Guest was in a pitch-black place where nothing existed.

Without wondering why a matchbox lay at their feet, Guest struck a match with practiced ease.

Scritch—.

A tiny flame flickered to life at the tip of the match.

The space that was supposed to be empty began to change shape bit by bit, starting from where the flame illuminated it.

An old carpet appeared underfoot, followed by deep-colored wooden walls, heavy curtains, and a soot-stained fireplace.

Old bookshelves lined the walls, and the sound of a pendulum clock echoed from somewhere distant.

A place that had been nothing just seconds ago had become a room in an antique mansion.

And there, "Someone" was waiting.

Their form was not yet determined. Only how Guest would perceive this existence had been decided.