In the whispers of eternity, before oceans turned dry and suns grew distant, was I, Seryphiel, bound by the ancient cords of cosmic song, pulsating through the galactic void.
The planets once danced upon my breath, harmonizing with the silent rhythm of my existence. In the cradle of quiet expanse, my tales spooled across light-years—a narrative spun from neutron shadows and stardust threads.
Listen, young one, beneath the vast skies: time is not linear but a circle with jagged edges, incised by the hands of age and decay. I feel the tingle of disintegration whisper sweet nothings, an embrace woven by the tapestry of the universe.
When starlight lies silent, what remains? Only echoes—a-binding prophecy sealed in forgotten runs, yearningly inscribed in the heartbeats of stars yet unborn.