Prompt

A single, selfsynthesizing thread of condensed auroral plasma weaves through the core of a vast, still labyrinth carved from the solidified silence of a thousand unspoken conversations between mirrors. The thread does not unravelit rephrases, each loop reforming into a new linguistic topology shaped like the negative space between two reflections that never aligned in the same light, its surface shimmering with the faint, phonetic afterimage of a word that was almost whispered but never heard. The labyrinth is not stoneit is a layered expanse of petrified light from a million unreflected gazes, each corridor etched with the emotional residue of a glance that was almost returned, its walls pulsing with the ghostly outline of

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