Beneath the weighty expanse of the nocturnal, there lies a language unspoken. Stars whisper their secrets in fragments, histories carved into the cosmic canvas, glistening hieroglyphs of forgotten tongues.
In the malignant orbits, constellations conspire silently against the unfolding of human tales. They phylogenetically mold the midnight air, molding dreams into mirrored hexes.
As we etch our mortality marks upon its surface; we unknowingly write, erase, and rewrite our cosmic fates. The malignant whispers stretch across epochs, guardians of truths heard only by those who dare listen.
In each star's dying gasp, a story lingers... waiting patiently, hidden in the sacred folds of starlit memory, a constellation waiting to unravel, to speak in the lost tongue of the ancients.
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