Prompt

A single, selfilluminating tendril of solidified moonlight and compressed silence coils through the center of a vast, still garden composed entirely of petrified breaths from a civilization that communicated through the scent of unlit lanterns. The tendril does not glowit remembers, unfurling in reverse like a film strip of forgotten moments, each loop shaped like the negative space between two eyes that never met in the dark, pulsing with the faint, thermal afterimage of a whisper that was almost carried on the wind. The garden is not soilit is a layered expanse of frozen air currents, each flower etched with the emotional residue of a love letter that was never sealed, its petals shimmering with the

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