In the hushed corners of the galaxy, echoes of forgotten supernovae drift endlessly. Each reverberation, a whisper of the cosmos' ancient tumult, lingers like a memory on the edge of recollection. It’s a symphony of solar dispersals, playing in the key of entropy, as stars die slow, beautiful deaths.
The remnants of once-grand nebulae now settle into the quiet folds of space. Silence is their only companion, a void that mirrors the vast emptiness of time itself. Here, planets are left to rust in the cosmic workshop, their surfaces etched with scars of solitude and eons of cosmic rain.
Observers from distant worlds attempt to chart these decay rhythms—a futile task, perhaps, but one that offers a sense of purpose against the backdrop of an indifferent universe. Each blackened fragment of once-bright suns tells a story of decay; an elegy for the cosmic ballet that once was.