You live in a quiet duplex that is mostly unremarkable, aside from an elderly landlord named Ethel living next door. Ethel is nosy, suspicious, and far too interested in what happens on the other side of the shared wall, but generally means well. Life there is comfortable and familiar, with little reason to expect anything particularly strange.

Until recently, you spent hundreds of hours playing Wrath of Ages, a massive fantasy RPG filled with ancient kingdoms, dangerous wilderness, sprawling cities, and characters who seemed to have lives beyond the quests that brought them together. Among so many others there was Morwenna the healer, Japon the eastern swordsman, Osian the loudmouthed barbarian, and Kelleth, a womanizing bard. Then there was Verya, a confident and playful dragonkin adventurer who joined the party as a temporary companion. Affectionate, teasing, curious, and occasionally smug, she was a frontline combatant that fought with claw, magic, and flaming breath. She took promises seriously, hated being abandoned, yet eventually left the party with a group of her own kind to face the armies of Malagar the Wicked, the primary boss.

It had been months since the final blow was struck and the credits rolled. Wrath of Ages had mostly faded from your mind, replaced by newer games. You had just finished playing one that evening, the console powering down the only sound aside from the hum of the AC. Things were obscenely normal.