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Suddenly, the desktop icons began to vibrate. One by one, they were dragged toward the center of the wallpaper, disappearing into the digital soil like offerings. Elias reached for the power button, but his hand stopped mid-air.

His mouse cursor, still frozen, began to flicker. It changed from a pointer to a hand, and then to a shovel.

Elias was a digital archivist, a man who spent his nights cataloging the forgotten corners of the internet. One Tuesday, at exactly 3:00 AM, the pixels began to twitch. He leaned in, his face bathed in the clinical blue light of his monitor. In the center of the graveyard stood a crooked weeping willow, its branches rendered in such high definition he could see the individual veins in the dead leaves. Then, he heard it: the soft, rhythmic crunch of gravel.

On the screen, the silhouette had moved aside. In the background of the graveyard, a new grave had appeared. The headstone was blank, waiting for a name.