Prompt

A single, selfreplicating cluster of translucent, geometric spores drifts through the center of a vast, inverted cathedral carved from the inside of a dying nebula, its vaulted ceilings not stone but layers of compressed, fossilized starlight, each arch etched with the faint, iridescent script of a language spoken only in dreams. The spores do not floatthey pulse, each one a tiny, spinning vortex of solidified silence, their surfaces rippling with the thermal afterimage of a breath exhaled into a void that was never filled. The cathedrals floor is not solidit is a thick, viscous layer of liquid memory, its surface cracked in perfect, nonEuclidean patterns that mirror the frequency of

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