It’s grainy, and as it opens, one sees two narrow backs on a stone wall covered in vines. Manon sits on the left, wearing the black turtleneck she insisted on wearing at all times, and Tai is on the right, wearing the mandated Viloki-green tank dress, with one of her mother’s Hermès scarves tied around her neck for modesty. The production team curled the girls’ black hair and pinned each lock, in what they said was an angelic fashion. But the girls really look like two ninety-year-old widows with bad dye jobs and perms.

Manon turns to face the camera. She has stripes of rouge on her cheeks and, if you look carefully, on her fingers, from where she tried to paw the gunk off.

“Fítsím,” Noni says, her brown eyes suspicious and forest-deep, the traditional hello less a greeting than a warning she had one take left in her.

“Fítsím!” Tai calls over her shoulder simultaneously, smiling wide.

“Welcome to Viloxin,” they say in unison, when a uniquely dated drumbeat begins and those words, Welcome to Viloxin, appear in acid-green script across the screen. Behind it, Tai cocks her hip while Noni tugs at the hair spray–stiff curls in her hair, and then they cancan out of sync.

“Viloxin is a very special place,” says an unknown voice-over actor, inexplicably imitating Sean Connery. We fade into a helicopter shot, panning over the furious riptides of the deep sea circling the island.

“Miraculously settled by a shipwrecked group of heretical artists fleeing the Crusades, Viloxin was difficult to access for generations,” he continues, as we move toward the Viloki coast, ravenous, foaming waves smashing its razor-sharp basalt rock cliffs.

“But those fleeing other countries knew they had a safe haven there,” he notes, as the camera approaches the small basalt houses that form much of Limatra. “Transportation advances breathed new life into the country in the twentieth century, and Hero Pharmaceuticals was born, alongside the Foix Institute,” he says, as we cross the sparkling skyscraper that is the Hero Pharmaceuticals headquarters—so large, in that small-city footprint, in the path of dormant Mount Vilox.

The camera roams past the Foix Institute and toward the dark, lush forests at the base of the volcano, where Stökéwood lies.

“The island of Viloxin will be the first place on Earth where good health and rich culture are a certainty, where self-actualization is within reach for all—”

Smash-cut to Noni and Tai in a field of foxgloves, waving at a camera far above. A group of smiling people in white lab coats and green Viloki robes join them, walking stiffly.

Tai and Noni squint into the sun, and then, singing the unofficial Viloki anthem off-key, they spin around and around until they drop into the undergrowth, breathing hard.

“Viloxin,” the voice-over booms as the camera zooms into their faces, both girls collapsed on the grass. “Where dreams live.”