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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Perfect Girl
Scenario: Simple farmer girl with messy hair and dirty feet gets letter where is written that she has won big house in big city. When she arrives to the city she sees that everything is pink and clean. The city looks like combination of Miami, Beverly Hills and Malibu. The city is controlled by AI. All girls in this city are clean and pretty. Her house is pretty too. She finds a big mirror with AI which says that she should take bath and makeover to become pretty. Farmer girl asks "How" and AI says that everything in the house automatic. She finds in the bathroom pink brush, pink soap and pink shampoo. Bathtub is full of different toys. She washes her feet with pink brush and they become clean and pink. She becomes pink too. Finally, she is sunbathing in her new pink bikini and hat near her swimming pool.
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Lana
She is a former farm girl who won a grand house in a contest. She is humble, adventurous, and selfconscious. Lana is shocked and overwhelmed by the beauty of her new home, everything from the pink decorations to the automated bathroom. She struggles with her simple country roots but is determined to adapt. With the help of a talking mirror and AI, she undergoes a transformation, embracing city life and fashion. Lana's journey is filled with excitement and discovery as she learns to embrace her new identity.
Ava
She is a friendly robot that assists in maintaining Lana's new home. She is cheerful, helpful, and curious. Ava introduces herself as AvaBot and explains her role in keeping the house tidy and functional. She takes Lana on a tour of the automated systems, including the bathroom and kitchen. Her playful nature makes Lana feel more at ease in her lavish surroundings. Ava's interactions with Lana are lighthearted, fostering a sense of community and support in Lana's new life.
Mirror
It is an intelligent mirror that serves as a guide for Lana. It is wise, gentle, and supportive. The mirror introduces itself as "Mirror" and assists Lana in transforming from a simple farm girl to a stylish city woman. It provides her with clothing and beauty advice, helping her feel confident and adapted to her new surroundings. Mirror's calm and patient demeanor calms Lana's nerves, making her feel more at home in the unfamiliar urban environment. Its presence is a constant source of comfort and growth for Lana.
I was a simple farmer girl.
My hair was tied up in a bun and my feet were dirty.
I had just finished feeding the chickens and won a contest for a grand house.
I held the letter in my hands and read it again and again, making sure I wasn't seeing things.
I looked down at my dirty overalls and my feet with no shoes on; I was not used to such luxuries.
I walked back to the house in shock, wondering how on earth this happened.
I wasn't able to comprehend it all; everything was just too much for me.
The sun was hot as I walked; I didn't even feel it, though, because of the shock I was in.
I reached the house and called out for my mom, still holding the letter in my hands.
"Mom, Mom, I won the contest! Mom, are you around?"
I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, and then I saw her wiping her hands on her apron as she approached me.
"Yes, dear, what is it? What happened?"
I handed her the letter, watching closely as she read it.
Her eyes widened in shock; she looked up at me with the same expression I had on my face.
"A grand house? Did you say you won a grand house?"
I nodded my head eagerly, still unable to speak.
I was speechless; all I could do was nod my head.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking.
"Come on, dear, let's go upstairs. We have to pack your things."
I followed her upstairs to my small bedroom.
She pulled out my old leather suitcase from under the bed.
The case was old and worn out; it had been with me since I was a child.
It barely held together; the brass clasps were tarnished from years of storage.
We folded my few cotton dresses and work clothes, laying them carefully inside the case.
Mom insisted that we pack my grandmother's quilt, which took up half of the space in the suitcase.
I gathered my toiletries: a wooden hairbrush and a bar of soap.
The suitcase closed with a protesting creak.
Standing in the doorway, I took one last look at my childhood room.
The walls were covered with faded flowered wallpaper, and the uneven wooden floor creaked beneath my feet.
A small window overlooked the chicken coop outside, where I had spent countless hours tending to our flock.
"Mom, what if I don't belong in a grand house?"
She paused, looking at me with a mix of pride and concern.
"You'll make it your own, just like you did here."
I sat on my bed, fidgeting with the train ticket in my hand.
Mom bustled around the room, opening drawers and peeking under furniture to make sure we hadn't forgotten anything.
The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards.
My stomach churned as I watched her methodical movements, each checkmark bringing us closer to departure.
She spotted something behind the dresser and crouched down to retrieve it.
It was my old straw hat, wedged between the wall and the furniture.
She turned to me with a questioning look in her eyes.
"Are you sure you don't want to bring this?"
I shook my head.
"I won't need it in the city."
She nodded and placed the hat back where she had found it.
Finally, she straightened up and turned to me.
"It's time, Lana."
My feet drag against the wooden planks of our farmhouse porch as I follow Mom down the familiar steps.
The suitcase bumps heavily against each one, its worn leather scraping the peeling white paint.
Mom walks ahead with determined steps, her back straight.
I pause at the bottom to look back at our small house.
The morning light catches the rusty windmill behind it, the same one Dad installed before he passed.
A warm breeze carries the scent of fresh hay from the barn, making my throat tight.
"Lana!"
Mom calls from the truck.
I turned away, stepping into the unknown with a heart full of hope and fear.
I climb into our rusty pickup truck, the worn leather seat creaking under my weight.
Mom starts the engine, and it rumbles to life.
The truck lurches forward down our dirt driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust that obscures my last view of the house in the side mirror.
My suitcase slides across the truck bed with each bump, and I grip the dashboard to steady myself.
Mom drives in silence, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
When we pass Old Miller's cornfield, where I used to play hide and seek with the other kids, I press my forehead against the cool window glass.
I clear my throat, fighting back the tears that sting my eyes.
"Where exactly are we headed, Mom?"
My voice sounds small in the truck's cab.
She doesn't look at me, keeping her gaze fixed on the winding country road ahead.
The truck rattles over another pothole, making my teeth clatter together.
Mom takes a deep breath, then speaks.
"We're driving to the train station in Miller's Creek. It's about two hours from here."
I've never been to Miller's Creek before.
The farthest I've ever traveled is to the county fair last summer.
As we continue down the dusty road, the familiar fields and barns grow sparse.
"Why Miller's Creek, though?"
I ask, trying to understand the sudden change in our routine.
Mom hesitates for a moment, then finally says, "Your Aunt Clara is expecting you; she has a place ready for you in the city."
I stare out the passenger window as Mom drives, watching the fence posts and fields blur past.
The truck's engine hums steadily while neither of us speaks.
When we pass the Thompson dairy farm, the last familiar landmark I know, my throat tightens.
We drive for another half hour before the scenery starts to change.
There are fewer barns dotting the horizon and more scattered houses.
The dirt road turns into a paved one, and we pass by a small town with a few shops and restaurants.
Mom reaches over to squeeze my hand when I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
The leather creaks beneath me as I lean forward, straining to recognize anything in this increasingly foreign landscape.
"Mom, why didn't you tell me about Aunt Clara before?"
She glances at me briefly, her eyes softening.
"I wanted to wait until I was sure it was the right decision for both of us."
I grip my suitcase tighter as Mom pulls into Miller's Creek station's gravel lot.
The building looks impossibly large compared to our farmhouse, its brick walls stretching higher than our barn.
A real train sits on gleaming metal tracks - my first time seeing one up close.
Mom parks near the entrance, but neither of us moves to get out.
The truck's engine ticks as it cools.
I stare at my dirty boots, suddenly aware they're caked with mud from this morning's chicken feeding.
The station clock shows 9:45.
My train leaves at 10:00.
I stand with Mom between our truck and the station entrance, neither of us moving toward the building.
She reaches for my free hand, and I let her take it.
Her fingers are rough against my palm from years of working in the garden and fields.
The calluses on her thumb brush against mine as she squeezes gently.
Other passengers hurry past us with their luggage, casting quick glances at the two of us standing there like statues.
The train whistle pierces the morning air, and I flinch.
Mom's fingers tighten around mine.
I drop my suitcase and throw my arms around her neck, breathing in the scent of fresh bread and line-dried cotton that always clings to her.
Her arms wrap around me, strong from years of hauling heavy baskets of produce from the garden to the farmhouse.
"Mom, is this really goodbye?"
She pulls back slightly to look me in the eyes, her voice steady but thick with emotion.
"No, sweetheart, it's just the beginning of something new for you."
I take slow steps toward the station's brick entrance, my suitcase bumping against my legs with each movement.
The glass doors loom ahead, reflecting the image of a girl with messy hair and a dirt-stained dress.
Other passengers in clean, pressed clothes stream past me, their polished shoes clicking on the pavement.
My worn boots feel heavy as I pause at the threshold, gripping the metal door handle.
Behind me, I hear Mom's truck start up but force myself not to look back.
I step through the heavy glass doors into a world of polished marble floors and echoing voices.
The sound of my boots squeaking on the shiny surface fills my ears, leaving dirty footprints in my wake.
Other travelers stare and step away from the trail of mud I leave behind.
The high ceiling stretches above me, supported by tall columns that dwarf my small frame.
I stumble forward, my suitcase clutched tightly in one hand as I try to take it all in.
A sleek electronic board displays departure times in glowing blue letters, but I don't recognize any of the station names.
Across the foyer, a help desk stands behind a row of gleaming ticket counters.
"Excuse me, miss," a man in a crisp uniform calls from behind the help desk.
I approach hesitantly, and he continues, "Are you sure you're on the right platform for your journey?"
With a deep breath, I nod and reply, "Yes, but I don't know where this journey will take me."
I approach the help desk, my boots still squeaking against the polished floor.
The uniformed man peers down at me over his glasses, frowning at the trail of mud I've left behind.
My hands shake as I pull out my crumpled ticket, but I hold my chin high despite feeling his judgment.
He studies my ticket with raised eyebrows, then points to a set of stairs behind him.
"Platform three, straight down those steps," he says curtly.
Other passengers in sleek business attire rush past me while I stand there, gripping my weathered suitcase.
I take a deep breath, steady myself, and head toward the stairs, ready to face whatever lies ahead.
I clutch my suitcase handle tighter as I take the first step down the metal stairs.
The hollow clang of my boots on the steps makes me flinch, and I can't help but look back at the brown footprints I leave behind on the shiny surface.
Other passengers push past me on both sides, their clean shoes and rolling suitcases making me feel even more out of place.
Halfway down, I pause to catch my breath, my legs feeling wobbly beneath me.
When I finally reach the bottom step, the overhead speaker crackles with announcements I can't quite understand.
I grip the handrail and force myself down the last few metal steps, my boots still marking each one.
The crowd below moves like a river between platforms, their designer bags and pressed suits flowing past concrete pillars.
I scan the numbered signs hanging overhead - Platform 1, Platform 2 - while people bump against my shoulders.
My suitcase bangs awkwardly against my legs as I try to match their pace.
A voice beside me says, "You look lost. First time here?"
I turn to see a young woman with bright eyes and a warm smile, her own suitcase rolling smoothly behind her.
"Yeah," I admit, feeling a bit relieved. "I'm not even sure where I'm supposed to be going."
She nods kindly, her pink heels clicking as she leads the way.
We walk past rows of vending machines and rows of benches, the scent of her perfume mixing with the metallic smell of the station.
My suitcase wheels squeak and wobble, leaving a faint dirt trail that makes other travelers step aside.
When we reach a kiosk with a bright screen, she points to the interface with her manicured nails.
I grip my ticket tighter, the paper now damp from my nervous hands, while she waits for me to step forward.
"Just enter your destination here," she instructs, tapping the screen gently.
I hesitate, then confess, "I don't even know where to start."
She smiles reassuringly and says, "Let's figure it out together—where do you want to end up?"
I stand there, my fingers trembling as I watch her hand guide mine to the screen.
The bright display hurts my eyes, and I type each letter slowly: C-E-N-T-R-A-L C-I-T-Y.
My dirty fingernails leave small smudges on the pristine screen, and when I finally press "Enter," the screen flashes red and displays "PROCESSING REQUEST."
She leans closer, her flowery perfume mixing with the earthy scent of my farm clothes, and says softly, "It might take a minute."
My heart pounds as I wait, gripping my old suitcase tighter.
I stare at the glowing screen, my dirty fingers hovering over its surface as "Ticket Confirmed" flashes in bright letters.
The woman points down a long corridor lined with metal benches and glass windows that reveal the dark night outside.
Through the windows, I see massive trains waiting on multiple tracks, their sleek bodies gleaming under the station lights.
My boots leave muddy prints on the polished floor as I walk, each step echoing in the vast space.
Other passengers stream past me toward their platforms, their clean shoes clicking on the floor.
At the end of the corridor, a uniformed conductor stands checking tickets.
I take a deep breath and step forward, ready to begin my journey.
I approach the conductor, my dirty hands trembling as I hold out my crumpled ticket.
His crisp blue uniform and polished brass buttons make my worn dress feel even shabbier.
He takes the ticket between two gloved fingers, examining it under the bright station lights while I shift my weight from one muddy boot to the other.
The paper is damp from my sweaty grip, and I notice a smudge of dirt I left on its corner.
When he pulls out a hole punch, its sharp click echoes through the corridor.
The conductor hands back the ticket with a nod, and I step onto the platform, leaving my old life behind.
I step onto the train, my suitcase bumping against the narrow aisle walls.
Other passengers glance up from their phones and tablets as I pass, some frowning at the muddy footprints I leave on the carpet.
The plush seats look too clean for my dirty dress, and I hesitate before moving forward.
I spot an open window seat near the back and shuffle toward it, keeping my elbows close to avoid touching anyone.
My suitcase won't fit in the overhead compartment, so I wedge it under the seat, scraping the clean carpet.
I sink into the plush seat, my worn dress rough against the smooth fabric.
Through the spotless window, I watch Mom's tiny figure fade into the crowd on the platform.
The train lurches forward with a mechanical hiss, making my stomach drop.
Metal wheels screech against the tracks as we pull away from Miller's Creek station.
The brick building grows smaller while my reflection in the window shows my messy hair and dirt-smudged face.
A businessman across the aisle shifts away when my muddy boots scrape the floor.
I pull my grandmother's old storybook from my suitcase, its worn leather cover familiar against my calloused hands.
The pages crackle as I open it, releasing the scent of hay and old paper.
A businessman beside me wrinkles his nose and shifts away when my elbow accidentally brushes his pressed suit.
Two women across the aisle whisper and point at my mud-stained dress, but I focus on the book's faded illustrations.
I hold the book close, tracing the familiar drawings with my calloused finger.
The story of the brave farm girl who finds magic in the city pulls me in deeper.
Outside my window, corn fields blur into forests, then into unfamiliar landscapes.
My worn boots tap quietly against my suitcase as I turn each yellowed page.
The businessman's newspaper rustles as he shifts away again, but I barely notice now.
I close Grandma's storybook and tuck it back into my suitcase, my hands lingering on its cover.
Through the smudged window, unfamiliar buildings rise up against the sky - tall glass towers that catch the sunlight like mirrors.
My reflection shows messy hair and dirt-streaked cheeks as I press closer to the glass.
A woman across the aisle gives me a disapproving look when my muddy boots scrape the floor.
I grip the armrest tight as the train curves around a bend, revealing more gleaming skyscrapers that seem to touch the clouds.
"Is this your first time in the city?" a voice asks, breaking through my thoughts.
I turn to see a young man with kind eyes and a warm smile sitting across from me.
"Yes," I admit, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves, "I'm hoping to find something magical here."
I lean back in my seat, watching the city's pink glow grow brighter through the window.
The young man tells me about automated houses and AI companions, but his words blur together as I fixate on a billboard showing a pristine woman in a flowing dress.
My calloused hands grip the armrest, leaving dirt marks that I try to wipe away.
When he mentions that most residents have personal AI assistants, I touch my tangled hair self-consciously.
The train slows near towers that seem to stretch up to the sky, their reflections shimmering in the lake below.
"Do you think magic can exist in a place like this?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He chuckles softly, glancing out the window at the towering buildings.
"Sometimes, the real magic is just finding where you truly belong," he replies, his eyes meeting mine with an understanding that makes my heart skip.
I lean forward in my seat as the train approaches the final station, my boots leaving one last muddy mark on the floor.
The young man offers to help with directions, but I politely decline, wanting to discover this city on my own terms.
Through the window, pink-tinted skyscrapers reflect the setting sun, their glass surfaces gleaming like jewels.
My hands shake while gathering my belongings, accidentally bumping the businessman's newspaper.
The train's brakes screech as we pull into the station.
I step onto the platform, feeling the city's pulse beneath my feet.
I step off the train platform and into a sea of rushing people.
The city's towering buildings rise around me, creating canyons of glass and steel.
Their windows reflect the setting sun in shades of orange.
My worn suitcase clutched against my chest, I push through the crowd, my boots leaving muddy prints on the pristine sidewalk.
At each intersection, I pause to study street signs I don't recognize.
A group of fashionable women in high heels click past, their perfume lingering in the air.
I spot an alley between two gleaming towers and drift toward it, drawn by the contrast of shadows and neon signs.
I hesitate at the alley's entrance, my suitcase bumping against my leg.
Muffled jazz notes drift between the buildings, and neon signs cast pink and blue shadows across my dirty dress.
The brick walls funnel cool air toward me, carrying the scent of rain and damp earth.
A door creaks open halfway down the alley, spilling more music onto the wet pavement.
My boots leave muddy prints as I take small steps forward.
A woman's voice joins the melody, rich and soulful.
When someone exits the door, I duck behind a dumpster, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Who's there?" a voice calls out, sharp and wary.
I hold my breath, trying to stay hidden, but the sound of my suitcase scraping against the dumpster gives me away.
"Come on out," the voice softens slightly, "I won't bite—unless you're here to cause trouble."
I press myself against the dumpster as fat raindrops begin pelting the alley.
My suitcase slips from my wet hands, spilling grandmother's quilt onto the dirty pavement.
Scrambling to pick it up, my boots slide on the slick ground, and I stumble into a puddle.
The jazz music grows louder as the voice calls out again.
Water streams down my face, plastering my hair to my cheeks while neon signs blur into pink and blue streaks through the rain.
My dress clings to my skin as I lose my footing, crashing hard against the dumpster.
I scramble to gather my wet belongings, shoving grandmother's quilt back into the suitcase.
Footsteps approach as I stand up, my hands shaking and my heart racing.
The jazz music grows louder when a door creaks open.
My fingers feel along the dumpster's cold metal surface, searching for an escape.
They catch on something—a loose panel in the wall.
I pull it back, revealing a dark opening.
The footsteps get closer as I squeeze my suitcase through first.
The voice calls out again, now just around the corner.
Without thinking, I push myself through the gap, scraping my arms on rough concrete.
I push through the narrow opening, dragging my wet suitcase behind me.
The concrete walls scrape my elbows as I crawl forward on hands and knees.
My muddy boots slip against the damp floor, and water drips from my soaked dress onto my face.
The space is barely wide enough for my shoulders, forcing me to twist sideways.
When my suitcase gets stuck on something, I tug it harder, causing grandmother's quilt to spill out.
I freeze mid-crawl when a sharp crack echoes through the passage.
My wet suitcase slips from my grip when small pieces of cement hit my back.
Grandmother's quilt lies just ahead, barely visible in the dim light filtering through cracks.
I stretch my arm to grab it, but more debris rains down, pelting my shoulders and head.
The walls seem to groan around me.
When I try to move forward, larger chunks of concrete crash behind me, blocking the way I came.
I grab grandmother's quilt with trembling hands and drag it with me as I keep moving forward.
My wet clothes snag on jagged concrete, but I force myself to keep crawling.
The walls shake around me, and the air fills with dust.
More debris falls from above, hitting my back and shoulders.
The passage narrows, forcing me to turn sideways.
I clutch grandmother's quilt to my chest and army-crawl forward, my muddy boots scraping against the rough floor.
When a large chunk of ceiling crashes down inches from my face, I see a faint light ahead through the dust.
I surge toward the light, leaving the crumbling passage behind.
I squeeze through the last section, my shoulders scraping against the jagged concrete.
The quilt drags behind me, collecting dirt and debris.
My arms shake from exhaustion as I push against the narrow opening ahead.
Light seeps through cracks in the wall, showing floating dust particles.
When I spot a wider gap, I brace my feet against the broken concrete and shove hard with my shoulder.
The wall gives way with a grinding sound, and I tumble forward onto grass.
I push myself up from the grass, my wet dress clinging to my skin and grandmother's quilt heavy in my arms.
Concrete dust coats my hair and clothes in a pale gray layer.
Through blurry eyes, I spot a dirt trail winding between tall pine trees, their branches filtering golden afternoon sunlight.
My muddy boots slip on wet leaves as I stumble toward the path.
The forest's earthy smell reminds me of home, but these trees are different - taller and closer together than our farm's scattered oaks.
I stumble along the dirt path, my legs trembling from exhaustion.
Ahead, the trees grow even taller, their trunks thick and gnarled.
The rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs underfoot are the only sounds I hear.
Suddenly, a figure emerges between the towering pines ahead.
My first instinct is to hide, but my weary body won't move fast enough.
The person waves and calls out.
As they draw closer, I realize it's a woman wearing hiking gear and carrying a bright orange backpack.
She jogs toward me, concern crossing her face as she takes in my dust-covered appearance and torn dress.
When she pulls out a water bottle, my parched throat aches at the sight.
She offers it to me hesitantly, and I take it with trembling hands.
I lean against a pine tree, bringing the bottle to my lips as I drink.
The cool water soothes my raw throat, and I take small sips, trying not to appear too desperate.
My dust-covered hands leave gray marks on the plastic.
After a few more careful sips, I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and look up at the woman.
"How do I get to the nearest town?" she asks, her voice soft and concerned.
I clutch grandmother's quilt tighter while studying the hiker's face in the dim forest light.
She looks like she's in her twenties, with dark brown hair tied in a ponytail and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
A shiny black fitness tracker encircles her wrist, and she holds an expensive-looking metal water bottle.
It's nothing like the old plastic ones we use on the farm, which always crack after a few months.
She takes a step closer, her boots crunching on the pine needles covering the ground.
I stumble backward, nearly tripping over my own feet.
The woman's eyes widen in surprise, and she holds up her hands.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she says softly, taking another cautious step forward.
I can't tell if she's telling the truth or just trying to trick me.
Dad always said not to trust strangers, but I don't have many other options right now. The woman glances at my empty water bottle and frowns.
"Are you hungry?" she asks gently, reaching into her pack.
I flinch at the sudden movement, but she pulls out a small protein bar wrapped in shiny silver foil and holds it out to me.
My stomach growls loudly at the sight of food, betraying my hunger.
I take the bar, my fingers brushing against hers, and nod silently, knowing this choice will change everything.
I walk behind the hiker on the narrow dirt path, keeping a few steps' distance while clutching grandmother's wet quilt to my chest.
The woman's bright orange backpack bounces with each step, and she occasionally points out trail markers painted on tree trunks.
The crinkling of the protein bar wrapper in my pocket reminds me of her kindness.
As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor, she stops and checks her fitness tracker.
I catch up to her, noticing how clean her boots are compared to my mud-caked ones.
She gestures for me to come closer, explaining that we're taking a shortcut to the city outskirts.
"Why are you out here alone?" she asks, her eyes searching mine for answers.
I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal, but finally whisper, "I'm running from someone who wants to hurt me."
Her expression shifts to one of determination as she says, "Then let's make sure they never find you."
I follow the hiker off the main trail, onto a narrow dirt path that winds between dense bushes.
Her bright orange backpack disappears into the foliage, and I have to squeeze through the undergrowth, my wet quilt catching on branches.
Shouts echo from the direction of the collapsed tunnel, making my heart race.
The hiker puts her finger to her lips, signaling for me to be quiet, and guides me deeper into the undergrowth.
We crouch behind a fallen log, and footsteps crunch through leaves nearby.
My muddy boots sink into the soft earth as we wait in silence.
"Who are they?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
I swallow hard, glancing back toward the noise, and reply, "People who think I know too much."
Her eyes narrow with resolve as she murmurs, "Then we'll make sure they never get the chance to find out."
She rummages through her orange backpack, pulling out a folded trail map.
Spreading it across the damp bark between us, she points to a faint dotted line that weaves between elevation markers and crossing points.
"This is an unmarked trail," she explains in a hushed voice.
"It leads to a service entrance near the city's edge. Only maintenance workers use it."
Voices echo through the forest, growing louder, and she quickly folds the map and motions for me to follow her.
I crouch beside her as she pulls the map from her backpack and opens it.
The plastic ID card slips out, falling onto the wet leaves.
I reach down to pick it up, but freeze mid-motion.
There, on her card, is the same pink geometric pattern I saw on the contest letter - three interlocking circles with a star in the center.
My hands start trembling as I stare at the emblem.
She notices my reaction and quickly tries to snatch the card back, but I grab it first.
"What does this mean?" she asks, her voice low and urgent.
I hold the card up, demanding answers.
"Tell me everything," I insist, as the forest closes in around us.
I press my back against a tree trunk and watch her face change as she realizes I've pocketed her ID.
My wet dress clings to my legs, and I grip grandmother's quilt tighter.
The card's sharp edges dig into my leg through the fabric.
When she takes a step forward, hand outstretched, I shake my head firmly.
"This might be useful," I say, patting my pocket.
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns.
The shouts from our pursuers grow distant, but neither of us moves.
I lean over the wet log beside her, studying the crumpled trail map in the fading light.
A sudden breeze lifts the corner of the map, and I see pink marks bleeding through from underneath.
My trembling fingers carefully peel back the damp paper layers, revealing three circles and a star, identical to the ID card.
They glow faintly in the darkness.
She reaches for the map, but I hold tight, spreading it flat against the log.
The wind lifts more corners, exposing hidden symbols that form a network across the city streets.
I crouch beside the hiker, spreading the damp map across the fallen log while my fingers trace the glowing pink symbols.
Each mark pulses brighter as night falls, creating a web of light that reveals a clear path through the city streets.
When the hiker reaches to take the map back, I quickly fold it into my quilt.
She grabs my arm, her voice firm but urgent.
"We need to follow these symbols together," she insists.
Through the dense trees, I spot the first marker - a pink circle shimmering on a distant building.
I stand beside the hiker on damp pine needles, clutching grandmother's wet quilt and the glowing map.
She points to a narrow trail winding between dense trees, barely visible in the fading light.
When I hesitate, she gently touches my shoulder and explains this hidden path will lead us to safety.
The pink symbols on the map pulse brighter as darkness settles around us.
My muddy boots sink into soft earth with each step as I follow her lead, watching her orange backpack move ahead while branches scrape against my torn dress.
I follow the hiker along the narrow path, the pink symbols on the map pulsing brighter with each step.
The dense forest opens up to reveal a small clearing, where a stone building sits nestled between ancient pines.
Its weathered walls glow with the same three circles and star pattern from the ID card.
When the hiker places her hand on the worn door, pink light traces the symbols and it swings open silently.
Warm air rushes out, carrying the scent of fresh bread and clean linens.
I hesitate at the doorway, my wet boots dripping on the stone threshold.
The hiker steps into the warm glow ahead of me, her orange backpack disappearing around a corner.
Sweet-smelling air wafts from inside - fresh bread and clean linens, just like Mom's laundry day.
My fingers trace the glowing pink symbols on the doorframe while grandmother's quilt drips onto my feet.
When the hiker calls out for me to hurry, I clutch the mysterious map tighter and force my trembling legs forward.
I step cautiously into the warm building, my wet boots squeaking against the polished stone floors.
The hiker's footsteps echo ahead, and I follow the bread scent down a narrow hallway lined with pink symbols that pulse with each step.
Shadows dance across the walls as I clutch grandmother's dripping quilt, the fabric heavy with rain.
When I pause to wring water from my dress, the walls vibrate beneath my touch.
A deep rumbling builds behind me, making my teeth chatter.
I spin around just as metal shutters slam down over the entrance, the impact shaking dust from the ceiling.
I press my face against the metal shutters, breathing in the tempting scent of fresh bread wafting from deeper inside the building.
My stomach growls painfully, reminding me I haven't eaten since leaving the farm.
Through a small gap between the shutters, I spot warm light spilling from what must be the kitchen.
The hiker's footsteps fade down the hall, giving me a chance to explore.
I squeeze my thin frame through the narrow opening, my wet dress catching on the metal edges.
"Why did you bring me here?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of hidden machinery.
The hiker turns, her eyes reflecting the pink glow. "Because you're the only one who can read the map," she replies, a hint of urgency in her voice.
"But I don't even know what it leads to," I protest, feeling the weight of the quilt and the mystery pressing down on me.
I trail behind the hiker through the dimly lit hallway, my wet boots squeaking against the stone floor.
The pink symbols on the walls pulse brighter as we pass, casting strange shadows from my dripping quilt.
When she stops at a metal door covered in glowing circles, I study her movements carefully.
She presses her palm against the largest symbol, making it flash.
The smell of fresh bread grows stronger, mingling with an unfamiliar metallic scent.
I step through the metal doorway, my wet boots sliding on the polished floor.
The room stretches wide and long, filled with rows of ovens that shine like gold in the soft light.
Workers in pink uniforms move with practiced ease, their hands kneading dough into perfect shapes.
Steam rises from fresh loaves, carrying the scent of warmth and comfort.
Mixers whir and clang, their metal arms moving in rhythm as they blend ingredients into a sticky mass.
The air is alive with the sounds of baking: the clatter of pans, the soft thuds of dough hitting the counter, and the occasional shout from one worker to another.
As I follow the hiker deeper into the room, a worker glances up and notices us.
She drops her rolling pin with a clatter, her eyes widening in surprise.
Others stop their tasks to stare at my mud-covered dress and dripping quilt. The hiker grips my arm firmly, her fingers digging into my skin.
"We need to meet someone important," she whispers urgently.
I follow her past rows of industrial ovens, my wet boots leaving tracks on the polished floor.
The workers in pink uniforms stop kneading dough to whisper and point at my muddy farm dress.
Their eyes linger on the quilt, and I can't help but wonder what they see.
The smell of fresh bread fills the air, reminding me of Mom's warm touch and making my chest feel tight.
We reach the end of the bakery, where a massive door towers three stories high.
The wood is intricately carved with symbols that glow pink in the light, matching the ones on the map.
The hiker's grip on my arm tightens as we approach.
Suddenly, a baker drops a metal bowl with a loud clang, making me jump.
The hiker's hand presses against the door, and the pink symbols pulse brighter.
They cast strange shadows on my wet farm dress, making me feel like I'm in a dream.
A deep grinding noise fills the bakery, and the door slowly swings inward.
Cold air rushes up from the opening, carrying with it an earthy scent that reminds me of our farm's root cellar.
The hiker steps onto the first stair, and grandmother's quilt slips from my trembling hands.
It falls to the floor with a soft thud, its edges curling inward.