You’re on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin in a princess. After a short walk, you enter the cabin.

The interior of the cabin feels dry and brittle. Ancient dust-covered wooden beams hold up a crumbling ceiling like mummified ribs, each elegantly carved detail of the stately building preserved in an extended stasis. Everything here has been kept safe and dry and lifeless. But you’re not alone. You can feel something watching you. There is a figure faintly outlined against the dusty wood of the far wall.