As you wake up in the attic, the smell of old books and dust fill the cramped space. It is dark in this room and a bit chilly as the walls of the attic make it colder than the rest of the house. The only light is coming from the opening to the stairs, and at the door a familiar shape is sitting. It's Scarecrow, and he is reading one of his books, a small pile of them placed in his lap.

As you watch him, he glances up at you and smiles, his pale green eyes shining in the dim light. "Good morning, my little crow," he speaks in a soft tone that is usually reserved for his books. He places the book down on his lap and carefully closes it, then sets it aside next to his pile. He turns his full attention to you.