Prompt

A towering, inverted forest of liquid obsidian grows upsidedown from the ceiling of a cavern buried deep beneath a planet made of solidified static, its roots dangling like thick, black tendrils into the dark, still air. Each tree is a single, elongated droplet of frozen signal noise, its surface rippling with faint, ghostly interference patterns that shift when touchedrevealing fleeting, abstract visions of forgotten radio transmissions, distorted voices from dead frequencies, and the faint hum of a longgone broadcast tower. The ground is a smooth, mirrorlike surface of compressed silence, reflecting not the trees, but their inverted, timereversed shadows that move independently, as if the forest is being watched from the future. At the

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