As Taurus, the Bull, commences this shadow-laden cycle, your own darkened corridors of sanity may become murkier, echoing the works of that unnamed Dean of Dreadful Dreams whose name none dares speak. As you navigate the labyrinth of your prosaic world, your senses may become acutely aware of murmurs of melancholia and low hums of horror. Be on guard, yield not to the unsettling sensation of unseen eyes watching closely from the obscurity. Your steadfast, earthly essence may save you from these bleak visions, if you allow it.
Yet, remember, in the dead of night, when all is still, and the rustle of leaves makes your heart palpitate and the disquiet hits you like the chill of the forgotten crypt; it is merely your own shadows you face. The uncanny forces you feel are but reflections of your own trepidations, your own doubts transmuted into spectral adversaries. Fear not, brave Taurus, for even in the stygian gloom that pervades your dreams, the light of rationality strays not far. Alas, as in this twilight of terror, it is your inner fortitude that will keep the abyss at bay.