no strings could secure you at the station

There is a boy of an unidentifiable age sitting at a piano. Shadows eclipse most of this room, the only light that shines comes from the ivory of the keys; but when there is little light, it serves not to illuminate, but rather to enhance the mystery.

You were not here before. Do you even remember where you had been before? Surely it matters not at this moment. There is a boy, there is a piano, and there is a small demon pushing at your legs - push, shuffle, push, until you're in the room and the door

clanks

shut.