[Wow, we went through a door, fools that we are. We've ended up in:
8. You open the door and find yourself in some dark, spooky woods. It's difficult to see - not just because of the darkness, but because of the eerie fog that's rolling in and obscuring your surroundings. You get the distinct feeling that you are being watched - and being followed - as you attempt to find your way through the woods. This is because you are. Slenderman is following you, and he will eventually catch you. When he does, your mind will be filled with static, and you will find yourself out in the hallway with no memory of the last 24 hours for 30 minutes. Only four minutes have passed. ]
We're outside? ... No, this must be one of those rooms...
[Estelle looks around nervously. Also, she's got bunny ears.]
This room is very funny, because Claude... is made of mist! He's solid, and very much there, but his figures are difficult to make out. His clothes are 100% visible though. ]
... Keep your eyes and ears open. This seems dangerous.
You wake up, and it's to a hand around your neck and the ominous glint of a blade in the moonlight.
It's the first time you've woken up like this. You're maybe five, or six years old, and you're filled with fear first, and panic second.
But you still know better than to scream. You worry that the guards stationed outside your door would only come in and help the assailant finish the job.
So instead you slap the arm that's keeping you pinned to your bed, and it doesn't do much, except that the knife misses wherever it was meant to cut, slashing deep and bloody over your chest instead, pain slicing through your veins as your legs kick out, earning a grunt of pain when they connect with—something soft and human.
The situation starts to take shape in your head, and something else seeps in around the fear: fury. Indignation. Rage that anyone would do this to you- you're a prince.
You kick again before your attacker manages to shield himself, into that same spot, another more pronounced cry of pain. But you're maybe half your attacker's weight, and it's not enough to dislodge him, so the next time his blade flashes, it lodges into your shoulder, and it burns so much that you lose track of everything else. How hard your fists are beating into the arm around your neck. How furiously your legs are kicking at the shape above you until eventually it staggers back.
Like many times before this, you wonder why. Do you deserve to die?
But unlike the times before this, you've gotten more resourceful. The pain pounding in your head goes still, remembering the dagger under your pillow. You reach for it, clumsy, and your attacker has clearly underestimated you because you're able to draw it and bury it deep into—something. Something that drops hot blood over your chin and neck.
The assassin reels back in surprise, and you're screaming, launching forward and you know that you hurt him again, somewhere, some amount of times because there's blood spraying over your floors different from the droplets dripping from your own clothes. But you're only a child, and when the fog clears from your head you realize that the would-be assassin is gone.
It's just you, covered in blood and left without a scratch.
week 0, monday, butterfly garden
Quite lovely, isn't it?
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It really is. It almost puts the gardens at the castle to shame.
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Yes. I suppose there's no hiding it here...
[With her fancy dress and mannerisms, it's questionable if she was actually trying not to look the part.]
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week 1, monday, prism / party city
He stares at some of the balloons. ]
There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to the locations here.
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[Estelle is looking kind of awed at the many colors of balloons...]
If it's like before, we probably can't bring anything back, can we?
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Week 1, Friday
Oh, Claude... You must have heard the news, too.
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Claude's expression immediately softens. ]
Cloud, right? Are you two close?
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We were talking just last night, too...
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Week 2, Monday
We're outside? ... No, this must be one of those rooms...
[Estelle looks around nervously. Also, she's got bunny ears.]
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This room is very funny, because Claude... is made of mist! He's solid, and very much there, but his figures are difficult to make out. His clothes are 100% visible though. ]
... Keep your eyes and ears open. This seems dangerous.
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Oh... It's you, Claude. [she lets out a breath.]
You're not a ghost, are you?
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week 3, tuesday, courtyard
It's the first time you've woken up like this. You're maybe five, or six years old, and you're filled with fear first, and panic second.
But you still know better than to scream. You worry that the guards stationed outside your door would only come in and help the assailant finish the job.
So instead you slap the arm that's keeping you pinned to your bed, and it doesn't do much, except that the knife misses wherever it was meant to cut, slashing deep and bloody over your chest instead, pain slicing through your veins as your legs kick out, earning a grunt of pain when they connect with—something soft and human.
The situation starts to take shape in your head, and something else seeps in around the fear: fury. Indignation. Rage that anyone would do this to you- you're a prince.
You kick again before your attacker manages to shield himself, into that same spot, another more pronounced cry of pain. But you're maybe half your attacker's weight, and it's not enough to dislodge him, so the next time his blade flashes, it lodges into your shoulder, and it burns so much that you lose track of everything else. How hard your fists are beating into the arm around your neck. How furiously your legs are kicking at the shape above you until eventually it staggers back.
Like many times before this, you wonder why. Do you deserve to die?
But unlike the times before this, you've gotten more resourceful. The pain pounding in your head goes still, remembering the dagger under your pillow. You reach for it, clumsy, and your attacker has clearly underestimated you because you're able to draw it and bury it deep into—something. Something that drops hot blood over your chin and neck.
The assassin reels back in surprise, and you're screaming, launching forward and you know that you hurt him again, somewhere, some amount of times because there's blood spraying over your floors different from the droplets dripping from your own clothes. But you're only a child, and when the fog clears from your head you realize that the would-be assassin is gone.
It's just you, covered in blood and left without a scratch.
He gives Estelle a concerned look. ]
Sorry. You alright?
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An... an assassin? But you were so little...
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Politics can be an ugly beast, can't it?
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Week 4, Monday
They have a room... just for dogs?
[She lets that sink in for a moment. Then her eyes just light up with joy.]
Claude!! Look! There are so many dogs!
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There's just... normal dogs?
[ his wyvern is also here! she's sails in the sky above them, flying in slow circles
ahead of them, an extremely large saint bernard is bounding toward estelle ]
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[Estelle gasps with delight and puts out her hands to meet the saint bernard. Is she going to get bowled over? ... Maybe.]
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week 5, monday, realm / castle
I've never seen one so colourful before.
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It looks like something from a storybook...!
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week 7, tuesday, solarium
I'm glad this place wasn't swallowed up by shadows.
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[considering he was deadzo last week]
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[ looks over at her ]
How've you been, Estelle?
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