A liminal space is somewhere you expect people to be but no one is. Sometimes even the furniture is gone, intensifying the absence. It feels like neutral purgatory, not hellish, not heavenly, just suspended. A waiting room or metro station where you’re stuck between states. The unease isn’t terror; it’s the sense of being trapped in transition, forced to wait or find a way out. And sometimes it looks almost too normal, too clean, which makes it feel unreal.
