In the remnants of the dilapidated bakery, where walls whispered tales of star-fallen dreams and the moon's sweet lullabies, there existed a pie. Not just any pie, but a pie wrapped in the tapestry of the cosmos. Legends spoke of its crust, tender as a lover’s touch, holding filling as dark and vast as the void between the stars.
Nestled in the heart of this treat was an echo—an echo of a galaxy far beyond the reach of mortal eyes. As one took a bite, the whisper of celestial winds gently narrated the chronicle of ages. Strings of distant constellations played a symphony in silence, weaving tales of ancient forlorn emperors and spectral maidens adrift in the cold embrace of the cosmos.
Amidst these revelations, a peculiar question lingered, hanging like a phantom mist over autumn's breath: What secrets do the old stars keep?
In the shadows of your dreams, do you taste the crumbs of galaxies? Do they linger upon your lips, the forgotten echoes of star-kissed heartbeats?
The pie was said to grant visions—not of the earthbound kind, but of the nebulous threads that stitch the very fabric of reality. Each slice trembled with the memory of things unseen, a portal woven in crust and shadow.
An offering to the stars, perhaps, or a question left unanswered: Will you dare to know?