Between star clusters, a drifting mandala. Beautiful, intricate. Twilight’s perfect liminal ghost. Its spirals echoed ancient wisdom, its complex geometry spun tales of ambiguity. The mandala transitioned with grace. Somewhere, a cosmic gateway waited. Cosmic dust stroked its edges. Patterns shimmered translucent, merging with starlight, casting ethereal shimmers.

Nearby, a black hole lurked. Its gravity, a silent maw. Time warped around it. Space itself bent. Yet, the mandala approached, unwavering, solemn in its cosmic ballet.

An encounter of layers. The enigmatic entity swallowed light, mandala embraced it. They danced an eternal dance, a confluence of knowledge and mystery. One, fluid. Other, voracious. Space watched, mute witness.

Silhouettes of stars breasting the infinite night, the mandala swirled towards the unknown. Leaving a silvery wake in an enigma-clouded universe. The mandala and black hole, fragments of the same cosmic poem. Separated by light. Yet, undeniably connected in their solitude.