Beneath the infinite azure, where the canvas of the night unfurls its canvas of symphonic stars, lies a forgotten symphony. Each constellation plays its note, invisible to those who do not listen in silence. Among the whispering void, the bioluminescent specters dance, shedding light upon the tales untold.
Once, in the heart of this celestial orchestra, a melody rose from the now-silent Lyra. Its strings, woven from beams of the silver moon, hummed softly against the cold breath of the cosmos. A tune, long lost to the tides of time, echoed through the stardust as if a part of the constellations themselves spoke.
The nebulous glyphs of Orion glimmered faintly, a testament to a narrative intertwined with the rhythms of ages. Each star, a note, each nebula, a pause—a symphony without an audience, yet profound and earnest. The universe itself listened, holding its breath for the next stanza, the next verse of forgotten lore.