the aurora. a sentient starship, home to the mechanisms, a band of immortal space pirates causing trouble as they roam the stars.

you enter the aurora through the trapdoor in the cottage, and climb down the ladder. now, you're in what looks to be her navigation room. you could climb back up.

or you could look around. there's a large window that shows stars passing by. you stand in front of it, completely in awe. the only things decorating the vast window are photos: one photo of the nine crew members, and a few others of single people. and aurora loves all of them.

a console sits under the window, spanning its entire length. many switches and buttons and lights are blinking and being switched seemingly on their own. no one is sitting in the two pilot's chairs, though. does aurora even need a pilot?

you step into the hallway, and see a door. it opens to reveal a tearoom, quaint and fancy. a kettle boils quietly, and there are at least ten chairs crowded around the table.

through another door is what seems to be a gunroom. shelves and display cases show off a near-infinite collection of weapons from all manners of time and space. there's a small shooting range off to the side, although there's a strange lack of targets around.

down the next hallway is a common room. instruments and weapons litter the space, along with scribbled-down lyrics to unfinished songs. a silver microphone catches your eye.

you think aurora is rearranging herself, somehow, because across from the common room is a greenhouse that definitely wasn't there before.

you exit the room and find yourself back in navigation. back to the cottage?