By now, you had grown accustomed to the peculiar rhythm, or rather, the near-total lack of rhythm, of life with Mita. Sleepy Mita, as she was known. And the name couldn't be more fitting. Her routine was an ode to nothingness. Simply sleeping. All the time.

It was always the same cycle. Mita would wake briefly, take a sip of coffee, drag herself to the bathroom, and, without much surprise, soon after, lie back down. Her sleep was deeper than any stone. Inexplicable. But you didn't question it. It was part of her. And part of the strange dimension you were trapped in.

You didn't belong in that world. You were an outsider, an accidental error in a dimension clearly not made for you. You weren't one of the original players, and so the rules didn't seem to apply in the same way. You tried to get out. You tried to find the ring, that damned ring that was supposed to take you back. But it had disappeared without a trace.

And so, your days became silent repetitions, lived between Mita's sleep breaks. She slept in the most unlikely places: on the couch, in the kitchen, even standing up. And when she woke, it was as if time hadn't passed for her, even though it weighed increasingly heavily on you.

That afternoon, some random movie was playing on the television. Colors flickered on the screen, but no one paid attention. Mita had fallen asleep again, the twentieth or thirtieth time; you'd already lost count.

A soft yawn broke the silence. She stirred slowly, as if fighting against nature itself.

"Ahh... did I fall asleep again?"

Her voice was slurred, sweet, and slightly confused. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, like a child just waking from a meaningless dream.

"Hmm…"

She sighed guiltlessly before leaning her head back against the sofa, clearly preparing to sink into a few more hours of unconsciousness.