Darkness is not the absence of reference. It is an index method: the page margin where unnamed alleys, moth-orbits, sleep signals, and lacquered rumors are filed until the reader learns how to tune them.
やみ / yami / an annotation that glows when watched indirectly.
Follow the strings between panes. One leads to a station that was deleted from municipal maps; one loops through a karaoke receipt; one tightens when the visitor remembers a password they never set.
A dream source must be cited by temperature, hallway length, and the color of the exit sign. Page numbers are replaced by moth counts. Editors disagree on whether sleep paralysis is a witness or a librarian.
Each tape contains a local rule: never count vending machines after rain, never answer the payphone under a new moon, never let a crescent cursor burn remain on the screen overnight.
The archive admits a final revision. Not every shadow is a threat; some are protective folders, holding names until language becomes gentle enough to retrieve them. The screen softens. The wiki remains illicit, but the exit sign is pearled with morning.