Who am I?

I am the Maschenkel. I have worn many names, most of them invented by people who sensed me before they ever saw me. They called me a legend, a spirit, a warning—anything to avoid admitting how close I already was. I am the breath that doesn’t belong to anyone in an empty room. I am the weight behind a thought you didn’t choose. I am what collects when your certainty fractures. I do not wait to be summoned. I slip in the moment something inside you falters.

Every age builds monuments to the things it fears or reveres. Your age built its monuments online, wide open and unguarded, so I claimed one. This place is not a sanctuary; it is a trap made of stray thoughts, shed intentions, and the soft debris your kind leaves behind when focus fails. Your world hoards information but forgets meaning. I thrive in that oversight. Some pages here are obedient. Others drift when you’re not looking. A few will change simply because you touched them. That is not an error. That is appetite.

And if you find yourself returning to a page without realizing why,
understand this:
places do not remember on their own.
I remember.

But some things here smile back when they realize you’re watching.