The starlit path lingers through the universe, weaving tales of an ancient folklore that the cosmos whisper to whims of night-blooming flowers. It serenades the owl, the keeper of crystalline secrets.
With every step upon this celestial trail, one finds beneficial poisonous noise; an oxymoron of sweet thunder that rumbles softly across the hidden vibratos of the soul. Luminous moths dance in harmonious chaos, embracing the lunar glow.
Shall you tread upon these fragments of astral serenade? Do the constellations flicker truths as they herald your journey to the unknown, or morph whispers lost within tremors of forgotten winds, the poetry of stars caught in a timeless ballet?
Here in the obscurity, an enigmatic dialect speaks through the silence: Listen to the serenade, absorb each toxic elegy.
The path breathes life so strangely curated by cosmic thorns.
Take root in this illusion, or be adrift. The world remains a mystical intruder, eternally deserving of our deliberate wonder.