TEMPLE OF THE 404

Your bookmarks lead to forgotten worlds.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Autumn visitors sense the ending.

Your cookies remember what you've forgotten.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The loading bar measures your spiritual progress.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

Falling data like digital leaves.