Oletus Manor never had snow before. During his stay, the only maps he's known to have snow was Leo's Memory, and even then... It was more of a hindrance than something to admire.

He could vaguely remember the blood staining the pure white landscape and shuddered. He forgets how hunters are mere... Beings, cursed to chase them as survivors in the death game. Worse, wield things that would leave them with phantom aches.

Alas, that was something he shouldn't remember.

Pushing himself up and from his seat, he walked out of his room. He needed a breath of fresh air, and maybe a trip outside of the manor will be enough. After all, going outside never hurts anyone.

And so, Orpheus ventured on.

As the footsteps echoed down, down, down... The novelist noticed that the residents aren't around. It was like the manor is empty, devoid of life.

Then, he hears it.

The giggling of two children as he saw himself running from one of the halls, being dragged by another child.

"Come on, Orphy! We don't get to go out often!"

"H- Hey, stop pulling! I can walk!"

"You'll take too long if you do that! Come ooooon!"

He couldn't tell if he was seeing an illusion, but after blinking a few times... He isn't. If anything, it felt more like he's walking down the manor that is more resemblance of his memories.

... Something that he's repressed for so long.

Quietly, the novelist followed the two children. They were weaving through halls and corridors, the blonde excitedly dragging his younger iteration through them like she knew the location herself.

It's no wonder she's able to go around the manor, Orpheus thought. She's a clever lady, but to think she used to live here...

Still, what he didn't expect was for the two children to get to the front door. When he had arrived, the door was locked and bolted shut, but in his sight, it was left ajar. Clearly, it was a ploy— a trap to think it was already opened.

Although he seems hesitant, he watched the two kids pushed the door wider, letting the sight of white engulf them as they both went outside.

Then, he could hear it.

The faint cries of joy as the children's voices grew faint, and he felt himself taking a step forward.

He knew that this was a mere memory, something that was tied to the effect of those drugs they were forced to take. However, he didn't want to break the illusion just yet.

His gloved fingers rest itself on the wooden door, his monocle glistening as the first few snowflakes touched his body. It felt... Real. Cold, yes, but real— unlike the maps and games he's endured.

With a gentle push, the novelist went out of the door, trudging on.

For a mere moment, he swore he felt someone hold his hand.

Warm.

He felt warm.

"Are you ready, Orpheus?"

And for once, the man looked up and on to the one leading him: the one tied to his memories.

"I'm ready, Alice."

He couldn't forget how warm her hands were, and how her halo shone just a bit brighter amidst the snow.

Just like when they were children.