ㅤㅤ              PASTORAL ㅤ:ㅤ 1.99
ㅤㅤㅤ   ( Abaft O’  Secluded  Castle )
                              INK 1773’s.

“PRIOR TO SPHERE OF RECOLLECTION : THE DUISTERG CLAN  .. 🩸”
A frightening radiance marks the journey, born from the anguish of a missing presence. Yet, within this self-reflective maze, weaving understanding through the shadows.

People born in 1985 - 1997 are currently being invited to become our parents, uncles, and aunts in our community. Those who were born in 1998 - 2010 will become a part of our family as children.

Here is the taken list that you need to check before applying to join our vampire clan. However is it, the gate that we open is use a group selection system. We’re accomplish it with tremendous pleasure and excitement. Hartelijk—Dank! 🧛🏼

ㅤ   Sincere salutations to our threshold:
                    @KasteelOfDuisterg
ㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Monthly Keepsake, of @Kheraeld. / As we stand buoyant, traces on the ground where our roots once planted occur.

Underneath the epithet of the vicinity, and the wish that lies on the table that we mail to @Samniont @Berthouven @ReverieOfAmity @Noctruum @Wythers @FamilieSchumann, for the commemorative fetes.

Shall the downpours that have poured and the flake of the sun that have been reaped become the confetti of the significant day. The scent of musk, the lane where the crowds gather—blood by blood, soul by soul, and palms by palms. They unfold altogether, we mouth the prayers, and triumph is all over the chamber. May there be a lantern awaits until the ménage is overfilled with nought yet the sempiternal exultation.

Sincerely, Musing of Recollection.
@Kheraeld, the Root of Solace.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Monthly Keepsake, of @Kheraeld. / As we stand buoyant, traces on the ground where our roots once planted occur.

Underneath the epithet of the vicinity, and the wish that lies on the table that we mail to @CampOfLachers and @GraceOfVicky for the commemorative fetes.

Shall the downpours that have poured and the flake of the sun that have been reaped become the confetti of the significant day. The scent of musk, the lane where the crowds gather—blood by blood, soul by soul, and palms by palms. They unfold altogether, we mouth the prayers, and triumph is all over the chamber. May there be a lantern awaits until the ménage is overfilled with nought yet the sempiternal exultation.

Sincerely, Musing of Recollection.
@Kheraeld, the Root of Solace.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ