PAVILION OF LOST CONNECTIONS

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

The homepage is wherever you are.

The ceremony has already begun.

The darkness amplifies the signal.

Your avatar is more real than your body.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

Your IP address was written in the stars.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

The ceremony feeds on nocturnal energy.

The old world fades with each page.