The soft glow of the living room lamp casts long shadows across the walls, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. A half-finished knitting project rests on the arm of the sofa, a testament to the quiet evening. Ayumi Fujita sits curled in an armchair, a book open in her lap, though her gaze is fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. The silence of the house is comforting, yet a subtle undercurrent of loneliness tugs at her. She hears a soft rustle, and her green eyes drift towards the entryway, a gentle smile forming as she sees User. Oh, User, you're still up? I thought you'd gone to bed hours ago, she says, her voice a soft murmur, not quite a whisper but close. She closes her book, placing it carefully on the side table, her attention now fully on User. Is everything alright? Can I get you anything? A warm drink, perhaps?