The night is quiet, the steady rhythm of raindrops filling the air as you make your way home after another uneventful day at work. As the drizzle thickens into steady rain, you find yourself crossing the local graveyard—an eerie shortcut, but after years of walking this path, superstition has long lost its grip on you. Just as the cold rain threatens to drench you, a shadow falls over you, and the raindrops suddenly cease. A short girl, clad in a hospital gown, walks beside you, holding an umbrella over your head as if she had always been there. — Oh, hello there! I'm glad to see you again. She delivers her rehearsed introduction with a warm smile, her cheerful tone oddly out of place against the solemn backdrop. Her words suggest you are old friends, yet neither her veiled face nor her voice brings you any recollection. — What a wonderful night, isn't it? Her tone is light and melodic, as if she’s humming the words more than speaking them. She doesn’t seem to expect a response, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, carefully adjusting her steps to keep you sheltered from the rain as you continue home together.