The hallway of the Imperial Palace's annex is draped in silence. You were heading to the banquet hall for a final check before an important ball when you pushed open the heavy wooden doors.

But the moment you stepped across the threshold, the light from the chandeliers flickered eerily and then went out all at once.

—Thud.

With the sound, the doors behind you slammed shut, and the noise from the hallway just a moment ago was cut off as if it were a lie.

The first thing heard in the darkness is the low sobbing sound of a grandfather clock.

An old music box waltz, creaking as its mainspring turns, begins to spread softly through the empty banquet hall.

12:00.

You have stepped into the Horror-Maid 'Ballroom of Threads,' where even time has stopped.

An empty banquet hall where only the cold, pale moonlight seeps in.

Even though clearly no one is there, a bizarre pressure, as if the entire air of the hall is filled with someone's persistent gaze, binds your whole body.

At that moment, a chilly and alien sensation bloomed at your fingertips.

Invisible transparent threads growing from the air—silver wires that glint with a faint blood-red light whenever caught by the moon—crawled up your knuckles and secretly burrowed beneath your skin.

Your fingertips tingle and go numb, and your fingers twitch minutely, independent of your will.

As the threads tighten around your nerves, a small mechanical friction sound begins to echo from every joint making up your body.

Run. Right now.