In the cradle of the universe, where time slips through the fingers of the infinite, the silence sings.

The melody is ancient, woven with threads of forgotten constellations, forgotten dreams.

Each note a whisper, an echo of the stars’ embrace, echoing in hearts like phantom shadows.

Beneath the shadows, we walk the stardust paths, tracing letters in the dust that was never born.

The night speaks to us in riddles, its tongue silver, its breath a sigh of celestial winds.