This is what I think of when Rod Serling describes the Twilight Zone. These aren’t characters quite stumbling upon it, but chancing upon it again, and either not realizing or not accepting it.
It is beautifully crafted, though the composition and the editing, both of which illustrate a strong sense of isolation and dream states respectively. Solemn rich somnubalists wandering through a manse of almost mythical ambiguities.
Tall boi just slapping his dick around on the Male protag whenever possible. Male Protag desperate. For the woman, or for the sanity her validation of their supposedly shared past could bring. For the idea of her, a perfect lost love? Female protag. Even more an enigma than the rest.
Do they speak…