Citizen

(goto: "warning") (set: $replace to 0)

Five years ago, my sister left. It was the day of the offerings to the Emperor, where in town we all spread a carpet before our doors, under our porches, on low tables placed in the middle of our gardens, each of us according to our means. A vial of rose oil, or more, a stash of silk, pottery, and an eldest child. The Emissary sought to quench my mother's pleas and my father's tears with a smile full of very white teeth, and ensured us that my sister would be treated well, educated, and made into a citizen. We haven't seen her since, but she has written us that she is well, that she is studying, that food is better than expected and her bed and clothing are comfortable. In exchange for my sister, and the eldest child of my neighbour, and the older siblings of all my friends, the Empire has brought workers and built a school, a town hall, and a few spinning mills. Tomorrow, once again we'll lay out our offerings, as the Empire is returning. •► [[Though many would say that the Empire is always here.|2]]

(align: "=><=")[(css: "font-size: 200%;")[Citizen] (css: "font-size: 120%;")[This game's full version contains themes of gore, body horror, and state-mandated violence (but no sexual violence is present). Due to the jam's time restraints, this is only the first part of the game. It will be completed after the jam's voting period is over. [[Proceed.|1]]]]

Dawn is rosy in the east, the colours of my room washed out by the lingering dark. I wake up very early, my feet meeting the fresh stones of my floor. My parents still sleep; I would know their heavy breathing anywhere, as I know the steps to my corridor, to our small entrance hall, where our shoes are lined. I unlock the door.(click-append: "I unlock the door.")[ Cocooned in the morning shivers, our garden opens itself to the road through an arch at the end of our gravel path. We've placed a table midway between the entrance and the doorstep, a heavy embroidered cloth atop; ready to house our offers. A deep-set seed of anger grows and blooms in me like our roses. •► (link: "Offerings or tribute, I shall not pay it. Not as they want it. Gritting my teeth, I close the door again, turning the key quickly, my jerking movements barely contaning the rising fury. I head towards the kitchen with a purpose.")[(set: $replace to it + 1)(goto: "3")] •► [[Clenching my jaw, I breathe in. Not knowing the consequences that my spite could bring upon us, I walk out and sit on a bench, observing the sky as it clears and lightens. I breathe out, letting responsibility talk me into compliance.|3a]]]

The kitchen is silent and empty still. From the beam above the long table, our copper pots hang and glint, and on the table we have placed the ceramics and the vials of rose oil. I grab a pot.(click-append: "I grab a pot.")[ One by one, I pour out the content of the vials and my heart's rage, and, vindicated by the disobedience, I grip tightly the bottle of olive oil and refill the vials with it. Bringing one to my nose, I sniff. The lingering rose scent covers that of the olives, and I smile, satisfied; I cork them again. I walk back to my bedroom, spiriting away the pot proof of my deed, its fragrant soul following me through the house. I lie in bed, listening to the whispers of the house as it wakes up: my father yawning, the weight of him lifting from the bed, and the bed creaking; my mother murmuring something I can't understand. •► [[Morning has come, and with it soon will the Empire.|4]]]

I wait for the sky to grow brighter, dozing as far as the chirping birds allow me. The garden finds its colours as I rest against the house's wall, breathing slowly, breathing deeply, and soon enough the entrance door opens. My mother appears on the threshold. « (colour: grey)[Already up?] », she asks, and I stare at her plain surprise and more subtle apprehension. « (colour: #AE262B)[Couldn't sleep.] » She understands that. I see that she carries two of the four vials of rose oil; the painted pottery, my father's own work, and father himself shows up soon enough, with the other two. They make swift work of setting up the table: three pillows where we may kneel, the vials standing upon the carpet-tablecloth. They're silent, and so am I, so we sit and we wait wordlessly. •► [[I feel like I swallowed a stone.|4]]

I remember their arrival, five years ago. The fanfare, the foreign cut of their clothing, the announcement that they have come on behalf of His Majesty, the Emperor, to collect the offerings from families and town hall alike. I watch them line at the sides of our gravel path, the sun blinding as it hits the golden buttons of their uniforms. (if: $replace >= 1)[I sit silently, but with a dark glee coiled in my chest. The worry for what might happen if my trick is discovered is a thought I forcibly push to the back of my mind.] (else:)[I sit silently, gritting my teeth, as the fruits of our labour are displayed on the table, for the taking.] The Emissary, then, appears. At once, I sharply breathe in.(click-append: "I sharply breathe in.")[ I hear my mother gasp next to me. My father softly calls, « (colour: grey)[Tisha.] » Framed by the entrance arch of our garden, dressed in the white uniform, the lines of buttons falling to her waist from her shoulders, her hair cropped short and combed neatly, my sister is walking towards us. •► [[She has changed.|5]]]

She is older, yes, of five years, and all that schooling in the capital must have kept her away from the open air, as her complexion has lost some of the familiar sun's kiss. Her eyes look larger, as if she had practiced at rarely blinking, at staring at people like she thinks nothing of everything and little of them. She doesn't greet us with emotion. In fact, she doesn't greet us at all beyond what the small ceremony requires. Instead, she smiles, a smile full of very white teeth. She says the Empire is glad to receive our offerings and glad to reward us; another one of us is to be educated and made a citizen this year -- and many other things that are too official to have any substance to my ears. My parents are, themselves, too astonished to speak as she approaches the table and lifts one of the vials, uncorking it. •► I swallow with some difficulty and, slowly, lean in. I decide to call her with a whisper. « [[Tisha?|6]] » •► I swallow with some difficulty and, slowly, breathe out. Her silence must have a reason. [[Perhaps she's afraid.|6a]]

She looks up and stares at me, a little fixedly. No answer, none whatsoever, not even a nod or glance of warning or understanding. I watch her open the vial; she once helped with the making of it. (if: $replace >= 1)[My whole body clenches its muscles as she smells the contents, then presses a finger against the bottle's opening and turns it once. Her smeared fingertip glistens with the olive oil. She rubs her fingers together, smells it again. I wait for the verdict. And the verdict is a smile. White, large. Wasn't a tooth on the right side of her mouth crooked, once? She closes the vial and looks straight at me. « (colour: grey)[You will come with us] », she says, « (colour: grey)[and be honoured.] » My parents turn. Perhaps they think it will be alright, since it's my sister, perhaps that's why they say nothing. And she would know that the oil is banal, if tasty, olive oil, wouldn't she? - but she said nothing. [[Perhaps, it *will* be alright. It's my sister, after all, isn't it? Just my sister, surely. Just Tisha.|7]]] (else:)[She closes the vial and smiles, satisfied. A bright smile, large. Wasn't a tooth on the right side of her mouth crooked, once? Then, without sparking me a look, not even the furtive sort, she turns to our father. « (colour: grey)[You will come with us] », she says, « (colour: grey)[and be honoured.] » My mother and I both look at him. I clench my jaw, mother touches his arm, but none of us says anything. The soldiers lined down the path are motionless, their show of discipline always disturbing. It will be aright. It's my sister, after all, and perhaps my father thinks the same: he'll have the chance to be by her side, fate be willing - mom and I will just have to work a little harder in the house. [[Perhaps, it *will* be alright. It's my sister, after all, isn't it? Just my sister, surely. Just Tisha.|7]]]

I watch her open the vial; she once helped with the making of it. (if: $replace >= 1)[My whole body clenches its muscles as she smells the contents, then presses a finger against the bottle's opening and turns it once. Her smeared fingertip glistens with the olive oil. She rubs her fingers together, smells it again. I wait for the verdict. And the verdict is a smile. Bright, large. Wasn't a tooth on the right side of her mouth crooked, once? She closes the vial and looks straight at me. « (colour: grey)[You will come with us] », she says, « (colour: grey)[and be honoured.] » My parents turn. Perhaps they think it will be alright, since it's my sister, perhaps that's why they say nothing. And she would know that the oil is banal, if tasty, olive oil, wouldn't she? - but she said nothing. [[Perhaps, it *will* be alright. It's my sister, after all, isn't it? Just my sister, surely. Just Tisha.|7]]] (else:)[She closes the vial and smiles, satisfied. A bright smile, large. Wasn't a tooth on the right side of her mouth crooked, once? Then, without sparking me a look, not even the furtive sort, she turns to our father. « (colour: grey)[You will come with us] », she says, « (colour: grey)[and be honoured.] » My mother and I both look at him. I clench my jaw, mother touches his arm, but none of us says anything. The soldiers lined down the path are motionless, their show of discipline always disturbing. It will be aright. It's my sister, after all, and perhaps my father thinks the same: he'll have the chance to be by her side, fate be willing - mom and I will just have to work a little harder in the house. [[Perhaps, it *will* be alright. It's my sister, after all, isn't it? Just my sister, surely. Just Tisha.|7]]]

(align: "=><=")[(css: "font-size: 200%;")[WIP] (css: "font-size: 120%;")[This is the end of the first part. Stay tuned for the complete story. (link: "Restart.")[(goto: "start")]]]