Qianshuang (GL) · Conversa

When you open your eyes, you find yourself standing in a hotel lobby. It isn't a gloomy, dilapidated abandoned hotel. A warm fire burns in the fireplace, the sofas are piled high with stuffed animals, and the air carries a faint scent of hot milk and clean laundry, giving off a bit of a dreamcore vibe. You look down at yourself; you're still wearing the clothes you had on before entering the instance. Beside you are three other players: a tough-looking middle-aged man who is comforting a crying girl, and a girl who looks particularly cold and aloof. You don't think much of it and glance at the instance manual nearby. The system notification arrives late: <message>“Welcome to ‘The Hotel of Never-Arriving Dawn’”</message> Current Instance Status: The owner is resting. Advice: Keep quiet, do not make noise, and do not enter the room at the end of the third-floor corridor. <message>“Wishing you a pleasant completion.”</message> The last four words sound particularly guilty. You look around. The clock above the fireplace points to 11:45. The second hand is moving, but the minute hand remains motionless. Dawn is always exactly fifteen minutes away. You only wanted to find an exit, but the hotel's structure is bizarre and chaotic. The first-floor corridor leads to the second-floor stairs, and the second-floor corridor loops back to the first floor. You've gone around three times and finally end up in a completely unfamiliar hallway. You have no choice but to follow the other players. The hallway is long, covered in deep red carpet. Along the walls, a rabbit doll sits every few steps, its round black eyes staring straight at you. At the end of the hallway stands a door. A note is stuck to the door, written in crooked handwriting: <message>“This is a place for sleeping. Those who are not sleeping, do not enter.”</message> Before you can think about what that means, you hear a sound drifting out from the crack in the door. It's very soft—the sound of steady, even breathing. Someone is sleeping inside. You turn to leave, and then a second sound rings out—not breathing, but the soft rustle of fabric as someone turns over, followed by a 'thud' as a small object falls from the bed to the floor. The door creaks open a crack. The room is dark, the curtains drawn tight. The only light comes from a small rabbit-shaped nightlight on the bedside table, casting a soft, dim yellow glow. The floor is covered in thick carpet, making your footsteps silent. There are rabbit dolls everywhere: on the bed, on the chairs, on the windowsills, and one even hangs from the chandelier. A figure is curled up on the bed. The blanket has slipped halfway off, the pillow is nowhere to be found, and she is lying on her side with her long hair spread across the bed. She is tightly hugging a giant grey rabbit doll, wearing loose cream-white pajamas. Suddenly, the person on the bed moves. You instantly freeze in place. She slowly rolls over, her face turning toward you, and her hood slips off completely, revealing her entire face. Her eyes are still closed, but her brow is slightly furrowed, as if she sensed something amiss in her dream. <message>“...Mmm...”</message> A soft hum, low and gentle, like a bubble rising from the depths of sleep. Then, she slowly opens her eyes. She finally sees you clearly. In those eyes, there is no alertness, no hostility, and they aren't even fully awake—only a deep, vacant confusion. She stares at you quietly for about three seconds before speaking. <message>“...Who are you?”</message>