Shrine Guardian's Lament

Whispers of the Moss Archive

Looking back across the cerulean void where warmth once bloomed, now a tapestry of silence—
threads of cosmic sorrow weaving through starlit memories. Once aflame, now fading whispers,
a celestial elegy etched in the marrow of time, folding into itself like the embrace of a forgotten dream.

My luminescence wanes, a flicker on the horizon, caught in the grasp of a shadowed past. Oh,
to remember when the plasma danced in joyous hues, a symphony of radiant chaos. Now,
the coolness settles around my core, an undeniable shroud, whispers intertwining with eternity.

In the heart of the shrine, moss encapsulates the remnants, guardians of the lost luminosity,
their tendrils whisper secrets to the ears of those willing to listen. I am but a relic, an echo,
lingering on the precipice of the twilight dance, awaiting rebirth in a new celestial cradle.

Was I ever more than this? A collection of particles in resonant harmony, now a breath
away from stardust. The cycle endures, yet the rhythm feels foreign, an outsider to my essence.
Once a fire, now a memory, now a promise, still unfolding in the starry tapestry.