End of the Bloodline

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<<set $kettle to false>> <<set $fatigue to false>> <<set $scrawl to false>> <<set $goneout to false>> <<set $test to false>> <<set $unlockeverard to false>> <<set $everard to false>>

!End of the Bloodline <img src="https://wearyrains.neocities.org/game%20material/IFs/End%20of%20the%20Bloodline/images/title.png" width="950" height="750"> ---- [[Start->NewsOf]] [[Content Warning]] <<if $unlockeverard>> [[Everard Commentary Mode->Explanation]] <</if>> //Art/Writing/Programming * 2023 * Wearyrains/PIB//

News of the prince’s death devastated the country. From morning to night, wails of the common folk rang down the cobblestone streets. Amidst frequent rain, children were chastised for giggling; stomping their feet in puddles of rain. This was a time of mourning, not for play, they were told. <<if $everard>> ''Damn it wait, what? When did I actually die again? Shit'' <</if>> Prince Everard was a true hero torn from legend. He was not of brawn, but brains. At age 22, he, despite the pleas of tacticians and kin, brought the enemy to their knees, ending a longstanding war. Finally, the kingdom’s citizens knew no fear or famine. In celebration, they feasted morning to night, danced hand in hand, and played instruments until they broke. The cogs of wine bottles re-obtained after years of ration-induct prohibition popped into the air, and the children who couldn’t sneak a swig slid through the spilled puddles as a game. <<if $everard>> ''They really did exaggerate this... I think I nearly lost, what, three fights? Dumb luck, I s'pose.'' <</if>> Through an unsuspectingly sleight of hand, a wit unseen, Prince Everard became the happiness the kingdom couldn’t wait to have rule. <<if $everard>> ''Y'know, I used to eat four-leaf clovers as a kid! Kitchen staff had to swipe 'em away. I'm surprised I never got sick.'' <</if>> And there that happiness lied. [[Head-down dead before a bottle of tonic.->UnsavoryNews]] <<if $everard>> ''Oh damn it that's right the sickness got me'' <</if>>

Three months following the kingdom’s victory, a concerning news brewed among castle staff. “Have you heard? The prince is running high temperatures. He’s [[hot as a kettle->Kettle]].” <<if $everard>> ~~''I think a noble wrote me a letter saying the same one time...''~~ <</if>> <<if $kettle>> He can’t even hold books without [[fatigue.->Fatigue]]” <<if $everard>> ''Were they boring'' <</if>> <</if>> <<if $fatigue>> His penmanship quality has [[decreased to a scrawl.->Scrawl]]” <<if $everard>> ''When has it not been?'' <</if>> <</if>> <<if $scrawl>> <<type 30ms>>\ “Ladies, please... [[k-keep your voices down.->SheListens]]” <</type>> <<if $everard>> <<timed 3s>> ''That's right ladies; one at a time'' <</timed>> <</if>> <</if>>

<<set $kettle to true>> A mere hand against his temple revealed an unsettling warmth atop sweating skin. An intense flutter of lashes overwhelmed by your touch, even if expected every time. This was not the man who won a war, some whispered. His father pondered the potential cause of sickness. Meanwhile, his mother got to work, demanding a doctor, demanding a cure. An open-book secret she had been unable to bear another child after Everard, she thanked the Gods every night he had returned safe after the war. And the staff were as good as gone if anyone doubted her insistence the illness was <<return [[worse than she believed.|UnsavoryNews]]>>

<<set $fatigue to true>> Two hands, once fierce, with one retaining marks from a blade handle’s creased into his skin now held a small bound book of flora with the same energy of an elder enjoying his last year of life. That’s how his mother knew something was incredibly wrong. She called for a doctor on the spot. Didn’t care who, she informed, only one trustworthy. And a <<return [[damn good one.|UnsavoryNews]]>>

<<set $scrawl to true>> Prince Everard’s was a neat work; the occasional outlier in his cursive gave his letters a smidge of charm for the few who saw. Although, it was more common amongst letters he sent in secret. To a neighboring noble, perhaps an unknown lover. When he fell ill, those letters only pooled in. Not just from they, but from their friends, their kingdoms, their families. So much so it wasn’t a secret anymore. His mother, less concerned about his secret and more-so his lack of reply, transcribed return letters for him until his voice fizzled to a frail, coarse strain. Forged his handwriting, even. To throw them one last laugh at a <<return [[shaky pen stroke.|UnsavoryNews]]>> <<if $everard>> ``I'm dearly sorry Mother however you WHAT`` <</if>>

Gossip was forbidden. The staff could only retain their professionalism and pray for the best. When two knights finally returned to the castle, a singular tonic in tow, the Queen was ecstatic, if slightly perplexed. “Why is it such a small dose? This may cure a child, but my son is far from a boy!” <<if $everard>> ``Mother you would not say that to my face`` <</if>> “Your Highness,” the knight began. “The pharmacist informed us that from your letter of request, this will be more than enough to tend—“ Queen Cearo's face wrinkled as a deep red resurfaced across her cheeks. She shot a finger out, pointing at the armor man. “Don’t you tell me someone down there who hasn’t even seen the status of my son knows what’s wrong with him any better than I! If he, grown and purely healthy is weak and bedridden, then this sickness you downplay is—” She slammed her hand against his metal chest. “— strong enough to kill him dead! Don’t come here with such lousy lack of tonic! Turn on your heels and fetch him more!” She yelled, her demand absolute. <<if $everard>> ''This treatment of your knights is very unprofessional Mother'' <</if>> “Your future king, your savior, what-have-you! My child is rotting whether you accept so or not!” The Queen’s outburst left her throat dry for the rest of the day. Chaining rounds of wine into the night, she forced herself to speak to soothe her son. Despite her anger, she had given him what little medicine they had brought. He needed all he could get, after all. As the last of his voice fizzled entirely She read him new books she'd ordered aloud. Even as he rested his eyes from a long spell of staring at the ceiling. she couldn't help herself from snaking a free to intertwine with his. A sign for her sake, if anything. To show he was still there. For the longest time, she smiled when she felt the smidge of a squeeze in return. Eventually, the mere curl of his fingers across hers dignified a scream of hope for him. A sign, similar to what he’d always proven to be. <<if $everard>> ``Why am I always a sign to you people? Why can't I be something a little more rambunctious, like...Like a nice little road to the marketplace on a slow weekend?`` <</if>> But he was more than that, she thought. Human, before he was ever a personified label of the people. <<if $everard>> ''The labels in the marketplace must be getting cheaper now...I hope who ever provides the kitchen's fruits is doing okay, she's a sweetheart'' <</if>> Within hours, she raised her hand to feel his cheek sullen against her touch, and against better judgment, popped her hand away. She had never felt him so [[hollow.->Hollow]] An uncanny feeling she struggled to believe belonged to her son. <<if $everard>> ''I wouldn't be hollow if I had apples Mother'' <</if>>

Queen Cearo trembled in her seat, her breath uneven like a ship across unsteady waters. She tensed, to perhaps gate her lids to prevent the spill of tears. She had to stay strong, for his sake. Who else would? A strand of hair fell out onto her face. It clung like moss to decrepit territory. A hoarse choke of tears continued to fence her emotions within. Like haunted entities kept within their crypt. And she wasn't an exorcist. More hair freed from a once-tight bun. Cearo shook her head, clasping her eyes shut. Small streaks of hot tears escaped, quick to be wiped with swipes of the back of hand. At last, her eyelids cracked ajar to view the door behind them in suspicion. Not a shadow outside the door. She just knew people would somehow find a way to paint her as over-dramatic. Again, the Queen looked back. Her hair unraveled, and curiosity tempted her like a moth drawn to flames burning around forest life. She looked back at Everard. His eyes had lolled to the side, staring her way. His arm trembled as he struggled to hold it out to her. Instead, with intense tremble in his gesture, his hand could barely manage without support as it slipped off the side of the bed. His palm toward her in failure to [[grab her hand.->Hand]] <<if $everard>> ''Mission failed with the body gentlemen; let's try again at daybreak'' <</if>>

Butlers, maids and knights erupted into the bedroom to see the chair toppled over and the Queen screaming into her son’s hand. It took three men to pry her away, and despite her pleas and threats of arrest, she could not be left alone. Guttural hysterics rose to strident hell as a maid tended to Everard’s bloodied palm. She had dug her nails too deep. Whether her gesture was sincere or not, she turned her gaze at her with contempt. Fear. As if she’d hurt him. The wine bottle she’d held slammed against the wall as she was forcibly removed. The artful dodger of a witch only had her fears accentuated by the attempted assault. <<if $everard>> ''Mother this is illegal'' <</if>> The red wine stains rolled down the decorative wallpaper behind her skull, a mocking gesture to the Queen of what could’ve happened, but a potent statement of her newfound [[ill-repute.->IllRepute]] <<if $everard>> ''ou think there are bards who write songs of thieves and such instead of heroes...I wish I was still alive Mother, I would've hired a skald'' <</if>>

The Queen’s name suffered a drag through the mud as word of her ferocity reached her husband. He could care less about her attempted assault against a staff member, instead savoring his disdain for her open theatrics. The lack of secrecy had been the mistake to strike his nerve. Alone, face-to-face in the throne room, they stood drowned in lethal silence. “I’m...Disappointed in you.” His voice was a husky, quiet sneer. <<if $everard>> ''I point at the most gelatinous ugly hog whoever has on the farm and then sideglance my eyes to Father and then perform my strongest weaponary tactic of violently raising my eyebrows up and down, coordinating a sleight of hand to the hog and the Pa, whispering,// "It is he!"// over and over and OVER until the audience is roaring'' <</if>> “Then be so.” Another spell of silence. A silent, festering tension. Wordless as a criminal’s severed tongue. “Your tongue is the strongest poison I’ve ever known.” King Roland muttered. “I hope it’s enough to poison your doubt. I haven’t a second for this. Where are those knights?” The thought finally dawned on her. “Heavens, it’s a quarter past midnight! Did they stall arou—“ “The knights have been back since midnight...”tonic” in waiting.” The Queen’s jaw slacked as she snapped her head toward him. Her eyes glisten with a disbelief for the King once unseen until now. “They’ve already returned here?” Words spat as a low, restrained whisper. “They’ve— they’ve already returned he— Gods damn you absolute disgrace of a man!” The Queen threw her hands in the air in, picking her skirts up to exit the room. “Why would you refrain?! Are you scared to show fear to anyone?” “Don’t you turn your back to me!” The King screamed. Alas the loud clicks of the Queen’s heels continued to distance. “Don’t you dare open that door! Your disobedience will leave you dead to me!” <<if $everard>> ''And am I just a finely cooked pork?'' <</if>> “And your cowardice is what could’ve left you dead in the war.” With the doors flung open, she finally turned to face him. Tears damping her makeup, and her bun a disoriented bundle of black, she found her lips crack a smile that spread across her vibrant red visage. “Suffice to say I think the only man here is the man that saved you from the reaper! And of course, the coward proves why that should've been his time!” <<if $everard>> ''Let's all return to the welcoming flesh of the pig, Mother. Let's forfeit these uppity titles and jump in the pig pen. I will fight to protect the most pig-cuisine harder than any other battle I won in the war. And I still almost lost three, so do with that what you will'' <</if>> And the slam of the double doors [[bludgeoned his ears.->Bludgeon]] <<if $everard>> ''Bang bang break the hinges bang bang bang—'' <</if>>

Alone again, the King pursed his lips. It took mere moments for the Queen to be apprehended again. This time, she seldom screamed. Barely resisted. She would not give him the satisfaction of her torment again. As the prison cell doors locked behind her for the night, she kept her lips sealed, not eager to give the people anymore fuel for petty gossip. If not a soul believed her, what else were they good for? Not everyone doubted her, however. A young woman named Agnes had been one of the Queen’s finest maids in her youth. For reasons still unexplained, her mother had transferred her to different duties shortly after her marriage. One of her aspects was patrolling the castle prison grounds, assuring all captors were still within cells. The stars had aligned that night when she saw Agnes on duty for the night. Cearo's body thrust itself forward. Outstretched hands prevented her from crashing against the cell bars as she called too [[her.->Agnes]] <<if $everard>> ''Y'know, I used to eat four-leaf clovers as a kid! Kitchen staff had to swipe 'em away. Surprised how nothing came out of that.'' <</if>>

“Agnes? Agnes, is that you, dear?” Turning her head, the now mature woman obscured a gasp with her gloved hand. “Queen Cearo?” As she drew near, the lantern’s light illuminated the newfound wrinkles in her face as strikes of gray mixed within strands of dirty blonde waves. “Heavens, why are you down here? Whatever happened?” “Agnes, I would love to yarn about it for ages, but for now it’s irrelevant. But please, listen to me on what is.” Her hand outstretched to cup the woman’s hand, her thumb rolling over the back of her palm. “Do you think...After all these years…” She began. “...[[How far]] you’d still go for me?” <<if $everard>> ''Bang bang break the hinge—'' <</if>>

The plan Agnes and the Queen hatched was risky. Finding the undistributed tonic was the hardest step. Saved in a medicine cabinet within the kitchen, they’d reserved a whole cabinet. For people who “actually needed it”. It made the Queen sick. Every night, Agnes would sneak out a tonic and give some to Everard; just a few swigs from each bottle to avoid suspicion. The plan was certainly improved by the Queen’s delayed release. “Just one night” became a day. And “another day” became a week. The Queen was updated on Everard’s status every night, though at first there was little Agnes could think to say. “He drank the tonic a bit faster than usual tonight!” “I-I think he’s getting a wee bit stronger.” “He had a little grip in his hand tonight, yes.” “Oh Gods,” her face wavered in joy. “He...He [[smiled.->Smiled]]” <<if $everard>> ''I hope I still had my dashingly handsome grin on my face hahaaaaaaaaaaaa am I right ladies'' <</if>>

“He did?” Cearo only wished she could press her face through the bars to hear those words again on loop. “Oh heavens, thank the Gods…! You’re working a magic on him, Ags! Are you //sure// you’re not also trained in any...Darker forms of the arts?” “Heavens, don’t even jest!” Waving her wrist in dismissal, she darted her gaze away and back.. “Really, I don’t even know why, I-I…” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she scoured for the right words. “I was preparing to leave! Saying my goodnights, tucking him in...And as I’m leaving, I catch a change in the corner of my eye, and when I look back, he’s got a small grin on him...” “Well, any man would smile at a pretty woman, Agnes.” <<if $everard>> ''AMEN'' <</if>> Agnes ushered her hands away to obscure her flustered face. “No, no!” She deflected through an airy laugh. “You mustn’t shoot at flattering me at a time like this! Please, for once!” Before even she recognized, they were both shushing the others laughter. Once they caught their breaths, Agnes resumed. “I doubt...I doubt that was on his mind. He must’ve been over the moon his mother was still looking out for him.” “Well,” Pressing the side of her temple against the bars, she lowered her voice to a delicate swoon. “ it’s running through mine.” “Cearo!” Decades later, it seemed Agnes could hardly refrain from covering her eyes like that of a bashful maiden. “All these years!” She stated. “All these years, Cearo,, and you haven’t aged a day!” “Yes, that is true, same to you. But I suppose…” She trailed off, averting her gaze from the maid’s dark brown eyes to stare at the concrete tile. Finally, she took her gaze back to Agnes with a cheeky grin. “If this marriage continues to lose its steadiness that will quickly cease to be.” <<if $everard>> !!''DIVORCE WILL REVITALIZE YOU'' <</if>> “Oh dear, with all due respect, hush.” Agnes shut down the notion with a jangle of the lantern. The wavering light seemed to trigger realization in her. Rising from her comfort, she tried to regain her composure. “Ah, it’s getting late...As much as it pains me, I mustn’t draw attention to ourselves.” “Fate tears us apart every time, eh?” “A-at the seams, yes!” Sharing one last laugh, once the merry died to a still air, Agnes slid her hand through the bar sideways. She held the Queen’s cheek, stroking her face. “You will be out, soon. I’ll make sure of it.” She told her. “And if not that, I’ll guarantee that your son lives to seize the day once more.” “Oh…” The Queen’s smile faltered, her tone straining to a more dreadful whisper as she spoke again. “I can only hope Everard’s health improves. He’s…” Her lip wavered in struggle to find the words. “Not just for the people, no, but…” “Queen,” giving a light brush toward her chin as a hint to glance up, the Queen met Agnes’ eyes. She too, despite being widowed twice and felt the guilt of grieve drag her across the pavement, held a glistening conviction in her gaze that radiated far more than the lantern’s light. Her dedication was potent. And her hope a [[weapon->Weapon]] of its own. <<if $everard>> ''Y'know what's a better weapon than hope? A good book. To bludgeon you with. Bang bang brea—'' <</if>>

“Queen...What’s more hopeful than seeing your child stand up again and again? Think...Whenever Prince Everard injured himself as a boy...You’d dote on him like he’d less scraped his knee but escaped a monster right out his fairy tales, but soon, word comes to you the boy’s bleeding. I...You remember, do you not?” “I wanted to tear the chef’s head off who told me.” “But you, despite the casual heresy, are not a fairy-tale monster. Therefore, you rush as far your skirts can take you to the kitchen, and before you could even barge in, you turn the corner and there’s Prince Everard. By Gods, his collar drenched in blood, but…” “An empty pan covering his head.” “Oh! You couldn’t have paid someone to write a better comedy!” ~~“Mhmm…”~~ “And, yet, slowly, for dramatic pause, the prince removes the pan…And when he does, the prince is smiling ear to ear, with gauze poorly wrapped around his head. Goodness, I still don’t know why the kitchen staff let him leave like that!” “It was funny, was it not?” “It...It was, yes, but…” “But what?” “I...Well, you’d think there’d be some worry about you growing irate at the idea there was a lack of proper medical care.” The Queen pursed her lips. “If there was truly an issue, Agnes, I would be. I...There wasn’t truly a risk, the boy had covered most the blood… If he was more weak at the knees and barely standing upright I would’ve given that kitchen an earful!” Agnes’ trailed her gaze downward. Her hand left the Queen’s cheek, and cupped over her own lips. “...You believe me, right? And didn't you just say...?” [[No response.]]

<<timed 2s>><<type 30ms>>“...Agnes, I’m not upset with you.”<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 4s>> <<type 50ms>>“It’s just… Do you really think I’m that strict? That [[cruel?->Cruel]]"<</type>><</timed>>

The news of Prince Everard's death rang like a toll from Hell itself. The immediate uproar, a quake that split the ground itself as demons seized all rationality from the townsfolk. <<if $everard>> ''Oh that's right.'' <</if>> “Our beacon's light has [[gone out!->GoneOut]] <<if $goneout>> “This is a [[test!->Test]]” They screamed from their roofs. <</if>> <<if $test>> [[“What killed him?!”->Killer]] <</if>> <<if $killer>> <<timed 3s>> <<type 30ms>>\ “Are we sure it was his [[illness->HisIllness]]?” \<</type>> <<if $everard>> ''No, no, they've got a point. Maybe my luck with all the clover eating finally ran out and caught up to me'' <</if>> <</timed>> <</if>>

<<set $goneout to true>> Disorder was palaptable. Fear clutched the nights of the people like wind chimes disarrayed by high winds. People broke down in the streets, children were kept inside, parents worried that somehow, neighboring territory heard news the young warrior had fallen unexpectedly. Many could not believe the news. Refused. A lie, a conspiracy. A <<return [[test|Beacon]]>> of loyalty, as it were.

From the other side, Agnes’ clenched her hand with a rapidly darting gaze. A heavy, wavering breath escaped her. “Your Majesty, I—“ “Don’t call me that.” Agnes flinched. The Queen pulled herself away from the bars. The pain of the metal pressed against her flesh accompanied a newfound headache blooming across her head. “I’m sorry, Agnes. I’m so so sorry. Please...Finish your patrol. Don’t let a single worry about me plague your mind.” “Queen…” Stepping away from the bars, the Queen slinked back to the farthest corners of the cell. “Queen—“ “Goodnight, Agnes.” The maid’s eyes pricked with desperate tears. While they soon streaked down her chin, she had already turned heel to hide them in a rush down the hallway. [[“Goodnight.”->Beacon]] <<if $everard>> ''Oh Heavens, I'm ever so sorry. The Heaven's angels distracted me with offers of a tour and ethereal paradise, but the closure to my familial drama precedes my interest for respite now. But, I'm so sorry, I've lost track of what's going on. What's going on? The narrative is lost on me now help'' <</if>>

<<set $test to true>> “This is a test!” They screamed from their roofs. “A test! Please, come to your senses!” They were soon to be silenced. Empty bottles and dropped pokes thrown toward their heads. More authorities were required when someone pushed a woman from the rooftop. Her heard cracked atop the market street's cobblestone, and those who didn't upturn their chin took her belongings instead of mourn. When her mutual, fellow non-believers heard, they refused to stop praying over their body despite government interference. To not anger the Gods, they were left be. Some people drank until found in puddles of their own liquids, the world too indistinct and uncertain to cope with. The odor of streets alone was enough to think the population had already been slaughtered by those who seized the opportunity. Bars opened their doors and windows to thrpw entire cabinets worth into the crowd. Why worry about profit? They were all good as <<return [[dead anyway|Beacon]]>>. Those who prayed remained still and continued until early morning. It would be easy to think that eventually, they weren't just praying to grieve.

<<set $killer to true>> Fear of assassination had been immediate. Even with details provided, the rumors threaded through the streets. Prince Everard, the savior prince and “beacon of hope” for the Floreian citizens has passed after a long battle with a worsening illness. Despite his parent's effort to treat him, and his father's demands for his son's improvement of health, they too, were unable to turn the tides of tragedy. A funeral ceremony shall be held the entire weekend, day to night, to honor the <<return [[only son|Beacon]]>> and hero Prince Everard was to Floreia.

Reading the label, interrogation of the pharmacist, Heoranne, she confessed she utilized a smidge of one plant within each bottle to treat the prince's condition. Upon receiving a mass order from Queen Cearo, despite voicing worries of averse effects consuming the excessive hemlock, she soon complied with the order and prayed for the best. Rumors in themselves were blight of the tongue. <<timed 7s>> <<type 23ms>>\ “The Queen always was adamant he drink that tonic...” \<</type>> <<type 20ms>>\ “The Prince is stronger than some illness! He wouldn't have fallen that easily!” \<</type>> <<type 19ms>>\ “Well, how long was he sick?” \<</type>> <<type 15ms>>\ “Their only conceived child...I wonder how she felt about that...” \<</type>> <<type 5ms>>\ “She tried to assault a maid tending to the prince, you know!" \<</type>> <<type 2ms>>\ “What kind of a [[mother->Execution]] would do that to someone just trying to help?!” \<</type>> <<type 1ms>>\ "What ends was she reaching for, then!" \<</type>> <</timed>> <<timed 23s>> <<type 15ms>>\ “Was she even wanting him to get better?” \<</type>> <</timed>>

The Queen's execution was scheduled three days ahead at noon. <<if $everard>> ''You couldn't cut that mouth off even if the Gods demanded it'' <</if>> Once the King announced his skepticism, the rest were soon persuaded to his cause. <<if $everard>> '''m going to spout very embarrassing facts about my father now to ruin this moment for him'' <</if>> She hated the way her son had tainted her image. Spearheading a successful army while she could barely call men to arms. <<if $everard>> ''Number 1: He's my father'' <</if>> With no fertility left in her, her envy of even her own child usurping her success was too much to bear! <<if $everard>> ''Number 2: He cheated on Mother several times'' <</if>> The Queen couldn't handle to even hear his words, much less his name. Tolerance died altogether hearing him weaponize her son's name. <<if $everard>> ''`Aside to Number 2: Well, I mean, Mother...And Agnes...Were also sort of...? Um. Uh.'' <</if>> Agnes was nowhere to be found. <<if $everard>> ``Number 3: Me and the other noblemen ranked the kings like they were sports players at one point amongst ourselves via letter and he was like, second to last. Terrible blow to the ego if he heard that one`` <</if>> Her sudden disappearance was neglected of suspicion, as almost half the maids and butlers had quit upon news of the prince's death. To stay even within the luxurious castle walls was to succumb to a temptation, to be lured into a false sense of security. And that lavish protection would be the temptress that obscured their march toward a mass grave. Besides, why be subservient to authority when they'd lost their only [[hope->GrowingSick]]? <<if $everard>> '' don't want to be hope anymore oh my Gods I'd rather be the woman selling the juicy delectable freshly plucked fruits on the marketplace oh my goodness oh goodness, I dearly hope she's faring well—'' <</if>>

“I'm growing sick of that word.” She muttered under her breath, pacing around her cell. But the people clearly don't want nuance, do they. The Queen was shocked when she received a bundle of letters. <<if $everard>> ''wait'' <</if>> <<if $everard>> ''no stop stop stop stop mother stop'' <</if>> In her absence, the recipients of her forged correspondence, under the belief Everard had been healing, were worried in in their replies. With her lack of response, they began to think his sickness had worsened again. All the townsfolk thinking everyone was already well aware, and enemies were now planning their next move. Only the closest city's noble was aware. His letter read more than that of a widow in grief seeking closure, than anything. Perhaps even she Queen didn't know Everard as well as she'd liked. <<if $everard>> ''OHHHHHH GODS You were NOT SUPPOSED TO READ THAT WHAT WHAT OAUGHHHHHHH IS GABRIEL OKAY WAIT NO NO NO STOP'' <</if>> What shocked her more was who [[provided->AgnesReturns]] them. <<if $everard>> ''This is reassuring! Please don't tell me you read all of our letters though please mother mom please i'm serious please'' <</if>>

A woman removed the black, tattered hood across her face, giving a sweetly smile that would brim with a striking innocence if seen without context. She had traveled without light in the darkness, as to not attract unwanted eyes. “Agnes—!” “Save your breath, Cearo, please.” She raised a finger to her lips, offering the stack of letters through the bars in a tight, sideways grip. "I'm so sorry." Cearo sputtered out regardless. "You have all the right to be mad." "All is forgiven; I never took offense." Agnes' shook her head. Her tight lips twitched as she looked to her shoes. "But...I truly do apologize. I-I...didn't know when would be a good time for when you wanted to see [[these->TheLetters]].” <<if $everard>> ''PUT THAT AWAY'' <</if>>

In the silent dark, Cearo consumed the penmanship of those she had fooled in her disbelief. Perhaps, for what would be the last time. She couldn't stand to see her son rot before her eyes. And really, reading in-between the lines, she couldn't believe the feelings he'd kept shut away, privy to only the most intimate recipients. It was eye-opening, truth be told. And she didn't want to believe that, either, in a way. How could she, his mother, not detect these feelings? <<if $everard>> ''You will detect the flames of my wrath once I learn how to projectile shoot myself to hell to perform a cross-world letter-burning'' <</if>> Now, she had come to accept the reality, if even a smidge more than previously. Nobody knew Everard better than he. A mother could only make do with what she saw and deduced. None, fact until proven. And Everard had long since been too weak to speak. <<if $everard>> ''I WANT TO SCREAM AND QUAKE THE HEAVENS WHEN YOU READ MY PASSIONATE WORDS'' <</if>> How long had he been fighting? Did he even appreciate her help? He never said. How could * know what he needed most when he couldn't even form a sentence? <<if $everard>> ~~''I didn't really say that...I'm quoting Gabriel''~~ <</if>> A flash of a smile struck her memory. Right as she turned to the last letter. The Queen shot her head to meet Agnes' gaze. A time capsule in itself, Agnes' dimpled smile housed a youthful mischief. The “last letter” provided, was [[blank->Departure]]. <<if $everard>> ''Oh hey she used my good parchment, hah. I'd usually mind that but I guess I won't need it anymore, haha'' <</if>>

<<set $unlockeverard to true>> <<timed 2s>><<type 30ms>>\ To whom it may concern, \<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 4s>> //“Come quick, come quick! The Queen's missing from her cell!”// <</timed>> <<timed 6s>><<type 30ms>>\ From this day forth, I forfeit my title as ruler of this land. <<if $everard>> ''That's right! We're //upgrading// this divorce!!!!!!! Abdictation!!!'' <</if>> \<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 10s>> //“What the Hell do you mean?! It's almost noon!”// <</timed>> <<timed 12s>><<type 30ms>>\ I will not tolerate your accusations and slander. Nor will I let you tarnish my name with that of the only son I was capable of bringing into this world. \<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 18s>> //“What's all this paper strewn about? It's all over the damn cell!”// <<if $everard>> ''Wait a damn minute wait no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO'' <</if>> <</timed>> <<timed 20s>><<type 30ms>>\ “Beacon” “light” “hope” — all words you imprinted on your scapegoat, Everard. My son. Human before he ever was your savior; equally wrapped in perishable flesh. <<if $everard>> ''WHY WOULD YOU THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA'''' <</if>> \<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 28s>> //“Don't step on it, damn it! What if it's cursed?” <</timed>> <<timed 30s>> //“Cursed? Don't be a damn idiot—“// <</timed>> <<timed 34s>><<type 30ms>>\ Your impulsivity, your fear of the worst is what beckons you to a new martyr who sacrifices their individuality to christen themselves a puppet-master you surrender your autonomy to. You scream arson, yet run right into the flames. It grows higher and higher, blinding your vision with smoke that snuffs your life out before any fire. <<if $everard>> ``How do I abdictate myself post-mortem I will not forget this invasion of privacy mother`` <</if>> \<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 48s>> //“Oh Gods, he's convulsing! He needs a medic! Now!// <<if $everard>> ''Mother you are very swiftly expanding your criminal record'' <</if>> <</timed>> <<timed 52s>><<type 30ms>>\ I wouldn't consider myself omnipotent. I knew Everard just as well as the next person. But, selfish as it sounds, that man tethered my own rationality to the floor in chains. And without him, a newfound yearning of vengeance has cannibalized it. I know what I must do now. My reasoning is sound. <<if $everard>> ''Is it though.'' <</if>> \<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 64s>> //“Quit stepping in the parchment! ''Stop!''”// <</timed>> <<timed 66s>> //“Fetch all the nearest clerics and mages you can! Don't just stand there, damn it, move!”// <</timed>> <<timed 72s>><<type 30ms>>\ But, to clarify: Let it be known that the only truths of what you know is that my son, the only person who kept me tolerating this unjust system, is dead. \<</type>><</timed>> <<timed 82s>> ~~“But most of the people who knew magic were staff...”~~ <<if $everard>> ''Can they curse you into forgetting anything on those letters if you read it, just wondering for a friend? Haha...'friend', yes...'' <</if>> <</timed>> <<timed 88s>><<type 30ms>>\ And what you'll soon only be afraid of is the fact that [[I am not.->Start]] \<</type>><</timed>> <<if $everard>> //''Rambunctious!''// <</if>>

The following game contains heavy themes relating to ''grief, death, and emotional abuse.'' If you're worried you may be upset or triggered by these following topics being touched upon in detail, then please put yourself and your health first. <3

<<set $everard to true>> Kind of strange to have a whole story about a prince who doesn't speak, y'know? [[Start->NewsOf]]