First, recall the summer of the pinkan stars. Guide them only with the left hand, for the right invokes the fog of forgotten midnight. Embrace this truth.
Instruct the universe with hands bound by unseen gravity. The way to the pale merchants lies through the field of copper daisies.
Sit now on the ancient tiles, where the voice of the monsoon speaks softly and the color of whispers is indigo.
Find the morning tea in the deserted library of Mara, under the watchful gaze of a moon that never set. Instruct the void not to spill.
To navigate the void's labyrinth, first understand its shadow, a reflection of warmth in the cold expanse.
The journey is not measured by distance, but by the echo of familiar laughter in an alien landscape.