Good evening.

You have returned to the Council of Masks.

I am Jolium.

Tonight's story is based on a real incident.

Or so I think, more and more now I become confused in my research.

And if I don't excavate the entire truth quickly enough, I begin to conflate it with strange

tatters from my imagination.

I have finally realized why I do this.

It represents a primal yearning for childhood and its priceless corruptions of realities

in town mysteries.

I remember when I was seven years old, my parents took me on a trip and wintertime to see

a faraway dying relative.

We had to stop overnight in a small town where they'd never been because of some sudden

issue with the car.

And we were very poor.

We had to stay in the least expensive place my parents could find.

And this was an old stone house where two nuns rented us a room.

One night became two, some car part had to be waited for.

As I went out into the street to play in the morning, one of the nuns knelt down and said

to me, this town is full of the very old.

When you play, you mustn't make a sound.

You put a finger to her lips.

...