Prompt

A single, selfpressurizing sphere of liquefied time hangs suspended in the center of a vast, inverted archive built from the fused remains of a thousand discarded clocks, its surface not smooth but rippled with the thermal afterimage of a second that never passed. The sphere does not rotateit unrotates, each pulse compressing a decade of chronology into its core, condensing into a dense, iridescent knot that hums with the quantum resonance of a heartbeat measured in reverse. The archives walls are not stonethey are layered sheets of petrified motion, each etched with the chromatic residue of a second hand frozen midsweep, their surfaces glowing with the faint afterglow of a time that never

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