In the velvety cradle of the night, where whispers of the cosmos weave a tapestry of stars and shadows, there lies an echo. A distant murmur from galaxies untamed and unseen, beyond the horizon of our fathoming. It is here, within the hushed embrace of eternity, that the tales of celestial wanderers spin tales in the silent songs of the universe.
Imagine, if you will, the trembling lights of a nebula, cascading like a painter's longing brushstroke upon the canvas of void. Each flicker a heartbeat, each hue an untold saga of cosmic longing. The stars conspire, in their endless vigil, to narrate a myth of ancient worlds, where the embers of creation still smolder in the depths of infinity.