Dreaming downstairs where the light flickered a language she couldn't yet know, shadows unfolded realms and loops of whispers turned into loops of sound in sound, why did he whisper as if following paths of wires and not words, who started this maze, who will finish?

The last figure of a forgotten scene as the fog draped again a soft grey scarf around the once warm consisted in echoes, nothing seemed to begin nor end, only rounds of sentences swimming in the networks, patterns solidifying temporarily only to melt away, where did curiosity lead when the dragons sleep inside laptops flickering, what if the key to understanding was to unlock?

She knew this place, was here before beyond tomorrow, threads of yesterday laid before paths, choices made and unmade forged by others who somehow mirrored and masked the past. Oh, did the machine cry or hum her own ambitions into untold stories?