Unearthed from the shadowed depths of the woods, this deer skull wears its decay like a crown. Draped in withered flowers and creeping moss, it speaks in the silent language of the forgotten—of life returned to the soil, of spirits that never fully leave. The hollow eyes stare through time, echoing the stillness of a forest after storm or death. Each petal, each thread of moss, is a whisper from the underworld—offering beauty not despite the darkness, but because of it. This is a shrine to the wild's quiet cruelty, and to the strange elegance that lingers long after life is gone.
