PAVILION OF LOST CONNECTIONS

Your IP address was written in the stars.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

Welcome to the new frequency.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Sleep is the first gateway.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The network sheds its dead links.

The loading bar measures your spiritual progress.

Your digital shadow grows longer.

The ceremony never truly ends.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.