Stars whisper stories too soft for mortal ears, like twilight secrets kissed by velvet hues. Each murmur threads a path, weaving through cold infinities to unearth lives lost in reverie. Here, gravity wells tether dreams untimely exhaled, with hands of night that cradle them.
The silent rhythm calls forth ethereal paths—those drawn by states of longing, of love's quiet ache, or thoughts borne far on comet tails. Along an outer gyre dances Elysium, veiled in nebulous echoes of forgotten touch.