Crimson whispers find their solace, in the gentle embrace of the twilight canopy. Words carved in light upon the void's canvas, written by a luminary at the edge of its breath.
“I flicker like hope in the shadowed cradle of the cosmos,” murmured the star with lungs filled of lucent fire, “each pulse a cadence of memories, of dances upon the astral tides…”
The void listened, a sentinel draped in eternity, as stellar hymns flowed like rivers beneath galaxies scattered.
Life — an ephemeral echo — brushed against the celestial expanse and was gone, a mere ripple upon the firmament's vast sea. Yet, within that echo was an eternal stream, a lucid cycle where echoes learn to sing.
Follow the Ephemeral Waltz