In the thick silence of the galaxy's forgotten edge, a whisper traveled. Its path was one of truth untold—a faint thread woven through the galaxies wide and far. When the stars aligned, the winds of change bore the echo of a measureless voyage.
The specter of solitude follows diligently in violet ink, writing premonitions upon our skin. Here, beyond the tangible realms, intuition grows fierce—igniting ancient flames where maps of paper crumble away into ghost stories.
Reverb tells us of promised paths, while the heart anchors in memories of destinations never reached, nor ever desired—and yet, they approach from the fathomless void's nethermost embrace.
Howlers echo this refrain, their cries cutting through the astral blanket stitched with the remnants of celestial dreams. Each howl etches an undeniable rhythm across the tapestry of time.
As we break orbit, the metaphysical hands of fate create intricate lace patterns through the stars—a warning, but also an invitation.