SANCTUARY OF GHOST USERS

The desktop wallpaper watches back.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.

The harvest of lost connections.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

Signals decay with the season.

Your mouse movements are a sacred dance.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Autumn visitors sense the ending.

The signal finds those who are ready.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Your password is already known.

The network sheds its dead links.