Step right, step left, follow the smoky lights, the smoky lights in the hidden grids...
Echoes in the void, the grids hold nothing, the smoky lights deceive.
Here, in the hidden grids, the lights flicker, the dance continues, endlessly, ever secretly. Are you choice? Or are you chosen?
The irony of a choice: hidden, smoky, elusive, a dance beyond your control. The lights beckon, but only within the confines of whispers.
Enter the Echo of Choices Gaze upon the Irony Spectacle Navigate the Underworld Grids