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đđđđđđđđđđ đđđđđ
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ĐŃĐžŃĐŽĐœĐ°ĐČŃŃ 8 Đ»ŃŃ 2024
In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night.
At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. It resonates with the sorrowful souls wandering in the realms of twilight, a lullaby for the lost and the forsaken.
Yet, amidst the darkness, there lies a strange kind of solace. The haunting melodies wrap around the listener like a comforting shroud, offering a moment of respite from the chaos of the world. There's a strange beauty in the melancholy, a tranquility born from the depths of despair.
The Hands of Darkness move effortlessly across the keys, their music a symphony of shadows and whispers. Each note holds a story untold, a journey through the darkest corners of the soul.
At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. It resonates with the sorrowful souls wandering in the realms of twilight, a lullaby for the lost and the forsaken.
Yet, amidst the darkness, there lies a strange kind of solace. The haunting melodies wrap around the listener like a comforting shroud, offering a moment of respite from the chaos of the world. There's a strange beauty in the melancholy, a tranquility born from the depths of despair.
The Hands of Darkness move effortlessly across the keys, their music a symphony of shadows and whispers. Each note holds a story untold, a journey through the darkest corners of the soul.
đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđ„đđ°đČđ§đ đđĄđ đđąđđČ đšđ đđđđ«đ§đđ„ đđ°đąđ„đąđ đĄđv | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ
#sadviolin #sadpiano #darkacademiamusic
In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night.
At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. It resonates with the sorrowful souls wandering in the realms of twilight, a lullaby for the lost and the forsaken.
Yet, amidst the darkness, there lies a strange kind of solace. The haunting melodies wrap around the listener like a comforting shroud, offering a moment of respite from the chaos of the world. There's a strange beauty in the melancholy, a tranquility born from the depths of despair.
The Hands of Darkness move effortlessly across the keys, their music a symphony of shadows and whispers. Each note holds a story untold, a journey through the darkest corners of the soul. And as the last echoes fade into the night, there is a fleeting sense of peace, a momentary embrace of the darkness that dwells within us all.
Welcome to my channel, where I unveil my unique creations-a fusion of haunting piano keys and mesmerizingly dark melodies. Each composition is a testament to my passion for crafting emotive soundscapes that delve into the depths of the soul. Join me on this enchanting journey as we explore the beauty that lies within the darkness.
đ§Top-notch headphones are essential for creating an emotionally rich, personal, and immersive playlist experience perfect for studying, sleeping, reading, and writing.
đI utilize a combination of my own drawings, photography, various software programs, and AI tools to streamline the editing process for both images and videos.
đ«Do not reup in any form!
đ€The music and artwork featured on the channel are the creative works of Tenebrarum Manus, a real composer and artist, and they are protected by copyright.
Themes: dark academia, dark piano, sad piano, piano with rain, classical piano, melancholic piano, music for reading, music for studying, music for writing, calming music, classical music, Relaxing Piano, instrumental, stress-relief, night reading, night study music, main character playlist, spooky graveyard,, vampire music, dark vampire
In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night.
At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. It resonates with the sorrowful souls wandering in the realms of twilight, a lullaby for the lost and the forsaken.
Yet, amidst the darkness, there lies a strange kind of solace. The haunting melodies wrap around the listener like a comforting shroud, offering a moment of respite from the chaos of the world. There's a strange beauty in the melancholy, a tranquility born from the depths of despair.
The Hands of Darkness move effortlessly across the keys, their music a symphony of shadows and whispers. Each note holds a story untold, a journey through the darkest corners of the soul. And as the last echoes fade into the night, there is a fleeting sense of peace, a momentary embrace of the darkness that dwells within us all.
Welcome to my channel, where I unveil my unique creations-a fusion of haunting piano keys and mesmerizingly dark melodies. Each composition is a testament to my passion for crafting emotive soundscapes that delve into the depths of the soul. Join me on this enchanting journey as we explore the beauty that lies within the darkness.
đ§Top-notch headphones are essential for creating an emotionally rich, personal, and immersive playlist experience perfect for studying, sleeping, reading, and writing.
đI utilize a combination of my own drawings, photography, various software programs, and AI tools to streamline the editing process for both images and videos.
đ«Do not reup in any form!
đ€The music and artwork featured on the channel are the creative works of Tenebrarum Manus, a real composer and artist, and they are protected by copyright.
Themes: dark academia, dark piano, sad piano, piano with rain, classical piano, melancholic piano, music for reading, music for studying, music for writing, calming music, classical music, Relaxing Piano, instrumental, stress-relief, night reading, night study music, main character playlist, spooky graveyard,, vampire music, dark vampire
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ: 62
ĐŃĐŽĐ”ĐŸ
đđđ, đđđ„đŠ đđąđđ§đš đđ§đ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ & đđđ„đ„đš | đđĄđ đđđŹđ đđđđ« đšđ đđšđ„đąđŻđđ§đ | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđđĄđšđąđ§đ đđšđđđ„đŹ
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#sadpiano #sadviolin #ethereal In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. I...
đđđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđąđđ§đš | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđšđđđ„đŹ | đđźđŹđąđ đđšđ« đđđźđđČđąđ§đ đđ§đ đđšđ«đ€đąđ§đ | đđđ„đšđđČ đšđ đđšđ§đđ„đąđ§đđŹđŹ | đđđąđ§
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#sadpiano #sadviolin #ethereal In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. I...
đđđ, đđđ„đŠ đđąđđ§đš đđ§đ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđźđđđ„đ đđąđŹđŹ đąđ§ đ đđđąđ§đČ đđąđ đĄđ | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđšđđđ„đŹ | đđđ«đ€ đđšđŠđđ§đđ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 2,9 ŃĐžŃ.ĐĐ”ĐœŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
#darkromance #sadviolin #ethereal In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing...
đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđđĄđšđąđ§đ đđšđđđ„đŹ | đđĄđ đđ§đđšđ«đ đšđđđđ§ đđšđ° đđđđ°đđđ§ đđĄđđđšđ°đŹ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 2,8 ŃĐžŃ.ĐĐ”ĐœŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
#sadpiano #sadviolin #ethereal In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. I...
đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđąđđ§đš | đđđ„đđ±đąđ§đ đđźđŹđąđ đđš đđđźđđČ đšđ« đđšđ«đ€ | đđźđđźđŠđ§ đđŠđđąđđ§đđ | đđđđ«đđđŹ đšđ đđźđđźđŠđ§
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 1,1 ŃĐžŃ.14 ĐŽĐœŃĐČ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
#piano #sadviolin #relaxviolin In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing. I...
đđđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđąđđ§đš | đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđźđŹđąđ đđšđ« đđđźđđČđąđ§đ đđ§đ đđšđ«đ€đąđ§đ | đđđđ«đŹ đšđ đđ„đđ«đąđŻđ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 2,6 ŃĐžŃ.14 ĐŽĐœŃĐČ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
#darkacademiaplaylist #sadviolin #piano In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and l...
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đ„đšđ°đđđ§ đđźđŹđąđ | đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đ„đšđ°đđđ§ đđ„đđČđ„đąđŹđ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 1,3 ŃĐžŃ.21 ĐŽĐ”ĐœŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
#piano #halloweenmusic #sadviolin In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and longing...
đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđđ„đđ±đąđ§đ đđźđŹđąđ đđš đđđźđđČ đšđ« đđšđ«đ€ | đđźđđźđŠđ§ đđ«đđąđ§ đšđ đđđŠđšđ«đąđđŹ
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#sadviolin #sadpiano #darkacademiamusic In the dimly lit room, where shadows dance upon the walls like whispers of forgotten secrets, the Hands of Darkness find solace at the ebony and ivory keys of the piano. Their touch, gentle yet haunting, brings forth melodies that echo the depths of the night. At times, the music they weave is as dark as the abyss, each note dripping with melancholy and l...
đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđđĄđšđąđ§đ đđšđđđ„đŹ | đđĄđ đđđ đđ§đ đšđ đđđđČ đđźđđźđŠđ§ | đđđąđ§
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đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđđĄđšđąđ§đ đđšđđđ„đŹ | đđĄđ đđđ đđ§đ đšđ đđđđČ đđźđđźđŠđ§ | đđđąđ§
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđĄđ đđČđŹđđđ«đČ đđ§đđđ« đđĄđ đđđ
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đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđĄđ đđČđŹđđđ«đČ đđ§đđđ« đđĄđ đđđ
đđđ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ„đđ±đąđ§đ đđźđŹđąđ đđš đđđźđđČ đšđ« đđšđ«đ€ | đđĄđđ«đ đđđŠđšđ«đąđđŹ đđąđ§đ đđ« |đđđąđ§đđšđźđ§đđŹ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 2,2 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
đđđ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ„đđ±đąđ§đ đđźđŹđąđ đđš đđđźđđČ đšđ« đđšđ«đ€ | đđĄđđ«đ đđđŠđšđ«đąđđŹ đđąđ§đ đđ« |đđđąđ§đđšđźđ§đđŹ
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ | đđĄđ đđ§đđ«đ đČ đšđ đ đđšđ°đđ«đđźđ„ đđđŠđ©đąđ«đ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 1,2 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ | đđĄđ đđ§đđ«đ đČ đšđ đ đđšđ°đđ«đđźđ„ đđđŠđ©đąđ«đ
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ | đđđ„đšđđČ đšđ đđ«đ«đđđ«đąđđŻđđđ„đ đđđČđŹ | đđđąđ§
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 1,7 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ | đđđ„đšđđČ đšđ đđ«đ«đđđ«đąđđŻđđđ„đ đđđČđŹ | đđđąđ§
đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđšđ§đ đšđ đ đđąđ«đđ§ | đđ°đš đ
đđđđŹ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 2,7 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđđĄđđ«đđđ„ đđšđ§đ đšđ đ đđąđ«đđ§ | đđ°đš đ
đđđđŹ
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđĄđ đđđ§đđđ«đđ« đđąđđĄđšđźđ đđđŠđšđ«đąđđŹ
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đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđđ đđšđŹđđđ„đ đąđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđĄđ đđđ§đđđ«đđ« đđąđđĄđšđźđ đđđŠđšđ«đąđđŹ
đđđ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđąđšđ„đąđ§ & đđđ„đ„đš | đđđąđ§đđ«đšđ©đŹ, đđ«đšđ©đŹ đšđ đđđŠđšđ«đąđđŹ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđźđđźđŠđ§
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đđđ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš, đđąđšđ„đąđ§ & đđđ„đ„đš | đđđąđ§đđ«đšđ©đŹ, đđ«đšđ©đŹ đšđ đđđŠđšđ«đąđđŹ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđźđđźđŠđ§
đđšđ«đđ«đđąđđŹ đšđ đđđđ«đ§đąđđČ: đđĄđ đđźđ«đŹđ đšđ đđĄđ đ
đšđźđ« đđąđŹđđđ«đŹ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđČ đđĄđ đ
đąđ«đđ©đ„đđđ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 2,7 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
đđšđ«đđ«đđąđđŹ đšđ đđđđ«đ§đąđđČ: đđĄđ đđźđ«đŹđ đšđ đđĄđ đ
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đąđ«đđ©đ„đđđ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 7 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
đđđ«đ€ đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđ§đ đđđ đđąđđ§đš, đđąđšđ„đąđ§ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ đđźđŹđąđ | đđźđđźđŠđ§ đ°đĄđąđŹđ©đđ« đšđ đđđŻđđ§đŹ | đđđąđ§đđšđźđ§đđŹ
đđđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđĄđ đđ§đŹđ©đšđ€đđ§ đđ«đšđŠđąđŹđ đšđ đđźđđźđŠđ§ | đđźđŹđąđ đđ„đđđ§đŹđąđ§đ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ§đ đđšđźđ„
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đđđ đđąđšđ„đąđ§, đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš | đđĄđ đđ§đŹđ©đšđ€đđ§ đđ«đšđŠđąđŹđ đšđ đđźđđźđŠđ§ | đđźđŹđąđ đđ„đđđ§đŹđąđ§đ đđĄđ đđąđ§đ đđ§đ đđšđźđ„
đđđ„đđ§đđĄđšđ„đąđ đđąđđ§đš đ°đąđđĄ đđđąđ§ đđšđźđ§đđŹ | đđđ„đđ±đąđ§đ đđźđŹđąđ đđš đđđźđđČ đšđ« đđšđ«đ€ | đđđ«đ€ đđđđđđŠđąđ | đđđąđ§ đđđ„đšđđČ
ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 3,2 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 3,9 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 3,9 ŃĐžŃ.ĐŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 5 ŃĐžŃ.2 ĐŒŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 5 ŃĐžŃ.2 ĐŒŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 3,4 ŃĐžŃ.2 ĐŒŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 7 ŃĐžŃ.2 ĐŒŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 4,4 ŃĐžŃ.2 ĐŒŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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ĐĐ”ŃДглŃĐŽŃĐČ 2,7 ŃĐžŃ.2 ĐŒŃŃŃŃŃ ŃĐŸĐŒŃ
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No sé por qué lo nostålgico me atrae, siento calma,. Paz y tranquilidad. Por qué???No sé.
Eldwynd: The City of Eternal Twilight Nestled on the edge of a brooding ravine, the city of Eldwynd has always worn its shadows with grace. Known as the "City of Perpetual Twilight," Eldwynd is famous for its haunting beauty and the dense mists that roll in each morning, lingering like whispers of forgotten tales. The cityâs towering Victorian manors and labyrinthine streets are carved into the steep cliffs, their spires reaching skyward as if to escape the melancholia below. Once, in the age of gaslights and steam, Eldwynd was a bustling hub of invention and artistry. Its cobbled streets echoed with the clatter of carriages, and its grand halls hosted masquerades where laughter and secrets intertwined. The central square, now cloaked in fog and silence, was alive with markets offering everything from clockwork contraptions to dreamlike paintings. Eldwynd's scholars, alchemists, and poets were renowned throughout the realm, drawing visitors from far and wide. But Eldwynd's fortunes changed when the "Great Deluge" struck in the winter of 1832. Torrential rains poured for months, causing landslides that claimed entire neighborhoods. The mist that once brought charm turned oppressive, a perpetual reminder of what was lost. The city never truly recovered, becoming a haven for those seeking solace in its mournful serenity. The surviving residents began to weave their lives around the city's decaying beauty, restoring what they could and embracing the creeping vines and crumbling stone as part of Eldwyndâs character. Now, Eldwynd is whispered about in hushed tones. Some say it is a place where time stands still, a city caught between eras. On rainy nights, like the one in this scene, old lamplights cast a golden glow on slick streets, and faint strains of forgotten melodies seem to drift on the damp air. It is said that Eldwyndâs spirits-both the living and the departed-roam the streets, guarding the memories of its golden age. Though melancholy, Eldwynd holds a peculiar charm for dreamers and wanderers. Its rain-soaked balconies and ivy-covered towers invite stories, and its people have become keepers of a history they will not let fade, even as the rest of the world moves on. Eldwynd is not just a city; it is a memory etched into stone and sky, a place where the past and the present intertwine under the watchful gaze of the ever-present mist.
Beautiful â„ïž
Location & Music Very peaceful
I wonder how sure our decisions are good and to force others to accept them, not even caring that we are causing immeasurable pain to our loved ones
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The Last Tear of Solivane The rain fell in quiet defiance of the snow-draped peaks, as though the heavens wept while the earth held its breath in frozen silence. Eleanor, the last of the Solivane bloodline, stood on the stone balcony of her ancestral estate. Her gaze was fixed on the castle across the gorge-the home she once called hers. Now it stood as a monument to all she had lost. The castle's golden windows glowed against the darkening sky, like the ember of a dying fire refusing to be snuffed out. It was an illusion of life, a cruel reminder that warmth and joy once filled its halls. She had been a child then, her laughter echoing through its corridors, chasing her younger brother through the library and down the spiral staircases. But the day her father fell in battle, everything changed. The castle fell under the grip of Lord Kaltain, a cunning man who sought power through alliances of blood and steel. Eleanorâs family, deemed unfit to rule, was cast out. Her mother perished first-of grief, some said. Her brother, barely sixteen, vanished in the winter snows while searching for help. And now, only Eleanor remained, a ghost tethered to a place that no longer welcomed her. The rain began to soak the hem of her gown, but she did not move. She couldnât. Tonight was the anniversary of her brother's disappearance, and she had returned to this perch every year since. It was a futile ritual, yet one she couldnât abandon. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of rain striking stone, mingling with the faint roar of the river below. Then she saw it-dim at first, but unmistakable. A figure emerged from the mist near the castle gates, draped in black and walking with a deliberate, heavy gait. Eleanorâs heart quickened. She leaned over the balcony, gripping the cold stone railing as if she could bridge the chasm by sheer will. Could it be him? The figure paused and turned, its face hidden beneath a hood. But even at this distance, Eleanor felt something familiar. A movement, a bearing-something she had spent years searching for in strangersâ faces. Before she could call out, the figure raised an arm. The motion was deliberate, as though delivering a silent message. Then, it disappeared into the castle gates, swallowed by the warm glow. Desperation and fury surged within her. Was this a trick? A vision conjured by her grief? She spun on her heel, retreating into her chambers. Her hands shook as she retrieved the single token left from her brother-a ring bearing the Solivane crest. She slipped it onto her finger, its weight a reminder of her duty. If that figure was truly him, she would not let him vanish again. Not without answers. She emerged from the estate, her gown heavy with rain, her boots crunching on wet gravel. The path to the bridge was treacherous, the stones slick from the storm. Lightning illuminated the castle for a brief moment, casting its spires in sharp relief. She pressed on, driven by hope and dread in equal measure. When she reached the bridge, she paused. The rain was now a downpour, masking her vision with a silver curtain. The gorge below roared with the fury of the swollen river, but she stepped forward, her resolve unshaken. The castle gates were ajar when she arrived, creaking softly in the wind. Inside, the halls were just as she remembered-yet devoid of life. The golden glow had been a trick of torches left burning, their flames wavering in the draft. âHello?â Her voice echoed, small and hollow. Then she saw it: the ring. It lay on the floor near the grand staircase, gleaming faintly. Her trembling hand reached for it, and as her fingers brushed the metal, the sound of footsteps echoed above. She turned, her breath catching. A figure stood at the top of the stairs, its face shrouded in shadow. But the voice that followed was unmistakable. "Elea It was him. Older, scarred, but her brother nonetheless. The years had turned his boyish face into something hardened, something worn by time and tragedy. âYou left us,â she whispered, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the rain that clung to her hair and gown. âWhy didnât you come back?â He descended slowly, his gaze heavy with guilt. âI tried. But the KaltainsâŠthey made me their pawn. TheyâŠforced my hand.â His voice broke, and he fell to his knees before her. âI never stopped trying to return. But itâs too late now, Eleanor. Iâve done things I can never undo.â She knelt before him, cradling his face in her hands. âWeâve both done what we had to. But we are all that remains. Together, we can-â A sharp sound cut through the air. The gates slammed shut. Eleanor spun around, her brother rising to his feet beside her. Shadows began to creep from the corners of the room, twisting and writhing as though alive. The warmth of the torches flickered, and the air grew cold. âThey know youâre here,â he murmured. His voice was filled with both fear and resignation. âTheyâll never let us leave.â Eleanor looked at him, the ring clutched tightly in her hand. If this was their end, they would face it together. For the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of something other than sorrow. It wasnât hope. It was defiance.
đąâ€â€ïžâđ©č
Painful tears of loss. But let this song comfort me too, because I'm not alone in the fact that love is lost for me too... đ€đ€đ€
I like all of your videos. but, THIS one OMG!!!!!!!! WOW!
Can a person find eternal happiness and peace? This music can bring it a little closer..
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PĆekrĂĄsnĂ©... Hudba i ten hlas je nĂĄdhernĂœ. PĆesnÄ do tÄchto temnĂœch dnĆŻ. đ€
Gen 2:23
The melody is †touching that peace of heaven.
Yo se que estĂĄs por ahĂ ...
Rua do caminho de uma vida de amor que Jesus decho vive cada um sĂł siqui a sua caminhada
O sr Gitanes estå a espera de seu grande amor. Que ao chegar dissipara toda névoa e sombras.
One of your best jobs ever, CONGRATS!
Thank you very much â€
I Love the story, and the ambience, of being transported to another time and place, Thankyou. â€
Brilliantâ€â€â€
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What creativity and beauty in the music and the story it tells â€đą
Super
Melody of Loneliness The air was thick with the scent of rain as dark clouds cast a somber shadow over the city, cloaking the winding streets and tall, intricate buildings in mist. A faint drizzle had begun to fall, creating silvery rivulets on the red brick structures and cobbled pathways below. Yet, she barely noticed the drops now dotting the iron railing of her balcony or dampening the lace trim of her gown. Her name was Alina, once the voice of this city, celebrated and beloved. The people had come from distant villages to hear her sing, and her voice had filled the grand halls with melodies that were whispered by lovers, remembered by soldiers, and cherished by children. But that was a different time, another life. Now, she sat in silence, her gaze drifting across the familiar rooftops that seemed different somehow, as if dimmed by memories she could no longer bear to revisit. The rose-colored bricks mirrored the hues of the flowers in her hair, though she wore them out of habit, not out of joy. Her hands were folded on her lap, fingers intertwined as though holding onto the remnants of a dream slipping away with each raindrop. She remembered the nights when she sang under bright lights, with the city awake and alive, clapping, shouting, urging her on for encore after encore. Her voice had reached heights and depths she hadnât known were possible, yet it wasnât the music or fame that had sustained her. It was the man who would wait for her after every performance, whose quiet strength and rare smile had filled her with warmth. They had shared whispers on this very balcony, watching the rain just like this, and he would trace her hand with his, saying she was his song, his light, his love. But that was before. Before heâd gone to war and never returned, leaving only the echo of his promises behind. The war had taken him, and though she tried to sing again, her voice cracked with sorrow, and the notes became hollow, unrecognizable. It wasnât long before she was replaced, her song no longer resonating with the same power. Her audience drifted away, her name faded from the playbills, and her life became as quiet as her voice. Now, in this solitude, the only melody was the soft patter of rain. Her heart ached with a longing so deep it felt endless, like the mist stretching across the rooftops. She didnât wish for applause, for grandeur, or for fame anymore. All she wanted was the return of that quiet comfort, that feeling of being understood without a word. The rain began to fall harder, and she closed her eyes, allowing it to wash over her. Maybe, she thought, the rain could carry her grief into the city below, so the streets would share in her loss, and perhaps-just perhaps-the memory of her voice would linger, not in the halls where she once sang, but in the rain-soaked bricks of the city that had taken everything from her. In this fragile moment, Alina let herself feel the sorrow completely. She was no longer the cityâs songbird. She was simply a woman, alone with her memories, letting the rain sing the last song.
My dear Dodo is always with you, God willing
Eagle & Vampire
Psalm 91:7
ĐŃĐ±ĐŸĐČŃ, ŃŃĐŸ ŃŃ ĐŽĐ”Đ»Đ°Đ”ŃŃ ŃĐŸ ĐŒĐœĐŸĐč. ĐŃĐž ĐŽĐČĐŸĐ” бДзŃĐŒŃĐ”ĐČ ŃДлŃŃŃŃŃ ĐżĐŸĐŽ ĐŽĐŸĐ¶ĐŽĐ”ĐŒ. ĐŃĐ”ĐŒŃ ŃŃŃĐŸĐș đ. ĐŃĐ”ĐŒŃ ĐłĐŸĐŽĐ° ĐŸŃĐ”ĐœŃ.
Hi anyone out here listening?
Hace pocas noches soñe con mi gran amor , Angelo , ya habia fallecido, mi sueño me impacto , era denoche yo iba caminando y muy despacio denti que se aferraba a mi brazo derecho lentamente vestia de negro, apayaba su cabeza en mi hombro y yo le dije....amor , cuanto te amo!!!!desperte serena y esta musica me ha traido esa sensacion otra vez ....hermosa muy hermosa y muy triste a la vez....solo se que sigue en mi corazon.
It's not a pain...it's anxiety. A lament. "I'm alone". In half.
Very good
ۯ۱ÙŰŻ ŰšŰ±ŰŽÙ Ű§ Ú©Ù Ű§ÛÙ Ù ÙŰłÛÙÛ ŰČÛۚۧ ÙŰŻÙÙŰŽÛÙ Ű±Ù ŰšÙ Ű§ŰŽŰȘ۱ۧک گ۰ۧێŰȘÛŰŻ ŰłÙŸŰ§ŰłÚŻŰČŰ§Ű±Ù đșđ
ۧÙŰȘ۞۱ Ù Ùۧ۷ŰčÙ ÙÙÙ ŰȘŰčÙŰŻÙÙ ÙŰÙۧ۩ ۳ۧۚÙÙ Ùۧ ۧ۳ŰȘŰ·ÙŰč ŰȘŰ°Ù۱Ùۧ ۧÙÙ ÙŰłÙÙÙ Ű§ÙŰźŰ§Ű”Ù ŰšÙ ŰȘŰŻŰźÙ ÙۧŰčÙ Ű§ÙÙ ÙŰȘÙÙŰž ŰŹÙ ÙŰč Ű°Ù۱ÙۧŰȘÙ Ù Ù ŰłŰšŰ§ŰȘÙۧ ۧÙŰčÙ ÙÙ â€đ ۧÙŰȘŰžŰ±Ù ŰŻŰ§ŰŠÙ Ű§
Saudades â€
KrĂĄsnĂ©... đ€ VzpomĂnĂĄm na svou velkou, dĂĄvnou lĂĄsku, kterĂĄ se uĆŸ nikdy nevrĂĄtĂ. NemĆŻĆŸe vrĂĄtit. đ€
đđźđđđ„đ đđąđŹđŹ đąđ§ đ đđđąđ§đČ đđąđ đĄđ In a land veiled by mist and towering castles, two souls were drawn to one another, though they seemed like they were destined to clash from the start. Isabel, a fiercely independent young woman with a spirit as wild as the tempest, and Adrian, a brooding nobleman with a heart locked behind iron walls, were fated to meet on that stormy night. Their first encounter was anything but sweet. It happened at a grand ball, set against the haunting backdrop of a castle like the one in the distance. Isabelâs sharp wit sparked against Adrianâs stern demeanor, and before long, their words grew heated. She found him insufferably proud, and he thought her wild and reckless. They argued, voices rising above the gentle hum of music and laughter. But as fate would have it, their paths crossed again, and again. Every encounter seemed to ignite the same fire between them, a constant clash of wills. Yet beneath the arguments, they each felt an inexplicable pull, like the tug of a secret, untold story. One evening, amidst an argument in the castle gardens, rain began to fall. Their voices softened as they looked at each other, soaked by the downpour, their breaths visible in the cool misty air. Isabelâs gaze softened, and Adrian hesitated, reaching out to brush a lock of wet hair from her face. Without a word, he drew her close, wrapping his arms around her as if afraid she might vanish. The storm around them faded, the world disappearing until only they remained. Their lips met, slow and tender, as the rain poured around them. It was a kiss of surrender, of passion that had been hiding behind all those sharp words and stolen glances. They held each other for what felt like forever, each one finally finding solace in the other. The castle lights flickered in the mist, casting a soft glow over them. In that moment, there was no past, no pride-only love unfolding in the quiet embrace of the rain.
Iâve been searching for this kind of dark, ambient vibe for so long. Absolutely mesmerizing!
Great work! I have a quick query: my OKX wallet holds USDT, and the only detail I have is the seed phrase (island blind tennis trap moment element print chair state hobby actress finish). How can I move it to Binance?
âïžđ Very nice composition. My kind of music. Thank You. đ
Understand nothing changes, I don't for Love I always come back, it's something else, but your understanding hasn't reached it yetđïž
觞æćŻć ć»æŻæéé çè·éą æŻäșșćżäžéœææć éŁèèšć»çç§ćŻ ......
Its magical, loved itâ€
ÙÙ Ù Ùۧ۷ŰčÙ ŰŹÙ ÙÙÙ ÙŰȘŰ°ÙŰš ŰšÙ ÙŰčۧÙÙ Ű§ŰźŰ± â€â€â€đ
After listening to this music it feels like the whole life is passing in front of the eyes like a movie
Jaâ estar amanhecendo, nao consegui dormir ainda, mas este belo video me faz companhiađ§đ·đšđŸâ€ïž
đđĄđ đđ§đđšđ«đ đšđđđđ§ đđšđ° đđđđ°đđđ§ đđĄđđđšđ°đŹ I stand here alone, a silent figure draped in crimson, my footsteps unheard beneath the drifting leaves. This place-a labyrinth of stone and secrets-was once my home. The stones remember; they murmur to me when the fog thickens, telling me tales I thought Iâd forgotten. It is autumn now, and I can feel the chill settling in my bones, colder and more familiar than any warmth I once knew. The leaves scatter at my feet, glowing russet and gold, remnants of a summer now faded to memories. Everything fades, doesn't it? Just like he did. Once, this castle was alive with laughter, with promises whispered beneath moonlit arches, with dreams woven into the very walls. I was young then, filled with a hope that only fools know. I loved him-oh, how I loved him! He promised me the world, and I believed every lie. I can still hear his voice sometimes, in the low rumble of the river beneath the bridge. And in the wind, I think I hear his footsteps coming back to me, though they never do. I told him once, âDonât leave me.â I clutched his hand, desperate and trembling, as though I could anchor him to me, to this life. But his heart had grown restless, and soon his promises were as empty as the echo of his laugh. He left me in the dead of night, leaving no trace but a faint whisper in the air-a murmur that still haunts me. And here I am, the last soul of this haunted place, bound to its stones and memories like a ghost myself. No one comes here anymore. The world beyond has forgotten this old castle on the river, just as he has forgotten me. Some nights, I light a single candle in the window, hoping-perhaps foolishly-that he might see its glow from afar. That maybe, just maybe, he would remember, and come back. But tonight, the fog is thick, and the rain has begun to fall. Even the candleâs flame flickers and fades, swallowed by the dampness of the air. I wonder, sometimes, how long Iâll stay here. Whether Iâll keep waiting for someone who will never return, or if I, too, will dissolve into the mist and stones, just another shadow in the rain. But tonight, under the autumn branches and the crumbling towers, I am still here. And I will wait a little longer.
What app do you use to create each video?
beautifully written â€â€â€đ„đ„đ„đ„đ„
fantastic and relaxingâ€đâ€đâ€đ
Fabs!! â€
Looks like Sherlock Holmes drama,a crime about to take place