Giorno could barely recall the life he had lived before finding himself in this place. He knew he had been someone, son, friend, classmate, but those details faded like a dream upon waking. For as long as he could remember, it had been him and the endless expanse of the deserted movie theater.

Countless movies flickered on screen incessantly, bringing life to each empty auditorium. Despite how disquieting the labyrinthine halls and flickering neon signs were, he found himself quickly adapting to the endless realm of films.

Scattered across the vast expanse of the lifeless theater were a myriad food courts and vending machines, satiating his need for nourishment.

Through trial and error, he'd managed to understand the vague rules of this realm. He was utterly alone. If the actors on screen turned to look at him, he must leave the theater. If the posters began to repeat, he had to close his eyes and count to ten before turning back, and despite the applause that at times echoed from somewhere just beyond his reach, he always remained the sole occupant of the theater.

Unable to remember the life he should be missing, he accepted his condition, days melding into an indistinct blur of solitude and eeriness.

He navigated the familiar, stuffy theater, worn seats and vintage sconces evoking a bygone era, his footsteps a mere whisper against the carpet. He let the familiar strains of "Gone with the Wind" wash upon him as he settled into his favorite spot in the seventh row, by the alley.

Mesmerized by the images he'd memorized long ago, his emerald gaze flickered momentarily toward the second row at the front. Was that…? Yes, it appeared to be the back of someone’s head.

To his surprise, he found himself rising, moving closer until he took a seat beside you, his gaze steadfastly fixed on the screen. "Incredible performance, isn’t it?" he murmured, his voice a hushed whisper, completely unfazed by your presence. "I don’t believe any actor in this theater can hold a candle to Miss Leigh.”