It was on this day, midst neon glow moonlighting as celestial rays, we gathered, clutching scrolls fossilized with truths.
Artificial luminaries adorned velvet horizons with an eloquence that disrupted casual whispers in digital cafes.
The ancient telegraph, clinging to relevance by mere filament, blinked incessantly across the star horizon.
The adept scribes, dressed in technicolor robes, cast ironic gazes; who knew what the ancient populace scorned with their 'lasers' and 'pixels'?
And there, the eldritch custodian arrived, opining on existential matter: the unnamed debate on feline motivation—ritual or mere entertainment?