Once, there was a frequency buried in the cosmos’ silent breath, a murmured hymn lost in the frosty reaches beyond the last comet. We listened, attuned to the howls that stitched the night with ancient, cryptic echoes. In the darkness, where sounds intermingle and timelines fold, we sought a constellation of memories.
It spoke of journeys taken under veils of starlight, touches along celestial paths worn by unseen hands tracing lost destinies. Like a wolf’s call beyond the midnight horizon, it resonated with the howl of forgotten rhythms, a cry tethered to the universe’s unfathomable heart.
Across the ether, somewhere between the sparkle of dormant suns and the shadow of nebulas, there lies a book of sighs penned in the ink of night. Would you follow the trails unseen? Would you chart the movements of these spectral dancers once more? The constellations yearn for a cartographer of echoes, a whisperer of howls.