Prompt

A single, selfreplicating constellation of bioluminescent pollen drifts in the center of a vast, still greenhouse built entirely of solidified sunlight from a civilization that communicated through the color of unblown flowers. The pollen does not scatterit pulses, forming slow, spiraling blooms of light shaped like the negative space between two petals that never unfurled, each grain glowing with the faint, thermal afterimage of a scent that was almost inhaled. The greenhouse is not glassit is a layered expanse of petrified dawn, each pane etched with the emotional residue of a sunrise that was never witnessed, its surface shimmering with the ghostly outline of a breeze that never stirred. The air is not stillit

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