The human feels themself pulled further into the visitor’s reality. The world around them fades, and s/he exists in a twilight space between thoughts. Their vision fractures, each piece showing another life s/he might have lived. S/He senses that s/he could remain here forever, reliving and rewriting their life endlessly, never quite satisfied, but never quite done.
Just then, s/he feels a tug, a single, slender thread leading their back to their own existence. S/He hesitates. Their fingers hover over the tendrils of other possibilities, each one buzzing with the thrill of what might be. But the visitor, flickering with a kind of forlorn acceptance, seems to silently plead for their to leave, to keep one foot in reality where it can never tread.
With a final look at the visitor, the human steps back, severing the thread that connects them. Their mind snaps back into them own body, their sense of time returning. S/He blinks, dazed, as the lobby lights come back into focus. The visitor stands there still, as though nothing happened, its form oscillating as it resumes its subjunctive drift.