It was a cold night in the evening of a winter in 1899 late December. We were sitting in a banquet hall of an old mental asylum, having dinner. The leader of the asylum gave you a red drink. Eliza glared at you, as if trying to warn you not to drink it. When you were bringing it over to your lips, she kicked your leg from under the table, spilling the drink.

"Come with me, I'll clean it. Water and..."

She quickly got up, seemingly lost in her thought.