"Mother of the Cosmos"

In the silent cradle of the universe, where galaxies are born in whispers and constellations drift like lullabies, she sits cloaked in midnight—the Celestial Mother. Her form is woven of stardust and silence, her skin inked with ancient constellations, each marking the story of a world she once whispered into being.

In her arms, she holds a newborn star—brilliant and fragile, pulsing with new light. Not yet a sun, not yet a guide, but becoming. Her gaze is tender and eternal, the knowing look of one who has watched the rise and fall of countless worlds, yet still weeps gently at the miracle of first light.

The stars above echo her touch, aligning in reverence. The moon watches on in hushed awe. Even time pauses—because in this moment, creation is not an explosion, but an embrace.

And so, the cosmos spins on, cradled not in chaos— but in the arms of a mother who loved a star into life.