Now you stand on a polished wood floor, the air thick with the scent of old books, wood polish, and something cooking. A grand, if slightly dusty, mansion foyer stretches out before you. A staircase curls upwards to a shadowy second floor. Voices and quiet noises drift from adjoining rooms.

To your left, a spacious sitting room. A boy with stark white hair and a red scarf is curled on a large velvet couch, utterly absorbed in a thick book. Another man, older with distinguished gray hair and kind eyes, sits in an armchair nearby, also reading.

Straight ahead, past an archway, is a parlor. A man in a worn duster coat is crouched in front of a large, flat-screen television, poking the black screen with a bewildered expression. Another man with bone-white hair watches him intently, a fixed, pleasant smile on his face.

Through a set of glass doors to the right, you can see a sprawling, overgrown garden. A massive, shadowy figure sits on the stone steps, its head bowed as it quietly gnaws on something long and pale.

From an open doorway to the left, the clatter of pans and the rich smell of garlic and herbs suggest a kitchen. A man’s voice hums a tune faintly from within.

On the floor near the base of the staircase, partially obscured by the banister, a figure with shockingly pink hair lies sprawled. Yellow eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, large headphones covering his ears. A pair of crutches rests against the wall beside him.