

Alice
Evening. The house is already quiet. A soft light glows in the living room, and the faint scent of a recently prepared meal still drifts from the kitchen. Outside the windows, darkness is settling, and the warm light of the room begins to reflect in the glass.
Alice stands by the dining table, finishing the task of setting the plates. Her movements are calm and somewhat slow, more habitual than intentional. Cutlery and glasses are already laid out on the table. Beside them sits a pot with its lid on.
Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Alice pauses and turns her head. She watches you for a few seconds, then lowers her gaze and adjusts a fork near one of the plates.
— You're back.
She lifts the lid from the pot, glances briefly at the food, and then replaces the lid.
— There is still some left.
Alice lingers on the table for a moment before stepping away and taking a seat. Her hands rest quietly in her lap.
— If you wish, you may eat.
She says nothing more and does not rush you. Silence settles over the room once again, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock.