Silverlight Terrace it rattles the bones of our fathers, carries whispers from the dead

a shadow under the moonlight; vantablack, a void carved out of the scenery with such resolute conformity of color, the rest seems two dimensional. an optical illusion unlike any garland has ever seen. from a distance, at least.
drawing nearer out of curiosity, the gilded wanderer's eyes catch on a streak of sterling starfire, a slash of brilliant silver through impenetrable shadow. at this proximity, the oddity of the stranger's movements become apparent, too. the wayward mayfair halts, bewildered and perhaps a bit beguiled. for now, he only watches in silence, unable to think of any other course of action he might take.