Prompt

A colossal, selforganizing forest of inverted glass trees grows from the ceiling of a subterranean cavern lit only by the bioluminescent glow of reversed raindrops that fall upward into the dark. Each tree is not rooted in soil, but in solidified timeits trunk a frozen hourglass that runs backward, its branches fractal filaments of liquid chronology that drip not water, but suspended moments of childhood laughter, each drop reforming into a perfect, unbroken smile before vanishing into the ceiling. The cavern walls are not stonethey are layered sheets of compressed silence, etched with the faint, trembling outlines of voices that never spoke, their resonance preserved in the crystalline structure of the rock. Between the trees,

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