"Error 404: Self Not Found" is a hauntingly enigmatic synth instrumental that balances on the edge between dance and despair. With a slower tempo and shimmering arpeggios, it feels both hypnotic and unsettling, inviting movement while holding onto a profound sense of emptiness. Each beat pulses with a melancholic energy, creating a mysterious atmosphere where longing and identity seem to drift just out of reach, calling listeners into a shadowy, introspective journey.

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𝘉𝘦𝘣𝘦 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺, 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳
Bebe Truly is a nighttime sonic sorceress and illustrator, brewing up glitchy, digital beats from her home studio. With a love for video game soundtracks, pulsing dance music, and artists like PilotRedSun and the synth sounds of Windows96, she creates music that feels like a neon-lit adventure through a pixelated dream. 

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Her album DIGIWORLD is a wild ride through a digital world where fantasy and fear collide—think getting lost in a video game, but with a dash of existential dread. Packed with nostalgic 8-bit vibes, dreamy synths, and deep bass, it’s a sonic journey into a surreal, ever-shifting universe where reality and virtual worlds blur together. Plug in and get ready to wander... or maybe never come back.

DIGIWORLD is a wistful, melancholy dive into a world you once lived in, now forgotten but calling to you in quiet whispers. As a child, you’d sit alone in your room, surrounded by your drawings, recreating the adventures of an ancient digital kingdom, a world of strange cities and lush forests, all woven together by the threads of your own imagination. It was just you then—no one else—but your mind was vast, and your hands made entire worlds out of tiny plastic figures. Now, years later, as an adult, the game you once played with such abandon feels more like a distant dream, a place you didn’t realize you missed until it resurfaced in your memory, pulling you back in like a forgotten friend.

The world outside feels harder now. People feel distant, conversations feel awkward, and connection slips through your fingers like smoke. The simplicity of childhood, of finding magic in the mundane, is long gone. But that game... that game, with its bright worlds and pixelated adventures, still hums in the back of your mind, a strange comfort. Nesto, the ancient city of mystery, calls to you, with its princess Episida hiding in the shadows of time. The Blue Woods are quiet, with the soft rustle of digital leaves, waiting for you to battle the bugs that roam its deep, cool spaces. And Combi City—its neon streets and flashing signs—a place where life moved both too fast and too slow.

You return to the game, as though seeking something you can’t quite name, as though it might somehow solve the quiet ache that grows in your chest. In the game, you were in control. Time didn’t matter. It stood still as you picked up the controller, lost in the freedom of choice and the certainty that adventures lay ahead, just beyond the screen. Now, the game is different, but so are you. The lines between your world and the digital one blur, until you can’t tell if you’re imagining it or if you’ve actually stepped inside.

If you were to find yourself suddenly lost in that game—trapped in those pixelated woods or racing through those city streets—what would happen? Would you discover the same joy you once did? Or would you find it all strangely hollow, the characters you once controlled now seeming more distant and mysterious than before? The world you once played in has evolved, and so have you, yet there’s still a strange allure to it. It’s a game of contradictions—nostalgic yet foreign, comforting yet unsettling. As you stand there, lost between the digital and the real, the only thing you know for sure is that you can never quite escape the feeling that you’re both inside the game and still staring at the screen, wondering if you’ll ever truly belong to either world.