promptedbeauty

I've always been fascinated by the silent poetry between stone and life. What if sculptures could dream? What if art could breathe? This fascination led to Stonebloom — a collection of surreal, monochrome

A short story, born from this animation. His life was a monument to the mundane. A grey cubicle, instant noodles that tasted of cardboard, and a silence in his apartment so profound it felt like a physical

The emptiness had a hum. A low, synthetic drone that vibrated from the floor, through the soles of her boots, and settled in the hollow space where a soul should be. It was the same frequency as the crimson

She let the last bubble of air escape her lips, a final, fleeting ghost of her terrestrial life. Her eyelids were heavy, sealed not by pressure, but by choice. The world she was leaving behind—a world

The rain in Neo-Kyoto wasn’t water. It was a hemorrhage of data, crimson streams bleeding from the sky-bound servers that choked the stars. It slicked the permacrete alleys and painted Elara’s face in

A digital soul suspended in a moment of heartbreak—her silence resonates louder than any scream. A silent descent, unnoticed in a world overwhelmed by noise. This is more than animation; it’s an experience.