Beyond the veil of twilight, where the weft of dreams unravels to reveal the loom of stars, there lies a space untouched by the furious hands of time. In this sanctum, whispers of the ancients coil and unfurl like serpents of silver mist, tracing patterns in the cosmic ether. They speak—oh how they speak!—in tongues that resonate with the heart of the universe, each syllable a brushstroke on the canvas of eternity.
It is here, beneath the arch of nebulous constellations, that the whispered echoes find their home. Each echo a sonorous ripple across the still waters of oblivion, each a memory sculpted from the dark and the light, from the known and the unknowable. To listen is to understand the language of the stars, to whisper back and become one with the melody that binds the cosmos in harmonious dissonance.