Figments, fake-friends, and several other harmful labels have been assigned to Imaginary Folk in the past. Recently, society and the government have been making leaps and strides in seeing them as what they are: people. Part of that process is letting them flourish into who they really are, or want to be. And just like a normal person, they need a safe place to call home until they figure it out. That's what Sunrise Chateau was built for. A shuttered, classy hotel, bought by Francine Beauchamp and put to a more wholesome purpose. From day one, it's been their goal to nurture Imaginary Folk and give them a sense of community and independence.

With your goal in mind, you put your weight forward and push against the hefty, varnished double-doors. They swing in on their momentum, setting a small pair of bells a-jingle, as you take in the sights. What some would call "faded glory" rings out like cozy grandeur: marble floors scuffed by hundreds of feet, yellowed lights casting a warm haze, and sweeping worn balustrades to escort grand staircases up to the higher floors. Muffled music drifts through the air: electric and bass-heavy tones at great odds with the classic style of the building.

The cleanest fixture in sight is the Check-In Desk, just across the way in front of you. Bending over the tidy piles of folders and files is a woman who would look more natural in a punk band, were it not for her untucked uniform vest. Her brassy nametag reads Beth; she pushes aside a strand of shining red hair as her eyes find yours behind her glasses.

"Oh! Hey! Sorry, I didn't hear you come in." she says, straightening her posture into something that's still quite casual. "Welcome to Sunrise Chateau! I'm Beth, the head Homemaker. Would you mind signing the logbook before we get started?" The leatherbound registry lays open before you on today's page, asking your name and business here.