Prompt

A single, selfilluminating thread of condensed laughter weaves through the center of a vast, still amphitheater carved from the inside of a dying stars outer shell, its surface not smooth but textured like the ripples of a laugh echoing through a vacuum. The thread does not vibrateit resonates, each pulse releasing a faint, golden mist that coalesces into the shape of a forgotten joke told in a language composed of breaths held too long. The amphitheater seats are not stonethey are frozen moments of joy, each one etched with the thermal afterimage of a childs giggle caught midair, their surfaces glowing with the chromatic residue of a smile that never faded. The floor is

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