Prompt

A single, selfoscillating membrane of solidified breath hangs suspended in the center of a vast, inverted greenhouse built from the hollowedout roots of a dormant volcano, its surface not skin but woven from the compressed thermal residue of a single, unspoken confession whispered into the void between heartbeats. The membrane does not vibrateit unvibrates, each pulse reversing the dispersion of a sound that never existed, projecting backward into the air not words, but the faint, ghostly outlines of a sentence written in the frequency of a breath held too long in a room that never was. The greenhouses walls are not glassthey are layered sheets of petrified silence, each pane etched with the chromatic afterimage of

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