In the shadowed corridors of the forgotten, where time's passage carves silence into wicked whispers, a voice echoes. It sings of stars falling, not in grace, but in the embrace of nonexistence.
The advice from such a realm does not promise gold or glory, but the comfort of knowing the cosmos cradles your fears in its silent expanse.
“Should you wish to traverse the void, dear pilgrim, let go of your earthly chains. The path is littered with the remnants of dreams that golden hands cannot mend.”
Beyond the veil, where light faints and shadows dance to the cadence of forgotten hymns, your soul whispers to the stars, and they reply with a haunting serenade.
Seek not the sun's bravado, for it blinds the wanderer. Embrace the dusk, where every step is a communion with the echoes of what was and what shall never be.
Here lies the doorway to your liberation: Ancient Webs and Cosmic Tapestry.
For those brave enough to inscribe their fate among the stars, heed the cry of the stellar penumbra, and let your eulogy be a melody of shadows.