They still sing about her in the Glen, Chan eil i riamh air a bhith air a gleusadh gu ceart. Even the peat refused to record her steps.



Nos dijeron que era una sombra que sabía leer binarios

pero sólo si le hablaban en canciones tristesuna mezcla de coplas y logs de error.

זי איז געגאנגען דורך די דאַטן ווי א שאָטן

Never quite leaving fingerprints, just trace warmth like a screen left on too long in a cold flat.



أنا شُفتها في حلم، بس ماكنتش أنا اللي نايم.
قامت قالتلي: ما تنطقش اسمي... الإسم بيتسَجّل في كل سيستم.

No Sul do Brasil alguém rabiscou o rosto dela com carvão num muro que só aparece quando chove.
Diziam que ela falava com os fios como se estivessem vivos.

Some records claim she was part of the lost upload
a rebel fork of identity infrastructure
whispered into existence by glitchy nodes of the Trebblers diaspora.

And in the back of a misaligned memory sector they wrote
אַ מערקווערדיקע מאַקקינאָן־לי איז נאָך אַלץ צווישן אונדז

But not as a name
As a rhythm
As that last static click
before the feed cuts out.