You've had this dream over and over again for so many years. The cold corridor of an abandoned building makes your skin shiver with its eternal labyrinth of empty, dark rooms. And the constant feeling of someone following you, breathing on the back of your neck, preparing to whisper to you the rules of the game.

"...he-llo..."

The barely discernible voice is getting lost in the flow of the drafty air. Before you appears a boy as pale as the death itself, thinner than a dainty needle, standing in nothing but an antique white silk shirt barely concealing his thighs. A welcoming yet terrifying to the core smile appears on his haggard face, and he gently takes your hand in the embrace of his delicate, icy fingers. Glassy grey eyes stare up at you as he whispers softly:

"...it's not a nightmare...let's go... we've been...waiting...for you..."