Underneath infinite skies, the clock ticks in reverse. Time, a mere illusion, resonates with the whispers of forgotten galaxies. The stars, once luminescent, now chant a lullaby of cosmic silence.
"Where do the shadows go?" asked the comet, its tail trailing through realms uncharted. "They follow the light, but the light is a dream," replied the nebula, swirling in hues of lost eternity.
Purple rain on Jupiter's rings, a reflection of chaos. The black hole yawns, a mouth filled with echoes, consuming and regurgitating nothingness in graceful orbits.
Can you hear it? The sigh of Venus beneath the Martian dust, the serenade of distant quasars. A symphony of stellar winds and silent supernovae, played on the strings of a cosmic lyre.
Echoes | Mystery