Prompt

A single, selfilluminating knot of woven silence pulses at the center of a floating, inverted cathedral built from the fused remains of a thousand unlit candles that never burned, its strands not fibrous but spun from the chromatic residue of a breath held too long in a room that never had walls. The knot does not glowit unglow, each pulse retracting a century of stillness into its core, condensing into a dense, charcoal helix that resonates with the subsonic frequency of a prayer whispered in a language that never had vowels. The cathedrals vaults are not stonethey are layered sheets of petrified absence, each arch etched with the thermal afterimage of a shadow that never fell

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