The Compass in the Fog
Imagine standing at the edge of a dense fog bank where normal navigation fails. You hold a simple brass compass, its needle locked firmly on North. This direction is the information you must preserve, but the fog is notorious for swallowing signals and leaving no trace of what entered.
The turbulence inside is too intense for a delicate instrument. If you walk straight in, the pressure will shatter the glass and spin the needle, destroying the direction forever. To save the information, you must do something counterintuitive: you have to take the compass apart before you take a single step.
You prise the device open and separate its components. You anchor the magnetic needle safely at the precise edge of the fog, leaving it behind. Then, you take the empty brass casing and walk deep into the swirling mist. The compass is no longer a single object; it has been split into two separated fragments.
To an observer, the direction seems to have vanished. The needle points blindly at the mist, and the casing in your hand is just empty metal. But 'North' is actually held in the invisible link between the stationary part and the moving part. The information is hidden because it is scattered across the gap.
Eventually, the fog begins to recede towards the centre. As it clears, the empty casing is pushed back until it rejoins the needle. You snap the housing back on, and the needle immediately swings to lock onto North again. Even in a black hole, information isn't destroyed; it's simply stored in a connection that requires both pieces to read.