In the resemblance of a desolate phosphorescent dream, the sphere of Libra has been enveloped by an obscure shroud. Tales ever evocative of Poe himself drape your quotidian living in the mirthless guise of ghostly prospects. The scale, your once harmonious symbol, teeters in the cynical balance of wickedness and despair. The shadows of yonder spectral visages whisper softly their horrid messages inscribed in cryptic tongues, not of this sphere, but from the ruinous abyss beyond the portals of the sane and ordinary world. The chilling touch of dread chills your bones to their marrow yet promises clandestine splendour only to those who dare to listen.

The cawing of ebony-feathered ravens echo in the distant air, a foretelling of a tumbling labyrinth of trepidation and melancholy looming in your future. Peculiar winds scatter tremulous leaves, each carrying a secret dread, an unseen terror daring to be unveiled. However, dear Libra, though surrounded by the pernicious echo of despair, you shall find solace in these frightful trials. With every howling woe, concealed strengths unfurl and you will find a gleam in the gloom – a testament to your survival amidst the shadowy wilderness. Steer not away from the eerie paths afflicted upon you; embrace them as harrowing rite, for the haunted who reemerge from the dark abyss shine the brightest.