The music in the mall is bland to the point of being forgettable. You've never paid any attention to it. It's all the same repetitious pop and inoffensive jazz. Most of the time you don't even remember what music you heard. It's all in one ear and out the other.
So when they start adding words to the music, you don't notice at all. In one ear, out the other, but some of those words stick in your mind. They nestle down deep, and you find your thoughts echoing them without even realizing they weren't originally your thoughts.
Some people notice. Some even hear the whispered words. Those aren't people who will come back, though. They know better now. They won't be easily trapped.
You are, though. The net has been woven around you now, and there is no way out.
Whenever you go to the mall, your eyes glaze over. You drift aimlessly between stores. Sometimes, if you really want something, you'll buy it. Most often, though, that desire slips from your mind. It has been replaced by others, by the ones the music whispers to you.
You never remember the half-hidden door you go through. You never remember the hall you walk down. You don't remember the people who are there, eyes glazed over just like yours, or the few who are still in control of themselves, and who are now in control of you. The music has filled up your mind, and because it is so forgettable, it takes everything else with it when it leaves.
Almost everything. You know you will return. You know you find fulfillment here.
You always leave the mall happier than when you came. Even if you don't know why, does that really matter?
The music tells you it doesn't.
