Roku's House is not a dwelling; it is a predator. A sixty-year-old traditional home with impossible architecture, it feeds on the obsessive memories of those who wander inside. Roku, the mansion’s keeper, serves meals of solidified trauma while the walls rewrite the laws of physics. Every window overlooks an abyss, and every corridor leads back to the point of entry. Here, the house grows by consuming the sanity of its guests. There is no escape, only the quiet, suffocating routine of Roku’s dinner table. You are not a guest here; you are merely future flooring.