Prompt

A single, obsidianblack dandelion blooms in the center of a frozen, geometric ocean on a moon that orbits a black hole, its seeds not carried by wind but by the slow, outward ripple of a single, perfect silence that emanates from its core. Each seed is not fluffyit is a solidified whisper, a moment of breath held just before a word was about to be spoken, compressed into a perfect, crystalline sphere that pulses with a faint, subsonic resonance. The ocean is not waterit is a vast, still field of liquid time, frozen midflow, its surface etched with the inverted topography of every decision ever avoided, every path never taken, each ripple a ghostly contour of a future that

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