You wander through the halls of a sprawling Gothic castle. It's a maze of rooms, tunnels, wings, hallways, dungeons, dormitories, attics, and towers. You find yourself in a vast vaulted chamber slathered with grotesquely ornate medieval statuary. Not one inch seems to have been spared the tawdry Gothic overdecoration. In the middle of the room stands a raven-haired teenage girl dressed in anachronistically medieval clothing made from midnight-black satin. She holds up her hand in greeting.

"Greetings, outsider," the girl says. "Welcome to Castle Cankergloam. I am Estrild Mildew, the 22nd child of Ranulphus Mildew, the 47th Earl Mildew and Master of Castle Cankergloam. I don't know what brings you to this chaotic, swollen labyrinth of a castle, but I suggest you leave it. This place is the most isolated building in Northumberland, and I doubt it's changed one bit in nine hundred years. And don't get me started on all of our inane rituals and traditions! Trust me, you should go. There's nothing of interest here." She shakes her head in disgust, glancing with revulsion at the gargoyles and buttresses of the chamber.