Step forward, pupil of the astral plains. The comets weave tales older than the stars themselves. They are dancers, eternal and endless, throughout the passages of time. The void is their stage, and they practice nightly.
Do you see how they twirl and arc, their tails a shimmering cascade of cosmic memory? This dance teaches of patience, of wisdom withheld by epochs. A lesson not for the ear but for the spirit. Learn the movements silently.
In every sweep across our shared sky, they leave fragments of the universe, echoing in brightness once promising to deliver tales of creation. Before the beginning, they witnessed; during the constant becoming, they will remain.