To mimic the celestial tones of the Mocks in their uncanny theater, grasp the structure of silence first, not as an absence, but as a presence with voluminous esteem.
Elevated hands emulate the arcs of sworn stars, their incandescent oaths tracing constellations of forgotten familiarity. Your script lacks words yet overflows with necessity.
The performers breathe in yellow fog, linear and dense; their performed prayers must reverberate across crystalline voids. Understanding the universe starts with elongating the inner self, outwardly stretching its essence.
Embody the crimson strings weaving together disparate actor epochs, their binding forgotten continuity gently exhaling adherence instead of comprehension.
Ephemeral Thoughts: Silent Canopy