In the silent chamber of endless night, the starlight weeps — a celestial cascade igniting the dark velvet canvas above. As one gazes into the luminous abyss, the orbs of fire narrate an ancient tale penned upon the cosmic parchment, a ghostly elegy resonating in whispers only the heart can decipher.
Within this mirror, reflections dance like phantoms under the moon's pallid glow. Here lies the visage of yesternight, a spectral figure draped in silken shadows, weaving through the ethereal mist. Do you see it? The kindred spirit of forgotten dreams, lingers as if tethered to the very essence of starlight.
Each shimmering dot, a forgotten ember of someone else's now, murmurs its lament. And with it, the mirror asks: "Who are you in this endless web of glimmering ghosts?" The answer is not spoken, but felt, reverberating through the hollow of one's soul as a symphony of silence.