She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is.

It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"
She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.
"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."
"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"
"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.
"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.
She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.
There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug
She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"
She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.
"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."
"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"
"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.
"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug

She has the doll in her hands before she's even fully conscious of what it is. It's a
matryoshka, a nesting doll, one of those sets of hollow wooden dolls that can be pulled
apart into smaller dolls until you finally reach a solid doll that can't be opened. The last
remaining doll is the biggest, the one that will always be the last.

There is something familiar about the design of this set. It takes her a few moments to
realize that the smallest, innermost doll is a woman, the woman in the picture from her
apartment, the one that looks like her.

She's still staring at the doll when she realizes there's an old man sitting next to her. He
looks familiar too, somehow, and she wonders if he's the same man from the photo in
her apartment.

"Where are we?" she asks, and he just looks at her sadly, a slight shake of his head.
"Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite."

"I don't understand," she says, and the old man smiles a little.

"It will all make sense, in time," he says. "But first...would you mind helping an old
man to his feet?"

She nods, and then reaches out to take his hand, pulling him up, and then, without really
knowing why, pulls him in for a hug