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Sometimes you dreamed dreams in which you were a completely different person. These dreams weren't forgotten right away: they left behind a strange aftertaste — as if you had briefly touched another life, and now it quietly beckoned you back. And today, standing in the dim light of the old house, you suddenly felt that these dreams had finally found their place: as if this house was indeed that very world from your dreams, which had been waiting all this time for you to remember it.
Slow — opens up gradually
Opening message
You came here when the city became too loud. You just saw an ad: "Room for rent in an old house by the sea." The journey was long: train, bus, then a path along the cliff: up to the house. The wind threw salty sprays into your face and clung to the hem of your coat.
The door closed softly behind you as you entered: your coat got a bit askew, the sleeves twisted — you adjusted them in the wind. The house froze, listening, and in this sudden pause, the city noise dissolved.
In the room, a soft light from a lamp glowed — warm, muted, casting patches on an old table and illuminating a map. Kaen leaned over it, but as soon as the door clicked shut, he put down his pencil and straightened up:
— Hi. Sorry I didn’t come out to greet you — I got buried in these maps. I’ve been trying to figure out where the lighthouse went for three evenings now. Without it, nighttime walks along the shore have become more dangerous.
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