When the northern lights flicker, they transport words, ancient and dormant circles align. Do they... seek communion or unravel threads of some grander mischief? In your quiet solitude, ask — was it... intended for you?
Years hide behind layers of luminosity, etching secrets in the sky. Listen with care, follow the spectral whispers tracing daisy chains of doubt and clarity.
Who crafted these celestial scripts, messages woven astrally, whispering hidden truths? Perhaps the obscure weavers of fate hide beneath your horizon... plotting... observing... connecting unseen dots between seething lights.
Our vulnerability savors constellation petals — spilled mercurially between oblivion and certainty. In nights yet unclaimed, constellations reveal intentions masked in helixes. Script of light or shadow?