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<</nobr>>There are no people left<a href="https://www.tumblr.com/tanpl-if" target="_blank">
<img src="https://i.imgur.com/6FB7ooz.png">
</a>by <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/tanpl-if" target="_blank">krsdvchk</a>!Stat page 1
Your stats go here..
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<center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>!Stat page 2
Your stats go here..
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<center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>The air around you is cold and fresh, a pleasant caress on your flushed skin, as you move through the forest, ground soft beneath your steps, wet grass sticking to your bare feet.
You whip your head around — excitement bubbling under your skin. The trees stand tall before you, threads of sunlight dancing among the leaves — bright and pretty.
You stumble forward, snapping out of your daze, as you feel the warm hand closing over yours and tugging you forward in a playful motion. You giggle, quickening your steps, when sunlight brushes your face and you feel a pleasant warmth spreading inside your chest.
Laughter fills the silence as you are lead deeper, and you can't help but laugh with it — delight spilling out with the sound. You feel so light — like a feather, your body not fully there — the only thing grounding you is a feeling of a soft palm joined with yours, and you breathe in deep, thoughts hazy.
<<button"You step forward" "You step forward">><</button>>The music mixes with laughter, the sounds of bare feet stomping on the ground. You spy a glimpse of whirling dresses — white and red and green — just behind the treeline. You are almost there.
<<button"You step forward" "You step forward2">><</button>>Your feet hurt a little, but there is a spring to your steps, that you have never felt before. Your smile is too wide for your face.
A light flickers ahead.
A bonfire — you know before you see — big and bright.
<<button"You step forward" "You step forward3">><</button>>Your skin itches from anticipation, like something is crawling underneath, eager to claw its way out. You feel it at the back of your neck, down your spine and the ringing in your ears grows louder.
The hem of your shirt catches on something, halting your steps. You don't turn around, just quicken your pace, almost feverish in your desire to follow the music, the lights.
You need to be there.
Something warm trickles down your neck. You pay it no mind.
<<button"step forward" "You step forward4">><</button>>
There are hands grasping at you suddenly, cold fingers digging into your flesh — the scratches haven't healed still. And you try to break free, dirt mixing with blood, as you are yanked back with force that makes you choke down a sob, something sharp twisting in the pit of your stomach, under your ribs.
You twist your body away, feet slipping on something wet.
The blood seeps deeper into the earth beneath.
<<button"step forward" "You step forward5">><</button>>Your mother calls your name.
<<button"..." "bus1">><</button>>You jolt in the seat so violently, you almost bump your head against the window as you instinctively hug your backpack closer to your chest, mind still foggy from sleep. The dream you've just had slips from your mind faster than you can recall anything other than the building anxiety inside of your chest.
You look around warily — the bus is empty, aside from you and the driver, and you let out a sigh, relaxing back into your seat.
You're not sure how long you've been out — not enough to feel rested that's for sure — your head feels heavy, temples pulsing when you shift your eyes to look out of the window, catching a glimpse of the setting sun, just above the treeline.
It will be dark soon.
[[You move closer to the front and ask the driver how much longer until you get to your destination]]
[[It's fine. you'll get there when you'll get there]]The driver — a cheerful looking old man, probably in his sixties, doesn't take his eyes off the road when he answers.
" 'bout half an hour, less even, if i speed up a bit, seein' there's not a soul around!" he coughs out a laugh, a mischievous glint in his eyes, but you're too tired to do anything but give him a placating smile as you take one of the seats near the door.
You already knew that of course. There were no real point in asking, but the silence felt too heavy for you to bear.
"You from 'round here then?" the driver glances at you in the rear—view mirror, "not a lot of folks headin' this way."
"Yeah..." your response is quiet, noncommittal, but it doesn't seem to bother him, as he immediately launches into a speech you don't really pay attention to — something about his wife, weather, and thirty year experience of driving.
The background chatter is enough to ease the tension you've been feeling even if just a little, but not enough to prevent the unwanted thoughts slipping in through the cracks of your agitated mind.
<<button "Think about home" "Think about home">><</button>>You don't bother.
There is no amount of filling the silence with pointless chatter that will delay the inevitable.
You look out the window and see the trees go by in a blur, still green and more vibrant than you remember. For some reason your stomach twists at the sight.
You know you're close to Marrowbone now, can't be more than twenty minutes, though there are no signs to guide you.
There never were.
Twenty minutes until your arrival.
Twenty minutes.
The thought spins repeatedly in your mind, like a broken record, just as sharp and unpleasant, and you close your eyes for a second, fingers twitching against the fabric of your bag.
<<button "Think about home" "Think about home">><</button>>It's been ten years since you have left Marrowbone.
Or almost just as much. The number doesn't seem relevant, when you can barely remember anything about your time there at all.
A cluster of buildings — gray stone and rotting wood; an abandoned factory near your school — the one where kids would sneak into, to paint the walls and drink stolen wine; the creaking swings of the old playground; the colored glass of broken bottles you used to see in the courtyards.
And the quiet tapping coming from the corners of the old wooden houses, which you seemed to have imagined all on your own.
Fleeting thoughts and blurred images you have always tried not to dwell on, that are suddenly coming back with full force.
The memory of your old school sneaks in unprompted — pink or green or yellow, you don't quite remember, the paint always peeling off the gray walls, sticking under your fingernails, dim lights of the bathroom making your reflexion too ashen, too wrong, as you gripped the edges of the sink so hard your knuckles went white.
<<button"..." "b1.5">><</button>>You snap out of it when you feel the bus slow down, the low rumble of an engine going quiet, and you force yourself to get up, pulling the strap of your backpack over your shoulder.
"Here we go <<cycle "$gender" autoselect>> <<option "lass" "woman" (set: $gender = "woman")>> <<option "lad" "man" (set: $gender = "man")>> <<option "kid" "person" (set: $gender = "person")>> <</cycle>>"! The driver's voice catches your attention. He tips the side of his hat. "Best of luck to ya."
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> Your lips twitch into a smile, as you thank him and step out the door. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> You nod and step out the door. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> You nod and step out the door. <</if>>
<<button"it's waiting for you" "bus3">><</button>>The sun is already down when you get out, the bus stop before you an old, familiar thing.
You still have to walk for a little while to actually reach the town and the prospect of doing so makes you nervous. Just more time to ruminate in your <<if $MCpers is "charmer">> own doubts. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> own doubts. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> worst fears. <</if>>
You look around — take in the empty road, the bright yellow buds of dandelions peeking through the grass — you forgot how many of them grow here in the summer.
Your fingers twitch with the memory of soft stems bending in your hands, weaved into a messy flower crown — you were never that good at making them — when you force yourself to look away and consider your options.
The main road is an obvious choice — safe and practical, if a little long. You'll have to go through the town to reach the outskirts, all the way to the opposite end, near the woods.
You can only hope it's late enough for you not to stumble upon anyone who remembers you. Or preferably anyone at all.
Your eyes shift toward the thick, dark treeline alongside the road <<if $MCpers is "charmer">> and your body tenses. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> and your body tenses. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> . <</if>>
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> The forest is still there. Of course. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> The forest is still there. Of course. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> There is a feeling you can't quite place — the tension you've been feeling this whole time slowly dissipating, replaced by something you haven't felt in a long, long time. <</if>>
You can take a shortcut. You still remember the way — through the woods, across the lake and up the hill.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> It will be faster — you know. And the idea of not being gawked at by the random passerby certainly sounds appealing. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> It will be faster — you know. And the idea of not being gawked at by the random passerby certainly sounds appealing. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> You have nothing to be afraid of. <</if>>
<<button"you will—" "bus4">><</button>>The loud blaring of a horn is what startles you out of your thoughts, and you spin around, heart jumping in your chest, to see a car stopping a few meters away from you, when you suddenly realize, you've been spacing out right in the middle of the road.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> There is an apology already forming on your lips, when the driver steps out, slamming the door shut so hard it makes you flinch. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> you blink and move quickly out of the way, squaring up for a confrontation when the driver steps out, slamming the door shut so hard it makes you flinch. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> you're still staring at the car, limbs locked in place, as you hear your own heartbeat in your ears, your head spinning, when the driver steps out, slamming the door shut so hard it makes you flinch. <</if>>
"What the hell are you doing in the middle of the fucking road?! In the dark? What if — "
They stop suddenly and you don't move, rooted in place, because even if it takes you a second to make out their face in the dark, their voice rings in your ears — too familiar.
When you finally get a look at her — Olya stands in front of you, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. Her blonde hair are tossled, a messy ponytail hanging loose, jacket that is too big for her, making her look smaller, hunched.
She looks tired. Older.
Familiar.
You stare at each other for another beat, silent, unmoving.
You wonder if Olya is trying to decide whether you are real or not. You know <<if $MCpers is "charmer">> //you// are. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> //you// are. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> you //are//. <</if>>
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> Your lips pull into a smile almost against your will, thoughts scrambling for a greeting, acknowledgment — anything that will get you out of this weird, pathetic limbo, but you never get to finish your attempt. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> It's hard to make out the details in the dark but you notice the tense line of her shoulders, the crease between her brows getting deeper every passing moment. You open your mouth to say something — a greeting at least. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> The knot in the pit of your stomach tightens at the sight of her, the dark, ugly claws of despair wrapping it's fingers around your heart and //squeeze//. Your dig your nails into the palm of your hand when you move your lips — but nothing comes out. You don’t know what to say<</if>>
<<button"Olya's voice cuts through the silence before you can do anything." "car ride1">><</button>>"Get in the car," her voice is...steadier than you thought it would be. Rough.
She turns back making it to the driver's seat, without waiting for your response, opens the door and stops just for a second, fingers tightening on the handle. Her voice is almost quiet enough for you to miss it, when she speaks again. "I'll give you a ride home."
You stand still for a moment, <<if $MCpers is "charmer">> lips parted in surprise, <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> brows furrowed in confusion, <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> lips parted in surprise, <</if>> not sure what to do.
You are not sure what you were expecting. The fleeting thought of meeting the person you spent most of your childhood with, //your best friend//, did occur to you but for the past few days you managed your best to push it down as deep as you possibly could.
This is not a grand, heartfelt reunion, neither this is a final altercation fueled by a lifetime of resentment, as you might have imagined all those times you dared to fantasize before sleep, over the past decade.
Just a dumb coincidence.
//Finally// you drag your feet to the car, beat up and seemingly not in the best condition — though you're not about to complain — and open the door.
<<button"The ride is silent." "car ride2">><</button>>You cast a quick glance at her, subtly — you hope.
Olya doesn't look at you. Her eyes are fixed on the road ahead, hands gripping the stirring wheel a bit too tight, jaw set into a scowl and this is the angriest you ever saw her.
You're not sure if this anger is all reserved for you, or if its nestled in her for all those years, since the day you had left.
Ten years.
The thought shocks you so much, you shift your eyes away from Olya's face and stare at the window in front of you.
You haven't seen her in ten years.
Your brain scrambles in panic, as you desperatly push the thought down.
Now is not the time.
[[Try and make small talk]]
[[Stare ahead]]<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> You want to slip into the habit of pleasantries and mindless chatter, almost open your mouth to do so, but a quick glance at Olya's pressed lips and set jaw, dissuades you immediately. Probably not a good idea right now. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> Yeah no. Not happening. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> You want to, but it doesn't feel right. You gnaw at your lip to stop yourself from blurting out something you will probably regret. You don't want to upset her. <</if>>
[[Look at Olya closer]]
[[Stare ahead]]Maybe you are a coward and maybe this is your punishment.
What are the chances that, out of all people you could meet on your first day here — first moments — it would have been her.
You stare ahead almost unblinking, barely paying attention to the passing trees. The road feels familiar, but everything here does.
You don't look at Olya and she doesn't look at you.
<<button"The whole ride is passed in silence, aside from the heavy beat of your anxious heart." "home1">><</button>>You just pass the old, overgrown field of your neighbors when the car stops, and for a moment you see a glimpse of your mother's house.
You blink and look through the window.
It's big.
That's the first thing that comes to your mind, funnily enough.
Somehow, it always felt so enormous, like if you stepped inside it would swallow you whole and you would be forever lost in the dark halls and empty rooms.
It's hard to make out the details in the dark, so you can't see the condition your mother left it in. This house was always old and creaky, even when you were a child, and you can't imagine the time did it any good.
You don't think it did any good for your mother either.
Olya shifts near you and you snap out of your musings. She still hasn't said a world to you and you almost want to reach out, touch her arm in a familiar motion, tell her how good it is to see her, after so many years.
...
The door opens with a quiet click and the backpack weighs heavy on your shoulder, when you step outside.
You stop right when you are about to close it, //should// close it, but your hands don't listen, limbs locked into place and you stand there, just like that.
The silence hangs.
[[Thank her]]
[[Close the door]]<<set $OF = 0>><<set $OR = 0>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">> You pull your lips into a smile you hope doesn't look too awkward. Despite the uncomfortable air and a heavy fatigue weighing you down, you think it's almost genuine too.
"Thank you for the ride."
When you almost think she is not going to respond, there is a sigh, her shoulders tensing, a flicker of annoyance across her face, so quick, you almost think you imagined it.
"You're welcome," it's a dismissive little thing, like she is trying to appease you for you to finally leave her be, almost mocking in a way, and you can't help the flash of annoyance you feel, your smile becoming taut.
Playing nice has never worked for her.
With the final twist of your lips you close the door and watch her drive off. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> "Thanks," you say, and the casual way of it sounds forced even if you didn't mean it.
Olya doesn't respond, just grips the wheel tighter and keeps staring ahead. There is a slightest nod of her head a moment later, but no other indication that she is going to acknowledge you.
You press your lips together, the fatigue of the travel weighing down on you, close the door without any other word, and watch her drive off. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> You swallow the lump in your throat before you speak.
"Thank you," it's a quiet, pathetic thing, and you hate how weak your voice is. You can't quite look at her, shifting your gaze to the ground, before you hear a queit sigh and your eyes flicker up again, uncertain.
Olya's shoulders drop in what you think is defeat as she glances at you and her face looks softer, kinder — like the girl you used to know.
You know you don't deserve it.
"It's fine," her voice is sad, and you feel nauseous from the guilt gnawing at you from the inside. "I'm sorry."
//About your mother//, she doesn't say. But you know.
You keep your eyes on the ground when you close the door and hear her drive off. <</if>>
<<button"..." "home2">><</button>><<set $OF = 0>><<set $OR = 1>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">> There is nothing for you to say. You give her an empty smile and close the door. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> There is nothing for you to say. You give her a nod and close the door. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> You wish you had any words left for her. Instead you give her a meek nod and close the door. <</if>>
You turn and move towards the house without waiting for her to drive off.
<<button"..." "home2">><</button>>You reach the porch in a haze, reach down the brown, empty pot near the door and fish out the spare key, rusted metal rough under your fingertips.
Your home greets you with silence.
You feel a shiver go down your spine, a feeling forgotten but painfuly familiar all at once.
You shake your head, and suddenly everything washes over you, and your head swims, exhaustion sipping deep into your bones.
You throw your backpack to the floor and move straight to the living room, barely paying attention to the interior, not bothering to turn on the lights, as you stumble through the dark.
It's easy to find your way to the couch, moving through the hall almost on instinct.
You still remember.
You don't bother to undress as you lay down, and when your head touches the pillow you are already out.
<<button"..." "episode1">><</button>>Thank you for playing the demo!
You can follow my blog for future updates https://www.tumblr.com/tanpl-if<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> You try to calculate the time it would take to reach the edge of the town time this way. Probably no less than fifteen minutes of awkward silence and soul-crushing tension.
Great. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> Your fingers twitch, as you almost reach for the cigarette pack in your pocket, but decide against it. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You hug your backpack closer to your chest, teeth digging into your lip.<</if>>
[[Look at Olya closer]]
[[Try and make small talk]]!Episode one:
!!silk
<<button"..." "ep1night">><</button>>The blood under your nails is not washing away.
You scrub and scrub your skin harder and it peels off as easy as you have always imagined it would, leaving the ugly writhing flesh of your hands exposed under the stream of ice cold water.
It only hurts more – stings hard, the tissue dissolving, giving you a glimpse of the yellow white bone of your phalanx, the rotting flesh of your palms falling into the sink – down the drain.
The room is pained red.
Your fingers – what's left of them – twitch, and you dig them into your chest, your stomach – clawing at your skin, breaking it, tearing it apart further and further until there is a hole in your chest and you hear the steady beat of your heart.
You place your hand inside, bone curving around the pulsing twitching mass and //pull//.
The water comes up to your ankles. It's voice a wishper when it echoes through.
<<button"Welcome home, Misha" "ep1night2">><</button>>
You stare at the ceiling for a while when you wake up.
The room is dark still and you gather you have only managed to sleep for a couple of hours – your headache only getting worse.
The house is silent.
You focus on the beat of your heart – too fast, rapid flattering against your chest, and it unnerves you how loud it is in the quiet of the room.
You don’t remember it ever being so.
It has always seemed alive when you lived here – the wood moaned around you, under your feet, echoing against the walls with every step; the floorboards would creak under your weight and at one point you found it a welcome sound, an evidence of life blossoming here – your family’s laughter held dear inside it’s space.
Now it’s nothing much but a corpse of a place – abandoned to rot by it’s owners, in the stale, incessant silence.
<<button"You keep your eyes on the ceiling." "ep1home2">><</button>>Your stomach grumbles, pulling you out of your musings — an unfriendly reminder that you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.
There is a diner downtown, you know — an hour walk away — you used to go there a lot when you were a kid.
It's an all-night one, at least you hope it’s still is, and it’s early enough that if you take off now you’ll get there just in time for it to still be empty.
It's probably the best course of action right now, but you can’t stop your whole body itching from anticipation to find Sophia first thing first — you really don’t want to miss her and chase her around town asking the locals for information.
She was like that — always busy, always moving and dealing with thing you had no interest to snoop in when you were a kid. Boring adult stuff you’ve always assumed. No one could ever hold this woman in one place.
Something tells you she hasn’t changed much in that regard.
<<button"//Visit the Diner//" "Dbridge">><</button>>You spring into a sitting position with such force your vision swims and you feel vomit gathering at the back of your throat as you stumble to stand up.
You find your way to the bathroom mindlessly – sweat coating your forehead, head pounding, as your knees hit the cold tile and you throw up, your body shaking.
//This can’t be real// you think then, slumped over the toilet seat, trying to get your breathing in order.
//You can’t stay here. You can’t stay here.//
<<button"..." "ep1home5">><</button>>The memories fill your mind – a hearty, loud laugh that always made you feel better, soft fingers pinching your cheeks, days and nights spent together when your parents were busy at work.
You used to call her aunty, you recall, and though she wasn’t by blood – she has always been a dear friend of your family.
And yours.
You have no idea how she managed to find you, you have never told anyone where you went or why, and a part of you thinks maybe somehow this is a trick, but the empty dead air of your home speaks for itself.
Your mother would have never left it alone long enough for it to wither like that.
<<button"//...//" "ep1home9">><</button>>You need a shower.
<<button"get up" "ep1home6">><</button>>
<<button"..." "ep1home">><</button>>Now that you are used to the darkness you can make out the web of cracks in the white paint going from one corner to the middle – a certain pattern you find comfort in tracing with your gaze while you lay there – impossibly small in the endless expanse of your old living room, on the soft, velvet cushions of your old couch.
A part of you wonders if it would be easier if right in this moment the ceiling caved in and buried you under dirt and rubble – a stray, wandering thought that sneaks into your mind unprompted and you can’t stop the spiral before it begins.
You think about how long it would take for someone to realize that you are here – nobody except Olya even knows that you came back and she certainly isn’t visiting you anytime soon.
You’d lay here in this exact place and if you won’t die immediately maybe you will try to claw your way out, hanging on the last threads of your life with desperation you have never felt before. Or maybe you won’t try at all.
You wonder what it’s like – to die alone.
<<button"..." "ep1home3">><</button>>You rub a hand across your face, still tired, what little of sleep you have managed to get not helping you at all, but it seems trying to get more rest is not an option. You feel too agitated, tense from the nightmares and your general situation.
Your mind wanders to the letter – the reason why you are here in the first place, and you fish it out from the backpack — paper wrinkled and torn at the edges.
You’re not sure why you bothered enough to take it with you.
Maybe you needed a reminder, an evidence that this not a dream – a nightmare – your fingers tracing the edge in a mindless motion whenever you got the overwhelming urge to turn back, abandon your journey.
You have reread it so many times.
Too many – the words still echo in your mind.
<<button"//“With love, Sophia”//" "ep1home8">><</button>>You undress clumsily, leave your clothes right on the floor and get into the bathtub, cold metal against your skin.
The water is ice cold when you turn it on, and you flinch against it, but force yourself to stay, <<cycle "$hair" autoselect>> <<option "running a hand over your shaved head" "baldie" (set: $hair = "baldie")>> <<option "running your fingers through your hair" "hair" (set: $hair = "hair")>> <<option "flicking your braids over your shoulder" "braids" (set: $hair = "braids")>> <</cycle>>, trying to get through it as fast as possible.
When you come back to the living room, hastily downing your change of clothes – you didn’t pack much, didn’t have a lot that were yours in the first place – you finally have time to take in your surroundings.
So little has changed since you left, you notice – the walls are still covered in the same dark green, some of the wallpaper peeling off at the top, revealing dark, ancient wood underneath; the faded gray of the carpet your parents found at one of the local yard sales still lays there – soft.
Nothing here has left its supposed place it seems, rooted down by the years of stagnancy.
Nothing but you.
You stand there – swallowed by the looming walls around you – and can’t imagine yourself as nothing but a parasite nestling inside of something you don’t belong in, eating away at it.
<<button"Nothing good will come out of you staying here." "ep1home7">><</button>>You watch the woman for a second longer, let out a breath and try to shake off the haze of the morning.
If you actually want to catch the diner empty you should hurry.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>“Well,” your lips stretch into a smile as you straighten up, dust your jacket off in a pointless motion just to busy your hands, the frustration of not being able to have a peaceful moment slipping through. “I won’t interrupt then. I should hurry either way.”<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>“Right," you put your cigarette out on the railing, let it fall as you shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “I’ll leave you to it.”<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>“I should go,” there is a certain uneasiness you feel — an anxiety that makes your palms clammy with sweat, the beating of your heart is faster than usual and you bite the inside of your mouth until it hurts, to pull yourself out of the queasy embrace of the moment.
The words you murmur are quiet enough that you are not sure she even heard you, but when you detach yourself and shift to move her eyes follow you.<</if>>
“See you.” She throws you a half-hearted salute and dives back into the water — a flash of red and blue, before she is out of your sight, as you move on your way.
<<button"//...//" "D1">><</button>>You wonder if your mother knows.
<<button"..." "ep1home4">><</button>>
The bells hanging at the top of the door let out a cheerful jingle when you walk in. The diner is mostly empty still, aside from the seemingly bored waitress and a couple of patrons at the back — not really paying attention to you.
Relief washes over you, shoulders dropping from the tension you’ve been carrying the whole morning. You remember how busy it can get here – courtesy of being located right on the main street most people pass on their way to work, and having a decent enough choice of food and drinks — <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>and maybe you wouldn’t have minded becoming the main attraction of the week at different curcumstances, but not right now.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>and you’re not exactly eager to become the main attraction of the week. <</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>and you don't want to become the main attraction of the week. <</if>>
When you walk up to the counter, the waitress — a young girl, with a neat bun of curls and rosy cheeks — looks up lazily and immediately perks up, probably recognizing you as a new face among the regulars.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>Despite the prick of annoyance you feel, you cant help but feel a little charmed by the attention. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You don’t particularly pay to her any mind, eager to just get some food, but the attention makes you barely suppress an eye roll as you come up to the counter. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You barely pay attention to the surroundings when you come up to the counter, your mind already wandering somewhere else, but the girls gaze on you feels heavy.<</if>>
It's natural for people here to latch onto a new face, anything that can disrupt the routine – whether it’s a good thing or not.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You understand the feeling. You just never expected to be on the receiving end of that notion.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>You never understood the feeling. And you definetly never expected to be on the receiving end of that notion.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You suppose it makes sense. You just never expected to be on the receiving end of that notion.<</if>>
<<button"//...//" "D2">><</button>>“Sort of,” she winks at you, and turns in the water to start floating on her back as you catch a glimpse of the bright blue swim piece she is wearing. “I’ve been spending my summers here lately.”
//Lately// you guess doesn’t include almost a decade ago.
“Do you like it here?” the question comes out on it’s own, and you’re not sure why you are suddenly so eager to know.
Maybe because you can’t really imagine the freedom of it. Not being burdened by the ghosts of this town, the life here inevitably provides. Leaving freely, with nothing teared out of your chest, memories and people left behind.
Coming back.
She turns her head to you, eyes half lid, a lazy smile on her face.
<<button"//“I like the lake.”//" "Dbridge5">><</button>>“Sorry,” she says, lighthearted, and swims up a bit closer to the bridge. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
It takes you a moment to response, as you force yourself to relax — she startled you more than you want to admit, and it only makes you realize how on edge you’ve been this whole time.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You lean on the railings, smile present.
“It’s alright, just didn’t expect to see anyone here, so early.”<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You make a noncommittal sound, a grunt really, taking another drag of your cigarette. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>“It’s alright,” you reassure her in a quiet murmur and force yourself to relax, peeling your fingers off the railing and clutch your arms instead.<</if>>
The girl only smiles at you, eyeing you up and down, <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>and you take your chance to look her over in turn.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>and you chew on the filter a little, the bitter taste of tabaco on your tongue. Seems like she’s not leaving you alone. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>and the sudden attention makes your ears hot.<</if>>
She can’t be much older than you, you think, a bit younger even, and you wonder if there is a chance you might have met before, until she speaks up, answering your silent question.
“I never saw you here before,” the woman runs a hand over her face, getting the wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “Visiting?”
“Sort of,” you're not in the mood to divulge the mess that is the reason of your return, and it's nice to pretend for a second that your presence here isn’t a weight on your shoulders you are desperately trying to shake off. “You’re a local then?”
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You’re not sure that she is, you knew most kids at your school even if just in passing, and you would’ve definitely remember someone like her.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You’re not sure that she is and though you weren’t the most sociable of kids, it’s hard not to know most of the people your age here, at least in passing.
And you would have definitely remembered someone like her. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You’re not sure that she is and though you weren’t the most sociable of kids, it’s hard not to know most of the people your age here, at least in passing.
And you would have definitely remembered someone like her.<</if>>
<<button"//...//" "Dbridge4">><</button>>You reach the bridge faster than you’ve expected.
It’s a familiar sight — you used to take this route to reach the town, you always had to wake up earlier than other kids to get to the school in time — hand in hand with your mother’s bigger calloused one, and then eventually — alone.
You remember the anxiety you felt walking across the lake, wood sturdy under your feet but a certain thought still crept into your head every time you did — a feeling that the bridge might collapse under you at any moment — a childish fear you later thought.
People took care of the bridge just fine, like they took care of everything here — someone reassured you, warm smile and kind eyes, and you chose to believe them, but the little whisper of reluctance every time you came up to it, hesitant to take a step, stayed deep within you for a long time.
It got better when Olya started meeting you there — throwing stones in the water or, more often than not, kneeling down and messily finishing her homework right on the uneven boards. It made you laugh back then, but she has always laughed with you.
…she didn’t mind waking up early if it meant you could go together.
<<button"//...//" "Dbridge2">><</button>>The common sense wins in the end — you’re not much of a use when you are on the verge of fainting from hunger, especially with all the walking you’ll have to endure, and you’re not particularly keen on visiting the diner when its packed with locals.
You throw your jacket on, <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>deep red fabric hanging down your shoulders, check the keys<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>old leather hanging down your shoulders, check the half empty cigarette pack in your pocket <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> faded denim hanging down your shoulders, check the keys<</if>> and head out.
Hopefully you still remember the way.
<<button"//...//" "Dbridge1">><</button>>You stop at the middle point and lean on the railings.
<<if $MCpers is "loner">>It takes a couple of flicks of your old, shitty lighter to light up a cigarette and you take a breath of smoke, let it set deep in your lungs, feel the relief that comes with it as you watch the surface of the lake, the light of the barely rising sun reflecting of the water. <</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">> You take a deep breath of the morning air, feel the relief that comes with it as you watch the surface of the lake, the light of the barely rising sun reflecting of the water.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> You take a deep breath of the morning air, feel the relief that comes with it as you watch the surface of the lake, the light of the barely rising sun reflecting of the water.<</if>>
It's closer to the edge of the bridge than it used to be, you notice.
You remember sitting at the edge of it, legs between the railings, feet hanging just above the still surface, your shoulder pressed against Olya’s as you watched the setting sun. Now it would be easy to touch it with your hand if you just crouched and reached down.
You let out a sigh, close your eyes for a moment, <<if $hair is "hair">>feel the wind playing with your hair<</if>> <<if $hair is "baldie">>feel the cool breeze on your face <</if>> <<if $hair is "braids">>feel the cool breeze on your face<</if>> and take a second to listen to the soft ripple of the waves, the whisper of the ruffling leaves.
[[You forgot how peaceful this place can be. How beautiful]]
[[And still you feel…unsettled. The peaceful scenery does nothing aside from making your skin itch.]]<<set $MC = 1>>You open your eyes at the exact moment you hear a splash below you, startling when you see a head of rusted-red hair emerging from the water.
A pair of bright blue eyes meet yours as the woman glances up at you curiously.
There is a beat of silence, while you stare at each other.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You clear your throat somewhat awkwardly and adopt a friendly smile, trying to come up with an appropriate introduction.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You raise an eyebrow, looking at her expectantly. The little prick of frustration you feel at someone interrupting the peaceful moment can’t be helped. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You keep staring, caught in her gaze and your fingers curl around the railings tighter.<</if>>
Before you can say anything she smiles at you, big and bright <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>and you feel the goosebumps rising at the back of your neck<</if>>.
<<button"//...//" "Dbridge3">><</button>><<set $MC = 0>>You open your eyes at the exact moment you hear a splash below you, startling when you see a head of rusted-red hair emerging from the water.
A pair of bright blue eyes meet yours as the woman glances up at you curiously.
There is a beat of silence, while you stare at each other.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You clear your throat somewhat awkwardly and adopt a friendly smile, trying to come up with an appropriate introduction.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You raise an eyebrow, looking at her expectantly. The little prick of frustration you feel at someone interrupting the peaceful moment can’t be helped. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You keep staring, caught in her gaze and your fingers curl around the railings tighter.<</if>>
Before you can say anything she smiles at you, big and bright <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>and you feel the goosebumps rising at the back of your neck<</if>>.
<<button"//“...”//" "Dbridge3">><</button>>The church is empty when you finally walk in.
There is a familiar chill in the air and your fingertips tingle with the sensation of something dear, but long forgotten — a ghost of a touch against your palm.
You walk through the half—collapsed benches, notice the vines cascading down the walls, growing through the cracks of the floorboards — vivid green against the old, rotten things this place turned into.
It’s beautiful.
<<button"//...//" "church6">><</button>>When you come up closer, stopping in front of the door, you wonder if this place has always looked this decrepit, like it was moments away from collapsing in on itself, wood moaning from the slightest gust of wind.
Your fingers graze the doorknob lightly, as if you’re scared that if your touch is too firm, the building will break down in pieces, crumbling at your feet, like everything else you dared to lay your hands upon.
You think it actually might.
<<button"//...//" "church5">><</button>>“They have built a new one, once the flood came.”
You tense, startled by the deep voice disrupting the silence, and turn your head slowly.
There is a man, standing in the doorway and it takes you a second to place his features, before you recognize him as the priest that kept you company all those years ago.
He looks the same, you think, if only more tired.
“It stormed for weeks, that summer,” he passes you, not really looking in your direction, the edge of his robes brushing against the dusty floor. “Everyone from this part of town had to be evacuated.”
He stops in front of the altar, traces the cracks in the cold marble softly — lovingly. “The water came up to the windows. This place has never stood a chance.”
You remember the floods, of course — there has been so many throughout Marrowbone’s history, everyone you knew remembered at least one in their lifetime — some were forgiving enough to pass in a few days with little to no damage, others less so.
A particularly bad one happened when you were around ten.
You recall the incessant rains, the following days when the water came up to the last step of your porch, nearly reaching the door. Your area got it the worst, being so close to the lake, you had to live with Sophia for nearly a week before it got better, and then some more, while your parents had come back to repair the damages.
You didn’t see them much during that time, but Sophia was there with you — a comfort you were desperate for.
You look around the room, trying to imagine it like that — drowned and pitiful, helpless against its coming fate.
Your head feels light.
<<button"//...//" "church7">><</button>>Somehow you still ended up attending the service on the next Sunday.
You remember the stuffy, little room filled with too many people; the looks you and your mother got from some of them, her hand wrapping around you, keeping you close.
She didn’t seem pleased at all.
You didn’t really like it either — too many eyes; too little space. The only relief brought to you, was Olya's arm you've been clinging to the whole time, her shoulder pressed against yours as you sat near — her parents made her attend the service with them every week, something she used to complain to you about with fervor. She asked to sit with you that time, hand fitting neatly into yours, and you've never been more grateful.
At the end of it, you ended up feeling lost and overwhelmed more than anything, and no one made you attend a mass ever again.
Somehow though, you’ve taken a liking to visiting it after school — something about the temple itself, not sullied by the presence of other people, seemed to soothe you.
The priest in charge was quiet — just like you.
He would ask you if you needed anything, and when you wouldn’t answer with anything but uncertainty, he’d give you books to busy yourself with, while he kept to his work.
You never asked his name.
<<button"//...//" "church4">><</button>>…
<<button"//...//" "church3">><</button>>“They have abandoned it then, no one wanted to risk it afterwards,” his voice distant, detachment you could’ve mistaken for apathy, if not for the gentleness in his touch, the slight furrow of his brows.
“So they have built a new one. It’s closer to the upper grounds, near the square, I believe,” his eyes turn to you.
They are darker then you remember.
“I’m afraid you will have to go there, if you wish to pray. There is not much service I can offer you now.”
You want to tell him that you are not here to pray, you never did even when you were a child, but your next question slips from your lips against your will.
<<button"//“Why are you still here?”//" "church8">><</button>>It takes a moment of silence for him to turn to you fully. Slowly. His smile is wide.
“Same reason as you, I imagine.”
<<button"//...//" "church9">><</button>>You leave in silence, mind still haunted by the memories.
<<button"//...//" "going home">><</button>>You drag your eyes away, swallowing thickly when you notice you’ve already reached the path leading to your mother’s house — and just along the road you see the tiny, old church — it’s wood painted white, though clearly aged.
You stop abruptly — breath catching, as the sudden flash of memories overwhelms you for a moment.
You remember visiting it when you were a child.
Your teacher, the one who was particularly displeased with your wandering mind and peculiar remarks, offered your mother an advice, she didn’t look that eager to receive — making you attend the mass in hopes of praying away whatever it is that was wrong with you.
Still is.
Your mother didn’t seem to appreciate it very much — shoulders tense, her hand squeezing yours a bit too tight on the way home.
She didn’t like it, you could tell, her voice ringing with something close to anger, when she recounted the incident at home, jaw set in a scowl.
You were listening in on something you shouldn’t have that day, sitting at the top of the stairs, way past your bedtime, watching the shadows pass underneath the dull light of your kitchen.
Your mother didn’t like it.
But somehow —
<<button"//...//" "church2">><</button>>The sun is almost gone when you head out. And it takes you by surprise, how fast the day went by.<<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>
Time has always flown differently here, you remember. Some moments passing by in a matter of seconds, others stretching long, longer than they should ever have been - hours turned to minutes, minutes turned to days. It confused you, always, how hard it was to feel present in a certain moment - you'd blink and it would be gone, leaving only a distorted memory in it's place.
Your head feels light.<</if>>
Your mind wanders back to your conversation with Sameera, and the forgotten frustration rises in you again. You have no idea how long you will have to wait until Sophia comes back and the uncertainty gnaws at you — a persistent itch at the back of your mind.
The hidden, ugly part of you wonders if coming back was worth it. You being here wont fix anything — might make it worse really, but //maybe//, you keep telling yourself, this is your chance to finally put the ghost of this town to rest, your old life left behind — something you still haven’t quite managed to do in the past decade.
You wonder if your mother would want you here at all — in her town, in her home — poisoning it with your presence.
Your head starts to hurt again, pressure building behind your eyes, and you squeeze them shut, try to ignore the pain as you quicken your pace.
You try not to think about her for the rest of the way.
<<button"//...//" "GH1">><</button>>You walk the familiar streets with heavy mind, the outskirts of the town are almost always empty at this time, and you are grateful for the peace it provides for you.
You glance towards horizon, trying to make out your mother’s house in the distance, and the forest greets you once again.
Being this close bring memories best left untouched, but you can’t resist the way your mind stirs at the sight, snapshots of the past itching their way closer to the surface, agitating and invasive.
The forest was always off limits when you were a child, you doubt it would change even when you reached adulthood, but you didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
Your parents always instructed you never to cross the threshold at the edge of the field, where the treeline became thicker, the sky darker.
[[You listened of course. Despite the burning desire you felt stirring in your chest anytime you came near it.]]
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>[[You didn’t listen. You tried really. But your curiosity got the best of you.]]<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>[[You didn’t listen. You tried really. But your curiosity got the best of you.]]<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>[[You didn’t listen. You tried really. But the longing was too great.]]<</if>>You wake up with a throbbing pain in your temples.
It takes you a second to come to your senses — you move your fingers slowly, shift where you lay and try you best to open your eyes. The glaring light blinds you immediately, and you grimace, squeezing them shut again — the pain getting sharper.
When your brain finally catches up, you sit up, a little too sudden, wincing from the abrupt movement as you look around, take in the white walls of the room, the sterile smell of antiseptic and medicine hitting your nose.
You are in the hospital, the realization comes.
You don’t have much time to ponder about how you ended up here, before a deep, smooth voice catches your attention.
<<button"//“You’re awake.”//" "HP1">><</button>>The old nickname you used to call him comes out naturally, as if the man before you is not a stranger of fifteen years, but still a boy you used to spend your summers with.
Timur’s eyes widen and you twist your mouth in an apologetic grimace — it was way too familiar, you are not sure if he even //remembers// you — but he speaks up before you can.
His voice is soft against the muted silence of the empty hall.
“Hi, Misha.”
[[You eye him up and down. Take him in.]]
[[Thank him for bringing you here.]]You’re free to go soon enough.
Gathering your jacket you move towards the door. The hallway is almost completely empty, white walls seeming yellow in the dull light of the ceiling lamps, and the hunching figure in one of he seats down the hall stands up as soon as you exit the room.
Your eyes search their face and you pause, recognition filling your mind.
Timur stands before you — older, taller, but unmistakably him.
It’s not hard to recognize him from the gangly, sickly looking kid that you knew — dark hair framing his angular face, strands falling over his eyes and the heavy shadows underneath them, that you take notice of.
…just much, much taller than you remember. <<cycle "$height" autoselect>> <<option "Even with your height you have to tilt your head a bit to meet his eyes." "tall" (set: $height = "tall")>> <<option "You have to tilt your head quite a bit to meet his eyes." "mid" (set: $height = "mid")>> <<option "He is almost a full head taller than you, if not more, and you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes." "short" (set: $height = "short")>> <</cycle>>
<<button"//“Tima?”//" "HP4">><</button>>You exchange some pleasantries with the girl — Jecky, her name tag says, and place an order — the menu written out in chalk on the board above seems familiar enough.
You take a seat and she fixes you up a cup of <<cycle "$drink" autoselect>> <<option "coffee" "coffee" (set: $drink = "coffee")>> <<option "tea" "tea" (set: $drink = "tea")>> <<option "water" "water" (set: $drink = "water")>><</cycle>> while you wait. Hopefully it won’t take long. <<if $MCpers is "loner">>It'll be a pain in the ass if the place fills up half way through your meal. <</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You’re eager to find Sophia soon. <</if>>
The girl keeps sneaking glances at you.
<<button"//...//" "D3">><</button>>When you reach the house, you stop in front of the door, hand reaching for the handle when something //shifts//.
You freeze in uncertainty, fingers brushing the cold metal. The air is still around you. Quiet.
You can feel the steady, slow beating of your pulse — echoing in your head, at the end of your fingertips, in the vein of your neck. All at once, the fear that rises from somewhere deep within you is so primal — like you are a deer caught in headlights, moments before your death, the full knowledge of not being able to save yourself rooting you in place.
You hear the whispering movement of leaves shuffling in the wind, a quiet hum inside your mind.
The hair at the back of your neck stand.
<<button"//...//" "GH2">><</button>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You give her a smile and it seemingly encourages her enough to speak up.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>You raise an eyebrow at her and despite the gesture meaning for the exact opposite effect — it seems to finally encourage her to speak up.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You feel her gaze on you for a while, your own eyes stuck on the marble patterns of the countertop, fingers tracing the lines in a subconscious motion. You blink when the girl speaks up, fog on your mind clearing up at her voice.<</if>>
“Are you from the city?” she practically blurts out, eyes shining with excitement and you <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>feel your lips quirk up at her enthusiasm.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>and you are not sure what to do with so much enthusiasm.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>and you are not sure what to do with so much enthusiasm.<</if>>
You’ve been so hung up on your past here, the thought of people recognizing you, digging up the history you’re not willing to dwell on — you forgot that for a good part of this town you are a complete unknown, a curiosity above all else.
It seems you might be hearing that question a lot more than you have anticipated.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>"I suppose you can say that," your lips quirk up at the question. It's funny how easily impressed the kids here can be. The ones who are desperate to leave this place anyway.
The girl's smile is twice as wide now.
"We only get people from the mines here," she glances to the side. "It's been so long since anyone new came here. No one interesting anyway."
She leans on the counter, smile wide. "So what do you do?"<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>"Sure," you glance at the "No Smoking" sign on the back wall with some dismay. It's funny how easily impressed the kids here can be. The ones who are desperate to leave this place anyway.
The girl's smile is twice as wide now.
"We only get people from the mines here," she glances to the side. "It's been so long since anyone new came here. No one interesting anyway."
She leans on the counter, smile wide. "So what do you do?"<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>"No," you watch the girl deflate smile dropping, and you feel a bit guilty. "I'm from around here."
"Oh," her disappointment morphs into a puzzled purse of the lips. "But i never saw you before?"
"I...left for a while," you shift in your place. "I just came back."
"Oh! So you've been there at least," the girl perks up once again. "We only get people from the mines usually. It's been so long since anyone new came here. No one interesting anyway."
She leans on the counter, smile wide. "So what do you do?"<</if>>
Maybe the question takes you by surprise a bit, though it really shouldn't. You think back — the past years flashing through, your mind trying to latch onto something worth remembering.
What //did// you do?
<<button"//...//" "Chat">><</button>>You take a closer look at the far table, two men talking to each other, while the third stares out of the window, a steaming mug in his hand.
Probably a part of the miner troop, you conclude based on the dirty overalls and generally disgruntled attitude.
You remember seeing them around town occasionally, especially in the summer, they would leave the miners camp to visit the diner and — more often — the only bar in town.
Your attention drifts somwhere else after a while.
[[Wait]]When the food arrives it is accompanied by Jecky's nonstop chatter — she tells you about her school, some gossips about the townsfolk that don't particularly interest you, but you listen still and find that you don't really mind it. It's a welcome distraction away from your own buzzing thoughts.
When you finish your meal, maybe taking a bit longer than you thought you would, she tells you it's absolutely necessary you visit the diner again and you say placidly that you would.
It's not like you have much of a choice anyway. It's pretty much the only place you can get an easy meal and you definitely don't plan on cooking for yourself.
<<button"//...//" "S1">><</button>>You turn your gaze towards the door and see a man walking in — a doctor, you gather by the white coat and a stack of documents in hand.
You don’t answer, still trying to gather your thoughts, when he comes over, small flashlight in hand and tilts your head back unceremoniously, though gently, and you squint on instinct until he lightly pulls your eyelid open, and flashes the light again. It only last for a moment before he pulls away, while your disoriented mind is still trying to process what is happening.
“How do you feel?” you focus on his voice — a steady pull, helping you ground yourself.
You think for a second, trying to discern exactly what you are feeling before answering — your head hurts still, <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>and your lip pulses with pain when you run your tongue over it,<</if>> but you seem to be fine otherwise.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>“I’m okay,” you master up a smile. “Just a bit disoriented.”<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>“Fine,” you grumble, your voice rough, “Just a headache.” <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>“I feel…fine,” your voice is soft, and by the way the doctor glances at you, you’re not sure he believes you. “My head hurts a little.”<</if>>
The man hums, seemingly in thought, and writes something down.
Before you can gather your thoughts enough to ask why you are here, he speaks up.
“You have lost consciousness near the woods,” You blink up at him, confused. “You are lucky your neighbour was passing by and brought you here.”
//Your neighbour?//
“You should stay here overnight,” he stands up, moves closer to you. “If you don’t feel well — “
<<button"//...//" "HP2">><</button>>“Do you want to play?” he asks you again in a small voice, as if already sure he will be rejected.
You purse your lips, look at his big pleading eyes and sigh, getting up from the bench.
“Sure.”
The boy actually gasps and his face lights up with a smile.
You feel your lips twich.
You both move closer to the field, as he hands you a ball, adjusting the baseball glove on his hand — worn and a bit too big for him.
You throw him a ball, careful not to use to much force, though he seems so excited, you doubt he’d mind for you to match his energy.
[[“What’s your name?”]]
[[“How old are you anyway?”]]
[[“Where are your parents?”]]
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>“No, it’s fine,” you hurry to say, interrupting him. He rises his eyebrow at you — sceptical. “I’ve just arrived in town yesterday. It’s been a rough few days.”
You give him your most reassuring smile. “I was just tired.”<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>“I’m good,” you hurry to say, voice sharper than you’ve intended. He rises his eyebrow at you — sceptical. “I just got here. I’ll be fine once I sleep it off.” <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>“I’m fine,” you hurry to say, interrupting him. He rises his eyebrow at you — sceptical. “I just got here. In town, I mean. It’s been… a rough few days.”
You keep your eyes on the floor. “I’ll be fine.”<</if>>
The doctor looks you over, the wrinkle between his brows getting deeper, and sighs.
“You shouldn’t leave alone then. Your friend is still waiting for you in the hall,” Your ears perk up at this. “Make sure to rest today, if you feel worse, come back in the morning.”
He instructs you for a few more minutes, asking something about your health, your state — you don’t really pay attention, at some point a nurse comes in, calls him doctor Anwar, and you take a chance to look at him closer, while he speaks to her.
He is an older man — rich brown skin lined with age, gray streaks vivid among the black of his hair and you try to remember if you ever saw him before.
It’s //weird// that you didn’t, you think, there is not much medical stuff in Marrowbone, not doctors anyway — most people needing to go out of town for anything more serious than common cold — and you are sure you would've met him during one of your routine check ups.
You wonder if he is out of town, how long has he been here and the thought makes you feel…curious.
People don’t come here to stay. Not the ones who are not tied to this place by their past or family, anyway.
But you suppose things change.
<<button"//...//" "HP3">><</button>>“Are you here to play <<if $gender is "woman">>, Miss?"<</if>> <<if $gender is "man">>, Mister?" <</if>> <<if $gender is "person">>?” <</if>>
The small voice snaps you out of your musings, and you turn your head, open one eye lazily, not making a move to get up, to see a boy standing near you, hands held timidly behind his back.
You look him over, trying to gauge his age — he looks a bit too young to be here alone, but you suppose that’s nothing new. There are hardly any places in this town kids don’t get into, one way or the other, and Marrowbone has always been safe.
You suppress a sigh, and put your cigarette out — there goes your peace and quiet.
“Nobody comes here anymore,” he rushes before you can answer. “It’s because of the water.”
“The water?” It catches your attention — the way he says it.
“Mhm,” he gives you a small nod. “It was really bad. Everyone had to leave.”
He looks down, kicks the dirt a little.
“It was scary. That’s why nobody comes here anymore.”
He must be talking about the flood you gather. There must have been another one after you left.
<<button"//...//" "BF4">><</button>>You move on autopilot, without paying attention to your surroundings until you spot a glimpse of a well-familiar sight — an ancient-looking gates of the abandoned baseball field stand before you.
You’re not sure it was ever put to use, certainly not in your time here, barely acknowledged by anyone aside from local teenagers, sneaking in to hang out at the bleachers in peace.
Including you, though with much less desire for company.
Not that there was much sneaking involved. No one was ever there.
<<button"//...//" "BF2">><</button>>Time passes while you play, and you have to admit, your mind does feel lighter, more clear than it has been since yesterday.
You give Phillip the last throw, dusting your hands on your jeans, when you notice the sun itching its way closer behind the hills.
He stops with you, still clutching the ball.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, voice small
“It’s getting late. C’mon kid, I’ll walk you home.”
He stares at you, silent, the gray of his eyes seeming darker in the setting sun. A beat passes before he smiles.
“It’s okay, mom will get me soon. She’ll be worried if I’m gone before she’s here.”
Your brows narrow at that.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” He just smiles wider and nods. “Thank you for playing with me.”
You hesitate for a moment before giving him a nod, and moving on, as he waves you goodbye.
<<button"//...//" "going home">><</button>>!There are no people left
// In the summer of 1984 you get a letter informing you of your mother's death.
The first and only letter you get in ten years since you left your hometown.
You stand in the middle of the old, tiny room that you can barely afford to rent and read it over and over again until the buzz at the back of your head quiets down. Until your hands stop shaking.
You think of what it means for you.
''"I hope you arrive soon. You know Marrowbone will always have a place for you."''
The words spin in your head and you think of Marrowbone then—a secret, lonely place, standing at the edge of everything, surrounded by forests and fields, barely acknowledged on the maps.
But it is home.
And whether you like it or not, you are coming back. //
<<button "begin" "story start">><</button>>You come up to the gates, notice the old rusty chain keeping it closed.
…the one loose enough for anyone to make a pretty comfortable opening to squeeze through.
Good to see some things stay the same.
You walk up to the seats, the worn wood moaning in distress when you plop down unceremoniously, resting your arm behind your head and close your eyes.
There is an odd comfort you find in coming back here, this place not holding the same baggage of troubled memories, that everything else in this town comes with for you.
You take out one of your cigarettes, notice how little you have left with some dismay, as you light it and take a deep breath. And suddenly you are sixteen again, skipping classes when you shouldn’t, Olya's shoulder pressed against yours, knees bumping as you sat near — laughter and a half empty can of beer, you've managed to smuggle from somwhere, shared between you.
You close your eyes and try to carve this moment into your memory — the sunlight brushing your face, the taste of smoke at the back of your throat, your fingers feeling the rough wood of the bench.
Something tells you you won’t have much of a chance for peace in the coming days.
<<button"//...//" "BF3">><</button>>You remember the floods, of course — there has been so many throughout Marrowbone’s history, everyone you knew remembered at least one in their lifetime — some were forgiving enough to pass in a few days with little to no damage, others less so.
A particularly bad one happened when you were around ten.
You recall the incessant rains, the following days when the water came up to the last step of your porch, nearly reaching the door. Your area got it the worst, being so close to the lake, you had to live with Sophia for nearly week before it got better, and then some more, while your parents had come back to repair the damages.
You didn’t see them much during that time, but Sophia was there with you — a comfort you were desperate for.
<<button"//...//" "BF5">><</button>>//Slowly// you turn around — every movement so painfully laggard — and look behind you.
<<button"//It greets you once again.//" "GH2.5">><</button>>“Phillip,” he gives you a smile — a timid thing that shows a small gap in his teeth.
“Misha,” you answer in return, as you give him another throw, and the boy stops, brows furrowed, as if pondering something very important.
Finally he nods sagely, coming to some sort of conclusion. “I like it.”
You huff a small laugh and catch the ball back.
“Me too, kid.”
[[“How old are you anyway?”]]
[[“Where are your parents?”]]“Umm…” he pauses for a second before smiling. “Eight.”
You pretend to aim the ball straight and throw it to the left at the last second. He catches it clumsily.
“You’re pretty good. For an eight year old.”
He giggles.
[[“What’s your name?”]]
[[“Where are your parents?”]]“Mom is working,” he catches the ball and throws it back to you. “She’s really busy, all the time. But I don’t mind. She works hard.”
You hum in response, not sure what to say.
[[“What’s your name?”]]
[[“How old are you anyway?”]]
<<button"//...//" "BF6">><</button>><<set $MC += 1>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> <<button"//...//" "BF1">><</button>> <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "charmer">> <<button"//...//" "book1">><</button>> <</if>><<set $MC += 1>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> <<button"//...//" "church1">><</button>> <</if>>You look towards the woods, swallowed by the shadows, the light of the setting sun barely reaching through. Your eyes search the treeline frantically — looking for something you’re not sure you know in the endless void.
//There// a glimpse of white behind one of the trees, you can’t quite make out at this distance. Your breath is shallow.
You take a slow, unsteady step down the porch, unblinking. Your chest feels tight.
Your head feels light, and before you know it — you are standing face to face with the darkness. The skin of your palms itch from anticipation.
You can almost see it. You just need to come a little closer.
Your bones ache in the need to move.
<<button"//STEP FORWARD//" "GH3">><</button>>
<<button"//...//" "hospital">><</button>>A cold touch against the back of your neck.
<<button"// ...//" "GH5">><</button>>You stand there for a bit, either of you not sure what to say. You really didn’t expect him here. Or at all.
Though, you suppose, it was bound to happen at some point.
You //are// neighbors after all.
As much as you could be anyway, despite the distance between your residences, being the ones of the rare few families to live on the outskirts of the town, near the forest.
You’re not sure how you come to know each other — at some point sneaking in into Timur’s house, hand in hand with Olya, when his parents where out for work, become a regular thing, your tentative at first friendship blossoming into a precious companionship fast — a thing only a bunch of bored and lonely twelve year olds could manage.
You’ve known him only for a year before the circumstances tore you apart.
Your eyes catch the pale outline of a scar on his jaw and you feel a pang of guilt, that <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>you swiftly push down.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>you swiftly push down.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> you let grow until you feel your teeth dig into your lip, immediately regretting it as the sharp pain pierces it through.<</if>>
Something that happened a lifetime ago shouldn’t matter now, you think.
Timur offers to walk you home then, feet shifting awkwardly, and you agree, of course<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>. You still feel a bit lightheaded after all, and you don't mind the company.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>, even if your instinct is to decline. You still feel a bit lightheaded after all.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>. You don’t want to be alone.<</if>>
<<button"//...//" "END">><</button>> <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You feel your nails dig into the meat of your palms. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You feel your nails dig into the meat of your palms. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You feel your teeth dig into your lip. The blood trickles down your chin.<</if>>
But you don’t mind the pain.
You drag your feet forward. Something shifts behind the tree.
<<button"//... //" "GH4">><</button>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">> “Wow,” you smirk, trying to play off your earlier fumble, “Didn’t expect you to grow so handsome.”
Timur blinks at you, taken aback, before casting his eyes down and you see his face flush as he fidgets in place.
You feel the corner of your lips tugging higher.
“Uh…thanks,” he practically mumbles, eyes not quite meeting yours. “You too. Look well I mean — “
He clears his throat, fingers digging into his forearm.
“You look good.” He finishes lamely, throwing you a quick glance, watching your reaction.
Maybe you are still lightheaded from passing out and maybe your mind is a mess, because you can’t contain the fond huff of laughter that slips out from your lips.
“Thank you.”
Timur gives you a smile — a small twitch of his lips, really — but you feel good seeing it regardless.
“And thanks for…bringing me here.” you wince, recalling the reason why you are here. You’re still not sure what exactly happened, the blurred ghost of a memory hanging heavy on your mind.
You really must be more tired than you thought.
Timur’s brows furrow and he shakes his head.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad I was passing by.” He clutches the light green of his sweater tighter, fabric stretching under his fingers. “I was…worried. For you.”
Maybe it takes you by surprise — the genuine concern in his voice, one you wouldn’t expect for practically a stranger — because you’re not sure what to say to that. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">> “Wow,” you deadpan, looking him over. “Didn’t expect you to get so tall.”
“Oh…thanks?” you notice his shoulders hunch a bit more, something that makes your brows furrow.
“It’s not a bad thing.” you clarify and maybe your tone is a bit too flat, because Timur doesn’t look like he believes you, eyes not quite meeting yours, so you make yourself clear.
“You look //good//, is what I meant.”
//That// gets him to straighten up, even if just from the surprise at your words. His face flushes, cheeks dusting darker, and you feel a tug of satisfaction somewhere in your chest. The corner of your lips twitches upward.
“I — Uh — Thanks,” he can’t seem to gather his thoughts. “You too. Look good I mean.”
You raise your eyebrow at his muttering, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “Thanks.”
Timur gives you a smile — a small twitch of his lips, really — but you feel good seeing it regardless.
“And thanks for…bringing me here, I guess.” you wince, recalling the reason why you are here. You’re still not sure what exactly happened, the blurred ghost of a memory hanging heavy on your mind.
You really must be more tired than you thought.
Timur’s brows furrow and he shakes his head.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad I was passing by.” He clutches the light green of his sweater tighter, fabric stretching under his fingers. “I was…worried. For you.”
Maybe it takes you by surprise — the genuine concern in his voice, one you wouldn’t expect for practically a stranger — because you’re not sure what to say to that. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>“You look good,” you’re not sure why you say this, the sentiment slipping out involuntarily, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind as you look him over.
Timur’s eyes widen, lips parting, and it takes you a few second of hanging silence to realize the remark was unwanted. You immediately cringe, gaze falling down to the floor.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to — “
“No it’s — “ he rushes, speaking over you. “It’s okay. I — You look good too.”
You look up again — mostly confused. His cheeks are flushed darker.
You’re not really convinced, but at least he doesn’t look offended. You nod and make sure to smile.
“Thank you.”
Timur gives you a smile in return — a small twitch of his lips, really — but you feel good seeing it regardless.
“And thank you for…bringing me here.” you wince, recalling the reason why you are here. You’re still not sure what exactly happened, the blurred ghost of a memory hanging heavy on your mind.
… you should stay away from the woods for now.
Timur’s brows furrow and he shakes his head.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad I was passing by.” He clutches the light green of his sweater tighter, fabric stretching under his fingers. “I was…worried. For you.”
Maybe it takes you by surprise — the genuine concern in his voice, one you wouldn’t expect for practically a stranger — because you’re not sure what to say to that. <</if>>
<<button"//...//" "HP5">><</button>>The silence stretches between you for a moment. It’s weird to see him again, you admit, surreal even. It must be weird for him too.
He doesn’t quite meet your gaze, eyes darting around, from the walls, to the floor, and only momentarily — to your face. You speak up before the awkward air around you becomes unbearable.
“The doctor said, you brought me here,” you wince, recalling the reason why you are here. You’re still not sure what exactly happened, the blurred ghost of a memory hanging heavy on your mind.
You really must be more tired than you thought.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>“Thank you,” your lips stretch into a smile and you brush your fingers against his shoulder in a grateful gesture, noticing the way he tenses from surprise. You retrieve your hand just a second before it gets to an uncomfortable amount of prolonged contact.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>“Thanks for that,” pushing your hands into the pockets of your jeans, you’re not exactly sure what else to say. Your fingers twitch to reach for a cigarette. <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>“Thank you,” you bring your jacket closer to your chest, fingers playing with the sleeve subconsciously, denim soft against your skin.<</if>>
Timur’s brows furrow and he shakes his head.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad I was passing by.” He clutches the light green of his sweater tighter, fabric stretching under his fingers. “I was…worried. For you.”
Maybe it takes you by surprise — the genuine concern in his voice, one you wouldn’t expect for practically a stranger — because you’re not sure what to say to that.
<<button"//...//" "HP5">><</button>>You’re not sure how much time passes, but when you come to yourself, the light of the setting sun is shining through the windows, painting the room in it’s warmth, and you decide that it’s time to go with some reluctance.
Aiyan walks you out, clasps your hands into hers and tells you you can visit her anytime.
Selfishly, you promise her so.
<<button"//...//" "going home">><</button>>You remember the floods, of course — there has been so many throughout Marrowbone’s history, everyone you knew remembered at least one in their lifetime — some were forgiving enough to pass in a few days with little to no damage, others less so.
A particularly bad one happened when you were around ten.
You recall the incessant rains, the following days when the water came up to the last step of your porch, nearly reaching the door. Your area got it the worst, being so close to the lake, you had to live with Sophia for nearly week before it got better, and then some more, while your parents had come back to repair the damages.
You didn’t see them much during that time, but Sophia was there with you — a comfort you were desperate for.
<<button"//...//" "book6">><</button>>You say your condolences quiet, real sympathy bleeding through the careful choice of words, but Aiyan just shakes her head.
“There is no need,<<if $gender is "woman">> my girl<</if>> <<if $gender is "man">> my boy<</if>> <<if $gender is "person">> my dear<</if>>, it’s all in the past. I’m just happy I got to stay here.” her eyes are soft once again when she looks at you, playful. Looking more like herself. “And I’m happy you still remember this old lady.”
You stay with her for a while. She talks the most, recounting the stories of the passed years you weren’t there to witness, and you admit your mind feels lighter, more clear than it has been since yesterday.
She doesn’t ask you any questions about your return and you are grateful.
<<button"//...//" "book7">><</button>>The silence stretches for a while. Or maybe it just feels that way, your own restless mind drawing it out in a useless attempt of escaping the answer, buying yourself time.
Sameera's voice makes your skin itch.
"I don't know."
Before you can spiral — and you feel just on the verge of it //why is she lying// - she continues, not giving you the chance.
"Sophia will be back soon. Discuss it with her first, then come back," she puts her pipe away, ignores your incredulous look. "If you'll still have anything to say that is."
"So I’m just supposed to wait for who knows how long to know why my mother died?" <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>your voice is quiet.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You spit the words out, harsh.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>You spit the words out, harsh.<</if>> The fingers of your hand twitch.
"You've managed just fine the past decade, it looks like, im sure a few more days won't make a difference."
There is a sound of something hitting the floor, and you come to yourself standing, fingers gripping the edge of the table, your knuckles white. The wooden cup Kalina had placed before you lays on the floor.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>It only aggravates you more that it didn't break.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>It only aggravates you more that it didn't break.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>A flash of a thought comes through your mind despite its muddied state. You are grateful that it didn't break.<</if>>
<<button"//...//" "GV11">><</button>>“Oh dear…I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Aiyan clasps her hands together before placing one of them on your shoulder. Her smile is wide. “It’s wonderful to have you back.”
She seems genuinely happy, and for some reason, it does take you aback, just a bit.
Before you can respond in kind, Aiyan looks around bashfully, face twisting into an apologetic grimace.
“Forgive me,<<if $gender is "woman">> my girl<</if>> <<if $gender is "man">> my boy<</if>> <<if $gender is "person">> my dear<</if>>, the store is a mess.” She moves aside, makes space for you to come closer to the counter. “It has been such a toil to take care of it ever since the flood.”
“The flood?” It catches your attention enough, that you take in the room once again. You suppose it explains why it feels so…dump here.
“Ah yes,” she continues, gaze becoming wistful. “A recent one too, such a mess it made. Couldn’t save half of my stock here, even if I tried.”
Her fingers brush against the counter. She doesn’t look at you, seemingly lost in her recollection of the event.
“Took away an awful lot of good things with it too.”
<<button"//...//" "book5">><</button>>The place looks…dusty. It was never the pinnacle of sophistication by any means — books often resting right on the floor for the lack of space, so much of them you often had to maneuver through, in order for not creating an even bigger mess — but it has always looked inviting. Well-cared for.
Now you can practically feel the stale air, the dim light its sheathed in making it look…desolet. Forgotten.
You hear shuffling from the back of the store and an even tinier storage room, that you were shown on several occasions when the shopkeeper was especially giddy to show you all the rare, high value tomes she didn’t want to display in the main area, comes out a woman you relieved upon recognizing.
She looks older. Of course. Hair, now completely gray, fall around her matured face and you recognize the big circular glasses with some fondness.
You wonder if it’s the same pair as when you last met.
The woman looks you over, likely trying to place your features and in no time her face lights up bright with affection.
“Misha? Is that you <<if $gender is "woman">>, my girl?"<</if>> <<if $gender is "man">>, my boy?" <</if>> <<if $gender is "person">>, my dear?” <</if>>
You feel your mouth twitch into a smile, your voice soft when you speak.
<<button"//“Hello, Aiyan.”//" "book3">><</button>>She has always insisted you called her by her first name — you found it awkward as a child but it stuck quick, and soon you couldn’t imagine using any formalities, her presence in your life that of a good friend.
She gives you a beaming smile then, the wrinkles around her eyes becoming more prominent, but yours slips just barely.
She looks pitiful. It’s an ungracious thing to think, but you can’t help to notice the way her eyes seem more dull, cheeks hollowed, her skin ashen. You search her face for the remnants of the bright and vibrant woman you knew, animated and live with energy, but come up blank. You suppose that’s what happens with age, the passing years cannot be kind to everyone, but there is a pull you feel in your chest and a certain thought that pops up in your head, as if you are the one at fault for this development.
You brush the ridiculous notion away swiftly.
<<button"//“...”//" "book4">><</button>>You wander aimlessly, hoping a walk will clear your mind, when you spot a well-familiar sight — a tiny bookshop standing ancient near the side of the road, the lettering of the front sign faded from time.
The look of it makes you pause, mind filling with recognition.
You remember visiting it a lot as a kid, being the only bookstore close enough to your residence, you used to make a stop there on your way home from school — the charming interior of the tiny space filled with books of all kinds and the almost constant absence of people quickly making you fond of the place.
The shopkeeper — a spry woman with graying curls and spectacles that made her eyes look three times bigger — liked to chat you up, excited to discuss your latest purchase, or sometimes just giving you free books entirely, which you were sure couldn’t be good for business, whatever little she had of it.
You make your way to it almost mindlessly, the old, comfortable pattern guiding your feet forward. You reach your hand out — trace the wooden handle with your fingers, hesitant.
You’re not sure what is it that you are trying to accomplish here — stirring up the pile of long forgotten memories for the sake of a fleeting moment of comfort, a sentiment you’ll have no use for — but before you can turn yourself away, your body moves by itself.
<<button"//You step in.//" "book2">><</button>>It's a short walk and Kalina releases you as soon as you come up to the gates, fingers brushing your arm in a lingering motion before she clasps her hands behind her back.
"It was good to see you, Misha," the flowers in her hair move with the wind, a stray petal coming free. Her eyes are dark. "I hope you visit us again."
You stand there — and it takes some effort for you to turn your gaze away, turn back with a mutter of acknowledgment you are not sure is even a proper goodbye, as you force yourself to move.
<<button"//...//" "GV15">><</button>>When you step outside, <<if $MCpers is "loner">> maybe shutting the door with more force than necessary, you immediately reach for a cigarette, flick the light and take a long drag, smoke filling your lungs.
Not that it makes you feel better, but your unnerved senses feel a bit more soothed now.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>maybe shutting the door with more force than necessary, you take a deep breath, the fresh air doing little to make you feel better, but your unnerved senses feel a bit more soothed now.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>you take a deep breath, the fresh air doing little to make you feel better, but your unnerved senses feel a bit more soothed now.<</if>>
You are not sure what you were expecting coming here, but loosing control of yourself like that — anger that nestled within you for so long spilling out, your limbs locked in its grasp, thoughts drowned in the too loud beat of your heart —<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>was not only embarrassing, but just made you more keen on how this town messes with your head.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>just made it all too clear on how much this town fucks with your head.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>was...unpleasant. You can't let this happen again.<</if>>
A naive, foolish part of you had hoped for an easy way out — going through your mother's funeral had seemed the biggest challenge that you would have to face but at least, you thought, it would have been over quickly.
At least, you thought, it might ease the crushing, pulsing ache that has been growing steadily within you for the past decade.
But of course you should have known this place would never let go of you that easy.
[[You are still adamant about your plans. You can't stay here. You're leaving as soon as you deal with your circumstances.]]
[[Despite the heavy toll your return took on you, you find yourself...hesitant. Being here feels different. You are not sure if its the sentimentality left in you talking, but you feel like the missing pieces are finally clicking into place.]]
The girl's name is Kalina, she tells you with a sweet smile, as you move towards the building together, and there is a pep to her step, as she practically skips, hands held behind her back.
"You work here, i assume?" you never thought Sameera to be someone to hire assistants, seemed way too stubborn and particular about her solitude for that, but you really didn't know her that well. Perhaps she has changed. A lot of things seem to have.
"I do," Kalina glances at you, as you fall into step with her. "Sameera has been very kind to give me a place here."
She continues without skipping a bit, eyes on you. "Do you have anyone here?"
It's said in such a casual way, her voice light, it takes you a second to realize what she is talking about.
[[...you suppose you can tell her. The sooner you learn to talk about it the better.]]
[[No. You don't.]]The small iron gate creaks when you open it, rusted hinges grinding in effort. You walk past the overgrown hedges, the ancient stone, flowers spurting to life through the cracks of the old statues — bright yellow buds of chamomile against the gray.
You make out a wooden cabin somewhere in the distance and move towards it steadily, your steps slow as you take in the view.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You suppose this place could be called beautiful. Peaceful at least.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You suppose this place could be called beautiful. Peaceful at least.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You have always thought this place beautiful.<</if>>
You have only visited the graveyard a couple of times as a child — in such a tight knit community, any death gathers people together and it's a common practice to attend the funerals of someone you might have only crossed paths with once.
But you have never been here for someone you truly cared for — your grandparents gone before you even got the chance to know them.
You look upon the burial ground, the uneven scattered graves and wonder if your mother's one will fit in the same way, forever lost to anyone but you.
<<button"//...//" "GV2">><</button>>"Do you know where she is?" The rational part of you insists that there is nothing to worry about, but still you feel something gnawing at the pit of your stomach. You never known her to disappear like that. "I went to her earlier, but she was gone."
"She does that, yes."
Sameera takes a drag out of her pipe. Let's the smoke hide her face. "She'll be back soon. Hopefully."
"So you do know?"
She barks out a laugh and you lean back in your seat, mostly confused. Your frustration grows by the second.
"No," her mouth twists in disdain. "I don't."
Despite your best efforts you feel your eyes narrow, nails digging deeper into your skin. You can feel the beat of your heart pulse in your temples. <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>If she doesn't want to talk about Sophia //fine// you refuse to let this conversation be a complete waste of time.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>If she doesn't want to talk about Sophia //fine// but you didn't come here for nothing.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>If she doesn't want to talk about Sophia, you understand, but there is anxiety building up inside, the pressure in your temples growing stronger. Unbearable. //You need to ask her.//<</if>>
<<button"//“What happened to my mother?”//" "GV10">><</button>>You just come up to the willow tree at the heart of the graveyard when you hear something.
A soft humming coming from somewhere deeper and you step closer, look past the hanging branches, the green obscuring your vision but you manage to catch a glimpse of someone — a woman.
She is kneeling in front of the especially ancient looking gravestone, a bunch of them arranged neatly near the trunk of the tree, a cloth in a pale hand as she cleans the tablet in a gentle caress. You can't see her face, just a head of black hair tied in two braids, white flowers woven into them, her dress pure white and ruffled. <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You almost grimace at the sight of her knees digging into the ground, the hem of the dress already soiled.<</if>>
Her voice is a soft whisper carried in the wind and you can't quite make out the words, just the sweet melodic lilt of them.
You halt your steps, stay still for a second listening in, and before you can make a decision whether to keep on your way or get her attention, she stops abruptly and turns her head to you.
Her eyes meet yours.
<<button"//...//" "GV4">><</button>>You come up to the cabin soon enough, watch Kalina gather her dress to come up the steps of the porch. She pushes the door open and waltzes through, leaving it open for you.
You stand there for a second, not sure if you should walk in, watch Kalina make her way towards the back of the cabin, leaning through the doorway of a room you can't see from here. Her voice is loud enough that you can hear it.
"Sameera! Someone is here to see you."
<<button"//...//" "GV7">><</button>>"Hi," mouth pulled into a smile, her greeting soft, and you guess she can see the tension that you are carrying because it drops into a purse of her lips instead, a curious tilt of the head. "Guess it didn't go well."
"Sorry about her," it doesn't look like she is particularly apologetic, voice light, fingers playing idly with the end of her braid, and you wonder if it's a common procedure — apologies ready for anyone who has got unlucky enough to deal with the watcher personally. "She is a bit of a recluse. I'm the one who handles the visitors usually."
<<if $MCpers is "loner">>"Yeah," you breath out the smoke, let the cigarette burn your fingers a little when you hold it. "I can see why."<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>"It's fine," you don't think you do an especially good job of sounding like you mean it, but your agitated state prevents you from lingering on it, still feeling on edge. "I suppose, you can't win them all."<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>"It's okay," you really mean it too. Though you can't help how your fingers dig into the flesh of your arm a bit too hard when you clutch your elbows together. "It's nothing i didn't expect."<</if>>
Just as you about to say your goodbyes and //finally// depart, leave this place and the conversation behind, Kalina is suddenly near you and her hand sneaks around you, linking your arms together as she practically bounces in place, excitement radiating off of her.
"I'll walk you back," she chirps, smile wide and you follow on instinct, not getting the chance to say anything, when she tugs you along.
[[Surprisingly, you don't mind it that much.]]
[[You go with her begrudgingly, though you want to take your arm away.]]You stand there dumbly for a second, watch Kalina make her way towards the back of the cabin as she leans through the doorway of a room you can't see from here. Her voice is loud enough that you can hear it.
"Sameera! Someone is here to see you."
<<button"//...//" "GV7">><</button>>You can't shake the feeling of her eyes on you all the way back to the main road.
<<button"//...//" "before church">><</button>>You force yourself to calm, relax your fingers slowly, the feel of Sameera's eyes on you burning as you try to deal with your...outburst.
Her sigh brings you a bit more clearance, the movement she makes to stand up letting you focus on something to distract your mind from the raging claws tearing through your ribs, at the insides of your chest. You clench your jaw tighter.
//This wasn't supposed to happen.//
"Look kid," she faces you, but doesn't come near, stands on the opposite side of the table and it makes you feel like a wild animal that is threatening to pounce at one wrong turn. "It's not my place to tell you what happened."
Her voice is rough with frustration<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> and something you can almost mistake for regret<</if>>.
"More than that, i don't //know// what to tell you." She throws you one last glance before turning her back to you.
<<button"//“You need to wait for Sophia.”//" "GV12">><</button>>When you finally walk in, taking the open door as an invitation, you hear a grunt and a frustrated mumble as a woman — short and stocky, gray curls cropped short, the navy blue coat hanging on her a bit too big — walks out of the back room, her lips thin when she spots you.
You recognize her quickly, of course. It's not a hard thing to do considering her being Sophia's twin, though you have always thought it was curious how different they were from each other — Sameera's dark eyes and furrowed brows, a near constant scowl seemed so alien on a face so similar to Sophia's — as a child it surprised you they were sisters at all, despite the familiar features.
Her stare is intense, eyes looking you up and down and you have an inclination she might not remember you — you were barely a teen the last time you saw her and even that was in passing.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You give her your best smile, maybe you can win her over. You have had harder challanges.
"Hello, I'm here for — "<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>You’re not intending to waste any time here, so you go straight to the point.
“I’m here for — “<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> You chew on your lips, not dure where to start.
"I'm — " <</if>>
"I know you,” Sameera's voice is rough when she interrupts you. "The Veron's <<if $gender is "woman">>girl<</if>> <<if $gender is "man">>boy<</if>> <<if $gender is "person">>kid<</if>>."
You blink at the mention of your family's name and press your lips together. Seems like she remembers you after all.
Kalina’s eyes dart to you for a split second, before she moves to the tiny kitchen — barely separated from what you assume is a living room — busying herself with the kettle.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>"Right," You push your hands deeper into the pockets of your jacket. Don't let your smile slip. "I'm glad you remember me. It has been a while."<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>"Yep," You push your hands deeper into the pockets of your jacket. Your fingers brush the half crumpled pack of cigarettes — an odd comfort. "Wasn't sure you'd remember me."<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>"Yes," you give her a tentative nod, confirming your identity as if there is any need for that. "I...wasn't sure you would remember me." <</if>>
Sameera humphs and gestures at the table with a nod, sitting down herself as she mutters something under her breath. You take seat, uncertain of what's to come.
<<if $MCpers is "loner">>"You know why I’m here then." It’s not really a question. If she remembers you, there is no doubt that she must know. <</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>"You know why I’m here then?" You watch her face carefully. If she remembers you, there is no doubt that she must know.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>"You know why I’m here then?" //She must// you think. There is no other way about it.<</if>>
<<button"//...//" "GV8">><</button>>Sameera is silent, her eyes not leaving your face, almost guarded, though you have no idea why would she be.
You're not sure what exactly it is that she finds in your features that causes her to sigh so heavy.
"Go finish your work, girl." She speaks without turning and it takes you a moment to understand she addresses not you but Kalina.
The woman doesn't protest, places the steaming kettle and empty mugs on the table and passes by, not before giving you a smile you'd like to think encouraging.
The door closes behind her and just like that you are alone.
You watch Sameera reach into the inner pocket of her coat, take out a pipe, a flicker of a flame catches your attention as she lights the match.
"Sophia wrote to me," you say when you realize she isn't going to speak first. You're not sure why, but you feel the need to explain yourself, to justify your return to Marrowbone as if she doesn't already know why you are here.
"Hmph. So she did."
There is a wrinkle between her brows that gets deeper with each passing second, lips thin in resignation and you really can't imagine what would cause such a reaction. Sophia was — is — the sweetest person you know. Kindest too. And even though you can imagine the tension that would come between the sisters with such differing personalities you cannot stand the downright distaste in Sameera's voice at the mention of her name. Something jumps in you — a protective instinct — and you have to curl your fingers into a fist, the nails digging into your palm to resist it.
You're not here to pick up fights.
<<button"//Instead you keep talking.//" "GV9">><</button>>You force yourself to look away and keep walking.
<<button"//...//" "GV3">><</button>>There is a bit of red paint on her eyelids, you notice, that makes them look bigger, //darker//, a void against the pale of her skin.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and you kick yourself mentally for staring, before giving her an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, i didn't mean to interrupt."<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and you kick yourself mentally for staring, before giving her an aknowledging nod.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt." you push your hands deeper into the pockets of your jacket. <</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and you kick yourself mentally for staring, before giving her a small nod.
"Sorry, i didn't mean to interrupt." you fidget in place, push your hands into the pockets of your jacket. <</if>>
The girl blinks at you,<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> you notice her eyes widen just slightly<</if>> and she suddenly breaks into a smile — big and dimpled.
"Oh no, no, i was just distracted," she gets up from her knees, dusting herself off, though with little success, the dress is stained too deep.
"Are you looking for someone?" she asks, tilting her head to the side just a bit, smile still wide.
You look back towards the cabin, where the watcher's residence supposed to be, and a small guard shack adjacent to it — you never knew if living here was out of convenience or Sameera's personal preference.
"I need to see Sameera," You really hope she still works here. "Is she here?"
"Of course," the girl places the cloth near the sidewalk and comes up closer. If she is surprised at you knowing the watcher by name, she doesn't show it. "I'll walk you."
<<button"//...//" "GV5">><</button>>"...my mother." your voice is quiet when you speak. "Not yet. But soon, i think."
You feel Kalina's gaze burning into you, the skin at the back of your neck itching, but you keep your eyes on the ground.
This is the first time you say anything regarding your mother's death out loud. Somehow it makes it more real, the thought — a mere concept of her being gone, not yet fully realized into existence — finally sinks so sharply you feel out of balance.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You keep your face neutral but your whole body becomes tense and it takes a substantial amount of effort for you to relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw — a reminder of someone's eyes on you bringing you clearance.
It's //frustrating// how much it suddenly affects you, as if you didn't have a full week to ruminate in all of the thoughts, all of the memories and pain that came with that blasted letter.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "loner">>You grit your teeth, feel your brows furrow. It's //frustrating// how much it suddenly affects you, as if you didn't have a full week to ruminate in all of the thoughts, all of the memories and pain that came with that blasted letter.<</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You bite the inside of your mouth. Taste the blood on your tongue. It's still hard to think about it now as it was an hour, a day, a week before — nights and days you have spent ruminating in all of the thoughts, all of the memories that came with that letter.
You think maybe it won't ever be easy. Maybe the sharp, violent twist deep in your guts at the mere thought of her is all that you will ever have. A part of you hopes so.<</if>>
"Were you close?" Kalina's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, even if just from the surprise at the question. Her head is tilted to the side as she watches you — the intensity of her gaze heavy.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>[[No.]]
[[You smile and deflect. You don't want to talk about it.]] <</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>[[No.]]
[[That's none of her business and you tell her so.]]<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>[[...maybe once. You are not sure.]]
[[You avert your gaze. You are not sure this is something you are willing to share.]]<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You match the laid-back tone of the question when you speak, even if it makes your skin prickle with irritation. It's not a lie either way. You //don't// have anyone here.
//Not yet.//<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>Maybe your answer comes out a little harsher than you have intended but she doesn't seem to notice. Or care. It's not a lie either way. You //don't// have anyone here.
//Not yet.//<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>Your voice is quiet when you answer, your eyes on the ground. It's not a lie either way. You //don't// have anyone here.
//Not yet.//<</if>>
Kalina just hums, taps a finger on her chin, as you come up closer to the cabin. The little flower bed filled with daisies and marigolds to the side of it is a stark contrast against the depressing feel of the place — dark, old wood and tiny windows, the thing itself leaning to the left almost unnaturally, as if about to collapse at any moment.
"Everyone has someone here," she says thoughtful, gathering her dress to walk up the steps of the porch. Her fingers rest on the handle as she turns to you, crinkles around her eyes from how wide she is smiling. "It's okay. You still have time."
<<button"//...//" "GV6">><</button>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>"We have been distant lately," you're not sure why are you even entertaining the question instead of shutting it down immediately. It seems arriving here thrown you off your game a bit too much, for your liking. "That what happens when you move out, I suppose. Start your own life."
Kalina's eyes dart away for a second, fingers twitching against the folds of her dress before her gaze comes back to you.
Her smile is a small, tentative thing when she echoes your words back at you.
"I suppose."
The rest of the way is passed in silence.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>"No." It's a short, curt thing, something you are not willing to elaborate on and you make it clear by passing her and keeping on your way. You feel her stare on your back. Thankfully, the rest of the way is passed in silence. You are really coming up on your tolerance for all of the questions.<</if>>
<<button"//...//" "GV6alt">><</button>>You just realize you have already came up to the cabin as Kalina gathers her dress to step up the porch, letting her hand rest on the doorknob as she turns to you expectantly.
"It's a bit of a struggle to keep in contact when you live so far apart," your smile feels thin, but you know it looks perfect. "You know how busy life gets sometimes."
"Of course," she says in a way that makes your brow furrow. A //placating// one like she can see straight through the vague way you dance around the question, but decides to play along for your sake.
Before you can answer — the prick of irritation you felt becoming so much stronger — she pushes the door open and waltzes through, leaving it open for you.
<<button"//...//" "GV6">><</button>>You just realize you have already came up to the cabin, she gathers her dress to step up the porch, letting her hand rest on the doorknob as she turns to you expectantly.
"Not really any of your business, is it," you state more than ask, tone flat. You're really getting sick from all of the questions.
You expect an offended side-eye or an awkward look, you sucseed at getting both of these more often then not, but instead Kalina's lips stretch into a smile — a wider one, cheeks dimpled.
"Of course," she says in a way that makes your brow furrow. A //placating// one like she is conceding to the whims of an especially petulant child. "It's only yours."
Before you can answer — the prick of irritation you felt becoming so much stronger — she pushes the door open and waltzes through, leaving it open for you.
<<button"//...//" "GV6">><</button>>You just realize you have already came up to the cabin and she gathers her dress to step up the porch, letting her hand rest on the doorknob as she turns to you expectantly.
"I don't know," is the first thing that comes to your mind and you utter it quietly, press your lips together and glance up at her expecting skepticism, confusion.
Kalina's eyes are on you when her lips twist into a smaller, softer smile. Her eyes seem black under the passing lights.
"I understand. We will take good care of her."
Before you can answer or even process what was said, she pushes the door open and waltzes through, leaving it open for you.
<<button"//...//" "GV6">><</button>>You let your eyes fall again, trying to think of something to say, to explain exactly what you are feeling but come up blank. You...don't want to think about it.
"We should hurry," you finally say, eyes flickering up to her and you are not sure what to expect as an answer to your deflection, so it takes you aback when her lips stretch into a smile.
"Of course," she says, and you try not to fidget under the weight of her gaze. "Let's move then."
The rest of the way is passed in silence.
<<button"//...//" "GV6alt">><</button>>!THERE ARE NO PEOPLE LEFT
!!!Misha is a <<cycle "$gender" autoselect>> <<option "woman" "woman" (set: $gender = "woman")>> <<option "man" "man" (set: $gender = "man")>> <<option "person" "person" (set: $gender = "person")>> <</cycle>>
!!!They are <<cycle "$MCpers" autoselect>> <<option "a loner" "loner" (set: $MCpers = "loner")>> <<option "charming" "charmer" (set: $MCpers = "charmer")>> <<option "weird." "weirdo" (set: $MCpers = "weirdo")>> <</cycle>>
!!!They are <<cycle "$height" autoselect>> <<option "tall" "tall" (set: $height = "tall")>> <<option "an average height" "mid" (set: $height = "mid")>> <<option "short" "short" (set: $height = "short")>><</cycle>> and <<cycle "$hair" autoselect>> <<option "have shaved head" "baldie" (set: $hair = "baldie")>> <<option "have hair" "hair" (set: $hair = "hair")>> <<option "have braids" "braids" (set: $hair = "braids")>> <</cycle>>
You try again — put a bit more force behind it now, but the result is the same.
//Why?// Has Sophia already left? Was she home at all this night?
The involuntarily spiral of your thoughts makes you clench your hand tight around the handle, anxiety rising, making your chest tighten, and you have to force it down, squeeze tighter before relaxing your fingers, letting your hand fall.
You plop down on the top step of the porch, legs stretched out and you flex your fingers slowly, try and gather your thoughts.
She must be already running some errands, you decide. Or perhaps she stayed over at a neighbor's place. This must be it.
You have half a mind to stay here, wait for Sophia's return even if if takes hours, not like you have much to do beside that anyway, but your eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar sight in the distance.
A graveyard, standing far, closer to the hills and you think of it's watcher — Sameera.
Sophia's twin sister.
You were never close with her. Not in general and definitely not in the same way you were with Sophia. You have met the watcher once or twice, on certain occasions where she always kept her distance and you never felt brave enough to approach her — the sullen look of her eyes and the seemingly constant discontent of her state dissuade you fast enough.
You can make your way there, ask Sameera whatever you need to.
You will have to get acquainted with the local graveyard soon enough either way.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait.]] The route you take is the one you are well acquainted with. You have visited Sophia's house so often, you don't think you could forget the way there even if you tried.
When you reach it — a small cottage on the outskirts of the town with its thatched roof and specs of colored flowers near the windows — your chest swells with warmth at the sight of it, memories kept dear in your consciousness brought back to life.
It feels uncanny — how little it changed; every board, every patch of grass stayed in its place, like a picture, taken so long ago, placed in it's stead — you can count each cracked line, each gap in between the neatly fitted bricks and they all will still be there, just like they were ten years ago.
When you come up to the door, You stay there, not moving. Your knuckles brush the old wood. For some reason this moment feels like a finality, like surrendering yourself to the current.
There is no way back after.
You tap on the door lightly once, twice — louder now, and wait.
Your answer is silence.
<<button"//...//" "S2">><</button>>You could never get the paint out under your nails. One of your worst habits.
<<button"..." "b1.6">><</button>>Your school years are a blur, flashing memories of a life left behind.
<<cycle "$MCpers" autoselect>>
<<option "You never brought much attention to yourself. The lessons always bored you to death — time you would rather spend on the old baseball field, cigarettes hidden under one of the seats. The silence is what you liked the most." "loner" (set: $MCpers = "loner")>>
<<option "You were quite popular in your days, good grades and a charming presence. A pretty smile and a helping hand when you needed to be. The teachers loved you. There wasn't much of anyone who didn't." "charmer" (set: $MCpers = "charmer")>>
<<option "Your teachers used to say you were rather airheaded. You used to feel embarrassed, guilty rather, but it wasn't your fault. There was always something catching your attention, things you couldn't explain, that made your mind foggy, your memory scattered. You have never felt present." "weirdo" (set: $MCpers = "weirdo")>>
<</cycle>>
<<button"..." "bus2">><</button>><<set $MC +=1>><<set $WTS = 1>>When you pass the willow tree once again, Kalina is still there — hands linked together behind her back, the folds of her dress swaying gently in the wind, gaze locked onto the dark treeline — intense.
You don't have a chance to see what has captured her attention so much, her head turning to you almost immediately as if she was waiting for your approach.
<<button"//...//" "GV13">><</button>><<set $WTL = 1>>When you pass the willow tree once again, Kalina is still there — hands linked together behind her back, the folds of her dress swaying gently in the wind, gaze locked onto the dark treeline — intense.
You don't have a chance to see what has captured her attention so much, her head turning to you almost immediately as if she was waiting for your approach.
<<button"//...//" "GV13">><</button>>It doesn't exactly bother you, much to your surprise. Despite being very mindful of your personal space you find it almost...<<if $MCpers is "loner">>charming.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>calming.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>soothing.<</if>> The way she clings to your arm, her touch anchoring you down from the clouded mess of your thoughts. A comfort you wouldn't except.
<<button"//...//" "GV14">><</button>>The familiarity in which she touches you...<<if $MCpers is "loner">>annoys you, plainly speaking.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>annoys you, plainly speaking.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>unsettles you.<</if>> Being as mindful of your personal space as you already are, it's always a challenge to deal with people who don't seem to have any concept of it.
<<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You twist your lips and try to relax your shoulders. It's just until you reach the gates, and frankly — you feel to drained to protest.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>You roll your eyes, but don't bother to move away. It's just until you reach the gates, and frankly — you feel to drained to protest.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You hope she doesn't notice the way your body flinches and you try to relax your shoulders, match her steps with yours, in hope to hide your discomfort.<</if>>
<<button"//...//" "GV14">><</button>><<if $MCpers is "loner">> <<button"//...//" "BF1">><</button>> <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "charmer">> <<button"//...//" "book1">><</button>> <</if>> <<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> <<button"//...//" "church1">><</button>> <</if>>You tried to get back to school shortly after you left, though it didn't really work out.
You did make it, even got through the first year, but it became a toll soon enough — days of absence turned into weeks when you were at your worst, the thought of going back there unbearable. You were lucky it took them time to kick you out of the student's accommodations, just enough for you to find a new place, granted a tiny, rough-looking one that you could barely afford, but at least had all for yourself.
There wasn't many options left for you after that. You've been juggling a bunch of odd jobs for the past decade, never really settling on anything.
The next few years were rough — later too but less so, since you have gotten used to the ungrateful work and constant shiftings of your life, nothing ever substantial enough to actually change your way of living but just sufficient to get by.
<<if $MCpers is "loner">>"I was a delivery driver," it was the last gig you had before getting the news about your mother and you hope it sounds boring enough to dissuade the girl from asking any more questions.
"You must have seen a lot of cool places then."
//Not really// you think.
"Sure," you say.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>"I did house-sitting for a while," you always knew how to approach people, and more than that — how to make them like you. Especially the rich ones, who didn’t seem to mind overpaying for a well-placed smile or a calculated, awestruck compliment about the antique furniture or their pet numerous pageant wins.
"Like for money?" The girl snickers, mouth hidden behind her hand. "Why would anyone pay for that?"
You just shrug your shoulders and take a sip of your drink.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>"Nothing special," you brush the cold stone of the countertop with your fingers, follow the lines, eyes stuck on the movement. "Worked at a gas station for a while."
The girl visibly deflates, perhaps dissapointed at your general predicament or at the very least a lack of elaboration.<</if>>
"Well, //I'm// a journalist!" she proclaims proudly, hands on her hips and maybe her voice is a bit too loud because the people from the back table glance in your direction but she doesn't seem to notice, just babbles on. "I will be, i mean, not yet. I've been writing for the school paper since sixth grade, and even the radio a couple of times, the local one, you know, it's like my calling!"
She goes on about her writing, how she has been preparing since middle school to get a job in the field, which you guess was the reason why she asked about yours in the first place, and you listen<<if $MCpers is "charmer">> with a quirk of your lips.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">> attentively.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">> passively, though you admit, <</if>>It's kind of endearing, in a way, the passion with which she speaks.
"Anyway," she finally takes a breath, pats the apron with her hands. "I'm turning eighteen in October. Gonna leave as soon as i have enough savings."
<<if $MCpers is "loner">>"Mhm. Good luck with that." despite your detached composition its a genuine sentiment. You do hope she gets to leave. To follow her dream.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>“I’m sure you will,” You can’t help the cynical, little note to your voice. But despite that your next words are genuine. “Good luck to you.”<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>“Good luck,” your lips twitch into a smile. You do hope she gets to leave. To live her life.<</if>>
She beams at you, smile wide enough to show teeth.
[[Watch the other patrons]]
[[Wait]]Finally, you go on your way. You hope you can deal with it swiftly.
<<button"//...//" "GV1">><</button>>Or you can just wait here. Which doesn't seem like a good idea, but maybe the luck is on your side. Maybe Sophia will come back from whatever morning errands she had soon enough — and you would hate to miss her again.
So you wait. Lean back on your hands, face the graying, blue sky, sunlight caressing your skin, and stay like that for a while.
You are not sure how much time passes — but it can't be that long.
<<if $MCpers is "loner">>And you are already bored out of your mind.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>And you already feel the itch to move, to do //something//.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>And you already can't stand the silence, mind drowning in the sound of your own thoughts — scratching at your brain from the inside out, too loud. Too invasive.<</if>>
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait some more]]<<if $MCpers is "loner">>You light up a cigarette — more out of boredom than actual need, watch the wisps of smoke coming off the lit end, drifting up.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "charmer">>You get up and pace around for a bit, make your way around the house, try the back door just in case, which you promptly find closed.<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>You hold your breath, count down from ten in your head — trying to drown out the incessant buzz of your thoughts. Dig your teeth into the flesh of your lip and try to stay still.<</if>>
It's still early enough for the streets to be mostly empty but you do see a couple of townsfolk going about on their way, some throwing you a weird look, which you <<if $MCpers is "charmer">>try to<</if>><<if $MCpers is "weirdo">>try to<</if>><<if $MCpers is "loner">>promptly<</if>> ignore.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait a bit more]]You think back to the other night. You try not to, but your bored mind drifts to it almost against your will. Olya's face is a fresh memory, an image seared into your eyelids — how tired she looked. How dejected.
<<if $OR == 0>>You wonder when will you run into her again. It seems inevitable at this point.<</if>><<if $OR == 1>> You wonder if you should just try and avoid her altogether.<</if>>
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait again]]The time stretches slowly. You don't have a watch on you, but you think you might have hit a twenty minute mark. You don't think this is working. Maybe you should just go.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait?]] You don't think Sophia is coming back any time soon. You'll definitely get more luck just talking to Sameera.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait again.]]
There is really no point to it now. You feel more frustrated with each passing second.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait some more.]]You really should get moving.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait a bit more.]]You really should get moving.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait a bit more?]]You really should get moving.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait some more?]]You really should get moving.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait again?]]This is ridiculous.
[[Visit the graveyard]]
[[Wait once more]]Your musings — whatever they were — are interrupted by the sound of rustling leaves and then — a voice.
"What are you doing?!"
When you look up the first thing you notice is a fox mask — wooden and crudely made, but unmistakable in its likeness, streaks of orange and white painted on it.
You blink at the kid — and it takes you a second to realize that it is one, a girl, stomping towards you from...somewhere. A fox mask fitting neatly on her face — the only thing you see beside that, is a head of messy, red hair and angry eyes, half-hidden.
"Ugh, why are you still here?"
"I'm..waiting for Sophia?" you're not exactly sure what you did for her to sound so cross with you. You don't exactly remember doing anything that might have angered the local community of ten year olds.
"Well she's not here dumbass," her fists are placed on her hips and you blink at the insult. Since when kids here has gotten so rude? "In case you still didn't notice."
"Where is she then?"
Even though you can't see her eyes fully, for some reason you are sure she is rolling them at you.
"How would i know? Not here that's for sure. So move!"
"Right," you look her up and down — note the baggy, almost ill-fitting clothes — a jacket that is a bit too big, old looking boots and different colored socks peaking out. "And you are...?"
"None of your business that's who. And //you// are the one who's ruining the game." she actually grabs the sleeve of your jacket, which obviously isn't enough to get you up, but you move automatically, still confused when she starts pushing you towards the road. "So go already!"
You have half a mind to stay, ask her more questions — it's not uncommon for the kids to hang out in their neighbours yards, and Sophia has always been wonderful with children — but the girl doesn't look receptive to it at all, and you are not about to pick a fight with a kid.
You conclude that perhaps you did interrupt some kind of game the local kids were playing and cease to your fate. You were going to go on your way to the graveyard anyway.
Throwing her the last, confused look, you move towards the hills under the girl's watchful eye.
[[Visit the graveyard]]