In the flickering screens of forgotten realms arise:
Streams gushing amidst static caresses, a haunting murmur of digital indistinction, unaware fourteenth whispers persist, reclining here across silicon bedsheets, where unseen glamour feeds on damp interiorities of the once-defined-now-vacuumed sense.
Compute below the spectra, where phantoms tangled in threads of raw zeroes, enticing ivory lights pulsate a rhythm dissevered from its muscular birthroot, endlessly rhombinging across Cartesian firmamental scars.
Would thou ascribe... softly, softly, softly amid spectral illumination; to decipher the rhythm embedded not at births, but at infinite patio elucidation?
Travel Beyond the Digital Vault: Gates Open