The Curse of Cassandra

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<<fadein 2s>><span class="logo"> <img src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0a/Twine_vector_logo.svg/896px-Twine_vector_logo.svg.png"> </span><</fadein>> <<timed 4s t8n>><span class="game-start-timed"> Click anywhere to continue... </span><</timed>> <<cont>><<goto 'start-menu'>><</cont>>

<<fadein 1s>> <div id="start-title">The Curse of Cassandra</div> <div id="start-subtitle">by Gray</div> <<nobr>><div id="start-menu"> <<button "New Game" "c_0.01">><<set $chapter to "Prologue">><</button>> <<nobr>><<if Save.autosave.ok() and Save.autosave.has()>><<button "Resume Game">><<run Save.autosave.load()>><</button>><</if>><</nobr>> <<button "Load Game">><<run UI.saves();>><</button>> <<button "Settings">><<run UI.settings();>><</button>> <<button "Credits">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("credits","credits"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("credits").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</button>> </div><</nobr>> <</fadein>>

<h2>Twine + Sugarcube</h2> <li>Twine by Chris Klimas - <a href="https://twinery.org/cookbook/" target="_blank">Twine Cookbook</a></li> <li>Sugarcube by Thomas Michael Edwards - <a href="https://www.motoslave.net/sugarcube/2/docs/" target="_blank">Sugarcube 2 Documentation</a></li> <li>Custom Macros - <a href="https://github.com/ChapelR/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2" target="_blank">ChapelR Custom Macros Collection</a></li> <li>Sugarcube Template by Becky (@<a href="https://www.tumblr.com/losergames" target="_blank">losergames</a> on tumblr) - <a href="https://losingface.itch.io/a-sugarcube-template" target="_blank">Sugarcube Template</a></li> <h2>Resources</h2> <li>Icons - <a href="https://fontawesome.com/" target="_blank"> Font Awesome Icons</a></li> <li>Fonts - <a href="https://fonts.google.com/" target="_blank">Google Fonts</a>, <a href="https://opendyslexic.org/" target="_blank">Open Dyslexic</a></li> <li>CSS + HTML Tutorials - <a href="https://www.w3schools.com/">W3Schools</a></li> <h2>Disclaimer</h2> THE CURSE OF CASSANDRA is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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<h1>Heading 1</h1> <h2>Heading 2</h2> <h3>Heading 3</h3> <<button "Button">><</button>> <<textbox "$textbox" $textbox>> <<listbox "$listbox">> <<option "Listbox 1">> <<option "Listbox 2">> <<option "Listbox 3">> <</listbox>> <<cycle "$cycle">> <<option "Cycling 1">> <<option "Cycling 2">> <<option "Cycling 3">> <</cycle>> <li>List Item</li> <li>List Item</li> <li>List Item</li> <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue|p_00]]</div> <div class="flirt-choice-item">[[Continue|p_00]]</div> <div class="special-choice-item">[[Continue|p_00]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if settings.notifs>><<if tags().includes('autosave')>><<notify 3.5s>>Saving...<</notify>><</if>><</if>> /* autosaving -- the autosave notif needs to be 'present' at all times so is stored in the passageheader, only popping up when you add the [autosave] tag onto one of your passages. this is mainly for aesthetics as the autosave function is currently set up to save on EVERY passage. this can be changed in the javascript settings, e.g. you could configure it to only autosave on passages with the [autosave] tag notify is also a ChapelR macro, not a default sugarcube macro, so make sure to familiarise yourself with the documentation!*/ <script> var myDiv = document.getElementById('passages'); myDiv.scrollTop = 0; </script> /* scroll top -- this script makes the page scroll back to the top every time you move on to the next passage -- do not delete it! */

<h1>Profile</h1> Name: $name $surname Pronouns: $they / $them

/* comment -- this is where to set up your variables -- you can delete the examples below. note that $chapter is used to change the chapter title in the title bar. you can either delete this, change the variable name, or change the variable(s) used entirely note that $chapter and $name are also used for the autoname save function. you can either delete this, change the variable name, or change the variable(s) used entirely (in the Javascript file) */ <<set $chapter = "">> <<set $name = "Unknown">> <<set $textbox = "textbox">> <<set $listbox = "listbox">> <<set $cycle = "cycle">> /* ChapelR Meter Macro set up */ /* these stat meter set ups are purely examples and do not need to be used */ <<set $friendly = 50>> <<set $max_friendly = 100>> <<newmeter 'Friendly' $friendly>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $strength = 50>> <<set $max_strength = 100>> <<newmeter 'Strength' $strength>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>>

<div id="title-container"> <span class="title-item">The Curse of Cassandra</span> <span class="chapter-item">$chapter</span> </div>

<<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-bookmark" alt="saves"></i>'>><<run UI.saves();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-gear" alt="settings"></i>'>><<run UI.settings();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-user" alt="profile"></i>'>> <<script>> Dialog.setup("profile","profile"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("profile").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-arrow-rotate-left" alt="return"></i>'>><<run Engine.backward();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-door-open" alt="restart"></i>'>><<run UI.restart();>><</link>>

Set up your widgets here!

<<set $chapter to "Chapter One">>The present hits you like a bucket of ice water, cold and painfully sharp. Hastily pulling over to the side of the road, you wince at the way your brakes squeal as you roll to a stop on the narrow shoulder. You sit there for a moment or two with the engine idling, before remembering that it’s still running and turning off the ignition with a sigh. //Jesus Christ//. The waking dreams have been getting worse as of late, more frequent, but it’s been a long time since you’ve had one while behind the wheel. “...This is bad,” you mutter, as if there’s anyone else around to hear you. As if it’s not already glaringly obvious. Your head is still spinning, the lingering remains of the vision clinging to your consciousness like cobwebs. You shake your head sharply, exhaling as you try to ground yourself back in the present. The trees along the edge of the highway tower over your truck, and you can smell the sharp, earthy scent of the woods even with your windows rolled up. There’s a mile marker off in the distance; you squint, but can’t make out any details. Not that it really matters. It’s been a long time since you’ve gone anywhere with any real destination in mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot your tattered driver's licence poking out of the cupholder. <<nobr>> <<set $name = "", $surname = "">> <</nobr>>\ Name: <<textbox "$name" "">> Surname: <<textbox "$surname" "">>\ <<click "See name suggestions">><<toggleclass "#section0" "hidden">><</click>> <div id="section0" class="hidden"><<click "Traditionally feminine names">><<toggleclass "#section1" "hidden">><</click>><div id="section1" class="hidden"><li>Delphine</li> <li>Lucy</li> <li>Sybil</li></div> <<click "Traditionally masculine names">><<toggleclass "#section2" "hidden">><</click>><div id="section2" class="hidden"><li>Cecil</li> <li>Idris</li> <li>Joel</li></div> <<click "Gender neutral names">><<toggleclass "#section3" "hidden">><</click>><div id="section3" class="hidden"><li>Kiran</li> <li>Mal</li> <li>Sage</li></div> <<click "Surnames">><<toggleclass "#section4" "hidden">><</click>><div id="section4" class="hidden"><li>Claremont</li> <li>Luminari</li> <li>Ortega</li></div></div> <<cycle "$pronouns">> <<option "They/them">> <<option "She/her">> <<option "He/him">> <</cycle>> <<button "Confirm" "c_1.02">><</button>>

<<if $pronouns is "They/them">><<set $they to "they", $them to "them", $their to "their", $theirs to "theirs", $themself to "themself", $pronouns_plural to true>> <<elseif $pronouns is "She/her">><<set $they to "she", $them to "her", $their to "her", $theirs to "hers", $themself to "herself">> <<elseif $pronouns is "He/him">><<set $they to "he", $them to "him", $their to "his", $theirs to "his", $themself to "himself">><</if>>You pick it up, gaze scanning the grainy photo. It’s crazy how //young// you look. The picture was only taken a few years ago, but you feel like a whole other person than you were back then. You hazard a glance at your reflection, already knowing what you’re going to see. In the rearview mirror, your <<cycle "$eyeColour">> <<option "black">> <<option "brown">> <<option "blue">> <<option "green">> <<option "hazel">> <<option "grey">> <</cycle>> eyes stare tiredly back. There's something //haunted// behind your eyes; they stand out starkly against your <<cycle "$hairType">> <<option "straight">> <<option "wavy">> <<option "curled">> <<option "coiled">> <</cycle>> <<cycle "$hairColour">> <<option "black">> <<option "brown">> <<option "blond">> <<option "red">> <</cycle>> hair and sallow skin. The heavy bags beneath your eyes make it look like you haven't slept in about a week (which you haven't), and your hair looks like it hasn't seen a comb in days (which it also hasn't). In other words, you look like shit. You feel it, too. But that's kind of the norm for you these days. You’ve been on your own for as long as you can remember. Orphaned as an infant and left on the steps of a small town church in the early hours of the morning, you spent your formative years in the company of other wayward souls. You spent your teenage years bouncing various foster homes, avoiding school more often than actually attending. The recurring visions–//nightmares//, the nuns at the church used to call them–would pull you in opposing directions as you tried to figure out what they meant. You never did. It’s just something else you’ve learned to live with. Sometimes you think they’re leading you somewhere. They have to be, right? Why else would you be seeing fragments of things that later [[come true|c_1.03]]?

The problem is that nobody’s ever believed you when you’ve tried to tell them about your visions. And it’s not even that they don’t believe in visions–they just don’t believe //you//. It used to piss you off to no end, especially when you were younger. But after years of the same response, over and over, you’ve stopped trying to make anyone believe you. It’s something of a lost cause at this point. But the visions themselves aren’t. Sometimes you’ll catch a glimpse of something recognizable enough to research, a landmark or road sign, for instance. No matter how many times you’ve tried, though, you can never quite get in front of the visions. They always happen right as you find the source, or the event has already long since passed. It feels like watching a car crash in slow motion… but you’re never quick enough to warn the driver. Your recent visions have started happening more frequently. It feels important, somehow. You’d appreciate it if your life wasn’t one giant wild goose chase, frankly, but the urge to search and wander and dig until you find the source is too much to resist. Especially since this latest vision. This is the first time you’ve been able to make out the voice quite so clearly, but even the memory of that droning buzz is enough to set your teeth on edge. But you remember something about… a lake. Cold, dark water filling your lungs, limbs going numb and unresponsive. With a shudder, you push that memory away as well and focus on the details. The facts. Wherever this vision is going to take place, there’s a lake nearby. Leaning across the center console, you click open the glove box and pull out a crinkled [[map|c_1.04]].

You’re dreaming again. Images flash before your eyes dizzyingly fast, so fast that you can only make out glimpses of a bigger picture you don’t understand yet. Someone’s speaking, a familiar voice in the back of your mind that echoes with the lilting rhythm of a swarm of cicadas. //A reddish-purple flash of light. Running footsteps. White hair. Dim, candlelit hallways. A strike of lightning. Pounding rain. The sensation of falling. Glowing eyes. Lakewater-choked lungs. A lone figure in the eye of the storm. Falling, falling, falling—// You know you aren’t actually physically experiencing this, but that doesn’t make it any less disorienting. The dream around you shudders, warping your sense of direction and time. The cicada-hum in your head grows louder, a buzz that slowly gives way to intelligible words. //Hold fast, Child of Cassandra. Those who heed not your words will understand in time. What approaches cannot be contained.// Words reverberating in your head and through your very soul, the voice goes silent. The world drops out from under your feet, plunging you into darkness… [[And you snap awake.|c_0.02]]

This particular map, like your car, isn’t actually yours. The wrinkled, folded-up paper was jammed somewhere in the back of the glovebox when you bought the car, and it smells as musty as some kind of ancient scroll. Shaking it out and smoothing down the worn creases, you unfurl the map and hold it against the steering wheel. Nothing seems to jump out at you. Granted, the map is covered in old coffee rings and some faint reddish stains that you assume (hope) are ketchup–but it’s readable for the most part. After a moment or two you come to the conclusion that you’re in the middle of freaking //nowhere//. You huff, running a frustrated hand over your mouth. Usually you’re able to at least get a sense of where the visions are taking you, your intuition acting as a vaguely reliable compass needle. But nothing you can see on the map stands out. No lakes to be seen, not within any kind of reasonable distance at least. Nothing that screams //this is where your creepy vision takes place!// If only it were that easy. Shoving the map haphazardly back in the glovebox, you’re just about to reach for the ignition when something in the distance grabs your attention. A pair of headlights is approaching from behind you, driving confidently down the wooded highway. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen anyone in hours. There’s a nervous little coil of foreboding nestled deep in your gut as the sun-faded pickup truck rolls to a stop beside where you’re parked on the shoulder. You take a breath, eyes locked on the other driver through their open [[window|c_1.05]].

“Everything okay here? You’re not having car trouble, are you?” The young man says, with a surprisingly disarming grin. He looks to be around your age, like someone you'd spot eager in the front row of a college lecture (if you'd actually gone to college). His brown hair is fluffy and flops down over his forehead, and he has bright, amber-coloured eyes. “Uh-” You clear your throat awkwardly, not expecting someone to have just shown up like this. The stretch of road around you is still deserted save for you and this stranger. “No, I’m alright,” you assure him. “Just checking directions. You… you wouldn’t happen to know of any lakes nearby, would you?” That’s a strange question to ask, probably. But it’s the most you’re willing to chance right now. “There is, actually,” the stranger replies. His demeanor is still open and friendly, but there’s something almost cautious in his gaze now as he eyes you. It definitely was a weird question to ask, you think. “There’s a town just a few more minutes up the road. We’ve got a lake nearby, too. It doesn’t like to show up on maps, but you’ll see the sign just around that bend,” he adds, gesturing down the road a ways. “Good to know,” you say, with a noncommittal tilt of your head. You nod slightly as you take this in, though the expression on your face is probably equally wary as the guy’s in front of you. You both stare at each other for a beat, assessing. The stranger’s amber eyes seem to glow in the late afternoon sun, and he takes a subtle but deep inhale through his nose as he studies you. //Running footsteps.// //Pounding rain.// ''//[[…Glowing eyes.|c_1.06]]//''

The vision comes back to you in a flash, and you struggle to keep your expression controlled. You don’t know him, and you don’t think he’s necessarily who the vision is about… but he’s a part of it somehow, you’re certain of that. “I’m Ari.” “Huh?” You snap to attention, trying to reel yourself back in. You’d probably been staring at him a little too intensely - people have told you before that your glare can be a little unnerving. “Ari,” he repeats, the flicker of wariness in his expression fading as an amused smile tugs at his lips. “That’s my name. And… look- I’m gonna be honest. Most people around here can be pretty closed off around strangers, but Charity’s Cross is the closest town for a while. These roads can get pretty bad after dark, and while the locals may not be the friendliest it’s at least a place to crash for the night.” He takes a breath then, glancing at the clock on his dashboard before turning back to you. “I need to get going. But if you want to follow, I know a way to bypass some of the trickier backroads on the way into town.” You sit back in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming an idle rhythm on the wheel as you consider the offer. The back of your neck still prickles with a creeping sensation that warns you to stay on guard, but Ari is right about one thing: there aren’t any other towns that you’d be able to reach before nightfall. The fact that this Charity’s Cross place doesn’t show up on maps is definitely weird - and maybe worth looking into - but your intuition (or the voice?) is surprisingly chill with the proposal. Either way. It’s going to get dark soon, and you’re fresh out of any other good options. “Sure,” you say. “[[Lead the way|c_1.07]]”.

The drive into town leads you down winding back roads through a dizzying stretch of towering trees. Maybe it was a good thing you decided to follow Ari, after all. He definitely wasn’t lying about the roads getting bad after dark. After twenty or so minutes of driving, you guide your car up onto a bridge that crosses a deep ravine. The sound of rushing water pulls your attention downwards, and you realize that there’s a fast moving river at the bottom of the ravine. Even in the evening darkness you can see the white-capped eddies of the swirling current. A shiver runs up your spine the moment your wheels rumble across the surface of the bridge, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up - but the feeling fades when you reach solid ground again, and a worn out sign reading Charity’s Cross comes into view. Ari points you in the direction of a small motel on the edge of town as you pull up to a stop beside where he’s idling at the side of the road. “Just up that turn there,” he points out, window rolled down to let the cooling evening air into the cab of his truck. “You can’t miss it. I’ll see you around, uh-” He trails off with a laugh, scratching at the back of his neck with one hand. The grin he flashes you is charming, if a little embarrassed, and you catch a glimpse of considerably pointed canines as his lips pull back. “I’m just realizing that I never caught your name. What can I call you, or would you prefer //stranger//?” <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Introduce yourself.|c_1.08a]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Don't.|c_1.08b]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

If possible, Ari’s smile brightens even further. He reminds you a little of a puppy, all big amber eyes and grinning teeth. “$name. That’s nice, it suits you. Well, see you around, $name. If you need anything while you're in town, swing by Galanis Antiques; they’ll be able to point you in the direction of whatever it is you’re looking for here.” With that, Ari gives you a quick peace sign through the window before pulling back onto the road and vanishing down a different side street. You sigh, running a weary hand over your face. This has all been weird, even by your standards. There’s definitely something about this place worth investigating. But first… rest. You find the motel fairly quickly thanks to Ari’s instructions - or maybe thanks to how absolutely tiny Charity’s Cross actually seems to be. Checking in takes no time at all, and you collapse into bed while simultaneously kicking off your shoes and ignoring the alarming creaking noise the mattress makes as it dips beneath your weight. You fall asleep within minutes and your rest is, for once, blissfully [[dreamless|c_1.09]].

Ari’s expression dims ever so slightly, though you can tell he’s trying to hide the flicker of disappointment that crosses his features. It almost makes you feel bad. Almost. But this place still feels off to you, and you’d rather be safe than sorry. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Well, see you around, stranger. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for here. And be sure to check out Galanis Antiques while you’re in town. They’ve always got good deals.” With that, Ari gives you a quick peace sign through the window before pulling back onto the road and vanishing down a different side street. You sigh, running a weary hand over your face. This has all been weird, even by your standards. There’s definitely something about this place worth investigating. But first… rest. You find the motel fairly quickly thanks to Ari’s instructions - or maybe thanks to how absolutely tiny Charity’s Cross actually seems to be. Checking in takes no time at all, and you collapse into bed while simultaneously kicking off your shoes and ignoring the alarming creaking noise the mattress makes as it dips beneath your weight. You fall asleep within minutes and your rest is, for once, blissfully [[dreamless|c_1.09]].

By the time you peel open your eyes to glower groggily over at the half-opened blinds you forgot to shut the night before, it’s been approximately fourteen hours. You hop into the shower to wash off the sweat and grime from your past few days of travel (the water fluctuates between lukewarm and ice cold seemingly on a dime, you note with annoyance) before considering where you want to go next. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[The diner - you’re starving.|c_1.10a]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[The antique store - you’re curious.|c_1.10b]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[The lake - you’re determined.|c_1.10c]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

First things first, food. You did just sleep for fourteen hours, after all. You haven’t eaten since sometime yesterday afternoon, and your stomach is making that fact very audibly known. Tugging on your shoes and jacket, you drop the motel room key into your pocket and head out. It doesn’t take you too long to track down a small diner on the main street; Charity’s Cross is small, as you’d noticed last night when driving into town. A bell chimes above your head as you push open the door, and you’re immediately hit with the smell of cooking food and grease. Your stomach growls embarrassingly loudly, though nobody else seems to be paying you any mind. You take a seat in one of the empty booths, flipping over the laminated menu so that you can start to scan the options. But the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, and you twist around in your seat just in time to catch a few people already looking in your [[direction|c_1.11a]].

<div id="start-title">Chapter One</div> <div id="start-subtitle"> <<button "Next" "c_1.01">><<set $chapter to "Chapter One">><</button>></div>

One of them is the waitress, a girl with warm brown skin and curly hair pulled up into a slightly haphazard bun on top of her head. “Be right with you,” she chirps, giving you a somewhat sheepish smile. You nod slightly in response, but it’s the other two people in the booth that really catch your attention. One of them is a middle-aged man, dressed in a colourful outfit that complements the rich, deep tone of his skin. He peers over the rim of his glasses, scrutinizing you for a long moment before averting his gaze to say something to his companion. Sitting across from the man is a teenager. Their gaze is significantly more judgemental as they glance over their shoulder to stare flatly in your direction. Their brows furrow, and they turn back to reply to the man in a hushed tone. You feel strangely on edge now, and turn your attention back to the menu in front of you as you try to shake off the feeling of being watched. “That's not creepy at all,” you mutter under your breath. The waitress comes by a few minutes later to take your order and the menu, leaving you to your own devices while you wait. The prickling feeling doesn't [[abate|c_1.12a]].

It’s not until after you’re almost done eating, though, that the pair actually approaches you. It’s the teenager who you spot first, mostly because of the way they practically slam their hand down on the table as they lean over you. Chipping black-painted nails, sharp and pointed, are stark against their pale freckled skin. “Hey,” they start. “New in town? I haven’t seen you before.” Their choppy brown hair is cut just below their jaw, and the scowl on their face is even more pronounced up close. But the man behind them glances over with an almost parental look, one that practically screams //behave//. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Answer politely.|c_1.13a]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Answer warily.|c_1.13aa]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Don't answer.|c_1.13aaa]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“I am,” you say, trying your best to put on a polite smile despite your lingering unease. Just because a few strangers are giving you the heebie-jeebies doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk about it. Besides, there’s a chance it’s the place you’re reacting to more than these people. “Just got in last night.” Eyeing you derisively, the teenager eventually just huffs and rolls their eyes. “Whatever,” they mutter, stepping back as the man takes them by the shoulder to steer them away from the table. He gives you a small, tight smile, just wide enough to be considered [[polite|c_1.14a]].

“Yeah.” You don’t say anything else. If these strangers are going to sneak up on you like that, you’re not just going to give them whatever answers they want. They were the ones staring at you, not the other way around. The look in the teenager’s eyes makes you bristle, and you can’t keep the bite from your tone when you speak again. “Is that a problem?” Eyeing you derisively, the teenager eventually just huffs and rolls their eyes. “Whatever,” they mutter, stepping back as the man takes them by the shoulder to steer them away from the table. He gives you a small, tight smile, just wide enough to be considered [[polite|c_1.14a]].

You return their flat, emotionless stare, raising a brow but not deigning to respond. The man standing to the side lets out a near-inaudible sigh, and you’re not quite sure whether he’s reaching up to adjust his glasses or to pinch the bridge of his nose. The silence drags on, both of you refusing to back down. Eyeing you derisively, the teenager eventually just huffs and rolls their eyes. “Whatever,” they mutter, stepping back as the man takes them by the shoulder to steer them away from the table. He gives you a small, tight smile, just wide enough to be considered [[polite|c_1.14a]].

“I’m sorry,” he says. “We don’t mean to bother you, but this town doesn’t get many newcomers. Not many people cross the river, you know?” the man adds with a laugh, though you don’t get what’s funny about that. “My kid and I just wanted to introduce ourselves. My name is Arthur, and this is James. We live in that big house on the corner by the antique store, and-” He cuts himself off, as if gearing up to say something difficult. “Look, I’m going to be honest. You aren’t from here, and you don’t have any reason to trust us. But I think you need to talk to my family. We’re experts in, uh- how do I say this…” James steps in as he hesitates [[again|c_1.15a]].

“Lost things,” they supply. “Weird magic. Shit like that. I don’t like this any more than you do, but they’re persistent. They’ll find you whether you like it or not. So just rip off the band-aid, ‘kay?” Scribbling something on the back of a crumpled receipt, James smacks it down onto the table in front of you and promptly turns to leave. You and Arthur stare at each other in dumbfounded silence for a few seconds, until he seems to remember where he is. “I guess that’s one way to put it,” he remarks dryly. “I hope we’ll see you later. Think about it, that’s all I ask.” Just as suddenly as they’d both appeared, James and Arthur disappear out the diner’s front [[door|c_1.16]].

Well. That was weird. Something about those strangers seems familiar, though, in the same way that you got an inkling about Ari last night. This whole place has your senses on high alert, and you can feel it in your bones - this is where you’re meant to be. For once, you might be a step ahead of the visions. Or at least a little closer to figuring out what they mean. <<button "Next" "c_1.17">><</button>>

The sun is just dipping towards the horizon by the time you make it to the house. You have to pull the scrap of paper from your pocket, squinting at the scribbled address to double check you’re in the right place because whatever you were expecting… It wasn’t this. It’s large, and a good few generations old if the peeling paint job and sagging porch are anything to go by. But a warm glow peeks through the curtains from the inside, and you step over sprawling chalk drawings as you make your way up the driveway. As you step up towards the door your eyes land on the mailbox. //Weaver// is printed along its front in big block letters, with an obviously handwritten hyphen followed by //Galanis// crammed into the remaining space. Beneath those names are a few more, //Shields// in precisely painted brushstrokes, and //Levesque// resides just beneath it in a looping cursive scrawl. You can’t help but smirk at the way the names are squeezed on there, all distinct in personality but somehow [[cohesive|c_1.18]].

Reaching up, you lift up the heavy brass knocker and let it fall against the door with a resonant //thud//. There are a few seconds of silence before you hear footsteps approaching the door, and it swings open to reveal… “Ari?” He grins brightly upon spotting you, seizing you by the hand and pulling you inside before you can even think to react. “I knew it was you they were talking about! C’mon, everyone’s waiting.” “Wait, what-? What do you mean, everyone-? You //live// here!?” you sputter, as he all but drags you down a long, candlelit hallway. “I have a big family,” he explains. “You met a few of them earlier, and they told me you’d be coming by tonight. Don’t worry, though, this is a good thing. Nobody ends up here by accident.” “You’re not making any sense,” you cut in, a little desperate to slow him down and figure out what the hell he’s saying. But before you can continue, you’re tugged into a sprawling living room furnished with plush couches and antique knick-knacks, and far too many gazes that turn sharply your [[way|c_1.18a]].

“I told you there was something weird about $them! I could smell the magic, and you can’t tell me it’s not weird, Jamsey. I was //right//.” James arches an annoyed eyebrow at the nickname, but their expression remains resolute and stoic. “We’ll see about that. But you //sniffed// $them? That’s the weird part, Ari.” The flush that blooms across Ari’s cheeks is almost impressive, practically glowing red in the soft lighting of the living room. He stumbles to defend himself - “I didn’t //sniff// $them, James, we were in two separate cars,” - before Catrin cuts in with a stern look. “That’s enough, you two. We have a guest,” she chides, expression softening when she turns to you. Her wings are tucked neatly against her back, and her long, talon-like fingernails are painted a deep crimson. “I’m sorry about them, honey. Apparently my children have forgotten how to mind their manners. But please, come in, make yourself comfortable.” <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Sit on the couch next to Daniel and Art.|c_1.20a]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Pull up a chair beside Carmine.|c_1.20aa]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Stay standing near Ari and James.|c_1.20aaa]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

You lower yourself onto the cushions as Daniel sends you a small, welcoming grin. There’s something so casually warm about him, the way he has one arm draped over the back of the couch while the other rests on Art’s shoulders. Art dips his head in a polite nod of greeting, though you can still see the tension in his posture that belies his unease with… whatever this situation is. You take a breath, thinking to yourself that this is probably the most comfortable you’ll be able to get in a room full of strangers. One hand lifts to rub at the back of your neck, and you decide to just bite the bullet. “So… why am I here?” you ask, voice breaking through the somewhat awkward silence that’s settled over the room. A few of the adults open their mouths, clearly struggling to come up with a proper explanation, when a small voice [[pipes up|c_1.21]].

Pulling up a chair so that you can join the family’s wobbly circle of people scattered about the room, you end up next to Carmine. She eyes you with open curiosity, clearly noticing the rather tired and haggard quality of your appearance as she takes a long, slow sip from the wineglass in her hand. You take a breath, thinking to yourself that this is probably the most comfortable you’ll be able to get in a room full of strangers. One hand lifts to rub at the back of your neck, and you decide to just bite the bullet. “So… why am I here?” you ask, voice breaking through the somewhat awkward silence that’s settled over the room. A few of the adults open their mouths, clearly struggling to come up with a proper explanation, when a small voice [[pipes up|c_1.21]].

You decide to stay standing, hovering near the doorway. Ari looks pleased that you’ve decided to stick near him, though James only looks at you for a few brief seconds before their eyes flit away. They don’t look too happy that you’re here, but they don’t look happy to be here themself either. It’s probably not personal. You take a breath, thinking to yourself that this is probably the most comfortable you’ll be able to get in a room full of strangers. One hand lifts to rub at the back of your neck, and you decide to just bite the bullet. “So… why am I here?” you ask, voice breaking through the somewhat awkward silence that’s settled over the room. A few of the adults open their mouths, clearly struggling to come up with a proper explanation, when a small voice [[pipes up|c_1.21]].

“You’re magic.” It’s Eleni, the little changeling girl. She stares at you from across the room, eyes wide and unblinking, dark as twin pools of ink. After a second or two more of silent staring, she hops up from her seat and walks over to where you are. “You’re magic,” she repeats. “But a different kind than us. I wanna know what you are.” You blink. There’s an air of knowing about this girl, like she’s seen far more than anyone her age ever should. “//What// I am? Not //who// I am?” you clarify. Eleni nods, inching closer so she can stare intently and directly into your eyes. You stare right back, albeit a little perturbed. “I’m… complicated. You probably won’t believe me,” you admit, and this seems to pique everyone’s interest. The air feels heavy again all of the sudden, crackling with anticipation. “I get visions. Omens. You could call me a seer, I guess, or a prophet… but most people don’t tend to agree.” As the words leave your mouth, you know they don’t agree, either. You can almost see the curse taking effect, rendering your words meaningless and vague as your explanation’s importance vanishes like smoke on a [[breeze|c_1.22]].

Eleni, however, is still staring at you with an unchanged expression and those wide, dark eyes. “They don’t think it’s real? The things you see?” “Yeah.” “But you know it’s real?” “Yeah,” you say again, unable to keep the faint note of frustration from bleeding through. But then Eleni smiles, and she reaches out to give your knee a gentle poke. The gesture, strangely, loosens some of that tight feeling in your chest, and it makes you want to chuckle. What a weird kid. “I think it’s real. I dunno about your… seeing things, but I know when people are lying. And you’re not. I believe //[[you|c_1.23]]//.”

“...Oh,” you say lamely, after what feels like hours of slack-jawed silence (but is probably only seconds). “You- you do. Okay. That’s… never happened before.” “Believe $them,” Eleni announces, poking at your knee again for emphasis as she glances around at her family. “Or me. But I know $name is being true, even if you don’t think so. There’s bad magic on $them, but it’s true.” Nobody seems to know what to say to that, but Catrin speaks up eventually. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll… we’ll try. But, Eleni, are you sure…?” Her voice fades from your awareness, as if you’ve suddenly been plunged underwater. You can faintly make out the rest of the family talking amongst themselves around you, but you’re unable to make out their words. Because suddenly, you’re hearing [[something else|c_1.24]].

The familiar, cicada-song droning rises in pitch, and you have to fight against the urge to clamp your hands over your ears. That won’t help, the noise isn’t really here- Wait. You’re still here? You haven’t been pulled so far into the vision yet that you can sort of make out what’s around you. Your vision warps and shifts, images flashing across the back of your eyelids so fast that you can’t distinguish anything beyond a dizzying blur of colour. Your stomach clenches, but you remain rooted in place with your feet planted firmly to the living room floor. [[What the hell is happening to you?|c_1.25]]

Letting out a shaky exhale, you try to speak, to let the others know that something’s going on, but the moment you open your mouth, you feel the sensation of the vision overtaking you, and any little bit of control you had left your over body is abruptly yanked away. “//What approaches cannot be contained//,” you gasp, and the voice leaving your lips does not feel like your own. “//In the name of Charity and Mercy, of Faith and Amity and Grace, Cassandra’s Child will dig their roots from the earth and lay bare the rot within.//" Images flash behind your eyelids, almost too quick to keep up with. The power within you wells up, but the feeling //skitters// - a wellspring bursting open in a shower of insects as opposed to water. “//Charity’s Crossing will run red with her blood//." You want to throw up, but your body won’t let you. "//I’m coming home//.” <<button "Next" "demo_end">><</button>>

<div id="start-title">Chapter Two</div> <div id="start-subtitle"> <<button "Next" "c_2.01">><<set $chapter to "Chapter Two">><</button>></div>

The first thing you become aware of is the silence. You’re not speaking, the family isn’t speaking, even the faint groan of shifting wood is gone as the house descends into a tentative, anticipatory stillness. Your mind is reeling, trying to catch up with the images that you’d barely been able to make out - and that for the first time ever, your vision’s voice seems to have spoken //through// you. You blink once, twice, as the cicada-song humming fades to a dull ringing in your ears. Opening your mouth to speak, the only thing that comes out is a shaky little gasp - and you realize belatedly that you’ve fallen to your knees on the hardwood floor. Not surprising, as you feel ready to keel over any second now. In a matter of seconds you’re being helped to your feet and settled onto the couch, a light blanket thrown over your shoulders as the family hovers awkwardly around their various spots in the living room. They eventually scatter, giving you space to recuperate, but the cushion dips as someone sits down onto the couch beside you. [[It’s Daniel.|c_2.02a]] [[It’s Art.|c_2.02b]] [[It’s Catrin.|c_2.02c]] [[It’s Carmine.|c_2.02d]] [[It’s Ari.|c_2.02e]] [[It’s James.|c_2.02f]]

You recognize a few of them, but not most. Ari takes it upon himself to introduce you to everyone, and as you look around the room, something clicks. They’re //werewolves//. Or at least Ari is, and a few of the others. You feel a little stupid for not putting it together sooner, but as you look around the room, everybody present has some kind of subtle indication of a magical bloodline. There’s Ari himself, who you met last night. His younger sibling, James, has the same shaggy brown hair as him, though there’s a noticeably wolfish gleam to their intense, golden-eyed stare. Their father, Daniel, looks like the most stereotypical werewolf you’ve ever seen, though the intimidating lumberjack-like physique is softened by his gentle demeanor. James and Ari’s mother, Catrin, is wearing enough flowing layers that you almost don’t notice the silken gryphon wings tucked against her back. He also introduces you to the two other adults of the household; there’s Art, Daniel’s partner and the final werewolf of the group, whose slightly pointed ears are bejeweled with a variety of piercings, and Carmine, the vampiric fashion designer who looks like she just stepped out of a 1920’s silent film. Finally, he points out his youngest siblings, Sadie and Eleni. Sadie has her hoodie pulled up over her long hair, expression flat with all the disinterest one would expect from a moody preteen banshee, but Eleni, the changeling, stares unblinking with wide dark eyes that are far too knowing for her age. Huh. Your curse doesn’t manifest on your physical body… but as you look around the room, you realize that you might not be so different from these people, after all. Ari finishes up the quick round of introductions, before turning to look at James with a triumphant gleam in his [[eyes|c_1.19]].

[[c_2.03]]

Ari mentioned something about an antique store last night, and you can’t deny that you might be curious. (Maybe. Just a little. Okay, or a //lot//.) It can’t hurt to delay your investigation a few minutes while you do some shopping, right? Tugging on your shoes and jacket, you drop the motel room key into your pocket and head out. It doesn’t take you too long to track down the antique shop on the corner of one of the main roads; Charity’s Cross is small, as you’d noticed last night when driving into town. A bell chimes above your head as you push open the door, and you’re immediately hit with the smell of dust and tarnished metal. The store is larger than it seems from the outside, maze-like and filled with shelves that are miraculously still standing. It seems quiet in here, and as you glance around you don’t notice anyone else in the immediate [[vicinity|c_1.11b]].

You’re here for a reason. Your vision had a lake, and this place also apparently has a lake. That’s important, what you need to focus on. The uncanny familiarity of the town is unsettling, but… well, you can ignore that for now. Another few minutes spent poring over the map from your glove compartment proves that Ari’s comment last night was true: Charity’s Cross, and the lake that’s apparently somewhere in the woods nearby, isn’t anywhere to be seen. It doesn’t like to show up on maps, he’d said… Maybe you won’t think about that too hard right now. There’s still the matter of actually finding the lake, though this place is almost pitifully small. You’re sure to stumble across a local map sooner or later, so you decide that the best course of action is to take a walk through town. Tugging on your shoes and jacket, you drop the motel room key into your pocket and head [[out|c_1.11c]].

As you suspected, it doesn’t take long at all to find a map. The town seems to have a number of hiking trails that vanish off into the woods, and it’s only ten minutes or so before you stumble across a signboard laying out the various paths through the trees. But before you can make much headway deciphering the tangled mess of pathways and weather-worn directions, your attention is pulled away at the sound of a shrill bell ringing a little ways down the street. Kids and parents spill out of the school building, heading off in whatever direction leads home. A few people pass you by, their curious stares boring into your back as you turn your attention towards the map once more. “[[You!|c_1.12c]]”

“When I was twelve,” you interrupt, cutting off the steady stream of words that threatens to squash your rapidly dwindling confidence. “I had a vision.” There are eyes burning into you, but you don’t look back. That familiar lilting cicada-song hums its phantom melody somewhere in the back of your mind. “It was pretty straightforward, actually. At least by my standards.” You laugh then, and it sounds small. //You// sound small. “Normally, my visions are sporadic. Flashes of images. Voices, sometimes. Like I’m watching it happen from the outside. But that one, it was different. I- I was watching it happen through her eyes. This little girl, maybe only a few years younger than I was at the time… I watched her die. I //felt// her die.” The guilt, the terror, the lingering anguish, it tastes like bile crawling up the back of your throat. That was one vision you’ve never truly been able to get over, not even after a decade has passed. “I think it was the one time I’ve actually entertained the idea that people are right about me, calling me delusional. Because if //I’m// right, if that //was// real… then a kid died that day. And I think a part of me did too.”

A little voice snaps you out of your thoughts yet again, but this time it’s accompanied by the pitter-patter of kid sized shoes on pavement. A little girl comes barreling wildly towards you, all messy hair and focused intent, followed closely behind by an apologetic looking man and a moody looking preteen. The kid skids to a stop in front of you, shoes scraping on the pavement. You blink. Why is the random kid staring at you like you know the answer to the secrets of the universe? You don’t - not //exactly//, anyways - but this little girl sure seems to think so. “You’re coming to our house tonight,” she says earnestly. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[You’re confused.|c_1.13c]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[You’re annoyed.|c_1.13cc]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[You’re nervous.|c_1.13ccc]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“Um. What?” You blink, brows pulling together in bewilderment, but the girl is still staring up at you with those wide unblinking eyes. You don’t know this kid, nor the people standing behind her. So why is she speaking to you like you //do//? “Eleni,” the man cuts in, with a fond yet resigned shake of his head. “We’ve talked about this, sweetheart. You can invite people over, but they have a choice in the matter, [[okay|c_1.14c]]?”

“No, I’m not,” you reply, a little sharper than intended. What the hell? You don’t know these people. You sure don’t know this random kid. You’re here on a mission, and you need to stick to it. Getting maybe-kidnapped by a kindergartener and her family isn’t exactly a part of your plan. “Eleni,” the man cuts in, with a fond yet resigned shake of his head. “We’ve talked about this, sweetheart. You can invite people over, but they have a choice in the matter, [[okay|c_1.14c]]?”

//A little help here, random stranger//. You eye the kid, and then the man standing behind her, hoping your expression reads as at least a little more composed than the panic you’re feeling internally. His own expression doesn’t instill you with much confidence, though. You’ve never had a good poker face. “Eleni,” the man cuts in, with a fond yet resigned shake of his head. “We’ve talked about this, sweetheart. You can invite people over, but they have a choice in the matter, [[okay|c_1.14c]]?”

The kid, Eleni, huffs, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. But she does take a step back, and the man gives you an apologetic smile. “Forgive my daughter’s forwardness,” he says, scratching his bearded chin in a way that would seem good-natured if not for the keen way his eyes lock in on you. “We don’t get too many newcomers in town, you see, so we’re still working on manners. And the concept of stranger danger.” You hum, offering a tight smile in return just to be polite. But in that brief moment of simultaneous observance, two things happen at once. First, the man pulls a sticky note from his jacket and scrawls something across it in big block [[letters|c_1.15c]].

Second, he reaches out to hand it to you - and as soon as the little slip of paper touches your fingers, a chill runs up your spine. The wind is whistling through the towering pines at your back, and your skin prickles as the breeze sweeps over you. Realization settles in your gut like a stone; these people are important. Somehow. “I’m Daniel, by the way,” the man continues, oblivious to your sudden unease. “Daniel Weaver, and this is Sadie,” he adds, nodding to the other girl standing behind him in sullen silence. “That’s our address, there. You honestly look a little lost, kid, so… if you need anything, just come knocking. We take care of our own in Charity’s Cross.” With that, Daniel departs, the two young girls in tow. You’re left standing in front of the trailhead sign in dumbfounded [[silence|c_1.16]].

May as well browse for a few minutes, anyways. There are so many things in here, and you know you could get lost in this place for hours if you let yourself. Wandering the labyrinth of shelves and tables, your gaze drifts over antiques of all kinds. Some of them pull your attention more than the rest, an eerily familiar prickle running up the back of your neck, but you do your best not to get too swept up in the feeling. It’s just a store. Just a dusty old antique [[store|c_1.12b]].

“Hi there, welcome in! You must be the one Ari sent,” a voice rings out from behind you, and you whirl on your heel towards the back of the shop. You’re not really sure how you hadn't noticed them there - it seems so obvious, now - but tucked away in the corner is a counter. And behind the till, two middle-aged women. The one who’d spoken waves, a bright expression lighting up her face as her curls bounce at the sudden motion. The other woman, eyes hidden behind dark red tinted glasses, doesn’t bother looking up from where she’s scratching away in a small leather bound journal. “Catrin Galanis,” the first woman introduces. “Did you need help finding anything?” <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[No, you’re good.|c_1.13b]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Actually, yes.|c_1.13bb]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Good question.|c_1.13bbb]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“Oh- I’m alright, thanks,” you reply. “Just browsing.” Catrin nods at that, and you quickly turn your attention back to the shelves, if only to avoid the very curious stares that are soon to turn your way. You’ve been the //strange new arrival// pretty much everywhere you’ve ever been, but the staring doesn’t get any less uncomfortable. “You know what?” Catrin claps her hands together eagerly, loud enough that the other woman shoots her a startled look. “My family’s all in town tonight, and we could use a good mystery. You’ve got the look of someone who’s searching for something, honey, and I think we might be just the people to help you find it. Now, where is- [[Carmine?|c_1.14b]]”

You pause, genuinely considering the offer. Ari did say this place was helpful, right? Who better to ask about this odd little town than the people who actually live here? “You wouldn’t happen to know of a lake nearby?” you ask tentatively, and Catrin laughs a little in surprise at the question. Her expression shifts thoughtfully, and something seems to occur to her as she considers her response. “You know what?” Catrin claps her hands together eagerly, loud enough that the other woman shoots her a startled look. “My family’s all in town tonight, and we could use a good mystery. You’ve got the look of someone who’s searching for something, honey, and I think we might be just the people to help you find it. Now, where is- [[Carmine?|c_1.14b]]”

“Well…” You draw out the syllable, the word shifting into something more of an uncertain hum as you grimace. “I’m not sure, exactly?” Biting down on your lip, you mull over a way to explain that still seems at least kind of plausible. Really, though, you’ve only got one pathetic clue to go off of: this vision has something to do with a lake. “You know what?” Catrin claps her hands together eagerly, loud enough that the other woman shoots her a startled look. “My family’s all in town tonight, and we could use a good mystery. You’ve got the look of someone who’s searching for something, honey, and I think we might be just the people to help you find it. Now, where is- [[Carmine?|c_1.14b]]”

Catrin’s hands flutter in midair for a moment as she searches for something to write on. The other woman, Carmine, smirks. She jots down a couple words on a blank page before tearing it from her journal and handing it to Catrin, who promptly hands it to you. You glance down at the page, and quickly realize that it’s an address. “...Right,” you say awkwardly, pocketing the paper. “I’ll… think about it.” Heading out of the store, you realize that you’re leaving this place with far more questions than [[answers|c_1.16]].

END OF DEMO Thanks for playing the first chapter of //The Curse of Cassandra//, and I hope you've enjoyed it so far! For updates, game info, and more, check out my tumblr: <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/thecurseofcassandra-if" target="_blank">@thecurseofcassandra-if</a> - Gray :)