As the stars whisper their transient secrets, we discover echoes in the stillness. An inquiry: Do we hear these whispers as reflections of our own soul's musings, or do they resonate from realms unknown?
Consider this; if light journeys unbound, tangential to the horizon's grasp, might sound defeat the tether of span to chart a truer deviation?
In a world turned within itself, the fabric frays in kaleidoscopic splendor. Here, none are alien, and all are distant.
"Dear traveler, in your world of wax and whispers, do shadows ever find sanctuary?" came the voice, stitched delicately between whispered voids.
"The shadows," I replied, "dance endlessly beneath their own intent, tracing a mantra of luminous constraints."
Thus, words crossed the breach, a bridge woven of night's reluctant tapestry.
In realms of restive silence, a place where dreams fracture into light, I invite you to consider the voice that speaks your name amidst the constellation's silent embrace.