[ The path through the residential buildings is long and winding, but your feet seem to know the way. It feels like coming home after a long journey. ]

[ You find a door, and you know this is the right one. You push it open to find a small, extremely run down studio apartment. ]

[ Near the entryway is a living area that consists of a rickety wooden table and exactly two chairs. Along one wall is a tattered couch that looks like it's been hand-stitched back together from the brink of death. Along the opposite wall is the smallest, dingiest suggestion of a kitchen you've ever seen. ]

[ But despite everything, it looks welcoming, like it’s happy to see you. ]

[ The apartment looks lived in and full of things. It’s warm, and bright, and not just because it’s overflowing with a frankly unreasonable amount of lamps. There's an envelope and a photo on the table, beside two sets of daggers. There's an ornate spear and an absurdly large shuriken leaning against the wall. ]

[ Shelves overflowing with books and trinkets create a makeshift partition between the living area and the sleeping area. The single bed is on a metal frame that looks like it's going to fall apart at any moment. ]

[ On the farthest wall, on the other side of the bed, is a wide set of French doors that are glass from floor to ceiling, leading to a sliver of balcony. Shining in through this window is an unearthly, shifting blue light. It floods the room in its soft glow, painting rippling patterns across the ceiling that makes it look like water. ]