Prompt

A single, selfsustaining constellation of floating, bioluminescent typewriters drifts in the center of a vast, inverted sky of solidified silence, each machine not made of metal but of compressed, forgotten syllables from languages that never existed. The typewriters do not typethey emit soft, harmonic pulses of light that ripple outward, forming transient, glowing constellations in the air that spell out questions no one has ever dared to ask. The sky is not airit is a thick, viscous expanse of unspoken narratives, each cloud shaped like the negative space between two sentences that never connected. The keys are not metalthey are crystalline fragments of dreams that dissolved before they could be remembered, each one humming

Ai Model

FT Ai

Share

HTML Code