WEEK 3

[strangerpeople]

WEEK 3

[You dream.

She sits across from you, hairpin shining like fire, her violet eyes staring at you. She slides a cup of tea in front of you, but not before mixing in a dollop of something thick and red like fire into it.

She encourages you to drink. Insists, even. For some reason, you feel compelled to obey. The taste is that of honey. As you sip, she talks.

"I'm sure you think I'm a monster. You wouldn't be wrong."

She sips her own tea.

"I had a family, once. A long time ago. A husband. Children, though not mine. It was acceptable. I was satisfied. Then I found my true calling. I had to leave them behind."

Her cup slowly returns to its sauce.

"They're gone now." A pause. "Replaced. As is the reason I abandoned them. A Counsel of Peace...the dreams of a Messenger...a curious experiment...love itself. Maybe none of it mattered, in the end. Maybe we will not matter, either. Maybe what we are trying to do will fail after all."

"But...I am still here. And you know what they would say about reckonings in the Neath..."




Your eyes open. Something has changed inside you. You remembered something. You look around, dazed, before you stumble out of your room.

You are docked, again. A new week, a new po-wait. The hell is this. Yes, you can see it's called Spatium Prison, but when you think of Victorian era prisons...well, this is not what were expecting. Are you sure that the Conductor-whose name you somehow now remember as Lilac-didn't end up in the wrong universe or something?

...No, sadly. There are the tourists. Well. This is going to be...a week.

Hopefully everyone will survive this one.


There are 13 strangers left in this place.]

Comments

[charmingheroine]

[Oh, she's well aware she's being played with. Even more painfully aware that there's no way to get a straight answer from someone who basically holds your damned leash.]

Is doubt such a powerful thing to you, then?

[disregartist]

There is only one thing I have no doubt about in all the universe, my dear.

[charmingheroine]

And what is that?

[disregartist]

[There is darkness on her face, even as she smiles. It is a dangerous smile.]

It is private, I'm afraid.

[charmingheroine]

Well, that rules out death and taxes both at once.

[Honey wouldn't melt in her mouth right now, despite the accent she's allowed herself to backslide into using. It is not the one from that time before, not so affected, not another voice entirely. This is what she would sound like if she didn't care about anything, the way you do not talk if you, a girl, want to be treated like a person by scholarly men from up north.]

I suppose the one running a train between prisons is allowed to keep things from her passengers, isn't she?

[disregartist]

A lady must keep some of her secrets, shouldn't she?

[charmingheroine]

[Oh. Almost her own words from that game. Well then. That's not unnerving at all.]

Indeed. Well, you've been... very informative. Good day.

[And she's off.]