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. ]

-

[ 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. ]

PRINCESS MAKER 1.5: WILD CITY

[ 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.

One day an old man arrived at your house, seeking shelter. You let him stay the night, of course, and normally that would have been that, right? Evidently he was a tribesman from the vast deserts of New Senteca - you couldn't imagine what he was doing all the way out here, and he wasn't really willing to tell you. Perhaps running from the undead? It couldn't possibly be easy living out there, not at all.

But you always had heard those tribes perform strange acts of witchcraft, and while you never really paid it much mind, what happened the morning he left made you start to think.

He thanked you for your time, shook your hands, and then crouched down to pat your daughter's head, staring deep into her eyes. After a tense, awkward moment, he proclaimed:

"This one is the one who will receive the gift of the King of the Sea, she who's life was cut short, she who brings the rain, she who saw that we will one day be granted safe passage across stormy waters to a better life! The twice-dead, blind spirit of the storms, Dice the Short-Lived!"

And then he left without another word.

The next day, you received a letter in the mail.

Somehow, your daughter would be sent to the Lost Continent, for a chance to lead the rebuilding. And as strange as the circumstances seemed, you were not about to squander this chance for her. After all, it's fate. . .isn't it? ]

PRINCESS MAKER 1.5: ☆ZRAEL

[ 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: in the dark of the night, you received an ill omen. A vision of nightmare, if you will. You saw the flames dancing high, blood spreading through the rivers and streams - if the wrong person were to rebuild the Lost Continent, one not properly blessed by the shadows, then the calamity of dragonfire and hatred that had consumed this land centuries ago would once again visit it.

And you know this, because you saw it. Because you were told. Because you know. In this vision, you saw her - the girl impaled, the monster sent to her death for the crime of simply being too monstrous to be allowed to live free: ☆☆☆oth.

And as if that were not proof enough, the next day, you received a letter in the mail.

Your daughter would be sent to the Lost Continent, and you knew that she must be the one to rebuild it - even if she had to become a monster to do so. ]

PRINCESS MAKER 1.5: sensitIV

[ 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: an emissary from Valkyrie Aster Hela arrived at your door. Or rather, a woman in a wheelchair who said nothing and did nothing but look blankly into the void, a small smile on her face arrived.

She just sat there for awhile, and when you awkwardly went to go fetch her water (maybe her throat was parched????) she was gone by the time you returned. All that was left was a scrap of paper nailed to your door.

In the name of the Valkyrie, saviour of our souls,
you must save the Lost Continent from the darkness that will befall it.
Do not let our deaths be in vain.

. . .

The next day, you received notice your daughter would be sent to the Lost Continent and enrolled in classes, so that she might one day become a leader of the restoration effort. You. . .suppose you have a duty to see her through it. You owe it to someone, don't you? ]

PRINCESS MAKER 1.5: LiliS

[ 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: after all, she's part of the Philanthropy Program, right?

Well, okay - she doesn't have a sponsor, sure. But that's fine! She's in Class 2B with all of the more unsavoury types, those sponsored and reared by shady folks and those suspected of witchcraft and sorcery, but even being here is more than you could ask for her. It's not like you aren't used to working your way up through the ranks, and so you're thankful for the opportunity she has on the Lost Continent. ]

PRINCESS MAKER 1.5: BARiTONES

[ 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: after all, she's part of the Philanthropy Program, right?

Well, okay - she doesn't have a sponsor, sure. But that's fine! She's in Class 2B with all of the more unsavoury types, those sponsored and reared by shady folks and those suspected of witchcraft and sorcery, and quite frankly you can't believe your precious wonderful child would be lumped in with miscreants like that, but at least it means she'll look even better than she already is in comparison to the rest of them. You're sure of it. ]