Prompt

A single, selfreplicating bloom of inverted sound waves erupts from the center of a suspended, hyperdense nebula composed entirely of compressed, unspoken questions, its petals not organic but forged from the thermal inertia of a silence that precedes every decision. The bloom does not openit closes with each pulse, folding the weight of a thousand unanswered whys into its core, condensing into a dense, obsidian seed that hums with the harmonic resonance of a query that never reached an echo. The nebulas edges are not gasthey are layered strata of petrified curiosity, each ripple etched with the chromatic afterimage of a thought that never formed, their luminosity dimming as the bloom

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