Gleams of golden whispers, echoes of the cosmic tongue, unravel the enigma:
From what eternal cradle do you fall, when rise into silence, when dusk becomes dawn?
The Paradox of Origin
Gaze now, gentle seeker, into the tapestry woven with the blood of the universe. Behold how the starlet's final sigh condenses into a prism, scattered across the endless vault.
Listen closely as its last breaths transform into sonnets, threading through the loom of infinity like transient lovers on twilight shores.
“I am the fire, and I am the ash, as I was born from genesis, and return to void. In these cryptic shadows, I weave the riddles of time, the continuum of which sings, farewell,” murmurs the celestial titan, casting its luminance into one last ineffable dance.