Upon the philosopher’s altar rests the ethereal stone, dreamt and echoed in rhythm with the stars.
Each grain of its surface a universe, woven from hope and raw lunar dust.
Startled by the flicker of a candle juxtaposed against eternal shadows, a seeker breathes in the subterranean mist.
Delicate, its dance is akin to the poignant memories left by a hand long since vanished.
Reality flows, a molten river, sculping oblivion’s grandeur and ascendance.
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