From the edges of the Marigold Galaxy,
where whispers turn to echoes,
and echoes turn to stars.
A lone spirit walks among the luminescent dust,
tracing steps on ancient pathways of forgotten light.
The air hangs heavy with unsung celestial ballads,
like tears of millennia spiraling through time's embrace.
Beneath the moonless gloom of silver sands,
lie the remnants of a cosmic sanctuary.
Hollow and haunted, its spires pierce
the fabric of desolation, drenched in shadows,
whispering prayers lost in the orbital dance
of celestial giants.
Touch the ancient walls,
carved by the hands of forgotten gods,
and gaze into the abyss of ever-reaching horizons.
Adrift on comets of fragile dreams,
where stars conspire with the fading night,
eternity holds its breath.
These ruins of gossamer shimmer,
weave through the silence of spaces uncharted,
a symphony in shades of sepulchered twilight.
The wind sings through crystalline corridors,
resonating with the echoes of bygone aeons—
a dirge for the ephemeral.