<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You asked the (link-show:"witch girls", ?ones) for help, first. |ones)[The ones that hung out on the stone beach with its alien yellow sky.] They’d built a hut, or commandeered it—you never really knew—and hung out there every Wednesday after school, at least when they didn’t have choir or orchestra or detention. You can’t remember what month it was, now. January, February, maybe, but it was cold, and your thin (link-show: "Golddigga jacket", ?N64 ) failed to insulate your bony pre-teen body against the North Sea’s harsh winds. |N64)[You sold your N64 for that jacket. You thought it would help you fit in.] Perhaps you should have worn (link-show: "something black", ?green), dug something out of the pile in the back of your wardrobe. |green)[Revived the discarded clothes you'd bought alongside your copy of Green Day’s// American Idiot//.] [[It was too late now, though.]]<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You and (link-show: "Morag", ?Rhi) were already climbing over the banks of dune grass that led to the stony beach. The wind plastered her blonde braids against her head as she marched ahead of you. [[She wasn’t scared.]] |Rhi)[Morag was good to you. She loosened the straps of your schoolbag every morning as you crossed the Spey bridge. Your mam insisted it was bad for your back, but Morag wouldn’t let you look uncool. She wouldn’t be seen with you if you did.] (append: ?ImageBar) [<img src=hut.png>]<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You slid and scrambled on to the beach proper. The shingle shifted and swayed under your (link-show: "uncertain feet", ?fell) as you walked towards the hut. It looked like something out of a (link-show:"horror movie.", ?horror)|horror)[ Driftwood and scavenged pine were piled together in a torrent of spikes that reached towards the weird sky. The sky was always the wrong colour at Spey Bay, never the tepid blue stratosphere of most Scottish shorelines, but purple and streaked with clouds of yellow bile.] It felt like an omen. Morag reached the hut. |fell)[You rushed to catch up and slipped on the loose stone, but managed to right your balance before you fell.] [[When you got there, she was already fighting.]] <img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">‘No. No way,’ said the girl in the middle. There were three of them huddled inside the tiny hut, which was so small that you and Morag had to stay crouched in the little doorway. They sat on an (link-show:"old white tablecloth", ?pasta). |pasta)[It was stained bright orange from the time you and Morag had that cheesy pasta eating contest.] The girl in the middle was Morag’s sister. ‘You know I won’t tell (link-show: "mam", ?mam),’ said Morag. |mam)[ The last time their mother had gotten wind of Shannon’s witchcraft, she’d ransacked her room for her candles and book of shadows and taken them out to the garden to burn them. A blackened sigil in the shape of a cat’s head was left in the charred grass. The number of angel statues in their house doubled after that.] Shannon looked towards the other two girls. They shook their heads. ‘We don’t do (link-show: "love magic", ?love),’ she said. |love)[ That’s why you’d gone to see the witch girls. It was simple, really. You wanted boyfriends. What thirteen-year-old girl doesn’t want a boyfriend? At that age you're not sure what you thought you would (link-show:"do with them.", ?them)|them)[ Kiss, maybe. Go to the pictures. You weren’t like those chavvy girls who slept with their fourth-year boyfriends and got pregnant. You were better than them.]] [[It didn't seem like exploitation, then. |You didn’t think of it as exploitation, then.]]<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You had no money for the bus, so you |walklink>[(cycling-link: bind $walk_lift, "had to walk", "thumbed a lift")] (link-show:"home.", ?walklift)|walklift)[(if:$walk_lift is "had to walk")[(show: ?walk)(replace: ?walklink)[had to walk]](else-if: $walk_lift is "thumbed a lift")[(show: ?lift)(replace: ?walklink)[thumbed a lift]]] |walk)[Morag complained about Shannon as you traipsed through the woods. All of their mother’s attention was focused on bringing Shannon back to Jesus, and there was no talking about Morag, or her brother, or the divorce. You followed the bubbling Black Burn for over an hour before you reached the main road. Morag ran across the road to the [[Red Shop.]] You looked both ways before you followed.]|lift)[Some older boys picked you up. One of them asked if your trumpet was a mini-moto and you awkwardly told them it wasn't. Morag tried to be cool in front of the sixth-years, but you knew that they knew that her sister was a witchy freak. They were nicer than the fourth-years, though. The fourth-years would have asked you if you'd given a blow job or what size of bra you wore or some other cursed question. The boys dropped you off at the [[Red Shop.]]]<img src=spellbook.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It took nearly the entire week to gather everything you needed. Morag stole the spell book from under the bunk bed that she and her sister shared, and you studied it at lunch like a textbook, hidden away in a corner of the library so no one knew what you were doing. Spending lunch in there was tantamount to social suicide, but decidedly less risky than being openly associated with the (link-show:"witches.", ?freak)|freak)[ Better a nerd than a freak.] ‘[[Rose petals]], jasmine flowers, bergamot oil,’ you whispered under your breaths, day after day. <img src=music.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">The rose petals were your charge. They grew long and sharp in your piano teacher’s garden; the maze of thorns was a warning to any pitiful child sent there by overzealous, pushy parents. You only had one chance, after your lesson on Monday. You exited Mrs Courcy's house carrying your sheet music and the weight of (link-show:"held back tears.", ?hit) |hit)[She’d hit you again, but that only meant the thorns of the roses would sting less against your already pained hands. You wished her whole garden would die.] The roses crawled up the walls of the bleach white house like blood on a handkerchief, like the red stains of those miserable girls in Victorian novels, made beautiful by their pain. |roselink>[(cycling-link: bind $roses, "You gleefully crushed a bright red rose in your palm. ","You ducked under the window and approached the roses.","Fear rooted you into the ground.")] Your cousin would be here for his lesson, (link-show: "soon.", ?rose)|rose)[(if: $roses is "You gleefully crushed a bright red rose in your palm. ")[ You would be made beautiful by your vengeance. In your palm, the rose was suffocated like it was its grower. You stuffed the petals in your coat pocket and looked towards the road. There was no one there.(set: $roses to true)(replace: ?roselink)[You gleefully crushed a bright red rose in your palm. ] You ran all the way [[home. |Tuesday]]](else-if: $roses is "You ducked under the window and approached the roses.")[ You knew she'd be in the back room, making it tidy for her next victim. You wondered if that sharp wood-polish smell was on purpose, if she shined between lessons so no pupil could ever forget her, so every time they smelled a felled tree they were brought back to that time and place. Regardless, it gave you time to approach slowly, and to wiggle and snap a rose off at its stem. The thorns pressed into your skin like organic needles, but that was nothing on your weekly tortures. It failed to break cleanly, and left scraggly little threads of plant matter clinging vainly to the stem.(set: $roses to true)(replace: ?roselink)[You ducked under the window and approached the roses.] You ran all the way [[home. |Tuesday]]](else-if: $roses is "Fear rooted you into the ground.")[ You were as entrenched in Mrs. Courcy's garden as the very roses you coveted. Your heart lodged in your throat as everything she'd do if she caught you flashed across your pathetic imagination. You couldn't do it.(set: $roses to false)(replace: ?roselink)[Fear rooted you into the ground.] You ran all the way [[home. |Tuesday]]]] (save-game: "auto_save_roses")(append: ?sidebar)[(link-rerun: "Main Menu")[(go-to: "Main Menu")](link-rerun: "Save")[(save-game: "slotA")](link-rerun: "Load")[(load-game: "slotA")] Music: (link-rerun:"on")[$musicon](link-rerun:"off")[$musicoff] Font: (link-rerun:"default")[$defaultfont](link-rerun:"dyslexic")[$dyslexicfont] Font Size: (link-rerun:"default")[$defaultfontsize](link-rerun:"bigger")[$biggerfont](link-rerun:"biggest")[$biggestfont] Colour: (link-rerun:"default")[$defaultstyle](link-rerun:"CVD safe")[$cbstyle] Content Warnings: (link-rerun: "show")[(show: ?cw)]|cw)[ Player performs witchcraft. References to underage sex with implied sexual assault and incest. Body horror and violence. Pregnancy and abortion. Homophobic attitudes.](link-rerun: "hide")[(hide: ?cw)]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save")[(set: $flowchartUnlocked to True)](align:"=><=")+(box:"=XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX=")[ =====|===== (css: "font-size: 4em")+(text-style:"bold","expand")['' THE WITCH GIRLS''] //When Mrs Courcy was found dead, her own roses growing out of her eyes, you chalked it up to coincidence, but then the boys came out of the sea. // (css: "font-size: 2em")+(text-style:"bold","expand")[ [[Start]] (if: $flowchartUnlocked is true)[[Flowchart]](if: $flowchartUnlocked is false)[(text-colour:grey)[Flowchart]] (if: $flowchartUnlocked is true)[[Endings]](if: $flowchartUnlocked is false)[(text-colour:grey)[Endings]] (if: $flowchartUnlocked is true)[[Author's Notes]](if: $flowchartUnlocked is false)[(text-colour:grey)[Author's Notes]] [[Credits]] ] ] { (track: 'bgmusic', 'loop', true) (track: 'bgmusic', 'playwhenpossible') } (set: $defaultstyle to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--mybodyColor','#BBE0F7');document.body.style.setProperty('--myfontColor','black'); document.body.style.setProperty('--mycyclingColor','#7C5755');document.body.style.setProperty('--myLinkColor','#DF306D');document.body.style.setProperty('--myShowColor','#569800');</script>") (set: $darkstyle to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--mybodyColor','black');document.body.style.setProperty('--myfontColor','white');document.body.style.setProperty('--mycyclingColor','#785EF0');document.body.style.setProperty('--myLinkColor','#DC267F');document.body.style.setProperty('--myShowColor','#648FFF');</script>") (set: $cbstyle to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--mybodyColor','white');document.body.style.setProperty('--myfontColor','black');document.body.style.setProperty('--mycyclingColor','#FFC20A');document.body.style.setProperty('--myLinkColor','#DC267F');document.body.style.setProperty('--myShowColor','#648FFF');</script>") (set: $defaultfontsize to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--myfontSize','1.5em');</script>") (set: $biggerfont to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--myfontSize','1.75em');</script>") (set: $biggestfont to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--myfontSize','2em');</script>") (set: $defaultfont to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--myfont', 'Instrument Serif')</script>") (set: $dyslexicfont to "<script>document.body.style.setProperty('--myfont', 'Lexend');</script>") (set: $musicon to "(track: 'bgmusic', 'play')") (set: $musicoff to "(track: 'bgmusic', 'pause')") (set: $boytype to "musician") (set: $artist to 0)(set: $musician to 0)(set: $director to 0)<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">''Written by (link: "Amy Stevens.")[(goto-url: 'https://www.amyflorence.co.uk')]'' ''Beta Testers'' Cindy Harley Campbell Drew Cook E J Clutterbuck ''Playtesters'' Fishmaiden Sarah Jack Sara ''Libraries'' (link: "Harlowe Audio Library")[(goto-url:"https://twinelab.net/harlowe-audio/#/")] by Chapel. ''Music'' "Dreams Become Real" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 100em 5em">[[Main Menu]] ''Common Route'' (link: "The Hut")[(go-to: "Start")] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_shop")[(link: "The Red Shop")[(go-to: "Red Shop.")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_shop")[(link: "Rose Petals")[(go-to: "Rose Petals")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_stealth")[(link: "Bergamot Oil, with Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(go-to:"bergamot")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_stealth")[(link: "Bergamot Oil, without Roses")[(set: $roses to false)(go-to:"bergamot")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Oil and Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"bergamot")]](else:)[???] ''The Ritual'' (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Oil and Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Juice and Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Roses Only")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Oil Only")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Juice Only")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Nothing")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_jelly")[''Jellyfish Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_jelly")[(link: "The Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"jellyfish")](else:)[???]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_music")[(link: "Music, without Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to false)(go-to:"purpose, now.")](else:)[???]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_music")[(link: "Music, with Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to true)(go-to:"purpose, now.")](else:)[???]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_join")[(link: "Join Us")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to true)(go-to:"join us")](else:)[???]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie")[''Zombie Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie")[(link: "The Boys")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"zombie")](else:)[???]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie_bridge")[(link: "The Bridge")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"judged her, too.")](else:)[???]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_perfect")[''Cuckoo Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_perfect")[(link: "The New Arrival")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"perfect")](else:)[???]] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_garage")[(link: "The Garage")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"who he was.")](else:)[???]] bgmusic: ./Dreams Become Real.mp3<img src=petals.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">On Thursday, you counted your spoils. (if: $roses is true)[You clandestinely spilled the curled up and dying petals onto the cheap library table. Morag placed a round ball of plant material next to them.](else:)[You had nothing. Morag placed a round ball of plant material on the cheap library table.] When you poked it, it was hard. ‘It opens in water,’ she said. ‘I got it at the tea shop in Aberdeen.’ The last ingredient was bergamot oil. You couldn’t buy it in a shop, not in the village, anyway. Mrs Courcy was your Avon lady and there was no way you were asking her. Google, on the library’s computer, claimed lemon oil could be used as a substitute. That night, you (cycling-link: bind $lemon, "took a bottle of out-of-date lemon juice from your mam’s never-used baking cupboard and hid it in your schoolbag.","decided it was better to have nothing than a poor substitute.","endevoured to go to Mrs Courcy's in the morning.") You went to sleep dreaming of the (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link:"boy you'd summon.")[(if: $lemon is "took a bottle of out-of-date lemon juice from your mam’s never-used baking cupboard and hid it in your schoolbag.")[(set: $oil to "juice")](if: $lemon is "decided it was better to have nothing than a poor substitute.")[(set: $oil to "none")](if: $lemon is "endevoured to go to Mrs Courcy's in the morning.")[(go-to: "bergamot"))](go-to: "Wednesday")]] <img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">On Friday, you met at the hut. The twisted branches that framed its entrance seemed to beckon you inside. You sat down and Morag dropped the jasmine tea ball, still solid, onto the cloth covered stones. (if: $roses is false and $oil is "none")[You had nothing to add.](else:)[You spilled your own spoils onto the tablecloth:(if: $oil is "none")[ just ](if: $roses is true)[ the petals, now decidedly rotten] (if: $roses is true and $oil is not "none")[, and] (if: $roses is false)[ just] (if: $oil is "juice")[the bottle of expired lemon juice](if: $oil is "oil")[the bottle of desperately procured bergamot oil].] The ingredients were ready to be shaken into a discarded lucozade bottle that you’d filled with seawater. ‘We put them in one after the other, then shake it, all while thinking of our,’ Morag grimaced, ‘ideal lover. Yuck.’ You wondered why she was doing this if she was so disgusted, but when you asked, she just shrugged and opened the bottle. ‘You first.’ With a deep breath, you drew power up from the rocky shore, just as the book had instructed. It danced through your veins like ice. (if: $roses is true)[You dropped the roses in the seawater.] (if: $oil is "juice") [You poured the lemon juice into the plastic bottle. It smelled like Zoe’s house, like damp and mould. Neither of you were allowed to go to Zoe’s house. ] (if: $oil is "oil") [You poured the oil into the bottle. It smelled grown up, sexy, like heady spices and lime, like tango on the beach. It glistened as it slid down the thin plastic and became globules floating on the seawater.] (if: $roses is false and $oil is "none")[You shook your head. You had nothing to add to the spell. Morag glared at you and snatched the bottle from your hands.] (if: $roses is true or $oil is not "none")[Morag went next.] She threw the jasmine ball in the bottle without ceremony. You held your breaths for a moment. It didn’t open. [[You thought of your ideal lover.]] <img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">When the witch girls came back from the (link-show: "concert", ?concert) in Forres, they weren’t the witch girls anymore. |concert)[Shannon told you off when you called it a concert. It was a “gig”, and that’s what they did now. They started a band in Louise’s Dad’s garage. It was called Brides of Satan and it made Shannon and Morag’s mam even angrier than the witchcraft stuff.] You went down to the (link-show: "hut", ?hut) more, after that. |hut)[It wasn’t like anyone else was using it, and Shannon never asked for the spellbook back.] The two of you did spells for good marks and popularity and even put a curse on Mrs Courcy. You didn’t think it worked, not really. No love had sprung unbidden into your lives, and, if anything, you were becoming even more unpopular. People knew you were coming here. In class they whispered that you were the new witch girls. (if: $route is "jellyfish")[(link-goto: "You didn't care.", "jellyfish")](if: $route is "zombie")[(link-goto: "You didn't care.", "zombie")](if: $route is "perfect")[(link-goto: "You didn't care.", "perfect")] There was a freedom in it, in asking for what you wanted, without the mediation of parents or schools or big sisters. Magic might not have gotten you results, but it got you something (link-show: "better:", ?power) |power)[''power, or the idea of it, at least.''] (save-game: "auto_save_ritual") (if: $lover1 is "smart, but cool.")[(set: $director to it +2)] (if: $lover1 is "basically a carbon copy of the frontman you were crushing on.")[(set: $musician to it +2)] (if: $lover1 is "artistic and aloof.")[(set: $artist to it +2)] (if: $lover2 is "the next Tarintino.")[(set: $director to it +4)] (if: $lover2 is "a musician.")[(set: $musician to it +4)] (if: $lover2 is "draws his own comics.")[(set: $artist to it +4)] (if: $lover3 is "likes the kind of movies that you can’t see in town, that you have to get the two and a half hour bus to Aberdeen to see.")[(set: $director to it +3)] (if: $lover3 is "has been to Download Festival.")[(set: $musician to it +3)] (if: $lover3 is "would hang out in art galleries, if your town had any.")[(set: $artist to it +3)] (if: $director > $artist and $director > $musician)[(set: $boytype to "director")] (else-if: $artist > $director and $artist > $musician)[(set: $boytype to "artist")] (else-if: $musician > $director and $musician > $artist)[(set: $boytype to "musician")] (else:)[(set: $boytype to "error")] <img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">When Mrs Courcy was found (link-reveal: "dead,")[ her own roses growing out of her eyes,] you chalked it up to coincidence. But then you found the jellyfish. It was (link-reveal:"grotesque.")[ One milky eye floated in a sea of aspic.] The creature had been washed ashore by the low tide, and foam and specs of wet sand clung to its translucent, lumpy body. Morag scooped it up. You started—didn’t jellyfish sting? But she cradled it against her green school jumper with no pain. She stroked a chewed-down fingernail above the eye, against what might have been its brow. ‘It’s our,’ she laughed, ‘lover.’ That thing? You supposed the ritual had gone wrong; you’d (if: $oil is "none" and $roses is false)[failed to gather any of the neccesary ingredients.](if: $oil is "none" and $roses is true)[omitted the oil out of fear.](if: $oil is not "none" and $roses is false)[failed to gather the rose petals.] But you’d expected nothing to happen, not…this. Morag set her schoolbag down on the damp beach and began to slide the thing inside. Its jelly body poured into the bag like vicious water, like gone-off lumpy milk. She [[took it home.]] (save-game: "auto_save_jelly") <img src=beach1.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">When Mrs Courcy was found (link-reveal: "dead,")[ her own roses growing out of her eyes,] you chalked it up to coincidence. But then the boys came out of the sea. They were half submerged, up to their bellies in the low tide, and stared out at you like dead-eyed twins, like vacant geminis. You didn’t know what to do with two dripping wet and dead eyed boys. You’d expected meet-cutes on the bus, not zombie boyfriends emerging from the foam. They didn’t say anything. No matter how many questions you posed them, they just stood there, swaying slightly, looking into some otherworld you couldn’t see. You tried not to (link-reveal: "look at them.")[ They were naked.] The hut was the only place you could stash two barely-there boys no questions asked. Morag [[gave them|didn’t talk about it.]] the blankets from (link-reveal: "Shannon’s bed.") [ She was mostly staying at Louise’s by then, but you didn’t talk about it. Witchcraft and rock music were bad enough.] (save-game: "auto_save_zombie") <img src=glasses.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">When Mrs Courcy was found (link-reveal: "dead,")[ her own roses growing out of her eyes,] you chalked it up to coincidence. But then Gerard and Channing crept into your lives. A month after you’d performed the spell, just as the new moon poked it’s slim face from the clouds, Gerard knocked on your door. It was morning, and he (link-show: "called on you", ?call) just like any other neighbourhood kid. |call)[Your mother shouted you down as if he did this every day.] He chatted familiarly as he walked alongside you with his (if: $boytype is "artist")[long scarf and sketchbook under his arm.](if: $boytype is "musician")[long emo fringe and bass guitar slung over his shoulder.](if: $boytype is "director")[thick framed glasses and journal under his arm.](if: $boytype is "error")["ERROR!"] It was evident what he was. He was even named for Gerard Way. You didn’t mind, though. This was exactly what you had wanted. The spell had worked. He asked how your classes were, if you still disagreed with your English teacher’s take on //Jane Eyre//, if you liked the new Panic! song. He knew you so well. When you reached the Spey Bridge, he became suddenly quiet. The river roared beneath you as it made its way to the sea. ‘We’ve been friends for a long time,’ he said, eventually. You’d met him this morning. ‘I was wondering if you wanted to be more than friends.’ You didn’t care that this was a lie, it was [[all you’d ever wanted.]] (save-game: "auto_save_perfect") <img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 2em">On Wednesday a couple of first-years came to the beach hut. ‘We don’t do love magic,’ you told them. (set: $flowchartUnlocked to true) (link: "FIN")[(if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save")[(go-to: "Main Menu")](else:)[(go-to: "Ending")]]<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em"> Thank you so much for taking the time to play The Witch Girls. It began life as a short story, which I really only started working on to procrastinate on a screenplay that was going nowhere! It morphed into my first ever IF Comp entry when I saw potential for a couple of different endings--why choose one? I was reading a lot of horror and social realism set in the Americas at the time, and I wanted to do something similar, but using my own experiences growing up in Scotland. I hope that sense of time and place has reached you while playing. ''Influences'' * Monsterillio by Gerardo Samano Cordova * Things We Lost in the Fire by Mariana Enriquez * Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self by Danielle Evans * Roxy's Baby by Catherine MacPhail * Pleasureland, written by Helen Blakeman and directed by Brian Percival * With Those We Love Alive by Porpentine * Route based structure influenced by various otome games. . [[Main Menu]](set: $flowchartUnlocked to false)<img src=bottle.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You'd been dreaming him up since day one of this plan. He was (cycling-link: bind $lover1, "smart, but cool.","artistic and aloof.","basically a carbon copy of the frontman you were crushing on.") You thought he'd be (cycling-link: bind $lover2, "a musician.","the next Tarintino.","an indie comic artist.") And he (cycling-link: bind $lover3, "liked the kind of movies that you can’t see in town, that you have to get the two and a half hour bus to Aberdeen to see.","had been to Download Festival.","would hang out in art galleries, if your town had any. ") You hadn’t thought much about his looks, or whether he would kiss you. Just that with him you wouldn’t have to care about looking cool to the likes of Chantelle. You screwed the top back on and handed it to Morag. She shook it vigorously, like that coke and mentos video you’d seen on that new YouTube thing. (if: $oil is "juice") [When she opened it the damp odor was even stronger. The liquid bubbled over plastic, yellow and foamy. The spellbook, or grimoire, as you’d taken to calling it, told you to anoint yourselves with the potion, wear it on your breasts and neck every time you went out. You couldn’t bear to put that disgusting potion against your skin.] (if: $oil is "oil") [When she opened the bottle, the lime smell had been dampened by harsh salt, but it wasn't too bad. You were supposed to anoint yourselves with it, wear it on your breasts and neck every time you went out.] (if: $oil is "none") [When Morag cracked open the bottle, all you found was seawater. You were supposed to anoint yourselves with it, wear it on your breasts and neck every time you went out, but when Morag tried to get some of it on her fingers, it dripped off like nothing.] You shook your head when Morag passed it to you, but it didn’t matter. Like with your straps, she took it upon herself to smear the (if: $oil is "juice")[yellow bubbles](if: $oil is "none")[saltwater](if: $oil is "oil")[fragrant oil] across your neck and clavicles before doing it to herself. She sent you home with half the concoction in a coke bottle and the instructions to [[wear it everyday. |Later]](if: $oil is "juice")[It didn’t smell so bad when covered with So…? Love Spell body spray.] (if: $roses is true and $oil is "oil")[(set: $route to "perfect")](else-if: $roses is true and $oil is "juice")[(set: $route to "zombie")](else:)[(set: $route to "jellyfish")] <img src=oil.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You flicked through the weathered Avon catalouge. There it was, on creased glossy pages: (link-show: "bergamot oil.", ?bergamot) |bergamot)[//Let the goregous floral fragrance of bergamot transform your home.//] It was two pounds. You could forgo lunch—what was two quids worth of school canteen panini versus a lifetime of love? But Francine had her lesson before school. Mrs Courcy wouldn't even open the door, and Morag said the ritual had to be performed this evening. Venus rules over Friday; Venus rules over love. You could think of only (link-show: "one option.", ?steal) |steal)[To steal it.] It was insane, but you knew when she would be busy, and you'd seen the room where she kept her stock. The fear of getting caught was overwhelming, but within that maelstrom was a glimmer of (link-show: "sick hope.", ?hope) |hope)[Wouldn't it be nice to hurt her, even just a little bit?] (cycling-link: bind $house, "You decided to break into Mrs Courcy's house.","You couldn't do it.") (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link:"You left the house.")[(if: $house is "You decided to break into Mrs Courcy's house.")[(go-to: "house")](else:)[(go-to: "Wednesday")]]] (save-game: "auto_save_stealth")<img src=music.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You (cycling-link:"wrapped your face in a scarf, so no one would recognise you.","brought your music carrier—bright pink, decorated with clip-art music notes, and incredibly embarassing, so no-one would suspect you weren't there for a lesson.","thought it was best to hide in plain sight, and went as you were.") You stalked up the garden path. Francine's halting rendition of Chopin's //Prelude in E Minor//, just audible through the thick front door, provided a soundtrack too melancholy for your crime. The familiar sensation of dread turned your stomach, then spiked up your arm as you reached for the door knob, but this time it was not because of what Mrs Courcy might do to you, but because of what you dared to do to her. The knob turned without resistance, and you were met with the smell of wood polish and old books as you stepped into her hallway. Chopin was louder now, even less (link-show:"rhythmic.", ?note) |note)[You could hear Francine's frustration in each note.] Up the stairs, and to the right. That's where the oil would be. You slipped along your calculated path, light on your feet to avoid the creak of the stairs, and found yourself in Mrs Courcy's spare room. Upon the bed were boxes and boxes of Avon. The music stopped, Francine's melody cut off by a slip of the finger and a rank chord. (link-show: "You froze.", ?hear) |hear)[Could they hear you?] You spied an open cardboard box, half full of bottles of oil. In a panic, you took the whole thing, shoved it in your schoolbag, and darted downstairs and out of the house. You didn't stop running until you were halfway down Birchwood Road. If they hadn't heard you before, they would have now. Fear gripped your jelly limbs, and you marched towards school with heavy breaths. It was (link-show: "fine.", ?fine) |fine)[It would be fine.] You had the oil. No matter what, you [[had the oil|Wednesday]]. (set: $oil to "oil") <img src=mags.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It was just a shitty little corner shop attached to the petrol station, but it was yours, and you wandered around its red tiled aisles pretending you were going to buy something. You flicked through a copy of (link-show:"//Mizz//.", ?mizz)|mizz)[ It had Keira Knightly on the cover.] Morag snatched it out of your hands and threw it back next to //Smash Hits//. ‘That’s for babies,’ she said. ‘How are we going to convince Shannon to do the spell?’ Your eyes drifted towards a copy of //Kerrang!//. You’d always wanted to buy it, but the boy at the till, with the patchy stubble and the single earring, was going out with (link-show: "Chantelle", ?boots), the coolest girl in your class. |boots)[She’d complimented your boots once.] You couldn’t let her know you liked mosher music. The witch girls liked mosher music. They were going to Forres next week to listen to a local band. The hut would be (link-reveal: "empty.")[= You would do the spell [[yourselves. |Let's do it.]] (save-game: "auto_save_shop")<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 2em">Now that you've played the game once, you may view the [[Flowchart]] to check what other routes you can take through the story, or check out the [[Author's Notes]]. [[Main Menu]] (save-game: "auto_save")<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You checked on them every day, tried to feed them, clothe them, tried treating them like baby birds or real teenagers, but you got nothing. Eventually, you |kisslink>[(cycling-link: bind $kiss, "slapped","kissed")] your one. He seemed like your one, because he was kind of scrawny and the other one was built like Channing Tatum, and that was definitely who Morag was thinking of when she was (link-show: "shaking the bottle.", ?kiss) |kiss)[(if:$kiss is "kissed")[ Your lips met ice, but he didn’t react. All you could taste was salt. (replace: ?kisslink) [kissed] ](if:$kiss is "slapped")[ Your palm stung, but he didn’t react. You felt sick. (replace: ?kisslink) [slapped] ]] On the walk home that night, you decided you’d [[put them back in the sea.]] <img src=pencils.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It was a surprise, then, when they turned up at school. Part of you wondered if they knew and they’d arrived to taunt you for your intended sin. To be a new kid is to sink or swim. You were the kind of girl who had rocks in her pockets, but the zombie boys were buoyant. Where they’d got the vans and the low-slung studded belts you had no idea, but they wore the emo look like they were on the front page of //Kerrang!//. It came as naturally to them as their new-found popularity. In registration the girls crowded around them. ‘What school did you used to go to?’ ‘Where do you live?’ ‘What bands do you like?’ They dodged the questions like bandits. Chantelle told them she liked Evanescence, said her favourite song was Bring Me to Life. [[You were bitter.]] Of course she’d said (link-reveal:"//Bring Me to Life//.")[ It was number one a couple of years ago. You doubted she knew any other Evanescence songs. She certainly hadn’t secretly bought //The Open Door// on release day.]<img src=football.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">During maths, it was the boys’ turn. ‘Do you play rugby?’ ‘What about football?’ They were less evasive here, and keen enough to join that by lunchtime you and Morag were watching them from the sidelines of the big (link-reveal: "pitch.") [ As they chased the ball, they seemed more like dogs than men.] “Have they talked to you?” asked Morag. You shook your head. They weren’t the kind of boys who spoke to you, but they also weren’t the kind of boys with parents or sisters or houses to go home to. Your own creation had eclipsed your popularity within minutes of setting foot inside your gloomy school building. You [[resigned yourselves to the usual social order.]]<img src=beach.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">They approached as you walked home, over the bridge. Their broken, (link-replace:"mature voices ")[mature voices—so much more sophisticated than the squeaky boys you knew—]were carried on the chill sea air, direct and in the open, for anyone to hear. Your one (if: $boytype is "artist")[wore a woolen scarf and carried a sketchbook under his arm.](if: $boytype is "musician")[flicked his fringe out of his eyes and hefted his guitar case over his shoulder.](if: $boytype is "director")[had thick glasses and a DSLR slung around his neck]. He fell into step with you as Morag and not-Channing-Tatum lingered behind. The Spey ran swift and deep beneath your feet. ‘Why didn’t I see you at school?’ he asked. ‘I—you did,’ you replied. ‘It’s just…you don’t know how things work, do you?’ He looked at you with sincere, puppy dog eyes. ‘Then teach me.’ [[You swallowed.]] Perhaps the spell had worked, after all. <img src=river.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Your first date with the boy was on Wednesday. You still didn’t know his (link-reveal: "name.")[ How he’d managed at school without one was a mystery.] When you tried to recall the teacher introducing him to the class, it was like grasping at where you’d misplaced your keys. The memory refused to come, and left only frustration in it’s wake. Hanging out by the river bank was not quite what you’d imagined when you shook that bottle—perhaps (if: $boytype is "artist")[visiting an art gallery or sketching in the park](if: $boytype is "musician")[going to a gig or having a jam sesh in his garage](if: $boytype is "director")[a trip to the indie cinema in Aberdeen or a movie marathon at home], but this was just fine. It was more of a date than you’d ever been on before. The boy met you amongst the dune grass, and the outfit that you’d meticulously checked and rechecked seemed to matter less when you sat together on the sandy shore. The water lapped at your canvas knock-off converse. Like this, he felt more like part of the land than a person, like a spectral figure conjured from the sea, just another tributary. You asked him his name. ‘I don’t have one. You have to name me,’ he said. You shook your head. ‘Surely people called you something at school?’ ‘Watch this.’ He held out his hand, and you awkwardly clasped it. ‘Hi, I’m—’ And there it was again. The feeling of grasping at a fading memory. ‘You need to give me a name.’ He was still holding your hand. (input:bind $zombiename, "==X=", "Gerard") That was what you [[called him.|need to give me a name]] <img src=river.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">‘$zombiename’ He tasted the shape of it. ‘I’m $zombiename.’ He sat up a little taller, a little brighter, once you’d named him. His outline began to stand out from the river bank. ‘And I’m your boyfriend.’ That startled you. ‘What?’ He looked hurt. ‘Am I not? Aren’t we going out? That’s why you…made me, right?’ (cycling-link:"You felt disgusted.","You felt powerful.","You felt afraid.") But that passed as soon as you said, ‘yeah, we’re going out.’ Instead you felt embarrassed, excited, that little first flush of fear and joy and anticipation all rolled up into one. That feeling was real, despite the boy being nothing but a facsimile of your teenage desires. As the river rushed by, he shuffled towards you on the sand, then pulled you closer. Your first kiss tasted of ash. Of death and decay and nothing. You’d summoned him into this world, yet when your lips met his, you felt nothing for him. He didn’t like you. He didn’t ask you out because he thought you were cool. You’d [[grown him from rotted lemon juice.]] (cycling-link:"You decided you never wanted to touch him again. You decided you wanted to get rid of him.","But he was everything to you. Finally, a boyfriend. Chantelle would be jealous.")<img src=pencils.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Life went on. The boys, $zombiename and (link-replace: "Channing ")[ Channing—Morag could be quite literal at times—]started talking to you at school. You sat in their laps in the canteen at lunchtime and lay on the big green hill after class. Chantelle asked them if they’d play spin the bottle with her friends, but $zombiename told her you were the only one he wanted to kiss. She had no more compliments to give you after that, just sneers in the hallway. Paul, her fourth-year boyfriend, asked you what $zombiename’s cock looked like, but you [[ignored him with pride]]. Better to be bullied for having a boyfriend than for being frigid or a lesbian.<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Morag was able to answer Paul’s question. She confided in you with an eerie glee one evening when you were huddled up in the (link-reveal: "hut.")[ The boys weren’t sleeping there anymore, and it was once again your makeshift witch’s cottage.] ‘We did it. I always planned to lose it before it was legal, but not this soon.’ ‘What was it like?’ you asked. She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t, like, mind-blowing. I don’t feel any different. Jessica waited a year with Rory, to make sure they were in love or whatever, but I don’t think that matters. I could have done that with anyone.’ Her nonchalance was a (link-reveal:"blow.")[ It wasn’t like you expected a fairy tale romance, but it had to mean something, this societal obsession, the obscene questions, the lad’s mags and the tits on every newspaper front page.] You refused to believe her. She’d become that kind of girl. Was it worse that Morag had had sex, or that she’d done it with that thing, that homunculus? Was Channing’s kiss as much of a death-rattle as $zombiename's? Was his…everything else? Did it count if you’d lost it to an unreal being you’d summoned from the sea? You listened to Morag, but you [[judged her, too.]] <img src=beach.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Your turn came, in time. $zombiename’s arm rested heavy on your shoulder as you walked home from school, your neck craned awkwardly under one half of his iPod headphones. He’d said everything you wished he’d say about the new (cycling-link:"Panic at the Disco!","My Chemical Romance","Evanesence","Linkin Park","CKY","Papa Roach","Fall Out Boy","The Birthday Massacare","Mindless Self Indulgence","Brokencyde","The Medic Droid") song, but it all rang hollow. He took your hand and led you to the railing of the bridge, and you both watched as the spey rushed by below. The metal railing was cold beneath your fingers, and so were $zombiename's hands as they rested on your hip, then ghosted under the band of your school trousers. You froze. Was this what you wanted? There was no-one else around, your only company each other and the cawing gulls. His wandering fingers were (cycling-link:"what you'd always wanted.","like a jolt of clarity.","predatory and disgusting.") You looked into his (cycling-link:"doe","blank","sincere","threatening","beautiful","ugly","hollow") eyes, then at the river rushing below. His wrist felt like cold clay in your grasping hand. He was too unreal, perfect in a way that disgusted you, and filled desires you weren’t sure you still held. (cycling-link:"Yet, this was the key to being just like Chantelle.","This had to end.") You (text-color: #DF306D)[(text-style: "underline")[(link: "took his wrist")[(if: $kill_boy is "flung him over the edge of the railing.")[(go-to: "Kill")](if: $kill_boy is "thrust it into your pants.")[(go-to: "Love")]]]], and (cycling-link: bind $kill_boy, "flung him over the edge of the railing.", "thrust it into your pants.") (save-game: "auto_save_zombie_bridge")<img src=beach.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">His fragile, newly-built body hit the water with a splash. He managed one betrayed look at you before being pulled under and swept out to sea, where he belonged. You returned your creation to [[whence he came.]] <img src=beach.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You took his wrist, and thrust it into your pants. Afterwards, you thought Morag had been right. Your biggest concern had been checking no one was coming [[over the bridge.]] <img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You’d thought of a million excuses, of he-moved-to-Dubais and he-got-a-scholarship-to-Gordonstones and his-mam-got-suddently-ills, but it didn’t matter. At school the next day, the air buzzed with that forgetful feeling. No one remembered the boys—Channing was gone too. Morag seemed relived. She’d fulfilled her mission, and had gotten bored of the Jackass and South Park quotes and refusal to answer questions like “what are you” and “where do you go at night”. Technically, you’d gotten away with murder, but it didn’t feel like that, not really. More like scrapping a failed hobby, like giving all your scooby bands to the kid down the street because it got too hard. You still went to the hut, though. A taste of power wasn’t [[readily given up.|final]] (save-game: "auto_save_return")<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">They didn’t turn up at school the next day, or the day after that. Whenever you mentioned them, the air buzzed with that forgetful feeling. No one remembered the boys. They’d disappeared into the air, rejoined the natural world that you’d summoned them from. Morag seemed relived. She’d fulfilled her mission, and had gotten bored of the Jackass and South Park quotes and refusal to answer questions like “what are you” and “where do you go at night”. In a way, you had, too, but it didn’t change anything. When Chantelle—who now carried an animosity with no anchor, who didn’t know why she shot you dirty looks in English— asked pointedly if you’d done it, you didn’t know what to say. Who would believe you? You could say he went to Gordonstone or you met him on holiday but, truthfully, did it even happen? Maybe that’s why you kept going to the hut, to grasp at the fading memory of your zombie loves, to keep pulling at that thread of power you had [[loosed within yourselves.|final]] (save-game: "auto_save_lover")<img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Morag didn’t come to the hut that week, or the next. You barely saw her. When you texted her with your dwindling credit she replied (cycling-link:'"busy soz"','"mb tomoz"', '"got 2 do hw"'), or "mam wont let me out", which you knew was a lie because her mam worked Friday nights and would never have known. It was lonely, wandering the cold beach by yourself, but something about the great purple sky and shifting stones called to you, kept you there. When you realized (link-show:"what that thing was", ?jelly), you felt sick. |jelly)[ There was another one. Another jellyfish. ] It had two eyes. The big one was albino, with a pink, accusatory stare. The other was small, bright blue, and turned towards the ocean. As it lay there, feeble, sick, probably dying, your heart swelled. You felt kinship to it, you needed to protect it—in some way, it was yours. Was this what prompted Morag to stuff that thing in her school bag? (cycling-link:" You couldn’t bear to feel sympathy for the disgusting creature.","You understood Morag, now.","You were cautiously curious.") (cycling-link: bind $action, "You poked it with a stick.","You cradeled it in your arms.","You studied the creature.") (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link: "It lay on the shore like an accusation.")[(if: $action is "You poked it with a stick.")[(go-to: "You poked it with a stick.")](if: $action is "You cradeled it in your arms.")[(go-to: "You cradeled it in your arms.")](if: $action is "You studied the creature.")[(go-to: "You studied the creature.")]]]<img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">There was a knarled piece of driftwood laying on the shore, and you picked it up and drove it into the creature’s soft flesh. Tentative, gentle, at first, then stronger. Chunks of jelly began to ooze from the wound you pressed into, and the pathetic thing let out a whine of protest. (cycling-link: bind $action, "You kept pushing.","You cradeled it in your arms.","You studied the creature.") (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link: "It lay on the shore like an accusation.")[(if: $action is "You kept pushing.")[(go-to: "You kept pushing.")](if: $action is "You cradeled it in your arms.")[(go-to: "You cradeled it in your arms.")](if: $action is "You studied the creature.")[(go-to: "You studied the creature.")]]] <img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Just like your best friend, you brought the slimy creature into your uniform-clad arms. It was slippery, slimey, and keeping a hold on it was a test of concentration, of determined love. Its red eye gazed into yours, while the blue one remained facing out to sea. Your fingers ghosted against its silicone surface and you felt it’s flesh move just beneath the thin layer of translucent skin. (cycling-link: bind $action, "You poked it with a stick.","You put it in your bag.","You studied the creature.") (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link: "It lay on the shore like an accusation.")[(if: $action is "You poked it with a stick.")[(go-to: "You poked it with a stick.")](if: $action is "You put it in your bag.")[(go-to: "You put it in your bag.")](if: $action is "You studied the creature.")[(go-to: "You studied the creature.")]]]<img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You squatted on the sand and peered intently at the creature. It seemed to undulate and shift on the sand, like a (link-show: "baby", ?new) who longs to walk. |new)[It felt new, fresh.] It’s albino eye turned to stare at you. It was hard to say what you felt in that glare. (cycling-link:"Accusation?","Longing? ","Need?") It was intense, regardless. The flesh beneath it’s silicone skin moved and shifted like the ocean it came from. It had no tentacles, no arms, just a sac-like lump of a body. (cycling-link: bind $action, "You poked it with a stick.","You cradeled it in your arms.","You abandoned it on the shore.") (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link: "It lay on the shore like an accusation.")[(if: $action is "You poked it with a stick.")[(go-to: "You poked it with a stick.")](if: $action is "You cradeled it in your arms.")[(go-to: "You cradeled it in your arms.")](if: $action is "You abandoned it on the shore.")[(go-to: "shore")]]] <img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You pushed harder, and jelly seeped from the ever-enlarging puncture like a pluke. The thing began to whine and scream, to non-verbally postulate, but that only hardened your heart against it. It was pitiful, disgusting. Your makeshift weapon hit sand. The noise stopped. It was dead. That, you thought, was the [[end of that.|purpose, now.]] (set: $has_jelly to false)<img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Just like Morag, you poured the delicate creature into your schoolbag. It was yours, and it would [[go home with you.]] (set: $has_jelly to true)<img src=clothes.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">The creature became your secret, your obsession, your little thing to nurture and coddle and watch grow in the stagnant warmth of your wardrobe. It was swaddled in black clothes from (link-reveal:"Retro Rebels.")[ You’d taken the three hour pilgrimage to visit the goth shop in Aberdeen—the two buses and the train—then unceremoniously shoved your purchaces in the back of the cupboard when you were too embarrassed to wear them. ] At least they had a [[purpose, now.]] <img src=piano.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">The next time you saw Morag was in music. The (link-show:"tables", ?sit) had been pushed together in the centre of the classroom. |sit)[Everyone had to sit together, ringed by glockenspiels and keyboards.] You found yourself sat opposite Chantelle. She and her friends were talking about the latest celebrity teen pregnancy scandal. ‘I’d actually like a baby, you know. Maybe I’ll talk to (link-show: "Pete", ?Pete) about it.’ |Pete)[ Pete was her fourth-year boyfriend. ] The girl next to Chantelle, her perfect clone, giggled. ‘I could get pregnant too, they could play with each other, and then when they grew up they could marry each other!’ ‘Well, you have to have a boy then,’ said Chantelle. ‘Because I want a little girl to dress up and I don’t want her to be a lezzer.’ ‘I want a baby,’ said Morag. The table went [[quiet.]]<img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">A couple of weeks later, your own jellyfish began to grow. You rushed home from school and ran upstairs to feed it the rank lukozade and friji milkshake mixture it had become accustomed to gulping down through the slit below its red eyeball. It drank hastily, and the cursed mixture flowed through the creature, filled the sac with brown-ish liquid. It never seemed to need the (link-reveal:"toilet.")[ Your discarded clothes were pristine.] Where did it all go? Towards its development, you supposed. The worst new feature was the hairy tooth. Maybe if it had been near the mouth it would have been okay, but it stuck out on the other side of the eyeballs, growing outwards, white and hard and calciferous, and fringed with thick black hairs that looked like pubes. It was disgusting, but you loved it, [[your beloved tetratoma.]] <img src=teeth.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Morag needed to know. You snapped a blurry pic of the tooth with your phone and used 36p of your meagre one-pound-and-six credit to send it to her. Ten minutes later she was knocking on your back door. The two of you peered at the thing, at your little creature. She ran a finger over its starry blue eye, then let one slide into its mouth. It sucked. You looked on with (cycling-link:"horror","love"," revulsion ","jealousy"). ‘Doesn’t it look delicious?’ she asked. You turned to her. She wore an eerie smile as her hand drifted towards her stomach, and patted it in that way you’d seen Becca’s sister do when she was pregnant. Her face went blank. ‘When the full moon is high, feast upon its flesh, and it will be born anew.’ That wasn’t from the spell book, from Shannon’s grimoire written in shaky biro and glitter gel pens. What the fuck was she talking about? She refused to answer any of your questions; she was cryptic and blank and not herself at all. There was nothing you could do. [[You let her leave.]] <img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You watched it grow for another week, watched new orifices and appendages emerge from the goo. All the while, the moon shifted into view. At first half in shadow, its light [[grew with the creature. ]]<img src=toilet.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">At school, Morag began leaving classes to throw up. After what she’d said to Chantelle, the rumor mill started up hard and fast. None of it was wrong, though. She took you into the bathroom and crammed you into a stall painted in white, flecked with dull salmon. The lumpy paint seemed to press in on you as she lifted her shirt. What you saw beneath her uniform didn’t look like (link-reveal:"fat.")[ It was nothing like the puppy fat you’d put on at ten and refused to go to the Christmas ceilidh over.] It was solid, a lump just below her abdomen. She took your hand and pressed it against the bump. It was as hard as it looked, like pressing your hand against one of the stones from the beach. Your face fell, but she smiled an eerie smile, like she was far away. You (cycling-link: "told her she could have it adopted","told her to get rid of it", "told her to get some support"), but she shook her head. ‘All we need is each other. But on the full moon, you could [[join us]], if you like.’ <img src=toilet.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">At school, Morag began leaving classes to throw up. After what she’d said to Chantelle, the rumor mill started up hard and fast. None of it was wrong, though. She took you into the bathroom and crammed you into a stall painted in white, flecked with dull salmon. The lumpy paint seemed to press in on you as she lifted her shirt. What you saw beneath her uniform didn’t look like (link-reveal: "fat.") [ It was nothing like the puppy fat you’d put on at ten and refused to go to the Christmas ceilidh over.] It was solid, a lump just below her abdomen. She took your hand and pressed it against the bump. It was as hard as it looked, like pressing your hand against one of the stones from the beach. Your face fell, but she smiled an eerie smile, like she was far away. ‘Who’s the father?’ you asked. She shook her head like she was in on a secret. ‘You know who. My ideal lover.’ ‘So the jellyfish wasn’t—‘ ‘It was,’ she said. You (cycling-link: "told her she could have it adopted","told her to get rid of it", "told her to get some support"), but she shook her head. ‘All we need is each other. Me and my bean.’ Her face turned dark. ‘I’d invite you to join us, but you rejected nature’s gift.’ She left you [[alone in the bathroom stall.]] <img src=toilet.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It was in a bathroom stall that you next found her. The final bell had just rung, and Morag was screaming. It had only been two weeks, yet she was doubled over in pain, contractions once every five minutes. She was giving birth in the school toilets. What else could you do but hold her hand, tell her to push, help her to breathe? Of course you’d tried to (cycling-link:"get a teacher","phone an ambulance"), but she wouldn’t let you, and, even now, you did what Morag told you. It was a little after four, and the school was mostly empty as she screamed and pushed and cried. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she crushed your hand in hers. She (link-reveal: "powered through.") [ In PSE Mrs McLeod told you giving birth could take twelve hours, but she did it in less than one.] A little plop, and something landed in the toilet. You tried to catch it but, slick and wet with blood, it slipped out of your hands. Morag hobbled off the toilet. There was no umbilical cord. She was free of the thing that floated in the septic water. It wasn’t a baby. It was like the jellyfish you’d found on the beach, only it was covered, front and back, with (link-reveal: "teeth.") [ Rows and rows of bloodstained teeth.] You stumbled into the next stall to [[throw up.]] Morag sank to the ground and wept. Eventually, she dried her eyes, and flushed the bloody jellyfish away. It was done.<img src=fork.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">On the full moon, you and Morag gathered in your bedroom and unswaddled your little creature. There was another tooth, in the mouth slit this time, that almost made it look like it was smiling. Morag rubbed her belly as you lay the creature down. She was (link-reveal: "big.") [ Bigger than she’d been last (link-reveal: "week.")[ Bigger than was natural, normal.]] How she’d hidden this from her mother you had no idea. She took a set of camping utensils out of her bag and (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link: "handed them to you.")[(if: $ate_jelly is "You took them with trembling hands.")[(go-to: "You took them with trembling hands.")](if: $ate_jelly is "You knocked them out of her hands.")(go-to: "You knocked them out of her hands.")]] (cycling-link: bind $ate_jelly,"You took them with trembling hands.", "You knocked them out of her hands.") (save-game: "auto_save_join")<img src=teeth.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">If this was what it meant to become an adult, if this was what it meant to join Morag and Chantelle, to be more than barbies and too-high school bag straps, you would do it. You tentatively poked the thing’s aspic flesh with your plastic knife. It made a low moan of confusion. ‘Shouldn’t we kill it, first?’ you asked. Morag shook her head. Your knife went in. It screamed. You withdrew a chunk of jelly flesh from the writhing sac. It looked worse than your aunt’s Christmas dinner, but adults didn’t complain about that sort of thing. It was chewy in your mouth, not like jelly at all, more like chewing gum that tasted of salt and fish and something rotten and wretched but you choked it down, piece by piece, chunk by chunk, until finally, all that was left was the hairy tooth. Morag took your hand. ‘Last bit.’ Swallow a tooth? Really? You knew you had to [[do it.]] <img src=fork.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">‘I can’t,’ you said. ‘But we were supposed to do this together,’ cried Morag. You had made no such promise. ‘The spell was ours, the hut was ours, don’t you want the babies to be ours too?’ The spell was meant to make some boy from the next town over fall in love with you, not this, not single teenage motherhood invoked from some amorphous blob washed up on the beach. ‘No, Morag, no.’ ‘Please!’ She started crying, long and loud, too loud. You shushed her, tried to prevent your mam from hearing. It was too late, though, she opened the door, and her eyes went [[straight to Morag’s belly.]] <img src=bib.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You were truly twins, now, with matching protruding bellies. Some old woman shot you a dirty look as you wandered through mothercare. She stared at your stomachs, on display above low-rise jeans and crop tops. She was old, probably over thirty, a geriatric pregnancy you’d heard that called. Soft warm light shone against rows of babygrows, in white, pink, yellow. They had such tiny feet. Would your baby have tiny feet? You touched your growing stomach. Maybe it would have gelatinous tentacles, or more teeth, teeth instead of limbs. That didn’t matter, though, you’d love it anyway. You both would. (link: "FIN")[(if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save")[(go-to: "Main Menu")](else:)[(go-to: "Ending")]] (set: $flowchartUnlocked to true) (save-game: "auto_save_together")<img src=clock.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Your mam got Morag an emergency appointment. Her own mother refused to be involved. The three of you sat on the plastic moulded chairs of the doctor’s waiting room in silence. The clock ticked. You held Morag’s hand. Her cry had saved her. Things went back to normal after that, despite what the doctors found. You still went to the hut, because Morag had been right about one thing: [[it was yours.|final]] (save-game: "auto_save_abortion")<img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">No one liked Morag after that. Faking a pregnancy for attention destroyed all the goodwill she had with Chantelle. You stood by her, though. You were her friend, you would do anything for her, and besides, you had the [[hut on the beach to attend to.|final]] (save-game: "auto_save_birth")<img src=piano.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">At school, you walked down the hospital-green corridors hand-in-hand. Kids from different groups nodded, waved, said hi to him. Everyone knew Gerard. Everyone liked Gerard. He even got a high-five from Pete, Chantelle’s fourth-year boyfriend. Chantelle confronted you in music. You were allowed to use the upright piano instead of the keyboards, because you knew how to play, and she almost shut the case on your fingers. ‘Are you going out with Gerard?’ You nodded. ‘I don’t know what he sees in you,’ she said, then stalked off. You knew you weren’t cool, but you thought Chantelle (link-reveal: "liked you.")[ She’d complimented your boots, once.] One of the popular boys turned from his rendition of //pressing the DJ key enough times to get kicked out of class// to tell you ‘Chantelle fancies Gerard.’ But she had Pete, [[didn't she?]]<img src=fork.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">He was invited, at first. Your mother, who seemed to have known Gerard your whole lives, was happy that you’d finally found a “wee boyfriend”, and insisted you had him round for tea. He complimented her bung-it-in-the-oven Birdseye cooking and offered to help your Dad with D.I.Y. They seemed impressed, but it was sycophantic, his manners as fake as his life. No one real was this perfect, only those summoned from the aether with rose petals and bergamot oil. You knew [[it was a lie.]] <img src=sheets.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Gerard kept showing up. Every week, then every day. You hadn’t invited him, and you were pretty sure that your parents hadn’t either, but they accepted it as fact that Gerard ate at yours now as readily as your mother had accepted that he’d called on you that fateful morning. You never considered where he came from. Where he ate, where he slept, but that failed to matter when he crawled into your bed. It started innocent enough, a movie that went on too long, him still there, and your mother’s fussing about him walking home in the dark. You thought she’d have given him the spare room, but there he was, lying under your sheets in nothing but Invader Zim pajama bottoms. You stared at him, unsure what to do. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘Couples sleep in the same bed, don’t they?’ Adult couples did. Unspeakable things were happening behind the bike sheds, but you didn’t think anyone was sleeping in the same bed as their second-year boyfriend. This wasn’t what you wanted. When you made a bed on the floor he was a gentleman [[and took it.]] <img src=sheets.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Without Morag, you had no one to speak to the night that Gerard forewent his floor-nest. He slid into bed with you and wrapped his arms around your waist. ‘I’m not going to do anything, don’t worry.’ It was nice, in a perverse way. He felt warm, he cared, you felt less alone even though he was the cause of your alone-ness. Even when you were surrounded at school, it was still always him, his popularity, his friends. They cared about Gerard, but Gerard cared about you. He felt warm, but was it the warmth of a brother, [[or a lover?]] <img src=sheets.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Nothing happened that night, but it soon became routine for him to sleep in the same bed as you. What was the point of resisting, of complaining, when he could do no wrong in your parent's eyes? He was your mother and father's golden boy. Normal parents said say no to boys sleeping over, especially in the same bed. Chantelle said her Mam let Pete stay over, but everyone knew Chantelle’s Mam was a druggie. When his hand (text-color:#DF306D)[(text-style:"underline")[(link:"drifted to your thigh a couple weeks later you")[(if: $slept_w_gerard is "pushed him to the floor.")[(go-to: "pushed him to the floor")](if: $slept_w_gerard is "did what everyone seemed to want you to do.")[(go-to: "did what everyone seemed to want you to do.")]]]] (cycling-link: bind $slept_w_gerard, "pushed him to the floor.", "did what everyone seemed to want you to do.")<img src=sheets.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">He didn’t protest, just lay there in the dark. Though he was on the floor, his presence pressed in all around you. It started to feel like that all the time, like he might be just behind you if you looked over your shoulder. Everything he did was perfect, and you were [[just there.]] <img src=sheets.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You thought you’d feel different, but you just felt tired. You thought you’d want to tell people at school, to scream from the rooftops, ‘I’m one of the cool kids, I’ve done it’, but there was no triumph in this. What did you see when you looked at him? A boyfriend? A brother? An obligation? It was [[hard to understand.|just there.]] <img src=sheets.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It was almost as if Gerard had replaced you in your parents minds. You wondered if this was abuse, if your parents failure to intervene counted as neglect, but how could it be those things when you were the only reason Gerard existed? When you’d summoned him from the foam with nothing but stolen bergamot oil? Perhaps [[you were the abuser]] for bringing him into this world.<img src=angel.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You’d almost forgotten about Morag. Gerard had subsumed your parents' attention, the school's attention, and, it seemed, even your own. She finally reappeared in English, the one class you had without your summoned boyfriends. She asked you to sneak—yes, sneak—uptown at lunchtime. She was afraid Channing would catch her. You stood outside the bakery with a poke of chips each and she spilled her heart out. Channing had moved into her house and charmed her mother and sister. If it hadn’t have happened to you, you wouldn’t have believed it. Morag’s house was a (link-reveal: "shrine.") [ Every surface was crammed with angel statues and prayer sheets.] Her mother dragged her all the way over to Fochabers to go to the cathedral every week, unlike the rest of you who went to the wee Red Kirk on Easter or Christmas. There was no way she’d let a boy live with them, especially not Morag’s sea-summoned boyfriend. Not that it mattered: he wasn’t living there any more, because he wasn’t living. She’d returned him to the sea. She said it casually, like she’d returned a jumper to New Look, but you knew what she’d done, and if you were honest with yourself, you knew why she’d done it. [[You exchanged a look.]] (cycling-link:"Gerard would return, too.","But you couldn’t do that to Gerard") <img src=pencils.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It was just the three of you at school: you, Morag and Gerard. No Channing. Gerard didn’t comment on it. Neither did anyone else. His name wasn’t called on the register. When you built up the courage to ask after Channing in passing, no one in your class knew [[who he was.]] <img src=wrench.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">A couple of nights later, your Dad and Gerard were in the garage, working on the car. ‘Pass me that wrench, son?’ Gerard handed it to him with a smile. The story was that Dads threatened to kill boys that tried to sleep with their daughters, but yours was happily working with Gerard. Maybe you’d been wrong, maybe that was just in the movies, but it seemed pretty real when Cleo’s uncle knocked on Tommy’s door with a knife. You could take (text-color:#DF306D)[(text-style:"underline")[(link: "things into your own hands.")[(if: $kill_ger is "You had to do it.")[(go-to: "You had to do it.")](if: $kill_ger is "You couldn’t, Gerard was family.")[(go-to: "You couldn’t, Gerard was family.")]]]] Cleo’s uncle had been arrested, but that’s because people noticed Tommy’s knife wounds. No one had noticed Channing’s disappearance. (cycling-link: bind $kill_ger, "You had to do it.","You couldn’t, Gerard was family.") (save-game: "auto_save_garage")<img src=beach1.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You invited Gerard for a walk on the beach. It was the first real date you’d been on for a while, since you saw him at school and at home and everywhere you happened to go. He eyed the hut nervously as you walked past it. He’d never mentioned the spell, and neither had you. Does a cuckoo know it’s a cuckoo? The wind blew hard as you smiled at him and led him away from the hut, led him down the beach towards the shore where the rough waves met tumbling stone and damp sand. You took your shoes off and waded knee-deep into the sea. A numbing cold embraced your legs, then your heart. Gerard followed, and you took [[his hands.]] <img src=sheets.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Life continued on, but things only got worse. You’d hoped Gerard might disappear now that Channing was gone, but you had no such luck. In fact, all that disappeared was the illusion that Gerard wasn’t your parents son, that he wasn’t supposed to be in your house. All pretense of a family friend was dropped. He was a permanent fixture. He stopped holding your hand at school, but he still climbed into your bed every night. (link:"FIN")[(if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save")[(go-to: "Main Menu")](else:)[(go-to: "Ending")]] (save-game: "auto_save_brother")<img src=jelly.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You let it linger and rot there while you [[went on with life.|purpose, now.]] (set: $has_jelly to false) <img src=hut.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 100em 5em">''Endings Found'' Ending 1A: (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_birth")[''Birth''](else:)[ ''???''] Ending 1B: (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_abortion")[''Abortion''](else:)[ ''???''] Ending 1C: (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_together")[''Together''](else:)[ ''???''] Ending 2A: (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_return")[''Return''](else:)[ ''???''] Ending 2B: (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_lover")[''Lover''](else:)[ ''???''] Ending 3A: (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_drowning")[''Drowning''](else:)[ ''???''] Ending 3B: (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_brother")[''Brother''](else:)[ ''???'']<img src=music.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">Chantell's eye turned towards Morag. ‘Really?’ ‘I missed my last period, actually.’ You stared at her, dumbfounded. You were so irregular it was impossible to know if you’d (link-reveal:"missed one.")[ You’d only started this year.] But she was tall, so maybe she’d been getting it forever and knew this stuff. Maybe they all knew this stuff. Maybe it wasn’t weird to be talking about wanting a baby in second year music, maybe they were all just grown up. You’d spent last weekend with your cousin playing with (link-reveal: "barbies.") [ Sure, you’d snuck alchopops from her big sister’s stash to drink while you played, and the storyline was more like Hollyoaks than The Princess Diaries, but still.] You didn’t feel ready for this. Chantelle looked her up and down. ‘So you’ve got a boyfriend?’ ‘Yeah.’ But Morag didn’t have a boyfriend. She had a sac of aspic washed up from the dark waters of the (text-color:#DF306D) + (text-style:"underline")[(link: "North Sea.")[(if: $has_jelly is true)[(go-to: "North Sea")](if: $has_jelly is false)[(go-to: "No jellyfish ver")]]] (save-game: "auto_save_music")<img src=teeth.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It would be like taking a pill. Easy. You’d learned to take paracetamol without (link-reveal: "water.") [ Needing water to take a pill was totally uncool.] You picked it up. You put it in your mouth. You could feel it on your tongue: the thick hair, the calciferous tooth, the sea brine. Your stomach churned. The hair stuck near the back of your throat, and you gagged, then clamped your mouth shut. You swallowed. It stuck in your throat, thick, too big, going to choke but you pushed hard, down, and it went. The tooth, into your stomach. You fought the urge to be sick, to expel this foreign material from your body, but Morag held you, steadfast. ‘Now we’ll [[always be together]],’ she said. <img src=beach1.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">The sun had just begun to set, and the twilight cast the beach’s weird sky in a glowing shade of (link-reveal: "pink.") [ How picturesque, a young couple silhouetted against the half-light.] Your hands crept up to his neck and rested there, tense with anticipation. ‘I made you,’ you said. ‘You don’t get to replace me. You don’t get to use me. You only exist because of me.’ Your hands tightened around his fragile neck, and he struggled, struck out, but you stuck a foot under his (link-replace: "ankle ")[ankle—the only move you’d learned in a self-defense class that had only made you more scared to walk the streets—]and threw him towards the crashing sea. You kept your hands around his neck as he fell, and you splashed down with him and forced him under the water. He writhed and squirmed against your cold, cold, hands but you held tight, tighter even. It didn’t feel like murder, but it didn’t feel like returning a jumper to New Look, either. It felt good, like deleting a thing out of place, like returning the universe to order. He escaped your grip a moment. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’ve known you since we were five!’ ‘No you haven’t!’ You pushed him back under with hard breaths, with squeezes and pushes and violence. You didn’t let him up. You kept him under until he stopped trashing. It felt like an eternity. Eventually, it was done. You stood up and watched as the sea, unnatural in it’s floes, carried him away, back to [[whence he came.|final]] (save-game: "auto_save_drowning")$boytype (align:"=><=")+(box:"===XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX==")[(css: "font-size: 2em")+(text-style:"bold","expand")['' FLOWCHART''] ''Common Route'' (link: "The Hut")[(go-to: "Start")] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_shop")[(link: "The Red Shop")[(go-to: "Red Shop.")]](else:)[???] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_shop")[(link: "Rose Petals")[(go-to: "Rose petals")]](else:)[???] ↙ ↘ =|= =|= =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_stealth")[(link: "Bergamot Oil, with Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(go-to:"bergamot")]](else:)[???] =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_stealth")[(link: "Bergamot Oil, without Roses")[(set: $roses to false)(go-to:"bergamot")]](else:)[???] =|= =|= |==| =|= ↙ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Oil and Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↓ =|= ↙ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Juice and Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↓ =|= ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Roses Only")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↘ =|= ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Oil Only")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↘ =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Juice Only")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↓ =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Nothing")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↙ |==| =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_perfect")[''Cuckoo Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_perfect")[(link: "The New Arrival")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"perfect")]](else:)[???] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_garage")[(link: "The Garage")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"who he was.")]](else:)[???] =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie")[''Zombie Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie")[(link: "The Boys")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"zombie")]](else:)[???] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie_bridge")[(link: "The Bridge")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"judged her, too.")]](else:)[???] =|= =|= =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_jelly")[''Jellyfish Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_jelly")[(link: "The Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"jellyfish")]](else:)[???] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_music")[(link: "Music, without Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to false)(go-to:"purpose, now.")]](else:)[???] =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_music")[(link: "Music, with Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to true)(go-to:"purpose, now.")](else:)[???]] |==| =|= ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_drowning")[''''Ending 3A: Drowning''''](else:)[ ''''???''''] =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_brother")[''''Ending 3B: Brother''''](else:)[ ''''???''''] =|= ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_return")[''''Ending 2A: Return''''](else:)[ ''''???''''] =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_lover")[''''Ending 2B: Lover''''](else:)[ ''''???''''] =|= =|= =|= =|= =|= ↙ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_birth")[''''Ending 1A: Birth''''](else:)[ ''''???''''] =|= =|= ↙ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_abortion")[''''Ending 1B: Abortion''''](else:)[ ''''???''''] =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_join")[(link: "Join Us")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to true)(go-to:"join us")](else:)[???]] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_together")[''''Ending 1C: Together''''](else:)[ ''''???''''] |==| ] (align:"=><=")+(box:"===XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX==")[(css: "font-size: 2em")+(text-style:"bold","expand")['' FLOWCHART''] ''Common Route'' (link: "The Hut")[(go-to: "Start")] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_shop")[(link: "The Red Shop")[(go-to: "Red Shop.")]](else:)[???] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_shop")[(link: "Rose Petals")[(go-to: "Rose Petals")]](else:)[???] ↙ ↘ =|= =|= =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_stealth")[(link: "Bergamot Oil, with Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(go-to:"bergamot")]](else:)[???] =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_stealth")[(link: "Bergamot Oil, without Roses")[(set: $roses to false)(go-to:"bergamot")]](else:)[???] =|= =|= |==| =|= ↙ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Oil and Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↓ =|= ↙ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Juice and Roses")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↓ =|= ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Roses Only")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↘ =|= ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Oil Only")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↘ =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Juice Only")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↓ =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_ritual")[(link: "Ritual, with Nothing")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"Wednesday")]](else:)[???] ↙ |==| =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_perfect")[''Cuckoo Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_perfect")[(link: "The New Arrival")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"perfect")](else:)[???]] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_garage")[(link: "The Garage")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "oil")(go-to:"who he was.")](else:)[???]] ↙ ↘ =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie")[''Zombie Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie")[(link: "The Boys")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"zombie")](else:)[???]] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_zombie_bridge")[(link: "The Bridge")[(set: $roses to true)(set: $oil to "juice")(go-to:"judged her, too.")](else:)[???]] ↙ ↘ =|= =|= =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_jelly")[''Jellyfish Route''](else:)[ ''???''] (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_jelly")[(link: "The Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(go-to:"jellyfish")](else:)[???]] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_music")[(link: "Music, without Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to false)(go-to:"purpose, now.")](else:)[???]] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_birth")[''Ending 1A: Birth''](else:)[ ''???''] =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_music")[(link: "Music, with Jellyfish")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to true)(go-to:"purpose, now.")](else:)[???]] ↓ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_join")[(link: "Join Us")[(set: $roses to false)(set: $oil to "none")(set: $has_jelly to true)(go-to:"join us")](else:)[???]] |==| =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_drowning")[''Ending 3A: Drowning''](else:)[ ''???''] =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_brother")[''Ending 3B: Brother''](else:)[ ''???''] =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_return")[''Ending 2A: Return''](else:)[ ''???''] =|= (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_lover")[''Ending 2B: Lover''](else:)[ ''???''] =|= =|= =|= =|= =|= =|= =|= ↙ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_abortion")[''Ending 1B: Abortion''](else:)[ ''???''] =|= ↘ (if: (saved-games:) contains "auto_save_together")[''Ending 1C: Together''](else:)[ ''???''] |==| ] <img src=piano.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It began with school. He’d transferred to your music class the week after the piano slam incident, and (link-reveal:"sat next to you.")[ Chantelle seethed behind you both.] When it was time for practice, Gerard beat you to the piano. ‘Mr. Gunn said I could use the piano, but we could duet, if you like?’ It was odd, sitting next to him on the piano stool, thighs and shoulders touching as your combined hands created an intertwined rhythm. It should have been heaven, exactly what you wanted. You had a boyfriend who was popular and cool, but with that little air of sophistication, that little nod to being better than all of this, better than all of them. You and he stood apart from school, not because they did not want you, but because you were better than them. But he didn’t need that. He was already cool, already popular. You did. [[And he was taking it from you.]] <img src=coupl3.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It wasn’t just Chantelle. (link-reveal: "Everyone liked Gerard.")[ Everyone loved Gerard.] On the pitch at lunchtime the meagre friend group that you and Morag had scraped together from not-quite-outcasts but not-quite-populars clustered around him and Channing, a carbon-copy of Channing Tatum that Morag had met in similar circumstances to you and your sea-summoned soulmate. You spied Chantelle’s dirty look as her group stalked past yours, no doubt heading to the bike sheds to smoke. Once, that stare would have paralyzed you, but you drunk it in like juice, like the alchopops you’d snuck from Morag’s sister. You were drunk on her envy. Too bad you had to [[deal with the hangover.]] <img src=coupl3.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">At school you kissed on the green and shared headphones between classes, but at home he helped your Mam with chores and ate the last of the good (link-reveal: "biscuits.")[ He hadn’t left since that night.] Your parents were weirdly nonchalant. You made it eminently clear that he was your boyfriend, and all your mam had to say was ‘we’re lucky you found such a nice boy.’ She had never been a (link-reveal: "pushover.")[ If she was a pushover you wouldn’t have spent every Monday at Mrs Courcy’s, wouldn’t have needed your straps fixed by Morag. ] The magic had done it’s work on (link-reveal:"her.")[ Your mother. ] It had sucked out her soul and left you [[alone with Gerard.]] <img src=piano.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">It wasn’t malicious. In fact, he was the perfect boyfriend. He listened as you explained the intricate social game that was your Bebo top sixteen, and of course he’d agreed to be your other half on the site. He was perfect, you were public. You went on dates to the pictures and on walks in the park where he explained (if: $boytype is "artist")[the myths behind neo-classical paintings](if: $boytype is "musician")[how to read tab--you'd only ever read sheet](if: $boytype is "director")[the conspiracy theories around the filmography of Stanley Kubrick]. It should have felt good, going out with a popular boy. When he invaded your home, it didn’t [[feel good at all.]] <img src=coupl3.png align=left width=25% style="margin: 0 2em 50em 5em">You tried to talk to Morag about it, to find out more about the spell. Perhaps there was some way to bring your mother back to herself, but Morag was nowhere to be found. She’d started going on “long walks” with Channing at lunch, and skipped most of her classes. She didn’t even reply to the texts you spent your [[dwindling credit on.]]