Footprints in the ether, cosmological breadcrumbs, the wanderer scrawls his path across the void. You think you see a pattern, a familiar outline.
The Old Mapmaker's Daughter, she whispers of legends behind curtains dulled by age and tide. Constellations, yes, drawn by hands restless in sleep's thrall.
But in this chartless ocean we drift, chains of circumstance breaking; a ceaseless journey through light-splintered corridors.
Are these designs of intention, or a dance of chance entwined with fleeting shadows? Mosaic illusions crumble under a gaze unyielding.
Beyond, a maze of ever-changing secrets unfolds, inviting eyes turned skyward—yet, there exists no oracle, only a ceaseless echo of voyages uncharted.
Listen: the galaxy hums a tale untold, a riddle in solar winds, whispers of worlds caught between breaths.
Mapping the Unseen