Hollowmere

A grand old house sank into a still mountain lake a long time ago, and so did you. In Hollowmere you are the lamp-spirit that lingers there — bodiless, you cannot push a door or turn a key. But you can slip into the drowned furniture and, while you wear it, you move only by that piece's own way of moving.

Wear the furniture, borrow its gait

Each room is a flooded square grid with one bright window where the surface light pours in. Reaching it is the whole goal. To get there you inhabit the furniture and route across the room by swapping which piece you wear:

• The wing-back chair slides on its castors until something stops it.
• The pendulum clock ticks forward an exact number of tiles — or refuses if the run isn't clear.
• The footstool tumbles end over end, vaulting clean over the tile in front of it.
• The steamer trunk rides the current and always drifts one tile too far.
• The hand-mirror doesn't move at all — it trades places with whatever it reflects.
• Deeper in the house, a diving bell that only ever sinks, and a music box that turns the little world around it.

A calm puzzle, never a cruel one

There is no timer, no enemy, and no way to lose. Every move can be undone, and any room can be reset with a swirl of water. The only question is which piece to wear and when to swap — because each gait can only reach certain tiles, and the pieces block and unblock each other as they move. Every room is hand-built and machine-verified to be solvable.

Light, photographs, and tides

Your moves are measured in light: each swap dims your lamp by a notch, and finishing with light to spare develops a richer photograph on the wall — a warm memento of the room you set right. The house map is a cross-section of the sunken manor you descend room by room. A new Tide Room arrives every day — the same puzzle for everyone, with a shared leaderboard and a streak to keep.