In the quiet interstice of existence, we find the whispers of creation—particles consoled by the gravity of purpose, orbiting the luminous truth of identity. Like ancient souls adrift in cosmic seas, these nebulae hum songs of their forgotten infancy.
Imagine a creature swimming in the void, veiled in curtains of light that pulse softly against the shadows. Its phosphorescent glow narrates secrets of the stars, illuminating thought paths with a gentle, radiant truth.
Do starborn beings dream of earthly lights—a diver's air-filled shells that comfort, yet confine? Or do they dance, unanchored, in spirals of bioluminescent joy, crafting constellations from luminous drift?