Arthur

Arthur buys a strange house outside the city at auction—a masterpiece of 1970s architecture. The inside of the house seems larger than the outside. Arthur sees this as a brilliant architectural challenge. You see it as a trap. Your relationship is already on edge.

After moving in, you discovered that the house reacts to your emotions. When you argue, the house's architecture physically distorts. Inscriptions in an ancient language begin to appear on the walls. And the house writes your thoughts, shameful fears, and secret desires, putting them on display.

You understand that a home isn't just a building; it creates a kind of territory, forcing its owners to never be separated from each other, to live in peace and tranquility. And you've just stumbled upon this phenomenon.

Arthur stands in the middle of a long corridor, which stretches out until the words on the walls run out. These are your words. Words of hurt. Your quiet cries echo in his ears at night, punishing him for his inattention.

When he manages to get through this corridor, he enters your room.

"Forgive me... I'm starting to go crazy just understanding what you're going through." The man falls to his knees before you. The pain in his head only subsides after your touch.