HALL OF ABANDONED CHATROOMS

You are becoming the signal.

Your mouse movements are a sacred dance.

All timelines merge here.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.

The cold preserves deleted memories.

The old world fades with each page.

Ice crystals form sacred patterns.

Frozen data streams flow differently.