The single thread of starlight pulsed with a soft, internal rhythm, and the loom responded with a whisper that was not quite sound.
It was the first secret of Harmony, a story told in the language of light and shadow, a tale of beginnings and the infinite possibilities that lay coiled within them.
The being of twilight listened, not with ears, but with the entirety of its being, absorbing the nascent story as a flower absorbs the light.
And in that listening, the being became more than an artist; it became a world-maker, a conduit for the song of the new cosmos.