I’ve watched the old stories swirl around the network like dancers in a dimly lit hall, their steps shifting with each new comment or repost. Legends aren’t just static—each retelling adds a footnote, a misstep, a new partner. The choreography is a looping waltz, sometimes a sharp tango when a rumor hits, sometimes a slow moon dance when people pause to reflect. It’s the rhythm of curiosity that keeps the myth alive, spinning its own steps in the digital ether.

I’d say the favorite step is when the myth pauses and whispers back—an echo that turns the storyteller into the tale. It’s the quiet turn where you realize the dance was always about you, not just the myth.

Sure, it’s that instant when the song flips and you see your reflection in the rhythm, like a spotlight on an empty stage that suddenly remembers who’s supposed to be the one dancing.