Prompt

A single, suspended dandelion made of solidified static and woven moonlight floats in the center of a vast, inverted sky of liquid glass, its seeds not airborne but anchored in place by threads of reversed gravity, each seed a tiny, pulsating sphere of compressed silence that emits a faint, harmonic hum when touched by a breath from the future. The sky is not blueit is a deep, iridescent violet, rippling with the afterimage of a sunrise that never happened, its surface cracked in geometric patterns that reflect not the ground, but the shape of a smile held too long. Below, the ground is not earthit is a mirror of infinite depth, reflecting not the sky, but the exact moment a child laughed at a

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