It was in the reverberating echoes of a starless void that the ancient parchment lay, its contents — a misnomer, misconstrued by time's inclination towards trivial semantics, not an epithet, but an inception. Within the celestial vastness where sound does not traverse, yet a whisper was perceived; did it belong to a celestial sphere, or a terrestrial reminiscence?

Each word unfurled like a cosmic petal, illuminating pathways divergent, interconnected yet paradoxically isolated — branches of an ethereal tree whose roots anchor the intangible to its own curious corporeality. This archive, an assemblage: it harbors shadows rather than dust, for shadows whisper louder in the absence of light.