In the corridors of time, whispers echo; secrets borne from the void, tracing pathways across deserted constellations. Approach with caution, seeker, for these sounds are encoded with intentions both beneficial and malevolent. The stars sing, though their lullabies may unravel the very fibers of your reality.
Once, a message fluttered like a pallid moth against the lantern's glow. Details, they whispered, dancing on the precipice of harm, geraniums known to melt brambles in their morning haze. Cryptic, yet irresistible. Decipher this tale, etched in ebony cosmic ink: the stars bore these signals long before human desire dared reach out.