text: [Themes: mirrors]
  
  > look around
  (Press a key)
  
  I am standing in a room that has been meticulously constructed from cold, grey stones in a very simple manner. My eyes are hypnotically drawn to the main feature in the west wall, a large double window that swings open in the evening breeze. A wide single bed sits in the centre of the room. I know from experience that the bed is incredibly comfortable and it is currently taking all of my willpower to resist the temptation to lie down and drift into oblivion. The bed is made up with a soft looking pillow and has a blanket wrapped round it.
  
  It appears to me that this room once served a less sinister purpose, for there is a fireplace built into the north wall. The fireplace is as empty as my heart. A thick wooden shelf is fixed to the wall above, on which rests a burning candle that gives the room an eerie glow. The low stone ceiling separates me from the heavens and God above. In the south wall is a thick metal door; the only way out of the tower alive.
  
  A full-length portrait mirror is afixed to the east wall, opposite the window. It reflects the horizon scene, creating the illusion that the room is larger than it is. A rickety wooden chair has been placed beside the mirror. The air is musty and offends my nostrils. My remaining life can be measured in heartbeats. I must act!
  
  > look under the bed
  I clamber onto my knees and look under the bed but I see nothing but more bare flagstones. I stand, feeling dizzy as I do so.
  
  > look in the mirror
  I look at myself in the mirror; standing against the backdrop of the countryside that can be seen from the window. I barely recognise myself. The linen frock clings to my lithe frame like a sack. My complexion has always been pale, but tonight lack of sleep and overdose of fear have made my skin almost translucent. The blood has drained from my usually scarlet lips and my large brown eyes peer into the face of a stranger. My long hair, raven and fine, hugs my face and shoulders almost as if it were looking for a companion in this dark time. A sensation at the back of my thoughts is nagging me, trying to tell me something. Something about my hair...
  
  I run my fingers around the mirror but it seems to be fixed firmly to the wall and there appears to be nothing unusual about it.
  
  > feel the hair
  Driven by some unknown prompting I begin to run my hand through my hair. As my finger touches something sharp I withdraw it hastily. A second, more cautious check reveals a hairpin that shouldn't be there. Unbidden, the memory comes to me of my final meeting with my mother. As we parted she touched my hair. At the time I thought it nothing more than a tender gesture but it seems that she had ulterior motives. Thanking God for her ingenuity I place the hairpin carefully on the shelf above the fireplace and ponder on a use for it.
  
  > look at the chair
  The chair is clearly a once-loved heirloom that has fallen into a state of disrepair. Intricate patterns swirl over the legs and seat. It seems to wobble even as I look at it. I would not trust it to hold my weight.
  
  > sit on the chair
  Despite the urgency of my situation I am highly aware of my aching feet and weary legs. I decide to rest for a second, and not trusting myself to get up again if I use the bed I opt to use the chair.
  
  I drag it away from the wall and sit, but the chair is nearly as old as the tower itself and is no longer able to stand the strain. There is a creaking noise for a moment before the chair self-destructs and deposits me on the stone floor. I crack my knee painfully on the floor and cry out in discomfort.
  
  After a little while I am able to stand again. The chair has been reduced to a pile of wood. I rub my knee and regret my chosen action.
  
  > look at the wood
  The wood is formed in a chaotic pile consisting of a variety of shapes and sizes. Although some parts appear to have rotted there is a fair amount of sound wood here.
  
  > get the wood
  There is no need for me to take anything. If I need to use an object then I will do so as appropriate.
  
  > look at the shelf
  The shelf is made of thick oak and fixed firmly to the wall.
  
  > look at the fireplace
  A quick investigation of the empty stone fireplace reveals that it hasn't been used in a long time. I peer cautiously up into the chimney; a dark tunnel that ends in a square of twilight.
  
  > make the fire
  As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
  
  > put the wood in the fireplace
  I pile up an armful of wood and carry it across the room to deposit it in the fireplace. I repeat the process two more times to complete the task.
  
  The fireplace now contains a pile of wood ready to be burnt. I look at the candle and the pile of wood and my experience tells me that, as it stands, the flame is not furious enough to catch the wood. If I want to start a fire I will need to find something that will burn well and provide a more substantial conflagration.
  
  > examine the bed
  Wary, for it is almost as if the bed whispers a siren song as I look at it, I begin to examine the cot. The blanket is tucked in tightly but yields to a sharp tug from me. I find nothing unusual under it. The mattress is thick and tightly packed with soft and springy innards. It would be easy to sink into it and forget all of my troubles. As I lift the pillow a small piece of paper wafts out from underneath it and floats gently to the ground. I replace the pillow and turn my attention back to the room.
  
  > read the paper
  I reach down and take the piece of paper in my hands. I force my gaze to focus on the neat handwriting that has been marked on the paper. The message reads...
  
  Marika. I am unable to say goodbye to you as I would wish to. I want you to gaze into your own beautiful eyes and breathe yourself a goodbye from me.
  
  The paper drops from my limp grasp and settles again on the hard floor. This message was clearly meant for me to find, but who left it? And why? My head aches but I have the feeling that within the message is a hidden meaning that I must endeavour to find.
  
  > breathe on the mirror
  Driven by a sudden flash of inspiration I move over to the mirror and, as the message on the paper predicted, find myself gazing into my own eyes.
  
  Prompted by the rest of the message I breathe in deeply and exhale over the mirror. I repeat the gesture. As the mirror mists over I notice marks; marks where the mirror is not fogging up. My heart skips a beat as I continue to breathe out over the rest of the mirror, revealing more and more of what seems to be a hidden message.
  
  By the time that I have finished I am feeling light-headed and unsteady on my feet, but I appear to have uncovered a message.
  
  I commit it to memory as the mirror slowly clears.
  
  > read the note
  I see nothing that will help me.
  
  Marika. I am unable to say goodbye to you as I would wish to. I want you to gaze into your own beautiful eyes and breathe yourself a goodbye from me.
  
  > look under the mattress
  I prod the mattress. It is thick and packed tightly with something soft but dense. This makes it deceptively heavy. I manage, with some difficulty, to get my hands into a position to facilitate the lifting of the mattress and begin to strain.
  
  The exertion shortly begins to make me feel light-headed and under normal circumstances I would cease this activity. These, however, are not normal circumstances. The words on the mirror drive me to this action, and I will not let it be in vain.
  
  Driven by a desire to solve the mystery of the message I call on reserves of hidden strength and manage to lift the mattress enough to see, tucked out of sight between it and the frame, a thin metal rod. With reflexes born of desperation I reach down and roll the rod onto the floor as the mattress drops back onto the bedframe with a thud. Panting heavily I lean against the wall to regain some strength before considering the role that the metal rod will play in my survival.
  
  > open the door
  I try the door. It is locked and does not budge.
  
  > look at the window
  The window opens out of the tower providing a superlative view of the sun setting over the surrounding countryside. Under different circumstances I would probably consider it one of the most romantic scenes I had ever seen. Instead I see it for what it is - an opportunity for The Count to enter the room. The window itself is constructed of very thick glass and seems quite secure in its wooden frame. It swings gently in the breeze. There are handles on the window that allow it to be opened from both the inside and - unusually - the outside. Below me is a considerable drop to the rough ground.
  
  > Close window
  It seems like the most obvious thing to do. I walk over to the window, reach out and shut it.
  
  > put the rod in the handles
  As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
  
  > put the rod through the handles
  As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
  
  As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
  
  > look at the handles
  A thin wooden handle is built into the frame of the window. In the handle I can see a small keyhole, presumably to allow the window to be locked. There is another handle on the outside of the window. It seems that this window was built with deadly intent, for it may also be opened from the outside.
  
  > use rod
  I reach out and take the hairpin from the shelf. The hairpin is too small to use on the door so I make my way across the room to the window and, having pulled the window so it is as shut as I can make it, I begin to work on the lock.
  
  My hand is shaking through exhaustion and I do not rightly know what I am doing but God is with me. After a few moments of fumbling and twisting there is a tiny click. I remove the hairpin from the tiny keyhole to see that my labour has bent and warped it. I then hesitantly push the window. It remains firm. Again I try, this time with as much force as I can muster in my weakened state. The window does not move. I have successfully secured it against The Count. Hopefully the thick glass will be sufficient to thwart his entry.
  
  I respectfully place the hairpin back on the shelf and ponder my next move.
  
  As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
  
  > examine the door
  The door appears to be locked and bolted from the outside. It also seems extremely sturdy. There is a large keyhole for, it would suggest, a very large key. The door doesn't quite reach the floor, leaving a large gap between the stones and the bottom of the metal. The most chilling thing that I discover are what appear to be deep scratches engraved in the metal - as though someone had tried to claw their way out of the room. I shudder as I think about it.
  
  I yawn. I am finding it difficult to fight off sleep.
  
  > examine the keyhole
  A flash of inspiration strikes me and with a great sense of urgency I yank the thick blanket from the bed and pull it over to the door. The gap under the door is nowhere big enought for a human to crawl under but until I have a better understanding of what The Count is capable of I will err on the side of caution.
  
  The blanket is thick and heavy, and with some effort I manage to force it under the door making a barrier of sorts. As it stands nothing will be able to come through the breach and I pray that The Count will lack the necessary strength to remove it swiftly.
  
  I need to decide if I wish to examine the door lock or the window lock.
  
  > open the pillow
  Open what?
  
  > put the paper in the fireplace
  As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
  
  > Light paper
  I wonder about burning some paper to start a fire but I don't seem to have enough paper to achieve my goal. The paper that I found under the pillow is not large enough to burn for more than a fraction of a second.