The rain drummed against the windows and Olive sat in her room on the top floor of an old townhouse in the city centre. It was a Friday evening, the city was buzzing with lights and she was repeating for her philosophy exam. However, a noise from behind the wall kept her from concentrating - her neighbour was moving something heavy, as usual. She was already so tired that even the jazz playing softly did not soothe her nerves. She decided to go down to the cellar for a bottle of wine, hoping for a bit of relaxation. The basement of the old tenement was a different world. It smelled of dust, old wood and something else - something that resembled incense, although no one smoked it there. A dim lamp cast golden spots on the brick walls. Descending carefully down the creaking stairs, Olive noticed something odd - a small, inconspicuous door that hadn't been there before. It had a tarnished brass handle and a tag that read: "Vestibule of the Imagination. Enter if you dare to dream." Olive looked at the door uncertainly. She felt a slight tingling in her fingers - she didn't know if it was fear or excitement. She looked behind her, but the cellar was empty. She took a deep breath and, before she had time to think, pressed the handle. There was no darkness behind the door, only light - pulsating, soft, as if hundreds of candles were flickering on invisible shelves. Olive took a step forward and found herself on a narrow path leading through an infinite space, full of floating thoughts - they turned into miniature worlds, lifted by invisible currents. Misty figures drifted between them, whispering quietly, inviting her in. Suddenly, one of the silhouettes came closer. She had a face that was familiar, yet completely alien. Before Olive had time to ask who it was and what was actually happening, the figure held out its hand to her - and then the world around her began to change abruptly....