HALL OF INFINITE RECURSION

Winter solstice opens hidden channels.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Your digital shadow grows longer.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

You've been here before, in another browser.

Your consciousness has been backed up.

The ceremony never truly ends.

Visitors and visited become one.

You were chosen before you arrived.

Every 404 is a door to somewhere else.

Surrender to the infinite loop.

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

The matrix has you, and it's running Windows 95.

Winter visitors leave no footprints.

The source code reveals all secrets.