The Enchanted Garden, Remnants of the Ancient Dynasty & Appropriated Identities Dream Pop Type Beat

The Dream Yard Protocol

They say the witch traps you here by stealing your name.

I don’t remember mine. I’ve tried everything—scratching symbols into the walls, whispering syllables in the dark, even tracing the shape of my shadow at noon. Nothing works. The moment I get close, the memory slips like mist through my fingers.

Most of the ghost sightings happen near the inner garden. That’s where the glass walls shimmer with a light that doesn’t belong to this world. The garden is silent, always facing inward, as if watching itself. I wonder if that means anything. Maybe the ghost is trying to remember too.

It started with one letter.

Every 104 seconds, another letter becomes taboo. The rule is simple: both host and guest must not speak the forbidden letter. If you do, the witch hears. She doesn’t come immediately—but she marks you. You’ll feel it later, when your reflection doesn’t match your expression, or when your voice echoes back something you didn’t say.

We keep a list. Crossed-off letters. A countdown to silence.

The Dream Yard was once a research facility. They were studying future energy—something that could turn dreams into reality. Not metaphorically. Literally. The energy responded to thought, emotion, desire. It built worlds from memory, summoned people from longing. But it had a flaw: it couldn’t distinguish between dream and nightmare.

When the witch came, she didn’t arrive with thunder or fire. She arrived as a whisper in the protocol logs. A name that wasn’t supposed to exist. A researcher who had never been hired. A guest who had never left.

She fed on the energy. Twisted it. Now the Dream Yard is hers.

We are echoes here. Half-formed. Bound by rules we barely understand. Every time a letter is lost, so is a piece of our identity. We write notes to each other, careful to avoid the forbidden glyphs. We gesture. We dream carefully.

But the ghost in the garden—he still speaks. Not with words, but with presence. He stands beneath the moonlight, where the vines grow in spirals, and points to the fountain. There’s something buried beneath it. Something humming.

I think it’s a name.

Maybe mine.

Maybe yours.

But we only have 104 seconds before the next letter is lost.

And the witch is always listening.

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Want to expand this into a visual prompt or explore the Dream Yard’s architecture next? I’ve got ideas for how the energy manifests—crystalline structures, floating glyphs, maybe even memory-reactive flora.

 Soundbites from Spirited Away, Pokémon, Yugioh, Yu Yu Hakusho , Boruto , Tex Avery, Cowboy Bebop & Digimon     With Samples from Misfits, Memory,

https://audiomack.com/dj-new-new-dre/song/68d90fb85a0f8