Somewhere between the forgotten stars of dusk and the rising suns of yesteryear, lies a tapestry woven of silken voids. Forgotten, erased histories murmur beneath the surface, a palimpsest whispered in planetary tongues.
Once, the constellations were letters in a celestial script, now lost to time's merciless pen. Each star a note, each galaxy an opus, harmonizing across dimensions.
"Have you seen the echoes?" asked a figure cloaked in nebulae. "They are echoes of echoes, echoes of silence, forming harmonies in the abyss."