In the space where light ceased and shadows began — in the silent cradle between constellations — a story breathed.

Once, a myriad whispers floated through the ethereal void, tracing paths through the curtain of stars.‍

They spoke of a loss, not of things tangible, but of reflections — echoes of self that danced in the starlight.

In this infinite grid of celestial gaze, a void lingered, marked by absence, yet teeming with unspoken tales, narrated by the silence itself.