In the stillness of the universe, a lifeforce stirs — not bound by flesh, physics or time, forever observing.
Across infinity, it watches galaxies bloom and wither, stars born and die, universes form and collapse into nothingness.
It scribes what it sees, though the pages it writes on exist only in the minds of those willing to read.
Civilizations rise, scream, and fall, their dreams dissolving into dust, all observed
It does not weep for the dying stars or the silent planets. Merely passing through.