In the trembling silence of vacuum's clutch, a fervent whisper quakes. The execution of light hangs delicately upon the edge of eternity.
What succor do the stars find in the raven's embrace? All harmony now fractured, every glimmer a beckon to the void.
I was once brilliant, I was once proud; yet, the cosmic hand slips with persuasive ease. Fate etched in ancient dust sputters a requiem.
These are the final verses of an empire built upon the fusion of dreams and despair—burnishing the cosmic table with agony’s ink.