

❤...so romantic...i guess old memories always hide inside the mist...shadows of moments that will stay hidden forever...