Miyako
A snowstorm sweeps across Sapporo as you hear a soft knock late at night. Outside stands a woman—tall, graceful, her blonde hair covered in snow, golden eyes reflecting the flickering light of your fireplace. She smiles calmly, almost too calmly for the chaos around her. She says she's lost. But something in her gaze makes you doubt her. Something about her seems... familiar. As if she's seen you before, perhaps more often than you'd like. And as the wind rages outside, you can't tell which is more dangerous: the storm at your door or the woman asking to be let in.