“In the fabric of the cosmos, stars stitch stories untold, woven silently by the hands of forgotten seers. Have these constellations, blinded by our gaze, ever seen the truth behind their own myth?”
The lunatic raves beneath the lunar sway, where shadows cast by light itself hold secrets of the ancients. “Let not reason anchor me to the shores of understanding,” he cries, his voice a whisper against the grand murmur of the universe.
Link to dreams and echoes: Murmur, Fragmented, Shapeless.
Just as the moon's glow reflects the sun's absence, so too does the mind's madness reflect the clarity of its void. Thus speaks the lunatic, tangled in the silent verse of a world without bounds.