Underneath the brooding weight of this disconcertingly stilled night, you, dear Libra, shall find yourself caught in the ghostly grip of change. Shadows appear to shrink, elongate, and breathe, festooned by an otherworldly presence. As the scales of your sign strive for equilibrium, the supernatural forces parallelly yearn to tip them into their favor. The obscured moon seems to shroud herself in mournful veils of irises and lilies as if in quiet anticipation of some macabre performance soon to unfold.

Take heed, for visages, veiled in the thickets of your dreams shall joust for dominance over your waking hours; compelling yet horrifying at the same time. Flickering candlelight promises to do no more than lacerate the writhing darkness with feeble slashes of luminosity. Every echo carries with it a sonnet of spectral sorrow, whispering of truths hidden in the catacombs of your subconscious. For you, today is not a tale of life measurable by the mere ticking away of time, but a danse macabre as you sway to the rhythm of arcane forces that refuse to release you from their cold, skeletal grasp.