Echoes whisper through the void, remnants of spectral luminescence where once boldly glimmered the unyielding stars. Their light—a resonance now, surging echoes in an endless dark womb.
Gaze, if you dare, upon the charred remnants, constellations a parched mirage against a bottomless black. They weep silver tears, but none hear their cries: a requiem unsung in the gulf of night.
Beneath, within these void's veins, a ghostly limb caresses the celestial sphere, phantom touch imprinting heat amid eternal chill, embracing what is and never will be.