There, in the corners of the celestial valley, whispers like phantom sighs trace arcs of forgotten journeys—an emptiness that is entirely full, laden with the burdens of invisible footsteps, soft as nebula dreams. "Are you listening?" they ask, though no one is there to answer, save the shadows which breathe in rhythm with the void. In the turning of cosmic pages, each grain of stardust carries a secret, an echo that belongs to no one. It's the song sung by echoes past, and it's heard only by those who dare tread the unseen paths.
Once, in moments untold, the nebula wept—a mist of light that fractured time and space. Here lies the heart of its sorrow: an echo, a shadow pulled taut across a sky woven with threads of silence. Wander here, and you will feel the brush of unseen wings, the sigh of eternity stitching itself anew. Where do we go when the stars blink? Not away, but deeper. To the heart of the journey, they say.
Stand still, and listen. The universe holds its breath, waiting for the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythm to match the dance of the cosmos. "Breathe," whispers the shadow, hidden and ever present.
And when you walk, remember: every step in this silent expanse is a note in a melody only the brave can hear. A melody only the heedless can forget. The whispers of the nebula's shadow are eternal, fleeting, and entirely yours to discover.