But it is too late now, and as you grasp towards her, shouting a thousand things, questions perhaps, a request, an offer to help, you're falling again - falling from what you realize is the castle window itself out of the tower, down, down into the dilapidated streets of a city that you once called yours the name clear to you, as is your name, and you feel bits and pieces of you begin to crumble again, the completed puzzle disassembling itself once again. You're filled with a great sadness. You don't want to forget. You can't forget.

Treatropolis. Your name. Your existence. Her name.

Treatropolis. Your name. Your existence.

Your name.

My name.

Your name?

Ah. You are awake now. You shake your head a bit - what was that? A dream? You think, for just a small, split, fleeting moment, that the voice crying at the end of the tunnel may be you.

Part 1 of Enjel's experience in Treatropolis, of her journey to remember who she was long ago.