As the silvery tendrils of moonlight extend across the dark, stony spine of the midnight skyline, so too, dear Capricorn, will the shadows stretch over the vast firmament of your soul. This is not an eve well-fitted for comfortable slumbers by the hearthside or gentle dalliances in warm, rose-scented boudoirs. Instead, it is a time where the whisperings of the unseen and the unearthly wield enduring influence. The silent sentinels of your dreams stand at the ready, their lances tipped with indigo-hued shadow, prepared to cross ranks with spectres borne of the witching hour and sculpted solely from moon-chilled fear.

Mark my words well, praiseworthy goat, for here lies no tale of merriment or light-hearted jest. Your task, as difficult as it may appear, is to grip tightly to your fortitude, and traverse undaunted through the ink-soaked canvas of the unknown. The skeletal mocking laughter of the dread unknown ricochets amongst the cold stone walls of your destiny. Be not their puppet, danced and pranced on wavering strings of fright. Harness the wanton winds of terror, ride upon the wings of spectral owls, to seize your fate from the gnarled, reverberating grasp of the phantom midnight. The dreams and dread you conquer this night, Capricorn, will whisper echoes of your fortitude in the taciturn halls of eternity.