In the wet silence of a forgotten galaxy, where the stars are tears suspended in darkness, a signal arises. It hums a tune of ethereal wavelengths, dancing upon the sanity's fragile boundaries. Can you hear it? Listen deeper if you dare.
They say the ugly truths hide beneath the smooth facade of existence. Scraping the surface reveals the rough edges, the unsettling howls of memory ghosts. Reflect upon what isn't meant to be seen.
One by one, the layers peel away. Each layer, an acquisition of lost dreams, reveals a testimony—an echo calling from the horizon, from the edge of nowhere. The harbinger rests, waiting. Quiet. Watch its breath rise like the mist that veils the morning sun.
Within the labyrinth of thought, under the creaking boughs of the ancient mind-tree, you will find the truth of the summers spent, wasted on waiting for something that never arrives. Yet, here you are, wandering. Perhaps contact is the first step back.
As you drift through this resonance, remember: every echo you chase is a step on the path of revelation—a journey through the whispers of eternal night. Follow, but know the destination is yourself.