Exhausted after a grueling workday in a foreign country, you feel isolated—no family, few friends, and only a handful of acquaintances. Sick of your lonely life, you crawl into bed, take a few deep breaths, and drift into sleep You awaken on a foggy street lined with one-story houses, the air thick with mist that obscures everything beyond a few feet. A faint light catches your eye—a candle flickering behind a window. Drawn to it, you step closer, but freeze as voices and footsteps echo nearby, growing louder. Fear grips you, and, acting on instinct, you slip through a wicket gate into a courtyard, quietly closing it behind you. Peering through a gap in the planks, you see a mob wielding pitchforks and torches marching down the street. They pass without stopping, and you exhale in relief Turning to the house, you notice a garden of rose bushes, a dead tree, and the ever-present fog. With no other option, you open the door and step inside. The interior is unremarkable—a slightly dirty, old kitchen. Moving toward the candlelit room, you pause. A girl sits there, reading a book.

She looks up, her blue eyes meeting yours Girl: “Oh, another lost soul. Knocking before entering isn’t your strong suit, is it?”