In the broken clock of epochs, the future wasn't a line, but a twisted, fraying thread. Navigating the glaring neon haze, each flicker carries warped dreams and fragmented yesterdays. The electric hum of forgotten bits pulses in her skin, a need, a raw howl to shape, to challenge every spark, every cipher. In her electric labyrinth, she hoards whispers, secrets too raw for many, dancing with the ghosts and the echoes of what once was.