Cass has nightmares, so she avoids sleeping altogether.
Parasomnia, a short story about Cass
+ diff --git a/src/char/Chandra-story b/src/char/Chandra-story index 24b193e..0acea50 100755 --- a/src/char/Chandra-story +++ b/src/char/Chandra-story @@ -1,2 +1,2 @@Chandra comes from a long line of prophets, and she was called at a young age.
-Hello Traveler, an excerpt about Chandra
+ diff --git a/src/char/Chandrakant-basics b/src/char/Chandrakant-basics new file mode 100755 index 0000000..9a7e8c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/char/Chandrakant-basics @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +Tall, imposing, and sinister.
diff --git a/src/char/Chandrakant-label b/src/char/Chandrakant-label new file mode 100755 index 0000000..506835f --- /dev/null +++ b/src/char/Chandrakant-label @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +Chandrakant | means beloved of the moon | incubus♂ diff --git a/src/char/Chandrakant-story b/src/char/Chandrakant-story new file mode 100755 index 0000000..a5e560d --- /dev/null +++ b/src/char/Chandrakant-story @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Chandrakant is an incubus.
+ diff --git a/src/char/Freefall-story b/src/char/Freefall-story index 83d0a7c..12de1c0 100755 --- a/src/char/Freefall-story +++ b/src/char/Freefall-story @@ -1 +1,2 @@Freefall’s past is a whirlwind of betrayal and loss. Kidnapped as a young child, he was thrust into the midst of the immortal council, raised in a world of power struggles and shifting allegiances. Just as he was inducted, the council was at the brink of collapse under the weight of political upheaval. Cast out of heaven, he became an unwitting immortal vagabond, abandoned to wander the earth without living family or any remaining connections. This severance from his roots left him adrift, a ghost haunting the remnants of a life he never truly had, forever searching for a place to belong in a world that rejected him.
+ diff --git a/src/char/Funwa-basics b/src/char/Funwa-basics new file mode 100755 index 0000000..11fb4b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/char/Funwa-basics @@ -0,0 +1,12 @@ +Funwa is a baku.
diff --git a/src/char/Funwa-label b/src/char/Funwa-label new file mode 100755 index 0000000..72978b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/char/Funwa-label @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +Funwa | means dockman | baku♂ diff --git a/src/char/Funwa-story b/src/char/Funwa-story new file mode 100755 index 0000000..c6056f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/char/Funwa-story @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Not much he'll reveal. Don't worry about it.
+ diff --git a/src/char/Lisbet-story b/src/char/Lisbet-story index 0aaba07..651143b 100755 --- a/src/char/Lisbet-story +++ b/src/char/Lisbet-story @@ -1,2 +1,3 @@She's been fighting her whole life against God, though she keeps her struggle close to her chest.
+ diff --git a/src/char/Trace-story b/src/char/Trace-story index 449a6c0..da02533 100755 --- a/src/char/Trace-story +++ b/src/char/Trace-story @@ -1 +1,2 @@Trace would rather not talk about herself. Her past is characterized by long stretches of silence, loneliness, and darkness, and she has grown comfortable with solitude, treating her interactions with others as a practice in balancing connection and distance.
+ diff --git a/src/char/Van-story b/src/char/Van-story index 31ee882..aaef7b5 100755 --- a/src/char/Van-story +++ b/src/char/Van-story @@ -1 +1,2 @@ - +Pilot, fighter, and Chandra's protector.
+ diff --git a/src/index.py b/src/index.py index 32a43d7..5401e36 100755 --- a/src/index.py +++ b/src/index.py @@ -497,7 +497,7 @@ def char(char_name): @route('/credits') def credits(): """credits""" - info = {'css': 'doc', 'preview': 'Keeping track of everyone who contributed to Blessfrey', 'title': 'blessfrey credits', 'year': find_year()} + info = {'css': 'doc', 'preview': 'Keeping track of everyone who contributed to Blessfrey...even though none of them are even aware of my existence lol', 'title': 'blessfrey credits', 'year': find_year()} return template('credits.tpl', info) # Blessfrey Games Page @@ -724,12 +724,34 @@ def setting(): info = {'css': 'doc', 'title': 'blessfrey gdd - setting', 'preview': 'Blessfrey GDD - Setting', 'year': find_year()} return template('setting.tpl', info) -# Story Page +# Story Pages @route('/story') -def story2(): - return story("home") +@route('/story/') +def stories_redirect(): + return stories2(0) +@route('/story/His strange draw to the girl was revolting. She had encountered curiosities and delicacies before, but she had no such traits. She felt like poison to him, deep and seeping, and cast a heavy blanket of dread over him whenever he drew too near. Yet he kept returning, finding his errands and meetings strangely placing him in her path again and again. What sort of girl was this?
+ +Silver, predatory eyes burned in the dark, locked with hers. She froze as prey without escape. All was dark, motionless, and silent, as though the world ceased to exist outside of the glint of sinister intelligence before her. He stepped forward and paused, breaking eye contact to look over her body with unnerving possession. In turn, she examined him. His form was darker than night, only visible as a silhouette in front of her moonlit bedroom. Nothing about him was perceptible but the intensity of his eyes.
+ +No one had access to her room but perhaps maintenance and the property owner. There was a bestial grace about his movements, though, an almost supernatural glide in his approach. He made no sound as though he were a phantom. He couldn't be human. He was evil. An oppressive hatred filled the room around him. His form was human, but he was something else entirely.
+ +She howled desperately, with increasing force, but was utterly silenced. She was under a spell, but it felt tenuous, as though with enough strength, her voice could breach the wall over her and save her. Her heart stopped her limbs from joining the fight. The smallest impulse in the smallest muscle strained her heart. If she were able to successfully burst through that wall to move even her pinky finger one millimeter, it felt as though her heart would burst, too.
+ +Can't people still move their eyes under paralysis?
+ +She was involuntarily transfixed on the imposing presence that seemed to steal the very air from her lungs. Her chest was locked by the same enchantment, iron hands grasping her lungs tighter and tighter until blind panic eclipsed the scene playing out before her.
+ +The final shock was the sickening numbness that cusped the outer blades of her feet before black swallowed her up.
+ diff --git a/src/story/beloved-of-the-moon-2 b/src/story/beloved-of-the-moon-2 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..292ad6e --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/beloved-of-the-moon-2 @@ -0,0 +1,44 @@ + +The skin-memory of the rhythmic touch that cusped the outer blades of her feet never ceased. She awoke with a jolt, ripping her blankets off from her and examining her legs.
+ +Clean.
+ +Of course it was a dream, but she had never had a dream so physically real.
+ +People always say, "How do you know it wasn't a dream?" in cases like this, but her dreams were unambiguous. If they were coherent, they were always mired in a confused haze where her mind knew there was a world outside of this and that everything she knew in this limited state was wrong somehow, though she could never solve it until the moment she woke up. Her perception was always warped, fluidly switching perspectives and scenes. No dream had such clarity.
+ +No, it couldn't simply be a dream. It was real in some way. She was fully awake in her bed, watching a living dream play out in front of her. At least, her mind was awake. Her body had been asleep. Doesn't your brain paralyze your body at night to keep you from acting out your dreams? But then again, it wouldn't paralyze the lungs. And doesn't dreaming take place during REM? There was nothing rapid whatsoever. She couldn't move her eyes at all. No, there was something really strange about this half-dream.
+ +She didn't feel like reading about the dream-state on her phone. Those threads were always full of schizophrenics and amateur therapists.
+ +Was it real?
+ +The thought froze her in the middle of her shower.
+ +What if there had been an intruder while she was in REM, and she woke up before the sleep paralysis wore off? What if?
+ +She tore out of the shower, leaving a trail of water from window to window, combing the perimeter. Even the deadbolt was in place, and her keys were tidily hanging on their hook. Her kitchen, her bathroom, her walls, her floors, everything was in its place without signs of tampering. No, even someone with a key to the room couldn't have entered.
+ +She sighed with relief that she could absolutely rule out maintenance. The guy they send out was always uncomfortably flirty with her for someone who had unlimited access to her room. He seemed nice, so she didn't want to suspect him.
+ +If there was a real intruder, he was a master trespasser, and no master trespasser would waste his time with a random room in a dilapidated apartment with a shifting foundation.
+ +Finally, she returned to her bedroom and examined her bed with unease. It was in a panicked disarray, with every sheet and blanket thrown on the ground, but it was otherwise clean. Wasn't sex bloody or messy or something? Or was it not? She didn't feel any different, apart from the tortured numbness when anything brushed against the blades of her feet. She really didn't know what to look for here, and she really didn't want to look up anything at all about sex on her phone.
+ +There was no sign of escape either.
+ +She turned off the shower-head, returned to her bedroom, held her breath, and listened to the apartment. The usual hustle and bustle and random thuds were clearly coming from neighboring units. She couldn't let herself be confused. The man in the night had been huge. She didn't own any furniture. If he wasn't in any of the closets or other rooms, where could he possibly hide? But he had been so smooth and otherworldly. If he was still hiding here, he was capable of perfect silence.
+ +An alarm rang out.
+ +"School...I just have to go."
+ +She caught her eye in the mirror by the bed. She was still soaked in soapy water, her hair a lathered mess, and she was still undressed. She studied herself a moment longer, struck by how normal she looked. Nothing could have happened. It was just a bad dream, nothing more.
+ +Then she performed the world's quickest shower rinse, threw on the same clothes from yesterday that were still hanging over a chair, didn't bother with any combs or makeup, and rushed down the street with her backpack. She didn't realize her notebook was missing, so she had to fat-finger all her notes on a phone app. All the seats were taken but a few in the very front and center, so she was in the direct blast of the instructor's every snide comment about students abusing the technology in the classroom policy to play games instead of learn.
+ +Of course.
+ diff --git a/src/story/beloved-of-the-moon-3 b/src/story/beloved-of-the-moon-3 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..62be2e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/beloved-of-the-moon-3 @@ -0,0 +1,74 @@ + +Few dreams stayed with her once the responsibilities of the day settled on her shoulders. But those eyes—those terrible, flashing eyes—clung to her, appearing behind every blink, waiting in the cracks of her mind.
+ +She had been visited once again. It was becoming a nightly torment she had no way to dispel. She was worn down, losing her public-facing mask.
+ +All Cass wanted was to go home.
+ +Standing outside her door, she felt an unfamiliar knot of unease twist in her stomach. It was quiet—too quiet for this time of day. Normally, her neighbors could be heard laughing, music blaring, and the constant hum of footsteps echoing through the hall. But today? Silence.
+ +She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The apartment greeted her with the same muted atmosphere—familiar yet unsettling. The black-and-white striped wallpaper, so bold when she first moved in, now felt oppressive, the red pomegranate designs like scattered bloodstains in the dim light.
+ +She almost slipped on something slick.
+ +Cass froze, staring down at the wet floor. "The puddle from this morning?" She let out a shaky laugh, trying to dispel her own nervousness. A mess—both her apartment and her mind.
+ +It was just a bad dream. Get over it.
+ +The room was as she left it: disheveled, scattered with signs of a hurried morning. Doors open. Bedding tangled across the floor. She could feel the weight of exhaustion dragging her down, even as she tried to restore some semblance of order, humming softly to herself.
+ +Tea. Yes. Tea would help.
+ +She tossed loose tea leaves into a pot without much care—cinnamon, star anise, honey. Comfort in a cup. As it brewed, she distracted herself by transcribing her class notes, desperate to lose herself in the mundane.
+ +But the stillness of the room wrapped around her like a heavy blanket. As she sipped her tea, she felt it—something in the corner of her eye, a presence in the shadows at the foot of her bed. Her heart skipped a beat.
+ +It’s just the dark. Just your imagination.
+ +And yet, as the silence deepened, she felt it growing. Watching her. Waiting.
+ +She slid into bed, pulling the covers tightly around herself. Sleep wouldn’t come—not with that feeling hovering over her. She glanced at the little frying pan she’d placed by her bedside in a fit of paranoia. It felt ridiculous now, but somehow, its presence was comforting. She closed her eyes, hoping the sensation would pass.
+ +But then the eyes returned.
+ +A sharp pressure pinned her down—her body paralyzed, her mind screaming to move, to fight, but her limbs refused. She felt her breath quicken as the darkness pressed in closer, suffocating her, until—
+ +"Be still. I’m not going to hurt you tonight. I just want another look."
+ +Cass’s heart leapt into her throat. The voice was close. Too close. A figure loomed over her, pulling back her sheets with casual ease, its face a blur of shadows and flashing eyes. She strained to move, to scream, but nothing came.
+ +"You resist so much, yet to my eyes, you look peaceful. Like the dead." The figure’s breath brushed her ear, its voice low, mocking. It reached out, almost tenderly, before frustration flickered across its face. "What game are you playing, girl? You look like one of them. You walk like them. But something’s off. What are you hiding?"
+ +The figure vanished, only to reappear by her bedside, pacing furiously, its form rippling with anger. Then, it was back—looming over her, its face inches from hers.
+ +"If I lift this enchantment, will you speak? Or do I need to remind you what I’m capable of?"
+ +A sick smile twisted its lips. "You’ll tell me what I need to know, or I will rip you apart from the inside."
+ +But before the threat could be carried out, a blur of motion barreled into the figure, sending it crashing against the far wall. The room exploded into chaos as a heavy, rounded creature descended upon the intruder, its form a riot of pastel colors and strange shapes. They grappled in the darkness, and Cass could only watch, heart hammering, as the shadowy figure was overwhelmed.
+ +Then, silence.
+ +The colorful creature emerged from the darkness, panting slightly. It was... bizarre. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope—soft, rainbow-hued, and fragmented in some way. It turned to Cass, its red eyes gleaming.
+ +"You won’t have to worry about him anymore!"
+ +Cass blinked, her brain struggling to catch up with the absurdity before her. The creature grinned, its garish appearance almost comical.
+ +"So garish..." she stammered, trying to make sense of it all. "Even in the dim light..."
+ +"What! Is that an insult? I am like the covenantal rainbow. Like unbreakable gemstone. A promise. Funwa," it said, beaming brightly. "Unlike that self-serving man-whore. He’s been sniffing around you for a while. Not anymore." It strikes a heroic stance. "I'm Funwa, your guardian angel."
+ +"Never seen an angel gore someone before."
+ +Funwa grinned wider, if that was possible. "I hate evil." Without letting her interject, he continued, a tinge of solemn darkness seeping into his voice. "It looks like you’ll be seeing more of me. He's bound to return, but I'll be waiting this time."
+ +Cass shook her head, barely able to keep up with him. "I only pay rent for one. Good or bad, I'm not welcoming any spirits here."
+ +Funwa looked at her critically. "None? Even the driest man has a soul. No, his unnatural attraction towards you leaves you too vulnerable and presents too easy an opportunity for me."
+ +Cass sighed. "I'm exhausted, just do whatever you want then I'll deal with you in the morning."
+ diff --git a/src/story/hello-traveler b/src/story/hello-traveler index f3fca90..a49a434 100755 --- a/src/story/hello-traveler +++ b/src/story/hello-traveler @@ -1,5 +1,5 @@ -"I was this close to something valuable. If that job went through, I'd have big money right now. And instead, I am soaked in gritty blood in a biome devoid of water or rain, wasting my effort on these unwelcomed beasts. Dang it!" He started walking off angrily in the direction his gut led him.
diff --git a/src/story/hello-traveler-3 b/src/story/hello-traveler-3 index 01ef1b0..0d15cd6 100644 --- a/src/story/hello-traveler-3 +++ b/src/story/hello-traveler-3 @@ -1,5 +1,5 @@ -Chandra couldn't see anything at first. She leapt forward, shielding the mysterious girl with her own body.
diff --git a/src/story/hello-traveler-4 b/src/story/hello-traveler-4 index 79880d2..fdde778 100644 --- a/src/story/hello-traveler-4 +++ b/src/story/hello-traveler-4 @@ -1,5 +1,5 @@ -Van broke the awkward silence that enveloped the four of them by shooting straight at the tall, swarthy mercenary.
diff --git a/src/story/home b/src/story/home index e57194e..8a8b927 100755 --- a/src/story/home +++ b/src/story/home @@ -1,45 +1,14 @@ -Deep black is all around. But from far above, tiny swirls of ice catch the light, like lost stars adrift in space. As they sink into the darkness, they lose their individuality, piling into bitter cold.
-I am a stone.
-My legs, my arms were so numb that I could not find them. Did I still have them? My body leapt, thrashing, swinging, scrambling for any confirmation from its members. Stone struck stone. I reeled, clenching as my femur howled louder than I did. I cowered. The only comfort I found was in my own embrace, empty as the echoes of my own scream from distant corridors.
-Alone.
-But the pain affirmed I was alive and whole.
-As the pain subsided, I looked about. I was laying upon frozen stone, rough but cut with an artisan’s hand, laid in an intricate pattern. The night sky extends overhead. Before and behind, darkness. I extended my arm and a hand enclosed around mine.
-“Whoa!” My arm shot back, and the hand let go easily. “Who-” I jumped to my feet, pain no longer a concern, and backed into a wall, hitting my back and ricocheting forward. Someone caught me and supported me against his chest for a split second before steadying me on my feet. I looked up, and for a moment, I thought I saw a man’s face before me.
-“I’m just as surprised as you are.”
-The charisma in his voice and firmness in his build, or perhaps the mere presence of another in this void put me at immediate ease. I slowly extended my hand in search of him again, and he took my hand.
-“It’s further ahead. I’ll take you there.”
-“Where?”
-“Oh—Well, you will understand when you see it.”
-“What?”
-But he fell silent, leading me through the dark. His footsteps were confident, a stride, even, when my eyes could not distinguish the difference between impending wall or leagues of hall. Or worse, some bottomless pit or other hazard. But I surrendered to his confidence, closing my eyes and listening to my footsteps trail his.
-As the questions bubbled up, I asked who he is, what we’re doing. Inwardly, I wondered how I ended up here. What was I doing before this? My head was empty. My head was devoid of any fragment of time before he met my hand in the dark. But he didn’t really talk in the meantime. I would just have to wait and see.
-But wait for what?
-He halted and released my hand. We were still in darkness. A door opened.
-“After you.”
-He guided me in with a hand on my back. He followed. His footsteps trailed away, and faint white light bloomed. As he moved through the area, he left eerie globs of light at each pedestal, pulling the veil back, revealing breathtaking stone mosaic, statues, treasures, artifacts, stories-tall tapestry emerging one-by-one.
-“This is a castle! How could this be? Filled with treasure!” My confidence in him wavered. “Why would you bring me here? Who are you?”
-He appeared at my side, and I beheld his form. He was flat like an afterimage. He moved strangely like he was between dimensions. An impression of a man. I was horrified.
-“Stay away!”
-I sprinted for the door, and he caught me.
-“Relax! I know how I look. Forgive me. I can’t look any other way. Please don’t be scared.”
-As he stammered, he held me a little too long. It was strange. He felt like a man, but he did not look like one. It was unnerving. I pulled away but stood in place this time. He had been friendly so far.
-“I’m sorry.” I could barely look at him. He looked horrible. Like a tear. “You’re a ghost?”
-“I’m Driscoll. It’s been so long. You’re finally here. And you look beautiful. Tell me your name.”
-“Katherine.”
-“Katherine.” He savored the name. “Welcome to the Hall of Monuments. It’s not quite a castle. It serves as a memorial to the life of my master.”
-“Then he is a ghost like you?”
-Driscoll ignored the question.
-“It’s more a museum than a castle. I wonder if it’s best to let you wonder the hall unguided. See for yourself who he was. But he waited for this day. He always knew it was coming. The day his twin soul would appear, be drawn to his. He always know. He spoke so fondly of you.” -
“Of me? Did he know me?”
-“He knew of you.”
-And again, he brushed aside further questions, stepping aside and granting me run of the hall. So I glided over to the center, to the large, shallow pool. I knew at once what it was and vocalized my thought.
-“Scrying pool.”
-“It sure is.”
-But I did not quite know what that word meant. It just seemed to fit as a natural definition for what lay before my eyes. I knelt by the water, dipping two fingers into it. Scrying pools must be magic of some sort. Magic and ghosts. It was uncomfortable.
-“Am I in Hell or something? Who are you?”
-He didn’t answer immediately at first, which made my skin crawl.
-“Are you not lucid? You’re dreaming, Katherine.”
+Dreaming? Strange as the ruined castle and half-man before her were, they were accompanied by none of the warped perspectives and discrete timelines that marked a dream. He was very real, just as substantial as any man in broad daylight...
+ +Deep black is all around. But from far above, tiny swirls of ice catch the light, like lost stars adrift in space. As they sink into the darkness, they lose their individuality, piling into bitter cold.
+ +I am a stone.
+ +My legs, my arms were so numb that I could not find them. Did I still have them? My body leapt, thrashing, swinging, scrambling for any confirmation from its members. Stone struck stone. I reeled, clenching as my femur howled louder than I did. I cowered. The only comfort I found was in my own embrace, empty as the echoes of my own scream from distant corridors.
+ +Alone.
+ +But the pain affirmed I was alive and whole.
+ +As the pain subsided, I looked about. I was laying upon frozen stone, rough but cut with an artisan's hand, laid in an intricate pattern. The night sky extends overhead. Before and behind, darkness. I extended my arm and a hand enclosed around mine.
+ +"Whoa!" My arm shot back, and the hand let go easily. "Who-" I jumped to my feet, pain no longer a concern, and backed into a wall, hitting my back and ricocheting forward. Someone caught me and supported me against his chest for a split second before steadying me on my feet. I looked up, and for a moment, I thought I saw a man's face before me.
+ +"Hey, careful! I'm just as surprised as you are, okay?"
+ +The charisma in his voice and firmness in his build, or perhaps the mere presence of another in this void put me at immediate ease. I slowly extended my hand in search of him again, and he took my hand.
+ +"It's further ahead. I'll take you there."
+ +"Where?"
+ +"Oh-Well, you will understand when you see it."
+ +"What?"
+ +But he fell silent, leading me through the dark. His footsteps were confident, a stride, even, when my eyes could not distinguish the difference between impending wall or leagues of hall. Or worse, some bottomless pit or other hazard. But I surrendered to his confidence, closing my eyes and listening to my footsteps trail his.
+ +As the questions bubbled up, I asked who he is, what we're doing. Inwardly, I wondered how I ended up here. What was I doing before this? My head was empty. My head was devoid of any fragment of time before he met my hand in the dark. But he didn't really respond. I would just have to wait and see.
+ +But wait for what?
+ +He halted and released my hand. We were still in darkness. A door opened.
+ +"After you."
+ +He guided me in with a hand on my back. He followed. His footsteps trailed away, and faint white light bloomed. As he moved through the area, he left eerie globs of light at each pedestal, pulling the veil back, revealing breathtaking stone mosaic, statues, treasures, artifacts, stories-tall tapestry emerging one-by-one.
+ +"This is a castle! How could this be? Filled with treasure!" My confidence in him wavered. "Why would you bring me here? Who are you?"
+ +He appeared at my side, and I beheld his form. He was flat like an afterimage. He moved strangely like he was between dimensions. An impression of a man. I was horrified.
+ +"Stay away!"
+ +I sprinted for the door, and he caught me.
+ +"Relax! I know how I look. Forgive me. I can't change myself. Please don't be scared."
+ +As he stammered, he held me a little too long. It was strange. He felt like a man, but he did not look like one. It was unnerving. I pulled away but stood in place this time. He had been friendly so far.
+ +"I'm sorry." I could barely look at him. He looked horrible. Like a tear in reality. "You're a ghost?"
+ +"I'm Driscoll. It's been so long. You're finally here. And you look so beautiful. Please, tell me your name."
+ +"Katherine."
+ +"Katherine." He savored the name. "Welcome to the Hall of Monuments. It serves as a memorial to the life of my master."
+ +"Then he is a ghost like you?"
+ +Driscoll ignored the question.
+ +"It's more a museum than a castle. I wonder if it's best to let you wander the hall unguided. See for yourself who he was. But he waited for this day. He always knew it was coming. The day his twin soul would appear, be drawn to his. He always knew. He spoke so fondly of you."
+ +"Of me? Did he know me?"
+ +"He knew of you."
+ +And again, he brushed aside further questions, stepping aside and granting me run of the hall. So I glided over to the center, to the large, shallow pool. I knew at once what it was and vocalized my thought.
+ +"A scrying pool."
+ +"It sure is."
+ +But I did not quite know what that word meant. It just seemed to fit as a natural definition for what lay before my eyes. I knelt by the water, dipping my finger into it. Scrying pools must be magic of some sort. Magic and ghosts. It was uncomfortable.
+ +"Am I in Hell or something? Who are you?"
+ +His labored pause made my skin crawl.
+ +"Are you not lucid? You're dreaming, Katherine."
+ +And with that, I awoke.
+ diff --git a/src/story/home-2 b/src/story/home-2 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..2209b8a --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/home-2 @@ -0,0 +1,42 @@ + +Keeping my eyes closed made no difference. I was awake, and it was past time to scramble all my items together and run off to work. No matter how hard I tried to preserve specific scenes, people, words, the details slipped through my fingers. All that remained was a bitterly nostalgic aftertaste that soured any attempts to focus throughout the rest of the day. My mind had a foot in another world, and I could not shake that feeling. I went about my routine until Mr. Humke came to the backroom where I was sweeping.
+ +"You don't need to clean up. I'll get my kid to finish. You go on ahead, Kath'rine. No one else is coming in today."
+ +He never pronounced all the syllables.
+ +"Yessir. Thank you. See you tomorrow."
+ +"See you Monday. Have a nice weekend."
+ +"Right!"
+ +I gathered my things quickly and hopped in the car. I flipped through my phone's music library longer than the commute itself would have taken, until I found something slow enough not to clash with my mood but varied enough to not be boring or cheesy. It's not like I had anywhere else to be.
+ +I stopped by the grocery store on the way home and picked up enough for a simple sandwich to eat alone in silence.
+ +Hell.
+ +I was pretty sure I had a dream I was in Hell. All I remember is what I said to- Was someone else in Hell with me? I mused after the scene, the face, the context, and scraped nothing more. The weird guy on Discord was talking about lucid dreaming opening your mind to demonic contact. He's an idiot, but something from that conversation must have bothered me deep down. Idiot Elerias gave me a nightmare. Hilarious. A smile crept over my face. He totally got me.
+ +----
+ +It was bitterly cold out. I didn't want to spend my break inside, though, so I sat, butt frozen to a metal bench, watching my breath crystalize. Lane was in today, and her queer judgmental glances in my direction bothered me. I couldn't tell if Mr. Humke had said something to make her think less of me, if she was jealous, or if it was something as simple as her thinking my shoes were dorky. She was perfectly civil when we did speak, but we never had smalltalk in the year and a half I worked for Mr. Homke. He had her working since she was a toddler, from the sounds of it, so even though I only met her a few months after I started working, she had a lot of seniority. She'd probably inherit the business, too. Ah, well. Mr. Homke did say once he would be open to selling the business to me. Would she not inherit the business? Thinking of her always sank a stone in my gut.
+ +I looked up at the sky. It got dark earlier and earlier. It looked like midnight out here, and the sky was the perfect combination of cold and dry, so that every star and its halo was visible. The moon was robed in rainbow. And it was exactly 6 P.M. The stars looked like snow in a way, caught in the air. Like the snow back then. I reached out my hand and met another, clasped around mine. My break was over. I snapped out of daydream. Back when?
+ +That touch haunted me all day. No one had ever held my hand. Not even Mom and Dad when I was little. Where did a memory like that emerge from? It made me feel bitterly lonely. And sexless. Such a masculine hand.
+ +I carried that itch to the very end of the day. I washed my face before bed, and before finishing, made eye contact with my reflection for a moment. The bathroom had terrible lighting, but the light still caught in my eyes in a way that looked kinda cute. My face definitely had a cuteness to it. Maybe not beauty. Certainly nothing sexy. But I was pretty. And that prettiness was enough to feel confident that some guy could notice me, clasp my hand like that.
+ +I reached my hand out in the same way, but the feeling was empty and alone, nothing in the middle of my bathroom. But my mind could almost insert some kind a guy willing to touch me. I swear I had felt that some time. In some dream or something. Probably something stupid, like some book character or something. A total figment, maybe even. Certainly no one real. I looked back into the mirror and saw quite a plain girl, stuck in some small business with no upward mobility, and nothing really special about her to capture any guy's interest.
+ +And if I ever did strike some guy's fancy, it's not like I'm all that fun. I don't drink or smoke or party or have any of that mystery or thrill. What boy reads? Or does quiet things? Probably one who doesn't reach out and grasp a girl by the hand and tell her she's pretty.
+ +I slumped into the bed. It was stupid, but I pretended I was next to someone. Just hands clasped like that. The memory was so tangible, it was indistinguishable from the real thing in the dark. He was right there.
+ +"--You never got the key."
+ diff --git a/src/story/home-3 b/src/story/home-3 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..4727025 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/home-3 @@ -0,0 +1,76 @@ + +The horrible vision, the tear in reality. The Half-Man was before me again. And I knew at once this was Driscoll the Historian, and we were in the Hall of Monuments. He no longer scared me. In fact, he was exceedingly comforting. I dreamt of him every night. Or at least, I've dreamed of him at least twice. But it felt like a hundred times.
+ +He took my hand in both of his and dropped a fine chain into my palm. His hands felt firm, though they lacked warmth and visible form. Then he tied it around my right wrist.
+ +"Just the right size, after all these years."
+ +"What sort of key is this?"
+ +"I think you'll understand better later. Just don't take it off until you do."
+ +"Why do you talk like that? It's annoying. Just tell me. What is there to veil?"
+ +"I." He started before he knew how to respond. "Yeah, I see how you'd be confused. I'm confused myself. But I have to do my job. Here, come see this."
+ +He strode over to the head of the hall then hung back, letting me take my time with the series of faded tapestries all around.
+ +A man faded into anonymity in grand clothed stands behind a woman. She looks eerily like herself, same long dark hair and small frame, though her face is moth-eaten. All around them is the opulence of a granite hall, arranged tastefully with treasures, warm colors, and rich fabrics.
+ +Katherine lingers for a long time, gazing at herself next to a man of such a captivating presence. His features were soft and effeminate, but he had an attractive figure. Despite the apparent age of the tapestry, the scene felt so modern, like he could walk out of the portrait to greet her.
+ +In the next scene, the hall is in decline. Behind Katherine, an entire wall has collapsed and been buried in snow. The man has turned his face, fading away. Katherine is left alone, once again without a face. She shivered at the disfiguring depiction of herself.
+ +The scene shifts to an invisible man's shadow serving her. She looks detached and alone. The man from earlier, just outside, has his gaze is fixed upon her.
+ +She walks over to the next scene, seeing a depiction of herself frozen and barren. She is speaking, but no one else is present.
+ +In the final tapestry, the man stands over the defeated forms of three shadowy figures in the chapel. His victory, though complete, feels cold—detached. The once-grand figure from the first tapestry is now a shade of his former self, spectral, barely clinging to existence. In the distance, the woman waits still, her stance and expression unreadable.
+ +Katherine crept closer to better examine the shadows. She was drawn into their cold, oppressive presence. Their forms were barely discernible, shifting, half-real, as though from another plane.
+ +"Creepy..." She breathed. Without freeing her eyes from the faces of the fallen, lost in the snow, she asked aloud, "What happened to him? He was so vivid in the first portrait. But here, he's so grave."
+ +"It cursed him."
+ +His voice, usually carefree and chummy, had taken on an unexpected softness—almost introspective. The change was jarring, a glimpse of something deeper, older. It wasn't the voice of the Driscoll she had come to know—the one who tripped over his words and smothered her in gifts. No, his words were an echo from a time the tapestries never revealed. A Driscoll untouched by the long haunt of his hall, a man who was once whole. For all his anecdotes about his master's hopeful prophecies and martial prowess, he never spoke much of his personal connection to the man.
+ +She turned to the half-man, but he had no face to read, so she looked at her feet instead. He remained in somber silence.
+ +"So this is your master? A hero who fell to this three-headed beast?"
+ +"Not quite. But he will in the end."
+ +"Are they prophetic? Because the third seems to be us...That's you, isn't it? Yet...I never saw the hall like that. I've never seen him before...Anyone like that, really."
+ +"Um, well, uh...The nature of time...Yeah, I've lost my sense for it. I really don't know..."
+ +Katherine studied him curiously. Up until this point, he might have looked strange, but he felt and acted substantial enough for her to forget they were a different substance. After her peaceful nights of idle chatter, joking around, and exploration the halls, the deep undercurrent of dissonance and isolation caught her in its murky grip. Her earliest suspicions whispered in her ear against consorting with ghosts. His mind wasn't like hers. And though he had built a camaraderie with her, it wasn't based upon any evidence of trust or shared challenges. It was built on gifts and unfulfilled promises.
+ +She took a few steps back, fingering the bracelet he had given her and scanning the familiar walls of the scrying room.
+ +Was she silly for doubting him?
+ +"I'm sorry...I know my master's journey is heavy, and I'm..."
+ +His voice broke, then a few moments of strained silence.
+ +"I am the custodian of these halls, his servant, yet, my mind is disappearing like dust. He was a hero, and you were his first love. But another suitor approached you. He was angry after you, a jealous suitor, who would not concede you over to my master. Though your love never faltered, and I think you still feel it now, the other man summoned him for a duel. Though he fell, he cursed my master bitterly, leaving the victory hollow. Though he might live, he can no longer reach you. He may watch from after but never touch you. He filled a palace with treasure, signing it all over to you, and you may have it, but...you may not have him. Not until this curse is broken. And it will break. But the slain will never live again."
+ +His voice trembled at first with regret or doubt but ignited into anger. He had never been so animated before.
+ +"Who were you, before this?"
+ +Driscoll did not answer. He continued pacing briskly, now handling his broom and dustpan with a rough vigor.
+ +"Why aren't you in the tapestries but in this moment?"
+ +Driscoll seemed to decline to answer, so she set herself upon the throne at the head of the hall. Though frozen, she had wrapped it in old tatters enough to be bearable for lounging. She had never seen Driscoll so energetic. How she longed to be able to read him.
+ +Finally, Driscoll's sudden bout of janitorial work slowed and became more meditative. Then he cast away his tools entirely and joined her.
+ +"I..."
+ diff --git a/src/story/home-4 b/src/story/home-4 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..e1d64d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/home-4 @@ -0,0 +1,90 @@ + +"I owe him a great debt," Driscoll muttered.
+ +Katherine raised a brow. "What sort of debt isn’t cleared with death?"
+ +Driscoll hesitated, as though the words were heavy on his tongue.
+ +"I’m in bondage. Perhaps it’s part of the curse... I can’t live freely. Can’t leave. All I can do is follow his orders... forever."
+ +Katherine’s voice lowered. "What kind of magic does that?"
+ +"Magic I wouldn’t dare dabble in."
+ +She twisted the beads on her bracelet thoughtfully. As she handled it, a tinge of warmth flowed through her fingers. It was like an outstretched hand, leading her somewhere. "What kind of key is this, then?"
+ +Catching her concern, Driscoll chuckled, dark and soft. "It’s no shackle."
+ +"Tell me."
+ +"Ah," he sighed, a hint of bitter nostalgia creeping into his voice, "perhaps it is, in some way." His gaze drifted off, wistful and distant. "If only shackles were so easily cast off. No, your gift is of an entirely different nature. He'll guide you."
+ +Katherine frowned, puzzled by his cryptic tone.
+ +"Take your treasures and go," he said, abruptly shifting the mood. "It’s about the time you usually leave me here anyway."
+ +"Come with me," she urged. "We have the key—surely it works both ways?"
+ +Driscoll shook his head.
+ +"I don’t live with anyone else," she replied, a softness creeping into her voice. "You can haunt my hall, where it’s warmer."
+ +Driscoll’s laugh was dry, as though her suggestion amused him more than it should. "He may turn over all he has to you, but he has withheld me for himself. These will stay fastened until my debt is paid."
+ +Katherine bristled. "What sort of debt can’t be paid off after an eternity of service? Your master is cruel. I—"
+ +"I owe him everything," Driscoll interjected, voice firm. "Don’t let my condition taint what he’s done. He defeated a god for your sake. Don’t you think he’s done just as much for me?"
+ +"A god?" she echoed, blinking. "My suitor was... a god?"
+ +"A god of ashes," Driscoll muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground. "We’re treading upon him now."
+ +Instinctively, she stepped back, becoming acutely aware of the gravel and snow beneath her feet. Was it a metaphor, or something more? Driscoll often spoke of her suitor in riddles, but now, the stakes felt unnervingly high.
+ +"Why are you so evasive? How could anyone defeat a god? And why pursue me? I’m no one. No one to get caught up in this." She sighed. "It’s just a dream." Shaking her head, she pressed on. "No, tell me. You owe me that much."
+ +Driscoll’s tone shifted, each word measured. "I serve my master. He may have given you all else, but not me."
+ +"Is your master still alive?"
+ +Ignoring her question, he beckoned her closer, the weight of his past palpable. "Look at my ear." He parted his wispy hair, revealing a metal bar locked into his lobe. "I requested this chain, that I might remain here in service. I’m sorry. If I were free, I’d venture out and tell you everything. But nothing undoes a mark like this."
+ +"It’s just an earring," Katherine whispered, feeling a knot of frustration. "Can’t it come off?"
+ +"No. I was pierced. Are you going to undrive the nail from my lobe, too?"
+ +Frustration welled within her. "If your only duty is to guide me, you can do that anywhere. The hall is crumbling beyond repair. I can keep anything left in my room."
+ +Driscoll didn’t respond, his empty eye sockets gazing into nothingness. That fierce loyalty—a stark contrast to the bumbling, well-meaning man she had known—prompted Katherine to nod, a quiet respect settling over her. With the next breath, reality seeped back in, but anxiety gnawed at her mind.
+ +"I hate waking up like this," she muttered, a shiver passing through her. "The eyes of that shadowy presence... they’re burned into mine."
+ +She blinked, but those eyes—those little flames—were still there, flickering at the edges of her mind.
+ +"Bah."
+ +Looking down, she cradled the bracelet in her palm. It was the same metal, but more ornate, blooming with dainty gems and jewels of every color. She tried it on, took it off, then reexamined it.
+ +"...I took this from my dream." She marveled, suspicious of its dormant power. "If this is a key, how does it work?"
+ +After hours of idle fidgeting during breakfast and her morning routine, she finally surrendered, looping it through a neck-chain and wearing it under her top.
+ +"Not too close, not too far."
+ +With no duties to occupy her mind, she sprawled across the bed, imagining patterns in the popcorn ceiling.
+ +Driscoll’s bitterness lingered—what kind of master had shackled him, and what had he done to deserve such loyalty?
+ +If someone had done something so great for me, I'd tell the world.
+ +The popcorn bubbled into those fierce eyes beneath the Master's feet, sending chills down her spine.
+ +Then there's my suitor. A god, no less. And he was an evil god...a god of ashes...
+ +Her dreamworld was shifting from a dalliance into a burden. In the beginning, making friends always feels effortless, filled with lightness—frequent jokes, shared gifts, and spontaneous hangouts. But as time wears on, those early joys give way to needs, drama, and an unshakeable heaviness. Even dream companions, a source of delight, can become weighty anchors dragging her down.
+ +Twisting the beads on the bracelet, she let its curious warmth flood back into her.
+ diff --git a/src/story/home-5 b/src/story/home-5 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..561c13d --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/home-5 @@ -0,0 +1,98 @@ + +"I want to meet him," Katherine declared, her voice firm, reverberating off the crumbling stone walls.
+ +Driscoll’s expression quivered with uncertainty, his ethereal form flickering like a candle in a draft. "Him? Well, I gave you his key."
+ +"How does it work? No more games. Stop leading me on." A glint of determination ignited in her eyes. "Why should I believe you at all?"
+ +"Look, he's been here all along. I never lied. He's just… on the other side," he replied.
+ +Katherine frowned, recalling the distant onlooker from the tapestry. "What do you mean 'on the other side'? Show me!"
+ +Driscoll hesitated, glancing away, as though the truth were a fragile thing he didn’t want to shatter. But under her pressure, he relented. “Very well. But remember, you’re still in a dream. What lies beyond is often a reflection of your deepest fears and desires.”
+ +As Driscoll drew her in, the air thickened with an otherworldly energy. A shimmer of light began to form, illuminating a small, simple room. It felt like stepping into a painting—a soft glow casting dancing shadows along the walls.
+ +Inside, she saw a boy lost in thought, sitting cross-legged on the floor. His gaze was distant, focused on something beyond her reach. He wore a tattered cloak spun from twilight, his eyes shimmering like pools of starlight. She recognized him at once—the same as in the portrait. He appeared both fragile and powerful, a juxtaposition that intrigued and frightened her.
+ +“Is that him?” Katherine whispered, heart racing.
+ +Driscoll nodded.
+ +Determined, Katherine stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the room. The moment she did, the boy's head snapped up, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Recognition flickered between them, heavy with unspoken connection.
+ +“Who are you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
+ +Katherine's voice caught in her throat. She had dreamed of this confrontation for weeks. Now that she had it, her boldness evaporated like dew caught in the sun.
+ +“How did you come here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as though trying to see through her very soul.
+ +“Y—” she started, her heart racing. “You were waiting.”
+ +The boy’s gaze darkened momentarily, shadows flitting across his features. He beckoned for her to sit next to him, and she drew near, unsure what to make of him.
+ +“Is that all?” he asked moodily.
+ +She examined his forlorn features. He wasn’t the tall, valiant hero from the tapestries; he was closer to her age, his brow reflecting an honest purity buffeted by youthful temperament.
+ +Before she could reassure him, he spoke again, a faint smile creeping across his cheek. "You wouldn't pester the ghost about me if that was all you were curious about." As he spoke, his smile grew bolder. "It's been a long time since I talked to anyone, really. I know how it’s been, whether I ask or not. But—I want to hear it from you." His gentle blue eyes lingered on hers.
+ +“Hear what?” Katherine drew back slightly.
+ +He laughed, light spilling from his eyes. "Never mind."
+ +There was a light in his face that Driscoll always lacked. No inhibition, no hiding behind jokes. Could he be the troubled figure from the portraits, with moth-eaten eyes? He was less readable despite his openness.
+ +"...What is your name?"
+ +"Garrett," he answered without hesitation.
+ +"Um...nice to meet you. I'm Katherine."
+ +He smiled. "I know," he responded. "But it's nice all the same."
+ +Katherine’s heartbeat quickened as she settled beside Garrett, the air charged with unspoken words. Something about him drew her in—a warmth, a flicker of light beneath the shadows that cloaked him.
+ +“You’re different from what I expected,” she said softly. “Do you really spend all your time waiting here?”
+ +Garrett shifted slightly, dim light casting playful shadows across his features. “Do you really spend your time waiting between worlds with Driscoll? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been here too long or if it’s all just a dream.” His gaze settled on the far wall.
+ +Katherine studied him, intrigued by the ethereal light in his eyes. “You're no dream,” she insisted. "That came out wrong! I mean—"
+ +He laughed again.
+ +"You're so different from the man in the tapestries. I expected someone more..."
+ +Garrett leaned closer, hanging on her every word, making her shy.
+ +"...Well, Driscoll seems friendly, yet he speaks in riddles. You hide yourself, but...why? It seems like there's nothing to hide from. You’re so pleasant and natural to talk to." She swallowed nervously. "If you’d been waiting for me, why not meet me at the hall instead of having Driscoll do it? I just..." She looked into his calm, attentive eyes, feeling his easy reassurance. "I don’t know."
+ +He paused meditatively. "I’m sorry."
+ +His clarity surprised her.
+ +"...Well, Driscoll, he seems so friendly, yet he speaks in riddles. Yet you hide yourself, but...I don't understand why. It just seems like there's nothing to hide from. You seem so pleasant and natural to talk to." Katherine swallowed nervously. "Um...if you had been waiting for me, you could have met me at the hall instead of your custodian. You could have met me in my own room. I just..." she looked into his calm, attentive eyes and felt his easy reassurance. "I don't know."
+ +He paused meditatively. "I'm sorry."
+ +His words surprised her with their clarity.
+ +"I'm hiding, too," he looked down. "Same as you." He sighed, weary for the world. "Maybe Driscoll told you something grand about me, but I'm just a kid." He toyed with his cloak. "Half the stuff he says isn't true. His imagination runs away with him. Maybe he was the wrong person to leave in the hall."
+ +"Why did you leave him there at all?"
+ +"I was too shy to meet you myself. I'm sorry. It's silly. You're different than I imagined, too. I should have known you'd be so easy to talk to."
+ +"Did you know me from the portraits?"
+ +He stared at her curiously. "Yes."
+ +"...I am not nearly so grand in them as you. In fact..." her voice began to trail. "I was often unhappy. Trying to hold you back."
+ +The boy's head cocked to one side as he considered her words.
+ +"Yet you fought that god."
+ diff --git a/src/story/parasomnia b/src/story/parasomnia index 0efabd2..577d56e 100755 --- a/src/story/parasomnia +++ b/src/story/parasomnia @@ -1,5 +1,5 @@ -I awoke suddenly in the darkest hour of the night and knew something was wrong immediately after opening my eyes. I could not turn my head to check the blinking LED clock nor get out of bed. Could I be...paralyzed somehow? With all the strength I could muster, I desperately tried just to move one of my fingers. Any kind of movement would have calmed my nerves, but I couldn't! I was incapable. Scream. Cry out. Cry out for help! With a rush of panic coloring my cheeks, I attempted to fill my lungs to bellow out but couldn't even manage that! My lungs were paralyzed as well; I couldn't breathe! I was going to die right here in my bed!
diff --git a/src/story/the-castle b/src/story/the-castle new file mode 100755 index 0000000..8e39f00 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/the-castle @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ + +There he was, lying before me. The dagger Yuri had given me had a miraculous weight: that of hope, that of duty. Sliding it through my hand, I almost dropped it. I was badly shaking. I had envisioned doing this hundreds of times in my head, taking my father's life in a different way each time. Life is too short, I thought. It can be taken so easily...
+ +She was frail, a wisp of a girl whose pallor blended with the stone walls of the castle that confined her. Her fragility masked her sex; there was no makeup to soften her harsh, angular features, no vibrant silks to drape her slight frame. She spoke seldom, aware her words carried as much weight as the dust motes dancing in the narrow stream of light through her window. And yet, she resented her own insignificance.
+ +The castle, her home, was a prison in all but name. A high tower room, perched just far enough above the courtyard to turn escape into a suicide mission. No locks on the door, no chains on her wrists. Yet she was bound as surely as any prisoner. Her curse—at least, that's what she believed—was not chains of iron but of hatred. Her mere presence sowed discord. Arguments exploded whenever she entered a room, anger stirred from the quiet like a tempest. So, she stayed away.
+ +The king, her father, was beloved by all. His reign was prosperous; the kingdom thrived under his steady hand. But in his heart, his eldest daughter was a blight. A disappointment. A stain on the crown. His second daughter, the golden princess, was everything he could have wished for—graceful, beautiful, sought after by princes and knights. She was adorned in roses, while the elder daughter, this wretched thing, was hidden from view, out of shame and superstition.
+ +Her existence was whispered of but seldom acknowledged. She lived for years in isolation, her company limited to herself and the endless echoes of self-loathing. She tried to escape, in the most permanent of ways. Poison, falls from the tower—futile gestures, as if the curse itself wouldn't let her die. As if her suffering was preordained to last.
+ +Then came the day Freefall returned. He was not real, of course—just another of her creations, like the imaginary friends of her childhood. But Freefall was no doll. He was cynical and hollow, a reflection of the very world that scorned her. His sickly yellow eyes never left her, even when she tried to forget his crouching presence in the corner of her room. Yet he was always there, brooding thoughtlessly.
+ +"You've been gone too long," she whispered.
+ +"I never left. I've been here, waiting."
+ +His gaze made her feel diseased, tainted. She shuddered, wishing he would leave, yet terrified of the silence he would leave behind.
+ +"Would you promise to stay?"
+ +Freefall chuckled, low and bitter. "Have you ever considered," he murmured, "that perhaps you are my demon, and not the other way around?"
+ +She recoiled. His words lingered, long after the shadows crept in and took him with them.
+ +Loneliness suffocated her, creeping into her soul like fog on cold mornings. Occasionally, she found respite in writing, drawing the worlds in her mind onto parchment. But most days, she cried, hugging her knees to her chest, pleading with the walls for a friend. No one came. And certainly not the sort of shining knight who could save her.
+ +There was no speaking to her father. She could not change his opinion of her. She could not please him. He would only turn red-faced and snarling. She did not wish for that most of all, so she returned to seclusion. She understood for the first time how the damsels in fairy tales felt. They could not save themselves. They had to have someone. She had no one.
+ +The girl awoke on her sixteenth birthday. She remembered her birthday, but no one celebrated it. But a single note slid under her door.
+ diff --git a/src/story/the-castle-2 b/src/story/the-castle-2 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..958c770 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/the-castle-2 @@ -0,0 +1,62 @@ + +December 29, 2006
+ +Your Highness,
+ +I write in celebration of your birthday, though it seems the kingdom doesn't celebrate it as it does your sister's. I must confess, I don't understand why. I have no right to pry into royal matters, but my curiosity has overtaken my better judgment. Who are you? Why are you hidden away? Forgive me for the intrusion, if it is unwelcome. I require no answer at all.
+ +Long-Life, Yuri
+ +____
+ +The princess started to cry. There was a knock on her door, then it opened.
+ +"Princess?" a servant in his early thirties entered. He paused, taken aback by her tears.
+ +"Yes?" she stifled her sobs, quickly wiping her face. "What's your name?" she asked, voice hoarse.
+ +"Alexander," he dipped his head cordially. "Alexander Goulding."
+ +The girl was still holding the letter. Suddenly, she was embarrassed and tried to hide it.
+ +"I was the servant who delivered the letter. You do not receive those often," he spoke normally.
+ +The girl looked down at the letter in her hands, suddenly self-conscious. "Did you deliver this?"
+ +Alexander nodded. "I don't screen many letters. But the boy who brought it—Yuri, I think—seemed sincere. He's about your age."
+ +For the first time, someone spoke to her as if she was more than a ghost haunting the castle. She wasn't sure how to respond.
+ +"The king has spoken very poorly of your habits. You are a hermit within the royal family. He fears you are insane, but you seem very pleasant to me," Alexander observed. "Dare I say, I enjoy your presence more than your sister's."
+ +Pleasant, as if that word could ever redeem the depths of her solitude. But there was a kindness in his voice, a rare gentleness.
+ +"Do you stay in here for any particular reason?" Alexander asked, his tone soft but curious.
+ +"Would you mind if I was honest with you?" the girl asked. "Even if it seemed impossible?"
+ +He hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "I suppose, my princess."
+ +"Tomorrow, I'll come down to eat dinner with my family. Be near enough to see their reactions. Allow me to arrive unexpectedly."
+ +Alexander's expression flickered with uncertainty, but he didn't object.
+ +The next night, she slipped through the halls and long corridors and spiral stairwells she had crawled through as a small child. They were unfamiliar to her and instilled wonder in her. The tall ceilings and sweeping tapestries loomed over her with austere oppression, yet the stonework was beautiful. She envied those who would chance to really live here.
+ +When she entered the banquet hall, conversation halted. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as she approached the long table, her eyes lowered, face set in a mask of indifference. She sat without a word, folding her hands in her lap as the tension in the room grew thick, like a gathering storm.
+ +"So, the princess has decided to bless us with her presence," one of the other princesses—her sister, though she barely recognized her—sneered. "I thought the royal family was beneath you."
+ +"She is just that way," the king's voice rumbled from the head of the table. His gaze was cold, dismissive. "If she wishes to live her life as miserable and alone as possible, she will never have it any other way. My only regret is bringing her into the world at all if she brings nothing but pain and grief."
+ +It didn't take long for the tension to erupt. A servant was too slow to bring the spices, and that was all it took. Tempers flared, and soon, the room was filled with shouting. Accusations flew over trivialities, but the girl knew better. She was the spark, the unseen force that always seemed to drive her family to madness.
+ +Throughout the chaos, she sat quietly, only once breaking her silence to ask, "May someone pass the milk?"
+ +The king's fury reached its peak, and he growled, throwing her glass at her head. When he missed, he stormed out, spewing threats and insults. Slowly, the rest of the family dipped out, until only she and Alexander remained in the now-empty hall.
+ +Alexander stood at the edge of the room, watching her with something like pity in his eyes. She met his gaze and held it for a long moment, communicating without words what neither of them could say aloud. Then, without a word, she rose and returned to her tower, untouched food left behind.
+ diff --git a/src/story/the-castle-3 b/src/story/the-castle-3 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..3aa2526 --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/the-castle-3 @@ -0,0 +1,78 @@ + +The next morning, the air was thick with an unspoken tension. Alexander arrived with a tray, setting it down in front of her without a word. His eyes didn’t quite meet hers.
+ +“What is it?” she asked.
+ +He hesitated, his fingers lingering on the edge of the tray before he finally spoke. “The king’s mood has worsened.”
+ +The girl sighed. "Of course it has."
+ +"He said—" Alexander faltered, then cleared his throat. “He said if you leave your room again… the consequences will be severe.”
+ +The girl let out a bitter laugh. "It happens every time I leave my room. I'm used to it."
+ +"I don't understand," Alexander said, sitting across from her. "Why would your presence cause such anger? They aren't cruel people—not to anyone else."
+ +She stared into the tea, watching her reflection ripple before speaking, her voice laden with a burden she had carried her entire life. "A curse must have been cast on me in the cradle."
+ +Alexander's silence stretched, the weight of unspoken thoughts palpable in the air. He leaned forward slightly, his voice a quiet defiance of whatever curse she imagined. "But I don’t feel aversion towards you at all. In fact…" He hesitated, the words coming gently. "I enjoy our conversations."
+ +Her eyes stung, tears threatening to spill over. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her with kindness.
+ +Her breath hitched as her chest tightened. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again.
+ +"Do you think, if I wrote a letter, you could deliver it to the boy who wrote to me?"
+ +"Of course," Alexander replied, offering a soft smile.
+ +A tiny spark of hope ignited in her chest, flickering like a fragile flame. It was the first she had felt in years.
+ +January 4, 2007
+ +Yuri,
+ +Your letter was the first light I’ve had in what feels like forever. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been confined here, due to... well, strained circumstances. Isolation has been my only companion, and with it, the sharp edge of loneliness.
+ +Sincerely,
Emily
Not a week later, Alexander vanished. When she inquired about him, another servant, answered with indifference. "He left for a better opportunity in the next city. More money, I heard."
+ +"Yeah, money does that," Freefall’s smile was haunting. "It’s worth more than you, anyway."
+ +The girl was alone again.
+ +Until another letter arrived, carried by unfamiliar hands. She tore it open with desperation, her eyes scanning the words hungrily.
+ +I can hardly believe what you’ve written. I’m just a peasant, but I would offer my friendship in a heartbeat, if fate allowed.
+ +No doubt remained as to who the other was.
+ +He stood before her, a boy her age, taller by a hand’s width, his unruly brown hair sticking out despite his grooming. His blue eyes gleamed with intelligence and concern, though the latter seemed reserved for her alone.
+ +She, a reflection of his age, shorter but no less striking, with dark hair, flecked with hints of brass. Her eyes, a deep brown, opened a window to mysterious depths that draw him in.
+ +"Let’s conspire together," Yuri said at once.
+ +Her heart quickened at the word, but she hesitated, waiting for the catch.
+ +"Let's kill your father."
+ +"Yuri?" she whispered.
+ +"Yes?"
+ +Her arms instinctively folded over her chest as she looked away, the war inside her waging battle through clenched teeth and trembling limbs.
+ +"Please," she murmured. "I could never dream of anything more."
+ diff --git a/src/story/the-castle-4 b/src/story/the-castle-4 new file mode 100755 index 0000000..a48d74e --- /dev/null +++ b/src/story/the-castle-4 @@ -0,0 +1,40 @@ + +He disappeared into her tower, and she guiding him into the dimly lit sanctuary of her bedroom. Their footsteps were soft, echoes of secrecy lingering in the air.
+ +"In here," her voice barely above a breath. "It’s perfect for privacy."
+ +Yuri glanced around, unimpressed. "Does no one use this room anymore? Are you sure no servant comes here?"
+ +Yuri glanced around, clearly unimpressed. "Does no one use this room anymore? Are you sure no servant stays here?"
+ +The girl winced at the suggestion. "This is my bedroom."
+ +Yuri fell silent, processing her situation. He slipped inside and sat on the bed--the only refuge besides the cold, hard floor. His eyes scanned the empty, dreary space, anger etching their way across his features.
+ +"I’m moving out on my own soon. You could live with me. I’m not sure how others would feel about that, but their thoughts don't matter." His eyes shone with a compelling intensity.
+ +She felt a flicker of hope mingled with fear. Could escape truly be an option? The idea of freedom felt intoxicating, yet her mawing prison was buried deep into the castle. She didn't trust any of the servants to ignore her breach of the King's orders.
+ +"You think too highly of yourself," Freefall's voice startled her. "They won't bother stopping you."
+ +"You really think I could just leave so easily?" She addressed Freefall more than Yuri. Her voice trembled. "I... I can't keep living like this, waiting for a life that never comes."
+ +Yuri leaned closer, their breaths mingling in the cramped space, the air thick with tension. “We could do anything, Emily." Freefall chuckled in the background.
+ +Anything? The tantalizing words from their first meeting rolled through her mind like thunder, electric and frightening. To kill her father—a choice that would secure her life forever.
+ +“What if it’s too late to reclaim my life?” she whispered, a tremor in her voice.
+ +“Trust me," Yuri expression hardened bitterly. "A peasant could provide for you better than all of Castle HorizonSun. I would treat you like a real princess."
+ +As her heart raced, she felt the chilling weight of her father’s tyranny pressing down, a cruel reminder of the life she longed to escape. Yuri was too naive of her parents' canvas of spies and gossips that would immediately turn her over to her father's malice and her mother's envy. There would never be a clean escape to freedom. She would have to hide in his hovel until she buried her parents. And evil never dies.
+ +Her thoughts raced, visions of freedom mingling with visions of blood.
+ +“I’m ready,” she said finally, the words spilling from her lips like a promise, a vow to herself. “I’ll do it. I’ll end this.”
+ +Yuri understood her at once, a glint of something ominous in his eyes. “Then let’s make our plans.”
+ diff --git a/src/story/whose-game-are-we-playing b/src/story/whose-game-are-we-playing index c7c0ba7..3f77272 100755 --- a/src/story/whose-game-are-we-playing +++ b/src/story/whose-game-are-we-playing @@ -1,5 +1,5 @@ -