"The stars are the jewels of the night," he murmured, his voice a gentle breeze across the dark waters of the firmament. Each constellation, a forgotten story etched into the sky, a fragment of dreams untold.
Above, the constellations twinkled with a distant warmth, their light traversing the void for millennia before reaching our eyes. They carry with them the melancholy of time, whispered secrets of cosmic dance.
In the darkness, she found solace. "Are we not like them?" she pondered, tracing the outlines of the stars with her thoughts. "Little lights adrift in the sea of existence, searching for meaning in the vastness."
The lullabies sung by the stars were haunting, melodies woven into the fabric of space itself. A celestial symphony, echoing the birth and death of worlds—a tale of echoes.
Time is but a circle, returning to the same path, the same stars, reborn in endless cycles. Understanding the circle is where wisdom lies, for in every ending is a new beginning.