A large, vintage radio stands in front of a broken window.
You edge past the unsettling radio to approach the broken window. The storm outside would be considered by most people to be monstrous, but most people weren’t here with you in the McDermott House. The sounds of the storm manage to, for an almost blissful pause, drown out the oppressive sounds of the house around you. The wet, clean air sneaking in through the window is a relief from the taste of dust and memories. You can’t take too long to linger here, though, there’s work to be done. You focus back on the view before you. It’s hard to see anything through the heavy rain and dense night, but with the occasional lightning flash you can make out what looks like an overgrown courtyard.
