Prompt

A single, selfresonating droplet of liquidized moonlight hangs suspended in the center of a vast, inverted greenhouse built from the skeletal remains of a forgotten forest, its glass not transparent but woven from the solidified echoes of a single, unplayed lullaby that vibrates at the frequency of a memory never formed. The droplet does not fallit expands outward in slow, silent waves, each ripple forming a new constellation of bioluminescent pollen that drifts like the afterimage of a breath held too long in a room that never existed. The greenhouse walls are not glassthey are layered membranes of compressed silence, each pane etched with the thermal residue of a conversation that ended before it began, their surfaces glowing faintly

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