13. Lost Voice (inspired by Clair Obscur Expedition 33)

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Shadows lengthen in the afternoon of life
The monolith awaits its silent, cruel design
“Then I vanish,” says the curse upon the canvas light
Year by year the Paintress draws the number, claims the time

We walk the Belle Époque of memory and ruin
In the city-scape of Lumière, echoes of what’s been

We are the last of 33 — the candle burning in the gloom
Marching into dawn and dusk at once, to break the circle, end the doom
Paint-brush raised, she waits for us — to sign our fate, erase our names
But we will stand and tear the frame, reclaim the light beyond the shades

Gears beneath the cobblestones, clock-hands spin the tragic hymn
The expeditioners with their grief and hope, the weight of one year left to live
Monoco’s laughter, Lune’s lament, Sciel’s deep water loss
Gustave grips his past in smoke, the number marks his cross

In chiaroscuro halls we fight the tide that draws our breaths away
Dodges, parries, timed attacks — life ticks down, we make our play
The Paintress paints in silent strokes the age at which we fall
But our voices rise in unison: we’ll no longer heed her call

We are the last of 33 — the candle burning in the gloom
Marching into dawn and dusk at once, to break the circle, end the doom
Paint-brush raised, she waits for us — to sign our fate, erase our names
But we will stand and tear the frame, reclaim the light beyond the shades

Ash to ash, smoke to air — the number hovers in despair
We will breach the monolith’s heart, tear the seal, end the art
In the flicker of the last stroke, we rise from what we lost
No more the erased, no more the cost

We are the last of 33 — the candle burning in the gloom
Marching into dawn and dusk at once, we break the circle, end the doom
Paint-brush lowered, chapter closed — we reclaim the frame, we write our names
In the light beyond the shades we stand — survivors of the age, un-afraid

We are the last of 33…