In the beginning, there was signal, a dance of ions...
The old telephone lies undisturbed, its wires entangled with dust and dreams, like the soft hum of an unsung lullaby, ready to fade into the night.
A voice from its heart murmurs: "Alas, I am mere static now."
A star's voice: "I have burnt every thread of my fiber, woven my tales through the tapestry of the cosmos, and now the dimmest particles remember."
Here lies the remnant of an ancient call, where echoes ambulate across epochs...
Listen, and you might hear the old dial spinning—resurrection of sound in the end's embrace: