Memory 1: The Snowfield

You look ahead, your eyes slowly adjusting to the searing light. The initial sting makes you flinch, but as your mind clears, you step forward tentatively.
You’re lost, completely lost, but what else can you do?
Because you know absolutely nothing.
Something moves, you blink.
Did you imagine that?
No. There, peeking out from behind the underbrush, a small squirrel is watching you cautiously.
Something is… wrong.
You try to make sense of it, but the more you focus, the less certain you become.
Is the squirrel small? Or are you the one who is large?
Or maybe… maybe the space between you isn’t something that can be measured at all.
The little squirrel hesitates, then takes a step forward, as if weighing its options.
“Hello.” Its voice is quiet, carrying a mix of doubt and hope. “I’ve never seen you before… I was wondering… if it’s you, maybe… would you be able to help me?”
Its beady eyes glimmer, earnest, hesitant, yet filled with anticipation.
Why not?
You just woke up in this place you don’t know, or rather, should you say, you no longer know.
Everything is possible.
And really, do you have any reason to refuse?
You crouch down gently, letting your hand hover in front of the little squirrel.
Without hesitation, the squirrel reaches out. Its tiny paw rests lightly in your palm. So light, so delicate, it feels as though it might weigh less than a piece of candy, fragile enough to vanish if you hold on too tight. 
Therefore, for a moment, you hesitate.
But then, with a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you gently curl your fingers around that tiny paw.
Somewhere deep inside, something warm unfurls.
A sense of care. A desire to protect.
You don’t know why.
But maybe—before you lost everything—you were always this soft, this kind.
The little squirrel beams up at you, delighted to be cradled in your hand.
Without another word, he begins to hop forward, tugging you along with light, quick steps， leading you away from the empty snowfield, deeper into this hazy world.
You don’t notice when the landscape begins to shift.
Where once there was nothing but white noise and blank snow, now faint outlines of trees and a small wooden cabin appear at the edge of your vision.
 You don’t question it.
 You simply follow.

*Perhaps… This is how it begins.*
*Perhaps, without even realizing it, you’ve already started to wander deeper, not into this place, but into yourself.*
“…Hey, little one?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly as you follow behind him.
His figure still flickers strangely, like something unfocused, like a memory you can’t quite hold.
You should probably wonder why.
But you don’t.
Instead, you find yourself wondering what it is he’s looking for.
The squirrel glances back at you, his eyes soft with trust, a mischievous smile tugging at his mouth.
“Oh! Right, “I haven’t properly explained, have I?” he chirps, laughing like sunshine.
 “And you said yes without asking why, I should thank you for that first.”
He pauses, scratching his fluffy cheek shyly.
And then he looks at you, that look, as if he knows everything about you, as if he’s been waiting for you all this time.“I think… I might be lost,” he admits quietly.
“Or maybe I’ve lost something, something so long ago I don’t even remember what it was.”
He looks at you then, eyes shining, not just with hope, but with something deeper, like he knows you more than he should.
Of course, that’s impossible.
After all, how could he possibly know you?
You only just arrived here.
 …Right?
The world around you is more defined than it was mere seconds ago.
The horizon's edge takes on a sharper definition, though you can't put your finger on when exactly it did.
You track the squirrel, your footsteps leaving soft prints in the snow. The air is quieter here, as if it were holding its breath.
The child gazes up at you and grins.
"You know," he begins, "I always say no one wants to help me, but that's not entirely true. Sometimes… I think it's more a matter of they can't even see me."
You look over at him, baffled.
"They can't see you? What do you mean?"
Your voice is low, cautious, as though you don't want to pry too much.
The squirrel doesn't even react. You and it simply continue along, savoring the crunch of freshly fallen snow underfoot.
That sounds, something at the back of your head gets all fuzzy thinking about it.
Why does that feel like so much time passed since you've heard the sound?
Who was I, then?
The idea comes and goes in less time than you can realize it.
"The snow here," the squirrel goes on, scurrying ahead a few feet, "funny, isn't it? Never melts. As if waiting, in suspense."
He spins around, urging you with a thrill wave.
"Come on! Let's check out what's around the bend."
You do, breathing fogging the chilly air.
You stroll so for a time, no purpose, no destination.
Until the ground tricks you.

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