In the heart of the dense, pixelated woodlands, the news takes shape in whispers between shadows. The digital ferns part as uncover tales that speak only in forms, not voices. Technology may be the narrator, but here it seems the narrator listens more than it augments.
Reports detail the silent encroachments of light upon ever-darkening paths, phenomena invisible to those tracing the actual forest floor but stark to the pixel-eye. Witnesses claim branches speak in tongues only the initiated understand.
Observers deep within these confines compile tales of disappearing echoes, scenes of vanished photograph pages absent from archives yet stark within memory. Algorithms may script destinies, their form opaque as fog but penultimate in nuance.