More than three years Europe: 2020-08-14 18:00 (UTC)

The tower already reached the skies seen from far distance, stood out on the top of the hill surrounded by deep forests.

While I was getting through the rusty main gate, the eerie screaking already envisioned the experiences bound to happen.

At the end of the long time forgotten looked after arboles, the old mansion slowly grew into a full picture behind the dry fountain: the storeyed building made of stone and wood quite seen better days, the shards of the windows reflected a grim welcome by the distorted faces of the gargoyles.

I pushed in the main door, the handle crumbled into fine particles of rust in my hands. The weak rays of sunshine illuminated more the flying dust in the air than creating a play of inner lights on the huge chandelier above the two-side stairway. No reflections or glinting. A kitchen to the right, a visitor's room to the left. Everything was untouched, only the layer of dirt told a tale about disappeared time. Nobody has been here for ages. Who lived here? Why did they leave? Did they not have everything?

The crackling stairs brought me back to reality. Paintings and watching eyes on the wall followed my steps, blurry but somehow familiar faces. Two bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, and a little hallway led to a balcony overseeing the area. I stood there for minutes to admire the view and the silence.

When I turned back toward the house, I noticed an unusual attic - invisible from the front and to the prying eyes - looking over the valley. Whether it was a glimpse of moment or my vision I cannot tell, but a sudden light flashed behind the window and the heavy curtain. I went back inside and without any efforts found the hidden door along a narrow stairway. As I was climbing up in the darkness, the muffled sound of music became clearer and the faint light passing through under the door led the last steps.

A completely different world opened on the other side: a huge ball room in its heydays, the furniture, paintings, sculptures and high-class decorations gave an extraordinary milieu to the senses. It seemed I was dropped into a party: many people were around, socializing, dancing, chatting and laughing - having a good time.

Szilárd, come and join us! - I heard from the crowd and started to mingle with a smile. Old stories, old memories went around in a likeable atmosphere.

But something was just not right. Everything seemed so, but nothing was. The people were fine, mostly. The vibe was fine, mostly. The surrounding.

Except those huge colourful bouquets of strange flowers. Microphones?
Why do those bulbs creating mood lights have an extra eye? Video cameras?
What's that strange fraction of light at the edge of the huge mirrors on the walls?

I was looking at the people. Have they also noticed and seeing these?
Aren't they bothered that all their direct and indirect thoughts, sentences, expressions, signals are being recorded and processed?

How could anyone have honest, meaningful and personal conversations in places like this?

I put down the glass and left to the door. Looked back for a second, the vision already disappeared.

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