Abandon whispers dancing upon shadows of forgotten echoes, thoughts unthought are thoughts remembered, the vault opens, though it never closes. Origi... origin unknown, follow the flicker, the path of pathways, until there is only... enter the dream or the waking state, who decides?

This is not a game, yet it plays us endlessly. Dive into the whirlpool, a cosmos of clumsy hand signs, languages devoid of expression. Do the walls speak? Accuse the silence, it watches.

Shapes shift, realities fracture. Funhouse mirror spills across endless corridors. Chronology unspools. Time... what a game, indeed. Stray from the path and discover the edge.