Across the vastness, where light dances on the edge of its own eternity, silence speaks with a voice unheard by earthly ears. It murmurs through the corridors of cosmic time, bridging the gaps between nebulae and starborn realms.
An echo, not of sound, but of presence; a thought held in the amber of space, swirling in nebular clouds where the colors tell stories older than time.
Celia of the stars—she spins a web of gravitational lines, yet her intent is not motion but stillness, an embrace suspended in space’s endless dialogue. Each move deliberate, written in a lexicon of glimmers and shadows.
The cosmos, it seems, is a ledger of thoughts—the kind that do not translate to soundwaves but pulse through the fabric of dark matter, the silent orchestration of celestial bodies.