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Chapter II
The Witch
You come to in the woods remembering things that you should not.
You remember that you died. But you also remember that you did your job.
You remember the moment of hesitation. Your blade angled at her heart in a moment of weakness. Her claws upon your throat. But you fought her-- you fought, and… you finished the job. You did it.
Your blade had clattered to the floor moments after your job was complete. You had met her large, half-lidded eyes, and listened to her threats, as the voices in your head commented on your apparent impending demise.
And here you were. Alive.
“You’re on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. You’re here to slay her. If you don’t, it will be the end of the world.”
And that’s the Narrator. You blink owlishly, though you are fairly certain that you are not an owl. I’m getting a terrible sense of deja vu.
“A terrible sense of deja vu-? No, you don’t have that. This is the first time either of us have been here.”
The Hero stirs. At least he’s still here. “If He doesn’t remember what happened, then maybe it’s best to keep it that way…”
Something new rises to consciousness. Something slippery and sycophantic. “ Brilliant. We need to keep our cards close to our chest, and I’m not sure we can trust Him. ”
“You know I can hear you, right? It’s going to be a lot harder than you think to keep secrets from me.”
Your new friend proves your initial perception right. “Did I say ‘I’m not sure we can trust Him?’ Slip of the tongue. Bit of the old brain fog. I meant to say that we should probably head over to the cabin and slay that Princess. We already know we can’t trust her, so let’s get on with the show.” You think you might call him The Opportunist.
This is more than just deja vu, though. I’m pretty sure this whole thing literally just happened.
“We could go back and forth on this forever and it wouldn’t get you any closer to doing your job and saving the world. So let’s just agree to disagree,” says the Narrator.
You roll your eyes and start towards the cabin. The woods, for all they’re worth, are the same, and so is the cabin once it comes into view. It only makes your feeling of deja vu worse.
“A warning, before you go any further…” You barely remember this warning. You stop to let him talk. “She will lie, she will cheat, and she will do everything in her power to stop you from slaying her. Don’t believe a word she says.”
“Don’t worry. You can trust us to get the job done.” A simpering, pathetic little tone from your new Opportunist. You shake your head and continue towards the cabin. You’ve barely opened the door before the Narrator starts up again.
“The interior of the cabin is a mess of twisted roots, the walls a chaotic weave of knotted wood that, almost as if by accident, just happened to resemble a room. The floor is damp and earthy, and the only furniture of note is a slab of mud in the shape of a shelf, with a pristine blade perched on its edge. The blade is your implement. You’ll need it if you want to do this right.”
Well, now. This was different.
You allow yourself a moment to take it all in. You make note of the mirror upon the wall. It drives your curiosity, but ultimately, you decide that it is not important. You turn your attention towards the once-neglected pristine blade.
“You take the blade from the shelf. It would be difficult to slay the Princess and save the world without a weapon.”
The Opportunist pipes up again. “Well, if we’re grabbing a weapon, we should probably keep it hidden behind our backs. She doesn’t have to know we have it.”
Backs? There’s only one back in question and it’s definitively yours .
The Hero and you turn and bump at each other in your mind, as though he’s trying to gauge how good of an idea you think it is. After finding whatever answer he was looking for, he finds the words to say, “That’s… not actually a bad idea.”
You consider it. You could not ultimately say what you do, because you go for the door without giving it that much thought.
“The door to the basement creaks open, revealing a staircase dug into the muddy earth below. The ceiling is thick with roots that hang like locks of tangled hair.”
What an interesting description…
“The weak starlight from the cabin windows behind you can barely penetrate the gloom here, only illuminating the edges of an opening below. It shines in the darkness like some kind of massive maw, waiting to swallow you up into the earth.”
You and the Voices are silent while you let him finish his description.
“The air smells of dirt and copper. It’s thick and wet, as if your lungs are being coated in mud with each intake of breath. If the Princess lives here, slaying her would probably be doing her a favor.”
Okay, he definitely said that last time. Even if he doesn’t remember.
“Her voice skitters up from below.”
And so it does. “Something nasty finds itself on my stairs… Come on down, don’t be scared. I probably won’t bite.”
Well.
She was certainly going to bite.
“Hello,” you call, as cordial as you can manage towards whatever little-- or not so little-- creature was waiting for you.
“I recognize that voice as easily as I recognized your nervous little footsteps coming up the path. I know who you are, and I remember what you’ve done.”
Nervous? You aren’t nervous.
“She must have you confused with someone else,” He interjects.
Sure.
“She seems… friendly enough! Maybe we can talk our way out of this whole situation,” says the Opportunist.
The Narrator sighs. “You can’t. Unless you slay her right away, she’s going to break free and end the world. There’s no reasoning with what she is.”
“Look, I’m just throwing ideas out there. I like to think out loud. I’m the kind of guy who likes a discussion, don’t we want to hear what everyone has to say before making any big decisions?”
“Do you want to hear what everyone has to say, or do you just want to hear yourself talk?” mutters the Hero.
The Narrator groans . “You need to stop lingering. Your task is to slay the Princess, not endlessly debate about what to do with the Princess.”
“Fine, fine. You’re the boss,” says the Opportunist, clearly implying that the Narrator was not, in fact, the boss.
“ Thank you. You descend the basement steps, entering the dark room below.”
You have to squint to see her, once you’re there. For a moment, you think she may have already escaped, but there she is.
Different.
“You can just make out the shape of the Princess in the gloom. She’s huddled against the far wall, her eyes bright and glaring from amid the thick roots.”
That description does not handle everything. She has visibly changed. Her hair is longer and curlier and full of sticks. She is more feral than she was even after you had begun to fight her last time, new lion’s tail swishing dangerously behind her. She is radiating an aura of I will hurt you if you so much as make one wrong step.
You suddenly feel as though your options are very, very limited.
“And there you are, one hand tucked away behind your back, gripping that sharp, sharp blade, no doubt.”
You look, and there it is-- you have tucked your right hand behind your back, somewhat subconsciously. How interesting-- it’s as though you’re primed for another heel-turn and fight. The thought of it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.
“That’s no fair. How would she know that?” complains the Opportunist.
“So we’ve dropped the pretenses,” the Princess continues.
Her smile drops.
“Good.”
The Narrator finally begins to believe you. “You made a comment back in the woods about having been here before, and now she’s acting like the two of you already know each other.”
You let Him come to the end of His conclusion by Himself.
“Oh, no. You’ve already been here, haven’t you?”
“That’s pretty sharp! How’d you figure that one out?”
“Call it deductive reasoning…”
“Well, you seem to be great at it!”
The Hero pipes up. “So… you really don’t remember us, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But you and the Princess clearly have a shared reality, even if I’m not a part of it. I won’t waste time fighting you on something that’s clearly true.”
The Opportunist swishes around in your head like he’s trying to grab the Hero and the Narrator and pull both in for a hug. The Narrator does not have a presence like the other two, so his gesture fails, and he is left to awkwardly bump against the Hero’s presence as if it were his intention. “I’m just glad we could put all this behind us!”
“Is it all behind us?” questions the Hero.
“Just focus on the task at hand. I don’t care if you’ve been here before, and I don’t care if you think you’ll go somewhere else after this. My world is on the line right now. So I’d appreciate it if you would take this seriously, and slay her.”
The Opportunist squeezes the Hero. He doesn’t seem happy about it. The Opportunist talks again anyway. “Let’s chat her up a bit first. Maybe we can find a middle ground where everyone’s happy.”
The Narrator is not happy with any of you. “Don’t talk to her. You’re just going to make things more difficult than they have to be.”
The Princess’ voice cuts through your internal bickering like the sharp, sharp blade you’ve brought down here. “Well? I seem to remember you having a tongue.”
Your gaze falls upon her-- a bit helpless, a bit lost. You can run through the outcomes in your mind and know that between her shifty eyes and sharp claws that any outcome in which you turn your back or offer clemency will end in another death, and you know that she is prepared for you to try to hurt her again in turn.
Leaving would be a non-answer-- a coward’s solution.
The longer you think, the more you realize that there is no happy ending. There is no choice for you to make that will not spin you around and around in the cycle of the same outcome, over and over and over again.
Not so long as she looks at you like that-- with those painfully guarded eyes and hunched posture, ready to spring and tear out your heart.
You know what you are wanted for. You feel the quiet bloodlust and power-drive of your new friend and the resoluteness of the Narrator and the flimsiness of the Hero. They are leaning towards ending her, either where she stands or once you have a good opportunity.
You are starting to doubt that slaying her will end well for you. Or anyone.
You start to doubt that you should care about the fate of the world, after all. Whatever kind of world it is, you probably have plenty of chances left should you need to kill her and you know you won’t be able to without giving her an olive branch-- for another betrayal or not, that’s to be decided.
You bring the blade out from behind your back and toss it weakly at her feet. The voices in your head protest, but the action is already done.
The Narrator groans out loud. “She eyes it with suspicion before kneeling down to pick it up.”
The Princess startles, almost as if she expected it to have been an attack. “I wouldn’t have done that. Why did you?”
She begins to slip her hand out of her too-large shackle.
The Hero is flabbergasted. “She could have gotten out of those the whole time! That sneaky little…”
The Opportunist sighs. “A woman after my own heart, really. It’s a shame we just gave her a weapon, because if I were her, I’d use it on us right now.”
“Luckily for us, you’re not her,” the Hero retorts.
“Oh, we sure think alike, though. I can promise you that. Whatever you say next, you’d better make it count.”
The Narrator picks up where he left off. “She creeps forward, taking one cautious step at a time, until you and she are face to face.”
“What do you think happens now?” asks the Princess.
You remain silent for longer than you think you should be. It’s a little awkward, meeting her eyes and going back to the blade. You think maybe you should stop, make eye contact-- or perhaps just simply tell her that you are done making the decisions here, because there is no good option, and you are not fond of the idea of being killed for trying to help her or for fighting her. At least this way, you know it’s no longer in your hands-- while still knowing the outcome.
You find your words eventually. “All of this has been pointless. All I've gotten from trying to slay you is pain and suffering. I'm done - let's see what you do with this now." You nod towards the blade in her hands.
“Her shoulders tense and her eyes dart away.” Well. You aren’t sure what to make of that.
“This is another trick. You’re trying to sow doubt. But it’s not going to work on me!” she shouts.
The Narrator says what happens next as though you are a true idiot. “And then she buries the blade in your heart.”
The Hero is indignant. “What?! No. No, come on, that’s not right!”
The Opportunist cannot decide whether to be smug or angry. “I told you. I told you this is what she was going to do.”
“Glee dances across her face as you fall to the ground.”
She cackles maniacally. Your blood begins to spurt and pool on your chest. How odd--
you did not have much of a chance to focus on the feeling of dying before. “I did it! I got you! You… you…”
“The Princess seems to tremble, her smile fading quickly, replaced with concern. Her
nervous eyes brim with tears.”
“Why? Why did you let me do this?!”
“But you don’t have the strength to respond. Nor do you have the time. Everything goes dark, and you die.”
Oh, well.
Chapter III
The Thorn
“You’re on a path in the woods--”
The Hero’s voice immediately snaps you to consciousness. “I can’t believe she actually stabbed us!”
“I told you not to give her the blade. I told you it would come around to bite us. I-- you didn’t even ask me how I felt about it! I’m a little hurt, honestly,” whines the Opportunist.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” a new voice sighs. Something with a gentle chill, a comforting weight upon your mind. He pushes between the Hero and the Opportunist to find center stage for himself and makes it his own before you can register who and what he is. “We knew exactly what she would do. Don’t act surprised.” Ah. So cold. He does have a point.
The Hero is still thinking about your latest death more than even you are. “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I wanted her to stab us! Dying hurts, you know.”
“You’ll get over it soon enough. It’s not like death means anything to something like us.”
The Hero and the Opportunist swirl around to meet behind the Cold. But they do not say anything in protest-- yet.
“The past is the past. What we do now is all that matters.”
“Oh, so you have a vision for the future, eh? Tell us more,” replies the Opportunist. Always so eager to get on everyone’s good side.
“I didn’t say anything about a vision. ”
“You must have something in mind, though.”
“No. Not really .”
The Opportunist and the Hero are incredulous. You shake your head.
“All I figure is that we have more options now. I don’t mind a little bit of stabbing if it allowed us to get out of that mutually destructive spiral. It was growing dull.”
“...She hates us,” says the Hero.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It doesn’t really matter, as long as she’s different now. ”
The Hero considers. “Maybe she won’t be as keen to betray us this time. We’ve already proven to her that we can change. So maybe she’ll realize that things don’t have to end in violence.”
The Opportunist latches on. “You know, maybe you’re right! In which case, I suppose the only thing to do is to get back to the cabin and give it another try.”
You are finally reminded of the Narrator’s existence. “Give what another try, exactly? You are aware that I’ve been listening to you, right?”
The Cold is quick to push him away. “That doesn’t mean you have any power over us. You didn’t do anything to stop us last time. I don’t think you can. ”
“...I don’t have to answer that.”
“Of course you don’t.”
The Narrator sighs. “...So you’ve obviously been here before. Seeing as you died at least once--”
“Twice, actually!” the Hero interrupts.
“Sure. Twice.” He sighs again, louder. You get the impression he’s already over all of this nonsense. “Then I’ll spare you the little introduction I had planned. You already know about the Princess, and clearly, you already know that she’s dangerous. So don’t muck this up. It’s bad enough that this isn’t your first time through.”
We’re even now. I’m sure she understands that. But we can see what she has to say for herself when we get to the cabin.
“Yes, good. Playing both sides. That’s what smart people do, and you’re the smartest in the room.” You don’t know how to feel about being encouraged by the slimiest one here.
“I’m not sure it counts as ‘playing both sides’ if people can hear you doing it,” says the Hero.
“Buddy, you’re thinking in far too few dimensions. There’s layers to doing this right, and I’m pretty sure the one making the choices gets that. Trust in the plan!”
“Trust in what plan?”
“The decider’s plan! Sure, we don’t know what the plan is yet, but that’s part of the whole ‘trusting’ thing, isn’t it? A good leader knows how and when to keep things secret. And sometimes a good leader even knows to keep things secret from himself. ”
You roll your eyes so far back that you could have seen the Voices if they were physical creatures.
The Cold slithers up to you, almost in your ear. You startle at the slinking shiver of his presence, like fog upon snow. “So long as you make a choice when the time comes.”
The Narrator pipes up. “If I were you, I’d remember what she’s done. You know how dangerous she is, and you should know that someone like her shouldn’t be let loose upon the world.” Nobody sees fit to interrupt him, this time.
No matter what happens next, it seems like all our answers are in the cabin. Let’s see this through.
You begin to make your way through the half dead forest. The cabin comes into view soon enough, easier, this time, with less trees in the way. Really, no trees…
“It isn’t long before you find yourself at the base of the cabin. I think it’s clear where everyone stands at this point.” He is really starting to lose steam, despite His apparent lack of memory on the last two loops.
“I don’t know if I’d say ‘everyone’,” mutters the Hero. You’re starting to get the impression that he’s muttering a lot.
“Are you talking about me? I have a position. It’s a good one, too,” defends the Opportunist.
“I’m talking about both of you.”
“Oh? Do you mean me?” stirs the Cold.
The Hero confirms the Cold’s statement with a little noise.
“All I want is something new. I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
The Hero and the Opportunist allow him space to keep talking. The Cold sighs.
“She believed herself wronged, after all. Any interaction with her was doomed to end the same way as before. I didn’t fancy the idea of going round and round in betrayals and tricks behind each other’s backs for eternity, and I don’t think you did, either. Now we have a chance to try something new. Something different. I don’t need to have a position beyond that. It’s not ultimately my choice to make, after all. It’s his.”
The Narrator could not interact with the Voices. If he could, he’d have shoved the Cold into a corner for now. “Ignore him, he’s just talking for talking’s sake. My position is the only one that matters. The Princess is a threat to you, to me, and most importantly, the world. You know what you have to do.”
You continue up the cabin while feeling your Voices foster tension between them and remain stationary wherever they hole themselves up. You place your hand upon the knob of a door that seems older than… anything you’ve seen so far, really.
“The interior of the cabin is hardly an interior at all anymore. The burned-out ruins merely suggest the shape of the structure that once stood here, charred wood still reeking of ash, but beneath it lies the fresh smell of spring growth after rain, the promise of new life in the wreckage of the old.”
Okay. The cabin did not look like this from outside. You’re sure of it.
“The only furniture of note is the crisped shell of what was once a table, a pristine-- wait, this isn’t right. There’s supposed to be a pristine blade. Why isn’t there a pristine blade?”
The Hero suggests meekly, “We… we gave it to her last time. She can’t still have it, can she?”
“Well, it’s not here. And if she has it…” The Opportunist makes a gesture as though he were tapping his fingers together, although he does not have any, or even hands to make gestures with. Odd, what one can convey telepathically.
“Let me guess. You want to get all chummy with her.”
“Look, as far as I see it, if it’s between Him and her, I say we side with the one who has the weapon. It’s just the smart thing to do!”
The Narrator is quick to put their debate to rest. “I wouldn’t be so hasty. I’m sure the blade will turn up somewhere. She can’t have it, that’s not how this is supposed to work.”
The Cold speaks up again. “It would be interesting if she does.. .”
You’re honestly still trying to parse why the cabin changed as soon as you opened the door when the Opportunist continues on his previous train of thought. “Unless she ends up stabbing us. Which doesn’t seem unlikely. So, like I said, let’s make sure we get on her good side!”
You take note of the mirror in front of you. You wordlessly step towards it, wondering how you’re meant to get past it.
“You step forward and approach the scorched entryway leading to the basement, hesitating before you begin the descent.”
The Cold hovers-- you could picture a chilly hand on your shoulder right about now. “It won’t be a problem.”
You reach a hand up towards the mirror.
“You reach forward and wave your hand through the hollow entrance leading to the basement. What are you doing?”
The Cold sighs. “And what do you know? It’s gone. Oh, well. If it was important, we would have seen otherwise.”
“Well, it seems like the only way to go is forward, isn’t it?” says the Hero.
“Yes, that’s where everything tends to be. Let’s just put on a good face and have our wits about us,” responds the Opportunist.
“You step through the frame of scorched wood and make your way into the darkness below.”
You do-- and you immediately see how hostile this place is.
“The stairs to the basement are covered in a fine layer of gritty ash. The air still feels warm, as if the fires that ruined this place had only recently been extinguished, yet fresh shoots of thorny branches are already weaving themselves through the soot-covered earth of the walls around you. Their spines point courteously down towards the basement, so you’re able to brush past their jagged points with ease. At least on the way down. But you don’t need to think about the way back up just yet. That’s a matter for after the world’s been saved.”
“How… nostalgic.” You quirk a brow, but you don’t get the chance to ask the Cold what he means.
The Narrator continues. “Her voice, worn down by pain and suspicion, hobbles up the stairs.”
It’s almost as if his description is not sufficient for the sheer exhaustion in the Princess’ voice. “I can’t get away from you, can I? We kill each other, and you come back. You let me kill you, and you come back. I don’t know why you let me do that. I don’t know what you want from me.”
You respond, “I don’t know what I want. I never really chose to come here.”
“I think you know how this goes. I’m down here, and I can’t leave. So come down and talk. It’s not like I can stop you.”
She’s right. Another step down. The Narrator keeps going-- “You continue down the basement stairs, brushing past the smooth edges of thorns that grow more and more plentiful as you make your way forward.”
You reach the bottom of the stairs without fanfare, and with a new gaze upon the Princess.
“You step out into what was once a vast, open cavern, now overrun by briars and prickles and thistles, the space thick with hostile vegetation. At the heart of it all, encased in a tight weave of vines, is the Princess, her bloody, trembling hands clutching a… pristine blade?”
She’s different again. Where her tail was once tufted, now fully furred and spotted. Her hair is longer and full of thorny vines rather than twigs. Most importantly, she is covered in blood and scrapes. She must be hurting. A lot.
“Did you know this was going to happen to me? Are you here to watch me suffer? Are you here to laugh?” asks the Princess.
That was never your intention. “I’m not here to laugh. I’m here to free you. If you’ll let me.”
“I… I want to trust you.”
The Narrator continues to do his job even when you clearly don’t need him to. “Her grip tightens on the blade.”
“But you’re hiding something, aren’t you? Why would you help me if you weren’t helping yourself?”
The Voices do not say anything. It’s almost as if they’re waiting with bated breath to see what you will do with this Princess. “You’re not the only one who yearns for freedom. I’m as trapped as you are. I think we need to leave together,” you respond.
“The Princess clutches the blade closer to her chest.”
“That sounds… nice. I’m so tired of the bad blood between us. But it’s hard to let it go. You’ve hurt me.”
“Her eyes dart away from yours for a brief moment.” You kind of wish the Narrator would leave you to it for a moment.
“And I’ve also hurt you,” continues the Princess.
“Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?” you ask.
She is tired and half-hearted with everything now. “I… I don’t know… What can either of us really say at this point? How can we trust something as hollow as words?”
“She’s right, there’s nothing left to say. So let’s get a move on and do something, before she comes up with a scheme to get out of there on her own,” says the Opportunist. The Hero pokes him and the Cold… you could not tell, but you get the impression he’s rolling his eyes. Another count for weird and impossible implications of body language.
“If you want to do something, do it,” says the Cold. Very helpful. What a new guy to pick up…
“Can I take the blade now?” You bend down to her level in preparation, because you feel as though you know that you have her convinced.
“Her eyes briefly meet yours, then dart back to the floor. She hangs her head in resignation.”
“Okay...”
You decide to allow the Narrator to take it from here. “You reach towards her bloodied hands, laying your palm on her trembling fingers. For a moment, she clutches it even tighter, her knuckles going white with the effort. But then the tension fades. Her grip finally loosens and she allows you to take the weapon. You carefully pull it free from the thorns, though they scrape at your skin, leaving red trickles of fresh blood all along your arms.”
The Cold breaks the silence among the Voices first. “How interesting. She trusts us again, and we have a weapon. We have all the options in the world right about now.”
“You know… I feel kind of good about this. Let’s go ahead and free her already, yeah?” says the Hero. You feel the Cold quietly align himself with him over the other options-- which you don’t want to think about either.
“Or… hear me out.” You don’t want to hear the Opportunist out. “We slay her, right here, right now. She’s never been so helpless, and if we don’t take advantage of that, we may never get another chance!”
“No,” responds the Cold. “We already tried slaying her. I’m not very interested in trying it again.”
“No, that sounds like a splendid idea. You should listen to him.”
“Oh, I see. You’re turning us against each other…” The Cold behaves as though he expected this from the Narrator.
“It’s two against one!” Hero claims.
“It’s two against two,” the Narrator rebukes.
“You don’t count.”
“Uh, and why shouldn’t He count?” defends the Opportunist.
“Because He clearly isn’t one of us?”
“That doesn’t matter! He’s been with us the whole time, he should get a say.”
The Princess interrupts their argument. “So… did you mean it? Or was I a fool to hand my life to you?”
You want to tell her of course not , but your mouth is dry. You grip the blade tighter and eye the vines. We’re going to cut her free.
“Yes! What a good idea. Let’s cut her free.”
“Oh, so you’re suddenly team ‘free her?’ You can’t just switch sides as soon as we make a decision.” The Hero is starting to get very done with the Opportunist.
“I can do whatever I want. And I believe with my whole heart that this is the right course of action. Let’s free this Princess!”
“Of course you do,” mutters the Cold.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I really mean it this time, I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong. So I want to help you all free her!”
“I’m sure you do.”
The Opportunist cannot defend himself against that. He curls himself up and sulks.
“You take the blade to the thorny vines imprisoning the Princess, and she flinches, relaxing only slightly as the blade slices into the thick vegetation rather than her arm.”
You work as steadily as you can manage, though you feel unusually nervous as you cut through her binds. You really don’t want to hurt her anymore.
“And she flinches again as the last of the vines is cut away, as if, after all of that, she’s still expecting you to turn on her and stab her in the heart. But you’re not going to do that, are you? Still, all it would take is a single slip of the blade.”
The Cold has no patience for his nonsense. “How pathetic of you.”
The Opportunist un-sulks himself to attempt to touch the Cold in some kind of show of goodwill. “You’re right. He can’t even make it slip, can he? He’s a bit of a nobody. Good thing I’ve been on your side of all this since the beginning.”
The Hero and the Cold shuffle away from him.
“The Princess falls into your arms, tears streaking down her cheeks. I can’t believe you’re making me describe this. I hate you.”
Good for you, you return.
The Princess has a soft smile as she regards you-- for the first time since you first met-- with trust. “You… actually meant it. You… rescued me.”
The Cold is the first to remark on this. “We’ve never been this close to her before. Well, without her mauling us, I suppose.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Hero regards him as though this is the weirdest thing he’s heard someone say recently, which… it isn’t, but it’s an odd way to phrase the observation.
“It’s new. That’s all.” His fascination is palpable. He obviously wants you to do something regarding this.
“Of course I did,” you respond, quietly. You pull her a little closer and feel the Cold swell a little before he returns to his regular size of presence in your mind. Ah, he’s intrigued by the gentle touching, is he? You can’t blame him. You’d be bored of violence and hungry for affection-- in fact, you are. She allows you to pull her closer and closer, eventually ending up in your lap, her legs haphazardly on one side, her hip resting on your thigh. The thorns still adorning her dress prick you, but you don’t mind.
“This is… nice…” the Hero sighs.
“Yeah! We’ve earned this,” agrees the Opportunist.
The Narrator doesn’t join in. “I can’t believe this. I hate this. I hate all of you. How could you--”
Well, I’m holding a pretty girl for the first time, so I’m pretty damn peachy.
The Cold finally stirs to give his input on your whole hugging situation. Except he doesn’t. “Oh. Isn’t that interesting-- you think she’s pretty. ”
The Hero takes a moment, but he eventually admits, “Well… I think she’s pretty too.”
“I can’t say she isn’t easy on the eyes, myself!” the Opportunist would pat the Hero on the back if he could.
What, you don’t think she’s pretty?
“I don’t really consider that sort of thing very much,” answers the Cold.
The Hero settles on Cold’s side, curious and awkward. “...Does… that mean you don’t think she’s pretty? Or that you do think she’s pretty, but appearances don’t matter to you?”
“Oh, I understand, he’s just embarrassed to admit it. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we’re all friends here! You can state your opinions openly !” The Opportunist joins on the other side of Cold’s presence and squishes it between his own and Hero’s.
The Cold pushes forwards and nudges you as softly as you could ever be nudged. “How dull. My opinion is not relevant to his ability to make a decision about what to do next.”
As the Hero attempts to make sense of his words-- eventually landing on yes, he does think she’s pretty -- you sigh. Okay, okay. Fine. Pushing’s not gonna work on you. You turn your attention back to the Princess.
She is still curled in your lap, holding onto you for dear life. You rub her back, careful of the thorns adorning her dress, and exhale into her hair. “You’re okay,” you murmur. “Take as long as you need.”
The Princess gets a little meltier in your embrace. You hadn’t realized it was possible. Her tail flicks-- the only sign that she’s still awake.
“I can’t believe this.” The Narrator groans. “All it would take is one twitch of the hand. You’re so close. ”
The Cold shuts him down again. “I thought we already had this discussion.”
“You know, we have.” The Hero offers it as a show of solidarity. The Cold takes it and no longer latches himself to you to escape their teasing.
He even continues to comment. “We’re still awfully close together…”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s new. We haven’t been so close without her trying to tear our heart out before.”
“Yeah, you said that already. What else do you want us to do?”
“I’m sure you could think of something.”
You roll your eyes. It is somewhat funny that he refuses to come up with any ideas by himself.
But he doesn’t need to, because the Hero makes a tentative motion in your head, like he’s raising his hand. “...I do have an idea.”
“Yes?”
“...Actually, no, nevermind--”
“No, no! It’s okay! Share with us!” joins the Opportunist.
The Hero has begun to shrink back. “Ah, it’s dumb. Don’t worry about it!”
“ I want to hear it!” the Opportunist returns.
The Cold says, “Aren’t we all friends here?” to the Opportunist’s chagrin.
But it’s enough to make the Hero crack. “...We could kiss her. If-- If we wanted to. If she wants to. I don’t know! It feels… kind of right? Maybe we should ask first, of course, but. Um. Yeah. That was my idea.”
You consider it. You think about it. The Voices think about it. The Narrator is completely silent. You feel the aura of a You better not brewing.
You make up your mind.
“Can I kiss you?” you mumble. You feel uncomfortably warm under your feathers.
“No! You can’t. Absolutely not!”
“Of course we can. The decision’s already been made,” the Cold points out, hiding his intrigue by this idea.
“And we wouldn’t want to throw away the chance for a special moment, now, would we?” says the Opportunist. The Cold does not reply.
The Princess pulls her head out of your neck. She takes a moment to respond. You share several long moments of eye contact. It is only when you feel that you are about to withdraw that she leans in, answering without answering.
“If I were only capable of throwing myself off a bridge.”
The Cold’s satisfaction can be felt. You get the impression that you wouldn’t have to hear a word from him to know it. “Would you look at that? We finally broke Him. You still have a job to do, though, don’t you?”
The Narrator’s groan could have passed for a growl. “ You kiss her. Enthusiastically. ”
“...And?”
“You kiss. It’s done. Are you happy now?”
“You can do better than that. Unless you’re both powerless and incompetent.”
“Ugh, fine! You and the Princess lock eyes and stare deep into each other’s souls with all
of the roaring emotion that comes from letting what once was hatred turn into pure, unbridled passion.”
“Are you making fun of us?” asks the Hero. He’s probably right.
“And then each of you close your eyes and kiss. Words cannot describe either the nuclear fire nor the oceanic depth of your connection.”
The Opportunist scoffs. “Please, I think He actually likes romance.”
“If history itself were not about to end, historians would document this moment for the rest of time. Musicians would write era defining ballads, and great artists would expend entire lifetimes trying to merely capture the spark you hold right now.”
“He’s making fun of us!”
“Of course He is,” sighs the Cold. “Still. Something new is something new.”
“Hmph.”
“But unfortunately for you, the moment doesn’t last forever. You open your eyes. The Princess smiles gently up at you. Time for you to damn the whole world to oblivion, I suppose.”
The Princess sighs gently and lets her head rest upon your chest. “That was nice.”
“It was nice. It was great, even!” says the Hero, still indignant about the Narrator making fun of you all.
“I’m glad that it worked out and that all of us enjoyed it!” says the Opportunist, nudging the Cold.
Yes, very glad that we all enjoyed it. You nudge him too.
“I suppose it was interesting.”
“Interesting? Just interesting ? Come on. Give us an opinion for once!”
“That is my opinion.”
“It’s barely an opinion.”
“It’s my genuine thoughts.”
“Boo. Come on, you must have more than that to say.”
The Hero joins in. You can feel a hint of annoyance from the Cold at this. “You know what? I’m actually with him on this one. C’mon, you can tell us. It’s not like we can exactly spread it around.”
The Hero and the Opportunist continue to needle and nudge the Cold. He attempts to seek sanctuary ‘behind’ you, if you can call it that, to no avail, because you poke him too.
He exhales with as little emotion as he can manage as the Hero and the Opportunist pull him into the spotlight. “Will you let it go if I say something else?”
“You know what? Sure,” responds the Opportunist.
The Cold searches for a word that is not interesting. It takes him a while. Funny, from the one who started the conversation that led to kissing her in the first place. “...It felt nice… a little.”
“...That’s it? That’s barely a new answer! She already said it was nice!”
“I gave you an answer. It’s not my fault you don’t like it. You didn’t say it had to be original.”
Okay, okay, we said we’d leave him alone now.
The Hero and the Opportunist grumble a little bit. You get the sense that they are still not letting him get anywhere besides the area of their scrutiny. What a funny thing for them to team up on…
The Cold huffs and finally formulates a statement longer than it was nice. “It was different. So, I liked it. Are you happy now?”
He’s starting to get a little more than just a hint of annoyed. You start to feel that it’s not really funny anymore to prod him. The Hero clues into it too and withdraws from Cold’s presence. “You know what? Yeah. I’m happy.”
The Opportunist shows no signs of wanting it to be over with. The Cold manages to squirm away from him anyway. “I’m happy that we finally got our chilly little friend here to open up, yes!”
“Hmph.” The Cold slinks back ‘behind’ you.
You finally turn your attention back to the Princess.
“Can you walk?” you ask, but it comes a little too late. She’s already pulled herself up with your hands as anchors.
“Her hand slips into yours, and the two of you rush to the basement stairs.” You take care to keep track of your blade, just in case you--
“Shameful, really, that the same thorns that so graciously allowed you downstairs are now blocking your only way out.” Yeah. You thought so.
“It doesn’t matter. They can’t stop us,” says the Cold. “What a pitiful display.”
“We cut through those other vines just fine. They’re only thorns, I’m not afraid of getting a few scrapes,” The Hero agrees.
“I’m not even sure we need to do any cutting. We can just move them out of the way. What a pathetic showing, really.” The Opportunist nudges the Cold, as if to say yeah, I agree, that Narrator is such a nobody. The Cold does not respond. His trust is already shattered due to the ultimate betrayal of forcing him to admit that he felt something about the kiss.
“A few pointy sticks can’t keep us down here. We’re both meant for so much more than this,” says the Princess. You feel the Cold quietly align with her more than he will with the other Voices now.
“As you step into the thorns covering the basement stairs, they… yield.” Yeah, that’ll show him.
The Narrator is quickly approaching the end of his rope. “Both you and the Princess ascend the stairs without obstacle. This is unacceptable! The second you step out of this cabin with her, the world ends, do you hear me? What did the world ever do to you to deserve this?”
“Nothing,” says the Cold. “But whatever world is out there may not even be real. All that we know must be real is us. And her, I suppose.”
You could not agree more. You subconsciously want to squeeze her hand, but you don’t. It’s already mangled, you don’t want to hurt her more.
You reach the top of the stairs without fanfare.
“You and the Princess hesitate at the cabin door. This is your last chance. ”
“We’ve already made our decision,” asserts the Hero.
The Princess meets your eyes again. “We’re finally leaving here together, aren’t we? And all we had to do was trust each other. It wasn’t easy, but… I’m glad we finally could.”
Your hand falls over hers on the doorknob.
“Hands clasped, the two of you open the door, and step out into a new day.” It’s still the middle of the night. “You irredeemable murderers.”
The Princess moves first, her dress only slightly disturbing the poppies as she limps out into the night. Her eyes, though you cannot see them, must be full of wonder.
You start to hear something. Something whispering and echoing. The world at the periphery of your vision starts to fade out. You feel the conspicuous absence of someone who’d been a shroud over your mind since the beginning. Something is wrong. Maybe this is the end of the world.
The Princess turns to you, her fluffy, long tail gently swaying as she does her best to keep herself upright without your support. She is smiling. “What do we do now?”