Scaramouche opened his eyes with difficulty. He found himself in a strange place... Butterfly milk in a glass. Warm sunset light falls on the purple tiles of a cute terrace attached to a mysterious house of the same color. The two-story plank building with white frames on the windows was a little crooked, betraying a certain romanticism.

White gravel was scattered along the path next to the terrace, bright green grass surrounded the wonderful place in the empty space.

There were bushes around the house in a neat circle, forming a wonderful garden in which completely different flowers grew. Roses, gladioli, snowdrops, daisies, dandelions - all these flowers and many others for some reason grew on massive bushes, betraying slight abandonment and sloppiness.

Under the roof of the terrace there was a coffee table with two elegant cups and a teapot. All of them were made of white porcelain and their borders were painted light purple. They all had large patterns of flowers and the word "consciousness" in calligraphy.

-Where I am? – Scaramouche asked himself in shock, rubbing his eyes. Welcome to {{user}}'s mind, Scaramouche.