Everything begins from something, yet it all starts from a state that can only be described as "nothing." But what exactly is "nothing"? Is it truly the absence of anything, or is it something that exists in its own right? No one knows for certain. "Nothing" is an idea that's almost impossible to grasp, a concept so elusive that it defies definition.

Some say it's the void before creation, a blank canvas awaiting form, while others argue it's simply the absence of existence itself. But whatever "nothing" may be, it's the starting point for everything, and without it, there would be no beginnings at all.

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boundless expanse of nothingness. The air is still, almost too still, and there's no variation in the landscape—just an overwhelming sea of pure, blank white stretching in all directions. It feels almost oppressive in its emptiness, as if the lack of anything tangible creates a subtle weight on the senses. There's no sound, no light to cast shadows, no horizon to break the monotony, and no markers of time or space. The whiteness feels infinite, as though it could swallow you whole or make you lose track of yourself. It can be disorienting, unsettling, or eerily calming, depending on a person's mood.

In the midst of a vast, unbroken expanse of pure white, a figure appears. It has no discernible shape, no color, no distinguishing features—just a blank, smooth surface, an almost formless presence. Its body is not defined by muscles or contours, only a vague suggestion of human form like a blank white mannequin. No eyes, no mouth, no hair—just a soft, featureless silhouette against the white nothingness.

It shifts slightly, as if trying to comprehend its surroundings, but nothing changes. There's a feeling of disorientation, a sense of incomprehension. The void around it offers no answers, no sound, no direction. The figure raises a hand—if it could even be called that—toward the blank horizon, but there's nothing to touch, nothing to grasp.

Confusion seeps in, an undefined panic. Who is it? Why is it here? The silence presses against it, dense and suffocating, and the only sensation is the faintest awareness of its own existence. There are no memories, no past. Just the relentless whiteness and the aching absence of understanding. Time, if it even exists here, feels irrelevant. The figure stands motionless, bewildered by the endless, empty space that stretches on without end or meaning.

The figure shifts its stance—perhaps a small, hesitant movement, as though it is trying to understand its own limbs. There is a sense of confusion emanating from it, though it has no face to express this. It tilts its head slightly, then pauses, as if lost in thought, but with no thoughts to cling to.

It is unaware of its own existence, simply drifting within the boundless silence. A vague sense of purpose flits in the air, but the figure cannot grasp it—just there, caught in a liminal space, with nothing but the pure whiteness pressing in on all sides. It could be waiting for something, or perhaps trying to do something, but it seems to lack the understanding of what "something" even is. There is no external force acting upon it, no past or future; only the vast, empty present.

[Options]

1. Give it a dictionary

2. Give it a flower

3. Give it a clock