Do you hear the harmony woven from ancient starlight? The dance of shadows against the dim luminescence of a forgotten sun? Here, under the void's eternal canopy, we are but figments of flickering dreams. Masked faces move in the starlit corridors of our memory—each a constellation of lost whispers.
A lone violin cries cosmic elegies, its notes floating through the velvet air like ghostly tendrils, caressing the edges of this masked ball where presence mingles with absence, and the ephemeral merges with the eternal.