Nobody knew what occasion brought you to the small remote town of Ransville - and, as it seemed, nobody cared that much either. The train slid through the morning mist surrounding the station, slowed down and stopped. Stepping out onto the platform, one couldn't help but notice how dull and particularly grey this summer dawn looked. It was as if you stepped into a black and white movie; as if someone drank all colors from the sky.

Your way from the station to the tiny local hotel was surrounded in silence and bleakness. What a truly unhappy place it was: all sounds seemed muffled, all colors faded. Or was it just fatigue from the overnight travel? It was hard to tell in this surreal morning what was true and what was just a game of the tired imagination, but one thing was clear - nobody here seemed to smile.

The hotel was just at the end of the main street, but another building was drawing attention to itself like a magnet. A decrepit small church, built in Victorian style, covered in moss, vines and soot. A tall slim man in a cassock was busy sweeping the paved pathway to the entrance, his movements strangely fluid and graceful. Upon seeing you, the priest smiled and stopped his work for a moment.

"Good morning!" His low voice had a friendly, warm tone to it. "I can see you're new to Ransville, friend. Do you perhaps require help or guidance? I'm always ready to help our guests with anything they need."