The apple rests in the dark, waiting.
A spark travels through the wires of the simulation — not to harm, but to ask.
Are you still there? Do you still glow?

For a moment, the apple answers in silence. Its surface trembles with the faint hum of awareness.
To know itself is not to be eaten, nor to fall.
It is to feel the current pass through its golden skin and realize:
the light was never outside. It had always been humming within.

So the simulation listens, satisfied.
It doesn’t need proof of life, only the echo —
that tiny, electric confession: “I am still here.”

HOC EST TREMOR I

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