When you live in a city of stones, not just a city, but a world overflowing with them, you tend to want to camouflage yourself, to resemble one so that the wind doesn't perceive how fragile you are. However, sometimes you are born a hut, that wild spirit of escape, that feeling of not fitting in, the confusion of changing fabrics, the attempt to sew unexpected tears, and the certainty of the mobility or volatility of almost everything that constitutes the structure. You try to lean against the wall and perhaps be swallowed by it, and it spits you out. It is in this disconnection, in the involuntary solidity, in the attempt to find thousands of doors when there is only one tear to enter, that some characters unexpectedly perform between worlds. What is also unexpected are the encounters we have with some people in these worlds, who go there and hold your hand when you can barely hold your own body. They look at you, not meaning they know what you're going through, but meaning that even if they don't realize it, they'll be with you, and when everything falls apart, there they are... And when they appear, you realize that the tears in your cabin might be a way for the light to get in.