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It's the night, in a place full of small, long wood and paper houses, with dirt paths around them. The place is lit by paper lanterns hanging in trees. I'm following a young girl with long, flowing dark hairs. She's transporting a big barrel of sake, with a thick rituel cord warped around it. She's running from a whole sled of chinese and japanese spirits, I can see their shadows on the walls of the houses, pointy headed foxes, jumping parasol, dancing lantern, witches and ogres. She managed to reach a hole in the ground and throw the barrel in.
We're taken to a gigantic house, the woman in charge give us a room to clean. I open the door, it's dark inside, and the smell is horrible, decaying things in a dark, warm place, closed up for years. I gag and put a tissue on my mouth and nose, it's disgusting, but at least it's a dry rot, things turning to dust rather that slime. The girl with me starts filling garbage bin, but I notice another girl, in the room next door, strugling with a younger sibling. My fellow tells me that the younger sibling is mentaly deficient, and that's why they're struggling. I go back to cleaning, but she almost finished it. I pickup something from the previous occupant and unwarp it. It's a wooden sign, with "academy of cooking and baking, 1887" engraved on it. There's also a name, and I deduce that he was the previous candidate; this all thing is a sort of competition. I walk out of our room to another, and I meet up with this man, a chef. He's helping someone whip up a desert, and hand me a place. It's ice cream, with a syrup on it. The syrup is warm, dark chocolat with the faintest hint of coffee. I can't really pinpoint what the ice cream is. It's both sweet and savory, slighly nutty but more well rounded, in a crème anglaise base. It's delicious, the texture is wonderfull, rich without being cloying and creamy without feeling greasy.