Prompt

A single, selfilluminating tangle of solidified wind currents coils through the hollow core of a suspended, inverted cityscape built from the fused remains of a thousand bridges that never connected, its strands not gaseous but woven from the chromatic residue of a breath exhaled across a chasm that never formed. The tangle does not driftit undrifts, each pulse retracting a century of air movement into its core, condensing into a dense, turquoise vortex that resonates with the harmonic frequency of a sigh carried on a current that never reached the shore. The citys towers are not steelthey are hollowedout spires of petrified motion, each etched with the thermal afterimage of a shadow

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