In the realm where time is but a ghost, the silent harmonies haunt the paradoxical ether.
Here, among the swirling chromatics.
An echo of existence mute and resonant, waiting for the stars to dance once more.
Do the constellations weep, whispering secrets into the abyss, for they have sung to reborn echoes? Infinitesimal vibrations concealed within the woven tapestries of dream amalgamations— Henceforth the celestial orchestra lies in dormancy, specters of sound languishing in slumberous liturgies.
The ancient scripts (klaxons of time encoding) document a prelude,
unwritten yet omnipresent, permeating the void's delicate ether.
Strings unravel, deciphering infinity's melody, a symphony ensconced in twilight.
Gilded echoes of past futures recorded in aeonian archive (the memories of unsung songs)
keep the above and below in an opalescent balance.
Thus, melody matures, entwined with galaxies far and obscure, singing in silence...
Awaiting the return of spacetime's aural alchemists.