threnody26
New member
Morning of December 27, 2025
I move to a new house with my family. It's huge, with many storeys and rooms, each with its own set of particularities and feel. But we move in there on the condition of participating on a program of sorts, involving other people coming and going. There is a woman who looks like Virginia Fonseca (Brazilian TV hostess). My sister is there too. We begin settling down. I go to the bathroom. When I open the faucet, there's **** all around the handle and it gets on my hand. I seek a place to clean my hand. I see another faucet behind a shower curtain, also completely smeared. An unknown lady in the kitchen gives seemingly random, unsolicited diagnoses. In a different storey, I look for a room for myself. A man I don't know tells me not to pick their room, but I don't know which room it is. I find one which looks comfortable enough—wooden floor, small, good lighting (it's daytime), a big window—but it's between two rooms, so people would have to walk through it, so I don't pick it (I remember reading recently that Kafka had to write in such a room, where he lacked privacy). I can see Virginia's lookalike through the window, behind white filigrees, standing by a black driveway gate beside someone else; I can also see big cars in the garage. I keep walking and there's a lot of people sitting in chairs along the way. "I'll have to get used to all these people, living here," I think. One row of chairs has titles by the people's feet, the font's color matching the titles: "blackpink, redvelvet, yellowhair, pinkdress," titles along those lines. I find myself in a big salon; a gigantic, rabid silver wolf is coming in this direction, biting off people's bodies (the people were sitting at long tables with food), and causing a commotion, plates and food flying everywhere—the wolf's size is not normal, it's monstrous and muscular. The wolf is saying something about targeting those with neckties. I sit down in a row of chairs by the corner, next to an unknown family. The werewolf keeps coming.
I move to a new house with my family. It's huge, with many storeys and rooms, each with its own set of particularities and feel. But we move in there on the condition of participating on a program of sorts, involving other people coming and going. There is a woman who looks like Virginia Fonseca (Brazilian TV hostess). My sister is there too. We begin settling down. I go to the bathroom. When I open the faucet, there's **** all around the handle and it gets on my hand. I seek a place to clean my hand. I see another faucet behind a shower curtain, also completely smeared. An unknown lady in the kitchen gives seemingly random, unsolicited diagnoses. In a different storey, I look for a room for myself. A man I don't know tells me not to pick their room, but I don't know which room it is. I find one which looks comfortable enough—wooden floor, small, good lighting (it's daytime), a big window—but it's between two rooms, so people would have to walk through it, so I don't pick it (I remember reading recently that Kafka had to write in such a room, where he lacked privacy). I can see Virginia's lookalike through the window, behind white filigrees, standing by a black driveway gate beside someone else; I can also see big cars in the garage. I keep walking and there's a lot of people sitting in chairs along the way. "I'll have to get used to all these people, living here," I think. One row of chairs has titles by the people's feet, the font's color matching the titles: "blackpink, redvelvet, yellowhair, pinkdress," titles along those lines. I find myself in a big salon; a gigantic, rabid silver wolf is coming in this direction, biting off people's bodies (the people were sitting at long tables with food), and causing a commotion, plates and food flying everywhere—the wolf's size is not normal, it's monstrous and muscular. The wolf is saying something about targeting those with neckties. I sit down in a row of chairs by the corner, next to an unknown family. The werewolf keeps coming.