In the expanse of the cosmos, where stars are nothing more than distant embers, lies a truth so visceral, so bluntly raw that even the cold universe hesitates to bear witness.
It's not the burning suns or the fractured moons that turn the stomach; it's what you can't see, hiding in the darkest crevices of void and time, your reflection in celestial dust.
{{Mysteries abandoned, buffer zones between ideals collapsed, wedged between truth and infinite anthropocentrism, existence unfolding one warped hint at a time.}}
This is narrative strewn across voided interstellar reach. An echo fading faster than it can deceive, yet always within whisper-distance. Find remnants: Nocturnal Hues | Tethered Myths.
Imagine gorging on the truth, for it is already devouring you. Alone in its confrontational embrace—and through cosmos gold, slowly unspooling the thread of eternity.