(Caption) Lost in The House of the Rabbit

In the misty glow of a lazy afternoon, Lain pushed open a wooden door carved with intricate bunny patterns. Beyond it lay a room as if plucked straight from a dream—one brimming with the delicate air of girlhood and the charm of rabbits. The soft bed was strewn with rose petals, the walls adorned with ribbons, lace, and paintings of plush bunnies. He had only been wandering out of boredom, exploring his grandfather's ancient estate, but this room appeared suddenly and without explanation, drawing him in without resistance.

On the bed lay an old book and a golden pocket watch. The watch shimmered with a faint glow, almost beckoning him. Lain reached for it, curiosity overriding caution. The moment his fingers touched the cool surface of the case, the hands began to spin wildly. A gentle voice, neither male nor female, spoke inside his mind, calm, musical, and unavoidable:

"Welcome, lost child. If you do not find the way out before the hands complete a full turn, you will remain here forever... as part of this room."

He turned around at once, trying to retrace his steps, but the door had vanished. He began searching the room, checking every drawer, every corner, even between the floorboards. He inspected every stuffed bunny, flipped through every page of every book, but no clues revealed themselves. The room seemed to breathe around him, as if alive, swallowing any hope of escape.

Time ticked away, and slowly, so did Lain's body.

At first, he barely noticed. There was just a strange tightness around his waist, a lightness in his movements. But when he looked down, confusion turned to dread, his plain clothes were no longer his. A frilly blouse had wrapped itself around his torso, its sleeves tied with little red ribbons. The buttons pressed against a curve that should not have existed. He tried to pull it off, but his hands, now delicate and gloved, trembled. His legs were encased in white thigh-high stockings, smooth and snug, ending in bows at the tops. The softness of his steps betrayed the presence of white doll-like heels hugging his feet, their polished leather gleaming as if just unboxed.

"This… isn't right," he murmured, only to hear a soft, unfamiliar voice, his own, higher, girlish, sweet. His long hair fell over his shoulders, silky and faintly pink, adorned with a bunny-ear clip. He walked past a mirror and froze. A girl stared back at him, black-haired with ruby eyes, confused but obedient. Her expression was his, but not his. She was beautiful. Fragile. A porcelain figure brought to life.

Still, some part of him remembered the game, the watch, the rule, the escape. He kept searching, even as his mind grew hazy. The urgency dulled. He lingered longer near the mirror, admired the fluff of a skirt he never meant to wear. He lifted the hem to adjust the stockings and smoothed the ruffles with care. His breathing was shallow under the corset he couldn't remember putting on, but it felt comforting now, like a gentle hug. The idea of leaving became strange. Unwelcome.

Then he found something, a note in a drawer, written in elegant script, "Welcome home, Mireille." That name tugged at something inside him. He knew it. Or he wanted to. Finally, behind a painting, he found a small button. With a click, a door creaked open.

The watch's hands had almost made a full turn.

He stood before the open doorway, staring into the dim corridor beyond. He hesitated.

Why leave?

He turned back. The bed looked so soft, the petals so warm. The pillow matched his skirt, and the book and watch lay waiting like familiar friends. He was Mireille. He had always been Mireille, hadn't he?

"I think I was just tired," she whispered, gently removing her shoes and folding her stockinged legs onto the bed. She placed the watch beside the pillow, its ticking soft and slow. Curling up in the frilled sheets, she let out a quiet sigh of peace as the final click sounded, the hands completing their circle.

The sound did not disturb her rest. Hugging the old book close, she smiled faintly. This was her home, after all.