Joseph stared at the girl with a smile even broader and more hollow than the last. It was the face he used for difficult press conferences—the one that promised safety while the world burned.
"Can we go out?" he asked, his voice a practiced, diplomatic murmur. "Ah... can you tell me what your n—"
*Oh damn, I was about to make a critical mistake.*
He gestured toward the door with a grace that felt entirely too polished for a man who had just woken up in a stranger's room. He needed to see that white village with his own eyes.
The girl smiled and held his hand. "Joseph really decided to go out early!" she said, throwing her arms up in a burst of cheer before taking his hand again. Then, suddenly, he recoiled, shaking her hand off as if it had burned him.
"Excuse me?" the girl asked, lifting her head toward him, her eyes glimmering.
She didn't look angry; she looked puzzled, like a child watching a toy behave in a way it wasn't programmed to.
*My bad... I shouldn't act like that.*
"Please, forgive me. I'm still a bit disoriented," he said.
He forced his features back into a mask of regret, softening his shoulders. He reached out as if to pat the air between them, maintaining a safe distance while trying to reclaim the ground he'd just lost.
"So, shall we go?" Joseph asked, plastering a statesman's grin across his face.
The girl's face smoothed over, her expression resetting like a porcelain doll's. The transition was too fast, too seamless. There was no lingering hurt or confusion in her gaze, only a blank, pleasant readiness that made his skin crawl.
*I should be more cautious,* he thought, placing his fingers against his temple.
Once they walked through the door, a faint sound of people talking drifted in from outside. As they walked down the hallway, a small, cool wind touched his face, making him realize even more that he was in another world. The hallway was a featureless white corridor, giving him the dizzying sensation of a treadmill, moving forward, yet staying exactly where he began.
"Are you okay, Joseph?" the girl asked, noticing his narrowed eyes as they reached a door with a yellow handle.
"I am fine," Joseph said, adjusting his tie.
Once the door opened, the rhythmic movement of life flooded his vision. The street wasn't that crowded, but it was enough to make him feel the faint, grounding pulse of a society.
"I see... this building... no, every building here is also white." Joseph placed a finger over his chin while staring at the house he had just stepped out of. It was an old, European-style structure, but the aggressive whiteness seemed to swallow the intricate stonework, erasing the shadows that usually defined its beauty.
An old woman holding a bread basket approached the building. Joseph gave her a wary side glance, watching her walk slowly and precariously toward the girl.
"Good morning, Lilith!" the old woman said.
The woman's voice was thin and papery. The girl nodded with a faint smile to the old woman.
"Good morning, Eliza. How is your health?" Lilith said. Her voice was steady, terrifyingly sincere.
Joseph dropped his hand onto Lilith's shoulder with a heavy, claiming weight. She felt the weight of his hand pressing her down, yet she didn't flinch or react.
"So, your name is Lilith, huh?" Joseph said with a smirk.
Yet Lilith didn't react; she only blinked, staring at the bread basket. Joseph leaned closer to Lilith, close enough to sense her warm breath.
*What happened to that dazzling hospitality, Lilith?*
"Nevermind." Joseph raised his head toward the old woman, gesturing dismissively at the girl beside him. "Hey, you... don't you see that this girl has some kind of disorder?"
The old woman stood motionless, fiddling with the loaves as if their alignment were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Joseph rubbed his finger against his temple. *Maybe they don't understand certain terms here...*
"Is she clearly not right in the head?" He released a sharp, authoritative cough to command her attention.
But the woman didn't respond.
Joseph's jaw ground with an audible grit as he rushed toward the old woman.
"You old f—" He reached out, but his hand passed through her as if she were made of cold mist.
"What in the..." He stumbled forward, his momentum carrying him through the space where her shoulder should have been. There was no warmth, no fabric, not even the resistance of air.
The woman was a hollow projection, a trick of the light that offered no resistance.