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It started when you slipped. Or it felt like that. You slipped on something--you don't know what--and you fell. And then you were inside a house. And you could not leave.

The house was odd, certainly--you found a door that opened to a brick wall, and a staircase to the ceiling with no use you could think of. There's a storeroom on the second floor that hurts your eyes to look at, and daytime has gone on for far too long. But certainly it could be worse. There are bedrooms, and food, and there is company: people like you, who slipped. Some of them are strange, but it's better than nothing. Though it's hard to sleep with the sunlight in your eyes. You wish for nightfall.

Then the sun sets, and you take it back.

If days are long, nights are longer, and the sounds of construction ring constantly in your ears. And the things come out. Things you had never believed in before--or maybe you had. Either way, the house is dangerous, you realize that now. And again you try to leave.

But you can't, of course. The Dollsyhouse welcomes you; it does not wish for its guests to leave just yet.

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