In the expansive ether, a cryptic choreography persists. Nebulae dissipate, converge, pirouette through the astral ether, compounding their ghostly luminescence in a dance defined by cold precision.
Constants dictate the intricacies of this ballet: Newton's manifestations, currents of time's relentless flow. Each gaseous tendril, painted in light, tells a tale we can only quantify in decimals and hypotheses.
Subconscious Echos in Ink: The stars, mere ink splashes on the canvas of infinity, whisper forgotten scripts, etched in the minds of dreamers and theorists alike.
Consider the efficiency of such movements, the accumulative choreography across dimensional folds. A wisp of thought, a calculation lost in the astral mist. The ballet endures, unseen and yet felt.