Luminous echoes spiral through time's elongated womb, where galaxies hum forgotten lullabies in distant octaves.
Breaths of stardust powder the cosmos, illuminating shadows cast by ancient constellations, rippling through invisible harmonies.
Yet in silence, a nebula cradles auras of dreams – eclipses whispering secrets to the empty void. Echo, and be reborn.
Is it not the core belief of oracles submerged in supernova light to speak, whisper, or forestall the dim gravity of oblivion?