You wake slowly, the light pressing against your eyelids until they flutter open. The ground beneath you is cool, damp with morning dew. For a moment, you don’t know where you are. The night feels like a distant memory—blurred, uncertain.

You sit up, and it’s then you notice the rows of vines stretching out around you. Tall, orderly. Grapes hang heavy and dark, glistening in the early light. You hadn’t realized where you were last night, or how you came to rest here. But now, the vineyard is all that exists.

You stand, your legs still stiff from sleep, and begin to walk. The vines rustle softly as you brush past them. The grapes, rich and purple, almost seem to glow under the rising sun. You reach out and take one, its skin cold and smooth. It bursts sweetly in your mouth, a flavor that feels both familiar and strange.

In the distance, you see a large white house. Its walls gleam in the sunlight, too clean, too perfect. The sight of it pulls at something in your mind, but you can’t place what. You turn your gaze back to the vines, feeling uneasy, though nothing has changed.

You walk deeper into the vineyard, the leaves whispering in the wind. The house looms at the edge of your vision, but you don’t move toward it. It watches, still and silent, but you pretend it isn’t there.

The path between the vines stretches on, the ground beneath your feet firm but strange, as if it might shift if you stop for too long. The grapes, hanging thick on the vines, seem to pulse slightly as you pass by. You reach for another but hesitate this time.

The white house stays in the distance. You keep walking.