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PRINCESS MAKER 1.5: BAD END=DEAD END
[
[ When you insert the key and open the door, you'll find yourself in a humble cottage, in what seems to be the living room specifically. There are several doors, but a specific one catches your eye: simple in its decoration, the door has a cute little wooden plaque with flowers carved into it. Though the door is closed, you can see through it—as if it's somewhat transparent.
A wooden cradle sits in the room beyond, which is otherwise plain. Inside, a baby sleeps peacefully. When she stirs, calling for her parent, you, her nursemaid, are there instead, to cradle her back to sleep. ]
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[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby coos pleasantly, giggling jovially when you (presumably) make faces at her; she tries to pick herself up and falls over, but she does not cry; a disagreement between you and her lead to a thoughtful discussion; the young girl carries a large laundry basket to do chores; she buys a pet dog, looking so proud for having earned the money all by herself; then the wall becomes opaque. ]
[ In the middle of the open doorway, a young girl the age of 11 stands, smiling at you. A stern-looking shepherd dog sits obediently next to her.
This is your little girl. You tried your best to rear her, and she's been good to you. You know she is capable of anything if she puts her mind to it—even becoming a princess. But you also know it's not easy to become a princess—she'll have to work hard, and she's capable of it but she'll need a guiding hand, you know. Better she become a princess than go off to war, though—better that she bear the burden of aristocracy than living a life of loneliness wrapped up in duty like her mother, or losing that life on the battlefield like her father. Whether she actually becomes a princess or not . . . well, that's up to fate, isn't it? Fortunately, when she goes to the Lost Continent, she won't be alone: you, as her longtime caretaker (her third parent, really, or her first, if you consider how her family's left her care entirely to you), may accompany her to her new school. You'll be her ally, her support, her greatest weapon; you'll be the one who determines her success . . . or her failure. ]
[ Of course, you're not the only one who thinks your charge can do it: one day, you received a letter at your home from a courier who seems to be . . . well, for lack of a better word: dead? Literally encrusted in grave dirt. You were a bit concerned, but you read the letter regardless.
It was addressed from The Queen of the Plague. Now - normally, at this point, you would have burned such a thing and never thought of it again. But the first words caught your eye.
CONCERNING YOUR DAUGHTER.
So really, what choice did you have but to read it? It was probably just a prank anyway, you thought. That conviction only grew stronger as you read through the letter:
CONCERNING YOUR DAUGHTER.
IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE WE TALKED. I HAVE BEEN VERY SAD. BUT I AM GLAD TO SEE YOU HAVE RETURNED.
THAT GIRL YOU HAVE IS IMPORTANT. I KNOW IT. I WILL GIVE HER A GIFT.
PLEASE TAKE CARE OF HER.
LIKE YOU DID BACK THEN.
THE LOST CONTINENT AWAITS.
YOURS,
DAGGER "PRINCESS KICKASS" MOONFIRE
The next day, you received notice that your daughter would be attending school. You're . . . not sure how that managed to happen exactly, since whatever that letter was, it's not . . . really a sponsorship?
But you'll do your best. You have to, for her. ]
A wooden cradle sits in the room beyond, which is otherwise plain. Inside, a baby sleeps peacefully. When she stirs, calling for her parent, you, her nursemaid, are there instead, to cradle her back to sleep. ]
-
[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby coos pleasantly, giggling jovially when you (presumably) make faces at her; she tries to pick herself up and falls over, but she does not cry; a disagreement between you and her lead to a thoughtful discussion; the young girl carries a large laundry basket to do chores; she buys a pet dog, looking so proud for having earned the money all by herself; then the wall becomes opaque. ]
[ In the middle of the open doorway, a young girl the age of 11 stands, smiling at you. A stern-looking shepherd dog sits obediently next to her.
This is your little girl. You tried your best to rear her, and she's been good to you. You know she is capable of anything if she puts her mind to it—even becoming a princess. But you also know it's not easy to become a princess—she'll have to work hard, and she's capable of it but she'll need a guiding hand, you know. Better she become a princess than go off to war, though—better that she bear the burden of aristocracy than living a life of loneliness wrapped up in duty like her mother, or losing that life on the battlefield like her father. Whether she actually becomes a princess or not . . . well, that's up to fate, isn't it? Fortunately, when she goes to the Lost Continent, she won't be alone: you, as her longtime caretaker (her third parent, really, or her first, if you consider how her family's left her care entirely to you), may accompany her to her new school. You'll be her ally, her support, her greatest weapon; you'll be the one who determines her success . . . or her failure. ]
[ Of course, you're not the only one who thinks your charge can do it: one day, you received a letter at your home from a courier who seems to be . . . well, for lack of a better word: dead? Literally encrusted in grave dirt. You were a bit concerned, but you read the letter regardless.
It was addressed from The Queen of the Plague. Now - normally, at this point, you would have burned such a thing and never thought of it again. But the first words caught your eye.
CONCERNING YOUR DAUGHTER.
So really, what choice did you have but to read it? It was probably just a prank anyway, you thought. That conviction only grew stronger as you read through the letter:
CONCERNING YOUR DAUGHTER.
IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE WE TALKED. I HAVE BEEN VERY SAD. BUT I AM GLAD TO SEE YOU HAVE RETURNED.
THAT GIRL YOU HAVE IS IMPORTANT. I KNOW IT. I WILL GIVE HER A GIFT.
PLEASE TAKE CARE OF HER.
LIKE YOU DID BACK THEN.
THE LOST CONTINENT AWAITS.
YOURS,
DAGGER "PRINCESS KICKASS" MOONFIRE
The next day, you received notice that your daughter would be attending school. You're . . . not sure how that managed to happen exactly, since whatever that letter was, it's not . . . really a sponsorship?
But you'll do your best. You have to, for her. ]
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Maybe twelve each, then. I believe a little structure in free time isn't bad; I know Sashay intends to ensure she learns to hunt, and I would like to include some instruction in ethics, and some charity work.
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That sounds like it covers most of the important stuff, right?
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