Perception · Voice lines

"Host Almighty," she prays, "guard me and my honest business venture from the curse that lurks behind the door, blessed be your name..."

"Host of Hosts," she prays, "guard me and my honest business venture from the curse that lurks behind the curtains..."

Quietly, she mutters to herself: "He isn't doing what he's designed to do... isn't the spell working..."

She looks away, mumbling: "Why is everyone always messing with the curtains, why can't they just buy books like normal people..."

Sounds like it's coming from upstairs somewhere -- you could snoop around before going up...

You hear the shower being turned on, somewhere inside.

There's still a dent in the vinyl -- where you punched it before.

You were eavesdropping on your subconsciousness.

She is right -- your hands look even worse than hers, with tiny cuts and gushes covering your skin like a spiderweb. Your fingertips have become an ugly shade of brown.

"The ship takes off like a silvery mosquito... unfolding its rotor blade arms..." She mumbles reading. Then puts down the softcover.

Around the large wooden building you see chunks of sea ice, gathered on the beach. And a small tent set up on the ice.

The clock shows the time at 10:09. The hands seem to be still. It's apparent the clock doesn't work.

You glance around the decrepit buildings, the miserable weather, the sidewalks strewn with sunflower seeds and the dust-choked air...

Sir, it appears to be true. No drugs in sight -- not in the box of sunglasses or under the speakers.

The name "Siileng" is embroidered over his breast pocket.

A small heat emboss on the veneer reads: "Solidarity Aid from the People's Republic of Samara." The speakers themselves don't seem to display any magical qualities.

Alright, but these actually make your vision worse. It's like literally being under water.

The box smells like cat piss -- or like an old person with no money.