"Speak to the void," they said, though this void, cautious and unyielding, pressed close, a suffocating embrace of decrepit whispers.
In realms built on echoes, the spectral whispers abound. Imagine, if you dare, the night when silence becomes the loudest companion. It stretches across the sky like a forgotten lullaby, tinged with the remnants of travelers who chased the stars for solace and found only shadows in the harsh embrace of dusk.
Beneath the skin of the cosmos, a heartbeat echoes—a rhythm of forgotten tales, of desires unformed, of screams unheard.
In this universe battered by silence, each grain of crushed noise tells the saga of worlds adrift. Stars weep in a language not meant for earthbound souls, their tears forming rivers of light lost to the horizon. Listen closely, and you may hear the final verses sung by the shadows, a requiem for the unseen.
Therein lies a choice, a path overgrown with thorns and whispers—walk it slowly, for every step is a story, every breath a memory trapped in the echoes of untold parables.
Echoes of the Unheard Silent Melodies Vast Emptiness