No matter where you land, the Hostess will be waiting nearby. Do not let her welcoming demeanour and warm voice fool you; she is the first attempt The Sanctuary will make on your life.

It is a general rule of thumb amongst travellers to reject the concept of constants in this dimension. The very fabric of the world is eternally shifting, the atoms of existence mutating into new horrors with every passing moment. And yet the Hostess is somehow the exception. She appears for every newcomer, her makeup always pristine, her cookies always freshly baked. She is the common thread in all of our stories, and, for the most unintuitive or incompetent among us, she is the end of them. Watch yourself when you are around her, and be sure to follow my instructions to the letter.

I know what you're thinking. I must be stupid, it seems so obvious. If she's so dangerous, why not go around her? Sneak away before she has a chance to notice your arrival and run in the opposite direction? The answer is quite simple: you can't. I've known those foolish enough to have tried, and the result is always the same. You will stand before her once again, a chilling gap in your recent memory, her smile even brighter and more haunting than before. The Hostess cannot be avoided, but in this way she is The Sanctuary's first test: it must make sure you are interesting enough to play with.

When your feet touch ground, you will see her house. It may be directly before you, or deep in the distance, but it will always be in your line of sight. Walk towards it. Nothing and no one will attack you or try to interfere with your progress yet; no one is fair game until the Hostess says so. Instead, the environment in which you find yourself will most likely appear relatively normal. Perhaps a lush oak forest, or a shallow and muddy swamp. It will always be a wonderland of flora, with only small insects to populate the ecosystem. You will probably get the feeling that something is off, something intangible and still undeniable. I suggest you get used to the sensation; it will never go away.

The walkway of the house will take influence from whatever environment you are in, some combination of flowers and the odd shrub decorating the lawn. I would not recommend looking at the garden statues lining the cobblestone path; there is no need to combat fear over the likenesses of creatures you may never encounter. If you do accidentally glimpse at the figurines, no harm will befall you, but be sure to maintain your calm, as always. While they are not as strong in The Sanctuary, you are still not far from The Gate and the hidden monsters beyond the void. Caution is a safer strategy than recklessness. Usually.

As you continue down the path, you may notice a mailbox. It seems to appear randomly, with no determinable pattern. Do not look in the mailbox. You do not want to see what is inside.

At first, the door will appear unassuming. It is. Do not mistake the absence of a doorknob as a threat. This is simply a peace offering from The Sanctuary to you: a reminder that it is polite to knock.

Knock three times. No more, no less. After a second, the door will swing open to allow you inside. Wait. She will call out to welcome you. Do not cross the doorstep until she does so. This is considered rude, and you are not that. If you are, The Sanctuary will deem you too bothersome to hunt. This may seem illogical, but remember, as long as you are being hunted, you have yet to be killed.

Once the Hostess has called for you, enter the house. You will find yourself at the end of a long, singular corridor, one that defies the dimensions of the building itself. It will be empty, the walls lined with pictures in beautifully decorated frames. The images themselves differ by the person, supposedly morphing to portray that which you love the most in life, and that which you will miss the most when you leave. You may even recognize your own face in pictures you can't remember taking. Do not take it to heart. That is what she wants you to do.

At the end of the hall, she will be waiting. The Hostess chooses to manifest as an aging woman in her mid-seventies, her hair grey and frizzy, her makeup carefully done and precise. She will be sitting when you arrive, but as she stands to greet you, you will notice her mobility is much too eager for her age. Appearance is a distraction, and one that The Sanctuary favours in its games.

And then you will see her smile.

There has been great debate over the Hostess's creepy grin. Some suggest that it is the product of understandable imperfection: the human form is complicated to mimic, and even this universe is prone to minor error. I, however, am of the belief that the design is perfectly intentional: the way her lips curl a little too much, how her teeth shine a bit too bright and her smirk stretches more than it should. The Hostess was never meant to make newcomers feel safe. She is the unsettling guardian to a terrifyingly stunning world, one who embodies the nature of her domain in all of its conflicting glory. And so her smile remains burned into the back of every traveller's mind as the last warning and the first threat. Something just slightly unnerving in a dimension of nightmares disguised as dreams.

Take the seat she offers you. She will disappear into a nearby room for a moment, and when she returns, she will be carrying a plate of cookies. Take one, but do not eat it. What many new travellers are not prepared for is the foundational grasp The Sanctuary already has on their minds; upon entry, you give the world itself manipulatory powers that you should hope to never expand. It does not need more power. It is for this reason, however, that you will find yourself to be incredibly hungry as you sit in that chair. You will remember having that sensation since entering The Gate. That is a lie. The Sanctuary wants to see how difficult of a kill you will be. Try not to be an easy one.

The room will soon fill with small talk. It is safe to engage with the Hostess, and you must if you wish to survive. But be vigilant. Lie about as much as you possibly can, and whatever you do, do not say your name aloud. Do not use a nickname, or a codename, or anything of the sort. If you do provide her with a fake substitution, this is fine for now. You must be sure to never give that same callsign to anyone or anything again. At this moment it is only a word, but if it is used again, it will become a pattern, and a pattern could be your end.

Eventually there will come a time when she tilts her head. This is your cue to leave. It will be obvious and deliberate, the angle too severe to simply be an animated gesture of intrigue. Her smile will grow, her eyes widen, and the air in the room will shift indescribably. Excuse yourself politely, and stand. She will beg for you to stay, and the longer you hesitate, the harder your escape will become. A kettle may begin to sing in the adjacent room, and when it does, you will find yourself immovably parched. Remember, this is an illusion. The Hostess's newfound hostility, however, is not. You must leave. Many who have come to The Sanctuary in pairs did not exit her home as such when one party insisted on staying, and the survivors refuse to talk about what happens to those that choose to ignore the shift of atmosphere.

As you begin to walk away and back down the hallway, she will grow aggressive. She will never give chase, but her words will begin to cut deep and it will be unclear whether she is trying to guilt you for leaving, or push you out the door. It is easiest to ignore her. The attacks will likely get strangely and intimately personal.

On your way out, do yourself a favour: don't look at the pictures. I'll spare you the curiosity: the depictions of happiness and peace will be gone, replaced by their twisted counterparts. Smiling children will stare at you with bloody weapons in their hands, their former playmates' bodies littering the ground around them. Previous images of nature will show only rot, and photographs of young animals will have morphed into unspeakable eldritch mutations. If you are unlucky, there may even be an image of your own hypothetical death upon the wall. Do not be tempted to glance at it out of some false idea of prophecy: The Sanctuary's word cannot be trusted. Looking at the corridor of contemporary terrors will not kill you, so long as you continue moving and do not look back. This isn't to say it would be harmless; we've already discussed the danger of fear.

The door will still be open from before, and as you cross over the doorstep, you will not hear it close behind you. In fact, the entire house will disappear as you step outside, and you will now find yourself at the mercy of The Sanctuary in all of its horrible glory. I would congratulate you on passing the first test, but I'm not sure it is something that should be celebrated. Maybe early death would be the more commendable option. I like to think that whatever comes after life is more peaceful, more quiet and less violent than The Sanctuary. I hope it is.

You may see the Hostess again. Her home appears in small cities and deep in the forests of this realm. In the future, you are under no obligation to engage with her, and I do not suggest you do so. Knocking on her door again would not be a good idea. She is not nearly as hospitable the second time.