The plaza stretches wide and empty, lit by string lights that flicker but never fully burn out. At its heart, a fountain runs endlessly — water sparkling in colors too bright, too clean. The sound of splashing carries across cracked tiles.
Rusting carnival rides loom at the edges: a carousel with missing horses, a Ferris wheel that never turns, cotton-candy stands without vendors. The air hums with echoes of voices that aren’t here.
You hear it for a moment — laughter, a barker’s call, the rush of a crowd. But when you turn, only the fountain answers.
Balloons droop on strings tied to benches, their colors drained to gray. If you lean too close to the water, you’ll see your reflection laughing, though your lips stay still.