You gingerly push open the decrepit gate, wincing at the agonized groan which it emits as it reluctantly swings on rusty hinges. It slowly creaks shut behind you as you find yourself facing The Whirligig.

You take a tentative step onto the creaking and visibly unstable floorboards of this carousel which seems to belong to some other fantastical age. As you glance around you notice that where there would typically be galloping horses done in pastels and gilt, there are instead a variety of fabulous mythical creatures. Beneath the streaming cobwebs and thick layers of dust, you can barely make out what must once have been a marvelously intricate paint job; now, however, the paint crumbles and flakes at the lightest touch and the once vivid colors have faded into the shadowy grey of nostalgia.