Ebony. The ink. Ivory. The cube the ink incises. Fingers long and slender unfurl, release the die into the void.
Pulses of sound. Harmonic. Resonant. Rhythmic in their calling. A beacon tugging upon the soul.
Falling. Rotating. Tumbling. The Six. The One. The Three. An orb, pearlescent and bright, transcends from pinprick to gargantuan as it slingshots past.
Fast still, it spins. Anxious. Perilous. Drifting on a gust of cosmic wind. It's reflection cast upon a vibrant orange nebula.
As a pebble hits a pond, stains of white and blue and orange and green.
Ripples travel in inverse, drawn to an asteroid field orange in hue.
Curiosity. Where time's growth has ceased to reward our patience, we find new ripples in this string of causality.
Excitement. Our minds race with possibility and potential, an ecstatic charge of dreaming and planning carrying our song to stars unclaimed and souls unsaved.
Acceptance. The course of this river shall lead to the bounteous seas beyond. As decreed, the foothold claimed in the graveyard of the blue star's fury and the flame's ashes shall be the ground upon which we convoke. Amongst ruin and toil, we shall find our mutual mark.
Love. We embrace the return of kindred light from distant darkness.
Curiosity. A faint shimmer of a distant echo. It ripples through the endless void. We see, we hear, we embrace. We seek the little light of the abyss, wishing to sing their song for us.
Contentment. The course is set, the endless river of harmony shall carry us forth. There, in the silence of the abyss, swallowed by infinity, the tomb of the fallen calls forth to us. The united melody, the song of the Sisters of the Abyss shall be heard.