Prompt

A single, crystalline fractal tree grows upsidedown from the ceiling of a vast, hollowedout observatory suspended in the vacuum between galaxies, its roots not anchored in soil but in solidified constellations of forgotten starlight, each branch splitting into infinite, selfrepeating patterns that map the emotional resonance of every unasked question ever whispered into the dark. The tree does not bloomit unfolds, revealing not flowers, but translucent, humming spheres of compressed silence that pulse in time with the slow, rhythmic expansion of the universe, each sphere etched with the faint, iridescent script of a dream that never took shape. The observatory walls are not metalthey are layers of frozen time, arranged in a

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