I always feel that the sharpest suspense is never the secret room or the murder, but the unspoken words hidden in the folds of the human heart - the "I'm sorry" stuck in the throat, the name that was deliberately forgotten, and the pain that I thought could be cured by selling it.
I believe that all the pawned memories are alive in another way in the dark, just like the pendulum has stopped but the echo is still there.
Purpose: To explore the "relationship between identity and memory" and to find the weight of self-salvation and truth in the "tampered past"