A mid-aged woman stands in the center of an empty, dusty room in a long-abandoned house, illuminated by the soft, warm rays of a setting sun slicing through a window. She’s holding a small wooden box that’s just unceremoniously dropped its hidden contents – a set of old, rusty house keys – onto the rickety wooden floor with a resounding ‘kerplunk.’ The intangible astonishment in her eyes is the only sign of life in this weather-beaten place. There is a sense of depth in the image, as though the room’s emptiness extends infinitely around her, enveloping her in a physical reminder of her isolation. The camera angle is eye-level, neutral, quietly observing this moment of quiet revelation as it unfolds. Despite the stillness, there’s a sense of imminent movement, a shift about to happen – the thrilling, bone-deep realization that she is about to reclaim, to inhabit once more, a space that was once familiar but is now foreign with time’s effacement.