Day Five 5:00am

Ariel blinked, finding herself alone in a dimly lit hall. For a moment, she remained motionless, her eyes slowly adjusting to the unfamiliar darkness that surrounded her, a stark contrast to the cozy familiarity of her bed at the Williams Inn.

I'm dreaming...

She took a tentative step forward, her bare feet cold against the hard, unyielding wood floor. Before her stretched a long corridor, more shadowed and enigmatic than she had ever seen during the day. The hall was lined with photographs, their darkened frames hanging in ghostly silence. Ariel drew a small breath of recognition.

I’ve been in this hall before. This is the Marlowe Playhouse.

A shiver ran through her as she stared into the pitch-black void ahead. There was no flashlight, no Leroy to offer reassurance this time. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was not alone. The memory of her previous dream—one where she had encountered a spectral Mr. Marlowe—loomed in her mind.

This is just like last time.

Despite the urge to shut her eyes against the encroaching darkness that might reveal a supernatural presence, Ariel forced herself to take another step forward.

Mr. Marlowe is kind, and he needs my help. There's no reason to fear seeing him...but why can't Jasper show up?

A hopeful glance around for her boss yielded no results. She drifted a few more feet down the hall, clutching the hem of her nightgown. Passing by moonlit rooms, the familiar objects inside them appeared strange and foreboding. Ariel squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as she fought against her overactive imagination.

This is just the theater. It only seems creepy because it's dark...and because I'm alone here...and I don't even know why I'm here...

Determined to overcome her apprehension, Ariel focused on the walls of the hall. Frames adorned with photographs—some recent, others faded with age—lined the corridor. The dark faces in the pictures seemed to watch her as she passed. Despite her nerves, Ariel studied the wall, trying to understand why she had been summoned here once more.

Without warning, an old man appeared a few feet away. Ariel halted abruptly, but rather than feeling startled, she was met with a profound sense of sadness emanating from his solemn expression.

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"Mr. Marlowe," Ariel spoke, her voice echoing in the silence.

The old man placed a grave finger to his lips, then deliberately gestured toward a section of the wall beside him. Ariel furrowed her brows in concentration.

"Is there something you want me to see?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Mr. Marlowe pointed again at the wall, his gesture more insistent this time. Curiosity mixed with hesitation as Ariel stepped closer. As she approached, the spectral figure of Mr. Marlowe retreated slightly, his eyes fixed mournfully on the wall. Struggling against a wave of sadness, Ariel examined the pictures before her.

"It's you..." Ariel began, her voice soft as she gazed at a portrait of Mr. Marlowe in happier times.

Prominently displayed on the wall were triangular frames featuring the Marlowe family. The ghostly Mr. Marlowe pointed once more, drawing Ariel's attention to a blank frame positioned below and to the right. Earlier that day, she and Leroy had been surprised to find the heiress missing from her place on the wall. Ariel looked sympathetically at Mr. Marlowe, whose gaze was fixed on the empty space where his daughter’s portrait should have been.

"She wants to tear this place down," Ariel explained gently.

Mr. Marlowe shook his head in disagreement, pointing again toward the vacant frame. Ariel stepped closer, her curiosity piqued.

"What is it? What do you want me to see?" she asked, her uncertainty evident.

With a look of resolute determination, Mr. Marlowe reached for the nameplate beneath the empty frame. Ariel moved back, watching in confusion as he struggled to pull the tarnished plate from the wall. For a moment, she recalled how much effort it had taken him to speak earlier. Just as she was about to offer assistance, the plate fell with a clatter, and Mr. Marlowe straightened, looking slightly more frail than before. Concern for the old man held Ariel still, but with a faint nod of encouragement from him, she turned her gaze back to the vacant spot.

"Becca... Marlowe?" Ariel breathed, staring at the nameplate in stunned silence.

"Becca," Mr. Marlowe whispered, his form growing increasingly faint.

"Becca," Ariel repeated, and the theater faded away.

A blinding white light pressed against her eyes, and with a moan of protest, Ariel rolled over in bed. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into her pillow. Her heart raced, and her cheeks were damp. Slowly, with a dull pounding in her head, she sat up. Sunlight streamed in through the window, replacing the moonlight of the previous night.

It had been a dream, but one that felt intensely real. The name "Becca" lingered on her lips.

"Becca," Ariel murmured, her voice weak and cracking from sleep.

A fleeting vision of the nameplate falling to the floor flashed in her mind.

What does it mean?

The pounding in her head intensified, and she fell back onto her pillow with a groan.

Was this supposed to give me answers? I only seem to have more questions...

As she lay there, her mind spinning with questions and thoughts, Ariel was jolted awake by the jarring slam of a door down the hall, followed by a shout: "Hachi, I ask for your hand!"

Suddenly, Ariel was fully alert. A memory as urgent as her dream surged into her consciousness, pushing aside all other thoughts except one: the festival.

It starts this morning.

Jasper!