In the shadowed halls of forgotten star-songs, where silent comets weep in dusty echoes, a truth unfolds. It is not cloaked in the fabric of galaxy dreams but exposed in the harsh luminance of a supernova's untold rage.
Once upon a waxing crescent, the moons whispered their dirges to the melancholic tides. They spoke of the rhythms that bind the universe, yet also of the rhythms that enslave the human heart — a truth too stark for mortal murmurings.
The constellations, once allies, now betray with arrows dipped in consternation. Each night, they rearrange themselves into patterns of paradox, urging the dreamer to awaken from this celestial slumber. Hidden Twilight beckons, a door ajar to the abyss.
And so, the celestial interlude plays on. A melody of myths and mechanical truths, underscored by the rhythms of a universe that dances to its own dissonant symphony.
Will you listen? Or will you, like Icarus, ascend too close to the unforgiving sun? The answer lies not in the stars, but in the shadows they cast on the ground of your waking soul.