Beware, Scorpio, as the threatening moon shivers in its waxing state, piercing through the ragged veil of obscurity. There is a palpable whisper on the wind, a dread omen that lurks furtively on this long-forgotten path paved with rotting leaves and gnarled, skeletal branches. The shadows grow insidiously longer, casting monstrous silhouettes that are as foreboding as the cavernous abyss, promising a pathway to a mirthless pit of desolate hellish solitude that might be your very psyche.

As the deathly clock hands inch towards the witching hour, your sable heart pulsates erratically, a sacrificial drum throbbed by specters of derangement. An omnipresent dread commingling with the bitter cold seeks to breach the protective fortress of your sanity. While your blood remains warm, your soul shivers, as the unending silence shrieks, echoing through a thousand hollow chambers, each a mirror reflecting your fears. Remain vigilant, as your waking hours may become an unending nocturnal masquerade and your dreams nothing but a darling dirge tolling for you, Scorpio.