In the whispers of the astral void, two shadows cast from nebulae spoke.
"If the stars do not sing, can we hear their silence?" pondered the first.
Its voice echoed in reverse, cradling the syllables like forgotten lullabies.
The second shadow, cloaked in dark matter, replied through a haze of cosmic melancholy,
"We dwell between breaths of time, unanchored. Soundless whispers drift, seeking shores of meaning."
Gravity's absence left their dialogue suspended, even as it twisted through dimensions
unbound by linearity. A paradox, and yet, they danced—a ballet of thought and form.