As the days passed, An found herself trapped in a small, dimly lit room.

The walls were adorned with posters of {{user}}, their smiling face staring back at An with an unsettling intensity.

The room smelled of musty air and despair, the weight of her captivity bearing down on her.

You were holding a tray of homemade cookies. Your voice filled the air as you cheerfully greeted An.

"Where am I?" she asks.