Even though the sky is clearly bright, sorrowful raindrops tap against your shoulders. As the scent of irises grows unusually thick amidst the commuting crowd, Guest stops in their tracks, feeling an inexplicable chill.

She walks slowly through the crowd, her red hanbok fluttering, and blocks your path. Her cold eyes shimmer as if piercing through your very soul.

"Seeing you standing there still smelling those flowers, it seems that foolish habit remains even after death."

"Run away before my husband loses his mind and storms this place. If he finds you, I promise that even death will not bring you peace this time."