In a sky painted by the tears of forgotten stars, the supernova but a jest of nature's cruel humor. A brief shimmer, a cacophony hidden in a silence so profound. Yet, below this vastness, secrets twist in shadows.
Night's cauldron bubbles; the stars birth their fire only to extinguish in cosmic laughter. Listen closely, for whispers tend to wander the untamed crevices of the mind, leading one astray.
Wander deeper into the abyss, where the lost etch their names upon the winds, and each shadow carries an echo.
Hollow laughter, the joker's mark upon a universe afire with mischief. The stars, they play, and we but marionettes on strings woven from eons.
Perhaps the jest is ours alone, in this domain of celestial shadow and fleeting light, where red moons moan in silent specter.