In the cradle of heavens, where silence weaves the thread of starlight,
whispers of twilight spill forth, echoing across eons.
"Once, I breathed warmth into the void," murmurs the celestial ember,
tracing constellations in its faltering glow.
"Now, I wane, a spectral dance in the cosmic waltz."
Fragments of stellar memory twinkle in the deep,
weaving tales of light and shadow, unseen to mortal eyes.
The heart of the star beats slow, each pulse a ripple across the astral sea.
"I am the silence after the song, the echo after the vibrance," it confesses.
"My twilight is not an end, but a beginning of dusk."
And so, it fades, wrapped in the embrace of night, a memory of brilliance
in the tapestry of the universe. Yet, within its cool glow, a fragment lingers,
a whisper, forever entwined in the fabric of time.