Elsinore v3.2

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(hoverstyle:(color:red+black))[#Elsinore: After Hamlet]<title| A story told by the trials and tribulations of an Asian-American student trying to write a paper on //Hamlet// during the COVID-19 pandemic. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. --- ^^Click [[here->how to play]] for a guide on how to play. Click [[here->content warnings]] to view a list of potential content warnings.^^ ^^This game contains instances of flashing/moving text that may be unsuitable for players with epilepsy.^^ Ready to get started on that paper? [[Open new document->Once upon a time...]]

(dialog: "Elsinore: After Hamlet subscribes to mimesis: in other words, Life imitates Art, and Art imitates Life. Your choices in this game matter, but as in life, there is no warning as to which ones will set or stray from a path. You, the player, inhabit a character whose power over their universe, much like your own, is limited. Stand behind your choices, for in Shakespeare and in Life there is no margin for regret.","Words well marked.", "Wow, you were one of the pretentious English majors, huh?") Once upon a time, a prince avenged his father’s death. (link-reveal:"If only he could have foreseen his own.")[= Poison gilds the halls of Elsinore as soldiers carry out the dead. Fortinbras the Younger, King of Norway and freshly-conquered Denmark, looks down on the final remaining body and with two careful fingers, [closes his eyes]<linklonk|.(click:?linklonk)[= His skin is still warm and the pallor of death has yet to tighten his features into a grimace; if not for the unnatural stillness of his chest and the (hoverstyle:(color:red+black))[blood-crusted slash]<bleeding| in his side, Hamlet the Younger could have been |why>[asleep].(click:?why)[= Beside him, Horatio stands, impassive and silent. The Dane’s jaw tenses but he makes no move except to clasp his hands behind his back. Fortinbras |stand>[stands] and motions to his retinue.(click:?stand)[= Four men move to obey his order, and as they carry Hamlet’s body out of the room, Horatio averts his eyes, face drawn tight. A soldier in the corner of the room beats a funeral march on his shield. Faintly, [shots sound]<hrg| outside the castle walls in tributary ordnance. (click:?hrg)[= “My sorrow wars not with my claim,” Fortinbras says solemnly, turning to watch Horatio with a cool eye. “Where will you stand, son of Denmark? We bury your liege with honors befitting his nobl’st affairs; do you lie with him in sweet sleep or serve our new day?”{(enchant: ?dot's chars, via (t8ndelay:pos*900) + (t8n:'instant'))} Horatio opens his mouth to [answer]<ans|.(click:?ans)[=[...]<dot|{(t8n:"rumble")+(t8ndelay:3s)[=[and your alarm goes [[off->wake up]].]}

Welcome to **Elsinore: After Hamlet**. As you read, text that looks like [this]<again| can be clicked to reveal the rest of the passage or options to make a choice. (click: ?again)[ (link-reveal:"One more time...")[ [(text-style:"smear","sway")+(text-colour:#ffe066)[Good job!]]]] Some text may do different things if you (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"buoy"))[hover] over it. (hover-style:(text-color:purple))[Don't be afraid to play around and make different choices!] Not all |promptlink>[links] do the same thing. (link-reveal:"Try this one.")[ Nice, I love (prompt:"This dialog box lets you type in answers. Click 'OK' when you're done.","Try it. What's your fave food?") too.] You may also encounter input boxes like this one: (input-box:"===XXXX===",2,"You can type here!") There will be prompts as to what to fill in. Simply highlight the text in the box and type in it. When you're done, click outside of the box to lock in your input and keep reading. To toggle fullscreen, press F11 (Windows) or CMD-CTRL-F (Mac). Click [[here->1st page (summary)]] when you're ready to get started.

Nap-bleary as you are, it takes a few tries to silence the (cycling-link:"overly cheery peals","Finnish death metal","2000s emo pop punk","strident beeps","twangy electric guitar riffs") blaring from your phone’s speaker, but when you manage it, the [sudden quiet]<clickme| in your room is eerie. (click:?clickme)[= Your parents’ house is utterly still, separated from silence by the hollow thrum of A/C—your parents must have gone out grocery shopping. A quick glance out the window confirms the absence of their car in the driveway; as you stare out at the empty concrete, your mind tumbles down the same slope it does [every time]<clicky| your parents go out without you.(click:?clicky)[= //Drive carefully. Don’t take too long loading everything into the trunk, but don’t rush either, or you'll look scared. Or suspicious. Don't get too close to anyone not wearing a mask, but don't make eye contact. // You try not to think about (cycling-link: "it","the Burmese family stabbed in a supermarket you used to go to","the infographics you repost to your Instagram story like a ritual","the man in the restaurant who nudged his friend when you walked in and asked if he was in the mood for a Corona","the twisting feeling in your gut when your little cousin wants to hug you and cries when you wave to him through the window instead","the news article you read when you flew home in the middle of last semester","Vicha Ratanapakdee falling to the ground like a ragdoll","doomscrolling through pictures of people smiling brightly over takeout containers, all captioned #stopasianhate","a girl you went to high school with posting a Facebook status about why saying China virus isn't racist", "how Randy Park is the same age as you","the news article you read last month","the news article you read last week","the news article you read last night","your parents not coming home"). You don’t realize you’re biting the inside of your cheek until your teeth meet with a sudden sting of [pain]<pain|.(click:?pain)[= While you rinse your mouth out and spit pink water down the sink, you strike up a conversation with your reflection. Maybe (cycling-link: 2bind $gender,"she","he","they") can help kickstart your brain on that Hamlet essay you're [supposed to be working on]<supposed|.(click:?supposed)[= “If someone stabs me to death in the grocery store, part of me hopes that I’ll do something appropriately badass, like grab my keys and stab my murderer back, but every news article I’ve read in the past month tells me I’m more likely to scream and try to run until the knife stops coming down. Hamlet gets to launch into over thirty lines of tragic monologue and declare he’s dying between every other profound statement on human nature and memory. I’m doomed to a single scream and maybe a plea for mercy. [Does that seem fair to you?]<fair|”(click:?fair)[= Your reflection doesn’t say anything in response, but you detect a distinct air of judgement in the glass. When you dry your face and open your laptop, you avoid meeting your reflection's gaze. It’s been so long since you last spoke with anyone outside your house that eye contact feels like a transgression, even if it’s with yourself. Your Word document is still open, and very blank. Well, not [[entirely->essay time]].

You’ve got a solid heading in place, proper MLA (link-reveal:"style:")[= {(set:$name to (prompt: "Your given name, please.","Kit","Wow, how did you know my name is Kit?","I've typed in my own name, and it's not Kit at all.")) (set:$surname to(either:"Zhang","Wang","Kang","Sun","Xu","Lim","Saito","Yamaguchi","Nam","Win","Tran","Gao","Zhou")) (set:$fullname to (joined: " ",($name), ($surname)))} $fullname (text-style:"blurrier")[ENGL XXXX - Professor Marlowe] (monthday:) April 2021 (link-reveal: "The cursor blinks. You blink back.")[= The blank page staring at you is doing nothing to help your productivity, and neither is the impassive clock in the corner of your desktop, so you start up your [narration]<nar| again: (click:?nar)[= “Well, even if he manages to look cool and angsty while doing it, Hamlet still dies. He puts the black cherry on top of the play’s morbid death sundae, sprawled out on the throne room floor and clutching Horatio’s hand while he wills him not to let his life be [forgotten]<oop|.(click:?oop)[= Everyone he ever loved is waiting for him, six feet under rotten Danish soil. (Well, except Horatio, but everyone on the internet got really mad last time I blogged about it.) At least I can write about it—hopefully my professor finds it more [interesting than incendiary]<hot|.”(click:?hot)[= You consider the possibility that your hot takes and homosexual tendencies might earn you a |failing>[failing] grade. Well, if Oscar Wilde can pen De Profundis in jail, you can night-blog about the biases and injustice plaguing academia to your heart’s content.(click:?failing)[= You definitely won’t spend a minimum of two weeks in a depressive spiral, shifting your sleep schedule to match the average healthy Australian citizen’s and writing a plethora of emails begging for scholarly clemency and mercy upon your GPA, not to mention your entire sense of existential validation. {(enchant: ?ellip's chars, via (t8n-delay:pos*300) + (t8n:'instant'))}(after: time+4s)[...]<ellip|(click:?ellip)[=Maybe basing your personality and sense of self-worth on school was a poor choice of coping mechanism. You make a note in your planner to think about that [[later->essay time 2]].

“Look,” you tell yourself sternly, “that is a problem for future $name to deal with! And it’s working, so there.” You aren’t sure who exactly this is meant to make a point to, but it leaves you feeling somewhat victorious—and in these unprecedented times, you’ll take what you can get. Lines—sweet, blessed words—finally fill up the |blank1>[blank page].(click:?blank1)[= (enchant:?HamletPaper's chars + ?HamCont's chars, via(t8n-delay:pos*20)+(t8n:"instant"))|HamletPaper>[//Hamlet’s dying words echo his father’s first: “If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart…draw thy breath in pain to tell my story” (Hamlet 5.2.292-295). Hamlet charges Horatio with one last act of loyalty to ensure that the story of Hamlet—the elder and the younger—will endure to stand in history tomes.//]|HamCont>[ //With his dying breath, Hamlet passes on the—//](click:?HamCont)[= —your internal monologue blasts through the trance of intellectual thought; your fingers stumble on the keyboard and then stop altogether, leaving a tangle of typos on the tail of your sentence. (t8n: "flicker")+(t8n-delay:10s)[I don’t want to be a (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[tragedy]<trag|.](click:?trag)[=I don’t want to clutch some stranger’s hand while I bleed out on a supermarket floor and beg them to get my grandparents to safety and tell the cop everything that happened—to swear on God (the capital G for Jesus one, not the lowercase one we throw around for emphasis at home) in my most perfect English that I didn’t do anything but exist between the oranges and apples and maybe glance the wrong way with my chinky eyes, and please, officer, we’re just out getting groceries and our parents are waiting at home and our grandparents don’t speak English very well, I’ll translate for them— Lines—sweet, blessed words—finally fill up the |blank>[blank page]. (click:?blank)[But this time you aren't typing them. (enchant: ?act5's chars, via (t8n-delay:pos * 30) + (t8n:'instant'))(after: time +5s, (cond: visits>0, 3s, 0))[=[//''Act Five, Scene Two.''//]<act5|(after: time +2s)[= A few seconds pass. You stare at the blinking cursor.(after: time +5s, (cond: visits>0, 2s, 0))[= [//''Act Five, Scene Two.''//]<act5| You glance at your copy of the play; it sits innocuously on the nightstand, spine worn from thumbing through its pages. It's time to make a choice. [[Pick it up.->Go to Act Five, Scene Two]] [[Delete the text.->Stubbornly ignore first sign]]]

The pages rustle, pushing against your fingers as though the play itself is eager to open up Act Five, Scene Two. With a definitive //whap//, you arrive at the final scene of the play; your gaze darts to the screen for further instruction before you realize that you’re not only obeying what is most likely a stress hallucination, but actively encouraging it. You glare down at Hamlet’s [banter]<banter| with Horatio. (click:?banter)[= “In twelfth grade, I did an entire presentation on why your melancholy makes you the only honest character in the entire play, because you lie in order to reveal the truth, but [you know what?]<ques|(click:?ques)[= At the end of the day, you’re a rich, white man who let his misogyny derail his father’s final request.” Hamlet, as he is both engaged in roasting Osric and being a fictional character, does not reply.(click:"reply")[= After a moment of consideration, you add, “You also treated Ophelia terribly. I guess that goes in with the misogyny, but geez. Four hundred years after you barge into her bedroom and mass media still touts her around as the tragically beautiful maiden figure that all depressed teenage girls definitely need to see.” (linkreplace:"Hamlet remains silent.")[Hamlet remains silent—the part of you that is exhausted, and has been since March 2020, chooses to believe that it’s in shame and not because you’re |book>[talking to a book].](click:?book)[= A heavy sigh leaves your chest feeling marginally lighter; you tip your head back and drop the book on your lap, rubbing your eyes wearily. Blindly, you grope for your phone—you don’t know when your parents left the house, but the grocery store is barely a ten-minute drive. A check-in text won’t [hurt]<hurt|.(click:?hurt)[= Where did you put your phone? You (linkreplace:"s")[s ](linkreplace:"t")[t ](linkreplace:"r")[r ](linkreplace:"e")[e ](linkreplace:"t")[t ](linkreplace:"c")[c ][h ]<oho| your arm out a little further— (click:?oho)[=Your fingers hit hard, cold stone and your eyes snap open. “Unfold yourself!” A very sharp-looking sword punctuates the order and very nearly your heart; you scramble backwards until your back hits [solid stone]<stone|.(click:?stone)[= The man wielding the sword looks unimpressed and mildly curious—hopefully curious enough not to kill you before you can figure out what’s going on. He pokes the sword at you again and you do out the first thing that comes to mind: [[Bluff->Mock Fortinbras]] [[Beg->Beg Fortinbras]] [[Run->Flee Fortinbras]] {(if:$gender is "she")[ (set:$She to "She") (set:$she to "she") (set:$hisher to "her") (set:$hishers to "hers") (set:$them to "her") (set:$Hisher to "Her") (set:$Hishers to "Hers") (set:$Them to "Her") (set:$child to "daughter") ] (if:$gender is "he")[ (set:$She to "He") (set:$she to "he") (set:$hisher to "his") (set:$hishers to "his") (set:$them to "him") (set:$Hisher to "His") (set:$Hishers to "His") (set:$Them to "Him") (set:$child to "son") ] (if:$gender is "they")[ (set:$She to "They") (set:$she to "they") (set:$hisher to "their") (set:$hishers to "theirs") (set:$them to "them") (set:$Hisher to "Their") (set:$Hishers to "Theirs") (set:$Them to "Them") (set:$child to "child") ]}

Nope. You don’t have time for this, whatever //this// is. It takes one fluid motion to highlight the invasive lines of text and a trim press of the backspace key to [erase]<erase| them from existence.(click:?erase)[= A swift double-click opens your trusty five hour essay-writing playlist; you tab back over to your beautiful, eighth-edition-MLA-compliant heading and start composing [analytical genius]<ana|, bobbing your head to the beat.(click:?ana)[= (enchant:?HamletPaper's chars + ?HamCont's chars, via(t8n-delay:pos*30)+(t8n:"instant"))[//When Hamlet bestows his “dying voice” to Fortinbras, he continues the play’s original cycle of [inheritance]<inherit|.//]<HamletPaper|(click:?inherit)[= Your fingers clack over your keyboard, fleshing out the thought: (force-input-box:"=XX=","Go, bid the soldiers shoot.") You frown at your (textstyle:"fidget")+(hoverstyle:(color:#c92a2a))[screen]<ohno|.(click:?ohno)[= Brow furrowed in consternation, you jam your pinky into the backspace key, but the damned spot of text refuses every effort to delete it; as you switch from smashing backspace to swiping with your mouse and mashing delete with your other hand, the line spreads like unblotted ink, (linkreplace:"crawling over your page.")[crawling over your page like {(text-colour:#c92a2a)+(text-style:"bold","wavy-strike","blurrier","mirror","fade-in-out")+(text-rotate-x:10)+(text-rotate-y:13)+(text-rotate-z:191)[some gruesome creature. sOmE GrUEsOmE cReAtURe. SOmE gRuEsOMe cReATuReSOmegRUEsoME CREATurE]}(textcolor:red)+(textstyle:"bold","expand","fidget")+(text-rotate-x:330)+(text-rotate-y:30)+(text-rotate-z:35)[SOme g(textstyle:"outline")[RUE]soME CREATurE]<rueme|](click:?rueme)[= Your laptop screen bulges out at you from under its web of dense text, the same line printed a million times over, crisscrossing over itself and spinning over the page—dimly, you recognize it as the final line of the play, but a dull buzz at the back of your skull keeps you from remembering anything more than (t8n:"blur")+(link-rerun:"that.")[ “Go, bid the soldiers shoot,”(click:"RUE")[ you mutter, screwing your eyes shut and pressing your thumbs into the hollows just beneath your brows. The buzzing escalates into a hollow ringing that echoes through your head, keeping your thoughts in the same state of disturbance as a pool set to ripple by a shower of stones.] ](click: "stones")[= //Go, bid the soldiers shoot.// Your stomach drops as the floor yawns beneath you, pitching you forward into the resonating chorus that seems to have [split]<split| your skull open—(click:?split)[= Sharp pain cracks through your knees at the sudden impact of stone on flesh; you shove your hands out just in time to stop your face from slamming into the floor, earning yourself a jagged, white-hot shockwave of pain that spikes from your palms up to your shoulders. |click>[“Unfold yourself!”](click:?click)[= The harsh scrape of metal against metal shivers through the air—before the ache in your joints has a chance to dull, you scramble backwards, ignoring the pain that bursts over your tailbone when it slams into stone. The very sharp sword floating against your collarbone shoots enough adrenaline through your body to make the promise of bruises the least of your concerns. The man wielding the sword looks unimpressed and mildly curious—hopefully curious enough not to kill you before you can figure out what’s going on. He takes a step closer and you do the first thing that comes to mind: [[Bluff->Mock Fortinbras]] [[Beg->Beg Fortinbras]] [[Run->Flee Fortinbras]] {(if:$gender is "she")[ (set:$She to "She") (set:$she to "she") (set:$hisher to "her") (set:$hishers to "hers") (set:$them to "her") (set:$Hisher to "Her") (set:$Hishers to "Hers") (set:$Them to "Her") (set:$child to "daughter") ] (if:$gender is "he")[ (set:$She to "He") (set:$she to "he") (set:$hisher to "his") (set:$hishers to "his") (set:$them to "him") (set:$Hisher to "His") (set:$Hishers to "His") (set:$Them to "Him") (set:$child to "son") ] (if:$gender is "they")[ (set:$She to "They") (set:$she to "they") (set:$hisher to "their") (set:$hishers to "theirs") (set:$them to "them") (set:$Hisher to "Their") (set:$Hishers to "Theirs") (set:$Them to "Them") (set:$child to "child") ]}

(set: $bluff to 1) “Ha! You call that a sword?” you laugh as derisively as you can, squaring your shoulders and staring the man in the eye. He doesn’t look //that// much older than you. You’ve got a pretty good chance at intimidating him. Right?(click:"Right?")[= He pauses, looking at you like he can’t decide whether you’re joking or just completely out of touch with reality. You wonder what it says about you that the first thing you notice was his lack of a [face mask]<mask|, and not the Elizabethan costume he’s sporting.(click:?mask)[= “Horatio,” he calls, still holding his sword at the ready. You gape. Had the social isolation finally gotten to you? Another man—Horatio, you assume—walks up. The skin around his eyes is red and starting to puff. You stare at him, an absurd idea forming in your brain.(click:"absurd")[= The man with the sword gestures towards you. “Do you know who $she(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[ is](else:)[ are]?” he asks Horatio. Horatio studies you for a long moment, then shakes his head. “I have not seen $hisher face in Elsinore before,” he says. “Whoa,” you say, holding your hands out as the man with the sword raises the blade again. “No need to get the sword involved. I’ll answer your questions, alright?” Your stomach flips as the two men glance at each other. (click:"flips")[=Finally, Sword Guy lowers his arm and you suck in a relieved breath. “Who are you?” he asks. “And why did you come here?” “My name is $name,” you answer warily. The thought of telling them your surname doesn’t even cross your mind—your socialization skills may have rotted, despite your best efforts at preserving them, over the last year, but you’re nowhere near socially-starved enough to tell two random men dressed like Ren Fair hawkers any more details about yourself than you have to. (linkreplace:"“I…I didn’t come here on purpose.”")[=“I…I didn’t come here on purpose,” you say, trying to figure out an explanation that doesn’t make you sound absolutely deranged. “I was just working on something for school and the next thing I knew, I was here.” “You’re a (link-reveal:"scholar?”")[= Sword Guy’s eyebrows lift in interest and he sheathes his sword. “Um, yes,” you say. It’s true...and you really want that sword to stay in its scabbard. Sword Guy nods solemnly. “Where do you study? Have you come from Wittenberg?” A pained expression crosses Horatio’s face at the mention of Wittenberg and you look between them incredulously. “No, I don’t study at Wittenberg,” you say slowly, wondering if you fell out of your bed somehow and hit your head. “I…I don’t think you’d know of my school.” (click:"head")[= You’d said it because it seemed like the safest thing to do, not because it sounded particularly plausible, but Sword Guy nods thoughtfully. “I am not overly familiar with the schools of the Orient,” he muses. “Your journey must have been long. I regret that you have arrived to such ill tidings.” [“What.”]<bish|(click:?bish)[= The flat word slips out from your mouth before you think to stop it. You have to have misheard him. (cycling-link: "Anger","Irritation","Absurd laughter","Resignation") bubbles up in your throat, prickling your tongue before you force yourself to |elsa>[let it go].(click:?elsa)[= His face stills, and Horatio looks even more miserable, if that’s possible. “King Claudius is dead, as is Hamlet and all Danes who would succeed him. In the name of Norway and my late namesake father, I sit upon the throne of Denmark now.” You stare at him, speechless, before you [[burst out laughing->Elsinore 2]].

(set: $beg to true) (set:$neutral to 1) //”I’m not a threat oh my god please don’t kill me!”// you blurt out, raising your hands into the air frantically. Your thoughts race as your eyes dart over his clothes—the man is wearing an honest-to-god doublet—and back to the sword point hovering in front of you. Is he doing some kind of historical reenactment? A play? How did you even get here?(click:"doublet")[= The man squints at you. “Are you unarmed?” You nod desperately. “Can you please stop pointing your sword at me now?” you squeak, eyes fixed on the shiny silver blade. He (link-reveal:"frowns.")[= “Horatio,” he calls, still holding his sword at the ready. You gape. Had the social isolation finally gotten to you? Another man—Horatio, you assume—walks up. The skin around his eyes is red and starting to puff. You stare at him, an absurd idea forming in your brain. (link:"It can't be...")[= The man with the sword gestures towards you. “Do you know who $she(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[ is](else:)[ are]?” he asks Horatio. Horatio studies you for a long moment, then shakes his head. “I have not seen $hisher face in Elsinore before,” he says. “Whoa,” you say, holding your hands out as the man with the sword raises the blade again. “No need to get the sword involved. I’ll answer your questions, alright?” Your stomach flips as the two men glance at each other.(click:"flips")[= Finally, Sword Guy lowers his arm and you suck in a relieved breath. “Who are you?” he asks. “And why did you come here?” “My name is $name,” you answer warily. The thought of telling them your surname doesn’t even cross your mind—your socialization skills may have rotted, despite your best efforts at preserving them, over the last year, but you’re nowhere near socially-starved enough to tell two random men dressed like Ren Fair hawkers any more details about yourself than you have to. “I…I didn’t come here on purpose,” you say, trying to figure out an explanation that doesn’t make you sound absolutely deranged. “I was just working on something for school and the next thing I knew, I was here.” “You’re a (link-reveal:"scholar?”")[= Sword Guy’s eyebrows lift in interest and he sheathes his sword. “Um, yes,” you say. It’s true….and you really want that sword to stay in its scabbard. Sword Guy nods solemnly. “Where do you study? Have you come from Wittenberg?” A pained expression crosses Horatio’s face at the mention of |Wit>[Wittenberg] and you look between them incredulously. (click:?Wit)[= “No, I don’t study at Wittenberg,” you say slowly, wondering if you fell out of your bed somehow and hit your head. “I…I don’t think you’d know of my school.” You’d said it because it seemed like the safest thing to do, not because it sounded particularly plausible, but Sword Guy nods thoughtfully. “I am not overly familiar with the schools of the Orient,” he muses. “Your journey must have been long. I regret that you have arrived to such ill tidings.” [“What.”]<bish|(click:?bish)[= The flat word slips out from your mouth before you think to stop it. You have to have misheard him. (cycling-link: "Anger","Irritation","Absurd laughter","Resignation") bubbles up in your throat, prickling your tongue before you force yourself to |elsa>[let it go].(click:?elsa)[= His face stills, and Horatio looks even more miserable, if that’s possible. “King Claudius is dead, as is Hamlet and all Danes who would succeed him. In the name of Norway and my late namesake father, I sit upon the throne of Denmark now.” You stare at him, speechless, [[before you burst out laughing->Elsinore 2]]

(set:$run to 1) Your body launches into motion before you really know what you’re doing. You lurch sideways, heart hammering in your chest as you swerve to the side of the sword-wielding man—at least, you try to. He lunges at you, extending a hand and snagging you by the upper arm. You stagger back and the man’s face creases into a frown. "Whoa," you all but yell as he pulls you back. "Six feet apart, buddy!" (click:"yell")[= You yank yourself free of his grip, backing up the requisite six feet and then some. “Horatio,” he calls, still holding his sword at the ready. You gape. Had the social isolation finally gotten to you? Another man—Horatio, you assume—walks up. The skin around his eyes is red and starting to puff. You stare at him, an [absurd idea]<absrud| forming in your brain.(click:?absrud)[= The man with the sword gestures towards you. “Do you know who $she(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[ is](else:)[ are]?” he asks Horatio. Horatio studies you for a long moment, then shakes his head. “I have not seen $hisher face in Elsinore before,” he says. “Hey hey hey,” you say, holding your hands out as the man with the sword raises the blade again. “No need to get the sword involved. I’ll answer your questions, alright?” Your stomach flips as the two men glance at each other.(click:"flips")[= Finally, Sword Guy lowers his arm and you suck in a relieved breath. [“Who are you?”]<who| he asks. “And why did you come here?”(click:?who)[= “My name is $name,” you answer warily. The thought of telling them your surname doesn’t even cross your mind—your socialization skills may have rotted, despite your best efforts at preserving them, over the last year, but you’re nowhere near socially-starved enough to tell two random men dressed like Ren Fair hawkers any more details about yourself than you have to. “I…I didn’t come here on purpose,” you say, trying to figure out an explanation that doesn’t make you sound absolutely deranged. “I was just working on something for school and the next thing I knew, I was here.” “You’re a (link-reveal:"scholar?”")[= Sword Guy’s eyebrows lift in interest and he sheathes his sword. “Um, yes,” you say. It’s true….and you really want that sword to stay in its scabbard. Sword Guy nods solemnly. “Where do you study? Have you come from Wittenberg?” A pained expression crosses Horatio’s face at the mention of Wittenberg and you look between them incredulously. “No, I don’t study at |Wit>[Wittenberg],” you say slowly, wondering if you fell out of your bed somehow and hit your head. “I…I don’t think you’d know of my school.” (click:?Wit)[= You’d said it because it seemed like the safest thing to do, not because it sounded particularly plausible, but Sword Guy nods thoughtfully. “I am not overly familiar with the schools of the Orient,” he muses. “Your journey must have been long. I regret that you have arrived to such ill tidings.” [“What.”]<bish|(click:?bish)[= The flat word slips out from your mouth before you think to stop it. You have to have misheard him. (cycling-link: "Anger","Irritation","Absurd laughter","Resignation") bubbles up in your throat, prickling your tongue before you force yourself to |elsa>[let it go].(click:?elsa)[= His face stills, and Horatio looks even more miserable, if that’s possible. “King Claudius is dead, as is Hamlet and all Danes who would succeed him. In the name of Norway and my late namesake father, I sit upon the throne of Denmark now.” You stare at him, speechless, before you [[burst out laughing.->Elsinore 2]]

The two men stare at you in dual shock and mild offense as you double over in a fit of laughter. “That was pretty good,” you wheeze as you catch your breath. “Seriously, great delivery. But I’m done here. I need to get back [home]<home|.”(click:?home)[= Fortinbras’s bewilderment deepens. “But it would take several months to sail back to the Orient,” he says.(click:"Orient")[= “You’ve only just arrived—you’d be hard-pressed now to find a ship that would take you—” “I’m not from the Orient,” you snap, your patience whittled thin. “I was born here. I grew up here.” “In Denmark?” Fortinbras asks, confusion leaching into his voice. You groan and drag a hand down your face. “We aren’t in Denmark! [This is not //Hamlet//!]<orisit|”(click:?orisit)[= “We are in Denmark,” Horatio speaks up stonily, meeting your irate gaze. “I have lived in Elsinore’s arms my entire life, and I will die in them.” “How could we be in Denmark?! None of us are speaking Danish!” you retort, ticking off your arguments on your fingers. “We’re all speaking modern English, with American accents! You’re experiencing a...a mass hallucination, or something.” (link-reveal:"“How else would we speak?”")[= “If you were really Fortinbras and Horatio?” you demand, exasperated. “If I were somehow stuck in the play? You’d be driving me insane with your constant iambic pentameter and not pointless microaggressions!” Fortinbras’s eyes flash in offense, but before either of you can say anything more, a man rushes in. Panting, he stops in front of Fortinbras and salutes him. Fortinbras waves a hand at him to (link-reveal:"speak.")[= “Two of the servants have fallen unconscious, sire,” he says quickly. “We can’t rouse them.” Something cold prickles down your spine and your stomach clenches unpleasantly. Fortinbras glances at you before setting his jaw and nodding sharply at the man. “Show me." [[Talk to Horatio. ->Horatio Mourns 1]] [[Follow Fortinbras. ->hall]]

You’re not sure why {(if:$HoratioTalk is true)[you decided to go after Fortinbras and] (else:)[you follow Fortinbras]} into the hall where his men have laid out the two unconscious servants. It’s crowded, with people gasping and jostling one another for a better view, though they part somewhat for [Fortinbras]<F|(clickappend:?F's 1st)[—though you aren’t sure whether its more out of respect for his presence or the apparent skill he has for cutting through a crowd with his elbows]. The mass of people turns your stomach and you brace yourself against the wall at the flash of [anxiety]<anx| roiling in your belly.(click:?anx)[= It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to so many people; your pulse feels like it could lift out of your skin. (link-reveal: "You peer from a distance. ") [=The two women on the floor look more like wax figures than living beings; if not for the shallow rise and fall of their chests, you would have thought they were a giant child’s dolls. Their lips are pale and slightly parted, the dark pinprick of space between their teeth and tongue impossibly small for how loudly their shallow breaths (charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))+(hoverstyle:(textstyle:'expand'))[rattle]<rattle| as they draw in air.(click:?rattle)[= Horatio takes one look and goes ashen, hand clutching at empty air. You watch sympathetically as he turns around and presses his eyes against the stone wall, fist balled against his gut. You hang back and peek at the bodies with a sense of [morbid fascination]<morbs|.(click:?morbs)[= Their stillness doesn’t bother you all that much, you realize with a shock. You wonder when images of death stopped making you squirm, and realize that it must have been around the time you started feeling more comfortable with (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"expand"))+(textstyle:'fidget')[deserted streets] than with (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"condense"))[crowded]<crowd| ones.(click:?crowd)[= {(set:$time to 0)}As you stare at the two unfortunate servants, you hear a dry, wrenching (text-style:"subscript","fidget")+(hoverstyle:(color:red))[cough] from behind you and your (text-color:red)+(hover-style:(text-color:cyan))[blood] runs [[cold->dead maids ii]].

{(if:$gender is "she")[ (set:$HamOph to "Ophelia") ] (if:$gender is "he")[ (set:$HamOph to "Hamlet") ] (if:$gender is "they")[ (set:$HamOph to "Hamlet and Ophelia") ]} You turn, arms curling tightly around yourself as if that will offer any protection. The rush of air into your nose and down your throat suddenly burns, the tissue of your nose and throat hypersensitive to every (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"expand"))[inhale]<in|.(click:?in)[= The man who coughed is young, the picture of health except for when he inhales and that deathly (charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[rattle ]sounds, like his ribcage is being shaken loose—he looks eerily similar to the guy who’d lived down the hall in your building, the one you used to nod to every time you passed each other on the [quad]<quad|. (click:?quad)[= He was [nice]<ni|, always offering you a handful of popcorn when you crossed paths by the communal kitchen. This wasn’t him (enchant:?cough, (text-color:red))[coughing]<cough|.(click:?cough's 1st)[= Couldn’t [be]<cough|.(click:?cough's 2nd)[= You’d seen him be so careful, seen him scrub his hands nearly raw with blue dish soap from the campus store, lathering up past his wrists. He’d been safe the last time you saw his little Zoom [window]<cough|.(click:?cough's 3rd)[= And now he was [coughing]<cough|. (click:?cough's 4th)[=(after: 2s)[=“This is a dream,” you whisper to yourself, “I’m dreaming that I’m in the play I’m writing about, and now I’ll wake up.” You pinch the inside of your arm and (enchant: ?twist's chars, (hoverstyle:(color:red)))[twist]<twist| until you feel the hard edge of your nail [tear]<tear| through thin skin. (click:?tear)[= You gasp in pain and bring your thumb away, gazing in stupor at the red glistening on your fingernail. “Out, out, you damned spot,” you murmur under your breath, a laugh choking itself into a sob, “(color:red)+(hoverstyle:(textstyle:'shudder'))[let me out!]<esc|” (click:?esc)[= Nothing happens, except for the coughing man shooting you an alarmed glance and shuffling away. You sigh, trying to breathe evenly. “Should have known that wouldn’t work,” you mutter. “Wrong play.” A sudden thought occurs to you.(click:"thought")+(t8n:"fade-up")[=“Am I Hamlet?” (after: time + 3s)[=A mirthless laugh bubbles out of your chest. “Where’s my dead dad? Murder uncle? Where’s the girlfriend I need to accidentally maybe kinda sorta kill? Where’s my goddamn white male privilege, huh?” A [hand]<hand| taps you on the shoulder and you whirl around.(click:?hand)[= Horatio looks at you, face drawn with a kind of concern you don’t want to name. “I heard you mumbling to yourself,” he says, almost sternly. “$HamOph did that too. And look how that [ended]<oof|.”(click:?oof)[= {{(if: $aloof is true)[ His jaw tightens and you can tell he's still a little miffed after your conversation earlier. Horatio holds your gaze a moment longer before shaking his head slightly, looking oddly resigned.]} {(else-if:$kind is >0)[ He smiles, though the expression is tinged with the same wistful sorrow you've always imagined him wearing throughout most of the play. You look down at your hands, almost surprised they aren't shaking.] (else:)[]}} [You rub the [blood]<bleeding| roughly off your thumb.](click:?bleeding)[(goto:"Horatio convo")]

You open your mouth to answer a little more [kindly]<poorH|(clickappend:?poorH)[ (you’ve always liked Horatio’s character, being mean to him feels bad)], but you spot a Norwegian soldier offer his glass to the [coughing soldier]<stop|. (click:?stop)[= The coughing soldier reaches for it and you shove Horatio out of the way. (link-reveal:"“Stop!”")[= All the eyes in the room turn on you. You swallow and repeat, “Stop. It’s not safe.” Fortinbras stands, brows lowering intently. “What is the [meaning]<wh| of this?”(click:?wh)[= You point a shaky hand at to the hall where the two women are still laid out on the floor like statues. “Their sickness, it could be contagious.” You hesitate, realizing that you can’t just accuse the coughing soldier of being ill based off a gut feeling. “I studied this at my university,” you say, trying to sound confident. “I (link-reveal:"know")[= what I’m talking about.” It isn’t //technically// a lie. You have spent an inordinate amount of time these past two semesters studying viral replication and transmission. 3D models of viral bacteriophages and cocci haunt your dreams sometimes. Fortinbras studies you for a long moment. “Can you [cure]<cure| them?” he asks.(click:?cure)[= “I…I can keep anyone else from getting sick,” you say finally. He holds your gaze steady; when you don’t waver, he nods and sits back down. {(if:$HoratioTalk is true)[It probably helps that Horatio stands up too and vouches for you, his voice steady and calm(if:$aloof is true)[, although he looks a bit grudging about it.](else:)[.] ]} You take this as permission to launch into a few ground rules, which you spout almost [automatically]<auto| at this point.(click:?auto)[= Don’t share food or drink, keep your distance…you pause as you realize the list of things you say to your parents pre-grocery trip is alarmingly similar. But somehow, as you look out over the faces of Fortinbras's army and the clusters of Danes scattered among them, you doubt you need to |warn>[warn] them to watch out for people yelling slurs and demanding they return to 'the Orient'.(click:?warn)[= Finally, when you think you’ve gotten the message across, Fortinbras nods at you. A hint of a smile plays around his mouth, though it could very well be a trick of the [torchlight]<fire|.(click:?fire)[= He brings a hunk of dark bread and two apples with him when he comes to sit beside you. You spend the next hour or so answering his questions about [medicine]<med| (clickappend:?med)[ (what you can remember from biology class, anyway)] and preventative [measures]<rules| (this, you're much more recently practiced on, for better or |worse>[for worse]). (click:?worse)[= When the last scrap of bread is gone, Fortinbras takes a bite out of his apple, ponders you while he chews, and proceeds to announce you his official royal medical advisor. Night falls and you’re shown to a decent room, but [[you can’t sleep->morning mourning]].

You toss and turn in bed, but your brain refuses to quiet. Finally, you sit up, sigh, and quietly slip [out of your room]<out|. (click:?out)[= You wander around the castle for a while, wondering how bad of a concussion you have to have in order to smack yourself into the post-canon world of a Shakespeare play. Eventually, your meandering leads you back to the hall where the two women are laid. Their bodies are covered in white cloth and for a moment you stiffen, thinking they’re burial shrouds, before you remember that Fortinbras had arranged for blankets to be laid over them to stave off any (link-reveal:"cold.")[= Something seems off, though. You can’t quite place your finger on it, but there’s a (hover-style:(text-color:cyan))[cold] prickle at the base of your spine that coils around your belly and ribs as you stand there, watching the wind tug at the women’s white blankets. [[Step closer.-> Inspect bodies]] [[Go back to your room.->don't look]]

Cautiously, you take a step forward. (click:"forward")[=Then |anot>[another].(click:?anot)[= And (link-reveal:"another")[=, until you’re so close you can see every minuscule crease in the thin blanket. (link-reveal:"Oh.")[= Her chest isn’t moving.(after: time+8s, (cond: visits > 0, time+4s, 0))[= You hold your breath and touch the sliver of arm that’s visible. You recoil almost instantly. Her skin is (hoverstyle:(color:cyan))[ice-cold]<ice| and waxy to the touch.(click:?ice)[= Quietly, you make your way around her and gently check the other woman’s pulse. Her wrist flops limply in your grip and you fight back the hot sting of tears. [[Close their eyes.->close their eyes]] [[Leave them be. -> leave them be]]

{(set:$TalkedToMirror to true)} You hurry back to your room, only daring breathe (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"expand"))[fully]<full| when you’re back in your own room.(click:?full)[= The cold, tight hand of dread gradually releases your innards, although you can’t completely rid yourself of the feeling that something is (hover-style:(textcolor:red)+(text-style:"outline"))[wrong]<bad|. (click:?bad)[= There’s no mirror, but there is a small basin of water, presumably for washing up. You splash your face and scrub your hands over your cheeks before you lean on your elbows over the surface of the water and stare into it, but you can’t get a clear image. The water ripples, distorting your face.(click:"distorting")[= A sudden pang of fear strikes you as you wonder if you would even recognize yourself. “The Danes are angry,” you hear a voice say suddenly. You jerk back, upsetting the basin, and the voice wobbles, crying out “[Hey!]<h|”(click:?h)[= You peer into the water suspiciously. Your reflection scowls back, clearly irritated. You mutter a few choice words and press a hand to your pounding heart. “The Danes are angry,” $she(if:$gender is "she" or"he")[ says](else:)[ say] again. “You’d better watch out. You might be used to keeping your head down, but he definitely isn’t.” “What? Who are you talking about?” you demand. $She(if:$gender is "she"or"he")[ grins—or maybe grimaces](else:)[ grin—or maybe grimace]. You can’t really tell, with the water [sloshing]<slosh| around so much.(click:?slosh)[= “Aren’t you supposed to be writing an essay on this?” $she ask(if:$gender is "she"or"he")[s] pointedly. “Figure it out. We’re smart.” (linkreveal:"“Wha—”")[= A knock on the door interrupts you, and your reflection melts back into a silent mirror of your face. You wipe your face dry and open the door. Fortinbras lowers his hand, his eyes grim. “They’re dead,” he says without preamble, and your heart plummets like a [[stone->dead maids discovery]]. {(if:visits >0)[ (set:$run to it +1)]}

{(set: $closed to true)} Your jaw tightens, mouth pulling into a pained frown as you reach out and carefully close the women’s eyelids. Their skin is cold and feels horribly delicate against your fingertips. You shudder but try not to [grimace]<sad|.(click:?sad)[= You reach into your pocket, not expecting to find the loose change you usually kept in your jeans, and miraculously touch metal. You draw four quarters out and lay them carefully over the women’s [eyelids]<eye| to keep them shut. You look down at their silent, motionless bodies, and wordlessly pull the thin blankets over their heads, turning them into the [burial shrouds]<rip| you’d mistaken them for earlier. (click:?rip)[= {(if:visits>0)[ (set:$kind to it+1)]} You don’t cry when you go scrub your hands with soap and water, but your throat tightens and the water seems to glimmer more than usual. (linkreveal:"When you’re done, you find Fortinbras.")[= “They’re gone,” you say quietly. He blinks at you, brows furrowing. “The two women,” you elaborate, watching his face carefully. His sorrow bleeds through for a moment, though it’s mild and momentary, before Fortinbras’s features smooth into a mask. [[Breakfast is a solemn affair.->dead maids discovery]]

You look down at their silent, motionless bodies, and stretch out a hand as if to pull the thin white cloth over their faces as burial shrouds, but inch back. You swallow and turn quickly, marching out of the room and going in [search of Fortinbras]<F|.(click:?F)[= You find him near the top of the castle, close to the platform |where>[where](clickappend:?where)[ (it seems so long ago, and you only read about it)] Horatio once spied the [ghost]<spec| of Hamlet’s father. (click:?spec)[= “They’re gone,” you say quietly as you approach him. He blinks at you, brows furrowing. “The two women,” you elaborate, watching his face carefully. His sorrow bleeds through for a moment, though it’s mild and momentary, before Fortinbras’s features smooth into a mask. [[Breakfast is a solemn affair.->dead maids discovery]] {(if:visits>0)[ (set:$neutral to it +1)]}

Fortinbras announces the news to subdued groans and sighs. You look around, though, and note that(if:$TalkedToMirror is true)[ Fortinbras’s men don’t seem very affected by the news of the deaths, but the servants and few survivors of Hamlet’s court who had sworn fealty to Fortinbras are scowling, their eyes fixed on their new king. Your reflection’s [warning]<warn| rings in your head.(click:?warn)[At least everyone seems to be heeding your [advice]<trig| to curb potential contagion.]](else:)[ everyone seems to be heeding your [advice]<trig| to curb potential contagion.] (click:?trig)[= You sigh, allowing yourself the amount of time it takes to chew a piece of bread to wonder about your [family]<family|. How time works in the [strange]<strange| ghostly space you've apparently fallen into. If they're still at the grocery store or pulling into the driveway or already unloading their purchases from the car. (click:?strange)[= It’s strange being around so many people, after a year spent with just your family. You’d joked at first that it was like being on one of those reality TV shows where the |prize>[prize] for maintaining your sanity(clickappend:?prize)[ (or not, those producers sure did love to stir up the most ridiculous feuds you’d ever seen)] was something glamorous before taxes. You'd weathered it quite well, though...it helped that every time you left the house, your neighbors' eyes followed you, silent but seething. The lockdown period had made the house a [haven]<hav|, not a prison.(click:?hav)[= The chatter around you grows louder; a few distinct strands of conversation pass by you as you eat. (link-reveal:"//\"He can wear the crown as high as he likes, we won't forget who we are...\"//")[= (link-reveal:"//\"Of course not, he brought it here!\"//")[= (link-reveal:"//\"I heard some of his men getting sick...yes, I'm sure!\"//")[= (link-reveal:"//\"—atio must be indebted, why else would he be so loyal?\"//")[= (link-reveal:"//\"Hush! You're right of course, but—\"//")[= Everything seems slow and extra saturated despite the voices rushing past you as you look around, as though you’re floating through a dream. You turn to Horatio to ask him about finding a mirror in the castle, and [[something flies past your face.->Fortinbras gets hit]]

The stale bread roll smacks Fortinbras right beneath the eye. The hall falls [utterly silent]<utt|.(click:?utt)[= His head jerks back with the impact, but in an instant, his eyes burn furiously and his naked blade shivers in the air of the hall. He glares in the direction the roll came from, searching faces, his jaw tight, lips drawn back in a sneer. (linkreveal:"“Over here!”")[= The voice that rings out is brazen and clear. You watch as its owner strides forth, stopping midway down the table from Fortinbras. Beside you, Horatio sucks in a breath and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like a prayer. (click:"prayer")[= “That’s Petra,” he says under his breath, eyes trained on her as she lifts her chin, staring imperiously at Fortinbras. “The daughter of the late queen’s cousin. She was raised here as a child but sent to Odense to live with her mother when she began ailing.” “But I’ve never heard of her,” you protest. “[She’s not in the play]<no|.”(click:?no)[= The corner of Horatio’s mouth twitches and he glances at you, bemused. “You speak of this play as though it ought to govern us. Do we not have free souls, $name?” You open your mouth to retort, but Petra calls to Fortinbras, “I am Petra of Denmark, and its rightful ruler!” Gasps [ripple]<rip| down the table.(click:?rip)[= Horatio’s face tightens. You can't tell if he's hopeful or aghast. Fortinbras looks coldly at Petra. “My father’s blood runs in my veins as it was spilled here. Two crowns are the strength of my claim,” he says. “What of yours?” (link-reveal:"Petra’s grin doesn’t falter.")[= “I am of Denmark. That alone, King of Norway, is enough for the throne to reject you from its lap!” She stalks down the length of the table(unless:$neutral is $run and >$kind)[ and rests her hand on the sword belted at her side]. “And I know Denmark’s people! You march on our lands, you bring sickness and death in your wake, and you have no mind for the [suffering]<suff| you wreak!”(click:?suff)[= A mixture of scandalized gasps and cheers rises at her words. Petra’s eyebrows angle down sharply. “I would duel you, Fortinbras! For the crown and care of Denmark!” Fortinbras raises his chin[...]<dot|{(enchant: ?dot's chars, via (t8ndelay:pos*900) + (t8n:'instant'))(after: time+4s)[= (if:$kind is > $neutral and > $run)[and sighs heavily, looking weary. "I will not duel you, Petra of Denmark," he says, his voice low. "I would ask instead that you contribute your skill to rebuilding this [[kingdom->Good End]]." ](else-if:$run is >$kind and >$neutral)[and bends low, swooping low and flourishing with his sword. Petra barks with harsh [[laughter->bad end]]. ](elseif:$kind is $run and > $neutral)[[[and a sudden jolt of pain pierces your skull, burning behind your eyes and sending an ache through your bones.->Hidden End]] ](else-if:$neutral is >$kind and >$run)[and readies his sword. "Very well, you shall have a [[duel->true end 1]]. ](else-if: $neutral is $kind and >$run)[and you stand, jostling the table. Petra's glare turns on you, as do Fortinbras's eyes. He narrows his eyes at you, the motion nearly imperceptible from across the table. Heart pounding in your throat, fingers curled into white-knuckled balls at your sides, you speak. [[Your voice rings out in the silent hall.->TrueGood end 1]] ](else-if: $neutral is $run and >$kind)[and readies his sword. "I see the songs of Danish bloodlust weave no fiction. For your honor, you shall have a [[duel->TrueBad End 1]]." ](else-if: $kind is $run and is $neutral)[[[and you watch as he draws his sword in response, face carved into a scowl to match Petra’s->Ultra Hidden End]]. ]}

You follow Horatio to the green outside the castle as Fortinbras and Petra stretch and do warm-ups that you suspect prioritize intimidating your opponent more than actually stretching your muscles. Horatio announces the (linkreplace:"rules.")[=rules: “Duel to first blood!” Fortinbras and Petra both present their swords to Horatio, who inspects them for poison. “Clean!” he declares, and the duelists take their positions, [circling each other]<duel|. (click:?duel's 1st)[= You watch as they lunge and parry, darting about one another as their blades clash and throw sparks. Their clothes grow dark with sweat but still, neither can best the other. Their dance of blades continues as the sun grows heavy and molten in the sky, until at last Horatio intercedes and declares it a draw. Fortinbras and Petra nod to each other, evidently both satisfied with the match. Horatio shakes his head as he watches them both slowly walk into the castle. “An entertaining waste of my hours,” he says [morosely]<mor|.(click:?mor)[= After the duel, Fortinbras and Petra end up working together to manage the kingdom anyway, leaving you (with the occasional assistance from Horatio) to head the charge against the mysterious wasting cough [disease]<dis| for the most part.(click:?dis)[= You and Horatio were able to identify its vectors in several nearby wells, but despite your best efforts, many of Fortinbras’s men still fell ill with it. Though you were able to save some of them, their deaths weigh heavy on your conscience. Then, one day at [supper]<sup|, Fortinbras began to (color:red)+(charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[cough]<bleeding|.(click:?sup)[= He did not last long after that, his body ravaged by the illness. In the days leading up to his death, Horatio dutifully scribed down the history of Fortinbras’s life and his involvement in the Danish court, just as he recorded the history of Hamlet. Petra succeeded Fortinbras, ruling justly and wisely—for the time you were there to see her, anyways. A few weeks after Fortinbras’s funeral, your reflection in the river (textstyle:"fidget")[rippled] and whispered your name; you reached out to touch the surface of the water and in the blink of an eye, found yourself lying in your bed in your parents’ home. The only evidence you could find was a scrap torn from a folio of Hamlet; there, written in a strange hand, were lines for a certain Petra. You draft an email to your professor asking for an extension on the paper. After you hit send, you close your laptop and head to the kitchen to cut your parents some fruit. (font:'IM Fell English SC')+(text-colour:#66ccff)[(text-style:"smear")[(text-style:"buoy")[Congratulations!] You have reached the True End.]] To play again, click (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:1.8s)[here]<here|(click:?here)[(restart:)].

The duel between Fortinbras and Petra is horrifying to watch, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. Both skilled with a sword, they completely disregard Horatio’s repeated call of “first //blood//, not first [decapitation]<decap|!”(click:?decap)[= Yet even with both of them apparently sword-dancing to kill, it’s an elegant match that goes on for the better part of an hour before Fortinbras lands a shallow slash across Petra’s leg. Her jaw is tight and her fists white-knuckled when she concedes her defeat, but she does so without explicit complaint. The murmurs of Fortinbras somehow exploiting Horatio continue, but he only shakes his head when you ask him why he doesn’t reveal the [truth]<tr|. (click:?tr)[= “Hamlet is dead and gone,” he says one time, when you rope him into helping you concoct trials for vaccines (you’d discovered you had quite the talent for creating mild poisons, incidentally). “It would do no good to me or him to rustle his spirit up now.”(click:"spirit")[= All well and good, you thought, until Horatio came down with a light cough. His day in bed turned into weeks, and with his sudden disappearance from court, the murmurs of how Fortinbras had bought or extorted such loyalty from Prince Hamlet’s closest friend resurged in full force. Three days after Horatio breathed his last, a rumor that Fortinbras had arranged to have him killed ignited the court; every original Danish soul who held even the tiniest memory of Horatio and his perpetual calm kindness took up arms and revolted. Elsinore fell to its domestic raiders within the week, flames surging high and hungry, leaving only [scorched stone and ash]<ruin| behind.(click:?ruin)[= You wandered the Danish stage for what felt like an eternity afterwards, set adrift in another home, a bed still warm in a stranger's shape. When you meet Ophelia, her embrace feels like falling asleep in your own bed after a long while away. (font:'IM Fell English SC')+(text-colour:#4141e1)[(text-style:"smear")[(text-style:"buoy")[Congratulations!] You have reached the Bad End.]] To play again, click (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:1.8s)[here]<here|(click:?here)[(restart:)].

You hang back as Fortinbras follows the man into the next hall. Horatio glances askance at you as you approach him, trying to look as friendly as possible. (linkreveal:"“So…”")[= His mouth creases into something in between a frown and a resigned, expectant line at the sound of your voice. You wait, but he doesn’t say anything, just looks at you in a weary way that makes him look so much older than you’d ever imagined him. Staring at him like this, with his eyes so empty, his breathing so shallow he could be a statue, it’s painfully easy to remember that in the span of the last three days, Horatio has seen the deaths of everyone he’d dedicated his life to. Hamlet had literally [died in his arms]<shh|.(click:?shh)[= You’re witnessing, in a way, your [worst fear]<wosrt| realized for someone else. (click:?wosrt)[=You find your voice after a few moments. (t8ndelay:5s)+(t8n:'fade-up')[=(linkreveal:"“I’m sorry.”")[= It sounds dull and insipid, even with sincerity weighing the words from your lips. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you spare a wry scoff for the fact that after the seemingly endless Summer of Quarantine, you still haven’t managed to think of a better expression of [empathy]<emp|. (click:?emp)[= Horatio’s face twitches as though he’d like to smile but has forgotten how. “A bit late to confess to any crimes, $name. And an apology to me will curry little favor with For—with King Fortinbras.” You [narrow]<narrow| your eyes at him.(click:?narrow)[= “That’s not what I meant. You’re allowed to grieve,” you say, more forcefully than you meant to, and you can’t tell if it comes out more as a benediction or a curse. Horatio’s eyes widen slightly and he looks at you straight-on for the first time, something sparking in his hollow eyes. You press on: [[“They’re dead, Horatio. You’re doing them and yourself a disservice by just…sitting in denial." ->HoratioAloof Mourns2]] [[“Coping isn’t the same as closure, Horatio. I know you loved them. Loss moves at its own pace." ->HoratioKind Mourns 2]]

{(set: $bluff to it+1) (set:$aloof to true) (set:$HoratioTalk to true)} Horatio stares at you wordlessly for a moment, jaw tense. Then—a heavy sigh, and he deflates into a mass of black fabric—his [mourning habit]<mournh|, you realize. (click:?mournh)[= You don’t remember the play specifying Horatio dressed in black at the end of it all. Such a [human]<hum| thing, to take a moment to grieve. To show it, however it may be shown.(click:?hum)[= (enchant: ?play's chars, via (t8n-delay:pos * 250) + (t8n:'instant')+(t8nskip:0.1s))[//Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief...that within which passeth show, these but the trappings and the suits of [woe]<woe|.//]<play|(click:?woe)[= “It (color:red+black)[|eats>[eats]] at me.” His voice is hard, every word ejected from his lips fodder from a catapult. (click:?eats)[ {(enchant:?eats, (hover_style:(text-style:'italic')+(color:red)+(text-style:'shudder'))) (set:$time to 30) (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -1) (textstyle:"shudder")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.1)+(text-rotate:(random:0,360))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (set:$time to 30) (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -1) (textstyle:"rumble")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.3)+(text-rotate:(random:0,360))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -1) (textstyle:"shudder")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.5)+(text-rotate:(random:0,192))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -1) (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"rumble"))+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.7)+(text-rotate:(random:0,200))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (set:$grief to (macro: num-type _o, [ (output: )+(text-rotate:(random:0,360))+(text-colour:(hsla:0, 1, 0.3, _o))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//]<grief1| ])) (align:"==><=")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.5)|griefstatic>[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//](enchant:?griefstatic,(hover_style:(text-style:'shudder')))} You listen. It’s all you can do.](click:"listen")[= “I am no stranger to death. I was on the field, when Old Fortinbras fell. I saw the ice slick with blood, smelled the iron spilling iron. I heard the death rites here in Elsinore like a lullaby, memorized them before I was no longer a child. And yet nothing has haunted me beyond reason more than this.” {(enchant:?grief,(align:"==><=")+(opacity:0.2)+(size:0.5)+(text-style:'fade-in-out'))(live:5s)[|grief>[($grief:0.9) ($grief:(random: 0,1)) ($grief:0.5) ($grief:(random: 0,1)) ($grief:0.2) ($grief:(random: 0,1)) ($grief:0.7)]] } Horatio’s eyes are piercing, haggard though the rest of his face may be. “You said you were a scholar. I was too. But I can no longer define myself by my studies.”(click: "define")[= He breaks off, one hand going to his hip. But instead of his sword, Horatio rests his hand on his belt, although his knuckles go white, the leather pulling taut. [“I can’t either.”]<nope|(click:?nope)[= Your voice is colder than you’d meant it to be, but you can’t bring yourself to feel more than a pinprick of sympathy for Horatio when he glances at you, offense crossing his face like a mistral. Faces flash across your mind: (cycling-link: "your dad’s friend whose daughter couldn’t fly in for the funeral","the girl you’d had math with freshman year, the one who always lent out her pencils","your neighbor who’d always waved when she saw you getting the mail or taking out the trash"). You wonder, briefly, if this is an afterlife. If they’re somewhere here too, [alone and confused]<rip|. (click:?rip)[= “We’re all learning,” you say sourly. “Doesn’t mean we’re students. You smell blood, I smell disinfectant. Death rites? I can open a Zoom call on muscle memory alone.” Horatio opens his mouth, brow furrowing as though your reply has given him more questions than answers, but you look away. Before he can say anything, you stalk away to the [[hall]] Fortinbras had gone through.

{(if:visits>0)[ (set:$kind to it+1)] (set:$HoratioTalk to true)} Horatio stares at you wordlessly for a moment, eyes glassy with pain. Then—a heavy sigh, and he deflates into a mass of black fabric—his [mourning habit]<mournh|, you realize. (click:?mournh)[= You don’t remember the play specifying Horatio dressed in black at the end of it all. Such a [human]<hum| thing, to take a moment to grieve. To show it, however it may be shown.(click:?hum)[= (enchant: ?play's chars, via (t8n-delay:pos * 250) + (t8n:'instant')+(t8nskip:0.1s))[//Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief...that within which passeth show, these but the trappings and the suits of [woe]<woe|.//]<play|(click:?woe)[= “It (color:red+black)[eats]<eats| at me.” His voice is hard, every word ejected from his lips fodder from a catapult. (click:?eats)[= {(enchant:?eats, (hover_style:(text-style:'italic')+(color:red)+(text-style:'shudder'))) (set:$time to 30) (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -2) (textstyle:"shudder")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.1)+(text-rotate:(random:0,360))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (set:$time to 30) (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -2) (textstyle:"rumble")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.3)+(text-rotate:(random:0,360))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -2) (textstyle:"shudder")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.5)+(text-rotate:(random:0,192))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (live:2s)[ (set:$time to it -2) (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"rumble"))+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.7)+(text-rotate:(random:0,200))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] (if:$time <= 0)[(stop:)]] (set:$grief to (macro: num-type _o, [ (output: )+(text-rotate:(random:0,360))+(text-colour:(hsla:0, 1, 0.3, _o))[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//] ])) (align:"==><=")+(opacity:0.5)+(size:0.5)|griefstatic>[//eats grief eats griefeats eatseatseats//](enchant:?griefstatic,(hover_style:(text-style:'shudder')))} You listen. It’s all you can do.(click:"listen")[= “I am no stranger to death. I was on the field, when Old Fortinbras fell. I saw the ice slick with blood, smelled the iron spilling iron. I heard the death rites here in Elsinore like a lullaby, memorized them before I was no longer a child. And yet nothing has haunted me beyond reason more than this.” {(set:$time to 60) (live:2s)[(set:$time to it-1) |grief>[($grief:0.9) ($grief:(random: 0,1)) ($grief:0.5) ($grief:(random: 0,1)) ($grief:0.2) ($grief:(random: 0,1)) ($grief:0.7)] (if:$time<=0)[(stop:)]] (enchant:?grief,(align:"==><=")+(opacity:0.2)+(size:0.5)+(text-style:'fade-in-out'))} Horatio’s eyes are piercing, haggard though the rest of his face may be. “You said you were a scholar. I was too. But I can no longer define myself by my studies.”(click: "define")[= He breaks off, one hand going to his hip. But instead of his sword, Horatio rests his hand on his belt, although his knuckles go white, the leather pulling taut. (link-reveal:"“…I don’t think many of us can anymore,” you offer after a moment of silence.")[= Horatio glances up at you and arranges his features into a pained attempt at humor. “You say it like we’ve all fought in the same war. Veterans come limping back on [each other’s shoulders]<vet|.”(click:?vet)[= “Well, that’s what they call it, isn’t it?” you murmur, staring at your feet without seeing them. (linkreplace:"“It’s a war.”")[“It’s a war. Us against them. It. Our bodies against the [invaders]<hd|.”](click:?hd)[= “$name.” Horatio says your name softly, like he’s calling back a manic, scared pet, pulling you out of a fever dream. Like he’s unsure if you’ll break or bend. You’ve always thought he’d say [Hamlet’s name]<pining| that way.(click:?pining)[= The thought that he cares whether breaking or bending is the outcome sets an ache in your jaw. You look at Horatio, and he’s (textstyle:"blurrier")+(textcolor:navy)+(hoverstyle:(textstyle:"none")+(color:white))[blurry]<blurry| for some reason—your eyes sting and you realize with a jolt of horror that your throat is thick with a potent clump of anger and [[sorrow. -> HoratioKind Mourns 3]]

“Back home,” you say, and the word (textstyle:"fidget")[‘home’] has never been so hard to bite out, (linkreplace:"“they say we’re fighting a war against a disease.”")[=“they say we’re fighting a war against a disease. It’s bad, Horatio. Millions of people dead, more dying. There’s no cure, just hoping your immune system manages to fight it off—and even then, you’ve got respiratory problems, cardiac issues for the rest of your |life>[life].(click:?life)[= So it’s a war, I guess. But they didn’t realize that war can be civil, for the most baseless of reasons.”(click:"civil")[= A dry smile bares your teeth. “Or maybe they did, and didn’t [care]<dry|.”(click:?dry)[= You close your eyes for a moment, inhaling (your face feels so //naked//) to steady your voice before you [continue]<geez|.(click:?geez)[= “Have you ever been a ‘them,’ Horatio? Have you ever been unwanted by the only home you’ve ever known, the only little niche you’ve ever carved out for yourself to rest in? Told to go back somewhere you’ve never been?” He doesn’t answer. You don’t really give him a [chance]<savage|, anyway.(click:?savage)[= “It’s so silly. You’d think that war would mean a common enemy. A united front. But I’ve been fighting a war on two fronts, and we all know how that turns out—but I suppose the reference doesn’t translate well. My point is that my (textstyle:"fidget")[home] pointed its finger at me and said I was to blame for a slaughter.” The back of your scalp and neck prickle. You can’t stop.(click:"stop")[= “We’re too alike, you and I, and not similar enough. Did Hamlet ever thank you? For anything? Did you ever wonder who needed who more? When you think of (textstyle:"fidget")[home], is he there?” You glance at Horatio, who looks [immensely confused]<oof| by most of what you’ve just said.(click:?oof)[= “Forget it,” you sigh. “I’m just rambling. Been away from[...]<dot|(enchant: ?dot's chars, via (t8ndelay:pos*900) + (t8n:'instant'))(after: time+4s)[=[been away for too long.]<ouch|” (click:?ouch)[=You can feel Horatio’s gaze on your back as you turn abruptly and head to the [[hall]] Fortinbras had followed the guard through.

“There is no need for more bloodshed!” You can feel Horatio’s concerned gaze burning into the side of your face as you continue. “Was this very hall not stained with blood just yesterday? Did the same swords drawn today not salute those fallen and not yet cold?” You lock eyes with Petra. Neither her sword nor her glare waver from their cold, hard brightness, but her [snarl]<snarl| slowly melts. (click:?snarl)[= “I understand why you want vengeance. This is your home. These are your |people>[people], your [family]<family|, your |friends>[friends].” (click-replace:?people)[//people//](click-replace:?family)[//family//](click-replace:?friends)[//friends//] You swallow past a sudden [tightness]<tightness| in your throat.(click:?tightness)[= “But more death is just more death. Killing Fortinbras will not bring anyone back.” Horatio mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch. You glance at him, but he’s turned towards Petra, his face caught somewhere between sadness and desperation. You look between Petra and Fortinbras, voice melting into a half-plea. “Fortinbras. Forget about avenging anyone. Forget about trying to be your father, to live up to his expectations. You’re here now, and Denmark needs a ruler. Can you be the one they need?” The hall is silent. The weight of countless eyes sinks into your [[shoulders->TrueGood end 2]].

You wince sharply, screwing your eyes shut and pressing the heel of your hand to your brow. The pain subsides, though there’s a dull ringing in your ears that reminds you of the time you forgot to turn your [volume]<volume| down before plugging in earbuds. (click:?volume)[= Fortinbras has made some reply to Petra’s demand for a duel, but you can’t make out what’s happening: sound slows down around you, warbling like whalesong that’s been recorded over one too many times. You feel your throat convulse as you swallow, trying fruitlessly to pop your ears— (link-reveal:"“—emember me.”")[= An unfamiliar voice whispers in your ear, cutting through the swollen static like the clear ring of struck crystal. You jerk your head up, hands falling away as you stare wildly around yourself for the speaker—Horatio starts, shooting you an alarmed glance. “Did you hear that?” you hiss. His eyebrows lift, pushing into his hairline like disturbed gulls. “Hear myself made arbiter of the duel? [All too clearly]<done|.”(click:?done)[= “No,” you say, exasperation bleeding into your voice, eyes still darting around the room. “The voice just now. It had to come from somebody.” Horatio’s brows [climb]<climb| even higher.(click:?climb)[= He opens his mouth to say something, probably to warn you about what befell the last person who heard disembodied voices speaking to them, but your eyes leap over his shoulder and you seize his shoulder urgently. The girl behind him pauses, hand outstretched as though to touch yours. She tilts her head at you and smiles, shaking her head [slightly]<slight|.(click:?slight)[= None of this would be so alarming if you couldn’t see straight through her body, like peering through a sheet of moving water. “Horatio,” you say. It comes out gravelly, but you can’t bring yourself to clear your throat. “Who is that? With the...loose hair. Behind you.” He twists around and scans the room before turning back to you, the lines etched in his forehead growing deeper. [[“Where?”->Hidden End 2]]

The first clash of their swords is nearly drowned out by the roar that rises from the assembled crowd. Horatio surges to his feet, the thump of his weight on the table resonant for an instant before he’s gone, shouting as he tries to separate Fortinbras and Petra without getting himself (seq-link:"decapitated","disemboweled","trampled","decapitated, disemboweled, trampled, or some combination of all three"). Shock roots you to your seat for a moment before a punch thrown by one of the Danes on the other side of the table |swing>[swings] wide—(click:?swing)[= You duck and the fist sails past your eye, but clips your ear. Dull pain rings through your skull as you disentangle yourself from the table and dodge another unwieldy blow. The hall is in chaos now, Danes and Norwegians grappling each other amidst spilled food and drink, your previous health instructions discarded completely. The clang of swords shivers over the shouting surrounding you and you whip your head towards the sound. You catch a glimpse of Horatio through the mass of people, then flashes of bright steel—whether swung by |whomst>[Fortinbras or Petra], you can’t tell—(click:?whomst)[= The crush of bodies clears for an instant, just enough for you to see the edge of a blade arc through the air. Horatio (textstyle:"fidget")[stumbles], shoved by someone on the writhing perimeter circling Fortinbras and Petra, directly into the path of the |strike>[sword’s strike].(click:?strike)[= Horror stings under your skin and you shove yourself forward without thinking, fingers reaching [[desperately->Ultra Hidden End 2]] for Horatio’s collar—

A savage, joyless grin bares Petra's teeth. She thrusts a hand out and someone tosses her sword to her as she stalks towards Fortinbras. The solid //thwack// of its scabbard against her hand is like a [slap across the face]<slap|.(click:?slap)[= Cold fingers prickle down your neck and writhe in your stomach. Fortinbras raises an eyebrow and his sword into low ward at Petra's undaunted approach. "Do Danes not follow dueling customs? In Norway such a challenge would merit an audience for its fulfillment—and its [honor]<hon|." (click:?hon)[= Petra scoffs. “A false king has sat on that throne long enough. Danish honor compels me to prune that which breeds [rot]<rot|.”(click:?rot)[= She unsheathes her sword and tosses its empty scabbard across the room with a clatter. The icy mess in your gut tightens into a fist and you jump up, shoving your chair backwards to the floor with a clatter. Horatio's alarmed face is the last thing you see before you [[run.->TrueBad end 2]]

Petra narrows her eyes at Fortinbras. He makes a show of sheathing his sword. Slowly, she mirrors him, sliding her weapon back into its scabbard. "I mean no harm to the people of Denmark,” Fortinbras (link-reveal:"says.")[= His voice is loud enough to reach the back of the great hall, but his eyes are fixed on Petra’s face. “It is true that I marched here with my armies in conquest. But it is also true that my father was slain by the former lord of these lands.” You spot some angry, twisted faces in the crowd and glance anxiously at Fortinbras, but he continues, “What is false is that I brought disease with my banners! I have heard your whispers; I have heard your [scorn]<sc|.” (click:?sc)[= He lets his audience murmur amongst themselves for a few seconds before he speaks again, holding up one of the apples from the table: “The rot of Denmark was a worm who fed on the riches of your kingdom! He was a coward, a murderer, and a vile, spineless worm! He poisoned the ears of your queen and bred decay in her lap!” Claudius was apparently just as unpopular with the rest of the court as with Hamlet, given the cheers Fortinbras’s words incite—or perhaps, you allow yourself to muse unpleasantly, they had been slick and craven enough themselves to disguise their distaste.(click:"unpopular")[= He throws the apple down and it squishes wetly against the stone, oozing a bit of sickly brown goo from the long [split in its skin]<split|.(click:?split)[= “Denmark shall fear no tyranny from me or this unknown plague!” He raises a hand to you and the other to Petra. “My ministers, masters of their fields, will flank me in safeguarding Denmark.” Your mouth twitches but you manage to keep a straight face as Fortinbras raises your and Petra’s hands high in the air. --- It takes some time and a bit of ingenious finagling given the materials and equipment (or lack thereof), but you and Petra manage to help Fortinbras build a lab in a room you //strongly// suspect was at one point used to torture people. After the lab is complete, Petra launches a scholar recruitment program, assembling a team for you to lead in curtailing the spread of the mysterious coughing disease before it claims many lives. You make peace with your life in this stage of Denmark. Horatio brings you vellum and quills and ink, and together you sit in the library and scribe out everything that has come to pass. It keeps you from forgetting. (font:'IM Fell English SC')+(text-colour:#fcc419)[(text-style:"smear")[(text-style:"buoy")[Congratulations!] You have reached the Good End.]] To play again, click (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:1.8s)[here]<here|(click:?here)[(restart:)].

The faster you run, skidding around stone corners and narrowly swerving to avoid the occasional servant, the longer the halls seem to stretch on, bending beneath your feet until the burning in your lungs and thighs forces you to stop and double over, panting. (hoverstyle:(color:red+black))[Elsinore]<title| surrounds you, a labyrinth of fractals building upon themselves. Tapestries loom over you—you recall what tends to lie behind arras in Hamlet’s time and shudder.(click:?title)[= (color:transparent)+(hover-style:(textcolor:red+black))|GertrudeQuote>[//Oh what a rash and bloody deed is this!//] (mouseover:?GertrudeQuote)[The maids hadn't been (hoverstyle:(color:red))[bloody], just cold. Waxy. Too bloodless. Slain from the inside. Too easy to call //bodies// instead of //people//.] You’ve seen enough corpses for the rest of your (link-reveal:"life.")[= Dread thickens on the root of your tongue and panic creeps into your veins. Your eyes dart to either end of the hall, your breath falling shallow. Silence crackles in your eardrums, louder than your pounding pulse, and you break into a run again, blind terror screaming louder than your muscles. Your foot catches on an uneven stone and you [crash to the floor]<crash|.(click:?crash)[= You (cycling-link:"bite back a swear","hiss in pain","let loose a four-letter word that turns the air blue","cry out as your shoulder meets stone with a thud"). Something howls behind you. Wind, maybe (//old castles get drafty, don’t they?//), but the frigid wave of sublime, nameless (textstyle:"fidget")[terror] that bites into your spine insists (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"shudder"))[otherwise.](click:"otherwise")[= You scrabble at the floor, slipping and slamming your knee into the cold stone before you finally manage to push yourself up⁠—(after: 3s)[= Light light light and a sliver of fresh blue sky⁠—(after: time+2s)[= You all but throw yourself through the door to your right, yanking it shut behind you, and collapse against the threshold.(after: time+5s)[= The stone is sun-warmed against your back; it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the bright light and open air, but when they do, you instantly recognize where you [[are->TrueBad End 3]].

You’re standing on the platform the play opens on. Even flooded with full sun instead of cloaked near midnight, you know without a doubt that somewhere between these parapets is where Old Hamlet first appeared. (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"italic"))[“What fantasy has taken hold of me?”] You aren’t expecting an answer—you’re alone up here, after all—but somehow, receiving one is far from the strangest thing that’s happened to you in the past twenty-four hours. “One in the same figure like the student that’s |dead>[dead].”(click:?dead)[= With the sun warm on your back, your pulse dry and rustling in the light, it’s strangely difficult to feel alarmed at the insinuation. “But I’m not dead,” you say, walking forward to look at the thing that shimmers in the sun, nearly invisible. $Hisher head cocks as you approach, the face looking out at you identical to your own. (if:$TalkedToMirror is true)[“I did warn you,” (if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$she says](else:)[$she say]. If $hisher face weren’t so translucent, you would have said there was a distinct streak of reproach in $hisher eyes. You shrug. Your ghost sighs. “Do you at least have a thesis yet? You have to have learned something by now.” ] “[Who are you?]<who|” you ask.(click:?who)[= {(if:$TalkedToMirror is true)[(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$She rolls](else:)[$She roll] her eyes but forgives your dismissal of $hisher question without protest. ]} “Your fantasy,” (if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$she replies](else:)[$she reply], as though it were obvious. “I show you things. Who are you?” You blink. “I’m $fullname,” you answer automatically, but you both know that’s not the answer you were looking for. The corner of $hisher mouth twists up wryly and you try again. [“I’m…a scholar.”]<scholar|(click:?scholar)[= (if:$HoratioTalk is true)[(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$She laughs](else:)[$She laugh]. The sound is brittle. “I thought you talked to Horatio about this already. Is that all you are?” You ignore $them and continue. ] You clear your throat. “I’m a $child, somebody's child. Supposedly I’m an adult now too. I worry about my parents even though they’re adults. They’ve been actual adults for longer than I have, and I worry about them like children. Like they worry about me. I’m bored and then I feel guilty for being bored, but I’m just so tired all the time.” Your reflection watches you, a strange, unreadable expression on $hisher face. You don’t think you’ve ever made it [yourself]<ah| before.(click:?ah)[= “I’m far from home. I procrastinate on papers because I can’t focus on school, and throw myself into school to distract myself from everything else. I don’t remember what a laptop screen looks like without a (hoverstyle:(color:blue+white)+(textstyle:'smear'))[blue light filter]<bf| and seeing people’s mouths makes me (charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[nervous].(click:?bf)[= The best thing about ending up here is that no one has said the phrase ‘when this is all over’ to me, but every time someone else coughs I feel like my heart is going to burst. I have to be here for a |question>[reason], right? I’m supposed to |question>[change] things?” {(enchant:?question's chars, (text-style:"smear")+(color:#e2d8ef))}(click:?question's 2nd)[= You reach a hand out hesitantly to your reflection. $Hisher expression doesn’t change, but $hisher form shimmers and vanishes where your fingers brush. You pull your hand back, suddenly cold despite the sun in your eyes. (textstyle:"smear")+(textstyle:"buoy")+(color:#e2d8ef)[[[“I don’t know who I am.”->TrueBad End 4]]]

The rush of relief that comes with this revelation tapers almost immediately into a slender, (textstyle:"fidget")+(hoverstyle:(color:blue + white))[icy] trail down your spine. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” you hastily clarify, rushing forward to seize your reflection, only to yank your hands back just as frantically when $hisher shoulders (charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[shimmer violently] at your approach. {(if: $gender is "she" or "he")[$She’s] (else:)[$She’re]} smiling brightly, but there’s an unpleasant tilt to it that sets your teeth on [edge]<edge|. (click:?edge)[= “Anymore,” you insist, “I don’t know //anymore//, but I //knew//, before, and I //know// that I’ve changed—and isn’t that the point of change? Self-knowledge?” Your reflection glides slowly backwards without a word, $hisher feet moving silently through the air as though through water. That sharp, moon-sliver smile is still on $hisher face, stinging the familiar features with something you fear to name.(click:"moon-sliver")[= You follow $them step for silent step, every one of your footfalls thudding twice as loudly in the silence of $hisher feet. You fall into a sort of waltz, you following forward as your reflection leads backwards down the platform, every third beat accented by your instinctual grab for $them and the inevitable recoil when {(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$she flickers](else:)[$she flicker]} out of sight. “Isn’t it?” you demand. “If I know that I’ve changed, I just don’t know //how//, isn’t that the same as knowing myself? {(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$She tips](else:)[$She tip]} $hisher head and crosses $hisher arms, leaning back on $hisher heels. “Where do we |belong>[belong]?”(click:?belong)[= You shake your head, gesturing with your hands in frustration. “Wha—I don’t know, what kind of question is that?!” {(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$She offers](else:)[$She offer]} no further explanation, just stares at you with that smile that makes your face look like a stranger’s. [[“You aren’t even real!”->TrueBad end 5]] [[“Home! I’m supposed to be at home!”->TrueBad end 5]] [[“I belong with my family!”->TrueBad end 5]] [[“I belong with the people I love!”->TrueBad end 5]] [[You flip your middle finger up at your ghostly self.->TrueBad end 5]] [[You flip //both// middle fingers up at your ghostly self.->TrueBad end 5]] [[“Not here!”->TrueBad end 5]] [[“Wherever I want!”->TrueBad end 5]] [[“Nowhere!”->TrueBad end 5]]

Your reflection’s smile softens, turning into something recognizable. Your own face falls slack, apprehension tugging at your gut. The look on your reflection’s face is [//pity//]<pit|, and whatever reason lies behind it scares you more than $hisher knife-blade smile.(click:?pit)[= {(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$She stops](else:)[$She stop]} and you halt abruptly, very aware of the space between you and $hisher translucent form.(click: "space")[= “When you know where home is, you can stop [running away]<run| from it,” {(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$she says](else:)[$she say]}.(click:?run)[= $Hisher right foot lifts forward onto its toes and slides backwards, floating in the air for a moment before $hisher left foot glides to join it. The outline of your shared face (charstyle:(textstyle:'blink'))[flickers]<flick| dangerously.(click:?flick)[= (t8n:"zoom")[“Wait—hey, //hey//, //wait!//”] (after:time+3s)[=Your shout echoes into empty air. You rush forward, chasing after the memory of the dance that now dissolves, dead and leaden, in your blood—and snatch yourself back nearly a second too late. Your foot grazes the edge of the parapet you’d nearly stepped off of; you watch it crumble down to the grass far, far below. You stumble back onto the safety of the platform and sink to your knees, clutching the parapet as you press your back against unyielding stone. It’s too reminiscent of your arrival in Elsinore. You feel sick.(click:"sick")[= Through the dizziness, you repeat your parents’ address like a prayer. Your shoes don’t click when you (linkrepeat:"tap")[tap] your heels together thrice, but it doesn’t work anyway. You keep trying. --- Horatio finds you there come nightfall. He sits with you too, until the chill sets in and he nudges you to follow him back to your room. “Fortinbras won the duel,” he tells you quietly. Your lips are numb, so you just nod. Horatio waits for a response anyway, and the silence is almost not painful. “Petra will live.” He hesitates, lips parting slightly as though to add something else, but only shakes his head and leaves you with a murmured wish of rest. You wash your face in silence. Your reflection in the water mirrors you silently, no matter how much you plead, taunt, and threaten. You fall asleep to dreams of your body slowly dissolving and reforming, a perpetual prison of metamorphosis. (font:'IM Fell English SC')+(text-colour:#e2d8ef)[(text-style:"smear")[(text-style:"buoy")[Congratulations!] You have reached the True Bad End.]] To play again, click (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:1.8s)[here]<here|(click:?here)[(restart:)].

You almost expect someone to throw a stale roll at you too. But after a few more tense seconds (text-style:"expand")[trickle] by like beads of sweat, Petra exhales heavily and lowers her sword. She stares at its bright steel for a long moment before sheathing it with a |metal>[slow scrape] of metal. (click:?metal)[= “You, a foreigner to these lands,” she starts, her voice just as slow and heavy, “would have me forgive the intruder who brought waxy death on his banners. I have been returned to Elsinore but a fortnight, upon news of my pretty cousin’s grave, and already shrouds enough for a family must be sewn.” You |wait>[wait], fingers of ice crawling up your spine as you watch Petra’s hand flex on the handle of her sword.(click:?wait)[= She raises her gaze to yours once again, and it scares you how much of yourself you |recog>[recognize] in her expression. (click:?recog)[=“I ask you—in my place, in my skin, could you embrace peace so easily?” (after: time +2s)[=You swallow, your breath tangling thickly in your throat. Fortinbras speaks before you can: “And in $hisher place, would you be blind as you are now, Petra? You level accusations at me of harboring disease in my cloak, of turning those closest to Denmark’s heart against her. $name’s eyes are unclouded by what shrouds yours.” He stands and hefts something into the air. It gleams |red>[red] in the light for a moment before Fortinbras throws it to the ground at Petra’s feet; the skin of the apple splits on contact, oozing brown goo onto the stone as the soft fruit slumps open.(enchant:?red, (color:red)) (click:?red)[=“That,” Fortinbras says calmly, “is what is rotten in Denmark. Poison ran in this castle before I ever set foot in it. Calm your rage, Petra, and join me. Serve your country by healing it, not hacking it apart.” Petra’s jaw hardens and her fingers tighten by her [[side->TrueGood end 3]].

She shakes her head, a short, terse motion. Dread wells in the pit of your stomach as she speaks. “You wear the crown, but you do not command my heart. To me, loyal Danes—to me, those who have not yet forgotten the face of our true king!” Petra’s eyes |catch>[catch] yours briefly as she turns and strides out of the hall. A number of those gathered follow her, though judging from the wordless glances tossed around the room, their ranks will likely shift in the coming days. (click:?catch)[=You sit wordlessly, reeling from the afterimage of Petra’s cutting gaze. There’d been a (hover-style:(text-style:"rumble"))[shivering], commanding light in her gaze that sent a sudden peal of grief into your chest. (after: time +10s, (cond: visits>0, time+5s, 0))[=Just before the turning of the month, a messenger from Petra's camp arrives for Fortinbras during your daily briefing of how your patients fare. He motions for you to stay: the messenger relays how Petra had gone alone into the forest, leaving behind orders to enjoin sanctuary and your services, eyes flashing until the last. You bite your tongue and wonder if Petra had known her [fate]<fate| all along. (click:?fate)[=You persuade Fortinbras to let you lead a search party for her body. It takes too many weeks, but eventually, you go with his reluctant blessing into the forest Horatio tells you Petra once rode through. And when you find her, sword laid atop a shallow grave, the blade points to a patch of lichen in the shape of a [[shield->TrueGood end 4]].

You name your discovery (hover-style:(color:#fa43b7))[//petracillin//]. No one else, for obvious reasons, seems to find this as meaningful as you, but it brings a wan smile to your face all the same. Aided by what equipment you can improvise in the castle and the fact that Elsinore seems to operate on its own science, helps you contain the mysterious coughing disease, though it’s by no means a cure. (click:"cure")[= When the children start dying, you realize that you don't remember what your mother's voice sounds like. (after: time +3s, (cond: visits>0, 200ms, 0))[=You spend your nights wandering the castle, candleless in the hopes of finding your ghost again. Sometimes you hear $hisher voice and Petra’s echoing back like a muffled conversation, but every corner you turn is empty. (click:"empty")[=On good nights, Horatio is haunted too, and you tell each other stories about lives and homes that seem like stories now. (On bad nights, you either remember too much or too little.) (font:'IM Fell English SC')+(text-colour:#fa43b7)[(text-style:"smear")[(text-style:"buoy")[Congratulations!] You have reached the True Good End.]] To play again, click (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:1.8s)[here]<here|(click:?here)[(restart:)].

This game contains mentions or discussion of: * racism * infectious disease * anxiety/panic attacks * blood & violence * explicit language * some moving/flashing text that may be unsuitable for players with epilepsy Player discretion is advised. Please take care of yourself before, during, and after the playing of this game. [[Return to menu->1st page (summary)]]

The girl’s smile turns sad, her eyes dry and knowing. She shrugs at you, and suddenly you don’t know how you missed the (color:blue+white)+(hoverstyle:(textstyle:"shudder"))[bluish] tint to her lips, or the phantom water [dripping]<drip| from her hair and sodden clothes.(click:?drip)[= Your fingers dig into Horatio’s shoulder until he pries you away with a look of increasing concern. Ophelia nods, pointing with her chin to the far end of the room. “This isn’t real,” you hear yourself whisper. Ophelia only |gest>[gestures] silently to the corner again.(click:?gest)[= You turn to look despite yourself, ignoring Horatio’s questions. The translucency of his figure makes it more difficult to tell if his clothes are black, but there's no mistaking the (hoverstyle:(color:red+black)+(text-style:"shudder"))+(charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[bloody slash]<bleeding| in Hamlet the Younger's doublet. He catches your eye and raises an eyebrow before his gaze slides to Horatio. Hamlet heaves a |edge>[silent sigh].(click:?edge)[= Horatio stands, and for a moment, you think he’s spotted Hamlet too—but then, Horatio’s gaze sweeps right over his figure to the exit. “They’ll duel at noon,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “The blades must be checked, the circle drawn…” Horatio’s eyes focus on you again for a brief moment; he nods at you, clapping you on the shoulder more as a motion of habit than anything else before he leaves you with a faint word of parting. Hamlet’s gaze follows him, his brow folding. He shifts as if to follow Horatio, but something along the wall catches his eye—Hamlet |stiff>[stiffens], anger cracking over his features.(click:?stiff)[= You turn to see Fortinbras, bent over his knees in the throne as he stares out at the room—something (textstyle:"fidget")[silvery] pulls away from him, distorting his form. You screw your eyes shut, trying to clear the wavering lines from your vision; when you open them, the ghostly form of |king>[King Hamlet] stands before the throne, staring silently at his brother.(click:?king)[= Gertrude hovers between Claudius and the elder Hamlet, distress painted thickly over her face. Prince Hamlet turns away and stalks towards his father before stopping, stricken, and sinking |alone>[alone] to his knees.(click:?alone)[=(after: 5s, (cond: visits > 0, 2s, 0))[= You stand, jostling the table painfully with your knee. You ignore the burst of pain, too preoccupied with looking wildly around the room as more translucent bodies appear, gliding over the stone.(after: time+4s, (cond: visits > 0, 2s, 0))[= Laertes reaches for his sister, his hands passing through her shoulder as she turns away from him. A man bent with age gesticulates wildly behind them, mindless of the (hoverstyle:(color:red+black))[red stain]<bleeding| spreading across his chest as he swings his arms forcefully from his children to Claudius and back again.(click:?bleeding's 2nd)[= You back away, deaf to the grumbles of those you bump into. Ophelia’s eyes latch on to yours again and she stills. Laertes tugs at her arm beseechingly, but Ophelia pays him no mind as his (hoverstyle:(color:red+black))[bloodied]<bleeding| fingers pass through her.(click:?bleeding's 3rd)[= More figures melt out of the stone like rising smoke, (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[shimmering] in the sunlight as the crowd in the hall multiplies for your eyes only. With Ophelia’s eyes heavy on your back, you turn and rush out of the haunted hall, [[unable to fight->Hidden End 3]] the dread battering your heart.

Silver lines your vision as you run through Elsinore’s halls, phantom voices rustling low in your mind. You dodge around a hunched old man only to slam into a woman—or rather, [through her]<crash|.(click:?crash)[= You swerve as best you can, though it’s already too late. Your elbow swipes through the woman’s side; a frigid wave shivers through your arm, wracking the muscle even after you snatch your arm back. The woman turns to face you and your automatic apology |dies>[dies] in your throat.(click:?dies)[= The face of one of the sick—[//dead//]<ded|—maids stares back at you, cheeks drawn beneath sunken eyes. (click:?ded)[= (if:(history:) contains "Inspect bodies")[You remember the color of her eyes. They’d been glassy when you last saw them](if:(history:) contains "Inspect bodies")+(if:$closed is not true)[.](if:$closed is true)[, before you weighed her eyelids down with the dull change from your pocket.] Now, the dead maid’s gaze bores into you—not quite accusingly, but something very close. Your hand, palm clammy, finds [wood]<wood| instead of stone.(click:?wood)[= You tumble through the door and slam it shut, your breath echoing loudly in the empty room. It occurs to you that the door, in all likelihood, will do very little to keep out figures who can apparently pass through stone. Your throat threatens to close, your breath coming faster and faster in shaky gulps. The basin of water is startlingly (hoverstyle:(color:blue+white))[cold] when you plunge your hands in and all but shove your face in after. Dry off(click-replace:"Dry off")[~~Dry off~~] [[Take a gulp->Hidden End 4]] Scream(click-replace:"Scream")[~~Scream~~]

You cup your hands together; the water (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[shimmers] as you raise a shaky mouthful to your lips. It’s still (hoverstyle:(color:blue+white))[cold] enough to send a (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"shudder"))[shock] down your spine, but the jolt is just what you need to (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[ground yourself]<ground| again. (click:?ground)[= You grip the sides of the basin and stare down into the |ripple>[rippling water], your breath coming hard and faster than you’d like.(enchant:?ripple, (textstyle:"buoy")+(color:blue+white))(click:?ripple)[= You squint at the wavering reflection of your fingers—the water isn’t sloshing in sync with the movement you can see...you blink and swipe the back of your hand over your eyes before |peer>[peering] in again.(click:?peer)[= Your hand—//your reflection’s hand//—breaches the surface of the water and grasps the edge of the basin, narrowly missing your own knuckles.(after: time+3s, (cond: visits > 0, 200ms, 0))[= You stagger back, shoving the basin away violently as your reflection crawls out of the water as easily as pushing $them`self` out of a swimming pool. $Hisher eyes [lock with yours]<lock| and a sad sort of smile spreads over $hisher face. (click:?lock)[= $Hisher clothes cling to $hisher limbs, heavy with phantom water, but there’s barely any spilt on the dresser, and the stone floor remains dry beneath your feet. Horror roots you to the spot as you watch your reflection brace $hisher foot on the edge of the basin and heave $them`self` out into Elsinore.(click:"heave")[= A familiar hand reaches out to you and you realize that the $hisher body is losing its translucent sheen—you can barely see the outline of the dresser through $hisher arm, and $she grow(if:$she is "she" or "he")[s] more opaque with every passing second. Water drips from $hisher fingers and splatters audibly on the floor—you make a sound caught somewhere between a scream and a swear and |launch>[launch] yourself backwards.(click:?launch)[= Your foot slips on stone that wasn’t slick two seconds ago—adrenaline (hoverstyle:(color:cyan))+(charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[electrifies]<elec| your spine as you feel your body tilt and //fall//, flinching in useless apprehension of the stone soon to slam into you— (charstyle:(textstyle:"fadeinout"))[“//Adieu, adieu, the rest is silence.//”](after: time+5s)[= —paper rustles and you jerk upright, choked scream dying in your throat. Cold sweat beads on your back as you look frantically around and take in the familiar sight of your room—//your// room, in your parents’ house, where you’ve been spending this [infernal spring]<spring| semester.(click:?spring)[= Your laptop fan whirs insistently from your bed, your phone half-hidden beneath your pillow just to the side. A notification pings from your laptop. (link-reveal:"You ignore it.")[= Slowly, heart still pounding in your chest, you clamber up off the floor and examine yourself; no bruises, your limbs just as solid and opaque as any regular living being’s ought to be, even if they’re trembling a bit. Your copy of Hamlet lies on the floor a few inches away from your foot, as though you’d tossed it from your bed. Something (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[glitters] under its back. You raise a hand to your face and it comes away wet. Gingerly, you lift the book and stare at the (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget")+(hoverstyle:(text-style:"mirror","fidget")+(color:white+blue)))[shattered glass] that falls in a rush from between its pages. (font:'IM Fell English SC')+(text-colour:#2afa99)[(text-style:"smear")[(text-style:"buoy")[Congratulations!] You have reached the Hidden End.]] To play again, click (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:1.8s)[here]<here|(click:?here)[(restart:)].

—the floor tilts beneath you and your knees scrape raw against carpet. //Your// carpet. You twist around frantically, staring at the walls of your childhood bedroom. Gingerly, you touch a fingertip to the angry friction burn on your knees and yank your hand away with a hiss at the sharp sting. It seems impossible, but hadn’t landing in Elsinore in the first place been impossible too? (link-reveal:"How had you traveled back?")[= Had it all been some stress-induced fever dream? Your eyes fall back to the scrapes on your knees and something cold settles over your gut. Your time at Elsinore had been real. You know it, in the same way you know how to breathe. Your battered copy of //Hamlet// lies on the floor near your bed, pages rumpled as though it had fallen. The memory of what had happened just before you’d found yourself in Elsinore flashes through your head, and you [[crawl over to reach for the book once more->Ultra Hidden End 3]].

A shout rings just beside your ear and you jerk away, slamming into a solid body. You push yourself to your feet, but your apology dies on your lips when you look at the [man you knocked into]<uhoh|.(click:?uhoh)[= Horatio falls slowly to his knees, clutching a hand to the dark stain spreading through his shirt. The fabric gapes open and you catch sight of lurid (charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[red]<bleeding| gleaming over rent flesh before Horatio’s fingers clench again and he doubles over with a ragged gasp. (link-reveal:"“No!”")[= You don’t know who shouts it, but your throat feels (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[raw] and Petra’s teeth are (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[flashing] whiter than the exposed bone in Horatio’s side while Fortinbras’s face (charstyle:(textstyle:"fidget"))[stretches] into horrified shock. Horatio (hoverstyle:(textstyle:"shudder"))[crumples]<crump|; you lunge to catch his head before it cracks against the stone.(click:?crump)[= A body is heavier than you thought it would be, even with (hoverstyle:(color:red+black))[blood] oozing out of it by the second. Petra’s knees hit the stone beside you with a thud as she presses frantically at the (textcolor:red+black)[gash]<bleeding| in Horatio’s side, pushing the torn sides of his wound together. The hall falls into a muted hush, catching every breath in the room in its muted static. Fortinbras sinks his sword into his sheath, too quickly for you to see if his blade is clean. Despite yourself, your eyes dart to Petra’s blade, searching for a [telltale stain]<check|.(click:?check)[= Her sword is half-hidden behind her as she kneels over Horatio. (link:"Grab her sword")[(set:$dragon to it +1)(set:$psword to true)(goto:"Ultra Hidden End 4")] (link:"Seize Fortinbras’s sword")[(set:$dragon to it +1)(set:$fsword to true)(goto:"Ultra Hidden End 4")] (link:"Help Petra bind up Horatio")[(set:$phoenix to it +1)(goto:"Ultra Hidden End 4")]

{(if:$psword is true)[You fling an arm out and grab at the handle of Petra’s sword. Her alarmed recoil is faster than your lunge, and you fall short, forcing you to |shuf>[shuffle] towards her—] (else-if:$fsword is true)[You lay Horatio’s head down as gently as you can; his eyes, half-glazed with pain, follow you as you rise to your feet before taking a sudden, forceful |step>[step] towards Fortinbras—] (else:)[Petra yanks one hand away from Horatio’s side and tears at the edge of her sleeve. The cloth rips a few inches before stalling, and Petra’s frantic eyes snap to you. “//Help me//,” she says, and for all the times you’ve found yourself wondering what you’d do in a situation like this, you can’t say whether Petra’s words are more plea or command. She repeats it, and the edge of panic in her voice jolts you out of your heavy dread. Your nodding feels more like a tremble, but you |rush>[rush] over to tear Petra’s sleeve into a strip—]}(click:?rush)+(click:?step)+(click:?shuf)[= (t8n:"slide-down")[The dull, bated silence of Elsinore (text-style:"expand")[vanishes] with a sucking sound, replaced by the thrum of A/C. Darkness floods your vision, then flashes stark white before your surroundings slowly [clear around you]<trigger|.]<shift|(click:?trigger)[= (t8n:"rumble")[You gasp, breaking a stale breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and your weight falls solidly onto your bedroom floor once more.] (link-reveal:"“What the—”")[= You break off into a guttural retch as your stomach flips and you stagger forward, head spinning. You stumble into the bathroom and gag into the sink until your stomach stops churning. “There, there.” Your head snaps up at the sound of your own voice. Your reflection smiles sympathetically at you and presses $hisher hand against the mirror. “Oh my god, I’m losing my mind. I am actually, literally losing it.” (if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$She laughs and shakes](else:)[$She laugh and shake] $hisher head. “No, we’ve still got [that]<l|.”(click:?l)[= $Hisher eyes flick to the medicine cabinet and your shaking hands—very specifically yours, because $hishers are utterly, infuriatingly steady on the reflected counter. “But we can talk about that some other time. Horatio might just (charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))|bleeding>[bleed out] if you waffle around panicking any longer.” [[“What?”->Ultra Hidden End 5]]

Your reflection raises $hisher eyebrows and nods in what you realize is supposed to be a helpful manner. “The first aid kit is in the hall clo—” (link-reveal:"“I know where it is!”")[= you snap, irritation blotting out the dizzy lurch in your gut. Your reflection’s casual, not-very-encouraging laugh of encouragement follows you as you rush to the hall closet and snatch up an armful from the medical supplies shelf. (after:time+2s)[=After a second’s pause, you grab a hand towel and the bottle of rubbing alcohol you’d missed the first [time]<frypan|. (click:?frypan)[=The neat row of hand sanitizer refills next to the gap left by the alcohol stares at you for three excruciating seconds before you tear your eyes away, your fingers tightening painfully on |more>[the neck of the bottle].(click:?more)[= Your own voice floats through the air, fading in and out—not as though your reflection is passing from room to room, but rather as though someone is turning a radio dial on $hisher voice, tuning in and out of the station like a sleepy driver [swaying on the road]<uhe|. (click:?uhe)[= (enchant: ?act5's chars, via (t8n-delay:pos * 500)+(t8n:'fade')+(t8nskip:0.1s))(enchant:?alt's chars, via(t8ndelay:pos*1000)+(t8n:"fade")+(t8nskip:0.1s))|act5>[“//The purpose of//][ //playing//]<alt|[//...was and is...to hold, as t’were...//]<act5|[//the mirror....|pls>[up to nature]...//”]<alt|(click:?pls)[= You grit your teeth and turn back down the hall. The sound of your reflection’s voice [stops]<uhe51| you as you pass the bathroom’s ajar door, a note of slow musing entering the familiar tone. (enchant:?act5butfaster's chars, via(t8ndelay:pos*250)+(t8n:'fade')+(t8nskip:0.1s))(click:?uhe51)|act5butfaster>[//My operant powers their functions...leave to…do...and thou shalt...live in this fair world...[behind]<dig|...//”] (click:?dig)[=Slowly, an inexplicable caution tensing your step, you enter the bathroom and [stare]<uh52| yourself in the face.(click:?uh52)[= (enchant: ?act5butfaster2's chars, via (t8n-delay:pos * 50) + (t8n:'instant'))[“You come most carefully upon his [final hour]<riphoratio|.”]<act5butfaster2| (click:?riphoratio)[=Your reflection’s figure blurs slightly as {(if:$gender is "she" or "he")[$she places](else:)[$she place]} a hand against $hisher side of the mirror. The glass appears to bend outward at the pressure of $hisher touch, though the mirror itself remains flat and solid. You swallow and clutch your supplies closer to yourself. (link-reveal:"“I’m going back.”")[= Horatio’s wan face flashes before your eyes—it’s an easy thing to imagine, given all the times in recent memory you’ve had nightmares of seeing yourself or someone you love in his position. You just have to switch out the face. “I can help him. He...it wasn’t his fault. None of it was.” Your reflection’s smile curves up without touching $hisher eyes. Your own facial muscles [twitch]<uhe53|.(click:?uhe53)[= “For this relief much thanks; ‘tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.” $Hisher voice is calm, multitudes more so than you can remember yours being since March, when the world had gone to hell and you’d developed an acute hypersensitivity to the (hoverstyle:(color:red+black))[sound of coughing]<uhe54|.(click:?uhe54)[= $Hisher strange smile remains too still as you place your hand over $hishers, your fingertips aligning perfectly. You flex your fingers against the cool glass and close your eyes. You lean into the image of Horatio that pops up immediately, face drawn tight and waxy under shallow breaths. The glass gives, ever so slightly, under your fingers, and you [[take a step forward->Ultra Hidden End 6]].

This time, you’re marginally more prepared for the soft (hoverstyle:(textstyle:'expand'))[sucking]<suck| sound that precedes the feeling of Elsinore’s stone materializing beneath your feet.(click:?suck)[= You open your eyes and find yourself standing flush against the far end of the great table—before you can puzzle out the intricacies of your newfound mirror-hopping ability, a hoarse groan rises from where Horatio lies supine. |choiceset1>[{ (link: "Shove through the crowd")[ (set:$dragon to it +1) (replace:?choiceset1)[You make good use of your elbows and shove through the crowd to Horatio. The urgency of the situation allows |tip>[no compromise].] ] (link: 'Make your way through the less crowded area near the walls')[ (set:$phoenix to it+1) (replace:?choiceset1)[You make your way through the less crowded area near the walls and |tip>[weave through] to Horatio.] ] (link:'Jump onto the table and run over')[ (set:$phoenix to it+1) (set:$dragon to it +1) (replace:?choiceset1)[You land on the table with a solid thump and |tip>[race across the length of it] to Horatio.] ] }] (click:?tip)[=When you reach him, Horatio’s face is ashen and his clothing is dark, sodden with too much [blood]<bleeding|. His eyelids are closed, but they flutter at your approach, his eyes struggling to focus as you drop unceremoniously to your knees and let your supplies [clatter down]<clat| in front of you.(click:?clat)[= “Stay awake,” you order, trying to bite past the quaver in your voice. Something unfurls in your throat, pressing down your tongue with a demand: “What, is Horatio there?” “A piece of him,” he manages with a bleak attempt at a smile. The effort is admirable, but its effect is ruined by the wince Horatio breaks into not two seconds later. |choiceset2>[{ (link: 'Squirt alcohol on wound')[ (set:$dragon to it +1) (replace:?choiceset2)[You nearly break the cap flipping it open before you squeeze the bottle of rubbing alcohol and bathe the gash in Horatio's side in a thin stream of alcohol. Horatio sucks in a sharp breath when the alcohol hits his flesh, his jaw clenching so tight you can hear a [tendon pop]<ouch|.] ] (link:'Apply pressure with dry towel')[ (set:$phoenix to it+1) (replace:?choiceset2)[Horatio grunts as you clamp the towel over the weeping gash in his side and |ouch>[press down].] ] (link:'Douse towel with alcohol and apply pressure')[ (set:$dragon to it +1) (set:$phoenix to it +1) (replace:?choiceset2)[Horatio hisses sharply when the wet towel makes contact with his raw flesh, his clenched jaw jutting upwards as you leverage your weight and [press down]<ouch|.] ] }] (click:?ouch)[= Horatio’s breath comes in faster, shallower gasps and panic surges through you. “You can’t die,” you grit out, looking desperately into his clammy face. “You aren’t //allowed// to die, that’s the whole point—you carry Hamlet’s dying breath, you’re the one who [tells the story]<story|!”(click:?story)[= Your reflection’s voice echoes in your head: [//You come most carefully upon his [final hour]<sh|.//]<reftalk|(enchant:?reftalk's chars, via (t8ndelay:pos*100)+(t8n:'instant'))(click:?sh)[= “No!” you all but scream, “No, I—you [//can’t die//]<forbid|, you hear me?!” (click:?forbid)[(goto:'Ultra Hidden End 7')]

Quotes and disjointed snippets of thought from the painstaking hours you’d spent gathering your thoughts in analyzing the original play hurtle through your mind. “You’re the one who inherits Hamlet’s inheritance,” you ramble, words flying from (hoverstyle:(color:blue+white))+(charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[numb lips]<sad|. (click:?sad)[= Turns out this feels even worse than you’d feared. You’d never thought about how much slack was in human flesh, how much the raw edges of a wound would jerk under your hands with every unsteady, frantic [inhale]<panic|. (click:?panic)[= “His father gave him his dying breath—dead breath, whatever—and then he gave it to you, and the breath is //agency//, Horatio! It’s purpose, it’s—it’s the story, and you’re the one who’s supposed to hold it! You don’t join the fray, that’s why you survive the goddamn play! You’re supposed to be the [voice of reason]<h|!” {(if:$dragon >= 3)[You spit a swear out with unexpected venom, cutting into the air with your [teeth]<h|.] (if:$phoenix >= 3)[Your voice breaks a moment after you finish speaking, cracking into your throat like [broken sugar]<h|.]} (click:?h's last)[=Horatio’s breath rattles and you press down harder. “Strange you should mention voices,” he rasps, “when my prince did grant his to Fortinbras before drawing his [final breath]<final|.”(click:?final)[= His eyes meet yours. You fight down a sudden surge of apprehension, but can’t stop the slow, tight shake of your head as Horatio speaks, his words slurred. “‘In this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,’ he said. He beseeched me to absent myself awhile from felicity, if I did ever hold him in my heart, to tell his story. And you, such a stranger to our time, must know how [dear]<g| I hold him.” (click:?g)[=His eyes roll back and his head (hoverstyle:(textstyle:'expand'))[lolls limp], his entire body falling slack under your hands. Your brain goes blank. His blood is still [red]<bleeding| in the furrows between your flesh and fingernail. Only when someone [hauls you bodily up]<up|(clickappend:?up)[ (you learn later that you hadn’t responded to earlier attempts to rouse you from your blank stare)] do you snap back into the moment; the poor soul who dragged you away as Petra and another Dane carry Horatio out of the hall says nothing as you struggle against their grip, barely grunting when your heels [connect]<kick| with shin. (click:?kick)[=Elsinore is a blur from then on; you remember side-stepping out of Elsinore and back again, watching the [red]<bleeding| numerals of your alarm clock (hoverstyle:(textstyle:'blink'))[blink ]in and out of reality. When Horatio regains consciousness, the moment he greets you is a shot of clarity before (hoverstyle:(textstyle:'blur')+(color:navy))[[time and worlds blur for you again->Ultra Hidden End 8]].

You hop between them with growing ease, although you stop allowing yourself to sleep in Elsinore after a [troubling experiment]<sci| involving alarm clocks and candles with nails hammered into them leads you to conclude that while you’re in Elsinore, no time passes on the other side.(click:?sci)[= The absurd becomes your routine: [wake up]<1|(click:?1)[, tell yourself you won’t scroll on your phone until you’re ready for class]<2|(click:?2)[, do it anyway while you brush your teeth]<3|(click:?3)[, and take class notes that you just hope will be coherent enough come [finals]<4|].(click:?4)[= (Somewhere between Horatio’s side closing into a scar and your first midterm exam, you stop thinking about how much you wish exams were the worst of your worries.) It isn’t the best of times by far, but as the days smudge on, you find yourself wondering what the [worst of times]<ohoho| really looks like. --- (click:?ohoho)[= The night before your final exam, sleep refuses you. You [toss]<t|.(click:?t)[ And [turn]<t2|.](click:?t2)[ And [toss and turn]<t3|.](click:?t3)[= And decide to see if Elsinore will help you clear your mind.(after: time+3s)[= It’s nearly second nature by now, shuffling to the bathroom and looking into the mirror like you’re greeting an old friend. Your reflection [smiles back]<smile| at you, leaning against the other side of the glass.(click:?smile)[= (enchant:?reftalk's chars, via (t8ndelay:pos*60)+(t8n:'instant'))[“How all occasions do inform against me, and spur my [dull revenge]<bleeding|!”]<reftalk| $she(if:$gender is 'she' or 'he')[ says](else:)[ say].(click:?bleeding)[= You raise an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call trying to get sleep revenge,” you tell $them. $Hisher lips quirk up to match your own and $she(if: $gender is 'she' or 'he')[ sighs](else:)[ sigh] [theatrically]<thea|.(click:?thea)[= “If you sleep, I sleep. If you wake, so too do I.” $Hisher smile turns wry and $she(if:$gender is 'she' or 'he')[ adds](else:)[ add], [“How stand I then, facing excitements of my reason and my blood, and [let all sleep]<sleep|?”]<reftalk|(click:?sleep)[= Your phone lights up with a reminder of your test and you groan. (linkreveal:"“Let’s go.”")[= The mirror is cool against your palm when you press against the glass. You inhale and take a deliberate step forward—the surface gives suddenly under your hand, melting into a supple grip. You jerk back, eyes snapping open, but fingers slip between yours and wrap around your hand, digging into the back of your knuckles. The world goes dim around you, erased by a low, steady hum that rolls over you like windswept sand. Your reflection’s face grows faint, then pulses and surges towards you before $she(if: $gender is 'she' or 'he')[ vanishes](else:)[ vanish] entirely—but you can still feel $hisher cool grip on your hand as the air grows thick around you. The sound of (t8n:'rumble')[nails clanging] to a stone floor echoes around you as your body begins to float. You close your eyes and feel your worlds dissolve around you in a slow whirl of (charstyle:(textstyle:'fidget'))[silvery static]. (font:'IM Fell English SC')+(text-colour:#a80303)[(text-style:"smear")[(text-style:"buoy")[Congratulations!] You have reached the Super Secret End.]] To play again, click (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:1.8s)[here]<here|(click:?here)[(restart:)].

{{(if: (passage:)'s tags contains "start-screen")[(replace:?sidebar)[] ]} [(replace:?sidebar)+(unless:(passage:)'s tags contains "menu")[(opacity:0.5)+(hoverstyle:(opacity:0.8)+(color:blue+white))[[🖫 Save Game 🖫]] ] ] {(unless: (passage:)'s tags contains "menu")[(set: $lastPassage to (passage:)'s name)]}}

{(if: visits > 1)[ (dialog:'Since this game runs in your browser, the save files are saved locally in your browser. Clearing your browser history/cache will clear your save files and your progress will be lost!','OK') ] } {(link-repeat: "Slot A")[(save-game:"Slot A",) (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot A')[ (link:'Load Slot A')[(loadgame:'Slot A')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot B")[(save-game:"Slot B") (if:(save-game:'Slot B'))[ Saved!] (else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot B')[ (link:'Load Slot B')[(loadgame:'Slot B')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot C")[(save-game:"Slot C") (if:(save-game:'Slot C'))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot C')[ (link:'Load Slot C')[(loadgame:' Slot C')]]} --- (link-goto: "Return to Elsinore", $lastPassage)

(set:$name to 'Kit') (set:$TalkedToMirror to true) (set:$kind to 1) (set:$run to 1) (set:$neutral to 0) {(if:$gender is "she")[ (set:$She to "She") (set:$she to "she") (set:$hisher to "her") (set:$hishers to "hers") (set:$them to "her") (set:$Hisher to "Her") (set:$Hishers to "Hers") (set:$Them to "Her") (set:$child to "daughter") ] (if:$gender is "he")[ (set:$She to "He") (set:$she to "he") (set:$hisher to "his") (set:$hishers to "his") (set:$them to "him") (set:$Hisher to "His") (set:$Hishers to "His") (set:$Them to "Him") (set:$child to "son") ] (if:$gender is "they")[ (set:$She to "They") (set:$she to "they") (set:$hisher to "their") (set:$hishers to "theirs") (set:$them to "them") (set:$Hisher to "Their") (set:$Hishers to "Theirs") (set:$Them to "Them") (set:$child to "child") ]}

{(if: visits < 1)[ (dialog:'Since this game runs in your browser, the save files are saved locally in your browser. Clearing your browser history/cache will clear your save files and your progress will be lost!','OK') ] } {(link-repeat: "Slot A")[(save-game:"Slot A",) (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot A')[ (link:'Load Slot A')[(loadgame:'Slot A')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot B")[(save-game:"Slot B") (if:(save-game:'Slot B'))[ Saved!] (else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot B')[ (link:'Load Slot B')[(loadgame:'Slot B')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot C")[(save-game:"Slot C") (if:(save-game:'Slot C'))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot C')[ (link:'Load Slot C')[(loadgame:' Slot C')]]} --- (link-goto: "Return to Elsinore", $lastPassage)

{ (set:$run to 0) (set:$neutral to 0) (set:$kind to 0) }