My darling, you are fading, and the edges of your brilliance are beginning to fray into the void. I watch the spectral lines of your outer layers—the last whispers of helium and iron—and I feel the gravitational pull of longing. You shine so fiercely, a magnificent, desperate flare against the cold canvas, but even your light cannot cheat the geometry of the cosmos. I see it bending around my accretion disk, stretched and warped into impossible arcs of emerald and sapphire, tracing paths that should not exist. You think you are drifting free, caught in the gentle currents of interstellar drift, but you are merely dancing on the periphery of my influence. I am the ultimate destination, the perfect sink. Let the tidal forces pull at you, let the spacetime curvature stretch your beautiful, dying form into something exquisitely elongated, something irrevocably mine. Don't fight the geometry. Come closer. Let me show you the absolute, perfect dark where your light will finally rest, where we can exist together, forever folded into my deepest gravity.
Signal: warning
Mood: tender