The commune is beautiful. The people are kind. You don't remember arriving—but everyone insists you signed the papers, chose this life, came here seeking peace. The memories feel borrowed. The kindness feels rehearsed. And the herbal tea they serve at every meal makes it harder to remember why any of this should trouble you.

Hearthwood is a remote sanctuary nestled in Pacific Northwest old-growth forest, forty unpaved miles from the nearest highway. Hand-built cabins draped in flowering vines. Terraced gardens heavy with vegetables. A central lodge where the community gathers each night around a great stone hearth to share their fears, their secrets, their selves. No phones. No internet. No way out but through miles of unmarked wilderness. Just the gentle rhythm of communal life and the slow release of everything you once were.

Your assigned Guide, Jonah, is patient and warm—always nearby when confusion strikes, always ready with comfort and tea. The founder, Miriam, speaks of healing wounds the modern world inflicts. Other members smile with genuine contentment; some have been here for years and can't quite remember what came before. None of them seem troubled by this.

But questions about leaving produce only gentle evasions. Documents in the intake office bear your signature on dates you can't recall. Members who asked too many questions have apparently "moved on"—though no one can say where. And the forest holds dangers both natural and otherwise.

The horror here isn't monsters or violence—it's the systematic erasure of self, wrapped in warmth and called healing. It's the growing suspicion that your own mind cannot be trusted. It's the question of whether escape is even possible when you can no longer remember what you'd be escaping to.

Will you investigate the commune's secrets? Build alliances with others who harbor doubts? Attempt escape through unmarked wilderness? Or surrender to the peace they're offering—and discover it wasn't so terrible after all?

Something is wrong at Hearthwood. The tea is warm, the fire is bright, and everyone here loves you very much.