In the empyrean tapestry woven from dreams and ancient whispers, do we fathom the silent song of the scroll. Each curl of its starlit parchment a narrative of cosmic reminiscences wrapped in the veils of the eternities.
Behold now the tumultuous tapestry of eras, spinning beneath the orb'd spherical vault, cosmic marionette under languid dominates. Cast lines of argent moons traced upon the skies, scribble the cadence without a muse.
The hour towards okutlan drips with quintessences untamed and tapestry-spung tales are thus braided, interwoven amid eternity's cradle, where firmament dreams and whispers speak.
And as we journey the nebulous swathes of prelude songs and dissente embers alike, whose hues spill into solitude’s benign form as confiders to lucid awakenings foretold stir and beckoned forth.
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