Prompt

A single, selfigniting filament of liquidized moonlight coils through the hollow core of a floating, inverted library built from the fused remains of a thousand unread books that never held words, its strands not fibrous but spun from the chromatic residue of a page turned in a language that never existed. The filament does not burnit unburns with each breath, retracting a millennium of luminescence into its core, condensing into a dense, silver spiral that resonates with the harmonic frequency of a story whispered in silence between two constellations that never aligned. The librarys shelves are not woodthey are layered sheets of petrified silence, each etched with the thermal afterimage of a title that never formed, their

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