[Half a year. Whether it's before or after she's heard the same from other guests at the resort, it's sobering nonetheless. Rahu is struck by denial, then irritation, then defiance, one after the other like raindrops falling in pattering succession.]

If this was a dream, I wonder if that would make it any better? We'd all be in on the joke, but the people in my dreams usually have different things to say. And they aren't so...forthcoming.

[It doesn't help that the last night outside the resort she can remember is equally hazy: shadows in the fog, figures of the long-dead accusing her, the voice of that woman loud in the sides of her aching head. Rahu could easily still be dreaming. There's a slight flinch to accompany her persistent headache.]

We're...inside, right? Just a dirty trick. [They put a beach into a building to please people who can't tell the difference. She swirls her glass, not drinking anymore just yet.] I wonder if it's even night.