the mouths of elysium

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<div id="triContainer"> <div id="left"></div> <div id="center"></div> <div id="right"></div> </div> <center>                                                                                                                        [[ENTER THE LABYRINTH]] </center>

It shouldn’t have taken you fisting an abdomen and coming away with slick viscera for you to understand that you’re actually a little squeamish about these types of things. You turn your head into your shoulder, closing your eyes, focusing on the stale smell of old fabric to try to force the sharp sent of formaldehyde out of your nostrils. It’s a sweet scent, one that sticks itself to the back of your throat. It only serves to remind you that the remnants of organelle and gore must also be in your airways, infiltrating your system, becoming a part of you. The thought of this, this idea of becoming, of fusion and growth and infiltration, is what makes you sick in the end. A hot rush of pins and needles comes to your head, blurring your vision, knees growing weaker and weaker all the time. It’s barely enough when you bite your arm through your lab coat, the pain only serving as a momentary distraction. You groan, clenching your jaw so tight you feel it squeak in protest. You let go the warm, slime-slipped organ you’d been messing with, watching as it falls heavily back into the cavity, slurring around until it’s back in place. You stumble your way back into the chair and collapse into it, folding the gloves away from your hands so as not to get any blood on yourself, and crumple forward, head between your knees. Its hot and stinks of embalming chemicals and penny-rust and the sugared mint that had long since dissolved between your teeth. How long have you been down here, in this long dark? It feels like maybe years. You feel consciousness come back to you at the same time frustration does, self-hatred sticking into your skin. Rubbing once at your eyes, you try to quell the anger you feel threatening behind your teeth, inside of you, wielding together with your lungs, your blood, your skin. You look at the body on the table and scrape your hands along your jaw, scratching until it hurts. You card your fingers through your hair roughly, pulling at the roots until your eyes smart. But, nothing. The fury eats away at you still, suffocating your lungs, lightning the edges of your teeth to flame. [[It is all you are, here in the dark.|2]]

<<set $mcFirstname to "">> <<set $catname to "">> <<set $dogname to "">> <<set $fishname to "">>  <<set $Catpick = false>> <<set $Dogpick = false>> <<set $Fishpick = false>>  <<set $friend to 50>>  <<set $stoic to 50>>  <<set $obstin to 50>>  <<set $easy to 50>>  <<set $bold to 50>>  <<set $shy to 50>>  <<set $careful to 50>>  <<set $impulse to 50>>  <<set $genuine to 50>>  <<set $liar to 50>>   <<set $Afriend = 0>> <<set $Pfriend = 0>> <<set $Catfriend = 0>> <<set $Dogfriend = 0>> <<set $Fishfriend = 0>>  <<set $thehangedman = 0>> <<set $therev = 0>>   <<set $altheaFlirt = 0>> <<set $theprincessFlirt = 0>>  <<set $mftrans = false>> <<set $fmtrans = false>>  <<set $mMet = false>>  <<set $mcGenders = ["nonbinary", "female", "male", "pangender", "fluid", "agender", "neutrois"]>> <<set $mc_they = ["they", "she", "he", "xe", "ey"]>> <<set $mc_They = ["They", "She", "He", "Xe", "Ey"]>> <<set $mc_them = ["them", "her", "him", "xem", "em"]>> <<set $mc_Them = ["Them", "Her", "Him", "Xem", "Em"]>> <<set $mc_their = ["their", "her", "his", "xyr", "eir"]>> <<set $mc_Their = ["Their", "Her", "His", "Xyr", "Eir"]>> <<set $mc_theirs = ["theirs", "hers", "his", "xyrs", "eirs"]>> <<set $mc_Theirs = ["Theirs", "Hers", "His", "Xyrs", "Eirs"]>> <<set $mc_themself = ["themself", "herself", "himself", "xemself", "emself"]>> <<set $mc_Themself = ["Themself", "Herself", "Himself", "Xemself", "Emself"]>> <<set $mc_theyre = ["they're", "she's", "he's", "xe's", "ey's"]>> <<set $mc_Theyre = ["They're", "She's", "He's", "Xe's", "Ey's"]>> <<set $mc_theyve = ["they've", "she's", "he's", "xe's", "ey's"]>> <<set $mc_Theyve = ["They've", "She's", "He's", "Xe's", "Ey's"]>> <<set $mcPerson = ["person", "woman", "man"]>> <<set $mcPeople = ["people", "women", "men"]>> <<set $mcKid = ["kid", "girl", "boy"]>> <<set $mcKids = ["kids", "girls", "boys"]>> <<set $m_gender = ["woman", "man"]>> <<set $m_they = ["she", "he"]>> <<set $m_They = ["She", "He"]>> <<set $m_their = ["her", "his"]>> <<set $m_Their = ["Her", "His"]>> <<set $m_theirs = ["hers", "his"]>> <<set $m_Theirs = ["Hers", "His"]>> <<set $m_themself = ["herself", "himself"]>> <<set $m_Themself = ["Herself", "Himself"]>> <<set $m_theyre = ["she's", "he's"]>> <<set $m_Theyre = ["She's", "He's"]>> <<set $m_theyve = ["she's", "he's"]>> <<set $m_Theyve = ["She's", "He's"]>> <<set $mPerson = ["woman", "man"]>> <<set $mPeople = ["women", "men"]>> <<set $mKid = ["girl", "boy"]>> <<set $mKids = ["girls", "boys"]>> <<set $mRoyal = ["Princess Matthea", "Prince Matthaios"]>> <<set $mprince = ["princess", "prince"]>> <<set $mTitle = ["Her Excellence", "His Excellence"]>> <<set $m_her = ["her", "him"]>> <<set $m_Her = ["Her", "Him"]>> <<set $m_name = ["Matthea", "Matthaios"]>>

$mcFirstname $mcLastname

<<if $profileSet>>[[Profile]]<</if>> <<if $codexMenu>>[[Codex]]<</if>> Welcome to the Maze

by <a href="blood-teeth.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">bloodteeth</a>

/* MC VERBS */ <<widget "are">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>are<<case false>>is<</switch>><</widget>> <<widget "were">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>were<<case false>>was<</switch>><</widget>> <<widget "s">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>><<case false>>s<</switch>><</widget>> <<widget "do">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>do<<case false>>does<</switch>><</widget>> <<widget "have">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>have<<case false>>has<</switch>><</widget>> <<widget "re">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>'re<<case false>>'s<</switch>><</widget>> /* MC PRONOUNS */ <<widget "mcTheyThem">><<set $they = $mc_they[0]>><<set $them = $mc_them[0]>><<set $their = $mc_their[0]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[0]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[0]>><<set $They = $mc_They[0]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[0]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[0]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[0]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[0]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[0]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[0]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[0]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[0]>><<set $mc_vbP = true>><</widget>> <<widget "mcSheHer">><<set $they = $mc_they[1]>><<set $them = $mc_them[1]>><<set $their = $mc_their[1]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[1]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[1]>><<set $They = $mc_They[1]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[1]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[1]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[1]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[1]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[1]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[1]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[1]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[1]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>> <<widget "mcHeHim">><<set $they = $mc_they[2]>><<set $them = $mc_them[2]>><<set $their = $mc_their[2]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[2]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[2]>><<set $They = $mc_They[2]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[2]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[2]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[2]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[2]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[2]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[2]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[2]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[2]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>> <<widget "mcXeXem">><<set $they = $mc_they[3]>><<set $them = $mc_them[3]>><<set $their = $mc_their[3]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[3]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[3]>><<set $They = $mc_They[3]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[3]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[3]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[3]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[3]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[3]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[3]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[3]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[3]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>> <<widget "mcEyEm">><<set $they = $mc_they[4]>><<set $them = $mc_them[4]>><<set $their = $mc_their[4]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[4]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[4]>><<set $They = $mc_They[4]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[4]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[4]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[4]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[4]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[4]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[4]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[4]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[4]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>> /* MC GENDERED NOUNS */ <<widget "mcPerson">><<set $person = $mcPerson[0]>><<set $people = $mcPeople[0]>><<set $kid = $mcKid[0]>><<set $kids = $mcKids[0]>><</widget>> <<widget "mcWoman">><<set $person = $mcPerson[1]>><<set $people = $mcPeople[1]>><<set $kid = $mcKid[1]>><<set $kids = $mcKids[1]>><</widget>> <<widget "mcMan">><<set $person = $mcPerson[2]>><<set $people = $mcPeople[2]>><<set $kid = $mcKid[2]>><<set $kids = $mcKids[2]>><</widget>> /* MC GENDERS */ <<widget "mcNonbinary">><<set $gender = "nonbinary">><<set $gen = "nb">><<set $genderName = "nonbinary">><</widget>> <<widget "mcFemale">><<set $gender = "female">><<set $gen = "f">><<set $genderName = "female">><</widget>> <<widget "mcMale">><<set $gender = "male">><<set $gen = "m">><<set $genderName = "male">><</widget>> <<widget "mcCustGen">><<set $gender = "custom">><<set $gen = "nb">><</widget>>

<<link'<div class="godwilling">heavy is the head that bears the crown blessed be to the king of endless nights blessed be to the saints made of his glory. Lord, hear our cries</div>''1'>><</link>>

hi abigail : ) $mcFirstname $mcLastname

You feel, more than know, the corners of your lips pick up into a snarl. <i>“Fuck!”</i> You spit under your breath, feeling the way the word sticks and flattens against your teeth. “Fuck!” Anger has always been your besetting sin. It will one day kill you. And now you want to let it. You want to let the rot of it eat you alive, consume you, let it become you in such a very real sense. It burns you again and again. You explode into motion, ripping the lab coat off your shoulders. The sweat through your shirt makes it hard to take off, and this makes you angrier, your limbs feeling hot and sticky, so you kick the chair across the room, relishing when it ricochets and throws around vials and beakers, glass covering the floor in rainbow prismatics. The release is cathartic, the ache in your muscles well deserved. A wordless scream tears itself from your throat and just as quick as it started, you stop. A match burnt out. Completely spent. Papers disturbed from a desk float lazily in the air, glass crunching under your feet. But it’s the dead-eyed stare of the woman you had been wrist deep in only moments before that stops you in your tracks. [[Once, she was beautiful|3]]

With cheekbones high and sharp, a mouth full and red that covered the pretty lines of perfectly whitened, straight teeth, it’s easy to imagine how she would have looked during life. Her skin pleasantly flushed, the curve of her mouth joyful with laugh lines and wrinkles. Her eyes so blue they looked lavender. Hair a sun-kissed golden, light refracting a strawberry red. Once, she was beautiful. But in death, she is haunted. Those lavender eyes are now frosted and hazed over, a milky film covering the iris. Her mouth purple and pale, cheeks stiff and brittle with rictus. The woman’s counterpart lies next to her on the mortuary table with much the same story. A handsome man with stubble along his jaw and grey at his temples, now his only beauty lies in his memory. The machine that’s hooked up to him thrums, artificially healing along his sutures, a wound from yesterday when you went parading around in his chest, looking for something you’re not sure you’ll be able to find. Who are they? <<nobr>><div class="choices">  <<link '<div class="choices">Look at the woman. You know her</div>' '1.know'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="choices">Look at the man. You know him, too.</div>' '1.know2'>><</link>> <</nobr>>

You look. You look at her the same way you have for the past four years. Then you look away. It hurts too much to try to remember. <<include "4">>

You look. You look at him the same way you have for the past four years. Then you look away. It hurts too much to try to remember. <<include "4">>

Looking at them, alone and dead, feels like a failure. You bring your hand to your mouth and bite down hard enough to taste blood. Yours, theirs. At some point, they blended together, homogenized into one. How many more times? How many times can one person fail, over and over and over again? When will you ever learn to get it right? You bite harder, the salty rust spraying against your tongue, tears burning unshed in your throat. You’re running out of time. Soon, there will be nothing left for you Your hand shakes when you pull it from your mouth, the pain having calmed you down somewhat, giving you a semblance of sanity to hang yourself on. It doesn’t matter. You have to keep trying. You <i>have</i> to succeed. There is simply no other choice. In the end, you busy yourself with cleaning the lab. With mechanical numbness, you sweep away at the shattered vials, gathering the half-mad scribbled papers and put them back into their binders. You dutifully throw your shoe covers away, ensuring any stray gloves are trashed as well. You take a lot of pride in protocol, in rules and regulations; data sets and outcomes. You find yourself humming while doing so, sweat cooling against your back, shirt sticking against the salt. You take off your mask. [[Your nose has long since blinded itself to the sweet chemicals and jarred enzymes on the shelf. |5]]

It’s with love that you pack away the bodies. Your fingers soothe down the flesh, stitching the woman’s stomach back together with delicate passes, wiping away any blood tenderly. You brush back her hair away from the zipper, tucking it safely behind her ear. You stare at her golden lashes, the dark imprints under her eyes, before zipping her up all the way. You make sure to plug her in before sliding her into the cooler. You then do the same to the man, exhaustion coating your bones. You love them. You love them so, so desperately that you feel like maybe the sun will fall out of the sky. You love them with every piece of your soul, to the deepest breadths and meaning of the emotion. You love them so much that you’d die for them, but that doesn’t mean this love is not tedious at times. It doesn’t mean that you don’t sigh wearily as you tiptoe downstairs, as if scared to wake them from their eternal slumber, to work on them as you have everyday for the past four years. [[Four years of duty, of devotion. This is loyalty, you think. This is sacrifice.|6]]

In this span of time, these bodies have become your god. You have bent at the waist and prayed for dominion, for absolution, and have received absolutely nothing but the ache of heartbreak in return. Misery has—become you. Shaped the way you stand, informed your mouth and words and thoughts about the world around you. You’ve been assigned a task, one you must complete. You must. You <i>must.</i> When you leave, you shut the great overhanging lights off, close and lock the door with a soft click. You live alone and have done so for the past few years of your wretched existence. Practice allows you to step around your apartment in darkness, only the red-green glow of the city to illuminate... <<nobr>><div class="choices">  <<link '<div class="choices">The large long-haired orange tabby lounging on the window sill, tail flicking lazily back and forth.</div>' 'cat'>><</link>><<set $Catpick = true>> <<link '<div class="choices">The fluffy dog who thumps her tail hard against the couch cushions.</div>' 'dog'>><</link>><<set $Dogpick = true>> <<link '<div class="choices">The 10 gallon aquarium you’d only just recently introduced a betta fish into.</div>' 'fish'>><</link>><<set $Fishpick = true>> <</nobr>>

What's his name? <<textbox "$catname" Cat cat.1>>

She throws herself, quite unceremoniously, off the couch. Her excitement rewarding her with her body slamming hard against the ground. A picture on the wall shakes. “Oh my god, $dogname” You say, greeting her with some rough scratches near the base of her tail as she shoves herself between your legs, tail thumping furiously against your thighs. “You act like I’ve been gone all day. Whatcha been up to, huh? Just people watching?” <<include "7">>

What's her name? <<textbox "$dogname" Dog dog.1>>

What's his name? <<textbox "$fishname" Fishy fish.1>>

"Good boy, $catname,” You reach a hand out to him, smiling softly when $catname tilts his head into your hands, the points of his canines extending well past his buttom lip. “You’re looking so handsome today, snuggle bug.” You laugh when he lays his head back down, sighing with his whole body, tail thunking in a way that reads as irritated and annoyed. But $catname is almost always pretending to be in a state of irritation unless it’s around meal time, so you ignore him easily and continue to stroke along the muscles in his back. <<include "7">>

He flares his gills at you as you pass by his tank, extending his fins in an effort to look larger than he is. “Aww, $fishname, you’re looking so big and tough and scary today,” You pull out the drawer of the fish stand he sits on, pulling out a crinkling bag that gets him furiously swimming back and forth. “Does my big strong guy need some blood worms today?” You pinch a few in, delighting in how eagerly he accepts his food. For the first few days, he refused to eat at all, hiding only under his leaves and moss balls. <<include "7">>

If you were allowed, you would also spend your time watching the inner rings of the Labyrinth go by. Try to understand and craft an algorithm for the forever shifting walls, look to see if you could find a hiccup, a misstep, some faulty code. The people below look like shadows, all blacks and grays, hunched at the shoulders looking at their mapping devices. You watch as one man sprints down the street, feet slapping in time with the church bell tolls, cursing as his walkway suddenly closes off with a huge wall shinking into place. He’d been too late and the new hour had signaled the rotation. You never started to leave anywhere close to the end of the hour on principle, but also because you hate to be late. In your mind, it was better to not show up at all then walk in even a few minutes tardy. Without the Navigator, however, any and all attempts to weave through the city were pointless. The maze seethes with hatred and rejects all who might attempt to understand it. For those it has not outright killed, it’s left them wandering forever between shifting walls and horrors of unknown, delirious with loss. Your fingers close around the small square in your pocket. Your lifeline, made up of syntha-plastics and power cell buttons. [[No pressure, or anything.|8]]

The man below spits into the street, red-hot with anger. You watch his mouth move and imagine that you can hear him, imagine watching him knuckle his Navigator tighter, checking his wristwatch. You understand this, this anger born from desperation. Desperation because, no matter what, no matter how hard you try, it never seems to matter. Especially not in a place like this. Here, the will of the Labyrinth takes precedence over all. It did not matter if you were left wanting. He eventually reroutes and reshuffles his backpack between his shoulder blades, the emblem on the front catching hot and loud against your eye. He straightens out a uniform of black and crimson before setting off towards the northern streets, obviously hoping to catch a shortcut recommendation from the Navigator. You bite your lip, hoping for his sake that he does make it on time. Undoubtedly a university student based off his uniform, his fate for being tardy is rumored to be worse than death. Glancing at the clock does absolutely nothing to quell the sudden spike of anxiety unfurling into your stomach and actually does quiet the opposite, confirming your suspicions. Time had passed. Too much time had passed. You had spent too long with the bodies, spent too long <i>not</i> doing. Another day of nothingness, another day with <i>nothing</i> to show for it. It makes you sick. It makes you angry. [[How stupid. How useless.|9]]

You atone by making dinner for both you and <<if $Catpick is true>> $catname <</if>><<if $Dogpick is true>> $dogname <</if>><<if $Fishpick is true>> $fishname <</if>> and absolutely do not think about the letter that houses the same emblem as the one you’d seen on that man’s pack. You eat your dinner in silence and don’t re-read its contents over and over again, despite already knowing every word by heart. You pass by it on your way out of the kitchen, your eye catching on the first few lines. How is it addressed? <<textbox "$mcFirstname" Firstname pronouns>>

$mcFirstname, what are your pronouns? <div id="choice"><<link [[ - She/Her. ->10]]>><<set $mc_they to "she">><<set $mc_their to "her">><<set $mc_them to "her">><<set $mc_kid to "girl">><<set $mc_theirs to "hers">><<set $mc_plural to false>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link [[ - He/Him. ->10]]>><<set $mc_they to "he">><<set $mc_their to "his">><<set $mc_kid to "boy">><<set $mc_them to "him">><<set $mc_theirs to "his">><<set $mc_plural to false>><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link [[ - They/Them. ->10]]>><<set $mc_they to "they">><<set $mc_their to "their">><<set $mc_kid to "kid">><<set $mc_them to "them">><<set $mc_theirs to "theirs">><<set $mc_plural to true>><<set $mc_theyre to "they're">><<set $mc_Theyre to "They're">><</link>></div>

<i> Congratulations $mcFirstname Odotheus, You have been accepted.</i> It does not say anything more than this. [[Next|CH2]]

Howdy there! The Mouths of Elysium is a work in progress and chapters come whenever I have free time! I post a new update every week on the [[development blog |https://blood-teeth.tumblr.com/]] If you're enjoying what you're reading so far, consider supporting me! I'm a university student so this would really help out ❤ You can do so here on the game page or [[through my Ko-fi|https://ko-fi.com/msw13]] If you see any bugs or something weird, leave me a comment on this game page, send me an ask on my blog, or email me at bloodteethgames@gmail.com Thank y'all for reading!!! [[ - Play Again|start]]

Before the story begins, would you like to see the Content Warnings? [[Yes|content]] [[No, take me deeper into the maze|start]]

The Mouths of Elysium is a first and foremost a dark fantasy and will contain horror-like elements that do pertain to the story. As the story develops, this list will be updated. As it stands now, here are the current CWs: - Body horror - Body experiementation - Abuse from authority figures - Violence - Mentions of self-harm - Mentions of suicide - Depictions of torture - Blood - Cannibalism - Death Protect your peace, if this story seems to be too grotesque, click away! It will not hurt my feelings, promise! And check out my page for some great recommendations. If you are okay to continue on, [[Welcome To The Maze|start]]

<center>[img[images/ch2.png]] </center> <center> [[CHAPTER TWO|11]] </center>

You knew before you were told. It was the inevitability of it. Something like gravity, something like grief. The knowledge of it hung over your shoulders, the same way it has for years. Added a weight to your frame that suffocated you while you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in wait. In wait. In wait. You had lost, once. You had lost and you had grieved and you had hurt so badly that you wished it had been you that was buried into the ground instead, amongst the worms that would one day consume your flesh and the gelatinous decay of your bones. It seemed kinder then. [[It seems a mercy now.|12]]

It didn’t matter your protestations, your insistences. <i> Really, I’d be of better use elsewhere. Surely you don’t mean me. Oh, but I’m not half as good as she is.</i> The answer was always the same, as it was always going to be. It was your blood they thirsted for. It was you they needed, the legacy child’s deft fingers, your inheritance of a quick and sharp mind, defined acumen of the body, the meat, the bones. It was—essential for the mission. It is your only purpose when it comes down to it. You knew before you were told because it was always going to end like this. For most, admission to the most prestigious university the Labyrinth had to offer was cause for nightless celebration, a testament to the hard work exhibited during preparation school. A payoff that tasted just as sweet as the guaranteed success to follow. For you, it had the tones of the beginning of a death knell; your only guarantee is your penultimate end. Elysium University sits atop the high hill and burns brighter than the sun, directly in the middle of the Labyrinth. The size of it is huge, spanning just about further than your eyes can see, and is amorphous in quality, shifting and unfolding, constructing itself and demolishing in turn before anybody can come to understand what it looks like exactly. The changes are sometimes minuscule, small modifications that are done on a day-to-day basis while others are more drastic: walls shattering, new terraces built with corners that don’t make sense, with shadows that bare their teeth with laughter, all largely unusable. Only the core of the building remains unchanged with the exception of seldom outcroppings of windows, popping up like blinking eyes. You had been to the seething cluster of classrooms only once before. Your toddling legs tripping up the stairs, your mother’s soft hand in yours, her smile gently coaxing as you had grown scared of the Minotaur statues guarding the entrance to the enormous, towering doors. [[After, you had promised you’d never go back.|13]]

Elysium lives and breathes with its malice, teeth and mouth opening up for the new offering of lambs. [[It is this slaughter that you head to now, neck opened up at the jugular.|14]]

Today, your apartment faces west and slots into place just before the sun rises to glaze the insides of your apartment a sticky golden hue, tossing unfamiliar shapes around in arching kaleidoscopes. At first, it had been easy to wake with the sun, to stretch out underneath the rays and feel the heat of it beat into your eyelids. Then, reality had set in. The uncompromising beckon of obligation, of duty. You spend several minutes looking into the mirror, scrutinizing and shuffling, checking the intricacies of your uniform. The ribbons on your chest must be exactly an eighth of an inch above the breast pocket. The pips at your shoulders and collar devices at your neck must shine bright enough that they reflect the splendor and the glory of the Lord of Above and Below, that they glimmer like the starlight of the never-ending Labyrinthian sky. The hues of scarlet, blue, gold, prismatic rainbow, bleed into your eyes. All denoting various achievements from your time in preparatory school—supposedly the very achievements that positioned you well for entrance into Elysium. [[You know better though.|15]]

Admission had been tight. Tighter than any of the years previously. So many of your classmates had been rejected and referred to some of the universities in the outer rings. It was telling when the quotas were released. Everybody was expecting the usual three-hundred-student addition but had seen that only fifty were admitted. You desperately wished that you were among the thousands who had been rejected. It wasn’t that you didn’t support the mission of the university, but actually rather than the science of the body, the build-up of muscle and tissue, the building block cells and quick metabolisms, it had been the sharp bending synoptical science of the mind that purchased your attention. And it was no cheap cost. At Elysium, sciences outside of circulatory highways and flesh were expressly forbidden. Especially in your year of study, each student carefully combed and selected for the longevity of the king. To fuel his life source, to find a cure for his mortality. Anything else meant a life of death, or worse, squalor and servitude. If you had been rejected, you could have gone to the School of the Mind out in the second ring and perhaps lived a happy life. You could have become a psychologist or maybe even advanced further into psychiatry. [[Your bodies in the basement are the exception to your disinterest regarding flesh and bone. You owe them this. You owe them everything. You owe them your life.|16]]

And, ultimately, you were ridiculous for wishing for any other outcome. It was your pedigree that had since before you were even born, secured your place among the elite. The <<cycle "$eye_color">><<option "steel grey">><<option "glacial blue">><<option "oak brown">><<option "midnight black">><<option "verdant green">> <<option "hazel">><</cycle>> eyes of your father and the <<cycle "$hair_type">><<option " short ">><<option " midlength ">><<option " box braids">><<option " locs">><<option " waist-length">><<option "afro">><</cycle>><<cycle "$hair_color">> <<option " brown">> <<option " blonde">><<option " red">><<option " black">><<option " white">><</cycle>> hair of your mother would alone have been enough to allow you entry. You were the perfect amalgamation of two of the greatest scientists the Labyrinth has ever had the privilege of seeing. The shoes required for the uniform, as dictated in the Student Handbook sent alongside your acceptance letter, state that they must be a perfectly oiled pair of black Oxford shoes. Shined and buffed to a mirror’s reflection. Exquisite enough to bend against and touch the floors of His church. You’d diligently ensured their appearance earlier in the week. [[You are always sure to be diligent.|17]]

You set out breakfast for<<if $Catpick is true>> $catname <</if>><<if $Dogpick is true>> $dogname <</if>><<if $Fishpick is true>> $fishname <</if>> eyes carefully watching the thirteen-hour clock, it would be much better to leave now. There’s more than enough time to get your belongings together and head to the university before orientation starts. It would be smart to arrive earlier, get a good seat, make sure you know exactly where it is you’re supposed to be. Which will you do? [[Leave now|leave]] [[ Wait. You’ve got a few extra minutes on your hands.|wait][$mMet to true]]

The only obvious choice is to leave now. You’d be a fool to not recognize the threat of the Labyrinth, to respect and honor its sovereignty. Thinking you can outdo, outsmart, the Labyrinth is simple blasphemy of the worst degree. So, of course, you leave now. You check one last time in the mirror. But you cannot force yourself to stare for long. The image reflecting back at you makes you sick. It makes you angry. The Navigator shows you amongst the more isolated parts of the city’s heart. Far enough away from the bustle of the people, but not too far away as to not feel a part of the culture. According to the ETA, you’re right on time to arrive thirty minutes early. <<include "18">>

You’re not too keen on arriving early to the rest of your life. You will be nobody’s pet, sitting in the front row—smiling and nodding your head along with the lecturer. You are, and always have been, somebody’s tooth and claw, a menace of the worst design. You can only hope that this time will be different. Another quick glance at the clock will tell you that you’ve got about fifteen minutes to spare. Just enough time to whisk a few eggs together, maybe toast a bit of bread. Anything to help your nerves, to soothe your stomach from your anxieties. The neon gold of the egg splashes against the copper-plated pan, latticing into the heated oil, solidifying almost immediately. You wince. You had heat up the pan a little too hot; these eggs will end up burning and probably sticking. The toast burns in the oven, a thick, blackened slab of charcoal. It takes many, many spoonfuls of jam to make it even a little edible. Eventually, painstakingly, you clear away your dishes, resolving to scrub them clean when you get home later tonight. For now, the burnt-out pan can sit and soak under some water. The Navigator shows you amongst the more isolated parts of the city’s heart. Far enough away from the bustle of the people, but not too far away as to not feel a part of the culture. According to the ETA, you’re right on time to arrive ten minutes early. Cutting it closer than you’re normally used to. Ten minutes isn’t near as merciful as thirty minutes would have been, so much could go wrong in those few minutes. Delays in the Skyrail, a disturbance in the Navigator GPS. [[You’re starting to wonder if you shouldn’t have left earlier.|wait2]]

Gnawing at your fingers, you glance down at the Navigator, calculating you as a red dot and the distance between the Skyrail station. You should be there in roughly three minutes, two if you start jogging. But jogging means sweating in your uniform, running the risk of becoming disheveled— The body you run into is astonishingly hard. Your own rockets back, heel catching on some cut up limestone and brick and your arms twist behind you, hoping to catch your fall before your uniform takes the beating for you. A broken bone is much preferable to the humiliation and punishment you know you would face arriving at school with a scuffed uniform. You grit your teeth in preparation for the pain. You close your eyes, hoping that the sting doesn’t last too long. The pain never comes. And neither does your fall. Strong, tanned hands grip at your forearms, the rest of their body obscured inside a black hooded cape, concealing every aspect of their appearance save for the dizzying gold of their eyes, the same shade as the coins you carry in your bag now. So gold, so vibrant, so perfect, that it takes your breath away, makes you gasp hard into your chest. This is what it means to be holy, you think. You see those golden irises widen in what could only be surprise, a tentative shock that leads to a revelation of sorts. “I’m sorry,” they said. Melodic, low, accentuated with the telling lilt that only the first ring inhabitants seem to carry. You see the flash of their mouth, the strong shape to their bow-like lips, before they turn away from you, ensuring the anonymity of their face. And then they are gone, taking off at an almost sprint, weaving and ducking through the early morning crowd. And there you stand, your hand over your mouth, unable to parse the reason you’re breathing so hard. They smelled like honeydew with the slightest hint of something else. You taste the lavender on your tongue. [[You walk away with the feeling of their hand slipping from yours.|18]]

In the Labyrinth, they talk of gods. They whisper between their fingers and sweeten their breath with the tales of titans of old who once stood so tall that a single gesture would cause earth tremors, their steps reshaping the ground trod beneath them. Their fingers were the tools that smoothed the mountains into points, shaped and carved the ridges and valleys in between. If you hike far enough, one woman claims, if you travel to a point where the oxygen is thin and your vision blacks, you can make out a partial print against the mountainside. You can run your own fingers along its length and still feel the titan’s warmth as if his palm were pressed right against yours. The woman says, It is a thing of worship. It is a thing of devotion. In the Labyrinth, amongst a maze of rings and riddles and rhymes, remembrance is the only thing that the people have to hinge themselves on. Once, you had felt that this fervent dedication was a thing of sacrilege, that anything not inclusive of the glorious reign to come and never end was grounds for immediate hanging in the city square, to be treated the same as all traitors of the Labyrinth were. But now you are older and you understand the purpose and meaning of fairy tales. [[You can understand the place something meaningless can still take.|19]]

It is almost…romantic, as you walk through the bending walls and haphazard stone steps, to think of the Labyrinth of the remnant of some god of old, older than even the King of Woes, the King of the High Hills. You imagine as you walk that the mountainous cliff the university sits on is actually the delectable framework of the pelvic girdle. You are the titan’s lover as you walk to your meeting place to kiss along their mandible and worship them as you’ve truly always done. Tasting them into your mouth, letting the ashes of memory coat your tongue. You almost start to weep at this thought, so deep and genuine is your love for the Labyrinth. And so too is your admiration for the King of the High Hills, whose love is so great that he has chosen to sacrifice himself for the perpetuation of the Labyrinth, has given up his death so he can ensure that no harm would ever befall your wondrous home. Clambering up the steps, you make sure to flash your student ID to the Skyrail operator for verification. The Skyrail offers the only current and consistent method of direct transportation to Elysium University, but it is not a method just anybody is allowed to take. Do you greet the operator? [[Yes, of course. Your mother raised you with good manners.|greet]] [[No. Go sit down. Don’t so embarrassing.|nogreet]]

You smile. You try to make it warm, showing all your teeth. “Pretty nice morning, huh?” Nothing. You try again. “Thanks so much for all you do!” He grunts in response and looks away. You take it as a sign to sit down, carefully avoiding the eye contact of the other patrons wearing the exact same uniform that you don now. Well, you tried. But your mom would have been proud of you, at least. <<include "20">>

Your mother would have boxed your ears for ignoring a person who is doing work that services <i>you</i>, but she isn’t here right now and she hasn’t been here for such a very long time. You shuffle towards the back, noting dimly the other students dressed in the telling crimson and black uniforms, all looking exactly the way you feel. <<include "20">>

You sit down and press your palm deep and hard into your chest and think about your mother and her wide grin. You press deeper, encouraging a bruise. [[You miss your mom.|21]]

Underneath the whole of you, defleshed and flayed, that’s the essence of you. You are twenty-three and you no longer have a mother. You have lived without her for an eternity of four years and now you will have to live the rest of your life with the acute understanding that you will miss her for longer than you ever got to love her. When your parents first passed, many family friends had placed their hands on your shoulder and told you that time heals all wounds.<i>A few years from now and you won’t remember the sting.</i> They’d been wrong, of course. Living without your parents has been akin to learning to live without a limb. Time has only offered distance away from the memory, a salve that allows you to move through daily life as though you were normal, but you still are without. You eventually came to understand how to rework your life around your new loss, but you never stopped longing for the work of warm touch. When you watched as their bodies lowered into the damp peat, it had felt that you were also interred into the shared wooden casket—your mother’s hand atop your father’s chest, his hands coupled together behind her back. You got home and screamed so hard you thought it would kill you. Hoped that it would. [[It never did, but you walk around with the aftertaste of dirt, anyway.|22]]

The Skyrail starts up without even a jolt to signify movement, and in the green, you remember your parents and work to forget them—even if just for a few moments—amongst a city that loved them both so desperately it hadn’t wanted to let go. In the new hour, your Navigator signifies the changes below you. Streets unfold and collapse only to be made anew again into new city blocks and alleyways. The walls of the maze shift and rebuild, taking a new name and face for a while. You think about that. Becoming something new, even if temporary. And maybe you’d been wrong—maybe you’d thought too quickly and felt too much. Maybe Elysium is that thing to offer you a blank slate, maybe in a room full of names, you can be a new one. You can be anything you want. You can be more than a twenty-three-year-old who misses $mc_their parents. And it approaches. The spiraling ivory comes to you as it has always promised to. Your heart pitches forward at the sight and you hold within your hands that rotted chunk of flesh that is you, the whole of you, and something acrid floods your tongue. It is as beautiful as it has always been, the towering image of power, the antiquated memory of watching the back of your mother’s head as she mixed and poured, butchered and tore. This is the heart of the Labyrinth and now you must hold it within your hands. This is duty. This is loyalty. This is sacrifice. [[...|23]]

“You have a heavy burden upon you,” the headmaster was saying, teeth and eyes all a glitter under the amber cast candles. “I am not unsympathetic to the arduous path ahead of you—your professors are here to help you along the journey—but please understand that this suffering must be experienced for the longevity of the king, for the beautiful life ahead of him. Only he is the one who can shed mortality and raise to the gods, because he is the only one strong enough, courageous enough to count the cost of living forever. You must succeed where others have failed. You, this class, this is our last chance to mend what has been made broken. You <i>must</i>. You <i>must</i>.” A quiet titter of excitement through the audience, students bending their heads to the other next to them, mouths and flesh so close together in this dimly lit auditorium. The speech was charming, patriotic as Headmaster Agathon spoke of duty and obligation to the Labyrinth and its king. Undoubtedly a speech he has said many times before, laboring to get the emphasis exactly correct on each word over the span of the one-hundred and twenty-five years he’s been presiding over this institution. The headmaster has a penchant for drama and lives to take the breath out of a room. The effect of his speech means <i>more</i>, echoes louder, inside an auditorium meant to hold four hundred students filled by only fifty. The message becomes more real here in the vacuum, each student looking to another with the distinct understanding of finality on their face. [[The only part of the headmaster’s speech that has not been repeated before was the unfortunate end.|24]]

He refers to, of course, the Prophecy. It has been that of which you have never witnessed yourself, nor has anybody else your age, but it’s the mission of many, many generations before you. The premise is startlingly simple: the King of the High Hills must live forever. If he does not— if he is to perish naturally or fall in battle or lie inept in his sick bed—then the Labyrinth will fall. The two are said to be married together, in every sense and meaning of the word. Their fates tied together at the heartstrings, at each breath in and out. The loving caress of the king is mirrored in the Labyrinth’s wind that comes off the glades. Each breathless kiss of his becomes the rising sun’s promise to the Labyrinth. The mother and father responsible for, truly, every life that has ever entered the maze, has given so much of themselves for your longevity. Dedicating your life to their enduring love is really no sacrifice at all. [[But it is said that this year, the year of the Twin Suns, threatens to be the King’s last.|25]]

Still, as each of your peers’s chests fill with pride, blood echoing in their ears, feeling their breath in their lungs, ready to accept their new fate as bearers of this awesome responsibility, you cannot help but feel the weight of the ribbons against your chest. Can’t help but feel suffocated by the pips at your shoulders, strangled by the decorated collar devices at your neck. Had your parents felt this way, all those years ago? Did your mother look headlong into the chapel and clench her teeth against the rising nausea she felt? Had your father worried at his hands, the same way you do now, and been scared at the idea of not carrying on his family’s name? In some letters addressed to you, written before you were born to be read once you were old enough to understand, your mother confided that she had actually wanted to enlist in the Labyrinth’s military and join the infantry as a swordswoman. Sometimes the lateral transfer over would be accepted if those admitted students felt they could not carry out the mission of the university. However, your mother had the best scores out of her entire cohort—the university could not afford to lose her. Your father had always wanted admission into the university. His father and all the fathers before him held a long tradition of not only cementing entry into Elysium, but excelling. Every Odotheus that has entered into the university in years past found themselves among the circle of the king’s most trusted scientists. Most progress and discovery could be found credited under an Odotheus of old. Headmaster Agathon continues. He spreads his hands wide, pleading and appealing to the mass before him. “I understand the fear and trepidation you all must be feeling.” His voice is soothing in the echo, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through the floors, into the soles of your feet. “You are being asked of so much, with seemingly so little in return. You have contracted your life to a cause greater than yourself. But do not think that the Lord of Woes does not hear your cries.” Agathon’s mouth grows wider, teeth shimmering in opalescence. [[You are quick to catalog his expression as one of growing excitement. It worries you.|26]]

“In fact, I have a very special guest here to explain to you, His disciples, how these next few years of your life will be different than any year previous to you.” The smile takes up his whole face. “I present the Child of His Gloriousness.” Who walks on the stage? <div id="choice"><<link [[ A woman ->27]]>><<set $m_name to "Matthea">><<set $m_gender to "woman">><<set $m_they to "she">><<set $m_They to "She">><<set $m_their to "her">><<set $m_Their to "Her">><<set $m_theirs to "hers">><<set $m_Theirs to "Hers">><<set $m_themself to "herself">><<set $m_Themself to "Herself">><<set $m_theyre to "she's">><<set $m_Theyre to "She's">><<set $m_Theyve to "She's">><<set $m_theyve to "she's">><<set $mPerson to "woman">><<set $mPeople to "women">><<set $mKid to "girl">><<set $mKids to "girls">><<set $mRoyal to "Princess Matthea">><<set $mprince to "princess">><<set $mTitle to "Her Excellence">><<set $m_her to "her">><<set $m_Her to "Her">><</link>></div> <div id="choice"><<link [[A man ->27]]>><<set $m_name to "Matthaios">><<set $m_gender to "man">><<set $m_they to "he">><<set $m_They to "He">><<set $m_their to "his">><<set $m_Their to "His">><<set $m_theirs to "his">><<set $m_Theirs to "His">><<set $m_themself to "himself">><<set $m_Themself to "Himself">><<set $m_theyre to "he's">><<set $m_Theyre to "He's">><<set $m_Theyve to "He's">><<set $m_theyve to "he's">><<set $mPerson to "man">><<set $mPeople to "men">><<set $mKid to "boy">><<set $mKids to "boy">><<set $mRoyal to "Prince Matthaios">><<set $mprince to "prince">><<set $mTitle to "His Excellence">><<set $m_her to "him">><<set $m_Her to "Him">><</link>></div>

A collective gasp fills the room, yours included. The $mprince has only ever been seen in framed paintings, never in the flesh and blood. For $m_her to be showing $m_themself to you, to the last class, the situation must be more dire than any of you had originally deemed it to be. $mRoyal smiles warmly at the headmaster. Tall, easily six foot. You are ardently astonished when you find yourself breathless at the sight of $m_her. It is of God the way $m_their pitch-colored hair waves. It is of divinity the way $m_they holds $m_themself so perfectly, posed to completion. You stare, undone, when the $mprince turns $m_their gaze to the crowd. <<if $mMet is true>> You are even more shocked when you spot the gold of $m_their eyes, so gold it rivals the sun, realizing you have seen those eyes before. Felt $m_their strong hands upon yours, smelled the scent of scripture as $m_they parted from you. Those eyes seem to find you amongst all the others, pining you down. You see the stutter in $m_their gaze. <<elseif $mMet is false>> You are even more shocked when you spot the dizzying gold of $m_their eyes, the same shade as the coins you carry in your bag now. So gold, so vibrant, so perfect, that it takes your breath away, makes your heart stutter hard in your chest. This is what it means to be holy, you think. Those eyes seem to find you amongst all the others, pining you down. You see the stutter in $m_their gaze. <</if>> “Thank you for having me,” $m_name says, and lord $m_their voice sounds like the inside of a cathedral, dedicated to worship and adoration. Velvet and the low tones of something holier to come. It captures all attention instantly, each student with their mouths gaping slightly, awed to be in the presence of something so sacred, so pure. “I’m so honored,” $m_they says, “to be before you today, congratulating you on your hard work, but also coming to you as a begging penitent. Thank you for everything you are doing, this singular oblation will herald you all as the most true amongst the thousands that have tried to do what you all must succeed in. You are, in essence, martyring your lives for my father’s own.” The $mprince touches a hand to $m_their chest, taking a moment to swallow thickly against $m_their rising emotion. “Forgive me. I often find myself getting a little choked up. I cannot describe the emotion that fills me when I think that there are so many of you who believe in my father’s throne, that still fervently love the Labyrinth as your own.” $m_Their eyes find yours again briefly, before flicking away. You see the clench to $m_their jaw, the muscle feathering there. “As such, I implored on your behalf. Your lord so graciously has determined that there should be a prize for the student who can solve the riddle to eternity, to craft the elixir he so desperately requires.” [[An urgent murmur rips through the crowd.|28]]

<i>Prize?</i> There has never been such in all of the millennia of the Labyrinth. This duty was not one in which you were able to hope for anything more than the glory of your name; success was expected. But a prize. A prize from the king no less. That means so much more than your name. $mRoyal holds $m_their hand up. Your classmates quiet instantly. “The student who is able to cure this disease of mortality from my father will be invited to share immortality with him. You will live forever in glory. You will live to see the Labyrinth until the end of all days, and more so after.” In truth, you can’t believe your ears as $m_they speaks. Your brain actually short-circuits when the $mprince finishes speaking, sitting in a stupor as your brain works to kick-start itself again. It is incomprehensible what is being offered. You wait for the trick, for the bait and switch. But it doesn’t come. You will eventually come to realize that it will never come. To share the Labyrinth with the Lord. To become one of his own. To bask in endlessness. You start to weep at the thought. You cover your mouth to stifle your sobs, so overwhelmed with emotion. [[You are not the only one who cries freely.|29]]

This lament of work that has claimed so many lives, has taken so much over the span of forever, to be finally concluding. After your class, the work must be done, but to be able to ascend to godhood alongside your king means— It means that the dirt in the back of your throat would be cleansed. It means wiping the memory of having to see your parents lowered into the ground together. It means making right what has been made wrong. It means no longer feeling the weight of death upon your shoulders. If you arrive the victor, if you surpass and defeat the challenge and riddle of life, if you master both time and death, everything will have been worth it. It means your debt will be slated clean. [[It means you will be forgiven.|30]]

The Child of the Lord wrings $m_their hands together, long fingers splayed out and subtly massaging the center of $m_their palm in a soothing motion. “I continue to offer to all, however, a night of celebration at the castle this next fortnight. You all deserve to be recognized for your service to my father and the Labyrinth. Details regarding the arrangements will come over the next few days.” $m_They smiles so brightly at all of you that you momentarily forget where you are. “For now, I bid you ado and good luck in your studies.” You watch as $mRoyal hurries from the stage, $m_their dark waves bouncing, reflecting ink against the candles. And you find yourself hungry. [[End Demo|enddemo]]