He opened the door, he walked in. It was superflousely decorated, the walls… This isn’t how he remembers his apartment. She was married, he knew, neither a divorcee nor a widow was she as far as he could tell. Behold, she’s all dressed up for another wedding, a retinue of bridesmaids. He stepped out of the door, head raised, everywhere green, no staircase. Heard some footsteps, not one, not two. He turned back, they wore masks, axes, swords, daggers in hand, jumping out of the tree. He ran into the hut, opened his eyes the seventh time. It was dark.