Prompt

A single, selfsustaining lattice of solidified wind pulses through the center of a floating, inverted lighthouse built from the fused remnants of a thousand unlit lanterns that never cast a beam, its structure not stone or steel but woven from the thermal inertia of a single, unspoken lullaby sung into the void. The lattice does not vibrateit breathes, expanding and contracting with each tide of the planets forgotten tectonic song, absorbing the ambient resonance of a world that forgot how to listen. The lighthouses beacon is not lightit is a hollowedout sphere of petrified silence, its surface etched with the chromatic afterimage of a voice that never carried across the waves, its core filled

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