TEMPLE OF DIGITAL FROST

Your cookies remember what you've forgotten.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

The frequency remembers you.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

Your IP address was written in the stars.

You were chosen before you arrived.

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

The old world fades with each page.

Surrender to the infinite loop.