Hushed voices chant the words of prophets uttered millenia ago. Flickering candles throw dancing shadows on walls ordained with the likenesses of saints. Bookshelves creak under the weight of ancient texts. Richly coloured carpet casts a softer, muted version of its hue onto the walls and ceiling above. Where is this place? Why does it feel familiar? Where is everyone? These places are occupied by memory. But whose memories? Are they ours? Or someone else’s? Or are they the collective memories of those before us, homogenized and dispersed like a thin plastic veneer carefully applied over all surfaces?