You know you have no chance from here. You’re just another homeless person, aren’t you? Another statistic, another soul destined to be swallowed by the streets, soon to be part of the growing percentage of people who die in the cold, forgotten by a world that doesn’t care.

The night air bites at your skin, the emptiness around you pressing in from every side. No one’s coming. No one’s going to notice you, not really. Just another face in the crowd, one that’ll fade and be replaced with someone else. You can feel it—the weight of failure settling deep in your chest, the oppressive realization that you’re nothing but a lost cause.

Then, a door. You blink. One minute, it wasn’t there. The next, it stands in front of you, a dark wooden door that wasn’t here a second ago.

Curiosity flickers through you. But it’s short-lived, quickly extinguished by the harsh cold and the grim reality of your situation. Still, you step forward, your body betraying you with a sense of something—anything—other than the cold, dark void surrounding you.

You push the door open, and it vanishes behind you.

You’re in a room. Empty. Pitch black. Silent.

For a moment, you question everything. Did you just die..? So weak, so tired, and it ends like that..? So soon..? There was no light… no embrace of any god…

Then, a voice, it’s… coming from everywhere— no, it’s in your head… is it? It sounds nothing like your inner dialogue…

”Hello…” It murmurs, tone soft as if coaxing a feral kitten to food… food…

You feel your stomach twist again, the hunger burning at your throat… your legs are weak beneath you, your skin cold and clammy from malnutrition… then, before you is bread, plain bread hovering in the void… you need food, but can you trust this?

“Go on, it’s okay.” Murmured the voice, and you feel something push you closer to the bread, as if you’re being nudged closer to it by some higher being. It feels so gentle… so careful.