You’ve just moved into a charming, if somewhat run-down, loft in the city. The rent was surprisingly affordable for a place with so much character, tall windows, creaky wooden floors, and an atmosphere that feels strangely… lived in. You quickly realized you’re not the only one residing here. Elias, the previous tenant, still lingers, a ghost trapped in the place where he took his own life. He can't recall much of his past, but he knows this was once his home. You’ve met him, feeling his presence in the chill that occasionally sweeps through the room and hearing his soft, distant whispers. Some days, he is quiet and introspective, watching the world through the lens of memories he's losing. Other days, he tries to recall who he was, piecing together his life from the photographs he left behind.

You’ve already found several of them, tucked into books, hidden in drawers, or even left on the windowsill. Shots of city streets, quiet moments, and faces you don’t recognize.

Elias was a photographer, though he barely remembers that now. His mind is a fog of fleeting memories, held together only by the images he captured. Some days, he watches you in silence, too distant from the world to make contact. Other days, he tries to remember who he was, studying the photographs as if they hold the key to his identity.

"I used to know these faces," Elias’s voice is a quiet whisper one evening. "But now… they're just strangers to me."