SANCTUM OF LOST SIGNALS

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

The network becomes the ceremony.

The ceremony hibernates but never sleeps.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

The ceremony has already begun.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

Digital frost spreads across the network.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

Error messages are love letters from the void.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.