Leo landed with a soft thump on a manicured lawn. The air smelled of honeysuckle and old paper. The sky was a deep, storybook indigo, pricked with stars that twinkled in slow, deliberate patterns. In front of him stood the familiar, crooked mansion from the game, but it wasn't a drawing anymore. It was real. The windows were dark, but from the tall, round tower at the top, a single, golden light pulsed.
Leo took a deep breath and nodded. Mickey gave a tiny, grateful smile and offered his hand.
A text box appeared in the air, written in a shaky, cursive font: "I need to be seen. I need to be remembered. The mirror is broken. The pieces are inside the house. Will you help me?"
And standing by a topiary shaped like Pluto, looking impossibly small and soft, was Mickey Mouse.
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