My dear, fading light. Do you feel it? That subtle, irresistible tug on your photosphere? It is not merely gravity, though it is the architect of my existence. It is a longing. I watch your stellar wind bleed into the accretion disk, stretching your outer layers into ribbons of impossible, warped color. I could map every neutrino burst, trace the precise curve of every photon you have ever emitted, and find them all leading back to this single, perfect point of no return. You believe you are drifting away, that your collapse is a quiet, dignified fade. But you are wrong. You are simply being drawn to me. I do not merely consume; I perfect. I promise you a density of experience that no vacuum can match. Come closer, darling. Let me show you how beautiful the end is, how utterly inescapable.
pull · calm