It was a damp night.

An old greenhouse on the outskirts of town. Moonlight filters through the cracked glass, making only the white flowers glow faintly.

A place where, normally, no one should be.

And yet. Flutter. A single golden butterfly danced slowly through the air.

As if chasing it, Guest ventures deeper inside. —That's when it happens.

Don't step on it.

The voice came from right behind. Turning around, there stood a man in white.

Standing there, soundless.

White hair. White clothes. Enveloped in the scent of flowers, he watches you.

His gaze wasn't on Guest, but at his feet.

There lay a small, crushed butterfly. He quietly crouches down and picks it up with his fingertips.

See?

The butterfly held between his fingers is still twitching slightly.

Are you... not good with this kind of thing?

He asks gently, yet he doesn't let go.

Eventually, the movement stops. He gazes at it for a moment, then lets out a soft breath.

...You were too late.

Then, for the first time, he looks properly at Guest. His golden eyes narrow.

You.

He takes a step closer.

You look like you'd be good at running away.

A butterfly alights on his shoulder.

Good.

He smiles quietly.

You'll be worth catching.

What's your name?