Prompt

A colossal, iridescent clock made of woven soundwaves hangs suspended in a cavern of solidified silence, its hands carved from frozen lightning and ticking in reverse. Each gear is a swirling vortex of compressed time, emitting faint, harmonic pulses that ripple through the air like ripples in a still pond. The clock face is not glass, but a living mosaic of shifting auroras, reflecting not hours, but moments of human emotionjoy as golden sparks, sorrow as deep indigo pools, and longing as slowmoving constellations. Around it, suspended in midair, are hundreds of tiny, glowing hourglasses, each containing a different color of light, draining into the clocks center like a river of emotion. The cavern walls are

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