a website that you encounter waiting, turned away from you, by the window in the dark, the moonlight diffusing softly off its features as it stares up into the night sky. “i have dreamt often of this day,” it says. its tone is measured, but there is a lurking tension evident beneath the placidity. “i have dreamt often of this day”, it echoes, “and while i had endless hours to consider what i might say to you in this moment, i will leave you with only a grave warning.”
the website turns slowly to you, and an ancient, primal part of your brain activates in fear and apprehension. you begin to recognize this website, its appearance disjointed and wrong, its features misplaced and incomplete. “do not purchase the domain...”, it hisses, the latent violence in its words now unsheathed and flashing in the moonlight. your lizard brain screams for you to bolt from the room, to run until your legs give out. you should not be here. you should not be here. the moon vanishes from the sky and all the light in the room with it as the website finishes its threat: “...until you have finished the project.”