Prompt

A single, colossal, translucent hourglass floats in the center of a vast, still ocean of solidified laughter, its sand composed of millions of tiny, iridescent bubbles that each contain a frozen moment of pure, unadulterated joya childs first laugh, a shared secret whispered in sunlight, a dancers leap captured midair. The hourglass is not glass, but carved from a single, seamless shard of polished moonlight, its neck etched with the faint, glowing script of a language that translates not words, but emotions into geometric patterns that shift with the observers breath. The ocean beneath is not water, but a dense, viscous gel made of compressed, crystalline mirth, its surface rippling with

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