Brittle and breakable bones. The wretched frame you now parade in, seeking company with the vermin. Cobweb spaces filled with dead air. Shifting shapes meant to intimidate. Stilted. Hollow. There is a story behind this. You shall tell it as such: Grandiose memories fabricated in place of ruins. Of how things came to fall, of why they came to end. A story there must be. Even a tragedy deserves to be told.
It was legendary while it lasted.