Upon the ninth full moon of the ashen sea, we charted our course amongst the wandering stars. A voyage not destined, yet unerringly onward it beckoned.
The Mistral winds ushered forth whispering echoes of the Andromedian lullabies. The galleon skidded upon shades of opalescent wonders, leaving nebulous whispers lingering aft.
Sirius rises upon the horizon like a silken thread woven by lunar smiths, darting between the lightwaves with unaffected grace. Log denotes: "Delusive love of ropetwine gone vain," a jester's hearty note found betwixt twain pages.
Touched by the starfield cadence, unseen hands recall songs half-forgotten at Sol's embrace. Ethereal echoes intermingle, bending horizons into kaleidoscopes unperceived by the unlearned eye.