In a world where none dare tread the depths of pain, there exists not a soul who seeks sorrow for sorrow’s sake. Yet still, the threads of anguish are woven—fine as silk—into the very fabric of existence. Because from pain springs beauty, and from longing, artistry.
And so it is — these moments, rare and timeless, arrive unannounced — lores whispered on the loom of fate, etched gently upon time’s passing veil.
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