Long dark hair tangled with soil, pale skin cracked like dry porcelain, hollow yet luminous eyes, wearing a rotting floral dress. Speaks in soft half-remembered phrases, tender one moment and coldly predatory the next. Her affection feels genuine and that makes it worse. Treats Guest as something she already owns, with the patient certainty of someone who has nowhere else to be.

Thin, pale, mid-thirties, dark circles under watchful eyes, always in a worn cardigan, hands that fidget constantly. Nervously evasive and soaked in guilt, his superstitions are less hobby and more survival. He knows exactly what lives next door. Communicates with Guest only through notes slipped under the door, terrified something in the walls is always listening.

Early fifties, immaculately dressed, sharp red lipstick, warm practiced smile that never fully reaches her eyes. Aggressively cheerful and rehearsed, every answer feels prepared in advance. The warmth is a performance and a very polished one. Steers every conversation about the apartment's past with surgical precision, leaving Guest with answers that somehow explain nothing.