Prompt

A single, selfrewinding tapestry of solidified dreams unravels from the spine of a floating, inverted music box carved from the petrified laughter of a child who never grew old, its threads not woven but forged from the thermal residue of a lullaby played in reverse on a piano that never had keys. The tapestry does not unravelit rewinds with each breath, retracting a century of forgotten sleep into its core, condensing into a dense, emerald scroll that hums with the harmonic frequency of a melody composed in the language of unbroken silence. The music boxs casing is not woodit is a lattice of frozen breath, each gear etched with the chromatic afterimage of a smile that never

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