The north star ceased to twinkle, its light a whisper in the auditory embrace of the void. Captain Eldrick scribes the eclipse of hope upon parchment woven from dream and starlight, a constellation unknowable by mortal touch.
Latitude of whispers: 3° Within the Wandering Heart, tangled by stars cast adrift in orbicular mystery.
Longitude of silence: 9° Beyond the Distant Mirage, where tides of thought are swathed in astral luminosity and sleep-moons glide astray.
Bearing the cosmic dew, the astral vessel sways. The compass, a lost remnant, rests atop the seashell's core, echoing through the harbors of imagination.
Whether starboards navigate or languish... the celestial prism underwrites each synchronous dream, etched eternally within ether ink.