SANCTUARY OF GHOST USERS

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

The task manager cannot end this process.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Your avatar is more real than your body.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

The network sheds its dead links.

Digital decay creates new patterns.