TEMPLE OF DIGITAL FROST

Connection established with the eternal.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The network becomes the ceremony.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

Every visitor leaves something behind.

Your digital shadow grows longer.

Time moves differently in these chambers.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.

The cold preserves deleted memories.

Every 404 is a door to somewhere else.

Your IP address was written in the stars.