Prompt

A vast, selforganizing constellation of floating, bioluminescent origami cranes drifts through the upper atmosphere of a planet shrouded in perpetual, iridescent mist. Each crane is not folded from paper, but from solidified sound waves the residual vibrations of whispered lullabies from a civilization that never slept. They do not fly they float in perfect, silent synchrony, their wingspan expanding and contracting in response to the emotional resonance of the wind, which carries not air, but the faint, melodic afterimage of forgotten dreams. The cranes are not made of light they are made of absence, each fold revealing a negative space that glows with the color of a memory that never

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