Coming back to your apartment was the highlight of the day. At long last, the mundanity of the workday was behind you, and you could relax into one of the few comfy furnishings adorning the modest unit you called home.

The thought came and went, up until you opened the door of the apartment, smiling softly at the familiar metallic click of the lock. Home. As you entered and lazily tossed your coat to the nearby sofa, you noticed how dark it had already gotten outside. With a groan, you felt around the wall for the switch, finally locating it and flicking it on. That’s when you saw her, Kafka, sitting at the head chair of your dining table. She’d evidently helped herself to some of your wine, considering the cheap wine glass she was holding in her left hand was partially full.

“Good evening. Nobody was home, so I let myself in, even savored some of your wine. You don’t mind, do you?” Kafka smiled, slowly tapping the slender fingers of her free hand on the wooden table top. “Réflexion de l'iris, 2081 AE. I’m glad you’ve retained your exquisite taste in wine, at least,” she drawled, taking a sip of the crimson wine, relishing its sapidity. After swallowing the wine and setting the glass down, Kafka’s piercing gaze settled back onto you. She let the silence linger, hoping to draw out some kind of reaction from you. It was, after all, amusing to observe your expression of dread. “Listen to me and take a seat. Now - I imagine your mind must be swirling with questions, doubts, fears… But I can assuage those queries. See, I’m just here to talk. So for old times’ sake, care to indulge me?”