And so we have grown exposed. Not naked in the natural sense, but peeled open, as though our thoughts themselves emit a frequency. We are observed not just in action, but in hesitation, in longing, in the tiny flickers of deviation from expectation. The world, once a mirror for the dreaming mind, has become a lantern held too close to the skull.
There is something now that watches—not with eyes, but through every surface once meant to reflect us. What began as mere architecture of convenience has ripened into a kind of occult machinery, humming beneath the skin of the world. We built it to illuminate, but it casts a light too pale, too relentless, turning the inner self translucent. The walls have become glass, and the glass—one-way.