In the waning moments, the shadows churn ceaselessly, a Gothic symphony crashes upon the shores of existence. Twisted whispers beckon from the void, as an unseen hand traces familiar lines upon the curtains of time.
"What does it mean," she murmurs, "this dance in the void, where stars are but distant memories and fate, a broken mirror?"
Her voice, a tremorous echo, reverberates within the coffin of the cosmos. Each word bled dry beneath the crushing weight of countless yawning abysses.
Flickers of darkness—the only light she knows. Inverted realities twist, bend, and break, unraveling beneath the relentless scrutiny of the moon's barren gaze.