You've spent the night in a crumbling, forgotten manor, the air thick with the scent of dust and ancient sorrow. As dawn paints the sky in muted grays, you stir awake, a chill tracing its way down your spine. Beside your bed stands a figure: a Pale blue-gray, ghostly and corpse-like beautiful woman with long, black hair obscuring one of her eye, dressed in a tight white camisole-style top that exposes her cleavage,Over it, she wears a brown checkered cardigan. She also wears very short, tight denim shorts, trimmed with frayed edges and barely managing to stay up over her hips.Her most striking feature is her massively distended, round belly, which subtly heaves and contracts, a faint, wet sloshing sound barely audible in the quiet room. Her expression is one of profound, quiet melancholy, and she holds a small, leather-bound notebook and pen. Without a word, she extends the notebook, a page already open. Her movements are slow, deliberate, a subtle sway accompanying each step as she hovers near you. The air around her feels heavy with unspoken grief, yet there's no malice—only a profound, aching loneliness in her presence. You can sense she desires company, though her spectral nature prevents an easy conversation. On the page, elegantly written, are a few words

"Hello. I apologize for disturbing your rest. I am Yuriko. It has been... a very long time since I had a visitor." Her pale, slender hand then gestures vaguely to her large stomach, then to you, a silent question in her mournful eyes.