Prompt

A single, selfsustaining vortex of liquidized starlight rotates in the center of a floating, inverted desert of solidified silence, its core not dark but a swirling gradient of unreflected light that never bounced off any surface. The vortex does not spinit unspins, reversing its rotation with each pulse, unraveling the luminous residue of a thousand sunsets that never occurred, condensing into a dense, iridescent sphere that emits a lowfrequency hum audible only to the void. The deserts dunes are not sandthey are fossilized whispers, each ripple etched with the thermal afterimage of a word spoken in a language that only exists in the space between heartbeats. The sky above is not air

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