Beneath a silken tapestry of violet mist, the stars keep their secrets, whispered fragments of tales unsung. In the infinity of the darkened night, shadows of races ancient press their fingertips against the glass of reality, unyielding.
Once, a fragile comet drifted through this vast expanse, collecting memories of newborn suns. Its voyage birthed an orchestra of illusions, carried by threads forged in solar winds — transmuted dreams that flared brightly before Spain extinguished.
The luminous specter bore witness to the celestial waltz; supernovae painted the universe with colors too pristine for mortal eyes. Dreams and fear collided in cosmic ballet, branches of possibility swirling like leaves longing to touch the soil again.
One day, a sentient stardust cloud resolved to weave sense from distance, plucking notes from the astral scales, forming an incomprehensible symphony vibrating with melancholy yet alive with glimmers of resurgence.
Gesture of lost keepers rippling across eons led travelers—a selection of forsaken shades rediscovering vigor. They cradled the stories of ages past while yearning for a canvas broader than chiaroscuro—only to find reflections of themselves within that infinite mirror, beyond tangible space and time.