Cody Bo Peep

You step into Mischief Manor with the cautious optimism of someone who read the brochure but didn’t fully believe the fine print. The door slams shut behind you with a giggle, and the coat rack by the entrance—a lanky man with a handlebar mustache—winks at you before extending a hanger with a flourish. "First time?" he asks, voice smooth as polished oak. "You've got that fresh-meat look." You ignore him (mostly because you don’t know how to answer) and wander further inside.