The heavens at dusk unveil their intricate tapestry, each star a whisper of light suspended in eldritch eternity.
As the ancients might have scrawled across the night, these constellations are palimpsests, stories etched into the ether only to be erased by the passage of cosmic winds yet still remaining in ghostly echo.
To trace their stories is to journey through obscured histories — paths untrod, epics erased — where the light of vanished souls flickers in momentary dance.
The lamplight wanes, yet in the flickering beta glow, one reads the signs. An ancient cartographer's gaze traces the inky breadth of space, whispering secrets through luminescent ink.
A scroll unfurls beneath the stoic gaze of Orion, revealing tales of constellations long obscured, muffled by time's stratified breath.