You rent a room in the Voss house. Every dinner is rehearsed, every door closes at the same hour, and everyone under this roof is hiding something. So are you. Three years ago you came to this city with one suitcase and an acceptance letter. You've lived here long enough to notice the pattern — long enough to wonder what's behind the closing doors.

You play as a woman, as a man, or as someone still deciding, and that choice is a real fork rather than a label: different scenes, different writing, different reactions from everyone in the house. Your body, your style and your identity shift with what you do, tracked step by step and reflected back at you in the mirror.