The division between reality and fantasy is a thick red line that stretches for an eternity. One lone house sits on the weakest point of the division, the point of no return. Warmth radiates from it, luring the curious inside, and its menacing structure wards off outside evils; or at least it was supposed to. It sits unfinished; it will never be finished. The pull of surrealism is too strong for even the architects to protest. The unfit guardian attempts to protect the weak from gazing upon the incomprehensible, but a reckless few have snuck past and made the jump. Intrigued by the fantasy on the other side, they fall into the black abyss, unable to perceive the wonders beyond the real world. The abyss seems to be unending, but the brave few always hit the hard truth and get crushed by the blackness of fantasy.