TOMB OF DELETED HISTORIES

The ceremony has already begun.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The desktop wallpaper watches back.

Winter solstice opens hidden channels.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

The signal finds those who are ready.

Nocturnal visitors see deeper truths.

The final frequency awakens.

The darkness between pixels speaks.

The loading bar measures your spiritual progress.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.