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Beyond the star-draped canvas, where astral shadows whisper secrets to time itself, a performance lingers in the eons. Each beam of starlight is a note, each constellation a chord, woven from the fabric of forgotten melodies.
In the heart of the cosmic solitude, where no atom dares to breach the vow of silence, the symphony plays on. Strings plucked by comets' tails, percussion of meteor showers — all too distant for the ear, yet close to the soul.
The conductor, unseen, directs with hands of nebulae, while the audience of ancient spirits sways in harmony with the void. This is no earthly concert; this is a serenade of silence across spaces and epochs.