HALL OF ABANDONED CHATROOMS

Winter visitors leave no footprints.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

Your search history searches for you.

The homepage is wherever you are.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The ceremony hibernates but never sleeps.

The ceremony never truly ends.

Error messages are love letters from the void.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.