In the whispered tendrils of twilight, where the stars yawn in eternal splendor, there the orbits dance, a choreographed reverie of chaos and harmony. "Is this gravity, or simply narrative?" mused a voice from the void, echoing against the tapestry of the universe.
The orbs, ever spinning, ever elusive, questioned the essence of their paths: "Are we bound, dear friend, or merely showcasing the art of entanglement?" The cosmic ballet continued, a reflection of dialogues less spoken yet deeply understood.