In the final sigh of crimson flicker,
those who listen shall hear
the tapestry of silence being spun.
An ancient star, weary from its luminous dance,
weaves its last soliloquy across the void.
Its voice—silent yet deafening—carries
the weight of eons in a whispering waltz.
"From the hearth of my heart, I beam," it murmurs,
"threads woven in the fabric of cosmic dreams.
Remember me not as a fading ember,
but as a guardian of the dark, a sentinel in peace."
Listen, for the stars speak in echoes,
language ancient, known only to seekers,
linger at the fringes where light meets shadow,
and find what mysteries the silence bequeaths.