Beneath the veins of the cosmos, where the stars align in forgotten patterns, I find myself speaking. My words drift like wayward bubbles, ascending through ether's embrace, seeking an anchor in time's tapestry.
In the stillness of cosmic gardens, I hear a voice, or perhaps it's the sound of my own thoughts resurrected in this murmuring void. Follow the echoes if you dare, for they promise truths hidden beneath layers of nebulae and stardust.
There, where the horizon kisses infinity, lies the Mystic Bloom, a flower of light that blooms once every aeon. Its petals whisper of things unseen and those unwritten.
Sometimes, I wonder if the stars even care to listen, or if they too are lost souls in their eternal slumber. Would you stand still and allow these whispers to cradle your dreams? Enter the Garden of Echoes and listen.