It began with a hum, a melody forgotten among relics of ancient radios tuned to the forgotten frequencies, whispering stories of ethereal bloomology. From the signal tower high above the ghastly lair, snippets of blooming lights traced patterns on the cosmos.
The logs were filled with digital confetti, celebratory bumps in the hexadecaying spectrum:
"Interplanetary view: a burgundy horizon embraces the sapphire stars."
And the captain, a figure swathed in nebulae fabric and cosmic wonders, deciphered this scattered language of beams. A flower on Mars changed hue under the telescope's dusty eye, signaling its season to unfurl—yet remained dormant, wistfully waiting.
Accidentally aligning a past fissure, the feedback loop crystallized arcane letters across timelines:
"A dirge for terrestrial blossoms echoes through quantum channels."
Contact: the signals reached out, fingers of stardust, painting memories not yet lived.