"Our illumination fades, a tapestry of unexpected darkness weaving around me," spoke the ancient luminary, its voice an echo trapped in a prism of twilight.
"Gather, unyielding shadows, for I am the architect of your abyss, the architect without the refuse of soldiers who sleeps eternally as they rise again." Each syllable trembled through the fabric of the void itself.
The star’s aromas particular to its fervor—burnt metal, cotton candy, the brittle screams of a million unknown epics—converged upon the listener. It rendered the insatiable hunger found in lips that grew from ashes.
"I offer no solace, no progeny to light your way, save the less spoken truth of unraveling. An oracle’s gaze eternally cast away into oblivion, into nothing boudoir adorned with golden dust and moot exploration of beauty." The rhythm of gamma dances an elegy hung like glacial chandeliers adorning misted black oceans.
"Choke, oh nameless chica of star-forms to this incarnate lullaby ode straight beyond codification—it remains unknown save graved moon-embers etching their condolences." And with that, the cosmic voice ceased, leaving behind the intricate whisper of stars dying in incandescent screams respired as mere antiquities.