Prompt

A single, obsidianhued accordion rests open in the center of a vast, still lake of liquid mercury, its bellows not fabric but woven from solidified silence, each fold a perfect, geometric crease holding the weight of a thousand unplayed melodies. The lake does not reflectit absorbs, distorting the sky into a kaleidoscope of inverted auroras that pulse in time with the slow, subsonic hum of a forgotten lullaby. The accordion does not make soundit exhales a faint, shimmering mist of compressed breath, each particle shaped like the negative space between two fingers poised to play a note that never existed. The surrounding cliffs are not rockthey are fossilized moments of hesitation, each stratum etched

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