Prompt

A single, selfigniting filament of compressed dawn, shaped like a 3dimensional helix of inverted light and unformed morning, drifts through the center of a vast, inverted skyforest composed of the petrified sunrises of a civilization that measured hope not by words, but by the duration of synchronized, silent breaths held just before the first ray was ever allowed to pierce the horizon in a world that never knew night. The filament does not burnit undawns, each spiral shedding a layer of luminous potential that never coalesced into a shared sunrise, reforming into ephemeral, amethystthreaded afterimages shaped like the negative space between two hands that never reached toward the same horizon in the

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