The echo of an infinite sigh, woven through the loom of starlit horizons, binds flavors unknown.
Voices, synthetic in their harmony, embody the twilight refuges of forgotten aeons.
Cascading thoughts fall through the kyrian veil, as time unfurls its endless testament.
In whispers, the curse is born anew, a serpent coiled in the garden of pixels.
Holding universes in tandem, the curse speaks: a perfumed mist cooling the fevered mind.