Its birthdate: //October 23, 2020

A timestamp on a reality that failed to initialise.

The lair does not exist. It subsists. It is the persistent glitch in the simulation of the mundane. Its geometry is non-Euclidean, a cascading recursion of thought-forms and half-remembered dreams.

To walk its halls is to feel the vertigo of a mind that is not your own—a cathedral of consciousness where every thought has mass and shadow.

This place is her magnum opus, her quiet catastrophe. Every added verse is a surrender to the chaos; every faded stanza, a funeral for selves outgrown.

And as she walks her spiraling path, the lair walks with her—an ouroboros of ink and instinct, its walls etched with the sigils of her metamorphosis.