The landscape is transformed after a certain point in the game in such a way that what had been an almost cloyingly bucolic town becomes a sinister parody of itself. The game works best, I suppose, when the player enjoys the scenes as they are and assumes that things will tie together. The writing is, as one might expect from Moriarty, masterful. I didn't know you cared. Humor aside, though, the prose is simple and spare, as befits a game whose target audience does not have an adult attention span, but consistently effective in setting a mood.
Walks converge from four directions on a shallow marble fountain, filled with sparkling water.
A statue stands in the middle of the fountain. The statue is a heroic commemoration of one of Festeron's founding fathers, dressed in a fancy military uniform. You're standing in a circular park, surrounded by the Witchville Rotary. Walks converge from four directions on a neglected marble fountain, filled with greasy water. A statue stands in the middle of the fountain.