Do you hear it? The melody drifts between time and space, a chorus sung by celestial giants. The last breaths unravel softly.
"Hold tight," she said, as the light flickered like a stubborn fireplace yearning to linger before the inevitable darkness.
In the great cosmic symphony, each star a note, colliding, fading—imagine a festival with only shadows and half-remembered songs. Before they turn to supernovae, they laugh, they cry.
Once, whispers floated through spiral arms, navigating clusters like wind-through trees. Secrets of creation—slivers of light lost in their own reflection.
"We sang once, brightly, like yellow suns," murmurs the old red giant. "But now, only echoes."
It's you, a traveler, who must write these final notes into the ether. Fill the void with wonder as you seek ghosts of the galaxy and chase fractured silence.
Let these harmonic remnants circle your mind—a cacophony turned conversation. Graze through the frequencies of stars long gone with twinkling anticipation.