Long after now, far away, beyond any known equation and any known law, beyond shape and size, beyond sound or thought -- and beyond death itself -- floating in a sea of dying light, lies your soul. Bored and ignorant, blissfully damned to remain where it is -- forever.
 
For although you loved (and you loved earnestly), your transgressions were many. And while the game was unfair -- the rules never stated -- know that this punishment is well-deserved.
 
You may have loved. But none more than yourself.
 
Is this not the eternity you craved for?
 
 
Long before now, in the age of knights and false gods, the Great Queen Madeline runs her fingers through her consort's hair. Tears well in his eyes. Even a man of his size must crumble under the knowledge now bestowed upon him. He knows that he cannot do what she asks of him. But he will. He already knows it, just as she does.
 
"Is your life not worthless without me?" she whispers. "Did you not say you would sacrifice everything for me?"
 
"I cannot hurt you." he begs.
 
"It is only a part of the process. Death comes and goes. As my flesh remains, so do I. Take it. Drench it in your saliva. Chew on it until your mouth is numb. Bit by bit, until you have all of me."
 
"And then?"
 
"I will become what you have always said I was. Your very beating heart. Your soul."
 
"And what of me?"
 
"And what of you?"
 
 
Memories do not belong to humans. They are all-encompassing, woven into the fabric of all things. All is written. All is constant. All is eternal -- as you are now.
 
The past lives as the future. The future lives as the past.
 
 
Now -- this moment -- lives, too.
 
You are here. Alive. Standing barefoot in the kitchen of this apartment, staring at the Nespresso machine on your counter. In your hand is a box of coffee capsules, which you've just found to be empty.
 
You crave caffeine. And you are out of coffee.

198BREW: The Age of Orpheus
An Interactive Fiction by DWaM
Release 1 / Serial number 240824 / Inform 7 v10.1.2
Inform 7 v10.1.2
Identification number: //6D68B011-5550-4C22-BF1F-B5C3D264F770//
Interpreter version 2.2.1 / VM 3.1.3

>x nespresso machine
Fiona used this all the time. She said that whenever she felt like she didn't know what to do with herself, she'd get up and make herself a cup of coffee.

No wonder she was always so jittery.

>use nespresso machine
You don't have any capsules.

>open fridge
The fridge is well-stocked. In the corners you can still make out the faintest traces of still-fresh blood. Without a properly-sized freezer, Fiona had no choice but to keep your flesh in here while gathering up the nerve to take the final step.

>x flesh
You can't see any such thing.

>x blood
You can't see any such thing.

>close fridge
The fridge is already closed.

>e

Living Room
It's been three days since you buried the cat.

Everything feels a lot more quiet than it used to be.

There's a tightness in your chest.

The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The only source of light is the TV illuminating the empty couch across it. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>x self
As good-looking as ever.

>x bookshelf
One shelf are the romance novels. One holds the government-mandated history books. Another holds medical books -- she herself wasn't a doctor, but she wanted to learn. Just never got around to it.

The last shelf consists of her sketchbooks. You don't feel like going through them yet.

>x romance novels
On her pushing, you actually got through one. Wasn't half-bad. The steamy scenes were actually steamy. And not just because the whole thing took place in a sauna.

>x tv
The local news station is covering a nearby rally. The footage shows a group of people gathered around a hastily put-together podium. It's a rather thin crowd-- no doubt because of the weather.

You recognize the man of the hour. It's hard not to. His posters are all over the city. It's Reed Luddum.

"Some folks will say I'm advocating for death. For suicide. For euthanasia." his voice booms through the static. "I am not. I am merely asking for the natural order of things to be fulfilled. I am an old man. I should be dead. I was to die three months ago. The only reason I did not is because of a spiteful decision made by a spiteful individual. Am I not worthy of dignity?"

>x tv
"You say this is a cure. You all do. I see it in your frowns, your look of contempt, your smirks. You think I'm ungrateful. You treat me as I'm questioning the Earth revolving around the Sun." Luddum coughs. "But how is this a cure? The dying and in pain will continue to be dying and in pain. The lonely and depressed may very well be forced to stay in that state.  Are we supposed to be joyful to an unstoppable population growth? Or should we find relief in the inevitable compromise that only those with means are to be blessed with this? We have asked ourselves this before -- people far cleverer than me, a long while ago -- and we chose not to answer them. Because it was easier. Because it was easier to get used to it than to fight it. And now, the Earth makes another turn around the Sun, and light keeps shining in our paradise. But can't you see the apple has already been bitten?"

You can't make out the audience reaction.

>x tv
"Does my way of speaking tire you? Fine. Let me make it easier. Let me ask you in a way you will understand. Do you know what the only redeeming quality of dictators is? They're human. Therefore, they die. They have no choice but to.

"To human is to die. Don't you understand? If there is no death, what are we?"

>x tv
Luddum continues with his usual talking points.

>s

Bedroom
Fiona never owned much, but what she had she kept orderly in the most chaotic way possible. For instance, her books -- the ones that she didn't want in the living room -- are laid out in the very corner of the bedroom, stacked together in a perfect box-shaped pile from which you cannot see any actual titles, side for the very top layer of the pile. Her clothes are unfolded and violently stuffed in the different shelves of the walk-in closet. Yet, each shelf is denoted with the proper color combination and occasion.

In the other corner of the room is a Terminal. It's still on.

The bed is modest, but fairly spacious. As you catch sight of the plastic sheet beneath it, you remind yourself you'll never share this bed with her again.

>x terminal
The gate to the Net. Some call this a "computer." The cable runs all the way from here, through the living room, down to a little hole leading to the basement, where the rest of the complex is connected. Fiona was an avid user. You, on the other hand, hate the thing. Even when it's off, you can still hear a faint clicking coming from the machine. Nobody else ever heard it, though.

Might just be your imagination.

Either way, you can't understand how this thing made phones so obsolete in pretty much every household.

It's currently on.

>read terminal
The gate to the Net. Some call this a "computer." The cable runs all the way from here, through the living room, down to a little hole leading to the basement, where the rest of the complex is connected. Fiona was an avid user. You, on the other hand, hate the thing. Even when it's off, you can still hear a faint clicking coming from the machine. Nobody else ever heard it, though.

Might just be your imagination.

Either way, you can't understand how this thing made phones so obsolete in pretty much every household.

It's currently on.

>use terminal
You click aimlessly, opening a random post:

I keep experiencing the same day over and over again. And I don't know what to do anymore.

>use terminal
You click aimlessly, opening a random post:

i saw crows feasting on human flesh
>use terminal
You click aimlessly, opening a random post:

The Blood is just a way of controlling us. Don't fall for it.

>use terminal
You click aimlessly, opening a random post:

I love you. I always will. I regret nothing.

-- F
>turn off terminal
You switch the Terminal off.

>n

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The only source of light is the TV illuminating the empty couch across it. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>turn off tv
You switch the TV off.

>e

Bathroom
The first thing to catch your eye in the bathroom is the one thing that feels most out of place -- your own reflection.

The mirror  hangs above the sink. A pair of toothbrushes sit in a plastic cup in the corner of the sink. You keep forgetting that you're supposed to throw the other one out now. For some reason, it feels awkward to choose which one. Was there usually a choice like this?

To the left is the toilet. To the right is the shower.

The door to the west leads back to the living room.

>x reflection
You look good. A little on the tired side, but nothing that coffee can't fix.

>x shower
This was the last place you truly held her. You held her tight. You still remember her running her fingers through your hair.

>w

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>n
A cold chill passes through you as you lock the door behind you. In retrospect, going into a blizzard with nothing but shorts and a T-shirt might've been a bad idea.

No matter, though. The feeling is only temporary. The chill goes just as easily as it came. There's nothing the cold can do to hurt you, after all.

Nothing can hurt you.

It's what makes you such a perfect modern-day monster.

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>w

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.
 You can't help but stare.

He doesn't move, nigh frozen, but his eyes are as alert as ever. Even in the storm, they're perfectly locked to you.

"Fiona." he mouths, voice unheard..

It's the first time you're called that.

The first time is always the worst.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>
I beg your pardon?

>w

Coffee Shop
With the wind finally deafened, you let yourself breathe. The little coffee shop is mercifully empty. The light doesn't go past the window booths, leaving most of the shop in the shadows of menu holders and falling snow. Only further back, next to the counter, is a jukebox playing Bodell's "Good Bye-Bye-Bye". It's a hypnotic tune, downright mesmerizing -- and almost never-ending.

Like the worst kind of goodbyes.

The barista doesn't seem to mind. Mind you, he seems to mind plenty -- given the disheveled hair and the face buried in his hands.

Maybe he's had a goodbye of his own?

To the east is the door leading back outside.

>ask barista for coffee
(the barista first taking the empty box of coffee capsules)
The barista has better things to do.

>buy coffee
Nothing is on sale.

>take coffee
You already have that.

>i
You are carrying:
  an empty box of coffee capsules

>talk to barista
"I know."

The young man sighs.

"I know. I know who you are. I know what you want. Not that it's hard to guess. This is a coffee shop. But I know you wouldn't be here if you didn't have to be. I know your machine broke. I know exactly the kind of coffee you'll ask for. A nice latte, with two sugars, medium-size. I know that I'll tell you we're out of milk -- because we are -- and you'll switch the order to a double espresso. And then you'll sit -- at that corner booth over there, and you'll longingly look out the window, and you'll look a bit sad. Then you'll get up -- after exactly thirteen minutes -- give me the cup and the saucer, and leave."


He lifts his gaze. His eyes are bloodshot.

"And if I ask you, at any point in time during those thirteen minutes, how you aren't cold, or what brought you out in this weather, you'll make up a story. I say you'll make it up, because one time -- just once -- I don't know how or why -- you actually told me who you are. What you are. Whose face that is. And you looked so sad."


"And I'm not gonna bother trying to figure out what those magic words were because I don't care. I don't care! I don't care about anything anymore! I'm done! I've tried to fix this! I've tried to do everything right and it was never good enough! Every day, I wake up, and every day it's THIS day! And every time I try to make someone believe me, they just laugh or -- worse yet -- tell me I'm spitting in the face of the great Andrew Adin!"


"Well, guess what? Fuck Andrew Adin! And fuck YOU! Fuck you and fuck your coffee!"


"Oh, you really want it? Well, how about this? How about someone else does all the work for once? Hm? How about you fix everything for me, because I sure as shit don't know what else to do!"


"The only thing -- the one thing -- I've consistently failed at is the assassination. That guy outside -- the guy with the phone -- will get his phone call. And he'll be told to kill Reed Luddum. And that's the one thing I don't know how to change or stop.


"He doesn't want to get away from that phone, and when he does get it, he does what he's told without fail. I can't get him to see reason. And I can't stop him. Violence didn't help. Old man's stronger than he looks."


"So, if you want your coffee -- get that old man to just -- stop. How's that?"


"I don't want you repeating my mistakes. But if you want a starting point, maybe asking around about the queen will help. That's all I'm gonna say on that."

>ask barista for a nice latte with two sugars medium-size
You can't see any such thing.

>look
Coffee Shop
The little coffee shop is mercifully empty. The light doesn't go past the window booths, leaving most of the shop in the shadows of menu holders and falling snow. Only further back, next to the counter, is a jukebox playing Bodell's "Good Bye-Bye-Bye". It's a hypnotic tune, downright mesmerizing -- and almost never-ending.

Like the worst kind of goodbyes.

The barista's elbows rest on the counter. He seems to have calmed down a little bit. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem any friendlier than he was before.

To the east is the door leading back outside.

>e

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>talk to old man
You can't see any such thing.

>talk to phone man
You can only do that to something animate.

>talk to jacob
"Fiona..."

With every mention of the name, his eyes bring themselves closer and closer to life.

"...Fiona! Good God. Are you okay? What's happened? Why are you walking around in this weather...?"


"...Is it him? That man? I told you he was nothing but trouble, my girl. There's something in him. Something rotten. I can tell. He hasn't hurt you, has he?"


"No...? Well, in any case, you should heed my warnings. Just as you should exercise common sense. Get out of here! You'll freeze to death!"

He looks down at his lap.

He chuckles. "Ah. Yes. I suppose I'm aware of the irony. But this is different. This is the will of something greater than me. I can't leave it behind. I won't."


In a strange way, you pity this man. Even if that phone ever rings -- and it will, eventually -- whatever awaits him will only serve the purposes of the Church. Will the pat on the back be enough for the dirty work he will no doubt be forced to do?

>unplug phone
That's not a verb I recognise.

>disconnect phone
That's not a verb I recognise.

>take phone
That's hardly portable.

>ask jacob about queen
"Nobody knows who she is or what she looks like. As strange as it sounds, I'm not sure it matters? She's more than just a person. More than an idea. She's a rule of physics. She exists because she has to exist. She is the one with the answers, and she gives them to us for our loyalty."

He looks up. "Obviously, there are members and entities even above her. But, in my mind... Just getting to meet her would be enough."

>look
Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>s

Train Station
With the restrictions being what they are, few trains go through the town these days. Those who left are long-gone. Those who stayed still think they know better. There's a secret, third kind, that had their travel application approved and are sitting on a rare ticket leading out of here.

Their kind is secret for a reason. You're not sure if such people are even real.

The emptiness of the train station doesn't offer much hope.

It's quiet. Not even the storm's wailing can breach this place. The only sounds are the echoes of your own footsteps. With every click-clack, the station feels like it grows in size -- the ceiling grows higher, the steps further away. The longer you look around, the more convinced you are time itself is somehow expanding, too; the grand clock above the ticket booths seems to move slower and slower as you stare at it.

Has the woman attendant at the ticket booth noticed that, as well? If so, she doesn't seem to be troubled in the slightest. Instead, she sits, looking straight ahead, a faint smile on her lips.

Further up ahead is a lone phone booth. The phone itself is hanging from its hook. But you can make out the dial tone. Just barely.

To the north is the exit.

>hang up phone
That's not a verb I recognise.

>answer phone
(to the attendant)
There is no reply.

>talk to attendant
"You can go many places. But you can never leave."

>ask attendant about queen
"Why do you ask questions you have no real desire for me to answer?"

>ask attendant about queen but pretend that i care
"Why do you ask questions you have no real desire for me to answer?"

>enter phone booth
That's not something you can enter.

>x phone boot
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the phone booth.

>x phone booth
You see nothing special about the phone booth.

>x phone
You see nothing special about the phone booth.

>touch phone
You feel nothing unexpected.

>x clock
With every tick, the universe expands. With every tock, shrinks back again. It's breathing. It's alive. Millennia and millennia from now, you will understand the nature of its being. Wrapped in its eternal, beautiful hold.

But now. Not at this moment.

Tick. You are still here.

Tock. You are still here.

>n

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>e

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>x statue
The Father of Eternity. Or whatever came closest to it.

The story goes that one cold night, Andrew Adin found himself stuck in a time loop. Reliving the same day over and over and over again. For an eternity. The only escape -- if he could call it that -- was his own research. Having the same day at your disposal meant he had all the time in the world, quite literally, to make a breakthrough. What he found was, by all accounts, astonishing:

The Blood. A mysterious mutation present in some people that, when ingested by others, extends their lifespan -- to the point where it's impossible to die of old age.

To his dying breath, Adin claimed there was a version of him still trapped in that time loop -- stuck for all of eternity. Perhaps, he reasoned, all of this was merely a figment of his imagination?

Another hypothesis he had was that, upon his death, he would re-awaken back in the loop.

No wonder, then, that he ingested the Blood himself.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>w

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth. You wonder if something like that would bother art lovers.

Maybe that's why there aren't any.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you spot the receptionist. She sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it. 

When she first sees you, she musters enough energy to give a light nod, but no more than that. She doesn't even seem to mind that you're practically in your underwear.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>ask receptionist about queen
Finally, the receptionist musters the strength to stop ignoring you.

"Welcome to the James Halsey exhibition. Unfortunately, due to the high demand, we are currently only able to accept visitors who have already purchased a ticket."


You take another look around. The place is, indeed, empty.


"Now, now. I see you're disappointed." she smiles. "But I don't make the rules. And, ah, before you ask, I'm afraid that I can't offer you any tickets for purchase. It's not that you're in your underwear or anything. We don't discriminate. They're not really for sale to begin with. The painting chooses its visitors. It's very particular about that."


What?


"I didn't say that. I didn't say anything. Don't even worry about it. You're not in the know. You're not supposed to be in the know. Why would you be? Look at you. You're too cute to be in the know. Why are you here, anyway? What're you doing out in this weather?. Did you get forced to wait on the phone? You know you're allowed to at least wear clothes, right?"


"No? I guess you don't really strike me as the type, anyway. You're also too cute to just be flat-out homeless. What's the deal? You looking to freeze to death? There's better ways of offing yourself, you know."


"Don't get me wrong, though."

She takes your hand and pulls it closer. Before you realize what's about to happen, she's already planted a kiss on the back of it.

"...You're too cute to be dead. So, whatever's making you give me such a sad look, I'm sure it'll pass. But not here. And not by going up those stairs. Trust me. Go home. Rest. It'll be better."


You can't think of anything to say. She doesn't think there's anything more TO say.

>
I beg your pardon?

>e

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>s

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>s

Bedroom
Fiona never owned much, but what she had she kept orderly in the most chaotic way possible. For instance, her books -- the ones that she didn't want in the living room -- are laid out in the very corner of the bedroom, stacked together in a perfect box-shaped pile from which you cannot see any actual titles, side for the very top layer of the pile. Her clothes are unfolded and violently stuffed in the different shelves of the walk-in closet. Yet, each shelf is denoted with the proper color combination and occasion.

In the other corner of the room is a Terminal. 

The bed is modest, but fairly spacious. As you catch sight of the plastic sheet beneath it, you remind yourself you'll never share this bed with her again.

>wear clothes
(first taking the clothes)
That's hardly portable.

>put on clothes
(first taking the clothes)
That's hardly portable.

>dress self
That's not a verb I recognise.

>get dressed
You can't see any such thing.

>x clothes
All that remain are her clothes. Yours -- your previous ones -- you've already gotten rid of.

>wear clothes
(first taking the clothes)
That's hardly portable.

>n

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>n

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>s

Rally
The storm has, it seems, left some undeterred. People in this town have always had a bit of a death wish, but to die in a place like this seems more than a little unworthy. Nobody should die in a rally, let alone in one with such sad attendance.

You can't quite make out who's standing on the makeshift stage above. The silhouette is that of a man, but you've been wrong about these things before. The wind and the murmurs of the modest crowd makes it hard to make out what the speaker is saying. If the people around you can hear, then they look positively unimpressed.

The few words you can make out are inclining you to agree.

"Death."

"Suicide."

"Euthanasia."

A Luddumite, then, no doubt.

In the corner of your eye, you can see a trembling cameraman clutching the tripod. It's hard to tell if he's merely holding it or holding onto it. Whether because of his job or because of his actual beliefs, he seems to be the one most attentive to the actual speaker, occasionally nodding along. Strange, given the pendant around his neck. He's a member of the Church. Those are usually talkative, even in the worst of conditions.

You look around. It doesn't seem like there's a good way to walk around this crowd, thin as it might be.

North leads back to Tallis Street.

>n

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>w

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth.  The receptionist sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it.  Most of her waning energy is going to the chewing gum between her teeth.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>w
The receptionist lightly taps the table. "Sorry, sugar. Can't let you in without a ticket."

>w
The receptionist lightly taps the table. "Sorry, sugar. Can't let you in without a ticket."

>w
The receptionist lightly taps the table. "Sorry, sugar. Can't let you in without a ticket."

>w
The receptionist lightly taps the table. "Sorry, sugar. Can't let you in without a ticket."

>e

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>w

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>w

Coffee Shop
The little coffee shop is mercifully empty. The light doesn't go past the window booths, leaving most of the shop in the shadows of menu holders and falling snow. Only further back, next to the counter, is a jukebox playing Bodell's "Good Bye-Bye-Bye". It's a hypnotic tune, downright mesmerizing -- and almost never-ending.

Like the worst kind of goodbyes.

The barista's elbows rest on the counter. He seems to have calmed down a little bit. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem any friendlier than he was before.

To the east is the door leading back outside.

>x counter
The marble counter is in pristine condition.

>look in trash
You can't see any such thing.

>x jukebox
A lone jukebox. Its light flickers and the sound skips every once in a while -- but the song continues, all the same.

>e

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>s

Train Station
With the restrictions being what they are, few trains go through the town these days. Those who left are long-gone. Those who stayed still think they know better. There's a secret, third kind, that had their travel application approved and are sitting on a rare ticket leading out of here.

Their kind is secret for a reason. You're not sure if such people are even real.

The emptiness of the train station doesn't offer much hope.

It's quiet. Not even the storm's wailing can breach this place. The only sounds are the echoes of your own footsteps. With every click-clack, the station feels like it grows in size -- the ceiling grows higher, the steps further away. The longer you look around, the more convinced you are time itself is somehow expanding, too; the grand clock above the ticket booths seems to move slower and slower as you stare at it.

Has the woman attendant at the ticket booth noticed that, as well? If so, she doesn't seem to be troubled in the slightest. Instead, she sits, looking straight ahead, a faint smile on her lips.

Further up ahead is a lone phone booth. The phone itself is hanging from its hook. But you can make out the dial tone. Just barely.

To the north is the exit.

>ask attendant for ticket
(the attendant first taking the ticket booths)
The attendant has better things to do.

>x ticket booths
A row of ticket booths stretches across the entirety of the southern wall of the station. Oddly enough, however, they're all empty, save for one.

>look behind phone booth
You can't see any such thing.

>n

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>n
You can't go that way.

>e

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>s

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>s

Bedroom
Fiona never owned much, but what she had she kept orderly in the most chaotic way possible. For instance, her books -- the ones that she didn't want in the living room -- are laid out in the very corner of the bedroom, stacked together in a perfect box-shaped pile from which you cannot see any actual titles, side for the very top layer of the pile. Her clothes are unfolded and violently stuffed in the different shelves of the walk-in closet. Yet, each shelf is denoted with the proper color combination and occasion.

In the other corner of the room is a Terminal. 

The bed is modest, but fairly spacious. As you catch sight of the plastic sheet beneath it, you remind yourself you'll never share this bed with her again.

>search books
You find nothing of interest.

>look under books
You find nothing of interest.

>look under terminal
You find nothing of interest.

>look behind terminal
You can't see any such thing.

>n

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>look under bookshelf
You find nothing of interest.

>x bookshelf
One shelf are the romance novels. One holds the government-mandated history books. Another holds medical books -- she herself wasn't a doctor, but she wanted to learn. Just never got around to it.

The last shelf consists of her sketchbooks. You don't feel like going through them yet.

>x sketchbooks
You're not ready to go through these yet.

>x history books
Everything from ancient history to Andrew Adin to the Golems. It's all in here. And it's all mostly bullshit.

>x medical books
You never understood her fascination with her human body. Looking back, you suspect it was because she was so utterly detached from the concepts of humanity that led her to study them, like a foreign species.

>x romance novels
On her pushing, you actually got through one. Wasn't half-bad. The steamy scenes were actually steamy. And not just because the whole thing took place in a sauna.

>look under couch
You find nothing of interest.

>x couch
You still remember that night, when you snuggled on the couch, and she, for the first time, leaned in and whispered softly in your ear:

"I love you."

>e

Bathroom
The mirror  hangs above the sink. A pair of toothbrushes sit in a plastic cup in the corner of the sink. You keep forgetting that you're supposed to throw the other one out now. 

To the left is the toilet. To the right is the shower.

The door to the west leads back to the living room.

>x toothbrushes
The red one is -- was? -- yours. The purple one was Fiona's. You're not sure which one you're supposed to use. Typically, you never got that close with your host.

>x toilet
It's a toilet.

>look behind toilet
You can't see any such thing.

>look in shower
You find nothing of interest.

>x mirror
You look good. A little on the tired side, but nothing that coffee can't fix.

>throw away purple toothbrush
You can't see any such thing.

>w

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>w

Kitchen
The black tiles beneath your feet are ice-cold. The buzzing of the fridge is dampened by the whistle of the outside wind. The noise keeps distracting you, and you catch yourself glancing to the window. Of course, there's nothing to see. The snowstorm has left the scenery blank.

Before you is the Nespresso machine.

The doorway to the east leads to the living room.

>listen
You hear nothing out of the ordinary.

>x window
A snowstorm is raging outside. Squinting, you can just barely make out the faint outlines of the street below.

>look under fridge
You find nothing of interest.

>x fridge
The fridge is no less than a decade old. Age has made it turn cocky and rebellious, humming along a little too happily for your liking.

>open fridge
The fridge is well-stocked. In the corners you can still make out the faintest traces of still-fresh blood. Without a properly-sized freezer, Fiona had no choice but to keep your flesh in here while gathering up the nerve to take the final step.

>x blood
You can't see any such thing.

>close fridge
The fridge is already closed.

>e

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>s

Bedroom
Fiona never owned much, but what she had she kept orderly in the most chaotic way possible. For instance, her books -- the ones that she didn't want in the living room -- are laid out in the very corner of the bedroom, stacked together in a perfect box-shaped pile from which you cannot see any actual titles, side for the very top layer of the pile. Her clothes are unfolded and violently stuffed in the different shelves of the walk-in closet. Yet, each shelf is denoted with the proper color combination and occasion.

In the other corner of the room is a Terminal. 

The bed is modest, but fairly spacious. As you catch sight of the plastic sheet beneath it, you remind yourself you'll never share this bed with her again.

>x tarp
You can't see any such thing.

>x sheet
You pull the sheet -- a large blue tarp -- from under the bed and carefully unwrap it. It's covered in sacred blood. Yours.

The blood itself is still fresh. As it always has been and always will be. This blue tarp carries a part of you, permanently separated. In spite of your clear instructions, Fiona had gotten sloppy at this point. You're still unsure what to do with it. Consuming it yourself won't have any effect anymore, the transformation process is complete. You can't accept it properly. Throwing it away feels immoral. And you're too prideful to just let anyone drink it.

Theoretically, if you had some more of the flesh left, you could've gathered all this up and fed it to an animal. You'd only seen it a couple of times, but it would've worked. You're just not sure if you're thrilled at the idea of another version of yourself waking up as an animal.

In the center of the tarp is the knife Fiona had killed you with. You take it, wiping the blood off.

>x knife
A simple kitchen knife. The one Fiona killed you with.

>n

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>n

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>x posters
"DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"

Worse lies have been said. What makes this one so terrible is that Reed Luddum actually believes it.

How could he not? Up until just recently he lived in the world of death. He himself was scheduled to die. The cancer was supposed to eat the rest of his body and give him a painful, but expected, death in his family home.

Then, one morning, he woke up. He still had cancer. And he was still in pain.

He just wasn't dead. Nor will he be for a long time. A different kind of blood runs through him now. The poison of eternity coveted by many.

It must've taken months for him to have not noticed. Little by little. Overnight. The drugs would've made him numb enough to not realize someone was pumping him with the Blood.

Someone, somewhere -- someone who lived in his home, someone he trusted; someone who hated him with every fiber of their being -- is no doubt happy with their handiwork.

>s

Rally
The storm has, it seems, left some undeterred. People in this town have always had a bit of a death wish, but to die in a place like this seems more than a little unworthy. Nobody should die in a rally, let alone in one with such sad attendance.

You can't quite make out who's standing on the makeshift stage above. The silhouette is that of a man, but you've been wrong about these things before. The wind and the murmurs of the modest crowd makes it hard to make out what the speaker is saying. If the people around you can hear, then they look positively unimpressed.In the corner of your eye, you can see a trembling cameraman clutching the tripod. It's hard to tell if he's merely holding it or holding onto it. Whether because of his job or because of his actual beliefs, he seems to be the one most attentive to the actual speaker, occasionally nodding along. Strange, given the pendant around his neck. He's a member of the Church. Those are usually talkative, even in the worst of conditions.

You look around. It doesn't seem like there's a good way to walk around this crowd, thin as it might be.

North leads back to Tallis Street.

>talk to cameraman
You move through the crowd to get a little closer to the cameraman.


He laughs when he catches sight of you. "Bit chilly out. You sure you don't need a jacket, lady?"

Alas, you are currently in need of only one thing.


"Coffee? Ah. Can't help you there. Wish I could get some myself, but..." he nudges his chin to the elusive speaker. "This guy's pretty rowdy. I guess I'd be too, if I was in his shoes. Between you and me, he's not all crazy."


He coughs. "Man. First waiting for the phone and now this. The universe is playing a joke on me." He moves his finger across his pendant. "Maybe I'm finally at the punchline, at least."


Another cough.

"You doing anything after this?"


His face lowers the moment he asks.

Your disinterest must be palpable.

"...Sorry."

>ask cameraman about queen
"Oh. You know about the queen? Well, this is... I mean, with all the stuff I said... Uh...


"...I'm sorry. It's just that waiting for that phone to ring, I got... I don't know. I got to thinking. I got asking myself if any of this makes any sense. It feels like they're just messing with me. And I know that's not okay to say. I'm supposed to be a member and stuff. But I don't know. I don't know! Like, they told me I'll meet the queen. But it feels like just another... test. I don't want to be tested anymore. And I don't know what I want, but it's not this."

He looks to the stage.

"Not if the Blood does that to people. Not if Luddum is right, you know?"


He reaches into his pocket.

"...I'm sorry. I don't think I deserve to have this anymore."


He hands you a piece of paper. On closer inspection, it seems to be a ticket for an art gallery exhibition.


"I'm sorry."

>
I beg your pardon?

>n

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>w

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth.  The receptionist sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it.  Most of her waning energy is going to the chewing gum between her teeth.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>w
You hand the exhibition ticket to the receptionist.

"Hm? You have one?" she mutters. "I think we both know you weren't chosen to see it. But I guess it's not my job to question that. I just make sure you've got one, you know?"

She sighs, ripping the stub off and sliding the other half in her pocket.

But, between you and me? A word of advice?" she cocks her head. "Just glance at the thing and go. If you hear anything, it's just your imagination. It's better for you that way. Got it?"

>w

Exhibition
The "gallery" is ultimately a single room, carrying a single exhibit, featuring a single painting, displaying a single person.

"One for One to One for One"

so says the plaque under the display.

And what a display she is. Her red hair dangles wildly, wrapping itself around her naked flesh. She's frozen in some kind of a dance -- her thighs pressed together and her arms pointed to the sky. The background gives the illusion of expanding and contracting -- a mist of red and purple that protects her -- or is consuming or -- or maybe even is her. It's impossible to know for sure.

Of course, she knows. She knows everything. That's what that look in her eyes seems to be telling you.

The eyes -- those eyes -- are staring right at you. Eating you up. You can almost smell the painting's mist seeping into the room.

To the east is the only way out of this feeling.

>x painting
She stares at you, in expectation. In longing. The texture of her red hair is exquisite, as if it's moving.

As you step closer to the painting, you notice something you hadn't before. There's a strange odor coming off it. Foul. Inappropriate. Unneeded. A blemish to this beauty.

>smell painting
You take a whiff.

There's a strange, unpleasant odor in the room.

>touch painting
"You will do no such thing."

>talk to painting
It comes suddenly. No amount of preparation, and no amount of decades of wonders you have witnessed could have prepared you for it. Her lips do not move. It's the individual strokes of the painting itself that come alive. The mist engulfs the room, taking hold of it -- taking hold of you, taking hold of time, of space, of everything. She is here now. She is looking at you. With those eyes of hers.

"You come before me uninvited. Unworthy and, worse yet, unknowing. But I see in you what I have seen in myself. You are of my kind."


"Behold, then. I am the Great Queen Madeline. Our flesh may be different, but our blood is tied. I am your mother. Or a mother of your mother. Or a father of your father. I am in all of you. I am eternal."


"And of the many things I am, I have been relegated to this. Sad, is it not? Trapped in a painting -- its canvas made of my own skin, and its paint infused with my own blood. I am told James Halsey did this to me. But I know myself well enough to know that I am my own culprit. Curiosity had, no doubt, led me to the creation of this sin. I am my own worst enemy. I cursed myself. And I abandoned myself. Whether it was decency or hubris that had her leave me be does not matter. This is torture."


"My current subjects tell me that my living self -- for I am barely living, do you not agree? -- is in this town. I seek retribution. End her. And I shall reward you greatly."


"That is all. Go now."

>e

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth.  The receptionist sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it.  Most of her waning energy is going to the chewing gum between her teeth.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>e

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>s

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>e

Bathroom
The mirror  hangs above the sink. A pair of toothbrushes sit in a plastic cup in the corner of the sink. You keep forgetting that you're supposed to throw the other one out now. 

To the left is the toilet. To the right is the shower.

The door to the west leads back to the living room.

>take toothbrush
And take them where?

>to the painting
That's not a verb I recognise.

>take purple toothbrush
You can't see any such thing.

>w

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>x sketchbooks
You're not ready to go through these yet.

>n

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>w

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth.  The receptionist sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it.  Most of her waning energy is going to the chewing gum between her teeth.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>x attendant
You can't see any such thing.

>x receptionist
Her dark hair is wrapped in a short ponytail. Strands  hang loose and fall over her glasses. She's too tired to fix it. The bags under her eyes are deep. Something tells you she either wasn't supposed to be here today. Or maybe she's just a party girl?

Nah. Something tells you she's not the type. She's just a little uncaring about this gig. That's all. No shame in that.

>e

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>s

Rally
The storm has, it seems, left some undeterred. People in this town have always had a bit of a death wish, but to die in a place like this seems more than a little unworthy. Nobody should die in a rally, let alone in one with such sad attendance.

You can't quite make out who's standing on the makeshift stage above. The silhouette is that of a man, but you've been wrong about these things before. The wind and the murmurs of the modest crowd makes it hard to make out what the speaker is saying. If the people around you can hear, then they look positively unimpressed.In the corner of your eye, you can see a trembling cameraman clutching the tripod. It's hard to tell if he's merely holding it or holding onto it. Whether because of his job or because of his actual beliefs, he seems to be the one most attentive to the actual speaker, occasionally nodding along. Strange, given the pendant around his neck. He's a member of the Church. Those are usually talkative, even in the worst of conditions.

You look around. It doesn't seem like there's a good way to walk around this crowd, thin as it might be.

North leads back to Tallis Street.

>x speaker
You can't quite make out the speaker's figure. The best you can do is an outline: that of someone thin -- frail. A Luddumite not unlike Luddum himself.

>n

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>w

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>s

Train Station
With the restrictions being what they are, few trains go through the town these days. Those who left are long-gone. Those who stayed still think they know better. There's a secret, third kind, that had their travel application approved and are sitting on a rare ticket leading out of here.

Their kind is secret for a reason. You're not sure if such people are even real.

The emptiness of the train station doesn't offer much hope.

It's quiet. Not even the storm's wailing can breach this place. The only sounds are the echoes of your own footsteps. With every click-clack, the station feels like it grows in size -- the ceiling grows higher, the steps further away. The longer you look around, the more convinced you are time itself is somehow expanding, too; the grand clock above the ticket booths seems to move slower and slower as you stare at it.

Has the woman attendant at the ticket booth noticed that, as well? If so, she doesn't seem to be troubled in the slightest. Instead, she sits, looking straight ahead, a faint smile on her lips.

Further up ahead is a lone phone booth. The phone itself is hanging from its hook. But you can make out the dial tone. Just barely.

To the north is the exit.

>x attendant
A young woman. She seems unconcerned. Undisturbed. Unbored. Unliving. Unbreathing. Uneverything.

Straight ahead. With a smile.

It's as if she's not even here.

>ask attendant what her hair color is
I didn't understand that sentence.

>talk to attendant
"You can go many places. But you can never leave."

>ask attendant about queen
"Why do you ask questions you have no real desire for me to answer?"

>n

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>e

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>s

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>w

Kitchen
The black tiles beneath your feet are ice-cold. The buzzing of the fridge is dampened by the whistle of the outside wind. The noise keeps distracting you, and you catch yourself glancing to the window. Of course, there's nothing to see. The snowstorm has left the scenery blank.

Before you is the Nespresso machine.

The doorway to the east leads to the living room.

>open fridge
The fridge is well-stocked. In the corners you can still make out the faintest traces of still-fresh blood. Without a properly-sized freezer, Fiona had no choice but to keep your flesh in here while gathering up the nerve to take the final step.

>stab flesh
You can't see any such thing.

>e

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>s

Bedroom
Fiona never owned much, but what she had she kept orderly in the most chaotic way possible. For instance, her books -- the ones that she didn't want in the living room -- are laid out in the very corner of the bedroom, stacked together in a perfect box-shaped pile from which you cannot see any actual titles, side for the very top layer of the pile. Her clothes are unfolded and violently stuffed in the different shelves of the walk-in closet. Yet, each shelf is denoted with the proper color combination and occasion.

In the other corner of the room is a Terminal. 

The bed is modest, but fairly spacious. As you catch sight of the plastic sheet beneath it, you remind yourself you'll never share this bed with her again.

>turn on terminal
You switch the Terminal on.

>x terminal
The gate to the Net. Some call this a "computer." The cable runs all the way from here, through the living room, down to a little hole leading to the basement, where the rest of the complex is connected. Fiona was an avid user. You, on the other hand, hate the thing. Even when it's off, you can still hear a faint clicking coming from the machine. Nobody else ever heard it, though.

Might just be your imagination.

Either way, you can't understand how this thing made phones so obsolete in pretty much every household.

It's currently on.

>n

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>down
You can't go that way.

>move couch
It is fixed in place.

>move bookshelf
It is fixed in place.

>move tv stand
It is fixed in place.

>x sketchbooks
You're not ready to go through these yet.

>e

Bathroom
The mirror  hangs above the sink. A pair of toothbrushes sit in a plastic cup in the corner of the sink. You keep forgetting that you're supposed to throw the other one out now. 

To the left is the toilet. To the right is the shower.

The door to the west leads back to the living room.

>x hair in mirror
You can't see any such thing.

>x mirror
You look good. A little on the tired side, but nothing that coffee can't fix.

>x HAIR COLOR in mirror
You can't see any such thing.

>x self
As good-looking as ever.

>w

Living Room
The living room takes up most of the apartment space. The dark room is a modest sight: a leather couch on one end and a TV directly across it. The latter is switched off. Next to the TV stand is a bookshelf. It touches the ceiling.

To the west is the kitchen. To the east is the bathroom. To the south is the bedroom. The entrance door is to the north, leading outside.

>turn on tv
You switch the TV on.

>listen to tv
You hear nothing out of the ordinary.

>x tv
Luddum continues with his usual talking points.

>turn off tv
You switch the TV off.

>look under couch
You find nothing of interest.

>n

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>x snowman
Snowmen aren't popular these days anymore. Not after the rumor of a snowman coming to life and attacking people in the night. Of course, the Blood doesn't work like that. But the general public doesn't know how it works.

That's the point, if you ask some.

>touch snowman
You feel nothing unexpected.

>stab snowman
You probably shouldn't go around stabbing things for no reason.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>stab heart
You probably shouldn't go around stabbing things for no reason.

>x heart
A heart that continues beating even when stripped of its mortal shell.

Such is the promise of eternity. And the human determination that guides to it.

Comforting nonsense, but nonsense still.

Adin claimed that he had managed to take out a heart from a living subject and keep it out of his body for days. The heart kept beating throughout, he claims. All through the power of the Blood and his great vision.

From this tall tale alone, the Church was born.

>stab heart
You probably shouldn't go around stabbing things for no reason.

>take heart
It's a part of the sculpture.

>move sculpture
You can't see any such thing.

>push statue
It is fixed in place.

>x statue
The Father of Eternity. Or whatever came closest to it.

The story goes that one cold night, Andrew Adin found himself stuck in a time loop. Reliving the same day over and over and over again. For an eternity. The only escape -- if he could call it that -- was his own research. Having the same day at your disposal meant he had all the time in the world, quite literally, to make a breakthrough. What he found was, by all accounts, astonishing:

The Blood. A mysterious mutation present in some people that, when ingested by others, extends their lifespan -- to the point where it's impossible to die of old age.

To his dying breath, Adin claimed there was a version of him still trapped in that time loop -- stuck for all of eternity. Perhaps, he reasoned, all of this was merely a figment of his imagination?

Another hypothesis he had was that, upon his death, he would re-awaken back in the loop.

No wonder, then, that he ingested the Blood himself.

>look
Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>save
Ok.

>w

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth.  The receptionist sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it.  Most of her waning energy is going to the chewing gum between her teeth.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>w

Exhibition
The "gallery" is ultimately a single room, carrying a single exhibit, featuring a single painting, displaying a single person.

"One for One to One for One"

so says the plaque under the display.

And what a display she is. Her red hair dangles wildly, wrapping itself around her naked flesh. She's frozen in some kind of a dance -- her thighs pressed together and her arms pointed to the sky. The background gives the illusion of expanding and contracting -- a mist of red and purple that protects her -- or is consuming or -- or maybe even is her. It's impossible to know for sure.

Of course, she knows. She knows everything. That's what that look in her eyes seems to be telling you.

The eyes -- those eyes -- are staring right at you. Eating you up. You can almost smell the painting's mist seeping into the room.

To the east is the only way out of this feeling.

>stab painting
"What a poor specimen you've made. Daggers usually came with cloaks. Instead, you come here in your underwear. I'd be insulted. I think I'll be mad, instead."


"Go ahead. I'm hardly in a position to defend myself, am I?"


"But know this, ingrate."


"Far enough, beyond the stars, there is a dark beyond the dark. A place of dying light. Beyond sound. Beyond feeling. Beyond thought."


"At the end of everything, your soul shall come to rest there. And the only thing it shall know is me. Every part of you will be mine. You will bathe in me as I will bathe in you. And you will understand that words do not need to be spoken or thought of."


"You will know the quality of agony."


"I will tell you your own story. And when we reach this moment, I will engulf you completely."


"And as you swing your blade down into me, I will show you that there is a death beyond death. And an eternity beyond this eternity."


"For I am the Great Queen Madeline. And this is my wrath."


And her wrath now completes you.



    *** -- GAME OVER -- ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command?
> restore
Ok.

>look
Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>s

Rally
The storm has, it seems, left some undeterred. People in this town have always had a bit of a death wish, but to die in a place like this seems more than a little unworthy. Nobody should die in a rally, let alone in one with such sad attendance.

You can't quite make out who's standing on the makeshift stage above. The silhouette is that of a man, but you've been wrong about these things before. The wind and the murmurs of the modest crowd makes it hard to make out what the speaker is saying. If the people around you can hear, then they look positively unimpressed.In the corner of your eye, you can see a trembling cameraman clutching the tripod. It's hard to tell if he's merely holding it or holding onto it. Whether because of his job or because of his actual beliefs, he seems to be the one most attentive to the actual speaker, occasionally nodding along. Strange, given the pendant around his neck. He's a member of the Church. Those are usually talkative, even in the worst of conditions.

You look around. It doesn't seem like there's a good way to walk around this crowd, thin as it might be.

North leads back to Tallis Street.

>listen
"I don't even know why I come to these things." one man says. "It's always the same stuff. It's not even funny anymore."

>listen
"I don't even know why I come to these things." one man says. "It's always the same stuff. It's not even funny anymore."

>x pendant
You can't see any such thing.

>take pendant
You can't see any such thing.

>x speaker
You can't quite make out the speaker's figure. The best you can do is an outline: that of someone thin -- frail. A Luddumite not unlike Luddum himself.

>talk to speaker
You can only do that to something animate.

>x luddumite
You can't see any such thing.

>n

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>w

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>s

Train Station
With the restrictions being what they are, few trains go through the town these days. Those who left are long-gone. Those who stayed still think they know better. There's a secret, third kind, that had their travel application approved and are sitting on a rare ticket leading out of here.

Their kind is secret for a reason. You're not sure if such people are even real.

The emptiness of the train station doesn't offer much hope.

It's quiet. Not even the storm's wailing can breach this place. The only sounds are the echoes of your own footsteps. With every click-clack, the station feels like it grows in size -- the ceiling grows higher, the steps further away. The longer you look around, the more convinced you are time itself is somehow expanding, too; the grand clock above the ticket booths seems to move slower and slower as you stare at it.

Has the woman attendant at the ticket booth noticed that, as well? If so, she doesn't seem to be troubled in the slightest. Instead, she sits, looking straight ahead, a faint smile on her lips.

Further up ahead is a lone phone booth. The phone itself is hanging from its hook. But you can make out the dial tone. Just barely.

To the north is the exit.

>talk to attendant
"You can go many places. But you can never leave."

>ask attendant about heart
"Why do you ask questions you have no real desire for me to answer?"

>ask attendant about knife
"Why do you ask questions you have no real desire for me to answer?"

>brandish knife
That's not a verb I recognise.

>ask attendant what my hair color is
I didn't understand that sentence.

>stab clock
You probably shouldn't go around stabbing things for no reason.

>use phone
You don't have any change to make a phone call.

>n

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>w

Coffee Shop
The little coffee shop is mercifully empty. The light doesn't go past the window booths, leaving most of the shop in the shadows of menu holders and falling snow. Only further back, next to the counter, is a jukebox playing Bodell's "Good Bye-Bye-Bye". It's a hypnotic tune, downright mesmerizing -- and almost never-ending.

Like the worst kind of goodbyes.

The barista's elbows rest on the counter. He seems to have calmed down a little bit. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem any friendlier than he was before.

To the east is the door leading back outside.

>ask barista for change
You can't see any such thing.

>talk to barista
"Look, I don't like this any more than you do. But I'm out of ideas. Help me. And you'll get your coffee. Tall ask, but hey -- even if you say you won't do it, I can always try again. And the next version of you I meet won't have coffee, either."

>x counter
The marble counter is in pristine condition.

>x floor
You can't see any such thing.

>x booths
You remember sitting here with Fiona. The very last time, you were right there -- in the one in the very corner -- asking her if she was sure about going through with everything. She said she was.

You told her there were tears in her eyes.

She chuckled, saying there was something in yours.

Since then, you've tried convincing yourself there wasn't.

>x corner booth
You can't see any such thing.

>x jukebox
A lone jukebox. Its light flickers and the sound skips every once in a while -- but the song continues, all the same.

>look behind jukebox
You can't see any such thing.

>search jukebox for change
I only understood you as far as wanting to search the jukebox.

>search jukebox
You find nothing of interest.

>e

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>talk to jacob
"Get yourself somewhere warm, my girl. Come on."

>ask jacob about heart
"I'm afraid I don't really know anything about that. Come on, get going. You'll freeze to death."

>ask jacob about phoen
"I'm afraid I don't really know anything about that. Come on, get going. You'll freeze to death."

>ask jacob about phone
"I'm afraid I don't really know anything about that. Come on, get going. You'll freeze to death."

>e

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>s

Rally
The storm has, it seems, left some undeterred. People in this town have always had a bit of a death wish, but to die in a place like this seems more than a little unworthy. Nobody should die in a rally, let alone in one with such sad attendance.

You can't quite make out who's standing on the makeshift stage above. The silhouette is that of a man, but you've been wrong about these things before. The wind and the murmurs of the modest crowd makes it hard to make out what the speaker is saying. If the people around you can hear, then they look positively unimpressed.In the corner of your eye, you can see a trembling cameraman clutching the tripod. It's hard to tell if he's merely holding it or holding onto it. Whether because of his job or because of his actual beliefs, he seems to be the one most attentive to the actual speaker, occasionally nodding along. Strange, given the pendant around his neck. He's a member of the Church. Those are usually talkative, even in the worst of conditions.

You look around. It doesn't seem like there's a good way to walk around this crowd, thin as it might be.

North leads back to Tallis Street.

>e
You can't go that way.

>w
You can't go that way.

>n

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>e
You can't go that way.

>s

Rally
The storm has, it seems, left some undeterred. People in this town have always had a bit of a death wish, but to die in a place like this seems more than a little unworthy. Nobody should die in a rally, let alone in one with such sad attendance.

You can't quite make out who's standing on the makeshift stage above. The silhouette is that of a man, but you've been wrong about these things before. The wind and the murmurs of the modest crowd makes it hard to make out what the speaker is saying. If the people around you can hear, then they look positively unimpressed.In the corner of your eye, you can see a trembling cameraman clutching the tripod. It's hard to tell if he's merely holding it or holding onto it. Whether because of his job or because of his actual beliefs, he seems to be the one most attentive to the actual speaker, occasionally nodding along. Strange, given the pendant around his neck. He's a member of the Church. Those are usually talkative, even in the worst of conditions.

You look around. It doesn't seem like there's a good way to walk around this crowd, thin as it might be.

North leads back to Tallis Street.

>n

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>e

Adin Park
The metal gates of the park screech unceremoniously, thrashed to and fro by the wind. A long chain wrapped around the left side's bars is carried into the struggle. It seems to have been cut; by teenagers, junkies, or both. No doubt, the park is already full of them. The melting snow always brings along a season of obituaries -- when they're finally found.

Fiona never liked this place.

"It chews you and spits you out. The rest of this town ain't much better -- but the other places at least swallow you."

Further east leads deeper into the park. To the west is the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street.

>e

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>x adin
You can't see any such thing.

>x golem
At the height of the Magnus War, the battle was taken to the stars. They gave the soldiers their weapon -- a giant machine for them to pilot -- told them they are beyond human and indestructible, and promptly sent them all to their deaths. The orbit is still filled with scrap and blood and guts. Golems are scattered all over the planet, unseen monuments to hubris and stupidity.

The Powers That Be assure to this day that all these soldiers will one day return, for they had been given the gifts of even higher immortality. The Church teaches that, from the smallest bits of flesh, we can rise again.

There is some truth in that. But not much.

>n

Crooked Tree
You stand at the base of a crooked tree. Resting at its base is what appears to be a human skeleton. If it's fake, you're unsure of what material might've been used. If it's real, no traces of its flesh remain. In a few short hours, it will no doubt be buried alongside the rest.

You look up. A murder of crows covers the branches of the tree. Their heads are all turned in the same direction: towards you.

To the south is the path leading back to the lake.

>x skeleton
A human skeleton. The more you look at it, the more convinced you are it's real. But it doesn't make sense. It's wide in the open. Even in these strange times, how did it manage to decompose so quickly without being noticed?

The skeleton's skull seems cracked.

>x skull
You can't see any such thing.

>look in skull
You can't see any such thing.

>x crooked tree
You can't see any such thing.

>s

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>s

Park Bench
As you walk alongside the lake, you suddenly find yourself stopping at the sound of what seems to be...

Humming?

In a place where only the dead should relax, you're surprised to find that the source of the sound is a woman -- sitting on one of the park benches overlooking the lake.


The more you look at her, the more you're unsure if she's really here. Is she a mirage? A ghost? A trick of the light?

The strange woman's hands rest on her lap, her gaze focused at the Golem in the lake. She's entirely unconcerned by the storm surrounding her. And reality itself seems to bow to her -- her golden hair stands perfectly still, undisturbed by the raging wind. Not a single fleck of snow dares to graze her. Even the snow at her feet seems to have made room for her, with the soles of her shoes resting on dead grass.

Still unnoticed, you consider turning back north where you came from.


>ask woman about queen
The hum stops.


Lazily, the woman turns her head in your direction.

"This weather may not kill you," she smiles, "but surely shame might. You could've put some clothes on, at least." She cocks her neck. "Then again -- I guess I'm not one to talk. A woman sitting in the middle of the snowstorm is odd in its own right."


"I'm just thinking, that's all. My husband asked me about wanting a baby."


"That, in itself, is not uncalled for. He's not the first, nor the last -- to ask or be granted that wish. I'm just a little conflicted on how it should play out this time."


"Truth be told, it's gotten stale. They called it the miracle of life, but not even the pain of childbirth means much. They're not even cute when they're babies anymore."

She shrugs.

"I think I'm hoping it dies. That's probably the best outcome for it." She runs her hand across her belly. "I've been a mother one too many times, in one too many lifetimes. They don't know how to deal with what we are. They give up too easily. Stop caring. Misunderstand the limitations of their condition. Endanger themselves and others. Breed without consideration. Get captured and bled dry  by the human leeches."

She stares at you. "Step out half-naked into snowstorms."


"Maybe I'm in no position to argue. I was just as stupid in my youth. But I had the luxury of time."

Her eyes turn to the Golem in the lake.

"You don't. Not anymore."


She sighs. "Mm. Yeah. I really hope it doesn't live. Truth be told, a lot of them didn't. My husband would be devastated, yes. But that, I'm used to. That, I can manage. Grief is easy. It's everything else that becomes difficult."

"On the other hand," she muses, "I'm rather bored these days. I'm wondering what would happen if I tried making her my new host? If I kept her around for about until she was ten... do you think she could consume all of me? Would it even work? Has it been tried before? Us eating another of our kind?"


"Hey. I'm talking to you, you know?"


"Hm. Perhaps you're just not as reckless as I thought you were. Forget I said anything?"

She chuckles. "I'm Madeline, by the way."


She starts her hum again.

>n

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>n

Crooked Tree
You stand at the base of a crooked tree. Resting at its base is what appears to be a human skeleton. If it's fake, you're unsure of what material might've been used. If it's real, no traces of its flesh remain. In a few short hours, it will no doubt be buried alongside the rest.

You look up. A murder of crows covers the branches of the tree. Their heads are all turned in the same direction: towards you.

To the south is the path leading back to the lake.

>xx skeleton
That's not a verb I recognise.

>search skeleton
You find nothing of interest.

>stab skull
You can't see any such thing.

>stab skeleton
You probably shouldn't go around stabbing things for no reason.

>x tree
The dead tree's branches twist towards the sky. The wind does not sway it. It's as if the crows are keeping it in place?

>stab tree
You probably shouldn't go around stabbing things for no reason.

>talk to crows
"Ah." a member of the flock speaks. "I saw it in your eyes. You're my kind, aren't you? Dreadful weather we're having, isn't it?"

Another crow speaks. "As you can see, I'm in a bit of a jam."

A third one. "That fellow below us is me. Or used to be."


"Before you say anything -- I really don't know what happened. I think I just got careless. Of the many ways I expected to go, I'll admit a park junkie wasn't in the cards. Snuck up behind me and beat me to death."

"Then again," another member speaks up, "I didn't exactly go, did I?"

A crow lands on your shoulder. "I didn't know these things ate human meat."

Another lands on your other one. "I guess they just liked the smell of me."


"Anyhow, the good news is, I'm still alive."

"The bad news is, my head's in pieces. Literally."

"I need to find someone to put me back together."

"Someone to eat these birds up."

"Surely you can find someone hungry enough, can't you?"


The birds dart off your shoulder, not waiting for your reply.

"Thanks a bunch. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't come by!"

>eat crows
He's plainly inedible.

>ask crows about queen
"Pardon? I don't think we have time for this. If you could just help me out here..."

>
I beg your pardon?

>s

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>e
You can't go that way.

>x lake
The surface is frozen solid. Every once in a while, an unfortunate soul wanders onto it and falls through. Strangely enough, this isn't even the biggest dead-body-hotspot the park has to offer.

>s

Park Bench
A woman sits on one of the park benches overlooking the lake. She's humming something -- the tune is familiar, but you can't put your finger on what it's supposed to be.


The more you look at her, the more you're unsure if she's really here. Is she a mirage? A ghost? A trick of the light?

The strange woman's hands rest on her lap, her gaze focused at the Golem in the lake. She's entirely unconcerned by the storm surrounding her. And reality itself seems to bow to her -- her golden hair stands perfectly still, undisturbed by the raging wind. Not a single fleck of snow dares to graze her. Even the snow at her feet seems to have made room for her, with the soles of her shoes resting on dead grass.

Back north leads in the direction of the park's entrance.


>n

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>w

Adin Park
The metal gates of the park screech unceremoniously, thrashed to and fro by the wind. A long chain wrapped around the left side's bars is carried into the struggle. It seems to have been cut; by teenagers, junkies, or both. No doubt, the park is already full of them. The melting snow always brings along a season of obituaries -- when they're finally found.

Fiona never liked this place.

"It chews you and spits you out. The rest of this town ain't much better -- but the other places at least swallow you."

Further east leads deeper into the park. To the west is the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street.

>w

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>w

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth.  The receptionist sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it.  Most of her waning energy is going to the chewing gum between her teeth.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>ask receptionist about crows
"Not sure I'm the right person to ask about that."

>w

Exhibition
The "gallery" is ultimately a single room, carrying a single exhibit, featuring a single painting, displaying a single person.

"One for One to One for One"

so says the plaque under the display.

And what a display she is. Her red hair dangles wildly, wrapping itself around her naked flesh. She's frozen in some kind of a dance -- her thighs pressed together and her arms pointed to the sky. The background gives the illusion of expanding and contracting -- a mist of red and purple that protects her -- or is consuming or -- or maybe even is her. It's impossible to know for sure.

Of course, she knows. She knows everything. That's what that look in her eyes seems to be telling you.

The eyes -- those eyes -- are staring right at you. Eating you up. You can almost smell the painting's mist seeping into the room.

To the east is the only way out of this feeling.

>ask painting about baby
"Do not waste my time with pointless questions. You have your task. Go now."

>ask painting about crows
"Do not waste my time with pointless questions. You have your task. Go now."

>e

Gallery Hallway
The gallery itself is a makeshift one. What was once a family home is still one -- the owners" shoes are still laid out in the tiny hallway. You can hear noise coming from the floors far up. An entire family's worth.  The receptionist sits dead-eyed in a small metal chair, taking up half the hallway. She's doubling as a security guard. At the very least, she's carrying the demeanor of one. Too bored to think about taking a break. To annoyed to think about doing anything but. Then again -- thinking in general has been left on auto-pilot, by the looks of it.  Most of her waning energy is going to the chewing gum between her teeth.

Up ahead, west, at the end of the hallway, are the stairs leading up to the actual gallery. To the east is where you came from, the cold wind of Tallis Street.

>s
You can't go that way.

>e

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>s

Rally
The storm has, it seems, left some undeterred. People in this town have always had a bit of a death wish, but to die in a place like this seems more than a little unworthy. Nobody should die in a rally, let alone in one with such sad attendance.

You can't quite make out who's standing on the makeshift stage above. The silhouette is that of a man, but you've been wrong about these things before. The wind and the murmurs of the modest crowd makes it hard to make out what the speaker is saying. If the people around you can hear, then they look positively unimpressed.In the corner of your eye, you can see a trembling cameraman clutching the tripod. It's hard to tell if he's merely holding it or holding onto it. Whether because of his job or because of his actual beliefs, he seems to be the one most attentive to the actual speaker, occasionally nodding along. Strange, given the pendant around his neck. He's a member of the Church. Those are usually talkative, even in the worst of conditions.

You look around. It doesn't seem like there's a good way to walk around this crowd, thin as it might be.

North leads back to Tallis Street.

>ask cameraman about crows
"Dunno anything about that."

>n

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. Most stores should be closed today -- and yet, an "OPEN" sign hangs from the door of a little art gallery.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>talk to snowman
You can only do that to something animate.

>w

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>ask phone man about crows
You can only do that to something animate.

>w

Coffee Shop
The little coffee shop is mercifully empty. The light doesn't go past the window booths, leaving most of the shop in the shadows of menu holders and falling snow. Only further back, next to the counter, is a jukebox playing Bodell's "Good Bye-Bye-Bye". It's a hypnotic tune, downright mesmerizing -- and almost never-ending.

Like the worst kind of goodbyes.

The barista's elbows rest on the counter. He seems to have calmed down a little bit. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem any friendlier than he was before.

To the east is the door leading back outside.

>e

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>ask jacob about crows
"I don't know anything about any crows. And even if I did, why would I help them?  Those things have gotten more and more violent over the years. Be careful around them, Fiona. I mean it."

>w

Coffee Shop
The little coffee shop is mercifully empty. The light doesn't go past the window booths, leaving most of the shop in the shadows of menu holders and falling snow. Only further back, next to the counter, is a jukebox playing Bodell's "Good Bye-Bye-Bye". It's a hypnotic tune, downright mesmerizing -- and almost never-ending.

Like the worst kind of goodbyes.

The barista's elbows rest on the counter. He seems to have calmed down a little bit. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem any friendlier than he was before.

To the east is the door leading back outside.

>ask barista about crows
"Not sure what to tell you."

>
I beg your pardon?

>e

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>s

Train Station
With the restrictions being what they are, few trains go through the town these days. Those who left are long-gone. Those who stayed still think they know better. There's a secret, third kind, that had their travel application approved and are sitting on a rare ticket leading out of here.

Their kind is secret for a reason. You're not sure if such people are even real.

The emptiness of the train station doesn't offer much hope.

It's quiet. Not even the storm's wailing can breach this place. The only sounds are the echoes of your own footsteps. With every click-clack, the station feels like it grows in size -- the ceiling grows higher, the steps further away. The longer you look around, the more convinced you are time itself is somehow expanding, too; the grand clock above the ticket booths seems to move slower and slower as you stare at it.

Has the woman attendant at the ticket booth noticed that, as well? If so, she doesn't seem to be troubled in the slightest. Instead, she sits, looking straight ahead, a faint smile on her lips.

Further up ahead is a lone phone booth. The phone itself is hanging from its hook. But you can make out the dial tone. Just barely.

To the north is the exit.

>ask attendant about crows
"Why do you ask questions you have no real desire for me to answer?"

>n

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>e

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>talk to statue
You can only do that to something animate.

>e

Adin Park
The metal gates of the park screech unceremoniously, thrashed to and fro by the wind. A long chain wrapped around the left side's bars is carried into the struggle. It seems to have been cut; by teenagers, junkies, or both. No doubt, the park is already full of them. The melting snow always brings along a season of obituaries -- when they're finally found.

Fiona never liked this place.

"It chews you and spits you out. The rest of this town ain't much better -- but the other places at least swallow you."

Further east leads deeper into the park. To the west is the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street.

>s
You can't go that way.

>e

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>s

Park Bench
A woman sits on one of the park benches overlooking the lake. She's humming something -- the tune is familiar, but you can't put your finger on what it's supposed to be.


The more you look at her, the more you're unsure if she's really here. Is she a mirage? A ghost? A trick of the light?

The strange woman's hands rest on her lap, her gaze focused at the Golem in the lake. She's entirely unconcerned by the storm surrounding her. And reality itself seems to bow to her -- her golden hair stands perfectly still, undisturbed by the raging wind. Not a single fleck of snow dares to graze her. Even the snow at her feet seems to have made room for her, with the soles of her shoes resting on dead grass.

Back north leads in the direction of the park's entrance.


>ask madeline about crows
"Sorry. What was that...? I was looking at the lake."

>x hair
You can't see any such thing.

>ask woman about painting
"Sorry. What was that...? I was looking at the lake."

>x lake
You can't see any such thing.

>x golem
The Golem looks all the more grand and terrifying from this angle.

>stab golem
You probably shouldn't go around stabbing things for no reason.

>save
Ok.

>n

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>n

Crooked Tree
You stand at the base of a crooked tree. Resting at its base is what appears to be a human skeleton. If it's fake, you're unsure of what material might've been used. If it's real, no traces of its flesh remain. In a few short hours, it will no doubt be buried alongside the rest.

You look up. A murder of crows covers the branches of the tree. Their heads are all turned in the same direction: towards you.

To the south is the path leading back to the lake.

>talk to crows
"Have you found me a new host? It's getting awfully cold, old chap."

"We live in strange times." Another member of the flock chimes in. "Surely there's enough strange people willing to eat a dozen or so crows?"

"You don't need to tell them what would happen after."

"I never do."

One of the crows caws.

>s

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>s

Park Bench
A woman sits on one of the park benches overlooking the lake. She's humming something -- the tune is familiar, but you can't put your finger on what it's supposed to be.


The more you look at her, the more you're unsure if she's really here. Is she a mirage? A ghost? A trick of the light?

The strange woman's hands rest on her lap, her gaze focused at the Golem in the lake. She's entirely unconcerned by the storm surrounding her. And reality itself seems to bow to her -- her golden hair stands perfectly still, undisturbed by the raging wind. Not a single fleck of snow dares to graze her. Even the snow at her feet seems to have made room for her, with the soles of her shoes resting on dead grass.

Back north leads in the direction of the park's entrance.


>tell madeline to eat crows
I didn't understand that sentence.

>n

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>w

Adin Park
The metal gates of the park screech unceremoniously, thrashed to and fro by the wind. A long chain wrapped around the left side's bars is carried into the struggle. It seems to have been cut; by teenagers, junkies, or both. No doubt, the park is already full of them. The melting snow always brings along a season of obituaries -- when they're finally found.

Fiona never liked this place.

"It chews you and spits you out. The rest of this town ain't much better -- but the other places at least swallow you."

Further east leads deeper into the park. To the west is the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street.

>e

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>s

Park Bench
A woman sits on one of the park benches overlooking the lake. She's humming something -- the tune is familiar, but you can't put your finger on what it's supposed to be.


The more you look at her, the more you're unsure if she's really here. Is she a mirage? A ghost? A trick of the light?

The strange woman's hands rest on her lap, her gaze focused at the Golem in the lake. She's entirely unconcerned by the storm surrounding her. And reality itself seems to bow to her -- her golden hair stands perfectly still, undisturbed by the raging wind. Not a single fleck of snow dares to graze her. Even the snow at her feet seems to have made room for her, with the soles of her shoes resting on dead grass.

Back north leads in the direction of the park's entrance.


>stab madeline
You stand behind the bench, knife in-hand.


"Braver souls than you have tried what you're thinking of doing." the woman yawns. "Really, if you--"

You don't wait for her to finish.


You swing the knife down, ramming its edge into her chest.


"Wh... You actually...? But... But I'm...? That's... silly... She's just a painting...


You pull the knife out, covering her mouth. Something tells you she wouldn't have screamed, anyway, but it's always worthwhile to be sure. Desperation can overrule pride ever so easily.


You wait.


And wait.


Just a little longer. Just to be sure.


You turn to the other side of the lake. To the Golem. The only witness to what you've just done.


Finally, you let go. You wipe the blood off the knife in the snow and throw it away.

That's that.

>n

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>n

Crooked Tree
You stand at the base of a crooked tree. Resting at its base is what appears to be a human skeleton. If it's fake, you're unsure of what material might've been used. If it's real, no traces of its flesh remain. In a few short hours, it will no doubt be buried alongside the rest.

You look up. A murder of crows covers the branches of the tree. Their heads are all turned in the same direction: towards you.

To the south is the path leading back to the lake.

>talk to crows
"Have you found me a new host? It's getting awfully cold, old chap."

"We live in strange times." Another member of the flock chimes in. "Surely there's enough strange people willing to eat a dozen or so crows?"

"You don't need to tell them what would happen after."

"I never do."

One of the crows caws.

>tell crows about madeline
This provokes no reaction.

>s

Frozen Lake
The park had formed itself against the lake. It is its heart -- and the analogy is anything but accidental. With the park being built in celebration of Adin, it is only natural that this misshapen patch of water represent his heart.

Ironically, much of the lake's infamy has very little to do with Adin himself, given the Golem remains still buried in it. Its entire upper torso still remains above surface, the rust and decay giving it the look of a giant rotting corpse. Conspiracy theorists say that the body of its pilot is still trapped somewhere in its hull, buried under all the dislodged machinery. City officials have categorically denied this, saying that the body had been taken out, but people have claimed to hear strange noises coming from the mech over the years.

The park extends in two directions running alongside the lake -- north and south. To the west is the path leading back to the entrance.

>w

Adin Park
The metal gates of the park screech unceremoniously, thrashed to and fro by the wind. A long chain wrapped around the left side's bars is carried into the struggle. It seems to have been cut; by teenagers, junkies, or both. No doubt, the park is already full of them. The melting snow always brings along a season of obituaries -- when they're finally found.

Fiona never liked this place.

"It chews you and spits you out. The rest of this town ain't much better -- but the other places at least swallow you."

Further east leads deeper into the park. To the west is the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street.

>w

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>e

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>s

Tallis Street
Somewhere, a disc jockey is having a little too much fun. The sound horns are playing Kane O'Mare's "Night of the Comets." Empty as the street is, you can see the silhouettes in the few apartments with their lights on. They're dancing. Badly, but they're dancing, all the same.

You look around. The street is covered with posters of Reed Luddum's face. "DEATH IS THE ONLY CONSTANT"  is written under each and every one. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was running for president. Alas, he's just running. On most days, from the family that betrayed him, and, on other days, from reality itself.

You turn to the west. A "CLOSED" sign now hangs from the door of the little art gallery. The receptionist is outside, leaning against it. She smiles, looking directly at you.

Further south, focusing through the song, you can barely make out what sounds like a voice.

Back north leads towards Lem Street.

>w
The receptionist doesn't let you get past her.

She places her index finger on your lip.

"Now, now. Be good. You've done well. You don't want to see her again. For now."

>talk to receptionist
The woman beckons you over.


"You did very good. She's very happy. This was a long-standing feud, to say the least."

She reaches into her pocket and hands you some coins. By your count, it's seventy-five cents.

"That's for you."


"She was evil, you know. That woman. I think you've sincerely made the world a better place today. Thank you."


You look around.

The receptionist chuckles. "You can go now."

>e
You can't go that way.

>e
You can't go that way.

>n

Intersection
Even with all the stands packed up or abandoned, and in spite of the snow stuck to your upper lip, you can still smell the aroma of fried chestnuts permeating the intersection of Lem and Tallis Street. Heaps of snow in the shapes of cars are lined up alongside the remaining stretch of Lem street's pavement.

The statue of Andrew Adin stands over them, his right hand clasping his telltale heart. His left motions further east, in the direction of Adin Park.

To the south is Tallis Street. West leads back up Lem Street.

>w

Lem Street
You stand in front of Fiona's apartment, alongside the snow-covered road of Lem Street. A headless snowman is greeting you from across the street, the wind swaying his wooden hand back and forth.

To the east, you can make out an intersection. To the west is a narrow road which, you remember, leads to a coffee shop. The apartment building is just behind you, to the south.

>w

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>
I beg your pardon?

>w

Coffee Shop
The little coffee shop is mercifully empty. The light doesn't go past the window booths, leaving most of the shop in the shadows of menu holders and falling snow. Only further back, next to the counter, is a jukebox playing Bodell's "Good Bye-Bye-Bye". It's a hypnotic tune, downright mesmerizing -- and almost never-ending.

Like the worst kind of goodbyes.

The barista's elbows rest on the counter. He seems to have calmed down a little bit. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem any friendlier than he was before.

To the east is the door leading back outside.

>talk to barista
"Look, I don't like this any more than you do. But I'm out of ideas. Help me. And you'll get your coffee. Tall ask, but hey -- even if you say you won't do it, I can always try again. And the next version of you I meet won't have coffee, either."

>tell barista about madeline
This provokes no reaction.

>e

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone. The phone firmly rests where it rests on all its days: in the lap of Jacob -- the aptly-called "Phone Man". It's hard to see him as alive or dead -- most days, he simply "is", and he "is" this specific way. Waiting for that phone to ring. Even in weather like this, he simply can't help himself.

The old man's demeanor is always troubling -- but something in his posture tells you that he's the one troubled, for a change.


Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>s

Train Station
With the restrictions being what they are, few trains go through the town these days. Those who left are long-gone. Those who stayed still think they know better. There's a secret, third kind, that had their travel application approved and are sitting on a rare ticket leading out of here.

Their kind is secret for a reason. You're not sure if such people are even real.

The emptiness of the train station doesn't offer much hope.

It's quiet. Not even the storm's wailing can breach this place. The only sounds are the echoes of your own footsteps. With every click-clack, the station feels like it grows in size -- the ceiling grows higher, the steps further away. The longer you look around, the more convinced you are time itself is somehow expanding, too; the grand clock above the ticket booths seems to move slower and slower as you stare at it.

Has the woman attendant at the ticket booth noticed that, as well? If so, she doesn't seem to be troubled in the slightest. Instead, she sits, looking straight ahead, a faint smile on her lips.

Further up ahead is a lone phone booth. The phone itself is hanging from its hook. But you can make out the dial tone. Just barely.

To the north is the exit.

>use phone
You pick up the phone and call Jacob.


You tell him of the crows in Adin Park.


"I don't... understand. Eat them? Why...?"


So demanded the queen, you say.


The phone line goes dead.

>n

Narrow Road
A long black cable hangs from the apartment building alongside the narrow section of Lem Street. From the window of the tiny fourth floor apartment, between the frozen lilies laid out on the balcony below, across the roof of a black van missing its wheels, all the way to the other side of the street, to an abandoned bus stop -- finally connecting to a white rotary phone.

The phone sits on the bench -- abandoned.

Just next to the apartment building, to the west, is the coffee shop. The road continues to a small bend, turning south, towards a train station. If you turn to the east, you'll be heading back up Lem Street, towards your apartment complex.


>w
You step into the coffee shop.


The music has stopped.

The barista is nowhere to be seen.


You look to the booth in the far corner of the shop.


Resting on the table is a steaming cup of coffee.

A double espresso.


You take a seat.


You take hold of the cup.


You take a look through the window, at the raging storm.


You think about Fiona.


And you take your sip.



    *** -- END -- ***