Fix story page scrolling and ellipsis spacing

data/worlds/example_world.yml

@@ -9,20 +9,36 @@ introduction: |
   The last thing you remember is the letter: heavy paper, black wax, your name written in a hand you almost recognized.
   It asked you to come after dusk, alone, and promised that the house would answer what the sender could not.
 
-  Now you stand beyond the wrought iron gate, with rain cooling your face and the hill rising before you.
-  At its crest waits the old Victorian mansion, every dark window turned toward the path as if the building has been expecting you.
-
-# Room definitions
-rooms:
+  Now you stand beyond the wrought iron gate, with rain cooling your face and the hill rising before you.
+  At its crest waits the old Victorian mansion, every dark window turned toward the path as if the building has been expecting you.
+
+  The gate gives under your hand with no protest, though its ironwork is wet enough to shine black.
+  Gravel shifts beneath your boots as you pass between the pillars, and the garden closes behind you with the soft finality of a curtain.
+
+  Halfway up the path, you stop and listen.
+  The rain has thinned to a whisper, but the house answers with other sounds: timber settling, gutters ticking, and something deep inside the walls that might be machinery or breath.
+
+  For a heartbeat you think the mansion is about to speak ... but only the wind moves through the ivy.
+  It drags the leaves across the brickwork in slow strokes, as if wiping dust from an old name.
+
+# Room definitions
+rooms:
   # Starting area
   front_yard:
     name: Front Yard
     description: |
       You follow the gravel path up the hill.
       The rain softens to a drizzle, and moonlight peeks through gaps in the clouds.
-      Ancient oak trees frame the property, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze.
-      At the top of three worn stone steps, the mansion's front door waits under a sagging porch roof.
-      When you reach for the handle, it turns before your fingers touch it, and the door opens {{sfx:squeaky-door.ogg}} with a long, complaining squeak.
+      Ancient oak trees frame the property, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze.
+      At the top of three worn stone steps, the mansion's front door waits under a sagging porch roof.
+      The porch boards are swollen with rain, each one bending under your weight before it remembers its shape.
+      A brass knocker hangs at eye level, polished bright at the edges where countless hands have touched it and left no warmth behind.
+      The letter in your pocket presses against your ribs.
+      You remember the last line now: come before the clocks learn your name.
+      Somewhere above you, behind a blind upper window, a pale shape passes from left to right and is gone.
+      You tell yourself it was a reflection, then look back at the path and find no light behind you bright enough to make one.
+      The house waits.
+      When you reach for the handle, it turns before your fingers touch it, and the door opens {{sfx:squeaky-door.ogg}} with a long, complaining squeak.
     exits:
       - direction: north
         targetRoomId: entrance_hall