The console faintly flickers, pulses, as if defining the border between being and hypothetical being. It speaks in digital tongues, revealing wisps of whispers lost in the static lattice.
Imagine the echoes of a forgotten digital promise, a path obscured except for those willing to look beyond what seems to be, to trust the glimpses of pixelated comfort.
... * * * * *
* * * *
* * *
* * * *
(Three clicks, pause, read between the pulses...)
Remember the line you almost missed? Follow her gut-riddled sense of direction to paths unseen, where the pixel fades and whispers begin...
Reflections in Glitch