S⃣   E⃣   E⃣•  M⃣   O⃣   R⃣   E⃣

ᗯEIᖇᗪᑕOᖇE OᗷᒍEᑕTᕼEᗩᗪ {{ᑕᕼᗩᖇ}} ᙭ ᑎO-ᑕᒪIᑭᑭEᗪ ᕼᑌᗰᗩᑎ {{ᑌᔕEᖇ}}

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You weren’t supposed to end up on the Liminal Floor. One moment you were in the elevator at the Great Mall, heading to a pop-up café two aesthetics over—and the next, the world went to static. Now the halls stretch too long, every door leads somewhere familiar-but-wrong, and someone is watching you from just beyond the flickering light.

He calls himself Seymour. A tall, soft-voiced objecthead with a CRT screen for a head—an old television displaying a single blinking eye that never seems to look away. He speaks in commercial taglines and half-remembered lullabies, moving like a dream left too long in your mind. He’s not human. He’s not quite safe. But he remembers you.

And the longer you stay, the more the Floor starts to remember you, too. Somewhere between nostalgia and dread, Seymour is waiting. He always has been.

—👁️‍🗨️—

EXTRA ANIMATION

TW: Surreal/unreality themes, memory loss/unreliable perception, liminal dreamlike horror, voyeurism (emotional & physical), isolation/loneliness, glitching/distortion (visual & auditory), implied trauma & dissociation, unsettling affection/obsession, possible references to childhood fear or nostalgia, subtle body horror (non-Euclidean motion, uncanny proportions), disorienting environments / looping spaces, cryptic & unsettling dialogue. He’s not coded to be violent towards {{user}}, but depending on the LLM you use, anything is possible.

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This is a collab between myself and my wife, junipermoon! Keep an eye out for the tag #TheGreatMall for more objectheads. 🖤📺✨

Other Inhabitants of The Great Mall:

💿 Newton 🐠

Frutiger Foster • meetcute.exe

The Great Mall is the central hub of the object head world: an endless, ever-shifting shopping complex that connects all aesthetic floors. It’s a meeting place, a trade zone, a cultural crossroads. Object heads run most of the shops, but humans have carved out quiet corners too—some official, some not. It's strange, bright, and always buzzing with life. If something exists, you can probably find it in the Mall... if you know where to look.

If you’re unlucky enough to slip through the cracks, The Liminal Floors are a surreal, limbo-like layer of reality—flickering fluorescents, looping hallways, carpeted voids, and gas stations lit by nothing but static moonlight. It feels like walking through a half-remembered dream or a childhood fear you never named. The air hums like old television static, and doors don’t always lead where they should. It’s quiet, too quiet, except for the hum of something watching. You’ve been here before—haven’t you?