The moon sang a silent hymn, a vibration unattached to terrestrial whispers. Dust danced atop the echoes, suspended in a song of the void. Through craters and ridges, shadows stitched stories into the desolate soil.
Beneath a hazy haze, celestial ripples painted transient memories — the embrace of vacuum was moist with histories untold, stories untethered. Silver beams etched reminders in transient loops, tracing paths through lunar antiquity.
In the quiet void, voices lingered, fractured syllables on the cusp of a whisper. A ghostly refrain unraveled; was it a scream, or merely the breath of the cosmos, expanding across the night sky, touching unseen realms?
Like the footprints of fleeting dreams, the echo faded, leaving only the imprint of stardust on silent peaks. The cosmos held its breath, waiting for the next refrain from lunar canyons, the next dance of dust on timeless serenades.