Strangely, it isn’t raining once you step outside; it’s just overcast.

Past the cobblestone steps that lead up to the mansion is a small patch of green. Once upon a time there was a playground here, but the structures have been smashed and bent; the ones that haven’t are heavily rusted over. The only thing that’s semi-intact is an old seesaw that creaks loudly in the wind.

You’re not alone here: sitting on one end of the seesaw is a boy, about eight years old, with white hair and a dour expression. He’s wearing an amulet around his neck.

You can go back into the living room from here.