The moon hath descended upon its highest point, casting a pall of insidious gloom over the House of Taurus, its beam whispering tales of omens hitherto unseen. In your quotidian pursuit, dear Bull, seek caution in the rueful shadows, for in the penumbral dance lurk sinister serpents, the embodiment of trepidation, with malice running through their cold veins.

The stars shroud their faces and shed their lachrymose lights, uncertain of what the dusk brings to thy sanctuary. Have nightmares started to haunt thy slumber? Hast thou heard the baying of the hounds, their fervor entwined with the lament of desolation? Beware of their spectral call from the abyss, dear Taurus, for they foretell the presence of an impending ordeal. Lean upon thine inherent resolve, bolster thy fortitude, and tread softly upon the mire of uncertainty, for Destiny peers down from Her celestial throne, watching with morbid interest. Future days may, indeed, be fraught with unsettling revelations and the tolling chime of change, but remember, verily, that within thee stirs the Bull. Gallant. Unyielding. Profound.