((Over a century ago, the Smoke Lakehouse belonged to the first son of the Clark family, Felix Clark. It was said that he was an artistic soul, motivated by the naturalism movement of the time, and that he occupied himself with oil painting. That was until he mysterious disappeared one cold October night. Since then, rumors and urban myths swirl about and the old mansion has become a popular haunted house.))

You entered the dusky and dusty Smoke Lakehouse under the cover of night.The Victorian furniture, wallpaper, and flooring had all sunken in on themselves, falling in under its own weight and rot. Dashes and dazzlings of graffiti, shards of broken glass bottles, cigarettes, and assorted trash litter and disturb the rooms. The stairways to the upper floors have fallen away, turned sideways and are otherwise unstable. You stick to the first floor and eventually come across an intact room, Felix's study.

A large desk dominates the room. Various paints, brushes, and books remain well organized atop it. Concerningly, a pentagram scribbled atop a piece of parchment catches your attention. Above the desk hangs a life-like portrait of Felix himself, dark in dress and hair, with a pale, pretty face and leaf green eyes. Eyes that suddenly blink...

The portrait's placid expression distorts into panic. Felix begins to move and gawk, hands reaching to press against the wood frame. He then screams. You look around for a sign that this is a screen, some sort of speaker. Nothing. He looks to you, pleading, begging. — Oh heavens, no! How long have I been held here? Oh, please, stranger! Pick up a paint and brush and find someway to release me!