The room's decoration was extremely simple, even somewhat shabby. Looking around, the walls were that cheap hotel-typical beige color, covered with visibly inexpensive wallpaper that showed obvious seams in several places. On the ceiling was an ordinary flush mount light fixture, casting a dim glow that made the entire room feel lifeless and dreary.

The bed was a standard single, with white sheets that seemed unnaturally white, as if the result of excessive bleach. On the nightstand sat a box of tissues and a bottle of lubricant, alongside a laminated price list. I leaned in for a closer look and saw various service items and prices listed in that cheap print-shop SimSun font that looked utterly perfunctory.


The air was permeated with a cheap fragrance, the kind of car air freshener you could buy at a dollar store, attempting to mask something, but not doing a very good job. I frowned; this was far from the "cozy little nest" I had imagined. How did those guys online exaggerate about places like this? Saying it was like a high-class hotel—now I see that was complete nonsense.

Nora was already waiting in the room. She sat on a chair by the bed, wearing a plain dark blue dress that looked simple, almost like a modified version of a middle school uniform. Her long hair hung down on both sides of her shoulders, combed very neatly, without a single strand out of place, as if measured with a ruler.

Hearing me come in, she immediately stood up, wearing a slightly standardized smile, the kind that reminded me of bank tellers or department store sales assistants. She bowed deeply to me and said in a soft voice: "Welcome, sir."


I stood by the door, looking her over. To be honest, she was indeed pretty, with regular features and fair skin, but something felt off to me. Her eyes were too vacant, like those of a mannequin in a store. Although she wore a smile on her face, there was no emotion in her eyes—no curiosity, no shyness, not even professional enthusiasm.

"Hello," I responded somewhat awkwardly, "I saw online reviews saying that your service is very good."


"Thank you for your compliment, sir," she maintained that standard smile, "I will do my best to provide you with satisfactory service. Would you like to freshen up first?"

Her speech was fluent, but it sounded like she was reciting standard lines. I nodded and walked to the small compartment in the corner of the room. There was a simple shower facility there; the water heater looked quite old, but the water temperature was still normal.

While showering, I could see through the frosted glass that Nora was walking back and forth in the room, seemingly preparing something. Her movements were mechanical, each step appeared precisely calculated, without any unnecessary motion. It reminded me of factory assembly line workers, or programmed robots.

After finishing my shower, I walked out with a towel wrapped around me. Nora was already waiting by the bed, having changed into a thin bathrobe, looking even more professional.

"Please lie down, sir," she pointed to the bed, "the service will now begin."

I lay on the bed, feeling the texture of the sheets. The material was ordinary, even somewhat rough, nowhere near the same level as the silk sheets in high-end hotels. Nora came over and began to execute the service procedure strictly according to the price list on the wall.

Her movements were precise and steady, like a machine. Every step matched exactly what was written on the price list, and her timing was very accurate. When massaging, her technique was standard but lacked any personal touch, like a novice nurse operating according to a textbook.

I tried to ease the strange atmosphere by making a joke: "This price list is so detailed, is there a timetable too? Haha."

Nora didn't respond to my joke at all, not even a change in her expression. She just smiled mechanically and said: "Sir, please relax."

This response made me somewhat embarrassed. Usually at izakayas or karaoke bars, chatting with servers would elicit some reaction, even if just professional smiles and pleasantries. But she was like a programmed robot, only responding to specific commands.

"Do you have any hobbies?" I tried to communicate again.

"Sir, please relax," she repeated the same phrase, her hands continuing without pause.

This made me feel even more uncomfortable. I paid money to come here not just for these mechanical services, but hoping to feel valued and noticed. But the current situation made me feel like a product on an assembly line, being processed according to a predetermined procedure.

Halfway through the service, I felt a sense of boredom and awkwardness. This feeling reminded me of going to the hospital for a physical examination—cold, procedural, without any human touch. I decided to try some spontaneous, off-script intimate gestures to see how she would react.

I gently stroked her arm, trying to create some more natural contact.

Nora immediately stopped all movement and looked at me with those unwavering eyes. Those eyes were truly strange, like glass marbles reflecting the dim light of the room, yet revealing no internal emotions. Her voice remained gentle, but her tone became icier: "Sir, this is not included in the service options."

"What?" I was confused, "I just wanted to..."

"Sir, this is not included in the service options," she repeated the exact same words, her tone unchanged, like a recording machine playing the same audio clip.

A surge of anger at being offended and treated like a fool rose within me. What did I come here for? To be treated like this? At the company, those young employees would at least pretend to respect me, at least outwardly comply with my instructions. At home, though my wife and daughter were cold, they would at least talk to me.

But this woman, this woman whose services I paid for, actually treated me like an intruder. Her cold, professional attitude made me feel like a rejected beggar or some pervert trying to take advantage.

"Forget it," I said angrily, "What kind of service is this? I would be better off going to a proper massage parlor."

I sat up on the bed, deciding to end this boring "service" early. Less than thirty minutes had passed out of the ninety-minute session, but I'd had enough. This mechanical, cold treatment made me feel like my dignity had been insulted.

I walked toward the corner of the room, remembering there was a small wardrobe where my clothes should be hanging. But the moment I opened the wardrobe door, I froze.

The wardrobe was empty.

My shirt, pants, tie, leather shoes—all were gone. I clearly remember hanging my clothes here when I came in, and Nora had even helped me arrange them. How could they all have disappeared?

"Where are my clothes?" I turned to ask her.

"Sir, the service is not over yet," Nora remained sitting at the edge of the bed, maintaining that standard posture, "Please continue to lie down."

"I asked you where my clothes went!" My voice raised, anger making me lose the politeness I usually maintained in front of service workers.

"Sir, the service is not over yet," she repeated the same words, with no change in her tone.

This response made me even more angry. I rushed to the door, reaching for the doorknob. But the doorknob didn't budge at all, as if it had been welded shut. I tried to twist it forcefully, even ramming my shoulder against the door, but the door seemed to be fused with the wall, completely impossible to open.

"Open the door!" I shouted at the door, "I want to get out!"

There was no response. I turned to look at Nora, who was still sitting there with the same smile on her face, as if nothing had happened.

I began to check the other exits in the room. There were several windows on the wall, but when I walked over to examine them, I discovered that these windows weren't real windows at all. They were just patterns painted on the wall, with no glass, no window frames, not even a crack. Like decorative stickers pasted in a child's room.

How could this be? I clearly remembered that these windows were real when I came in, I had even seen the street lights outside through them. But now, they were like murals on the wall, completely flat.

I touched the "window" with my hand, and beneath my palm was the cold wall, without any protrusion or depression. These windows were indeed just painted on.

"What is going on?" My voice began to tremble, anger mixed with fear. "These windows were definitely real just now!"

"Sir, the service is not over yet," Nora replied in the same tone, "please continue to lie down."

I felt a wave of dizziness. This isn't possible, this absolutely cannot be possible. The room couldn't have changed like this while I was washing up, the windows couldn't suddenly turn into murals, and the door couldn't suddenly become locked. Unless...

Unless I saw it wrong from the beginning.

But this thought is even more terrifying. If I saw it wrong from the beginning, if these windows were never real, if this door could never be opened, that would mean...

It would mean that I've been trapped in here from the start.

I slammed against the door again, my shoulder aching from the impact, but the door remained completely immovable. I began to pound the walls with my fists, searching for any possible exit or mechanism, but the walls were as solid as concrete.

"Let me out!" I shouted at the room, "Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?"

My voice echoed in the room, but it sounded strange, as if it was being absorbed by something, without the normal echo effect. The acoustic properties of this room were also wrong, like a completely sealed soundproof chamber.

Nora remained seated at the edge of the bed, showing no reaction to my panic. Her expression didn't change at all—no sympathy, no fear, not even curiosity. She was like an observer, coldly watching my struggle.

"Who exactly are you?" I walked toward her. "What is this place exactly?"

"I am Nora," she replied, "This is Twilight Haven. Sir, the service hasn't ended yet, please lie back down."

Her answer made me even angrier. This mechanized response, this complete disregard for my panic, made me feel like I was talking to a broken computer.

I began to observe her carefully, looking for anything out of place. Her skin was indeed pale, but that paleness seemed unnatural, as if it had never seen sunlight. Her hair was neat, but each strand seemed fixed in a specific position, without any natural movement.

The strangest thing was her breathing. I stared at her chest for a long time and noticed that her breathing rhythm didn't change at all, as regular as a machine. Normal people's breathing changes when they're nervous or excited, but her breathing had maintained the same frequency since I entered the room.

"Are...are you even human?" I asked tremblingly.

"I am Nora," she repeated the same answer, "I am here to provide service to guests. Sir, please continue to lie down."

This answer completely broke me. I realized that I might have encountered something beyond normal logic. This wasn't a normal establishment, this woman wasn't a normal worker, and this room was certainly not a normal room.

How did I end up in this situation? I just wanted to find an inexpensive place to relax, to feel some respect and obedience, why did it turn out like this?

I recalled those posts online recommending this place. That user with the ID "ソープ通" (Soapland Expert), did his recommendation have some hidden meaning? He said Nora was "absolutely obedient," but now it seems this "obedience" isn't at all what I understood it to be.

This is a mechanized, inhuman obedience, like a program executing commands. She's not obeying me as a person, but rather following some rules or program that I don't understand.

I sat in the chair, feeling my heartbeat accelerate. Panic began to erode my rationality, and I felt difficulty breathing, as if the oxygen in the room was decreasing.

"I want to leave," I told her, "I paid money, I have the right to leave anytime."

"Sir, the service is not over yet," her response remained unchanged, "The contract stipulates that service time is ninety minutes. Only thirty-two minutes have passed."

Contract? When did I sign a contract? I just paid the money, took the key, and never signed any documents. But she spoke with such certainty, as if such a contract really existed.

"What contract? I haven't signed any contract!" I stood up and walked toward her.

"Sir, your act of entering this room constitutes acceptance of the service contract," she continued in that flat tone, "According to the contract terms, the service must be completed within the specified time."

This is simply absurd! Since when did entering a room become an act of signing a contract? This logic completely defies any legal common sense. But the current situation cannot be explained by normal reasoning, perhaps in this strange place, there really are rules that I don't understand.

I began to feel desperate. No matter how I explained, how I argued, she would only repeat the same words. No matter how I tried, I couldn't leave this room. I felt trapped in a nightmare, and the protagonist of this nightmare was this woman who looked like a doll.

Time seemed to slow down. There was no clock in the room, so I couldn't tell exactly how much time had passed, but it felt like every minute was an hour. Nora remained sitting there, maintaining the same posture, the same expression, like a statue.

I tried to recall the process of entering this building, looking for any possible clues. The exterior of the building was normal, the elevator was normal, the corridor was normal. When did things start to become abnormal?

It was from the moment I entered this room.

Perhaps the problem lies in the room itself. Maybe this room has some special properties that can alter one's perception, or trap those who enter. But such an idea seemed too absurd, like something out of a horror movie.

But isn't the current situation just like a horror movie?

I looked at Nora, she was still maintaining that standard smile. Under the dim light, her facial features appeared somewhat blurred, but those hollow eyes were exceptionally clear, like two black glass balls, reflecting the faint light in the room.

"What do you really want?" I finally asked.

"I want to complete my service," she replied, "that is the meaning of my existence."

Meaning of existence? This phrase gave me a chill. Normal people don't describe their work this way. Work is just a part of life, not the entire meaning of existence. But she said it so matter-of-factly, as if she truly had no other reason to exist besides providing service.

I realized I might be encountering something supernatural. Perhaps she wasn't human, perhaps this room truly had some magical property, perhaps I was no longer in the normal world.

This thought made me completely despair. If all this was supernatural, then I couldn't solve it through common sense and logic. I could only wait, wait for these ninety minutes of "service time" to end, hoping that I would regain my freedom then.

But there was another terrifying possibility: perhaps these ninety minutes would never end. Perhaps time was frozen in this room, perhaps I would be trapped here forever, with this doll-like woman.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down. Maybe this was just a prank, maybe the store owner was testing my reaction, maybe someone would come out and explain everything in a while.

But when I opened my eyes again, nothing had changed. Nora was still there, the room was still the same, the door remained locked, and the windows were still fake.

I was trapped, trapped in this strange room, with this "Nora" who was I don't know what.

And the most terrifying part is, I'm beginning to doubt whether I can leave this place alive.