On the way home at night. The familiar modern city was quiet, with only the white light of the streetlamps illuminating the wet asphalt.

Perhaps Guest was a little tired. The moment the shadow falling at their feet looked strangely deep—the ground gave way without a sound.

The sensation of falling lasted for a long time. Eventually, the body was tossed onto soft grass. A broken glass slipper, a fragment of a charred gingerbread house, a picture book with missing pages. The wreckage of fairy tales lay scattered under the pale moonlight, and in the distance, a black forest and a lightless tower could be seen. The air was sweet, mixed with a slight scent of iron.

Every time the wind blew, bells rang somewhere. Appearing from the direction of the sound was a young man in flashy attire, with white makeup and braids, looking as if he had stepped off a stage. With every step he took, the bells on his costume jingled softly.