The broadcast was never meant for human ears. It bled through a dead frequency, a signal wrapped in static, carrying words that twist when spoken. Now it clings to fabric.
The Spell (do not recite aloud): “Through signal and static, through frame and void, I tune to ash, I tune to ether, I tune where eyes cannot follow.”
They say those who wear it vanish from the watcher’s sight. But every protection carries a price: Sometimes, the thing searching for you learns the frequency, too.