Princess Maker 1.5: pep!pep!

[ 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. ]

-

[ 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 that thinks your charge can do it: Shira, one of the Queens of your Kingdom, hand-selected your employer's child. She doesn't have a child of her own to send—or rather, to be more accurate, her children are much more interested in local philanthropy than going to the Lost Continent, and besides that, you hear that Emi is against their children going overseas in the first place. Still, Shira can sponsor someone to go to the Lost Continent, so she chooses your employer's family; it seems your charge is a distant relative of her own family, after all. It's because of her that your charge will be able to go at all—in other words, it's your patriotic duty to make sure your charge gets that inheritance. ]

Princess Maker 1.5: Taisho Roman Revolution

[ When you insert the key and open the door, you'll find the room inside looks like the living room of a mansion. There are several doors, but one in particular stands out to you: it is ornately decorated, the very door's wood itself carved beautifully with gold etched in to make luxurious patterns depicting what looks like the sky and the wind blowing through the grasslands. Though the door is closed, you can see through it—as if it's somewhat transparent.

The room is painted baby blue and a gold-plated cradle sits in the room. Inside, a baby cries—high pitched and noisy. That child, your charge—you're her nursemaid, so you go to her and rock her to sleep. ]

-

[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby sits up, trying to climb out of her cradle; a little toddler dressed prettily with expensive clothes beams pleasantly; a tantrum, thrown by the little girl who's distressed; the little girl holding a puppy, pleased as punch; then the wall becomes opaque. ]

[ In the middle of the open doorway, a young girl at the age of 11 sits on a chair, smiling at you. A long-haired, pure white cat is curled up beside her.

This is your little girl. you couldn't help spoiling her, honestly—after all, she's a noble too, and she should like to become a princess as well. She deserves it! But you also know, with how her family history has gone, she's going to have to work to get to the top. Still, you have faith in her—she's your girl, after all. 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 that thinks your charge deserves the world: Samira, one of the Queens of your Kingdom, hand-selected your employers' child. She could not send her own child to the Lost Continent, of course—she has her own inheritance battle to face within the Kingdom and sending her own child out is essentially forfeiting that battle—so she's selected theirs to sponsor. It's because of her that your charge will be able to go at all. That your child would catch the Queen's eye surely means the inheritance is as good as hers! ]

Princess Maker 1.5: future is now

[ When you insert the key and open the door, you'll find the room inside looks like the living room of a mansion. There are several doors, but one in particular stands out to you: it is ornately decorated, the very door's wood itself carved beautifully with gold etched in to make luxurious patterns depicting what looks like the sky and the wind blowing through the grasslands. Though the door is closed, you can see through it—as if it's somewhat transparent.

The room is painted baby blue and a gold-plated cradle sits in the room. Inside, a baby cries—high pitched and noisy. That child, your charge—you're her nursemaid, so you go to her and rock her to sleep. ]

-

[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby sits up, trying to climb out of her cradle; a little toddler dressed prettily with expensive clothes beams pleasantly; a tantrum, thrown by the little girl who's distressed; the little girl holding a puppy, pleased as punch; then the wall becomes opaque. ]

[ In the middle of the open doorway, a young girl at the age of 11 sits on a chair, smiling at you. A long-haired, pure white cat is curled up beside her.

This is your little girl. you couldn't help spoiling her, honestly—after all, she's a noble too, and she should like to become a princess as well. She deserves it! But you also know, with how her family history has gone, she's going to have to work to get to the top. Still, you have faith in her—she's your girl, after all. 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 that thinks your charge deserves the world: Primrose Victory Bacon^3, one of the Queens of your Kingdom, hand-selected your employers' child. She doesn't have a child of her own to send to the Lost Continent—and even if she did, she would have her own inheritance battle to face within the Kingdom anyway—so she's selected theirs to sponsor. It's because of her that your charge will be able to go at all. That your child would catch the Queen's eye surely means the inheritance is as good as hers!

. . . Though, it's a little unsettling that the one rumored to be the Queen of Crime is your charge's sponsor! ]

Princess Maker 1.5: Heart Soldier Senshi

[ 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. ]

-

[ 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 that thinks your charge can do it: Joyous Dark Firestorm Starling, one of the Queens of your Kingdom, hand-selected your employer's child. She could not send her own child to the Lost Continent, of course—she has her own inheritance battle to face within the Kingdom and sending her own child out is essentially forfeiting that battle—so she's selected theirs to sponsor. It's because of her that your charge will be able to go at all—in other words, it's your patriotic duty to make sure your charge gets that inheritance. ]

Princess Maker 1.5: AlcheME!

[ When you insert the key and open the door, you'll find the room inside looks like the living room of a mansion. There are several doors, but one in particular stands out to you: it is ornately decorated, the very door's wood itself carved beautifully with gold etched in to make luxurious patterns depicting what looks like the sky and the wind blowing through the grasslands. Though the door is closed, you can see through it—as if it's somewhat transparent.

The room is painted baby blue and a gold-plated cradle sits in the room. Inside, a baby cries—high pitched and noisy. That child, your charge—you're her nursemaid, so you go to her and rock her to sleep. ]

-

[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby sits up, trying to climb out of her cradle; a little toddler dressed prettily with expensive clothes beams pleasantly; a tantrum, thrown by the little girl who's distressed; the little girl holding a puppy, pleased as punch; then the wall becomes opaque. ]

[ In the middle of the open doorway, a young girl at the age of 11 sits on a chair, smiling at you. A long-haired, pure white cat is curled up beside her.

This is your little girl. you couldn't help spoiling her, honestly—after all, she's a noble too, and she should like to become a princess as well. She deserves it! But you also know, with how her family history has gone, she's going to have to work to get to the top. Still, you have faith in her—she's your girl, after all. 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 that thinks your charge deserves the world, and you're not the only one that thinks your charge could bring about great change to the world.

You've been a follower of The Great Z's doctrine for some time now; she will come to liberate this country, and she is well on her way, but she recognizes that her reach could be farther. If her words could take root in the Lost Continent—wouldn't that be grand? And your charge could be the first hook.

You may have subtly or not-so-subtly implied as such to your local revolutionary leaders, and soon enough, you heard back: The Great Z entrusts the task of guiding that child to you. Just a little after that, a mysterious benefactor sent word to your employers, declaring that your charge would be sent to the Lost Continent with them as her sponsor.

The Great Z must be smiling, somewhere. She's surely blessed you . . . and you won't let this blessing go to waste. ]

Princess Maker 1.5: avante en garde

[ When you insert the key and open the door, you'll find yourself stepping outside your home and into the bustling streets of the city slums. You walk down the street, only to hear the sound of a scream—

You rush to the scene: a young woman lies prone on the ground, having just been hit by a carriage. Her tattered clothes indicate her poverty; upon noticing such tatters, the driver simply moves on, and you know this to simply be a fact of this cruel life. But, you can hear something else—besides the mother's labored breathing, you can hear the sound of an infant. You roll her body over and lo—still cradled protectively is a young girl, though she will not be protected for much longer.

. . . Not unless you can help it. None else will—in these slums no one could care less if another child's life is lost—but you can do something about this. With nothing else on your mind, you pick the girl up, carrying her back to your humble abode.

Inside your apartment is a single living space without any doors—you can hear noises of the bustling life outside, as well as other people beyond the thin walls. The girl continues to cry, as though knowing to mourn, and you rock her back and forth, singing softly to your new charge to soothe her to sleep. ]

-

[ Slowly, the scene changes, fading in and out with various silent scenes—the baby cries, and in turn, the upstairs tenants knock at your ceiling; she finds her first words in your song, voice as fragile as the windpipe that carries the sound; a little toddler, she finds an injured bird and carries it home with her; you disagree on the bird's tenancy, and she storms out to run away for a little while as you regret; she returns sullenly with a secret nest built in the alley and ignores everything you say; then the wall becomes opaque. ]

[ In the corner of the room, a young girl the age of 11 crouches, looking away from you. She hums your song to the bird on her finger, which chirps along with her.

You wish you could have done better for your baby girl. But, this is what you love to do and maybe you'll get a gig that pays well enough that you two can move out of this shithole—hopefully. You tried your best to rear her, but with how infrequent you're in the house, working odd jobs in the day and performing at the pub at night, you're not sure anymore. 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, and she's horribly equipped for any of that. Then again, if anything your little tyke is tough, and if anyone could be a rags-to-riches princess, it would be her. Fortunately, when she goes to the Lost Continent, she won't be alone: you, as her longtime caretaker (her one and only parent, if you may be so bold), 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. ]

[ But just how were you able to be sponsored in the first place? . . . The story's rather funny, really.

It was when you and your girl were out and about, shopping in the market; just then, you heard the carriage, and saw it was too close to you and your daughter. You shielded her with your body, unwilling to let her die to the same fate that her mother did—

And then, by a stroke of luck, or perhaps through a miracle, the carriage managed to veer off just in time, slowing to a halt. The driver came to you to profusely apologize, and the noblewoman—perhaps looking somewhat familiar to some of you—steps out.

She took one look at your girl . . . and looked as though she'd just been struck.

She asked you both to enter the carriage, though it was more of a command then a request. With little choice in the matter, you entered the carriage with your daughter clinging tightly to you all the while; this was the first time she'd been so attached to you in ages.

The noblewoman explained herself: She is Princess Gold, the Queen of the Court. She's a professional sportsball player, although she's taken the season off to mourn . . . Her own daughter—who looked just like yours—recently passed from illness, and seeing such a familiar face, so healthy and hale, left Princess Gold speechless.

. . . Yet, through carelessness, such a face would have been dead, you not quick-footed enough and were the driver not able to change course. Princess Gold would compensate you, in any way possible.

This was your chance.

You asked her for some means of a better life for your daughter; you had nothing to your name but a few coins, and you would accept any help at all. After some thought, she agreed . . . on one condition:

Princess Gold would adopt your daughter, legally speaking. You would be assigned as her caretaker. Then, you would take her to the Lost Continent in order to receive her education there. It was the opportunity her own daughter would have taken, were she alive to do so . . .

. . . so, of course, you accepted. After all—this was your girl's chance at a better life. ]