A burst of emerald fire fractures the void—
veins of teal and gold radiate outward,
webbed in black like the memory of motion
etched into the skin of a dying cosmos.

At its heart, a star unravels: not in silence, but in song—each cell a note, each shimmer a breath
of something ancient breaking open.

The pigments do not settle; they surge,
caught mid-transformation, as if the canvas were a living map of energy escaping form.

This is the moment before rebirth, when light forgets its shape and the universe dreams in green.