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(align:"==><===")+(text-colour:white)+(text-size:1.5)[ALEXIS, (text-colour:navy)[//UNBOUND//]](align:"==><===")+(text-size:.7)[//An Interactive Sapphic Horror Novel//](align:"==><===")+(text-size:.5)[written by A. C. Eberhardt and K. Twomey] (align:"==><===")[[[Open the door.->The Invitation]] ]

You breeze into the dining room where the Irvings are taking their breakfast. Your eyes lock with the eldest daughter, Lavinia, holding court at the table alongside her younger sister and brother. She gives you a soft smile, and your heart skips a beat, remembering the taste of her warm lips on yours this very morning. [[Smile back.->Smile Back/Wink Flirtatiously]] [[Wink flirtatiously.->Smile Back/Wink Flirtatiously]] [[Ignore her.]]

The paper is smooth in your fingers, the faintly embossed seal pleasantly textured. You almost think you catch a hint of perfume on it. Roses? There’s a moment where you think about sliding your finger beneath the seal to read the contents for yourself, to see what high noble is bestowing favor or a request on the family. But before you can contemplate how you might reseal it, the head housekeeper passes by, interrupting you. “Hurry up, girl,” she says. “It’s not right to keep them waiting.” [["Yes, ma'am."->Enter the dining room.]] [[Roll your eyes.->Enter the dining room.]]

From the corner of your eye, you see Lavinia’s face fall, albeit slightly. She knows that you cannot flaunt your affection in public. Her mother’s voice draws her attention back to the strange letter. “Give that here, girl!” Mrs. Irving rips the letter from your hands and slices it open with her silver butter knife –– that utensil alone is half your yearly wages. You stand beside her dutifully, as she reads. Her hands tremble with anticipation. You read over her shoulder, appearing uninterested as you do so. //Dear Irving Family, We are pleased to invite your daughter Lavinia to our home this summer to learn the finer points of womanhood. Rest assured she will be in the most capable of hands as we expand her knowledge of the aristocracy. Should she succeed our expectations, she will have the opportunity to stay on as a permanent ward of our household for the next year, while we strive to find her a suitable noble match. Please send your acceptance post haste. We expect to see you at our debut ball on June 20th, from which we will fetch her and her belongings. Lady Agatha Gormley// You’ve heard whispers of this. The Lord and Lady Gormley selected young women to train them up to be married off to wealthy, eligible lords. It seems that Lavinia’s parents had submitted her for this year’s pool. [[Excuse yourself.]] [[Stick around.]] [[Say something innocuous.]]

You see a blush dusting Lavinia’s cheeks, and she tries to hide her growing smile. Her mother’s voice cuts through the moment you two had been sharing “Give that here, girl!” Mrs. Irving rips open the letter with her silver butter knife – that utensil alone is half your yearly wages. You stand beside her dutifully, as she reads. Her hands tremble with anticipation. You read over her shoulder, appearing uninterested as you do so. //Dear Irving Family, We are pleased to invite your daughter Lavinia to our home this summer to learn the finer points of womanhood. Rest assured she will be in the most capable of hands as we expand her knowledge of the aristocracy. Should she succeed our expectations, she will have the opportunity to stay on as a permanent ward of our household for the next year, while we strive to find her a suitable noble match. Please send your acceptance post haste. We expect to see you at our debut ball on June 20th, from which we will fetch her and her belongings. Lady Agatha Gormley// You’ve heard whispers of this. The Lord and Lady Gormley selected young women to train them up to be married off to wealthy, eligible lords. It seems that Lavinia’s parents had submitted her for this year’s pool. [[Excuse yourself.]] [[Stick around.]] [[Say something innocuous.]]

Something in your chest plummets, a stone or perhaps it’s something spiked that lodges itself there. You can’t quite catch Lavinia’s eye, as she is swept into the excitement of her mother. You offer a curtsy and excuse yourself for your other duties, though you weren’t expected to do anything other than deliver letters and clear dishes from the table. [[Return to your quarters.]] [[Sneak into Lavinia’s room.]]

Mrs. Irving is overjoyed, clearly, fanning herself with excitement. “Of course we shall go,” she says. “Oh Lavinia, we must arrange for you to get a new dress before it is too late!” You try to catch Lavinia’s eye, but to no avail; she is swept into the furious planning tirade of her mother. She seems appropriately enthusiastic about the invitation, but she has always been a good liar when it counted. Another servant brings in a platter of food and clears away used dishes, and you are pulled into the endless drudgery of chores, sleeves pulled up and dripping where the dishwater lapped at your elbows. You should try to speak to Lavinia, perhaps you can catch her once breakfast is over. [[Chores ->Chores (Easier)]]

“Sounds like a stuffy affair, milady." The words slip off your tongue before you can catch them. Mrs. Irving stares daggers at you. “Alexis, that is out of line. Now //kneel//.” [[Challenge her.]] [[Kneel obediently.]]

Some sudden courage bubbles up in your chest after a morning spent scrubbing chamber pots until your hands rubbed raw. You are too young to feel this old, your body ravaged by dirty, thankless work. This woman does not deserve your deference. You stand your ground, refusing to bend to her will. “I said what I said, ma’am.” Lavinia looks on in shock as her younger siblings chitter in laughter. Mrs. Irving silences them all with swift smack across your face with her closed fan. Your vision temporarily blinks back. As you come to your senses, you touch blood trailing from your nose. Mrs. Irving does not even look at you as she resumes her place at the head of the table. “You are dismissed, Alexis.” As you stand, you look up at your mistress. Your eyes flick to Lavinia, who mouths a silent apology. [[Curtsy and take your leave.->Chores (Harder)]] [[Exit swiftly without looking back.->Chores (Harder)]]

You know the consequences of speaking out of turn. Better to take the punishment now than fight it. Your knees pop as you kneel on the floorboards – you are too young to feel this old, your body ravaged by dirty, thankless work. Lavinia rises from the table, setting the china rattling. “Mother, please!” “Silence, Lavinia, and learn. This will be your job someday as the lady of a great house. You cannot let the help speak to you as if they are your equal.” Mrs. Irving raps you on the back of your hand with her closed fan so hard your vision temporarily blinks black. As you come to your senses, “You are dismissed, Alexis.” As you stand, you look up at your mistress. Your eyes flick to Lavinia, who mouths a silent apology. [[Curtsy and take your leave.->Chores (Harder)]] [[Exit swiftly without looking back.->Chores (Harder)]]

You can’t hide the sliver of sorrow from your words. Not from her. She sighs, and you can feel her breath on your skin – every hair on your body stands on end in response. What a wicked way this sweet girl has a hold on you. “You knew this time might come. It was just a matter of when.” [[“We could run away.”]] [[“Decline the invitation.”]] [[Say nothing at all. ]]

Your silence speaks volumes. Lavinia drops her hand from your cheek, and you mourn its loss. “Alexis, we knew we could never be together, not like //that//." She absently pulls at the ribbons in her dress, as if trying to convince herself. "This... This is for the best. I'm 22. It’s well past time I was married." Her face twists in pain. "Besides, what choice do I have?” [[“We could run away.”]] [["You're not even fighting it – do I mean so little to you?"->Lavinia is sad]] [["You're right... But it doesn't make it any less painful."->Lavinia is sad]]

Lavinia laughs – usually it’s a sound you relish like the sun on your face. But now, its dulcet tones are so sharp, you feel as though you’ve been cut. Her eyes fall to the floor, refusing to meet yours. "You should go back to your room. There is much to prepare for.” [[Kiss her.->Caught]] [[Leave.->Approached by Mrs. Irving]]

Lavinia’s mouth twists into a rueful smile. You are often not on the receiving end of it – she saves her softer ones for you. “Alexis, we knew we could never be together, not like //that//." She absently pulls at the ribbons in her dress, as if trying to convince herself. "This... This is for the best. I'm 22. It’s well past time I was married." Still, her face twists in pain. Your heart plummets; she is right. Mrs. Irving would not stop at any opportunity to lift her daughter up in the world. You would be lucky to accompany her to Lavinia’s new household… and yet, you cannot help but curse the injustice of this. [[“We could run away.”]] [["You're not even fighting it – do I mean so little to you?"->Lavinia is sad]] [["You're right... But it doesn't make it any less painful."->Lavinia is sad]]

Mrs. Irving appraises you, her lips bending into a considerate smile. “I suppose yes, Lavinia shall require a lady’s maid during her time with the Gormleys. We cannot let it seem as though we cannot afford to send her accompanied. Very well, Alexis. You shall represent our house along with her.” “Thank you, milady.” You bow your head and exit quietly, a secret smile forming over your lips. [[Attend the Party with Lavinia]]

Your fingers tingle with a strange pain as you turn from the corridor leading to Lavinia’s room. You lie awake in your bunk, aching for the heat and shape of her pressed against your cold body. There are but a few weeks between tonight and the day you will both leave with the Gormleys. Things would be different. Perhaps better, even. [[Sleep.->Approached by Mrs. Irving]]

You wait until everyone else has turned in for the evening, your hand tracing the peeling paper walls from the darkness of the servants’ quarters to the moonlit corridor leading to Lavinia’s room. You wonder what pleasures await you as you gently push open the door – it’s never locked. Not for you. Lavinia is awake, reading by the weak candlelight beside her bed. You climb up beside her, and Lavinia reaches to cup your cheek, then softly and briefly kisses your lips. Hers taste like strawberry jam. “Alexis... Are you alright?” she asks. [[“Yes, how could I not be?”]] [[“Decline the invitation.”]] [[Say nothing at all. ]]

Mrs. Irving appraises you, her lips bending into a sour scowl. “After your behavior this morning at breakfast, I consider your contract terminated – effective immediately. And you shall not receive this week’s wages.” Mrs. Irving turns her back on you. “I suggest you ply your trade with the sailors and dock workers – you might have better success.” [[Purse your lips.->Fired]] [[“I apologize for my behavior earlier. I hope you’ll reconsider.”->Fired]] [[“Go fuck yourself and the high horse you rode in on.”->Fired]]

You aren’t even allowed to pack up your things as Mrs. Irving shows you the door. The hot summer day is wearing off as you step out onto the streets. Come hell or high water, you will get to that party and save your beloved. [[Continue.-> Fired - Showing up to Party]]

Mrs. Irving bursts into the room, candle holder in hand, the flickering flame illuminating her anger. "What the //devil// is going on here?" [["Perhaps Lavinia will need a maid at the Gormleys."-> Persuasion (Failure)]] [["I love Lavinia – and I won't let her go."->Fired]]

The housekeeper is all too happy to have extra help with the dishes and the linens when you excuse yourself early from breakfast. The work is, as usual, thankless, and you are doubly weary by the day's end. [[Sneak into Lavinia’s room.]] [[Return to your quarters.]]

The day breezes by, a welcome happenstance. At some point in the afternoon, you pass by Mrs. Irving in the hall, arms laden with freshly cleaned linens. She mumbles aloud, wrapped in her planning flurry, and you hear her say something about needing someone to escort Lavinia. [["Actually, ma'am... I could accompany Lavinia to the party if you don't mind."->Persuasion (Success)]] [[Sneak into Lavinia’s room.]] [[Return to your quarters.]]

You try to contain your nervousness as Lavinia is thrust into a flurry of packing and dress fittings as the Irvings prepare for their daughter's imminent departure. The time you might normally steal to spend together is filled with activity. You cannot imagine what life would be like without her. [[The day of the party arrives...]]

The morning arrives. Mrs. Irving steps into your room. “Lavinia shall require a lady’s maid during her time with the Gormleys. We cannot let it seem as though we cannot afford to send her accompanied. Alexis, you shall represent our house along with her.” [[“Thank you, milady.”->Attend the Party with Lavinia]] [[Smile in success. ->Attend the Party with Lavinia]]

Lavinia's eyes fall to the floor, refusing to meet yours. "You should go back to your room. There is much to prepare for.” [[Kiss her.->Caught]] [[Leave.->Approached by Mrs. Irving]]

The days pass more quickly than you’d like them to and suddenly the evening of the Gormley’s ball arrives. Nothing much has changed in your duties - if anything Mrs. Irving has grown //more// insufferable. You have noticed however, that Lavinia seems more distant from you than ever... and you worry what this means for your future together. You had always assumed you would follow her wherever she went, nursing your love in secrecy, but what if she goes to a place - mentally or physically - you //cannot// follow? You shudder, pushing such chilling thoughts away and knock on Lavinia’s door before you enter, her dresses in hand. You hear no response. [[Knock again.]] [[“Lavinia?”->Knock again.]] [[Push open the door.->Knock again.]]

You can only imagine what Lavinia has gotten up to since your sudden firing by the Irvings. The days pass as slow as tar, holed up in the cheap quarters you’ve rented at the tavern, until finally the evening of the Gormley’s ball arrives. Luckily, their London residence is not hard to find – the house has a notorious reputation, carried to you through the lips and ears of all the servants that came before you, though you have never borne witness to its agricultural phenomenon yourself. You take a turn down an alley and suddenly find yourself down a posh street in Belgravia. That’s when you see them – the roses. Hundreds of azure blue roses, curling around the iron bars of their prison, decorating the servants’ entrance of the Gormley’s towering residence. How did they come to be such an unnatural colour you wonder? [[Continue.]]

The gate towers over you, imposing with its heavy iron locks, even as it seems to beckon you to come closer. You can’t possibly scale it or fit through the bars. The roses, while beautiful, would tear you to shreds with their thorns. Your heart skips like a stone in your chest, fretful that your plan may not work after all. [[Look more closely at the gate.]] [[Try to find a way through.]] [[Search your pockets.]]

You peer closer at the gate’s lock. You recognise the symbol as a claddagh - two hands with a crowned heart in the middle – typical of Irish wedding bands. Your mother had one, shortly before she died, leaving you alone in the world. A keyhole is in the middle of the heart, almost mocking you. There is no way you can break it. [[Try to find a way through.]]

You search for anything that might help you break into the Gormley’s estate. The fence seems impossibly high… until you notice a tall horse chestnut tree whose branches lean over the other side. You hike up your skirts and set about clambering up the base of the trunk, using the lowest branches as leverage, grateful for your strength. You climb up to the top of the Gormley’s fence and jump down onto a small lean-to on the other side. From there, it is but a short drop to the ground. [[Jump down.]]

You have a hairpin in your pocket - Lavinia gave it to you as a present when you were still fresh to love. With a twinge of pain, you insert it into the lock, attempting to open it. After a few turns, the delicate hairpin breaks in your hands. [[“Well, fuck.”->Try to find a way through.]] [[Look more closely at the gate.]] [[Try to find a way through.]]

You expertly gauge your fall, jumping onto the garden below. You stand there, catching your breath when the breeze picks of the scent of the Gormley’s roses, recalling the aroma of Lavinia’s tell-tale perfume. With a pang of longing, you wonder who has been brushing her hair and taking in the sweet scent of her skin in your absence… [[Push the thoughts away – you need to stay focused.]] [[Linger in the memory a little longer...]]

You brush the tempting thoughts away and face the back entrance to the Gormleys’ residence. To your surprise, the back door is unlocked. [[Sneak inside.]]

Lavinia loves roses… and one of this stunning hue would be a fitting gift to woo her after a week’s absence. [[Steal rose.]] [[Leave them be.]]

You snap off one of the roses, unable to stifle a little cry in your throat as its thorns prick your skin. The blue of its petals is almost hypnotic, drawing you into a kind of stupor as you stare at it, when suddenly – “You there! What are you doing?” Your blood runs cold – you’ve been spotted. [[Run.]] [[Face the woman.]] [[“They’re so beautiful… I apologise. I couldn’t resist taking one.”]]

You resist the urge to pluck one of the roses. Whoever tends them clearly cares much for their well-being and it would be rude to disturb them. Besides, their beauty had almost distracted you from your true purpose in being here. [[Sneak inside.]]

You slip into the servants' quarters, your entrance barely noted. They are acrush with people bringing out silver platters full of food and wine and returning with empty ones. You snatch a platter and follow. You keep your head low – submissive – as you enter the parlour where all of the well-to-do guests are gathered, talking loudly over champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The succulent sights and smells of steaming red lobsters in cream sauce, the crackling golden crust of peacock pies, and glistening apples, peaches, and oranges encased in glass-like sugar set your empty stomach to painful growling. Still, you ignore it all to come within mere paces of Lavinia. You reach out to her, the shape of your hand finding the familiar small of her back. “Alexis?” she whispers, incredulous. “What are you doing //here//?” Before you can answer, a crystalline sounds cuts you off from someone tapping a glass for a toast. [[Listen. (No Rose Path)]]

You run towards the iron fence, hoping to scramble back onto the shed to escape, but you cannot lift yourself up. You are trapped. “Oh, my darling, you’re not getting out of this so easily,” says the woman. [[Face the woman.]] [[“They’re so beautiful… I apologise. I couldn’t resist taking one.”]]

You turn to face the woman who spoke to you – she wears a nondescript black cloak, fastened with a silver claddagh pin. She holds a basket, the handle looped around her forearm, while her hands grip a pair of freshly sharpened garden shears. She is dressed so plainly, she must be the house mistress. A pity – those women are always the worst. She steps closer to you, eyes narrowed as if judging the weight of your soul as her mouth curls into a delicate smile. “Ordinarily, I’d take a finger for such an offence.” She snaps the shears, her smile as sharp as the blades. “But my, you are brazen for a thief… Perhaps I’ll even let you take it, all your appendages intact.” [[Give her the rose.]] [[Hold onto the rose.]]

You raise your sorry gaze to the woman who stands before you. She wears a nondescript black cloak, fastened with a silver claddagh pin. She holds a basket, the handle looped around her forearm, while her hands grip a pair of freshly sharpened garden shears. She is dressed so plainly, she must be the house mistress. A pity – those women are always the worst. She steps closer to you, her icy gaze melting at your vulnerability. She puts the shears away. “Keep it, why don’t you? You deserve it, after all your trouble in getting in here,” she says to your mute astonishment. “I admire creatures who never do what they’re told.” Her eyes light with a certain wistfulness. “Now tell me, darling, why are you breaking into the gardens?" [[“I’m curious… How on earth are these roses blue?”]] [[(Lie) “I’m new to working here, and I forgot my key. How embarrassing!”]] [[“I’ve come here to save my… friend. Her name is Lavinia.”]]

You answer her question with a question of your own. “Ah,” the woman sighs, looking lovingly at the roses. “These are my special ones.” To your surprise, she gestures for you to follow her to one of the bushes, heavy with deep indigo buds and then drops down on her hands and knees in the dirt. That immediately sets you at ease. She’s not stuck up for sure. Her accent, though educated, is hard to place. She points to the root stock where a graft has been made and wrapped over with linen. “It’s an ancient technique, adopted from the Middle East – the azure colour is achieved by implanting dye into the base of the roots. These are white roses, and they take the dye easily. They are my pride and joy.” Her passion is palpable, making you forget your original purpose for a moment. You both stand again, facing each other. “But you dodged my question, darling.” Her eyes narrow. “//State your purpose.//” [[(Lie) “I’m new to working here, and I forgot my key. How embarrassing!”]] [[“I’ve come here to save my… friend. Her name is Lavinia.”]]

You lie rather convincingly – you’ve had years of practice covering for yourself in front of Mrs. Irving and her prying eyes. Besides, all servants look the same to their betters – and this woman, whoever she is, is certainly not your average scullery maid. “Ah, right,” she says with a smile. “I forgot a new girl was coming in today – I’ve been so busy preparing for the party. Silly me! Please, follow me inside.” You flush with the success of your deception as the woman opens the door to the servants’ quarters for you as you follow her inside. The servants’ quarters are acrush with people bringing out silver platters full of food and wine and returning with empty ones. The woman speaks to you over the din of tonight’s preparations, her voice clear as she guides you through the chaos. “You can call me Agatha, by the way, seeing as we shall soon be more intimately acquainted.” [[Follow Agatha.]]

The woman listens to you curiously as you explain the injustice of your firing and your fear of what might happen to Lavinia. “My…” she says, placing a cool hand over yours, “You must care for your friend deeply. Such a love is to be admired. I shall not stand between it.” Her eyes settle on you for a second. For a moment, you wonder if you are found out, revealed bare. But if the woman understands more, she does not let on. You flush with the pride of your success as the woman opens the door to the servants’ quarters for you as you follow her inside. The servants’ quarters are acrush with people bringing out silver platters full of food and wine and returning with empty ones. The woman speaks to you over the din of tonight’s preparations, her voice clear as she guides you through the chaos. “You can call me Agatha, by the way, seeing as we shall soon be more intimately acquainted.” [[Follow Agatha.]]

You follow Agatha through the labyrinthine passages. "Here we are," she says, and turns back to give you a helpful smile. "I hope you achieve all that you desire, my darling." [["Thank you."]]

“Just a moment!” You hear through the door. You wait patiently, your arms heavy under the weight of the crinoline and silk. Suddenly the door swings open and Lavinia ushers you inside. [[Enter.]]

You enter, but Lavinia barely acknowledges your presence… and her ignorance stings more than anything. You watch her as she paces in her chemise, dancing out of your grasp every time you attempt to assist her in dressing. She is agitated – with anticipation, or fear, you cannot be certain. “Oh how does that blasted waltz go again?” she frets, trying to mime the movements as if with a partner. “One, two, three – oh!” Suddenly, her toe trips on the carpet, and you catch her. For a moment the two of you look into one another’s eyes – longer than you have in the days since the letter arrived. [[“Perhaps I can teach you a few steps?”]] [[“You’re not making my job any easier.”]] [[“I’m better at taking your clothes off than putting them on, my lady.”]]

Lavinia laughs. “Would you know how?” But she knows: she had tried to teach you in the evenings when you were younger, followed her own lessons with yours. She always said it was ‘practice’. Practice for what, you wonder... Still, she opens her arms to you, placing one hand on your shoulder, the other upon your waist. You do the same. You spin her around her bedroom as if you are at the centre of the grandest ballroom. You can almost picture the two of you - you in a man's suit, your long hair tied back, she in her favorite pink silk dress, the one that now lies upon the bed. You could spend an eternity dreaming like this... [[Kiss her.]] [[Pull away->“Gentle – how ever will you explain your debauchery?”]]

Lavinia lets out a little disagreeable huff and pouts. It’s terribly endearing, despite her frustration. Dear Lord, you want to kiss her. [[Kiss her.]] [[“Your face will wrinkle if you continue to scowl.”]] [[“Enough playing around. The party is starting soon."]]

Lavinia blushes. “Stop it, you.” But you can tell from the glint in her eyes that she wants you. You //could// give into your desires, just a little bit. [[Kiss her.]] [[“Enough playing around. The party is starting soon."]]

You gently kiss her on the mouth. Lavina’s lips taste like mint. You know soon they’ll taste like roses after you carefully apply the lip color you’d snuck out with her to buy last summer. She tries to nip you, and you laugh. [[“Gentle – how ever will you explain your debauchery?”]] [[“Enough playing around. The party is starting soon."]]

Lavinia looks at you in horror. "How dare you say such a thing, Alex!" But you know her tone is a mocking one. Still, she looks at her face in the mirror, determined to find some fault. You know she won't find one. You've spent hours memorizing her face. [[“Enough playing around. The party is starting soon."]]

You know Mrs. Irving would have your head if Lavinia was late because of you. As much as it pains you to resist Lavinia, you do. And not a second too soon as Mrs. Irving bursts through the door. She looks at her daughter undressed, the gowns on the bed, and scowls at you. "Heavens! We're going to be late at this rate! Alexis, I told you to dress her an hour ago!" You apologise and run to grab the Lavinia's favourite pink gown. "No!" Mrs. Irving bellows. "The //blue//one." With a look of apology to hurriedly help a subdued Lavinia into the dress. [[Dress her.]]

Teasing Lavinia is one of your favorite things to do, and it often has desirable results. You secretly hope one of those would be more time together tonight, but it would have to be done at the end, in your room or hers. Not that either of you are particularly good at waltzing, but you were just reckless enough not to care. Lavinia laughs as she holds your face in between her small, delicate palms. Your hands are not like that - they are large, like your father's your mother once said, and rough from lye and hard labour. Then, Lavinia's eyes turn downwards in sorrow, as if remembering your true purpose in being here. [["We should get you ready."->“Enough playing around. The party is starting soon."]]

You turn to see that the man holding the glass is dressed in a fine suit so dark a blue it is almost black. His dark hair is streaked with silver - a handsome man, even in his middling age. His voice is strong and clear as he speaks to the surrounding guests, listening to him in rapt attention. “And now, comes the moment we have all gathered here to celebrate,” says Lord Gormley. “The official presentation of our new wards. I invite my wife up here to do the honours.” Lavinia’s new benefactors are of a middling age, yet elegant and confident in the way they move among their guests. For a moment, Lady Gormley’s green eyes lock eyes with yours, and you feel a strange – but pleasurable – chill trickle down your spine. [[Study Lord Gormley.]] [[Look at Lady Gormley.]]

“Keep it, why don’t you? You deserve it, after all your trouble in getting in here,” she says to your mute astonishment. “I admire creatures who never do what they’re told.” Her eyes light with a certain wistfulness. “Now tell me, darling, why are you breaking into the gardens?" [[“I’m curious… How on earth are these roses blue?”]] [[(Lie) “I’m new to working here, and I forgot my key. How embarrassing!”]] [[“I’ve come here to save my… friend. Her name is Lavinia.”]]

You refuse to relinquish this prize, tucking it into the folds of your skirt. You can play this one of two ways, you reason, calculating the women’s green eyed gaze. [[(Lie) “I’m new to working here, and I forgot my key. How embarrassing!”]] [[“I’ve come here to save my… friend. Her name is Lavinia.”]]

You turn to see that the man holding the glass is dressed in a fine suit so dark a blue it is almost black. His black hair is streaked with silver - a handsome man, even in his middling age. His voice is strong and clear as he speaks to the surrounding guests, listening to him in rapt attention. “And now, comes the moment we have all gathered here to celebrate,” says Lord Gormley. “The official presentation of our new wards. I now invite my wife up here, to do the honours.” Lavinia’s new benefactors are of a middling age, yet elegant and confident in the way they move among their guests. For a moment, Lady Gormley’s green eyes lock eyes with yours, and you feel a strange – but pleasurable – chill trickle down your spine, as you realise it is the same woman you spoke to – //Agatha//. [[Look at Lady Gormley ->Look at Lady Gormley 2]] [[Study Lord Gormley ->Study Lord Gormley 2]]

You dress Lavinia with care, fixing the lines of her pale blue dress, the curls of her hair. You’ll not have Mrs. Irving frowning on your work tonight of all nights, not after your delay. When she is presentable, you turn her over to her mother for inspection. “Yes, very good,” Mrs. Irving says, before turning to face you. “You shall watch over Lavinia this evening. See to her every need. Make certain that she presents her best.” [[“Of course, ma’am.”->Accompany Lavinia]] [[Say nothing and curtsey.->Accompany Lavinia]] [[Smile while muttering a curse under your breath.->Accompany Lavinia]]

You are folded into the hansom with Lavinia and her mother. Lavinia holds your hand under the folds of your dresses the entire ride over. You look out the window and see the stately white residences of Belgravia pass by. She releases your hand the moment the door opens and you are led up the marble entrance. You keep your head low – submissive – as you enter the parlor where all of the well-to-do guests are gathered, talking loudly over champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The succulent sights and smells of steaming red lobsters in cream sauce, the crackling golden crust of peacock pies, and glistening apples, peaches, and oranges encased in glass-like sugar set your empty stomach to painful growling. You stand close to Lavinia and fold your hands over your waist, unsure of what else to do with yourself, when a crystalline sound cuts through the din of the room – someone is tapping a glass, for a toast. [[Listen.->Listen. (No Rose Path)]]

Lord Gormley is a man who commands attention, despite his shorter stature. He glides through the crowd to the centre of the room with a grace that strikes you becoming of a silver fox slipping through a hen house. As if sensing your gaze, his steel blue eyes flick towards yours, and his mouth curls into a pleasurable smile, presenting a row of perfectly straight teeth that almost look sharp in the glittering light from the chandelier. You have rarely found yourself attracted to men, but there is something undeniably //electric// about the way he silences a hundred of London's most rich and powerful with but a few words. [[Look at Lady Gormley.]] [[Listen to Lord Gormley.->The First Rose]]

Lady Gormley is a sharp and statuesque woman, her romanesque beauty reminiscent of Venus carved in marble, despite her auburn hair which is pulled back in the latest fashion. Her keen eye never rests for too long; she is constantly scanning about the room as if to pass judgement on all she sees. Her gaze flits in your direction again, and she flicks her fan at you. You know fan language vaguely from Lavinia. You think she's saying... I desire to make your acquaintance... or perhaps, I wish to get rid of you. You are uncertain. [[Listen to Lord Gormley.->The First Rose]]

Lady Gormley is a sharp and statuesque woman, her romanesque beauty reminiscent of Venus carved in marble, despite her auburn hair which is pulled back in the latest fashion. Her keen eye never rests for too long; she is constantly scanning about the room as if to pass judgement on all she sees. You know fan language vaguely from Lavinia. You think she's saying... Don't forget what I've done for you. You are uncertain. [[Listen to Lord Gormley.->The First Rose 2]]

“The first rose goes to Séraphine Giroux, daughter of the regrettably late Marquis de Marseilles, whose entire family line tragically perished at the hands of the //sans-cullottes// during the Revolt.” Sounds of shock and pity run around the room, but Séraphine seems to ignore it all, her eyes set resolutely on the azure rose as she makes her way to the Gormleys. The way she moves reeks of haughtiness and distaste – certainly stuck up her own ass. As Lady Gormley pins the bud into Séraphine’s twisted updo, you wonder why they selected //her// of all people. [[Continue.->The Second Rose]]

“The second is Beatrice Cunningham, who hails from Twickenham, where her father is a well-loved violinist from south London. I’m sure you are all familiar with his works.” You’ve heard stories about Beatrice when Lavinia returned from dances, and now you have a face to the name. She’s sweet and comely, though she seems flustered by the attention and a little clumsy, but you understand why the Gormleys had selected her for refinement. [[Continue.->The Third Rose]]

“The last young lady chosen is Lavinia Irving, whose father owns and operates the largest bank in London. Tales of her gentleness and accomplishments rival that even of her father’s ubiquity.” Lavinia reluctantly parts from you to accept her rose, which Lady Gormley tucks prettily behind her ear. You feel a slight blush of pride as the guests all applaud. The young women all stand behind the Gormleys and do their best to look regal and serious as they enter the main ballroom together. You hear the excited titters of guests around you, murmurings of the girls who had become their wards before, only a few of whom had left in disgrace. The rest had become //something//. The thought of the former happening to Lavinia twists in your gut - Mrs. Irving would not stand for that. [[Follow Lavinia.]]

You trail behind Lavinia, trying to keep an eye on her, but the other guests eagerly crowd round as well. It happens almost too fast for anyone to see, but as Lavinia walks in tandem with her two new "sisters", Séraphine sticks out her elbow. Off-balance, Lavinia stumbles into the champagne tower. [[Pull Lavinia to you.]] [[Back away.]]

In the second before she falls, you grasp her hand, pulling her towards you. With a CRASH – and several screams – the glasses cascade into a million jagged pieces, like lethal diamonds. Mrs. Irving is so mortified, she doesn’t even register your presence – or assistance – instead falling into a immediate swoon. Lavinia’s face burns red with shame and tears spring into her eyes. No matter how you wish to kiss them away, you cannot in this company. Still, you cup her face in her hands with as much tenderness that can be allowed in public. “Are you all right?” you ask. Lavinia gulps a sob, before her eyes fearfully turn away from you. The Gormleys stand there, staring. Is it amusement you see playing at the edges of their lips? Or something far more terrifying – //recognition//? [[Step away from her.]] [[See if Lavinia is injured.]]

“The first rose goes to Séraphine Giroux, daughter of the regrettably late Marquis de Marseilles, whose entire family line tragically perished at the hands of the //sans-cullottes// during the Revolt.” Sounds of shock and pity run around the room, but Séraphine seems to ignore it all, her eyes set resolutely on the azure rose as she makes her way toward the Gormleys. The way she moves reeks of haughtiness and distaste – certainly stuck up her own ass. As Lady Gormley pins the bud into Séraphine’s twisted updo, you wonder why they selected //her// of all people. [[Continue.->The Second Rose 2]]

The instinct for self-preservation overrules even your concern for Lavinia. You take a step back as the glass falls all around. You blink up to see Lord Gormley with an embarrassed Lavinia in his arms. He cares nothing for the broken glass, instead asking her if she is all right. She nods, stunned. Her mother, it seems, has fainted in mortification. Lavinia looks physically unharmed, though her cheeks are coloured red with embarrassment. The liquid threatens to stain the crisp blue fabric. You cast about for something to dry it with. [[Use your skirts.->Chivalry]] [[Look around for help.->Chivalry]]

In the second before she falls, you grasp her hand, pulling her towards you. With a CRASH – and several screams – the glasses cascade into a million jagged pieces, like lethal diamonds. Mrs. Irving is so mortified, she doesn’t even register your presence – or assistance – instead falling into an immediate swoon. Lavinia’s face burns red with shame and tears spring into her eyes. No matter how you wish to kiss them away, you cannot in this company. Still, you cup her face in her hands with as much tenderness that can be allowed in public. “Are you all right?” you ask. Lavinia gulps a sob, before her eyes fearfully turn away from you. The Gormleys stand there, staring. Is it amusement you see playing at the edges of their lips? Or something far more terrifying – //recognition//? [[Step away from her. ->No Homo]] [[See if Lavinia is injured.->Yes Homo]]

You immediately release Lavinia, realising just how many eyes are on you in this moment. It's a mistake that might cost you both dearly. You back away from her, taking comfort in the fact that Lavinia looks physically unharmed, though her cheeks are coloured red with embarrassment. The liquid threatens to stain the crisp blue fabric. You cast about for something to dry it with. [[Use your skirts.->Chivalry]] [[Look around for help.->Chivalry]]

Damn the consequences. Your fingers brush over her body with familiarity. Lavinia looks physically unharmed, though her cheeks are coloured red with embarrassment. The liquid threatens to stain the crisp blue fabric. You cast about for something to dry it with. [[Use your skirts.->Chivalry]] [[Look around for help.->Chivalry]]

“Here use this, my dear.” You turn to see Lord Gormley beside you, offering his handkerchief in a chivalrous bow. Lady Gormley watches from a comfortable distance. Observing you in return. You take the offered handkerchief with profuse thanks and blot at Lavinia’s dress, drying it as best you can. “Alexis, //enough//,” she says curtly. You want to kiss her, but settle for brushing your hand against hers. [[Continue.->Overwhelmed 2]]

The Gormleys graciously laugh off the champagne incident while their servants clear the broken glass away. It seems no permanent reputational damage is done. You attempt to stick close to Lavinia, but she shoots daggers at you. She beelines to the couch where a young doctor attempts to revive her mother with smelling salts, leaving you adrift in a sea of strangers. You turn about, aimless. The ball is overwhelming by anyone’s standards, you think. But you have more pressing concerns than social anxiety. Beatrice poses little threat to what you and Lavinia have, but Seráphine has proven she is a dangerous force to be reckoned with. Additionally, the Gormleys are an unknown element. You decide it’s best to do some reconnaissance. Know thy enemy, after all. [[Confront Séraphine.]] [[Speak to Beatrice.]] [[Observe the Gormleys.]]

Seraphine’s nose wrinkles as you approach, giving her an even more repellent expression than when you first saw her. “Quelle c’est //ça//?” Lavinia tried to teach you French... it was an abject failure. Séraphine seems to sense your ignorance. Your conversation, if one could possibly be had, is over before it begins. If you’re to go with Lavinia, you’d rather not look over your shoulder as you do so. Perhaps there’s a way to prevent Seraphine from joining the retinue and endangering Lavinia... [[Speak to Beatrice.]] [[Observe the Gormleys.]] [[Move on.]]

You angle closer to the Gormleys. You know you cannot speak to them outright, but perhaps you can overhear something of interest – namely where it concerns Lavinia and her future with them. But your subterfuge is seen through immediately. “And to think the Irvings employ such a darling little creature as this!” exclaims Lady Gormley. You are too stunned to speak as she takes you chin in her hand, turning you this way and that to get a better look at you. It should //feel// like a violation… but for once you are happy to be fussed over, as opposed to the one doing the fussing. “Ah, excuse my wife’s exuberance, though I’m hardly inclined to deny her curiosity,” says Lord Gormley. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss…?” [[“Alexis… Alexis Darrow.”]] [[“You misunderstand… I’m not anyone important.”]]

Beatrice stands at the punch table, a glass in her hand. She seems caught off guard by your approach. “You seem worried,” you say. She stares at you for a moment as if you are air. A common reaction when you speak to the toffs. But Beatrice covers her surprise with a smile, even though her wine glass shakes ever so slightly in her hand. "My apologies, my eyesight is rather poor," she says. "I don't get out much. Father always has me practising the violin." At the mention of her father, Beatrice looks peaked. She fumbles to change the subject. "Sorry about your Lady." You exchange some further pleasantries, but learn nothing of note. [[Observe the Gormleys.]] [[Confront Séraphine.]] [[Move on.]]

Lady Gormley looks at you approvingly, if with a tinge of sadness. “Alexis. Such a strong name. Would that we had been blessed with a child, we should have liked to name her that.” Lord Gormley touches his wife’s hand gently and they incline their heads towards one another in a moment of shared pain. “You’re of Irish extraction,” he says to you, attempting to divert the subject. “I can tell in your accent. It’s so… comforting to have a reminder of home. We hope you'll enjoy your evening with us." [[“I… you are both too kind.”->Enough Socialising?]] [[“Thank you.”->Enough Socialising?]] [[Curtsey in silence.->Enough Socialising?]]

Lord and Lady Gormley look at you with the horror of a priest who’s just heard you speak heresy. “Not important? Perish the thought!” Lord Gormley exclaims. “I mean it – kill that kind of thinking, my dear girl or it shall be the death of you. Now, your //name//, if you please.” [[“Alexis… Alexis Darrow.”]]

The Gormleys excuse themselves politely. [[Confront Séraphine.]] [[Speak to Beatrice.]] [[Move on.]]

Miss Giroux. Miss Cunningham. Lord and Lady Gormley. These are the people who will stand in between you, Lavinia, and your chance at happiness. You will do //anything// you can to ensure she is safe. As the night comes to a close, you watch Lavinia, Beatrice, and Séraphine follow the Gormleys down the marble stairs outside their residence, ready to prepare for the weeks ahead. That’s when a horrid little thought creeps into your brain. If Séraphine wants to play a dangerous game, by God you will give it to her. [[Sabotage Séraphine.]] [[Ignore the thought.]]

Séraphine is fast approaching. You grab a half-drunk glass of champagne from a passing servant's tray and casually spill it on the stairs behind you, pretending to drink it. Moments later, you hear a woman's scream of pain. But when you turn around, it is not //Séraphine// who lies bleeding on the ground - it is Beatrice. The poor girl's ankle is twisted so painfully, it almost looks bent in the opposite direction. Séraphine and Lavinia hover over her, unable to help as the young doctor from before rushes over. Through the bodies pressing around her, Lavinia looks up at you, and her brows furrow. Even in a face you know so well, you cannot read her expression. Poor Miss Cunningham is taken away as Lord Gormley looks aghast. "My... this is an unfortunate turn of events." "There must be three," Lady Gormley says. "And I know who I choose." She points to //you//. [[“What the deuce is happening?”->My decision is final]] [[“Are you sure about this?”->My decision is final]] [[“I... I graciously accept your choice, Your Ladyship."->My decision is final]]

You are shocked you would consider such a violent thought in your good Christian head! Moments later, you hear a woman's scream of pain. But when you turn around, it is //Séraphine// who lies bleeding on the ground - it is Beatrice. The poor girl's ankle is twisted so painfully, it almost looks bent in the opposite direction. Séraphine and Lavinia hover over her, unable to help as the young doctor from before rushes to help. Through the bodies pressing around her, Lavinia looks up at you, and her brows furrow. Even in a face you know so well, you cannot read her expression. As Poor Miss Cunningham is taken away, Lord Gormley looks aghast. "My... this is an unfortunate turn of events." "There must be three," Lady Gormley says. "And I know who I choose." She points to //you//. [[“What the deuce is happening?”->My decision is final]] [[“Are you sure about this?”->My decision is final]] [[“I... I graciously accept your choice, Your Ladyship."->My decision is final]]

A newly revived Mrs. Irving’s eyes go agog. “What?! But Alexis... she… she’s just a //servant//–” "Just a servant?" Lady Gormley exclaims. Her green eyes flash dangerously, before glancing over to you. "If anything, a servant is far more capable to survive the rigours the next few weeks, more than your daughter is, Mrs. Irving." This observation renders Mrs. Irving speechless in another swoon – you cannot help but take some delight in that amidst your own complete shock. Lady Gormley finally turns to you. "Call it a hunch, a gamble, a promise... but I can sense there is potential in you, my darling." She turns to face the throng once more. "And so I present the final rose to Miss Alexis Darrow. Those who would question the intelligence of my decision do so at their peril." As a gaping Séraphine and the surrounding guests are stirred into stunned applause, it is Lavinia's eyes you search for, only to find your lover's face as unreadable as stone. Whatever have you done? [[Continue. ->Act 3]]

The Gormleys graciously laugh off the champagne incident while their servants clear the broken glass away. It seems no permanent reputational damage is done. You attempt to stick close to Lavinia, but she shoots daggers at you. She beelines to the couch where a young doctor attempts to revive her mother with smelling salts, leaving you adrift in a sea of strangers. You turn about, aimless. The ball is overwhelming by anyone’s standards, you think. But you have more pressing concerns than social anxiety. Beatrice poses little threat to what you and Lavinia have, but Seráphine has proven she is a dangerous force to be reckoned with. Additionally, the Gormleys are an unknown element. You decide it’s best to do some reconnaissance. Know thy enemy, after all. [[Confront Séraphine.->S2]] [[Speak to Beatrice.->B2]] [[Observe the Gormleys. ->G2]]

Beatrice stands at the punch table, a glass in her hand. She seems caught off guard by your approach. “You seem worried,” you say. She stares at you for a moment as if you are air. A common reaction when you speak to the toffs. But Beatrice covers her surprise with a smile, even though her wine glass shakes ever so slightly in her hand. "My apologies, my eyesight is rather poor," she says. "I don't get out much. Father always has me practising the violin." At the mention of her father, Beatrice looks peaked. You exchange some further pleasantries, but learn nothing of note. [[Observe the Gormleys.->G2]] [[Confront Séraphine.->S2]]

You angle closer to the Gormleys. You know you cannot speak to them outright, but perhaps you can overhear something of interest – namely where it concerns Lavinia and her future with them. But your subterfuge is seen through immediately. “And to think the Irvings employ such a darling little creature as this!” exclaims Lady Gormley as if the two of you had never met. You are too stunned to speak as she takes you chin in her hand, turning you this way and that to get a better look at you. It should //feel// like a violation… but for once you are happy to be fussed over, as opposed to the one doing the fussing. “Ah, excuse my wife’s exuberance, though I’m hardly inclined to deny her curiosity,” says Lord Gormley. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss…?” [[“Alexis… Alexis Darrow.”->A2]] [[“You misunderstand… I’m not anyone important.”->H2]]

Lady Gormley looks at you approvingly, if with a tinge of sadness. “Alexis. Such a strong name. Would that we had been blessed with a child, we should have liked to name her that.” Lord Gormley touches his wife’s hand gently and they incline their heads towards one another in a moment of shared pain. “You’re of Irish extraction,” he says to you, attempting to divert the subject. “I can tell in your accent. It’s so… comforting to have a reminder of home. We hope you'll enjoy your evening with us." [[“I… you are both too kind.”->Enough Socialising?2]] [[“Thank you.”->Enough Socialising?2]] [[Curtsey in silence.->Enough Socialising?2]]

Séraphine is fast approaching. You grab a half-drunk glass of champagne from a passing servant's tray and casually spill it on the stairs behind you, pretending to drink it. Moments later, you hear a woman's scream of pain. But when you turn around, it is not //Séraphine// who lies bleeding on the ground - it is Beatrice. The poor girl's ankle is twisted so painfully, it almost looks bent in the opposite direction. Séraphine and Lavinia hover over her, unable to help as the young doctor from before rushes over. Through the bodies pressing around her, Lavinia looks up at you, and her brows furrow. Even in a face you know so well, you cannot read her expression. Poor Miss Cunningham is taken away as Lord Gormley looks aghast. "My... this is an unfortunate turn of events." "There must be three," Lady Gormley says. "And I know who I choose." She points to //you//. [[“What the deuce is happening?”->My decision is final- special]] [[“Are you sure about this?”->My decision is final- special]] [[“I... I graciously accept your choice, Your Ladyship."->My decision is final- special]]

You are shocked you would consider such a violent thought in your good Christian head! Moments later, you hear a woman's scream of pain. But when you turn around, it is //Séraphine// who lies bleeding on the ground - it is Beatrice. The poor girl's ankle is twisted so painfully, it almost looks bent in the opposite direction. Séraphine and Lavinia hover over her, unable to help as the young doctor from before rushes to help. Through the bodies pressing around her, Lavinia looks up at you, and her brows furrow. Even in a face you know so well, you cannot read her expression. As Poor Miss Cunningham is taken away, Lord Gormley looks aghast. "My... this is an unfortunate turn of events." "There must be three," Lady Gormley says. "And I know who I choose." She points to //you//. [[“What the deuce is happening?”->My decision is final- special]] [[“Are you sure about this?”->My decision is final- special]] [[“I... I graciously accept your choice, Your Ladyship."->My decision is final- special]]

A newly revived Mrs. Irving’s eyes go agog. “What?! But Alexis... she… she’s just a //servant//–” "Just a servant?" Lady Gormley exclaims. Her green eyes flash dangerously, before glancing over to you. "If anything, a servant is far more capable to survive the rigours the next few weeks, more than your daughter is, Mrs. Irving." This observation renders Mrs. Irving speechless in another swoon – you cannot help but take some delight in that amidst your own complete shock. Lady Gormley finally turns to you. "Miss Darrow, you have displayed an admirable persistence that I have not witnessed since I took Lady Emma Hamilton under my wing..." She smiles, wistfully as if remembering her former ward. "You did not come this night expecting to be given anything... instead, you //took// what you desired - your own rose, from my garden. You deserve your place here, more than anyone." Lady Gormley gestures for you to produce your stolen prize, before she takes it from your hands and pins it into your hair. "And so I present the final rose to Miss Alexis Darrow. Those who would question the intelligence of my decision do so at their peril." As a gaping Séraphine and the surrounding guests are stirred into stunned applause, it is Lavinia's eyes you search for, only to find your lover's face as unreadable as stone. Whatever have you done? [[Continue.->Act 3]]

The carriage ride from London to Derbyshire is a long one, but even though you are tired, you cannot rest for all the wondrous sights flashing beyond your window – emerald hills full of sheep, glimmering riverside vistas, and finally, the Gormleys’ country home. You realise, with a humbling clarity, that you have never been this far from home before… but what is home? The Irving house – absolutely not. London? Hardly. You suppose that this grand house drawing closer to you with every hoofbeat is the closest thing you’ve had to one. Outside your window, the estate stretches for what feels like miles: large fields and forests and of course, the well maintained manor at the end of a very long drive. [[Continue.->Greetings]]

Lord and Lady Gormley await you all on the stairs as Seraphine and Lavinia descend from their respective carriages alongside you. “My darlings!” Lady Gormley purrs, descending the steps, her arms outstretched. She kisses each of you on the cheek, leaving a bruise-coloured stain of lipstick on your skin. “I trust you were comfortable on your trip here.” You were… to a point. Despite the beautiful sights, a carriage is not the most pleasant way to travel. [[Nod and curtsey.]] [[“Yes, my lady.”->Nod and curtsey.]]

“Ah, what lovely rosebuds we have, my dear.” Lord Gormley appraises the three of you. You watch out of the corner of your downturned gaze as he first circles Séraphine, who stands tall and proud. Then Lavinia, who looks calmly ahead. Finally, he approaches you and stops. Suddenly, he leans closer to you. The citrus and leather notes of his cologne overwhelm you as his bare fingers gently tilt your chin upwards so that you have no choice but to meet his silvery blue gaze. “You need not avert your eyes in my house, Miss Darrow. You are no less deserving of your place here than the others.” You hear a scoff. Even Lavinia looks at you with a mix of emotions clouding her face. But Lord and Lady Gormley smile at you, as if you are no less, no different, only, strangely somehow, loved. [[“Thank you, my lord.”->Welcome]] [[Turn your head away.->Welcome]] [[Stay silent.->Welcome]]

Lord Gormley gives a little laugh at your response then steps away from you and takes out a ring of keys. They are all hard and iron – their metallic scent assaulting your nostrils. It reminds you of the tang of blood – the stench of birth, the aroma of death – smells a servant grows accustomed to. Your eye catches on the smallest key on the ring – a strange, black wrought metal thing – but it is lost in the shuffling tinkle of metal as Lord Gormley selects the largest key and pushes it into the lock. “My wife and I welcome you to your new home. You are free to explore the grounds as you wish. No door is locked to you," he says genially. “Well, //almost// every door, my dear,” Lady Gormley. Her glittering green eyes latch onto yours for a moment. “After all, we must hold onto some of our secrets.” She and her husband laugh. “Now, I believe you ought to be shown to your rooms.” A servant ushers you through the black and white tiled foyer and up a lush carpeted staircase, taking in the staid portraits of previous Lords and Ladies Gormley as you go. You follow her down the hall into a large room with three beds. Your things are already there, sitting neatly at the foot of each bed. It seems you’re to share a room with Lavinia and Séraphine for the duration of your stay. *Oh joy.* [["I should unpack."->Unpack]] [["I think I'll take a look around."->Explore.]]

You cross the room to the bed that’s been designated as yours, intending to unpack your meagre belongings. Compared to Lavinia’s suitcases and Séraphine’s many trunks, you look as if you’re only spending a few nights. The servant that brought you here grabs your hand desperately. “Miss, we’ll unpack them for you.” You remember your new position, but you also remember what it was like to be in her shoes. [["I insist. I'm... not used to be treated like this."]] [["All right... If you need me, I'll be looking around the house."->Explore.]] [["Lavinia, you should come with me."]]

The servant plies your bag from your hands with an eager smile. “Please, miss… allow us to do our jobs here.” You’ve never met anyone so earnest in their desire to work, but perhaps the Gormleys are kind masters… you hope. It seems you’re now left to your own devices, whether you like it or not. [["Fine... I suppose I'll look around." ->Explore.]]

The unknown expanse of the Gormley manor beckons to you. You make note of where your quarters are so you can find your way back, then set off down the hall. You find yourself at the top of the stairs again, with the house at your fingertips, two wings spread out on either side of you. [[Head downstairs.]] [[Continue down the hall.]] [[Wander outside.]]

You would take her hand if the servant wasn’t there, even though she looked wholly focused on supervising the unpacking of your things. Séraphine already absconded herself, refusing to acknowledge your presence. Lavinia’s mouth twists. “Actually, I feel quite tired." You remember how she finds carriage rides sickening... but is there something more to her sour expression? You kiss her cheek briefly, as friends do, and exit the room. [[Explore.]]

If the part of the hall you’re staying in is guest rooms, you wonder what you might learn from the other half, assuming it is the Gormleys’ quarters. The hallway seems endless as you peek into more empty rooms... until you see a door set ajar at the end of the hall. [[Look inside.]] [[Go elsewhere.]]

There will be plenty of time to explore the house, but you know it will be dark soon and you want to see the grounds before dinner. You head out the front door and decide to hunt for the gardens you know every manor has. It feels good to stretch your legs after several days of travel. You feel the eyes of servants on you, but no one stops you nor speaks to you. [[Enter the Garden.]]

The first floor is styled in rococo extravagance -- the Gormleys are clearly appreciative of the French, despite having such poor relations with Britain. Taking into consideration their fond ties to Ireland, you wonder if this is a sign of political defiance...? After passing the //fourteenth// gilt cherub, you decide this pursuit is not the most conducive for learning more about your hosts, though it does speak to their incredible wealth. Suddenly, you see one of the butlers carrying some clean dishes to set out for dinner tonight. You could follow him to the kitchen and overhear some gossip with the household staff or peruse the rooms at your leisure. [[Go to the kitchen.]] [[Peruse the rooms.]]

Every door you open reveals one empty room after another, rooms meant to entertain, to languish in, to respite. There are two separate ballrooms - one gold, another silver -, a library boasting an impressive collection of literature, a darkened smoking room that reeks of tobacco, a music room with an orchestra of instruments waiting for players that will never come... It feels endless. It seems impossible to have this many rooms for only a handful of people, let alone a man and his wife. You continue on until you find yourself stopping suddenly as a sense of unease settles over you. You turn, but no one is there. [[Continue on.]]

Seeking the source of the unease, you discover there are three doors at the end of the hall. One beckons to you at the very end, while the other two, no less intriguing, flank it on either side. [[Open the door on the left.]] [[Open the door on the right.]] [[Open the door in the middle.]]

You try the handle of the door on the left. Inside you find a parlour full of plants thriving in the low light allowed in by nearly shut drapes. It smells faintly of decay and moist earth in here. [[Open the door on the right.]] [[Open the door in the middle.]]

You try the handle on the door on the right. It opens easily. In the fading light of the afternoon, you see the expanse of a small ballroom. Likely not the only one, judging by the amount of rooms in the house. There are cloths over the furniture. [[Open the door on the left.]] [[Open the door in the middle.]]

As you approach the middle door, you can't help but notice how the metal doorknob gleams blue in the afternoon light... You try the handle - and immediately pull your hand away. It's shockingly cold to the touch, like the first ice of winter. Overcoming your shock, you try the handle again. It’s locked, unyielding to your repeated attempts to open it. You crouch, hoping to peek through the keyhole. That too, appears blocked, or the room is too dark to see inside. You get the faintest whiff of something... //acrid//. Antiseptic. Like hawthorn berries that have soured. You think of the ring of keys Lord Gormley has and wonder which fits this door. [[Continue.->Servantus interruptus]]

You write it off as an unfamiliar setting, with unfamiliar people who cannot hope or wish to understand you or your situation. You press on through the house, but the feeling intensifies. You find yourself stopping. It suddenly feels like you’ve walked further than you intended. You no longer smell dinner, nor hear any bustling of staff. You find yourself at the end of a hallway you had not turned down before, where three doors stand before you. One beckons to you at the very end, while the other two, no less intriguing, flank it on either side. [[Open the door on the left.]] [[Open the door on the right.]] [[Open the door in the middle.]]

Instinct pulls you through the halls toward the kitchen, where you can smell the beginnings of dinner. Not too long ago, you would have been in a much smaller kitchen with the other staff, scrubbing pots and preparing dishes for the Irvings and whomever they were entertaining that day. It is a strange sense of nostalgia that washes over you as you observe the cooks, maids, and butlers going about their busywork, now shining the demure smiles you practised so well, and you cannot help but feel... lonely. The Gormleys, in their perhaps misguided munificence, have banished you to a social stratum that is neither aspiring to aristocracy nor languishing in hum-drum servitude. You are in limbo, with no one to share your burdens with. You turn from them and head back out in the hall when the hair at the back of your neck prickles suddenly. You don't know why. [[Look around.]] [[Continue on.]]

The cracked door is enticing. You glance around for any servants before slowly opening the door and slipping inside. The study must belong to Lord Gormley, richly decorated with finely carved furniture, a towering shelf of books, and an uncomfortable looking leather settee that matches the chair behind the desk. There is also a doe’s head mounted behind the desk. Its eyes seem to follow you as you wander throughout the room. [[Inspect the desk.]] [[Look at the books.]]

You wonder if there is someone in there, and though your curiosity is burning, you would prefer not to get caught up in conversation with your new hosts or their staff. There will be enough time for that later. [[Head downstairs.]] [[Wander outside.]]

Lord Gormley’s desk is precisely kept, as if he had served in the military before settling down as a Lord. A closed ledger sits perfectly aligned with the edge, and beside it a sheaf of papers, a pen, a blue candle, and a sealing stamp. You know that if you turned it over, you’d find a heart, a key, and a polearm on it. The drawers are locked, of course, which strikes you as… odd. There’s also a piece of paper, partially unfolded and full of scrawling writing, that seems haphazardly out of place. [[Read the letter.]] [[Look at the books.]] [[Move along.]]

Unlike a library, the shelves here are full of ledgers, legal tomes, and other uninteresting matters. You find a box of cigars wedged between two books that probably costs more than you’ve ever made working for the Irvings. If you stayed to examine each book, you know you’d be caught. [[Inspect the desk.]] [[Move along.]]

The letter is from a name unfamiliar to you, addressed to Lord Gormley. //Lord Gormley, I thank you for your invitation to visit your estate at the end of the season and to smell your lovely flowers. Last year’s blooms left much to be desired, as you well know. My investment is not without its merits. Remember that. Lord Perrault// Lord Perrault sounds like a dreadfully hard to please man. You wonder why the Gormleys associate with him, they seem quite entranced with the girls they’ve selected. [[Look at the books.]] [[Move along.]]

Curiosity sated, you file away what you learned for later, when Lavinia promises to be a rapt audience. The Gormleys are certainly more powerful and well connected than the Irvings, that much had been obvious from the start. But something about them gives you pause. Best keep on their good sides. [[Head downstairs.]] [[Wander outside.]]

As you turn away from the doors, a servant appears at the end of the hall. “There you are!” she says frantically. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, miss! Come, you must get ready for dinner!” You’ll have to explore more later. You’re hastened away, your brain bristling with more questions than answers, but find it easy to put them aside, for now. [[Prepare for dinner.]]

It isn’t hard to miss the garden sprawling behind the manor, with hedges and flowers and a fountain that towers over you as you wander the packed gravel. It's clear that the gardeners at the Gormley house are experts at maintaining such a vast landscape. You could get lost here, but you keep to the edges for now. You notice that, despite the abundant foliage, there is a distinct lack of the sorts of creatures you’d expect to see in a garden. No small birds chirping, no bugs buzzing by, no small creatures rustling through the neatly trimmed hedges. It feels... odd. As you turn back toward the manor, you hear a conversation coming from between some of the hedges. [[Continue inside.]] [[Eavesdrop on the conversation.]]

You collect yourself once you're inside again, catching your breath and smoothing your skirts. You haven't yet explored the first floor yet, and there's still time before dinner, so you set off down the hall. Every door you open reveals one empty room after another, rooms meant to entertain, to languish in, to respite. There are two separate ballrooms - one gold, another silver -, a library boasting an impressive collection of literature, a darkened smoking room that reeks of tobacco, a music room with an orchestra of instruments waiting for players that will never come... It feels endless. It seems impossible to have this many rooms for only a handful of people, let alone a man and his wife. You continue on until you find yourself stopping suddenly as a sense of unease settles over you. You turn, but no one is there. [[Continue on.]]

It sounds like an argument between house staff. You creep toward the voices, mindful of your footfalls. "I promise you ma'am, I did inventory last night! Was all there!" "And you were the last to be in the pantry." The first voice sounds young, perhaps a kitchen boy. The second is certainly not the head housekeeper - you had met her when you arrived - but she must be someone who demanded respect from those beneath her on staff. "I locked it up and everything, honest!" "Not before stealing a loaf of bread and two jars of preserves. I'll be wanting those jars back, by the way." [[See who they are.]] [[Leave it be and go inside. ->Continue inside.]]

If you peek around the corner, you think you can catch a glimpse of whoever is talking. As you do, you lean against a hedge, gripping slender branches so you can lean just so without exposing your entire body. But your arm slips. The branches are not ready to hold your weight. The voices stop. There is a breath of silence, before you hear footsteps. You can't tell if they're heading toward you or away from you. [[Hurry back inside.->Continue inside.]]

For the first time in your incredibly short and brutal life, you are suddenly afforded comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams. You are given control of the Gormleys’ servants and drawn a hot bath, which you relish as you scrub what seems like years’ worth of dust and sweat and soot from your skin and hair. One of Lady Gormley’s maids arranges your ratty tresses into an elegant French braid, arrayed with seed pearls. Next, she places a baby blue gown over your shoulders and helps you into some soft slippers. You inspect your reflection – and are unable to recognize yourself. You have only ever known hardship, toil, and disappointment – and you see no trace of that in your visage now. For the first time, you see you are radiant. Comfortable. //Safe.// [[Head downstairs for dinner.]]

After dinner, you return to your room to spend time as you wish: reading, writing letters, or other such pursuits. While Séraphine bathes, you climb onto Lavinia’s bed comb her hair as she chatters about the expectations you all have been given, and the tests that Lady Gormley has set for you over the next few weeks, ahead of the masquerade. You don’t need to do this for her anymore, but it feels comforting, familiar. “What do you think of them?” she asks you. “I thought this place was too good to be true, but they seem to wish the best for us.” Lavinia hums, eyes drifting shut. “How was exploring?” You cast your mind back to the afternoon. [[“I found a locked room…”]] [[“There’s a lovely garden to walk behind the manor.”]] [[“I wandered into Lord Gormley’s study…”]]

Lavinia sighs when you tell her how you tried to spy through the keyhole and failed. “It’s only natural they would want to keep spaces private. Lady Gormley said so herself. We are guests,” Lavinia points out. You think she might knock your arm away from your task, but she turns to kiss your cheek instead. “Focus on what you came here to do, Alexis. Tell me more.” [[“There’s a lovely garden to walk behind the manor.”]] [[“I wandered into Lord Gormley’s study…”]] [[“I’m too tired to keep talking.”]]

“I’ll join you next time,” she says when you tell her of the fountain and hedges and flowers. But she tsks when you tell her about the conversation you overheard. “You’re too nosy.” “Don’t you think it’s strange?” “Why does it matter?” [[“I found a locked room…”]] [[“I wandered into Lord Gormley’s study…”]] [[“I’m too tired to keep talking.”]]

You tell her about Lord Gormley’s study and relay the contents of the letter you found. Lavinia gasps. “Alexis! Did you do so much snooping in my home?” “Not… this much.” Lavinia sighs. “You really ought to be more careful. What if you got caught? Besides, it’s not our business what they do, only that we listen to Lady Gormley and find a match at the end of this.” [[“I found a locked room…”]] [[“I wandered into Lord Gormley’s study…”]] [[“I’m too tired to keep talking.”]]

When you’re finished with her hair, you tilt her head toward you for a kiss. Lavinia smiles. “We have to be more careful here,” she says when you stand to go to your own bed. “I know.” You steal another kiss anyway. “But we could still run away. Fail the tests and not go back home.” Lavinia frowns. “Alexis, don’t be naive. Where would we go, anyway? We hardly know anyone out here. No, I’ve told you before... It’s past time I was married, and now you as well.” If you are to hold onto hope for both of you, so be it. Tomorrow, the //real// challenges begin. [[Go to sleep.]]

The next day, you meet in the verdant greenhouse in the late morning for your first lesson. Lady Gormley stands beside a small table, upon which three baskets, three vases, and three small clippers are laid out. “Today I would like for you to arrange for me a bouquet of flowers you might place at the centre of your dining table or a particularly important guest’s bedroom. Your guests and husband should have something beautiful to remark upon, and a well arranged bouquet can hide many a mistake. I would like to know where you require improvement so I can adjust my instructions.” You exchange curious glances with Lavinia as you go to collect your supplies. Séraphine glares at you, elbowing you out of the way as she grabs the sharpest shears. [[Set off into the greenhouse.]]

Frankly, despite Lady Gormley's words, you find floral arrangement to be a rather pointless endeavour and your head is void of ideas. You take your time examining the flora, hoping to find inspiration. You only recognize a few of the plants, mostly things that had grown beside the duck pond you and Lavinia had spent many a spring beside together. You notice Séraphine examining the only two purple flowers on a monkshood plant. You recognize them as poisonous, having been subject to their rash-inducing sap as a child. Séraphine does not seem to know what you do. You //could// let her suffer the consequences of her own curiosity, or you she does not deserve that discomfort…. right? [["Careful. Those are poisonous."]] [[Say nothing.]] [[(Lie) "Ah, I was just about to grab those!"]]

You decide it is not your business to tell Séraphine. You watch as she clips the blooms into her basket and sets off in search of her next floral conquest. [[Look for your own flowers.]]

Séraphine looks at you and sneers, her accent harsh. “Why should I believe you? You probably want them for yourself!" She clips the flowers into her basket and speeds away to claim her next floral conquest. At least you tried to be helpful. [[Look for your own flowers.]]

Your lie has the desired effect as Séraphine hurriedly clips the poisonous purple blossoms while shooting you a victorious grin. You feign upset, keeping your victory to yourself. You feel particularly vindictive after what she did to Lavinia at the party and how she has treated you ever since you met - like dung to be wiped from her shoes. Let her feel pain. You have your own bouquet to craft. [[Look for your own flowers.]]

You and Lavinia continue to explore the greenhouse for your own blossoms while Lady Gormley weaves amongst the flowering trees, watching your progress. The greenhouse is filled with every sort of blooming and budding thing - from common varieties of roses and camellias to exotic plants you have never seen before. However, you can't help but notice many of these plants are poisonous. You decide it's best to stick to what you know - lavender sprigs, baby's breath, cornflowers. You look to the side and see Lavinia has chosen tulips and roses of varying shades of pink and red. As you head back to your table to start assembling your bouquet, you notice Séraphine leaning over her half bouquet, looking quite ill. “Jésu Christe. Ma tête... ” Séraphine mutters as you and Lavinia work to arrange your bouquets in what you think is the most pleasing way. “C'est... Ah!" Séraphine stumbles into her table, knocking the vase to the floor. She looks peaked and faint. As she holds her head, you can see the rash, spreading purple and blue bruises over her skin. She must be in //agony//. [["Serves you right for picking Monkshood.”]] [["You need to see a doctor right away."]] [[Watch unhelpfully.]]

Séraphine looks at you suspiciously, her accent making her words spit out like a curse. "Why should I trust you, //vache//?" You don't know what vache means, but you're certain it's nothing good. Lavinia comes closer, inspecting the rash from a careful distance. "Alex is very good with herbs and salves," Lavinia says to Séraphine reassuringly. "I trust her opinions on such matters." "Curious," Lady Gormley observes, suddenly beside you. "And how did someone such as yourself come into such knowledge, Miss Darrow?” She asks, fixing her inquisitive gaze on you. You could tell her the truth, or you could spin a lie to impress her. [["I accidentally picked some Monkshood as a child…”]] [[(Lie) "My mother was something of a hedge witch..."]]

Lavinia flutters over to Séraphine’s side to examine the rash, fawning over her. Her hands drift close to the bouquet Seraphine had been arranging. "Don't get too close to the purple flowers," you cry out. "They're poisonous." "Curious," Lady Gormley observes, suddenly beside you. "And how did someone such as yourself come into such knowledge, Miss Darrow?” She asks, fixing her inquisitive gaze on you. You could tell her the truth, or you could spin a lie to impress her. [["I accidentally picked some Monkshood as a child…”]] [[(Lie) "My mother was something of a hedge witch..."]]

You explain your unfortunate encounter with Monkshood, while picking flowers for your mother. You would have nearly died if not for the kind neighbour who stepped in to help. "Ah, you poor dear," Lady Gormley remarks, caressing your cheek with her hand. "Sometimes experience is the best teacher..." She trails off, as if her mind is elsewhere. Lavinia observes the two of you with no small amount of confusion, before Lady Gormley snaps out of her reverie, turning to face her and Séraphine. “You two could learn a thing from Miss Darrow. While men can declare wars and fight duels, we women must use what means available to us to implement our desires in the world. //Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.//" "You mean... this wasn't about floral design, Your Ladyship?" Lavinia asks, stupefied. Lady Gormley chortles. "Of course not, my dear, and Miss Darrow has passed this test with flying colours." Lady Gormley looks at you proudly - her smile wide, almost too much so - before sending Séraphine away to their private doctor. You get a feeling you ought to study up in case she decides to test you again before the others. As you and Lavinia prepare to turn in for the day, Lady Gormley calls out to you. "Miss Darrow, I'm about to have my afternoon tea... would you mind taking it with me?" [["I would, but I am quite tired, ma'am. I should like to rest before dinner."]] [["I would love to have tea with you."]]

You craft an elaborate lie about your late mother's mystic importance to your Irish emigré community which inspired a childhood interest in flowers and their uses before you joined the Irving household. You refuse to meet Lavinia’s questioning gaze - you've told her much about your mother, and medicine was hardly one of her talents. "Is that so?" Lady Gormley remarks with amusement plying her lips. “It seems there is more to you than meets the eye,” she says. It’s eerily similar to what she said on your behalf at the party. Lavinia observes the two of you with no small amount of confusion, before Lady Gormley turns to face her and Séraphine. “You two could learn a thing from Miss Darrow. While men can declare wars and fight duels, we women must use what means available to us to implement our desires in the world. //Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.//" "You mean... this wasn't about floral design, Your Ladyship?" Lavinia asks, stupefied. Lady Gormley chortles, turning to face her and Séraphine. "Of course not, my dear, and Miss Darrow has passed this test with flying colours." Lady Gormley looks at you proudly - her smile wide, almost too much so - before sending Séraphine away to their private doctor. You get a feeling you ought to study up in case she decides to test you again before the others. As you and Lavinia prepare to turn in for the day, Lady Gormley calls out to you. "Miss Darrow, I'm about to have my afternoon tea... would you mind taking it with me?" [["I would, but I am quite tired, ma'am. I should like to rest before dinner."]] [["I would love to have tea with you."]]

“//Alexis!//” Lavinia hisses. She flutters over to Séraphine’s side to examine the rash, but it careful to keep her distance. "Curious," Lady Gormley observes, suddenly beside you. "And how did someone such as yourself come into such knowledge, Miss Darrow?” She asks, fixing her inquisitive gaze on you. You could tell her the truth, or you could spin a lie to impress her. [["I accidentally picked some Monkshood as a child…”]] [[(Lie) "My mother was something of a hedge witch..."]]

You curtsey politely. "I understand," Lady Gormley says politely, but you can read the disappointment in her eyes. You and Lavinia take your leave, eager to have some time alone. "What was that all about?" Lavinia scoffs as you turn the corner, out of earshot. You shrug, not wanting to think too deeply about all that happened today. You return back to your room, delighted by the fact that Séraphine's "unfortunate" accident allows you to spend some time alone with your love. [[Retire to your room.]]

Lady Gormley smiles. Lavinia hangs back. "Shall I join you both, Your Ladyship?" she asks hopefully. "No, Miss Irving. You are dismissed," Lady Gormley says politely. She gestures for you to follow her as Lavinia watches you with a dark expression you've only seen when she doesn't get her way, though it has never been directed to you before. Lady Gormley leads you deeper into the greenhouse to where a little al fresco table is laid out with the sorts of kinds of succulent pastries and sweets you could only eat if Lavinia had stolen them for you from the Irving's pantry. Lady Gormley sits down first and tilts her face towards the soft summer sunlight streaming through the windows. Her eyes close in an expression of utter contentment. Her auburn hair catches the light, as if fire is spilling over her shoulders – an angel robed in flame. Suddenly, a cloud passes overhead – and the moment of radiance is gone. Lady Gormley’s eyes open dreamily, then refocus on you. “My apologies, Miss Darrow… I lost myself in thought.” [[“Why did you want me to join you, my lady?"]] [[“Your beauty puts the sun itself to shame.” ]] [[Stand there stunned to silence, unable to say a word in her ethereal presence.]]

"All shall be revealed in due time," she says enigmatically and beckons for you to step closer. “Please sit, my darling.” You join her at the small table, and she pours you tea from a blue teapot. You cannot help but stare at its design... it appears cracked, but gold lines each fracture, like a gilt spider's web. "Do you like it?" she asks. "It's an heirloom from Japan - rare contraband, considering the country has been closed to outsiders for 200 years. If a piece of ceramic breaks, it is not always thrown away. Instead, an artisan will piece it back together with gold. This process is known as kintsugi - it highlights the imperfections and history of the piece, as opposed to erasing them, or concealing them. Impressive... don't you agree?" [["Some things are better left discarded."]] [["It's a beautiful way to honour one's own brokeness."]] [["It's just a teapot. It doesn't matter what it looks like, as long as it serves its purpose."]]

She laughs. “Such a clever little tongue,” she says. She beckons for you to come closer. “Please sit, my darling.” You join her at the small table, and she pours you tea from a blue teapot. You cannot help but stare at its design... it appears cracked, but gold lines each fracture, like a gilt spider's web. "Do you like it?" she asks. "It's an heirloom from Japan - rare contraband, considering the country has been closed to outsiders for 200 years. If a piece of ceramic breaks, it is not always thrown away. Instead, an artisan will piece it back together with gold. This process is known as kintsugi - it highlights the imperfections and history of the piece, as opposed to erasing them, or concealing them. Impressive... don't you agree?" [["Some things are better left discarded."]] [["It's a beautiful way to honour one's own brokeness."]] [["It's just a teapot. It doesn't matter what it looks like, as long as it serves its purpose."]]

She meets your gaze with the air of someone who knows exactly why you are staring. You see the corner of her lip curl up, a satisfied smirk. She beckons for you to come closer. “Please sit, my darling.” You join her at the small table, and she pours you tea from a blue teapot. You cannot help but stare at its design... it appears cracked, but gold lines each fracture, like a gilt spider's web. "Do you like it?" she asks. "It's an heirloom from Japan - rare contraband, considering the country has been closed to outsiders for 200 years. If a piece of ceramic breaks, it is not always thrown away. Instead, an artisan will piece it back together with gold. This process is known as kintsugi - it highlights the imperfections and history of the piece, as opposed to erasing them, or concealing them. Impressive... don't you agree?" [["Some things are better left discarded."]] [["It's a beautiful way to honour one's own brokeness."]] [["It's just a teapot. It doesn't matter what it looks like, as long as it serves its purpose."]]

“Are you sure, darling? Tell me then, what is your reason for being here?” Lady Gormley looks at you, expectant. A lie waits at the ready on the tip of your tongue. Not the first you’ve told. Certainly not the last. Something tells you declaring an untruth would not be welcome, not right now. [["I do what I must to survive."]] [[Stay quiet.]]

It's true. You’ve //only// done what you had to to survive, except where Lavinia was concerned. The fact that Lady Gormley had caught on, however, was not surprising. “Of course,” she says, sipping her tea, as if you’d just told her the sun was out or the tea was hot. “It’s what I admire most about you. You are a survivor.” She turns her head toward the skylights. “I’ve seen how curious you are. I thought you might appreciate another place for you to explore, should you tire of the rest of the manor. A little place of solace on the second floor.” Lady Gormley produces a key from her pocket and offers it to you. [[Take the key.]] [["Thank you... but I don't wish to pry."]]

“Clever and quiet,” she laughs, sitting back. The shape of her lips captivates you. “I do love someone who knows when to speak and when to listen.” You continue to nurse your silence as she turns her head toward the skylights. “I’ve seen how curious you are. I thought you might appreciate another place for you to explore, should you tire of the rest of the manor. A little place of solace on the second floor.” Lady Gormley produces a key from her pocket and offers it to you. [[Take the key.]] [["Thank you... but I don't wish to pry."]]

You take the key. It is warm in your hand from where it had rested at Lady Gormley’s hips not minutes before. “Do with that as you wish,” she says, as if it is nothing to her. But you know she means anything but. You pocket the key and finish the last dregs of your tea. She pours herself another cup, but does not offer you any - a subtle indication it's time for you to depart. You stand. “Whenever you wish to find me and speak again, know that I am here,” she says after a moment. [[Leave without another word. ->Extra Door 1 Choice]] [["Maybe I will one day, my lady."->Extra Door 1 Choice]] [["Speaking of keys..."]]

Lady Gormley presses it into your palm, insistent. The edge of the key bites into your skin, sharp metal and yet not sharp enough to draw blood, unless she tried. You’ve no choice but to accept it and pocket it away. "Do with that as you wish,” she says, as if it is nothing to her. But you know she means anything but. You pocket the key, and finish the last dregs of your tea. She pours herself another cup, but does not offer you any - a subtle indication it's time for you to depart. You stand. “Whenever you wish to find me and speak again, know that I am here,” she says after a moment. [[Leave without another word. ->Extra Door 1 Choice]] [["Maybe I will one day, my lady."->Extra Door 1 Choice]] [["Speaking of keys..."]]

"I used to think the same thing," she says, before taking a long sip of tea. "It wasn't until I met my husband that I realised our past does not always have to be a source of shame and discomfort. Even that which breaks us can make us more beautiful to someone who understands us." You ruminate on her words, trying to decipher what she really is trying to tell you. Lady Gormley lowers her empty cup, the white porcelain stained purple with her lip colouring. She stares into it thoughtfully - as if trying to read her fortune - when her green eyes flit back up to you. “I’ve been watching you." You try to mask your nervousness with a sip of tea. It’s smooth on your tongue. Smooth like the smile Lady Gormley gives you. “You’re a curious creature. Observant. Persistent. Clever tongued.” She leans forward. “The way you have lied is //fascinating//.” [[“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”]] [["I do what I must to survive."]] [[Stay quiet.]]

"A rather practical way of looking at the world, albeit not terribly romantic," Lady Gormley replies, frowning before taking a long sip of tea. "It wasn't until I met my husband that I realised our past does not always have to be a source of shame and discomfort. Even that which breaks us can make us more beautiful to someone who understands us." You ruminate on her words, trying to decipher what she really is trying to tell you. Lady Gormley lowers her empty cup, the white porcelain stained purple with her lip colouring. She stares into it thoughtfully - as if trying to read her fortune - when her green eyes flit back up to you. “I’ve been watching you." You try to mask your nervousness with a sip of tea. It’s smooth on your tongue. Smooth like the smile Lady Gormley gives you. “You’re a curious creature. Observant. Persistent. Clever tongued.” She leans forward. “The way you have lied is //fascinating//.” [[“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”]] [["I do what I must to survive."]] [[Stay quiet.]]

"Then we are of one accord in both thought and action - I supposed as much," she says approvingly, before taking a long sip of tea. "It wasn't until I met my husband that I realised our past does not always have to be a source of shame and discomfort. Even that which breaks us can make us more beautiful to someone who understands us." You ruminate on her words, trying to decipher what she really is trying to tell you. Lady Gormley lowers her empty cup, the white porcelain stained purple with her lip colouring. She stares into it thoughtfully - as if trying to read her fortune - when her green eyes flit back up to you. “I’ve been watching you." You try to mask your nervousness with a sip of tea. It’s smooth on your tongue. Smooth like the smile Lady Gormley gives you. “You’re a curious creature. Observant. Persistent. Clever tongued.” She leans forward. “The way you have lied is //fascinating//.” [[“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”]] [["I do what I must to survive."]] [[Stay quiet.]]

As you exit, leaving Lady Gormley to her melancholia, you are faced with another choice: You could take advantage of Séraphine's folly to spend some time alone with Lavinia... or you could explore the room Lady Gormley told you about on the second floor. [[Retire to your room.]] [[Open the locked door.]]

You follow Lady Gormley's direction to find the locked room. The door looks ancient, and intricately carved of dark wood. You don't know how you missed it before on your forays through the manor. You push the key into the lock, which opens to your touch. You step inside, and are surprised to find, of all things... a //nursery//. It seems set up for a little girl - judging by the blue frocks hanging in the open closet. A massive dollhouse with toys sits in the centre, cast about as if they have just been played with, next to a messy daybed. The room is well-used, but you have not seen children about... and didn't the Gormleys say they couldn't have them? Did the Gormleys have a daughter at some point? And what happened to her if they did? Maybe exploring the room will douse the burning questions in your mind. [[Inspect the dolls.]] [[Look in the closet.]] [[Turn over the bed linens.]] [[Leave the nursery.]]

Upon returning to your room, you and Lavinia don't speak much, instead choosing to make up for lost time and opportunity to reacquaint yourselves with each other. After you both are quite //finished//, you lay beside her exhausted, your head spinning with all that Lady Gormley taught you today. Neither of you wake in time for dinner, instead sleeping through the afternoon and evening until a servant sends for you the following morning. [[The Second Trial Awaits.]]

Today you are gathered in one of the ballrooms you had peeked in during your exploration. The windows are open, allowing the summer breeze in, and a piano has been uncovered from the corner of the room. A woman, unfamiliar to you, sits poised at the keys, awaiting a cue. Per the instructions of the servant who awoke you this morning, you and Lavinia stand beside one another to await your patrons. You are slightly annoyed to see that a convalesced Séraphine joins you a few minutes later. Lord Gormley enters a moment later with Lady Gormley on his arm. She seems in high spirits, you notice. Lord Gormley's steely gaze passes over each of you, but he lingers on your form longer than the others. “Today, you will waltz with me,” he says, then adds, "I assure you, your delicate toes are safe from harm." [[Snort in laughter.->Le Danse Macabre]] [[Maintain your ladylike composure.->Le Danse Macabre]]

You approach the dolls. You never had such lovely ones as a child. You only had cornhusk dolls who wore little white dresses your mother crocheted for them in her spare time. These are a far cry from that - with painted porcelain faces and silk gowns to rival that of even Lavinia's wardrobe. You turn over one in your hands, tempted to play with it yourself, until you realise it looks... strangely like //you//. You pick up another, its gold curls reminiscent of Lavinia's. The last doll even mimics Séraphine's haughty expression. Something prickles at the back of your neck, unsettling you. [[Look in the closet.]] [[Turn over the bed linens.]] [[Leave the nursery.]]

The closet is lined with several dresses all in varying shades of blue, ranging in size from a newborn's to a girl of two's. There are at least twenty of them... in your days caring for the Irving children, you know, a child needs one set of clothes for every day of the week and such things are usually passed down once they are grown out of. How many children did these dresses clothe once, you wonder. [[Inspect the dolls.]] [[Turn over the bed linens.]] [[Leave the nursery.]]

You notice that the bed has been slept in recently, though it's barely long enough for a child. You feel around, fingers catching on a few stale crumbs of bread, and notice a folded up piece of paper under the pillow. You open it and a lock of auburn hair, tied with a blue ribbon, falls out. It's clearly a treasured memento. You carefully place the keepsake back in the folds of paper and replace it under the pillow. [[Look in the closet.]] [[Inspect the dolls.]] [[Leave the nursery.]]

The nursery leaves you with a sense of unease and melancholy - though you are not entirely sure why. You leave the room quickly, glad to be rid of it. [[Retire to your room.]]

"I'll go," Séraphine steps forwards, desperate to make up for her previous failure in the greenhouse. She takes Lord Gormley’s hand with all the confidence in the world. The music begins again, and you know that unlike the plants, you have no hope of standing out. Séraphine is graceful and practised, a near mirror of Lady Gormley. Lavinia titters nervously beside you. She avoided dancing when she could, partially out of a dislike for men, and partially because she’d never spent much time learning past the basic steps. It had hardly seemed to matter at the time. Lord Gormley presses a kiss to Séraphine’s hand when they finish. “I see no faults with your footwork,” he says. “You may be excused.” Séraphine tosses a smug smile toward you and Lavinia. She smoothes her skirts and curtseys. “Merci, Lord Gormley. I have always enjoyed dancing lessons.” Lady Gormley turns to you when Séraphine departs. “And which of our rosebuds wishes to go next?” [[“I’ll go next.”]] [[Let Lavinia go next.]]

You can’t bear to keep waiting, and Lord Gormley seems eager to accept you, kissing your hand as soon as it touches his. When he places his hand on your hip, your body feels warm and liquid in his grasp. It is wrong to desire a married man you know -//let alone in his wife's presence// - but your reaction is instinctual, unbidden by reason. You wonder if Séraphine felt the same way, floating in his arms, like she could lose herself in him, but still feel confident that he could catch her should she fall. You’re drawn into a simple three step waltz. Easy, you realise, meant to build your confidence. It is nothing like Séraphine’s, or the Gormleys'. You can feel the challenge rising as the music shifts and so too do Lord Gormley’s steps. His pacing is faster, his movements more difficult to predict. You do your best to keep up - faster and more physical you spin and sidestep, matching his every move, though you scarcely know how. Your body tenses in fear - can you keep up? You trip on the hem of your dress and lose your footing. You cry out, suddenly as ungainly as a spring foal, but then Lord Gormley catches you. Your heart beats so hard, you think it might fly out of your chest. "I have you, Miss Darrow." You hear someone snicker quietly and remember that you are in the presence of others. Lavinia stares at you, bewildered. But Lady Gormley offers a delighted smile and applauds your performance. The music fades, but Lord Gormley is slow to release you. "A for effort, Miss Darrow," she says. You stand there, regaining your balance as if in a daze. “You’ve learnt the basics well,” Lord Gormley says appraisingly. Of course they had not expected you to be so well versed in such matters. “But you will have much more to learn over the next week, my dear.” [[Curtsey.]] [[“Perhaps I could receive more private instruction?"]]

You stay quiet, until the nervous energy bundled in Lavinia’s frame prompts her to say, “I will.” She steps forward, resolute, and takes Lord Gormley’s proffered hand. At first, it seems she keeps easy pace with his steps. Mr. Irving's deep pockets had seen well enough to that. Her fumbling practices with you afterward feel like they belonged to another world. But even though she knows the steps by heart, there is... no passion in them. She looks like an automaton, carefully concentrating on each step. In your youth, you would have kissed her pursed lips and begged her to stop trying so hard. Lavinia catches your stare from over Lord Gormley’s shoulder and trips. She stumbles into him with profuse apologies. “No need, my dear. We can polish you up in no time.” He releases Lavinia, whose cheeks burn in shame. His eyes flick hungrily over to you, and the hairs raise on the back of your neck. [[“I suppose I’m next...”]] [["I am all yours, my lord."]]

Lady Gormley gestures for the woman to begin playing. A light waltz fills the room and soon you are mesmerised by the Gormleys once again, the elegance with which they move, the familiarity with which they touch each other. You //long// to be held like that. Before long, they part and turn back to look at the three of you. "Dancing highlights a woman's grace and agility," says Lady Gormley. "But that is not its sole purpose, much like our first lesson in the greenhouse taught us." You notice Séraphine tense beside you. "You can learn much more about a prospective partner from their actions rather than words alone," adds Lord Gormley, as he paces the floor. "How do they carry themselves? How do //you// carry yourself? What does your body communicate to those around you? Do you merely follow their movements or do you subjugate your partner to your will? Or do you know when and how to use your dominance and your submission effectively?" Your head spins - you hadn't thought that hard about dancing, and you're not terribly coordinated to begin with... this will not be easy. Lord Gormley claps his hands together in excitement. “Now, who will be our first?” [[Raise your hand. Best to get this over with as soon as possible.->Your Turn?]] [[Stand quietly. Let someone else be the sacrificial lamb.->Your Turn?]]

You curtsey, glad to have not embarrassed yourself, and almost fall over yourself again. You don't know what came over you and you feel sick, as if your feet aren't quite underneath you. But this time, it is Lavinia who is there to catch you, and she speaks for you, whether you like it or not. "Alexis needs to lie down," she says and you think it almost sounds like a bark. But you let yourself be led easily. [[Go Back with Lavinia.]]

Lord Gormley raises a brow with a smirk and turns to Lady Gormley. “What say you, my darling?” She turns to you with an equally radiant smile. "You have my whole-hearted consent, my love. The ballroom can be yours for the afternoon. I shall take the girls on a trip into town, if Séraphine is feeling up to it. I've been meaning to get more stationery." Lady Gormley beams at you and her husband, and not for the first time do you wonder about the nature of their relationship. They are so unlike every other well-to-do family you have served under - in most cases, the husbands and wives are hard-pressed to share the same air let alone... other interests. Lord Gormley again turns his gaze on you, and you squirm pleasurably under it. "Well, then Miss Darrow, shall I tutor you some more?" You bite your tongue before you accept. You //were// hoping for some time with Lavinia before dinner... but perhaps that can wait. [["I would love to learn more."]] [["I think I should rest my legs. Perhaps another day."]]

You step forward as Lavinia leaves, and Lord Gormley kisses your hand as soon as it touches his. When he places his hand on your hip, you wonder if Séraphine had somehow felt the same way, like she could float under the guidance of a skilled dancer. Pity Lavinia must not have. You’re drawn into a simple three step waltz. Easy, you realise, meant to build your confidence, to test you. It is nothing like Séraphine’s, or the Gormley’s. You are not left to stumble like Lavinia. You feel their eyes on you as the music shifts and so too do Lord Gormley’s steps. “You’ve learnt the basics well,” he says appraisingly. Of course they had not expected you to be so well versed in such matters. But you’re nearing your expertise, and it seems he can tell. The music fades, but Lord Gormley is slow to release you. “But you will have much more to learn over the next week, my dear.” [[Curtsey.]] [[“Perhaps I could receive more private instruction?"]]

Lord Gormley grins at your words. "Oh, Miss Darrow, you //tease//. That will serve you well in the salons of London." You step forward as Lavinia leaves, and Lord Gormley kisses your hand as soon as it touches his. When he places his hand on your hip, you wonder if Séraphine had somehow felt the same way, like she could float under the guidance of a skilled dancer. Pity Lavinia must not have. You’re drawn into a simple three step waltz. Easy, you realise, meant to build your confidence, to test you. It is nothing like Séraphine’s, or the Gormley’s. You are not left to stumble like Lavinia. You feel their eyes on you as the music shifts and so too do Lord Gormley’s steps. “You’ve learnt the basics well,” he says appraisingly. Of course they had not expected you to be so well versed in such matters. But you’re nearing your expertise, and it seems he can tell. The music fades, but Lord Gormley is slow to release you. “But you will have much more to learn over the next week, my dear.” [[Curtsey.]] [[“Perhaps I could receive more private instruction?"]]

Lord Gormley nods in polite acceptance. "Of course, Miss Darrow. Do not push yourself too hard." You curtsey politely and excuse yourself. As you depart, you feel their gazes at your back. Just before the door closes behind you, you hear the music strike up again, soft and gentle. [[Go Back with Lavinia.]]

Lord Gormley smiles wide, leading you back out onto the dance floor. Lady Gormley lingers a moment to watch, before departing. you are left alone with Lord Gormley; the woman at the piano feels more statue than human. Suddenly, the weight of your strict Catholic upbringing settles on you and you are overwhelmed with the reality of being alone with a married man... you've always loved that which has been forbidden from your grasp. Whether it was Lavinia or the taste of Mr. Irving's triple malt whiskey. You fear the fires of Hell the priest warns you about in church, but you are already so deep in sin, you fear you cannot claw your way back out of the grave your mother buried you in upon birth. The ballroom around you seems to expand, separating yourself from reality, from what is physical and real rooting you to this moment. Your throat tightens, as if someone is pressing their thumb into your neck. Your palms grow cold and clammy and tears spring into your eyes. You have to get away, to flee, to run... but //where//? //Where on the earth could you run where your vengeful Creator could not find you? // Lord Gormley seems to read your expression and understand its meaning. "Let us not concern ourselves with dancing for now, Miss Darrow. You are quite upset. And while I don't know entirely why, I know that you should allow yourself to breathe." [[Burst into tears.]] [[Steady your breaths.]] [["I... I need to go back to my room."]]

You can't even form words. Your fear comes out in torrents as your body convulses in panic of your damnation. You barely feel alive. Nothing and no one can save you - you are at the mercy of your own mind. Strangely, Lord Gormley does not reach out to comfort you. He does not embrace you, as Lavinia has often tried to do in these moments, only to push her away because even her touch feels suffocating. He does not touch you at all. He lets you cry. He lets you scream and tear your hair and beat your breast until the panic runs its course, leaving you spent and gasping for breath on the floor. When you finally raise your gaze to meet his, you expect him to judge you. But they do not. If anything he looks like he understands this feeling all too well. You scramble to your feet - then and only then does he offer his assistance. Lord Gormley reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key ring. He unlatches it, and hands you a silver key that glints in the sunlight. "Should you wish to join me tonight... I will be in my smoking room. Please find me there if you'd like to talk more. Simply talk. Nothing more." [["I can't accept this..."]] [["Thank you... I'll think about it."]]

You breathe in and out. For a minute or two. Maybe more. Lord Gormley says nothing, does not disturb your peace. You have weathered many attacks like this one before. You can survive this one. Once your sanity returns, your desire to run redirects into the fierce desire to move. You grasp Lord Gormley's hands and //lead//him in the next dance. He does not resist, if anything, he is all too willing for you to have your way with him. You dance with him as you have only danced with Lavinia - confident, assured, aggressive. The sun stretches across the floor as you continue practising your form with Lord Gormley. He is as excellent a teacher as he is a dancer and corrects your missteps gently but firmly. Not once does he raise his voice or express frustration with your slow learning curve. When the feeling has run its course, you both are drenched in sweat as you catch your breaths. "I think that is enough dancing for today," he says, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing his brow. "You are quite energetic, Miss Darrow." But it does not mean that we should part... unless you desire it." Lord Gormley reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key ring. He unlatches it, and hands you a silver key that glints in the sunlight. "Should you wish to join me tonight, to talk, to... simply be in another's presence... I will be in my smoking room. Please find me there, if it pleases you." [["I can't accept this..."]] [["Thank you... I'll think about it."]]

"Of course," he says. "I shall not keep you." Then Lord Gormley reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key ring. He unlatches it, and hands you a silver key that glints in the sunlight. "Should you wish to join me tonight, to talk, to... simply be in another's presence... I will be in my smoking room. Please find me there, if it pleases you." [["I can't accept this..."]] [["Thank you... I'll think about it."]]

You return to your room to compose yourself after your dancing lesson. Lavinia and Séraphine do not return to your shared quarters, and you take dinner in your room, relishing in the peace of your own company... But Lord Gormley's key seems to burn a hole in your pocket, desperate to find the lock it goes to. [[Return to your room. ->Prepare for the Third Trial.]] [[Go to the smoking room.]]

You push the door open to see Lord Gormley seated in the armchair across from the fireplace. His silk smoking jacket hints at royal blue in the low light. He gestures for you to join him. “Please, Miss Darrow, come sit. Or not. The choice is yours.” You still. Never before has a man - of 'breeding' or otherwise - given you a choice in anything and respected that choice. Lord Gormley has done so twice over. You look at the matching armchair alongside his – a decanter of brandy seated on a small gilded tea cart between them. Your legs are weary after a long day of dancing. [[Sit beside him.]] [[Remain standing.]]

"Hold onto it, whatever you decide," he says. [[Pocket the key and leave.->Extra Door Choice 2]]

"I hope that's a promise," he says. [[Pocket the key and leave.->Extra Door Choice 2]]

The time passes quickly as you continue to practise the skills you have learned from Lord and Lady Gormley over the last few days. Days which turn into weeks, weeks into months. Séraphine still despises you but that is hardly any surprise. Your waltzing improves greatly under Lord Gormley's careful and compassionate instruction. You even take to sharing your afternoon tea daily with Lady Gormley - a privilege rarely afforded the other girls. You feel a kinship with them that you hardly felt with your own family, when your mother's death and father's debts signed you away into servitude... [[Continue. -> Most Importantly]]

Both you and Lavinia are too exhausted to do anything upon your return to your room. Besides, Séraphine has returned, thwarting any plans for a tryst. You and Lavinia take dinner in your room, and spend the evening talking about your curious patrons and what you think tomorrow might bring, before falling asleep in each other's arms. [[Prepare for the Third Trial.]]

You practically fall into the chair next to his. It is sumptuously comfortable - a welcome respite for your weary bones. Lord Gormley reaches over to his side table and pulls out a cigar box, then opens it and offers one to you. "Would you care to smoke?" [["I thought it was considered uncouth for women to smoke?"]] [["I don't smoke... but thank you for the offer."]] [["Thank you. I shall."]]

You remain restless, choosing instead to inspect the room around you. Lord Gormley reaches over to his side table and pulls out a cigar box, then opens it and offers one to you. "Would you care to smoke?" [["I thought it was considered uncouth for women to smoke?"]] [["I don't smoke... but thank you for the offer."]] [["Thank you. I shall."]]

"Everything is allowed here," Lord Gormley says, still holding out the box to you. [["I don't smoke... but thank you for the offer."]] [["Thank you. I shall."]]

Lord Gormley sets the cigar box aside on the table between you. "Should you change your mind," he says. Your eyes turn about the room. [["That is a lovely hunting rifle."]] [["You know what, I will." ->"Thank you. I shall."]]

You take a cigar and lean towards him - your eyes holding his resolutely as he lights it for you. You take in a deep breath, the sweet mix of clove and tobacco roiling warmly through your lungs. Mrs. Irving would die if she saw you now - and that's a happy thought. This is a //very// precarious position for a young woman's reputation - but reputation be damned if it means you can't have some pleasure in life. [[Blow a ring of smoke into his face.]] [["That is a lovely hunting rifle."]]

Lord Gormley seems unfazed by your brazen display of impropriety. He seems much more consumed by serious matters. "My wife is quite fond of you," he says. "I trust you know this. And I cannot help but feel similarly. You are quite the singular woman, Miss Darrow." He takes another drag off of his cigar. "Which is why I must ask - what is your relationship to Miss Lavinia Irving?" The question startles you like a slap in the face. "I know the way you look at her," he continues, more carefully. "I know that your relationship goes far beyond mere... //friendliness//." [["I am offended that you would even imply such a thing."->Don't Play the Fool]] [["But we are friends. I have no idea what you mean."->Don't Play the Fool]] [["In truth... I love her, as a man loves his wife. More so, even."]]

Lord Gormley's face turns pensive. Pained. "It was my father's. I inherited it, along with the rest of this estate and its titles, when he and my brother passed in a rather unfortunate accident." There is the most obvious tone of irony given to the word 'unfortunate'. He puffs smoke into the air. "It is... a vile piece of machinery. But I keep it as a reminder... a memento mori if you will." [["You did not strike me as a hunter."]] [[Stay silent. You sense he's getting at something important.->"You did not strike me as a hunter."]] [["Did you just invite me up here to talk about an old piece of junk?"->Onto Serious Matters]]

Lord Gormley cocks his head, clearly consumed by more serious matters. "My wife is quite fond of you," he says. "I trust you know this. And I cannot help but feel similarly. You are quite the singular woman, Miss Darrow." He takes another drag off of his cigar. "Which is why I must ask - what is your relationship to Miss Lavinia Irving?" The question startles you like a slap in the face. "I know the way you look at her," he continues, more carefully. "I know that your relationship goes far beyond mere... //friendliness//." [["I am offended that you would even imply such a thing."->Don't Play the Fool]] [["But we are friends. I have no idea what you mean."->Don't Play the Fool]] [["In truth... I love her, as a man loves his wife. More so, even."]]

As you enter the room, Lady Gormley rises to kiss you on the cheek. “Aren’t you divine?” she exclaims. “Look at her, my darling! Is she not lovely?” Lord Gormley looks up at you appraisingly and smiles, causing a not-unbecoming crinkling around his eyes. “I agree, my love. She is our diamond in the rough – she just needed a little polishing.” You don’t miss the look Séraphine tosses in your direction, but you could care less what she thinks. Lavinia sits next to you, her hand resting on your knee under the table for most of the evening. Dinner proceeds with polite conversation and fake laughter, before the dishes are cleared away and the Gormleys turn in for the evening. [[Return to your room.]]

Most importantly, you are with Lavinia. You've spent more time with her this summer than in all the years you worked for the Irvings. You even have a chance at a life better than you could've possibly dreamed. As the summer wanes, the green fields become lined with hay bales, readying for autumn. The wind breathes coldly through the trees as their leaves begin to fall - a sad omen that your time with the Gormleys will be coming to an end. Lady Gormley has said she is going to send you all out in style, by throwing one last dinner party, one that the three of you will be overseeing from start to finish. [[Continue. ->The Final Test]]

This morning, the three of you are instructed to wait in the Gormleys' kitchen. The room is spotlessly clean and equipped with the finest copper cookware. Delicious spices and fresh produce give the place a mouth-watering aroma as cooks and waitstaff pretend you are invisible as they go about their duties. They stop as Lady Gormley enters alone, paying her deference as she speaks. "There are my beautiful little roses. Almost ready to bloom." Her eyes seem glassy, as if she has been crying, but she musters a beautiful smile. "If any of you is to be a successful lady of your own, you must know the ins and outs of running your house - from entertaining the most prestigious of guests to making sure your servants are fed and taken care of. This shall be your final test - a culmination of everything you have learned - to throw a successful dinner party from start to finish. At the end of the night, my husband and I shall deliberate and decide which one of you shall stay with us." She gestures to three boxes on the table before you, each covered with blue linen towels to conceal what is inside. "Lord Gormley and I have selected a dish for you to make, based on your strengths //and// weaknesses." [[Unveil your box.]] [[Look at Lavinia's box.]] [[Look at Séraphine's box.]]

You unveil your box and find a mated pair of quails looking curiously up at you. You smile in delight. Quail is one of your favourite dishes to make - a chance to show how impressive your cooking skills are. [[Look at Lavinia's box.]] [[Look at Séraphine's box.]] [[Move on to the next step.]]

You glance over at Lavinia's box as it is unveiled. She gives a little cry of surprise to see a duck waggling its tail feathers at her from inside its cage. A cruel twist of fate you think. Ducks are Lavinia's favourite creatures - you would often meet in secret at the duck pond near her home and share the bread from the Irvings' table with the waterfowl. You wonder how she will fare. [[Unveil your box.]] [[Look at Séraphine's box.]] [[Move on to the next step.]]

You turn to look at what Séraphine has been given - only to see her staring down in horror at a rabbit in a cage. Its soft pink nose tests the bars of its prison, looking for escape. You see Séraphine swallow hard. Either she does not seem enthused by the prospect of cooking or she is less coldhearted than you believed. [[Unveil your box.]] [[Look at Lavinia's box.]] [[Move on to the next step.]]

Your protests of innocence mean nothing to Séraphine. "You horrible little vermin!" she says, suddenly pushing you down to the ground. Lavinia jumps between you two. "Get off her you bitch!" she cries, dragging her nails across Séraphine's face. Séraphine's scream is blood-curdling, and even you are surprised at Lavinia's ferocity. [["Stop it, Lavinia!"->Discovered]] [[Watch in horror.->Discovered]] [["Drag the floor with her!"->Discovered]]

Lavinia looks at you, confused. "I wouldn't pull such a horrible prank." You look at her in confusion. [["That wasn't me."]]

You wake up with the feeling that something is not quite right... You listen to Lavina's soft, familiar breathing. You hear Séraphine's light snores. You even hear the sound of your own heart beating slowly... and something else. Something moving across the floorboards. You rise slightly in bed and see //something//... a figure of shadow, silhouetted in the window beside your bed. [[Reach for the candlestick holder next to you.]] [[Scream.]] [[Hide under the covers.]]

You settle back into bed, looking up at the crown moulding on the ceiling and try to laugh at the horrid little things you envision in the shadows. It was nothing but a trick of the night on your eyes after all. [[Close your eyes.->Act 4]]

You let out a horrible scream. Lavinia and Séraphine wake up immediately, set into a panic themselves. You point. "There was someone here! In the room!" Lavinia and Séraphine look to where you point. The shadow is gone, as if it was never there. All is still, save for the curtains blowing near the open window. "Maybe... you were just imagining it, Alexis?" Lavinia offers, rubbing her eyes. Séraphine curses at you in French and turns back into bed. The window... You were certain you'd closed it before... but maybe you hadn't. You are very tired after all. [[Lie down.]]

You bury your face under the covers. If it's someone trying to rob the house, you have no interest in getting involved at risk to your personal safety. After a moment, the room goes still again, save for the curtains blowing near the open window. You were certain you'd closed it before... but maybe you hadn't. You are very tired after all. [[Lie down.]]

You turn and grab the candlestick holder by your bed - it's heavy in your hands and you almost drop it on the ground right there. When you look back up, the shadow is gone. All is still, save for the curtains blowing near the open window. You were certain you'd closed it before... but maybe you hadn't. You are very tired after all. [[Lie down.]]

"Now that you are acquainted with tonight's main courses..." Lady Gormley's hand comes down fast, embedding a sharpened butcher's knife in the wood. The other girls jump. "You will kill, clean, and dress them yourself." "Should not servants be the ones handling such a... miserable task?" Séraphine offers miserably, looking down at the rabbit in her cage. Lavinia is not quite sure what to make of the quacking duck sitting before her. You doubt she's ever raised a kitchen spoon before in her life. Lady Gormley shines a terse smile at Séraphine. "Oh my dear. Spoken like a true aristocrat. That is a fault of your birth. How are you to run a household if you do not respect the work of those that make it possible?" You smirk. This is almost too easy. You aren't afraid of ending another creature's life - cooking was part of your main duties at the Irvings. "Besides," Lady Gormley grins, "I find such a task surprisingly... meditative." She nods to the red-faced cook at her left. "Mrs. Beaseley shall oversee your progress. Meanwhile, Lord Gormley and I shall be eagerly awaiting your dishes tonight. " And with that, she sways out of the kitchen in a swirl of lilac skirts. [[Get cooking.]] [[Check on Lavinia.]] [[Spy on Séraphine.]]

You consider your options and decide on braised quail in a juniper berry sauce. You toil through the afternoon, assembling your dish to perfection. First, you prepare your side dishes - roast asparagus and wild rice. Then you dispatch the quails quickly and painlessly - just as it should be - and cast their tiny bodies into the skillet, moistening their flesh with spoonfuls of wine. Once it is plated and taken away by the waitstaff, you exhale in relief. [[Ready yourself for dinner.-> Last Dinner Party]]

You draw close to Lavinia, whispering in her ear. "You know... I can do it for you if you want," you say. "When Mrs. Beaseley's back is turned." Lavinia shoots you a warning glance. "Do you think I need your help? That I need to //cheat// to win?" she asks almost accusingly. Before you can say another word to repair your blunder, she takes the knife Lady Gormley struck into the table and bustles off to a more isolated corner of the kitchen. Suddenly, you hear the duck's panicked quacks and see a burst of feathers before Lavinia beheads the poor creature - rather grotesquely. As she wipes the blood from her face, you could swear she's... smiling? [[Get cooking.]] [[Spy on Séraphine.]]

"Oh, do not play the fool, Miss Darrow. It is most unbecoming for a woman your intelligence and an offence to mine as well." His eyes skewer you to the spot before softening. "When I was your age, I had a similar bout of... foolhardy lovesickness. His name was Will." Lord Gormley pauses, smiling. "He could not read, nor write, but he possessed a knowledge of the world I could never hope to possess, not if I read a thousand books. He was, in a word, much like you." You sense your blood run hot in your ears from blushing. "When my father found out... he didn't get upset like I thought he would. No, in fact, he asked if I would go hunting with him and my brother. 'A chance to bond as men.' I was a weak boy. A second son. So the thought of being included in anything... well, I was quite naive then. I should've known what would happen." Lord Gormley shakes his head. But when he looks at you again, you cannot envision the naive boy that Will once loved in his face, only the hunter. "Well, they didn't know what would happen either." [[Soak up this revelation in silence.->Go Well]] [["Wait... Are you saying...?"->Go Well]] [["Good for you. They deserved it."->Go Well]]

"Such candour... I am glad that you trust me so," Lord Gormley remarks, straightening in his chair. "When I was your age, I had a similar bout of... foolhardy lovesickness. His name was Will." Lord Gormley pauses, smiling. "He could not read, nor write, but he possessed a knowledge of the world I could never hope to possess, not if I read a thousand books. He was, in a word, much like you." You sense your blood run hot in your ears from blushing. "When my father found out... he didn't get upset like I thought he would. No, in fact, he asked if I would go hunting with him and my brother. 'A chance to bond as men.' I was a weak boy. A second son. So the thought of being included in anything... well, I was quite naive then. I should've known what would happen." Lord Gormley shakes his head. But when he looks at you again, you cannot envision the naive boy that Will once loved in his face, only the hunter. "Well, they didn't know what would happen either." [[Soak up this revelation in silence.->Go Well]] [["Wait... Are you saying...?"->Go Well]] [["Good for you. They deserved it."->Go Well]]

"I am not a cruel man. I take no pleasure in bloodsport," he says, and you sense he is being truthful. He looks at you, his eyes almost afire from the flames reflected in the hearth. "Know that... when all is said and done." [["I don't understand what you're talking about."->Onto Serious Matters]]

"All this is to say, please do not have any fear that I shall expose your secret," Lord Gormley says. "I merely ask that you be mindful of both our feelings and Miss Irving's in the trials ahead." He turns back to the fire - and you sense you have been dismissed. It almost upsets you, his indifference, how he can turn his attention to you on and off like the sun chooses where to shine. The clock on the wall strikes midnight. Have you truly been talking so long? Time seems to cease whenever you are in the presence of either of the Gormleys. [["Thank you for a pleasant evening, but I must be getting back."->Return to your room for the night.]] [[Return to your room without a word. ->Return to your room for the night.]] [["Since we're in the business of divulging secrets..."]]

Séraphine hovers over the rabbit for several minutes, unsure of what to do or how to begin. You almost feel tempted to help her, but then you remember this is a competition - there can only be one winner. The last thing you see is Séraphine sobbing as she takes the rabbit out of its hutch. [[Get cooking.]] [[Check on Lavinia.]]

You sweep into the dining room which has been set with the Gormleys' finest dishes and crystal goblets. Lord Gormley gets up from his seat to pull out your chair, and Lady Gormley shoots you a smile. Lavinia enters a moment later, looking flush but strangely confident. The last to arrive is Séraphine who looks, in a word, terrible. Her eyes are so red and puffy from crying, she bumps into the table as she takes her seat. Three covered silver platters are laid on the table before you all. Which one shall you try first? [[Try your braised quail.]] [[Eat Lavinia's roast duck.]] [[Nibble at Séraphine's rabbit.]]

"Excellent flavour," remarks Lady Gormley. "Exquisite presentation." "A little dry, however," Lord Gormley adds, shooting you a good natured wink. [[Eat Lavinia's roast duck.]] [[Nibble at Séraphine's rabbit.]] [[Continue to judgement.]]

You dig into Lavinia's roast duck and are stunned. It's... not that bad. "Lovely au gratin," praises Lord Gormley. "Succulent." "Could be a little prettier on the plate, my darling," Lady Gormley chides lightly. Lavinia nods. [[Try your braised quail.]] [[Nibble at Séraphine's rabbit.]] [[Continue to judgement.]]

When the platter is lifted, everyone gasps in unison. Whatever is there... certainly once was a rabbit. It's horribly charred. You don't even make an attempt to eat it. Séraphine cannot even lift her eyes for shame. "Well, at least you tried, my darling," remarks Lady Gormley sympathetically. [[Try your braised quail.]] [[Eat Lavinia's roast duck.]] [[Continue to judgement.]]

Lord and Lady Gormley revisit each of the dishes throughout the night... well, perhaps save Séraphine's charcoaled rabbit. Dinner comes to a close with crême anglaise and aperitifs, and the three of you are dismissed as the Gormleys deliberate who shall remain with them to study. "Lady Gormley shall send for each of you tomorrow to relay their decision," remarks one of the maids. In your heart of hearts, you hope that Lavinia and you can continue learning from the Gormleys together, perhaps even find husbands that do not live so far away from each other... but you are getting ahead of yourself. Now, the only certain thing in your future is a warm bed. [[Return to your room with Lavinia and Séraphine.]]

You and your companions settle into a restless sleep, anxious to know if you are chosen. It is quite late when you finally drift to sleep, only to be woken in the middle of the night to find the shadow looming over your bed again. You think it but another trick of the night and sleep until a burning candle is thrust towards your face, revealing Séraphine, with angry tears in her eyes. "You! You did this!" She points to her pillow and pulls it off the bed, to reveal where a dead rabbit lies. [["That wasn't me."]] [["Oh, that's a good one, Lavinia."]]

Both girls are oblivious to anything but their savagery. Lavinia rips out a tuft of Séraphine's hair just as Séraphine sinks her teeth into Lavinia's arm. Lavinia elbows her in the face, giving Séraphine a bloody nose. The sight of it makes you realise this fight has turned serious. Just then, the door to your room slams open, revealing Lord Gormley in his nightshirt. Lady Gormley, in her pale blue nightgown, looks in from behind him. "What is the meaning of this?" Lord Gormley asks. Lavinia, Séraphine, and you all turn to look at him, meek as mice. "Madame... Alexis played a horrible trick on me," Séraphine says and points accusingly to the dead rabbit. You and Lavinia swear your innocence. Lady and Lord Gormley share a look... one that carries more weight that you know you comprehend. They are hiding something. Lady Gormley sweeps into the room to inspect the damage. She tuts, looking at Séraphine's cuts and broken nose and the bite marks on Lavinia's arm. "Tonight's events will be taken into consideration for tomorrow," she says evenly, before sweeping out of the room, followed by Lord Gormley. None of you can look at each other as you go back to your respective beds. [[Judgement Day]]

The three of you are woken in the morning by Lady Gormley's maids. You, Lavinia, and Séraphine wait in the library, trying to kill time. You wait. And wait. And wait. The hours drag on. You are impatient. [[Pace the floor.]] [[Look through the books.]] [[Talk to Lavinia.]] [[Talk to Séraphine.]]

You set off to the second floor, the key biting into your palm as you clutch it tight. It doesn’t take long to find a locked door on the Gormley’s side, and the key fits easily enough. The door opens to reveal a well kept bedroom. Though it appears unused, there is no cloth over furniture, no dust to be found. You run your fingers over the fine linen of the bedding, and peek into the dresser drawers at your leisure. Smallclothes and trinkets greet you, many untouched. Such a waste of wealth, you think. A small shelf of books and a closet beckon to you. [[Flip through the books.]] [[Peek into the closet.]]

There are not many books, but you are curious enough to see what the Gormleys had deemed worth stowing away in an unused bedroom. To your surprise, you find they are familiar to you. Each are books you had read during your stay, whether in full or in part for a lesson. Perhaps at one time, the girls who trained with the Gormleys were given their own rooms. You wonder what changed. [[Peek into the closet.]]

The closet draws your attention, feeling much the same as the door you had found on your first night here. But unlike that door, this is unlocked. You expect to find dusty linens if anything at all. To your shock, a //girl// tumbles out, not much older than you, dress splattered with dried blood. A scream catches in your throat. You clap your hand over your mouth. For a moment, you can’t tell if she is living or not. Then she looks up at you. [[Run away.]] [[“Who are you?”]]

Your voice is nearly hysterical once you find the strength to speak. “I was one of you,” she says, standing slowly. She looks sickly, pale and haunted, like she’s not seen much of anyone or anything in months. Her hair is braided but dishevelled, her eyes sunken. “I should hope you do not become like me. None of you should. You need to leave.” You’ve only ever wanted to leave with Lavinia by your side. “I will.” “You need to leave //now//. The Gormleys have no intention of letting you out of their sight.” You’ve felt Lady Gormley’s watchful eye on you these past weeks. Lavinia had confessed she felt the same, but told you not to worry about it. It would only make you do your best. The girl smiles in the silence of your thoughts. She rushes at you with a snarl, set to claw at you with ragged fingernails. [[Run away.]] [[“I need to get Lavinia out of here.”]]

Breath caught in your throat, you flee from the room, following your memory of the manor’s layout to the stables. Every footfall seems to echo as if the haunting girl is following you. When you finally arrive in the stable yard, you see a stable hand sitting on a barrel near the entrance. His head is tilted back and his eyes closed. He appears to be asleep. [[Flee.]] [[Rethink this.]]

You see a chestnut horse hanging his head over the stall door. You slip in and see a bucket beside it, full of grain. You’ve never ridden bareback, but you don’t know how to saddle a horse. The bucket tips over easily enough, a makeshift mounting block that allows you to climb on with only a little trouble. The horse is happy to trot on, out of the stable and into the yard, where you set it running and hold on for dear life. The pounding hoofbeats echo in your head, an overwhelming sensation as you careen away from the estate. The horse is eager to run. It is far swifter than any you’ve had the privilege to ride. You will yourself not to look back for fear of seeing Lord Gormley’s hounds on your tail. Though the densely packed forest ahead does not inspire confidence, you decide to press on anyway. [[Continue. ->Bitch we out of here]]

You think, suddenly, of starry eyed girls marrying, only to be swept away from their families and never heard from again. You think of that letter, the strange locked door, the ring of keys that Lord Gormley had on his person, the laughter he shared with Lady Gormley about their secrets. You think of the girl's warnings. You can’t leave Lavinia behind. You must get her, must get you both out of here. But… if you go back in or the stable hand wakes up, you risk being caught. [[Return to the library.]] [[Flee.->Run away.]]

The horse is used to the woods, it seems. It weaves through trees at breakneck speed, far more confident than you are. You lose track of time, and suddenly you are standing in a clearing whilst the horse’s flanks heave with exhaustion. The pause allows you to collect what few scattered thoughts are begging for your attention. You think of Lavinia, looking haunted like that girl. Yourself beside her, trapped in the Gormley estate forever. [["Lavinia is on her own. I'm leaving."->End.]] [["I have to go back for her."->Turn back.]]

Your pause cost you precious time to escape. Your stolen horse is antsy beneath you. You feel the bullet before you register the sound of gunpowder. You feel the bullet before you register the sound of gunpowder. Lord Gormley, you realise, is as accomplished a hunter as the fox he embodies. It seems in your escape, you have become his quarry. The last thing you see in your mind is Lavinia. But it’s too late for you. //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

Your pause cost you precious time to escape. Your stolen horse is antsy beneath you. You feel the bullet before you register the sound of gunpowder. Lord Gormley, you realise, is as accomplished a hunter as the fox he embodies. It seems in your escape, you have become his quarry. The last thing you see in your mind is Lavinia. But it’s too late for you. //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

Agatha leaves you to your own devices. You keep your head low – submissive – as you enter the parlour where all of the well-to-do guests are gathered, talking loudly over champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The succulent sights and smells of steaming red lobsters in cream sauce, the crackling golden crust of peacock pies, and glistening apples, peaches, and oranges encased in glass-like sugar set your empty stomach to painful growling. Still, you ignore it all to come within mere paces of Lavinia. You reach out to her, the shape of your hand finding the familiar small of her back. “Alexis?” she whispers, incredulous. “What are you doing //here//?” Before you can answer, a crystalline sound cuts you off from someone tapping a glass for a toast. [[Listen.->Listen. (Rose Path)]]

The morning is quite unremarkable, as most mornings are. You rise at the first sign of dawn to prepare the Irving household for the day’s activities along with the other staff. These, too, are often unremarkable. No dance halls to attend, no expected visitors to entertain. Simply a quiet day of work, and perhaps if you are lucky, some time spent alone with Lavinia, the Irvings’ comely daughter with whom you share a… //special// relationship. In addition to your normal chores, today you are also tasked with bringing the mail in for the Irvings to read over breakfast. There is a crisp folded paper with a simple seal of blue wax for you to present to Lady Irving. You do not recognize the coat of arms imprinted on its surface -- a heart aflame with a lock, a crossed key and polearm behind it. [[Enter the dining room.]] [[Consider opening the letter.]]

Lady Gormley looks up at you, slightly annoyed. You are testing her patience, which has been generous thus far. [["Never mind."->Extra Door 1 Choice]] [["I found a locked door on the first floor... what's behind it?"]]

Lady Gormley gives you a curious smile over the rim of her cup, one that seems torn between pleasure and disgust. "Aren't you a curious little mouse?" she says sweetly and slowly as if talking to a child. She reads your unsatisfied expression."Oh darling, don't be so cross. It's just a cellar. You know, for root vegetables and such." She puts her tea cup back on the table and rises serenely. The next moment, she shoves the entire table onto the greenhouse tiles. All of the china falls onto the floor in a crash. You jump back in surprise. She leans down and picks up one of the shattered pieces. It slices her finger, but it hardly seems to bother her. "Ah... Won't //you// make the most divine piece of art?" You don't know if she's talking to the cup or you. [["I shall take my leave, my lady. Apologies for disturbing you."->Extra Door 1 Choice]] [[Run without looking back.->Extra Door 1 Choice]]

Lord Gormley's head snaps back in your direction. You've won his attention once more. "You claimed when we first came here that no door would be locked to us," you say, bolstered by your pride. "It seems you and Lady Gormley have much to hide..." He moves faster than you expect, pressing you up against the wall. In the firelight, you see a glint of metal as Lord Gormley holds a long serrated hunting knife to your throat. "Was that a threat, my dear?" he asks. Your heaving chest presses up against his as you stare into his cold, passionless eyes. They terrify you as much as they intrigue you, but you do not avert your gaze. If this is where it ends, you refuse to die obediently. Suddenly, Lord Gormley's expression cracks like an icy river breaking up with the first sign of spring. He smiles sharply and releases you, stowing the hunting knife back in its sheath. "It seems your lessons are paying off after all," he says proudly. "Well played, Miss Darrow. But allow me to offer you a word of advice." He leans closer, his hot breath tickling your ear in a husky whisper. "The next time you bluff, make certain //you// have the upper hand." Just as quickly, he turns from you, retaking his seat before the fire. [[Leave with haste.->Return to your room for the night.]] [["Thank you for playing the game with me, my lord."->Return to your room for the night.]]

You exit the smoking room back into the darkness of the manor's halls, your heart beating fast. Lavinia must be worried... or maybe she is not? You race down the hallway, your slippers flying over the lush carpet. When you slip back into your room for the night, you find Séraphine and Lavinia fast asleep. It appears they did not wait for you or that Lady Gormley tired them out sufficiently. As you look down on your love in the moonlight, you ponder what the next few weeks will bring. You haven't been sure of her affection since you came here, and your heart is torn in so many ways... the future is so uncertain. There is so much you do not know, that you //cannot// know. The thought of the unknown burns you alive as you stare into the dark. [[Wonder what lies ahead... ->Prepare for the Third Trial.]]

Here, too, you find nothing but locked doors. The library, the greenhouse, the ballroom you had taken your dancing lessons in. All closed, a twisted parallel to your first day here when you had explored, when the house had been open to your curious whims. You hardly see any staff in the halls, you wouldn’t know if they existed or not. You’d hardly been gone that long before you decided to turn back. You feel like you can’t catch your breath as you tug on door handles, praying for one to open, for Lavinia to call out to you. [[Keep trying.]]

Your chest tightens as you try door after door, until you find yourself at the end of that strange hall. Before you can think, your hand grips the cool knob of the middle door - the one that would not open before. Now, it swings open easily beneath your touch into thick, oily darkness. Suddenly, you hear a faint hiss and smell… gas? You almost jump out of your skin as firelight pops, illuminating glass lamps mounted on the wall at even intervals, leading your eyes spiraling downwards into the depths of the estate. In the flickers of dim light, you can see your own breath. You shake off a shiver - rubbing your hands on your arms. You lean forwards to look over the landing - but it is too far and too dim to see what is at the bottom. Another chill sweeps through your body, but this time, you don’t know if it’s from the cellar air or something else entirely. [[Descend.]] [[Turn away.]]

Against your better judgement, against every fibre of your being that screams at you to turn around and save yourself, you descend the stairs. You place a hand on the wall to keep your balance in the dark - the other holds your skirts to prevent you from breaking your neck as your feet tentatively feel your way forwards down the stone steps. Down further than you thought possible. Your legs start to ache. Your heels pound with pain. Still, you continue on, following the lights. [[Descend further.]]

The open door, now of all times, feels suspicious. The stairwell, foreboding. The Gormleys have certainly laid this trap - but should you take the bait? You turn to leave, to look elsewhere for Lavinia. Perhaps you haven’t tried every place yet, perhaps she was outside. Perhaps you are imagining things, conjured ghosts in your frantic mind. But still… something tells you that you should investigate. The voice of the girl rings in your ears. What if she’s down there? You need to know. You need to get out of here, and you won’t leave her behind. [[Descend.]]

Finally, after what feels like hours folded into mere minutes, you reach the bottom where a final door awaits you. Even in the dim light of the gas lamps, you are taken by its bright blue lacquer. Blue like the strange roses, like Lady Gormley’s fine china, like Lord Gormley’s cold eyes. [[Push the door open.]]

You step in a darkened room. Your eye is immediately drawn towards a bright light streaming from overhead where three plush chairs in royal blue are drawn up as if on a stage, waiting for their performers to take their positions. Lavinia and Séraphine are seated in two. There is a low table in front of them, a shape covered by a cloth. It's like the rug has been pulled from under you. “Ah, Alexis,” Lady Gormley says. “I was wondering if you might join us.” She gestures to the third chair, which beckons you. Lord Gormley's hand rests atop the backrest of it, almost possessively. [["Excuse my tardiness."->Séraphine's Judgment]] [[“We have to get out of here!”]] [["What exactly is going on here?"]]

Involuntarily, you make the sign of the cross, the way your mother taught you. The young woman sits, her hands angled mid-pour with a teapot in her hands, her mouth curved into a demure smile as if you have just joined her for an impromptu afternoon bite. Her light blonde hair falls in gentle curls about her neck. [[Inspect the Perfect Hostess.]] [["She's... lovely."]] [["This is horrific."->Soured]]

You angle closer towards the girl. You remember the day you accompanied Lavinia and her family to a wax museum. This woman is something like that. The detail on the skin, the hair, the positioning, is so much more… life-like than what you saw on display. But the eyes… the eyes are what give it away. They are glass, unseeing, unblinking. Despite the horror rooting in your belly, you cannot help but be… impressed. This is excellent craftsmanship. Of a sort. You turn and see yet another girl just steps beside this one. This one is frozen mid-dance. [[Look Closer at the Perfect Dancer.]]

You approach the dancing girl, studying her impeccable, swan-like posture. One hand is raised to join her partner’s while the other invites you to hold her waist to match her coquettish expression. The violet astral blooms of nightshade are delicately woven into her raven-haired tresses. You look with astonishment for wires of any sort and find none. She is a perfectly balanced, perfectly sculpted statue. [[Study the Perfect Beauty.]] [["Who was she?"]] [["I feel as if I'm about to be sick.->Soured]]

Out of the corner of your eye, a glimpse of red hair catches your attention. Another girl, draped with green silk and peacock feathers, lies on a chaise in the corner, sitting opposite an empty armchair. You slip into the armchair facing the ravishing redheaded beauty and feel something poking your back. You stand up again to find a pencil and sketchbook. Her likeness is captured in charcoal with sumptuous precision, looking at the artist with a severe yet seductive expression. You glance up at notice the same of her now, frozen in time. Perfect… except for one thing. A black ribbon tied about her neck. [[Pull the ribbon.]] [["This doesn't explain anything."->Backstory]] [["This is grotesque."->Soured]]

Lavinia gives you a dangerous look as Lady Gormley tuts in disapproval. "Come now, Miss Darrow. You've kept us waiting. You look like you've seen a ghost!" [["I have, and she warned me about you."]]

"My darling, would you please turn up the lights?" Lady Gormley says quietly. As instructed, Lord Gormley turns a small golden dial on the wall. The gas lamps flicker on to full force, one by one illuminating a room that is much larger than you expected. As your eyes adjust to the light, chandeliers tinkle faintly above you as you admire a lushly decorated parlour, replete with finely woven Turkish rugs, sumptuous ottomans, a pianoforte. Everything in it is some variation of blue - cerulean, turquoise, robin’s egg, navy. And then, of course, there is your audience. All girls your age. Scores of them. You feel exposed, they way they stare at you. It takes you a moment to realise they aren't moving... or breathing. Something is very, very wrong. You sensed it the moment you walked in, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, not just from the cold. Lady Gormley snaps her fingers, her voice a command. "Follow me, if you would my dears. We're taking a turn about the room." [[“I'm not following you anywhere until you explain what's going on, you crazy bitch!”]] [[“Who were these girls?”]] [["Wax mannequins?"]]

Lady Gormley does not seem shocked or affronted. If anything, she looks… disappointed. “Really, Miss Darrow? Can you not think of a more inventive expletive? One that does not rely on centuries of dehumanising the fairer sex’s nature to that of animals?” [[“Frankly, I think bitch suits you perfectly.”]] [[“Get the hell out of my way.”]] [[Take a swing at her.]]

Lady Gormley looks almost sad. “Must I tell you so plainly?” she says. “These girls… they came here like you. Although, they were not quite like you. They wanted to be rich, noble… perfect. While I could not promise them the former… I think in death, the latter is the least I can give them.” [[“What you do to their bodies is a disgrace!”->Soured]] [[“How on earth did you get them… like that?”]] [[“This is disgusting. //You// are disgusting.”->Soured]]

"See for yourself, my little darling." Lady Gormley’s expression darkens like a tempest. “Either way… I could not let my girls rot in a grave, their bodies stolen by would-be doctors and greedy bodysnatchers. I love them too much for that.” [[“//This// is love?”->“How on earth did you get them… like that?”]] [[“I suppose I understand… delusional as you may be.”->Soured]] [[“You do love them. Do you not also love us? Just let us leave!”]]

Lady Gormley laughs, her smile resplendent. “Oh, I knew that you and I were cut of the same cloth. I take it as a compliment. Truly, I do.” Your lip curls into a sneer. “It’s part of the reason we chose you. We knew you had fight in you – isn’t that right, my dear?” Lord Gormley smiles like a fox. “Indeed, it is.” [[“We are nothing alike. I want nothing to do with you.”->All Bitch Options]] [[“If you just let us leave, I swear you will never hear from us again.”->All Bitch Options]] [[“You ‘chose’ me? Like some prize horse in a race?”->All Bitch Options]]

"You can't leave. Not now. You've passed the point of no return. And what you have seen here will either die with you, or you will learn to be silent." Your skin crawls at the thought of being drained and trussed like an animal for taxidermy. You glance at Lavinia. [["I won't let you hurt Lavinia."]]

Now is not the time for words. You lunge from your seat, throwing your full weight behind your punch. But Lady Gormley easily evades you as if you misstepped on the dance floor, and you find yourself stumbling to catch yourself. She tuts. “Violence already, darling? How //delightful//. I was betting on you to make the first move. My dear Roland thought otherwise. Isn’t that right, my dear?” “I anticipated a more tactical approach,” Lord Gormley shrugs with a lazy smile. “But I am not a sore loser.” [[“Get the hell out of my way.”]] [["Speak. Now."->Backstory]]

Lady Gormley studies you, as if trying to read your intent. "It is... difficult to explain. But you are welcome to take a closer look, if you promise to reserve your judgement," she says quietly. [["Absolutely not."->Soured]] [["Lead the way."]]

Lady Gormley falters for a moment, her steely façade cracking like porcelain. She holds her head, as if trying to keep it from splitting apart. "I do. I //do//. I love all of my girls... But you're different, Alexis. I think you've always known that. I see so much of myself in you... the fire I had before–" She cuts herself off abruptly. "It is... difficult for me to explain. [["Absolutely not."->Soured]] [["I'll listen if you'll tell me."->Backstory]]

"I won't go!" Lavinia says firmly, before her eyes plead with yours. “Coming here was our last hope. It was my last hope. Do you think my mother would have resigned herself to so few staff? You were lucky to stay as long as you did... You don't understand, Alexis. You've never had desires beyond me. But I can't live on your love alone. My family can't live on that. I //need// this." [["Please, Lavinia. We don't need this. We don't need them!"->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [["Then you are no better than them. You disgust me."->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [["What are you saying? That we never meant anything to you?"]]

Lady Gormley smiles. "Isn't everything a game, my dear?" In moving toward you, she steps over Séraphine's body. Blood is sure to stain the soles of her shoes, yet she pays it no mind. "You are a survivor," she says, voice honeyed. "You should know as well as I that life is cruel, Alexis." "And what good becomes of it?" you ask. You mean to continue, but something gives you pause. [[Pay attention. ->Closet Ex Machina - Lavinia Dead]]

“Do you think you are the first to utter such a thing?” Lady Gormley asks. “Some express disgust, horror, intrigue. All bargain for their lives. Some succeed. Most do not. But remember //you// opened the door. You always had a choice. Just as you do now." [[“Answer me one thing… why?” ->Backstory]] [[“I never had a choice! You tried to make us into monsters!”->->Lady Gormley's Denial]] [[Remain silent.->Lady Gormley's Denial]]

Lady Gormley gestures for you to follow her. Lavinia haunts your steps, but Séraphine stays put, knuckles white on the armrests of her chair. You quietly walk across the carpet, barely making a sound. As you round the couch, your breath catches in your throat. The girl on the couch is not alive. [[Let out a scream.->Horror/Scream]] [[Stifle your horror.->Horror/Scream]]

Lavinia’s blood is still hot and sticky on your hands as you dash up the stairs, and you smear it on your skirts as you hike them in an effort not to trip. You have no idea what the girl behind you is doing but you don’t want to look back. You can hear enough of it — the sickening crunch of bones, a howl that sounds more beast than human. It lights a fire in your chest, beneath your heels, and you race through the mansion, headed for the door. You stumble out into the stable yard and find a saddled horse tied to a mounting post, as if it were waiting for you. Maybe it was, a parting gift from Clarissa. You thank a god you never cared for anyway as you haul yourself on top of its broad back and set it galloping as you cling for dear life. [[Keep riding.]]

Your mount thunders on. Then— (text-colour:orange)[''//BOOM!//''] You dare look behind you to see the Gormley estate in flames, smoke billowing from the crumbling structure. The scent of gas lamps hits you as the wave of heat does. No one could have survived that. You feel a pang of hurt for the girl who had saved you, for Lavinia’s still cooling body, now likely reduced to charred ashes. There is nothing to be done but press on, get away and start over, wherever that may be. [[Start fresh.]]

A long ride, some helping hands, and a boat ride later, you’ve settled yourself in Ireland, hoping to start afresh in your mother’s country. But the beautiful island she had always told you about when you were young is harsher than you thought it would be; you’re worse off here than you had been working for the Irvings. You manage to find temporary work as a scullery maid. One evening, you return to the room you share with several other girls to find a crisply folded paper on your bed. It is sealed with blue wax, embossed with an eerily familiar coat of arms. When you pick it up, it smells faintly of roses. [["What could this possibly be?"]] [[Set it aside.]] [[Burn it.]]

Your hands shake as you slip your finger beneath the fold and break the seal. //Darling Alexis, Your masterful escape was well played. We applaud you and the accompanying theatrics. Lavinia did not deserve a flower as bright as you. We would like to extend our offer once more, for you to join us. Things in Ireland may not improve, and you deserve more than rags. Yours, always, Lord and Lady Gormley// The words stick in your chest; an offering of something more, far beyond what you’ve been able to achieve on your own. But will you take it? Or is it better to be free of them forever? //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

Someone is playing a trick on you, somehow. Or you are tired from your work and imagining things. You set the letter aside, intent on undressing and climbing into bed to rest your weary bones. You’ll have to pick up another shift somewhere else and you know rest is the only thing you have left. Still, the letter taunts you. You can’t resist. [["What could this possibly be?"]]

Your hands tremble as you hold it. You can’t think of anything but the fire that had consumed the Gormley estate. This cursed object should not haunt you any longer. They should not be allowed to haunt you any longer. You hold the letter to the candle, watching the flames eat the paper inch by aching inch. One of your roommates shifts from her slumber at the scent of something burning, but when she sees it’s no threat, she settles again. Soon all that is left is the melting blue wax and ash that drips onto the small table, joining countless other globs of now cooled wax from endlessly burning candles. //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

You grab Lavinia’s hand and dash for the stairs. She stumbles behind you but by some small mercy, neither of you spill to the ground. You hike up your skirts in an effort not to trip and hope she thinks to do the same. You have no idea what the girl behind you is doing but you don’t want to look back. You can hear enough of it — the sickening crunch of bones, a howl that sounds more beast than human. Lavinia’s hand is clammy in yours, but she holds tight; you do not doubt she is not there. It lights a fire in your chest, beneath your heels, and you race through the mansion, headed for the door. You both stumble out into the stable yard and find a saddled horse tied to a mounting post, as if it were waiting for you. Maybe it was, a parting gift from Clarissa. You thank a god you never cared for anyway as you haul yourself on top of its broad back and help Lavinia up behind you. Then you set it galloping as you both cling for dear life. Lavinia’s warmth at your back keeps you grounded. [[Press on.]]

Your mount thunders on, unaffected by two riders. Then— (text-colour:orange)[''//BOOM!//''] You dare look behind you, craning past Lavinia’s shoulder to see the Gormley estate in flames, smoke billowing from the crumbling structure. The scent of gas hits you as the first wave of heat does. No one could have survived that. You feel a pang of hurt for the girl who had saved you, for the staff that were caught in the blaze. Lavinia’s arms are tight around your waist as she buries her face in your shoulder to hide her eyes from the horror. [[“Let’s find a place to settle down.” -> All escape options]] [[“Good riddance.”-> All escape options]] [[“We should be safe now.”-> All escape options]]

Months later, you’ve found yourselves in Scotland, living a life that does not look how you pictured it, but allows you some safety and time with Lavinia. No one here knows who you are or what you have been through, and the boarding house you’ve found temporary lodging in is amicable enough. You return from a walk to find a letter on the table in your room, addressed to the both of you. It is sealed with blue wax, embossed with an eerily familiar coat of arms. When you pick it up, it smells faintly of roses. [[“What could this possibly be?”]] [[Reach for a candle.]]

Someone could be playing a trick on you, but your curiosity overwhelms your horror. Your hands shake as you slip your finger beneath the fold and break the seal. Lavinia peers over your shoulder. She gasps as she reads along. //Our darlings Alexis and Lavinia, Your masterful escape was well played. We applaud you and the accompanying theatrics, though we do wish you’d have spared a thought for the staff. Should you need a guiding hand in your new life, just know we are here. Yours, Lord and Lady Gormley// //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

You can’t think of anything but the fire that had consumed the Gormley estate. This cursed object should not haunt you any longer. //They// should not be allowed to haunt you any longer. You move the paper toward the flickering candle. “Wait!” Lavinia snatches the letter from you before you can feed it to the singular flame. “The hearth can do it faster.” She’s right—though you’d prefer a slow destruction, it’s best to do away with this as quickly as their house had gone up. You gather your skirts and crouch beside the small fireplace to light it. When it roars to life, you toss the letter in the flames. The wax melts and even amid the smell of the fire and ash, you catch one last whiff of roses before a glob of wax falls deeper into the coals. Lavinia’s gaze is fixed on the flames well past the cremation. You see the light flicker in her eyes. “I wonder what they wanted,” she says. //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

You anxiously pace around the library, reminding yourself to breathe. The thought of being foisted upon some man you’ve never met turns your stomach. You worry what will happen if Lavinia is chosen and you become separated - this time forever. You’ve improved well enough, you hope. Your handwriting has certainly gotten better. You can apply yourself to any trade. Perhaps if Lavinia would hear reason and run away with you, you //could// make it together. [[Look through the books.]]

You rifle through an old medical treatise on wasting diseases of the venereal extraction, when suddenly something falls out of its pages and onto the floor with a little //clink//. "A key?" Lavinia remarks. "I wonder what it opens?" "Maybe we can find out," you suggest, just as Lady Gormley's maid reappears. "Miss Irving, she will see you now." Lavinia turns from you. "Maybe another time, Alexis," she says, gripping your hand, before pulling away from you. You know she cannot kiss you - but the injustice does not sting any less. [[Take the key. ->Wander through the house.]] [[Leave the key. ]]

You hover by Lavinia as she stares out the window. She looks so lovely you don't want to ruin the moment. But she doesn't even notice you - her blue eyes focused on the clouds scurrying across the sky like white rabbits. Lavinia seems pensive, agitated. You know her moods almost as well as your own. She's just as worried as you. "Nothing a stolen sweet won't fix," she says, her eyes lighting with a familiar [["Your word is my bond, my lady." ->Sneak into the kitchen.]] [["I'd rather not."]]

Séraphine is curled up in a large armchair, her knees drawn tight to her chest. She bares her teeth at you in a frosty smile - she wants nothing to do with you. But she looks little more than a frightened animal, caught in a cage. You suppose you all are, in a way. [[Pace the floor.]] [[Look through the books.]]

You ignore the key and its seductive intrigue. Whatever secrets it holds, you aren't interested. Staying with Lavinia until the last possible moment is all that consumes you. [[Talk to Lavinia.]]

You return to the library a feverish need to find Lavinia burning within you. When you try to open the door, you find that it is locked. You jiggle the handle, but to no avail. You begin to check other doors at random as you rush down the hallway. All of them are locked to you. Surely there were not so many keys on Lord Gormley’s ring… [[Check the first floor.]]

The young woman cocks her head at you. "She is going down, down below," she whispers, holding her face in her hands as she rocks back and forth in place. "Like all the others." Her words are like ice in your heart, your panic rising as you try to grasp at what she means. But every minute you waste is another moment that Lavinia could be in grave danger. You can't afford to wait for clarity. [[Return to the library.]]

You slip from the library and head down to the kitchens where the servants are busily preparing for the evening meal. You know your way around nosy maids and stingy chefs by now and find yourself in the pantry. You grab an apple for Lavinia from one of the baskets and start to make your escape when your slipper crunches over broken pottery. You hear something... or someone rifling through the sacks and jars at the far end of the room. [[Surprise the creature.]] [[Make yourself known.]] [[Grab a kitchen knife.]]

Lavinia looks disappointed but shrugs. "Fine then," she pouts. [[Pace the floor.]] [[Look through the books.]] [[Talk to Séraphine.]]

You creep toward the noise, assuming you will find an enterprising stableboy. To your shock, a //girl// stumbles out of the darkness. She is not much older than you, dress splattered with dried blood. A scream catches in your throat. You clap your hand over your mouth. [[Run away.]] [[“Who are you?”]]

You step forward, confident that you can scare off whatever has been making off with the Gormleys' victuals. To your shock, a //girl// peers up at you out of the darkness. She is not much older than you, dress splattered with dried blood. A scream catches in your throat. You clap your hand over your mouth. [[Run away.]] [[“Who are you?”]]

You take the knife and approach the creature stealthily. To your shock, a //girl// stumbles out of the darkness. She is not much older than you, dress splattered with dried blood. A scream catches in your throat. You clap your hand over your mouth and the knife clatters to the floor. The girl looks up at you like some feral beast and snarls. [[Run away.]] [[“Who are you?”]]

Despite her excuse, you can't erase the horror of what she's done from your memory. The way her eyes shined with glee even for the briefest moments when she had slaughtered the duck. The way she appeared calm in this moment, while you had to hold bile back. //Do// you even know her anymore? You step toward her, unsure of your intent in the moment, but you see the knife rise, the bloodied steel glinting in the flickering lamplight. She //would// kill you, and it would mean nothing to her. Something within you acts, more animal than human, like Lady Gormley had said. You grab Lavinia's wrist, twist it and shove. Bone cracks. Something squelches. Blood leeches into the fabric of her dress from somewhere in her ribs. It spills onto your hands when you withdraw the knife. Lavinia growls at you, something rattling in her lungs. Blood bubbles from her mouth, staining her teeth red. "Alexis, you //bitch//–" Her final words are cut short by her body going limp in your arms. You collapse to the floor, holding her, looking at the blood on your hands. Blood //everywhere//. Lady Gormley looks upon you with approval. "Well played, Alexis. You were my favourite in this competition," she says. "However, I do so enjoy this turn of events." [[“Placing bets now? Is this a game to you?”]] [["Isn't this what you desired of us?"]] [["I've been waiting to do this for a long time now."]]

Quick as a flash, Lavinia darts from toward the table and snatches the knife. There's no finesse to her movements, but it doesn't matter. She slashes Séraphine's throat open. Blood pours from the jagged gash as Séraphine chokes, scrabbles at her neck in a cruel pantomime of trying to press it back together. She grits her teeth as if to loose a sharp retort upon you, but it's swallowed by the thud of her body collapsing upon the ground. Lord Gormley bursts into applause. "Brava! Bravissima!" You feel sick. You look upon Lavinia with horror. You want to leave, to run, but your body feels rooted in place. Shock creeps up your spine. [["Lavinia, what have you done?"]]

"This is my last hope," she says. She stares at the floor, unable to look away from Séraphine's slowly cooling body. The blood pools around her body. You wonder about the poor housemaid who will have to scrub the stain away later. You wonder how many of them they've had to clean up. “You knew how poor our finances were, Alexis,” she says as if admitting defeat. “Do you think my mother would have resigned herself to so few staff? You were lucky to stay as long as you did.” “What do you mean?” “Coming here was our last hope.” Her eyes turn to you, pleading. “It was my last hope.” [["Surely Séraphine did not deserve to //die//."]] [["And I was not?"]] [["You call this hope?" ->Alexis Kills Lavinia]]

"Do any of us deserve anything?" Lavinia's eyes turn steely. She gestures toward the waxen girls around you, flaunting the bloodied knife. "Do we deserve to end up like //them//?" Neither of you do, certainly. But nor do you deserve to live the life you have lived so far. You reach out your hand as if to gentle a startled creature, hoping to grab hold of the knife. Perhaps without it, Lavinia would return to herself. [["We deserve nothing but what we take for ourselves."]] [["No, we don't. And we won't. I //promise//."->Alexis Kills Lavinia]] [["Of course not, my love. Please, drop the knife."->Lavinia Kills Alexis]]

"Not if I wanted a life beyond that of my parents." Lavainia's eyes turn steely. "Would you have me become like them?" She gestures toward the waxen girls around you, flaunting the bloodied knife. They are the perfect women, something you could never have hoped to achieve even with all the attention from Lady Gormley. It seems, though, that no matter what the outcome, Lady Gormley's loving attention would be lavished upon you and Lavinia, either in life or in death. You scrabble for some semblance of humanity in this twisted game. "And what about my lot in life?" It hadn't mattered to Lavinia before... had it? You no longer think of Lavinia, but yourself and your life together. Your plans, your suppositions, it has all come so far undone. Your mind unspools, and you hardly notice Lavinia moving. The knife in your chest is the last thing you feel, your warm blood cooling over your skin. The last thing you see is Lavinia's face. You cannot tell if she looks anguished or gleeful. It doesn't matter. It's too late for you now. //The End.// [[Replay.->Title]]

The room is still cold, but you suddenly catch a whiff of gas, more strongly now than you had when Lord Gormley turned on the lights. Something moves among the still figures, a stark contrast that draws your eyes, and then Lavinia's. It floats closer, a haunting spectre as if it was the ghost of Séraphine coming to find you. Lavinia trembles beside you. "Christ alive. That //can't// be..." Surprise and shock poisons Lord Gormley's usually calm voice. "Clarissa," Lady Gormley observes coldly. "I did wonder what had become of you." "I've returned, 'mother' dearest." The girl curtseys mockingly, holding up the tattered hem of her filthy dress. You realise with horror, it looks identical to the one you're wearing. [["You're the girl from before!"->Girl From Before 2]] [["Who are you?"->Who are you 2]]

Horror floods your every atom at what you have seen. You turn towards the door, to escape and be gone from here. You no longer think of Lavinia, but yourself and your life together. Your plans, your suppositions, it has all come so far undone. The knife in your back is the last thing you feel, your warm blood cooling over your skin. Lavinia's lips caress your ear one final time. "Goodbye, Alexis. I'm sorry." //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

Lady Gormley gives you a look of confusion. "What were you expecting, my darling? A bloody chamber?" She laughs. [["You're hiding something. I intend to discover what."]] [["I... I don't know. I saw a girl... And she said the strangest things."->"I have, and she warned me about you."]] [["Apologies, my lady. I shall take my seat."->Séraphine's Judgment]]

Lady Gormley smirks. "Ever the clever little mouse," she croons. "I owe you two pounds, my dear." Lord Gormley makes a little note in his personal cheque book. "Duly noted." Are they... placing //bets// on you? What kind of game are they playing? "All shall be revealed in due time, my darling," she says. "Wait for the others to catch up." [[Take your seat.->Séraphine's Judgment]]

You dip your shoulders in a polite bow like you practised and take the seat at the end without complaint. Lady Gormley's eyebrows raise in intrigue, before resuming her final address. "We have brought you here, in the presence of your predecessors, to hand down our final judgement of your abilities. Let it be said firstly: You have all proven yourself capable. And yet, there is only so much we can teach." Your eyes flit over the silhouettes of women, seated and standing all around you, though the light is so bright from above, you cannot make them out clearly. The lowlight catches on the edges of chignons and updos, on luscious silk gown and glittering jewels at throats. "Séraphine Giroux, you came to us with nothing but your father's name and a will to survive. You have proven yourself dedicated to your ascension, from the first moment you tried to sabotage Miss Irving at our little soirée. Regardless, you struggled in matters of execution and tact, qualities every young lady needs." [[Look over at Séraphine.]] [[Look at your hands.]] [[Observe the room.]]

Lady Gormley glances to Lord Gormley, a look of unspoken understanding passing between them. "Alexis!" Lavinia snaps finally. "You are //embarrassing// me." [["I'm only trying to protect you!"->Open Door Policy]] [[Take your seat.->Séraphine's Judgment]] [["I don't take orders from //you//. Not anymore."->Open Door Policy]]

Before Séraphine can offer a word in her defence, Lord Gormley swaggers forward. "Lavinia Irving," he says warmly. "You caught our eye for your charm and fiery temper, in spite of your middle class mother's insistence on propriety. However, we do admit, we were concerned perhaps your character was too soft, too delicate." [[Grab Lavinia's hand.]] [[Keep your hands to yourself.->Alexis's Judgment]] [[Look at the lights.]]

"I was young once, not unlike any of you. The oldest daughter in a household of women. My father died resenting the fact he could never sire an heir. Overnight, our fortune vanished, and I was traded for a paltry dowry - my mother should have known then there was something suspect in the noble widower's intentions." Lady Gormley pauses, tilting her head in cold consideration. "Perhaps she did, and she did not care." You can't help but notice that while Lady Gormley presents a confident air, her face has lost all colour. She looks like a ghost herself in the harsh light. [["What your mother did was wrong."->Backstory 2]] [["Get to the point."->Backstory 2]] [["I'm listening... for now."->Backstory 2]]

Your face flushes with anger. And there is something else festering under it. Hurt. How dare Lavinia speak to you this way? As if you are the problem, as if you are the danger, as if you are nothing but a //servant//. Lady Gormley gestures to the door. "The way out is open. Just as you came in, so shall you go out, if you so choose." [["No, I choose to stay."->Séraphine's Judgment]] [["You'll let me go? Just like that?"]] [[Leave this place.]]

You exit the room, casting one final look at Lavinia. Her blue eyes seem to burn you. You head up the stairs and out the hall. The servants do not try to stop you, merely going about their duties as if you never existed. You leave the estate just as you came, never to see the Gormleys or your love again. Or so you think. The years pass. You find work again as a servant to a noble family in Hampstead. The work is hard and thankless, but it pays better than the Irvings ever did. It is a good life, if a simple one. During one evening ball you are working, you see them: The Gormleys and Lavinia. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs. Lavinia is //stunning//, awash with a confidence and bearing that you had never seen in her before. Lady and Lord Gormley look upon her with the pride of successful parents, ushering their charge out into the world. You notice Séraphine is not among their retinue and wonder about what happened to her, about the strange girl you met, and so many other questions you sought not to answer. It all seems like a strange dream now. You move forward involuntarily. To speak to her just one more time. To touch her hand. But the moment you draw close, she is whisked away from you by the son of the very noble family you now serve. Lavinia's laughing blue eyes lock with yours over his shoulder, and you think of the love forever lost to you in this strange kind of kismet. //The End.// [[Replay. ->Title]]

"You are worth nothing to me if you are not willing," Lady Gormley says. "This is your choice: the last time you will be given it." You look between Lady and Lord Gormley with suspicion, though there is nothing in their countenances that indicates anything less than their genuineness. [[Leave this place.]] [["No, I choose to stay."->Séraphine's Judgment]]

Séraphine looks shaken by the brutal takedown of her character, trembling like a rabbit. "Merde... How did you? No one knew that I–" [["I did, you idiot."->Lavinia's Judgment]] [[Observe Lavinia.]] [[Still there quietly.->Lavinia's Judgment]]

Overwhelmed with thoughts of losing her, that this in spite of everything, even your disagreements, might be it, you lace your fingers into hers. Lavinia immediately pulls her hand away, her sideways glare a shard of ice in your heart. Perhaps for the first time you realise that you are no longer her lover in her eyes, but her //competition//. [[Keep your hands to yourself.->Alexis's Judgment]]

You don't care how Séraphine feels in this moment. You look down at your hands, calloused from years of hard labour from the moment that you could walk and hold a broom. Your fingers trace the jagged scars where you have cut yourself on broken glassware, the rosy bloom of old burns from where lye scorched your skin washing linens. The past summer has mellowed these reminders of your past life, but not removed them completely. You originally came here with the intent of staying with Lavinia... but what if you could do something more? Be //someone// more than you – even Lavinia – could have even imagined? [[Turn back to the Gormleys.->Lavinia's Judgment]]

Something feels... off. You sensed it the moment you walked in, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, not just from the cold. You feel exposed with so many people observing you at once. You squint, trying to see further into the darkness, but cannot. [[Turn back to the Gormleys.->Lavinia's Judgment]]

"And finally... Alexis Darrow." Lady Gormley's smile flashes white and sharp in the harsh light. "You were unknown to us, brought into this game in a surprise turn of events... though not an unwelcome one." The room is quiet. Much too quiet for the amount of people you see watching you from the shadows. //Why is it so damn cold?// You shift uncomfortably in your chair. As if sensing your discomfort, Lady Gormley rounds your chair, her hand resting on the back behind your neck. "You have shown much determination and ambition. You have succeeded where the others have failed. And when you did stumble, you charmed your way back into our good graces, a rare feat." Her fingertips graze your skin, and you cannot help but feel every hair stand on end, attuned to her, electrified. "Still, one thing thing remains unproven, untested. And if you should succeed, you will earn your place here." Lady Gormley sweeps to the centre of the room again, facing you three. [[Accept your judgement quietly.->How far]] [["I hope to win your favour, my lady." ->How far]] [["What is the meaning of all this bluster?"->How far]]

Lavinia sits primly, her shoulders back, at confirmation of this sabotage. For all intents and purposes, she seems at ease... except for the way her fingers dig into the fabric of her gown, as if she wants to tear it to pieces. [[Turn back to the Gormleys.->Lavinia's Judgment]]

You glance upwards and blink at the blinding lights of the chandelier. A faint noxious scent alerts you to the nature of these beautiful fixtures - they are all powered by gas, much like the ones that lead you down the staircase. It is a frivolous thing to have in a house this large and old, not to mention dangerous, should there be a leak. [[Look back at Lady Gormley.->Alexis's Judgment]]

Lady Gormley's expression sours. "Judgement is such an unattractive trait, darling. You think this is repellent? I should have introduced you to my late husband. The first one. His collection was much less... refined." [["Your first husband?"]] [["This is sickening, and there's no excuse for it."->Lady Gormley's Denial]] [["I'll say or do whatever you want. Just let me leave here with Lavinia."->You're Complicit]]

The room is still cold, but you catch a whiff of gas, more strongly now than you had when Lord Gormley turned on the lights. Something moves among the still figures, a stark contrast that draws your eyes. It floats closer, a haunting spectre, as if the ghost of Lavinia has come to find you. "Christ alive. That //can't// be..." Surprise and shock poisons Lord Gormley's usually calm voice. "Clarissa," Lady Gormley observes coldly. "I did wonder what had become of you." "I've returned, 'mother' dearest." The girl curtseys mockingly, holding up the tattered hem of her filthy dress. You realise with horror, it looks identical to the one you're wearing. [["You're the girl from before! You attacked me!"]] [["Who are you?"]]

"And you've done so well, Alexis," Lady Gormley says, drawing closer to you. You let Lavinia's still-warm corpse fall at your feet. You look at Lord and Lady Gormley in a daze. You did this because you wanted their love, no? Love that had always been denied you, love that was more real than what Lavinia offered. You thought this was your choice... your desire to please someone, anyone, is so strong. Are you just a doll too, bidden about by others to play in their vicious games? Or are you a player like the Gormleys believe you to be? [[Stab yourself.]] [[Drop the knife. ->Closet Ex Machina - Lavinia Dead]]

Lady Gormley was right. You //are// a survivor, just like she is. You grit your teeth and charge toward the girl. By some miracle, you do not slip on Lavinia's blood as you collide with her. The force topples both Clarissa and the doll she was beside as she screams in rage. You fall too, a tangle of limbs and skirts and guttural snarls. She struggles, clawing at your eyes, and you sink your teeth into her hand, drawing blood. The iron tang fills your mouth as she screams. You gather your strength, and the knife finally finds its home in her neck. Her hot blood spatters your face as you (text-colour:red)[//stab//] and (text-colour:red)[//stab//] and (text-colour:red)[//stab//] again. Once it is done, you kneel over her mutilated body, panting and flushed. Everything about you hums like a dream. You feel... numb. Inured to the glaring reality of what you have done. Lady Gormley suddenly embraces you, drawing you close and bringing you back into your body. "Oh god, Alexis. I thought you might–" Her voice is lost to a sudden sob, unable to finish that thought. Lord Gormley's hand suddenly cups your chin, solid and warm, grounding you further. "You saved us... And we are forever in your debt, Alexis." [[Hold Lady Gormley tighter. ->Lap of Luxury.]] [[Lean into Lord Gormley's touch. ->Lap of Luxury.]] [["I certainly have some ideas about how you both can repay me..." ->Lap of Luxury.]] [[Stab yourself.->Give it all up]]

When you finally ascend from the basement, you take your first step into the gilded life the Gormleys promised. You spend the next several months learning the ways of a well-born lady in both love //and// savagery. You don't think of Lavinia often... though sometimes you visit her in the cellar. When you accompany the Gormleys to London next spring, you are //transformed//. You receive no less than twenty proposals at the end of the season, including a particularly promising one from a young gentleman recently awarded a barony in the Cotswolds. The life you've always desired is now well-within your eager grasp, and again, you are faced with a choice... You stand on the staircase outside the Gormley estate, your bags packed, ready to go out the door. Lady and Lord Gormley finally come out to see you off. You can tell from Agatha's red eyes that she has been crying. Roland musters a winning smile, but you can tell he is likewise dispirited at your impending departure. [["Thank you for everything. I will make you proud."]] [["Actually... I choose to stay."]] [["Will you recruit another girl once I leave?"]]

Her Ladyship's expression is grim. Almost... tired. "How far does your devotion go? Would you die in pursuit of this life? Would you kill to attain it?" [[Glance at your companions cautiously.]] [["Of course I would, my Lady."->Dead Girls Reveal]] [["Isn't that a bit... drastic? Considering the circumstances."->Dead Girls Reveal]]

Séraphine looks bewildered, even as she nods. "Oui... Je crois, si je l'ai besoin." Lavinia's eyes shine with determination in the light, though she says nothing. [[Turn back to Lady Gormley.->Dead Girls Reveal]] [["You can't be serious."->Dead Girls Reveal]]

Lady Gormley falls silent. "My love--" Lord Gormley begins. "No, no I must speak of it. I must tell what he did. To his former wives. To me. To all these girls. This is my inheritance. These are the spectres I must live with. Their grief is mine and mine alone." [["I don't want to hear it."->Lady Gormley's Denial]] [["Pray tell. I'd love to hear it."->Backstory]]

You pull her into an embrace. Lavinia shudders in your arms, her bird-like form fluttering against you in fear. You try to ignore the sickly sweet scent of death on her. It is like the world closes in around the two of you; if the Gormleys say anything, you cannot remember. You must survive this. [["I promise you this."->Closet Ex Machina - Both Escape]] [[Take Lavinia's hand.->Closet Ex Machina - Both Escape]]

Lavinia's expression wilts, like the bloom of your love from her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Alexis." [["NO!"->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]]

Your words seem to shake Lady Gormley to her very foundations. She opens her mouth, before closing it, then opening it again. "Alexis, I..." Her expression hardens. She laughs. "You almost made me doubt myself. Almost." "You may suppose me to be a murderess, but I never laid a finger on any of these girls. I only presented a door and let the chips fall where they may." Lady Gormley snaps her fingers, and Lord Gormley steps forwards. He whisks the cloth off the table, revealing a long hunting knife. "Do you have what it takes to survive?" Séraphine's eyes reach hopelessly towards yours across the table. Lavinia is equidistant from both of you, glancing between you both with worry. Who will make the first move? [[Grab the knife.->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [[Run.->Lavinia Kills Alexis]] [["I refuse to participate." ->You're Complicit]]

"You may suppose me to be a murderess, but I never laid a finger on any of these girls. I only presented a door and let the chips fall where they may." Lady Gormley snaps her fingers, and Lord Gormley steps forwards. He whisks the cloth off the table, revealing a long hunting knife. "Do you have what it takes to survive?" Séraphine's eyes reach hopelessly towards yours across the table. Lavinia is equidistant from both of you, glancing between you both with worry. Who will make the first move? [[Grab the knife.->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [[Run.->Lavinia Kills Alexis]] [["I refuse to participate." ->You're Complicit]]

"What follows is practically germane. A story too often told to be surprising anymore." Lady Gormley grimaces. "He forced himself on me during our wedding night. And many nights after. He beat me as badly as his horses, but at least they had the good sense to die. Like my husband's many wives before me." [["I am sorry... there are no words."->"You aren't a monster. You are a survivor."]] [["And that justifies this?"->Lady Gormley's Denial]] [["You aren't a monster. You are a survivor."]]

Lady Gormley strokes the girl's cheek. "Her name was Amélie. She had the most darling laugh, and she loved rosehips in her tea." Lady Gormley looks despondent. Haunted. "I failed her." [[Move on to the Perfect Dancer.->Look Closer at the Perfect Dancer.]] [["This is too much for me."->Soured]]

You peer closer, pulling the ribbon from her neck and notice that her neck has been severed - and expertly, almost lovingly, stitched back together. [[Cover your mouth in horror.->Soured]] [["This doesn't explain anything."->Backstory]]

"He never let me in the basement. Said it was off limits. But I was the curious sort, like you. It was then I discovered his plans for me... along with the preserved bodies of his previous wives who also could not bear him sons. I knew then I had to act. Strange how a simple cup of hemlock tea was all it took to end a lifetime of torment. Shortly after I inherited the house, I met Roland." Lady Gormley glances over to her - current - husband. Lord Gormley kisses her hand. "It was the first time I sensed a kindred spirit. Someone who had suffered as much as I had, someone who knew how to survive in spite of every peril. And we vowed then and there that we would not let others suffer as we had. We would make them strong." [["This is madness. All of it."->Lady Gormley's Denial]] [["If I had been in your position, I would've done the same."]] [["You claim you are helping. You claim you make us stronger to survive. But all of this senseless death is... for what? Can't you see this is killing you too?"->Alexis's Appeal to Lady Gormley]]

Lady Gormley seems to soften at your words. "Of course you'd understand." But it is Séraphine who speaks up. "This is madness!" she cries. "You're insane! All of you!" Lady Gormley glances at the frightened girl, annoyed. "You may suppose me to be a murderess, but I never laid a finger on any of these girls. I only presented a door and let the chips fall where they may." Lady Gormley snaps her fingers, and Lord Gormley steps forwards. He whisks the cloth off the table, revealing a long hunting knife. "Do you have what it takes to survive?" Séraphine's eyes reach hopelessly towards yours across the table. Lavinia is equidistant from both of you, glancing between you both with worry. Who will make the first move? [[Grab the knife.->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [[Run.->Lavinia Kills Alexis]] [["Wait, I won't kill them! I refuse to participate!" ->You're Complicit]]

“Oh no, no, no, my dear, Alexis Darrow – you are as much an architect of society as we are,” Lord Gormley interjects. “Your kind always longs to mimic ours – as doth the viceroy to the monarch. Your cheap china, your weak tea, your cheap cotton gowns! Your hands are steeped in blood as much as ours, though you try to deny it." [["That isn't true. It's people like //you// that force us to be cutthroat to survive."->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [["When you put it like that... I suppose I agree. But are you really asking us to...?"->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [["I want no part of this sick game any longer!" ->Lavinia Kills Alexis]]

Lady Gormley cocks her head. "'Refuse to participate'? My darling, you've been playing the game this entire time. You can't back out now. Just look at this wonderful little world we’ve created together.” Lady Gormley gestures to the frozen figures around her before her lips curl into a sneer. “The parties, the dances, the etiquette. The veneer rots the teeth! All hiding the exquisite savagery underneath. I prefer to bring it out into the open – to release you from the shackles of the Ton and their judgement for but a brief moment, so you can relish the taste of the blood you’ve spilt. Woman, at her core, is an animal. So no, I do not make my girls into monsters. I teach them how to survive, as I had to survive. And if they cannot, I give them this. Perfection that they could never hope to achieve in life.” She gestures at the wax dolls, the once living girls around you. [[“That’s your world – not mine.”]] [[“You are the Devil Himself.”->“That’s your world – not mine.”]] [[“You have a point…”]]

Again, you consider your options. The two girls sitting beside you, the cadre of frozen girls posed around you. Lavinia and Séraphine look to you, then back to each other. Who will act first? [[Reach for the knife.->Lavinia Kills Seraphine]] [[Run.->Lavinia Kills Alexis]]

Lord Gormley steps up to the Perfect Dancer with a wistful expression. "I don't know her real name - she didn't give it. But she preferred to be called Anastasia. She wasn't from a noble family and spent her time entertaining the molly houses in London. I loved watching her... She remains the only woman who could lead me across a cotillon floor, save for my Agatha." Lady Gormley snorts at that. "True - next to her, I am a terrible dancer." [["I would've liked to have met her."->Study the Perfect Beauty.]] [["It's a shame she ended up here."->Soured]]

The truth of your words startle even you as you let Lavinia's still-warm corpse fall at your feet. All those years wasted in that façade of love, desperate for something //normal//. But nothing about your relationship was normal: Lavinia was your employer. She cared only for you when she needed you, used you like a tool to clothe her, clean her, yes, even to satisfy her. And somehow, you always knew that. You were happy to play the dutiful knight to her princess... until she turned on you. It hits you all too hard, like Mrs. Irving's fan to your head. //You loved her. You ''killed'' her//. Anger floods every pore of your body - you see nothing but red in that blue room. You face Lord and Lady Gormley, the bloody knife still in your trembling hands. "Alexis," Lord Gormley says with warning. "Play your next hand wisely." [["You will die next!"]] [[Drop the knife.->Closet Ex Machina - Lavinia Dead]] [[Stab yourself.]]

Unable to accept what you have done, you turn the blade on yourself. "Alexis, //no//!" Lady Gormley screams. Lord Gormley lunges forwards to stay your hand. But you press the knife's point deep into your chest before they can stop you. You cry out, the wound painfully sucking the air from your lungs. Lady Gormley cradles you in her arms as you bleed out onto the blue carpet, her hot tears falling upon your face. "Why, Alexis, my darling? //Why//? With your last breath, you spit back your bloody answer. //"I was and will never be never yours." // [[Replay.->Title]]

You lunge forward, toward Lord Gormley, rage coursing through you. He dodges barely in enough time to evade you, knocking over several of the dolls in the process. You regain your balance when a shot rings out. Red blooms under your dress like a bloody flower. You crumple to your knees on the blue Turkish rug. Lady Gormley stands over you with a still smoking pistol, tears springing to her eyes. "It didn't have to end like this, Alexis. We could've given you the //world//." The Gormleys' wounded expressions are the last thing you see as you fade into nothingness. [[Replay.->Title]]

Clarissa looks right at you, sunken eyes //alive//, and pushes over one of the dolls. It topples with a sickening thud that is eerily similar to the noise Séraphine's body made when Lavinia struck her down. Lady Gormley lets out an anguished noise, distraught at the destruction of her careful work. Her attention leaves you, and focuses wholly on the girl. "I could have been any one of these dolls. I escaped, but I could never leave. Not with your hounds sniffing about. So I stayed to warn the next girls, and the next, and the next... Not many have listened." Clarissa glances at you and then nods subtly to the door, allowing you a chance to escape where the others did not... //if// that's what you want. [[Get out of there.->Escape alone.]] [[Kill the girl.]]

The girl - Clarissa - bares her teeth at you like fangs. "A failed experiment. A living doll that Agatha discarded once she broke me," she hisses. "And I won't let another die or become like me." Lord Gormley interjects, standing between Clarissa and Lady Gormley, "You betrayed our trust when you tried to kill my wife - to //replace// her!" Clarissa looks right at you, sunken eyes //alive//, and pushes over one of the dolls. It topples with a sickening thud that is eerily similar to the noise Séraphine's body made when Lavinia struck her down. Lady Gormley lets out an anguished noise, distraught at the destruction of her careful work. Her attention leaves you, and focuses wholly on the girl. "You wanted me to be a doll, to play nice with you, but I wanted //more//." Clarissa continues, her voice rising like a child throwing a tantrum. "But you wouldn't let me have it! You wouldn't let me have //him//! You refused to play your own game so I wanted to leave, but I couldn't. Not with your hounds sniffing about. So I stayed to warn the next girls, and the next, and the next... Not many have listened." Clarissa glances at you and then nods subtly to the door, allowing you a chance to escape where the others did not... //if// that's what you want. The knife is still clenched in your hand as she makes her way toward the three of you, a wake of destruction behind her. She glares at you, eyes wild. "Go!" she growls. "You won't get a second chance." It's too late for her. It's certainly too late for Lavinia and Séraphine, but it isn't too late for //you//. [[Get out of there.->Escape alone.]] [[Kill the girl.]]

You release the tension that you've been suppressing for far too long. You turn to Lord Gormley, grasping him by the back of the neck and biting his bottom lip as you plunder his lips. Roland grips your waist firmly, as if pulling you into a dance, his hips grinding into yours. Your body shudders with pleasure that you've never known before, melting you to water in his embrace. You are granted a place in his bed that evening... and for all nights after. Lord Gormley showers you with tender affection and the sum of your heart's desires. Nothing is denied you. You spend your days dancing with Roland in the ballroom, wiling away even longer nights curled in the crook of his warm body. Months, then years pass in this bliss. Across London, there is a collective sigh that the Gormleys no longer patronise prospective young ladies. You hear the whispers when the two of you walk across a room together. //How fortunate that the young Miss Darrow secured such a place for herself. // The eyes of the Ton attempt to cut you with their glares, but no one can touch you now. Not without your consent. //''Never again.''// You are safe. You are free. You are Alexis, (text-colour:navy)[UNBOUND]. //The End.// [[Replay.->Title]]

You release the tension that you've been suppressing for far too long. You kiss Lady Gormley first, plying her hot mouth open like a bee searching for nectar in the folds of a poisonous bud. Then, you turn to Lord Gormley, grasping him by the back of the neck and biting his bottom lip as you plunder his lips next. Roland grips your waist firmly, as if pulling you into a dance, his hips grinding into yours as Agatha's tongue delicately traces your collarbone before kissing your neck. Your body shudders with pleasure that you've never known before, melting you to water in their collective embrace. You are granted a place in their bed that evening... and for all nights after. Lord and Lady Gormley both shower you with tender affection and the sum of your heart's desires. Nothing is denied you. You spend your days dancing with Roland in the ballroom and tending the garden with Agatha, wiling away even longer nights curled in the crook of their warm bodies. You //never// touch a dirty dish or wash another's laundry again. Months, then years pass in this bliss. Across London, there is a collective sigh that the Gormleys no longer patronise prospective young ladies. You hear the whispers when the three of you walk across a room together. //How fortunate that the young Miss Darrow secured such a place for herself. // The eyes of the Ton attempt to cut you with their glares, but no one can touch you now. Not without your consent. //''Never again.''// You are safe. You are free. You are Alexis, (text-colour:navy)[UNBOUND]. //The End.// [[Replay.->Title]]

You release the tension that you've been suppressing for far too long. You kiss Lady Gormley, plying her hot mouth open like a bee searching for nectar in the folds of a poisonous bud. Agatha's tongue delicately traces your collarbone before kissing your neck. Your body shudders with pleasure that you've never known before, melting you to water in her embrace. That evening, you are granted a place in her bed... and for all nights after. Lady Gormley showers you with tender affection and the sum of your heart's desires. Nothing is denied you. You spend your days with her in the garden, wiling away even longer nights curled in the crook of her warm body. You //never// touch a dirty dish or wash another's laundry again. Months, then years pass in this bliss. Across London, there is a collective sigh that the Gormleys no longer patronise prospective young ladies. You hear the whispers when the two of you walk across a room together. //How fortunate that the young Miss Darrow secured such a place for herself. // The eyes of the Ton attempt to cut you with their glares, but no one can touch you now. Not without your consent. //''Never again.''// You are safe. You are free. You are Alexis, (text-colour:navy)[UNBOUND]. //The End.// [[Replay.->Title]]

Lady Gormley's disbelief is palpable, as is Lord Gormley's. "What... what are you saying? There's nothing more we can teach you." Her dark brows furrow. "You sacrificed so much to be here... I don't understand," Lord Gormley adds, perplexed. Your stomach twists in knots, steeling yourself as they look at you, awaiting your next move. [[Kiss Agatha.]] [[Kiss Roland.]] [[Kiss them both.]]

Lord Gormley kisses your hand. "Know that you will always have a place here." Lady Gormley embraces you a final time, cupping your face in her hands. "You are my greatest achievement, my darling Alexis. Make the Ton //fear// you." You choke back some tears and head for the carriage. They wave you goodbye until they are stolen from your sight. You marry the baron and command a mansion larger than any of the tenement houses you once scraped your meagre existence through for the past twenty years. Though your marriage may be passionless, you are secure. And you //never// touch a dirty dish or wash another's laundry again. //The End.// [[Replay.->Title]]

Lady and Lord Gormley share a pensive glance. "We've been discussing that possibility," Lord Gormley says quietly. Lady Gormley tucks a stray curl from your hair behind your ear. "And we both agree that, as our best, you shall be our last." [["Thank you for everything. I will make you proud."]] [["Actually... I choose to stay."]]

The girl - Clarissa - bares her teeth at you like fangs. "A failed experiment. A living doll that Agatha discarded once she broke me," she hisses. "And I won't let another die or become like me." Lord Gormley interjects, standing between Clarissa and Lady Gormley. "You betrayed our trust when you tried to kill my wife - to //replace// her!" Clarissa looks right at you, sunken eyes //alive//, and pushes over one of the dolls. It topples with a sickening thud that is eeriliy similar to the noise Séraphine's body made when Lavinia struck her down. Lady Gormley lets out an anguished noise, distraught at the destruction of her careful work. Her attention leaves you, and focuses wholly on the girl. "You wanted me to be a doll, to play nice with you, but I wanted //more//." Clarissa continues, her voice rising like a child throwing a tantrum. "But you wouldn't let me have it! You wouldn't let me have //him//! You refused to play your own game so I wanted to leave, but I couldn't. Not with your hounds sniffing about. So I stayed to warn the next girls, and the next, and the next... Not many have listened." Clarissa glances at you and then nods to the door, giving you to escape where the others did not. "Go!" she growls. "You won't get a second chance." [[Get out of there.->Escape with Lavinia.]]

You suddenly feel a weight upon your neck, your wrists, the shackles of your actions. You are a survivor, but you're not //this//. You are not a killer, not like the Gormleys. You turn the blade on yourself. "Alexis, //no//!" Lady Gormley screams. Lord Gormley lunges forwards to stay your hand. But you press the knife's point deep into your chest before they can stop you. You cry out, the wound painfully sucking the air from your lungs. Lady Gormley cradles you in her arms as you bleed out onto the blue carpet, her hot tears falling upon your face. "Why, Alexis, my darling? //Why//? With your last breath, you spit back your bloody answer. //"I was and will never be never yours." // [[Replay.->Title]]