Prompt

A sprawling, sentient archipelago of floating, obsidianhued inkwells drifts through the stratosphere of a planet where language is not written, but erased. Each inkwell is not a container, but a solidified moment of silence the exact instant before a word was about to be spoken, compressed into a dense, black monolith that pulses with a subsonic hum of unspoken intent. The inkwells do not leak they absorb sound, their surfaces rippling like oil on water when a whisper passes nearby, each ripple forming a fleeting, negativeimage script in the air a language of absence that only the wind can read. The sky is not blue it is a slow

Ai Model

FT Ai

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