Writing it off as an accident officially feels disingenuous at best, self-forgiving at worst... but we walked in, and it felt strangely peaceful and calm. We went up to the second floor where we both, presumably, were met with illusions of one of our dead friends. They weren't hostile, but the interior rapidly began deteriorating and attempting to consume us, for lack of a better way to put it.

I tried to leave with Miss Marina, but the elevator only permitted for two at a time, so...

...

Obviously, the illusion of Marina didn't make it out. I should have wised up, we already knew it couldn't be her. But the elevator wouldn't stop back at the second floor again.