***
The digital ping echoed in the cell's frozen silence, a sound I alone could hear.
[A Main Scenario has Arrived!]
[Childcare 101: The Spilled Soup] The target, Kaelen Voronoff, has shown defiance by spilling his meal. The original Elara would use this as a chance to assert dominance through fear. Your actions now will set the course for your future.
[Choose Your Action:]
1. [Original Path] "You ungrateful brat! If you won't eat, you will starve." (Grab him by the arm and lock him in the unlit closet.) Result: Terror +10, Affection -20, Cruelty +5. (Moves you 33% closer to the [Original Fate].)
2. [Indifference] "Fine. Starve." (Turn around and leave the room, locking the door behind you.) Result: Indifference +10, Affection -10, Distrust +5. (You survive the day, but his hatred deepens.)
3. [Improvise] (Kneel.) "That's a nasty spill. Are you hurt?" Result: ???
I knelt on the freezing floorboards, my body screaming from the cold and the awkward, unpracticed movement. I stared at the three options hovering in my vision, my heart feeling like a trapped bird against my ribs.
Option 1 was a signed death warrant. It was the "starter pack" for getting executed, and I wanted no part of it. Option 2 was just a slower, more cowardly path to the same end. If I showed indifference, the Duke would arrive in three days, see the half-starved, hateful child, and execute me for neglect instead of abuse. The result was the same: an Elara-sicle in the courtyard.
That left only Option 3. The ???.
In the games I used to play, the ??? The option was either a secret "golden route" or an instant "Game Over." It was the 0% gamble. But when the other two options were 100% death, a 0% gamble was the only logical choice.
"I choose three," I whispered, my voice a dry croak. The System, however, didn't respond to voice commands. It was waiting for the action.
I looked at the small, trembling boy. His magenta eyes were still locked on me, wide with that awful, confused shock. He had expected me to tower, to scream, to grab. He had not expected me to kneel.
I took a ragged breath, the icy air stinging my lungs.
"That's a nasty spill," I said. My voice was rough, but I tried to keep it low and steady. "Are you hurt?"
The words hung in the air, foreign and strange.
As soon as they left my lips, the System window flickered.
[Choice '3' Selected.] [... ... ...] [Result: ??? - Analyzing...] [...WARNING! Anomaly Detected!] [Divergence from known plot path (98.7% deviation)!] [RECALCULATING... RECALCULATING...]
The blue window vanished abruptly, as if it had short-circuited.
Good. I broke it.
My moment of triumph was short-lived because Kaelen's reaction was a thousand times worse than the System's.
The moment he processed my words, his confusion vanished, and the simmering hatred snapped back into place, harder this time. It was a mask. He thought this was a trick—a new, more elaborate form of torment.
He flinched violently, scrambling backward, his small back hitting the stone wall with a dull, sickening thud. He didn't cry out, but a tiny, sharp hiss of pained breath escaped him. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body coiled like a spring, bracing for the real attack—the hand that was sure to follow the "kind" words.
My heart shattered.
"No," I said, my voice coming out too sharp. I instantly softened it. "No, I'm not... I'm not going to hurt you."
He didn't open his eyes. He just trembled, his small, chapped lips pulled back in a silent snarl.
This was... this was so much harder than I thought. He was a cornered animal. Kindness was a language he'd either never learned or had been taught to fear.
[System Alert: New Objective!] [...Recalculation Failed. Setting new parameters.] [Objective: Stabilize Target's 'Fear' stat. Current Status: CRITICAL.]
"You can say that again," I muttered at the new, frantic-looking alert.
Okay. Think. What does a five-year-old boy, who is being starved and frozen in a cell, actually need?
It wasn't complicated. He needed food. He needed warmth. He needed to be out of this... this room.
I looked at the gray, lumpy gruel splattered on the floor. It was inedible, and even if it wasn't, it was now full of dust and splinters.
"That... that food is ruined," I said, mostly to myself. I looked back at Kaelen. His eyes were open again, just slits, watching me with that burning, wary magenta.
"I'm... I'm going to get you something else to eat," I said.
His expression didn't change. He didn't believe me. Why should he?
"And... It's too cold in here," I said, my teeth chattering to prove the point. The wind howled outside, a high-pitched scream. I looked at the fireplace. "Why isn't there a fire?"
No answer. Of course not.
"Right," I said, pushing myself up. My knees cracked, and I winced. This body was a wreck. "Okay. I'll be... I'll be right back. Don't... go anywhere."
A stupid thing to say to a child locked in a tower.
He watched me, his small face a mask of stone, as I backed out of the room and pulled the heavy door shut. The corridor was just as cold, but at least I could move.
[System Warning: Leaving the 'Scenario Zone' without completion may—]
"Oh, shut up," I snapped at the air. "I'm fixing it."
I had no idea where I was going. The kitchens? Where were the kitchens in this gothic nightmare? I stumbled back down the spiral stairs, my bare feet numb. I followed the main hall, reasoning that a kitchen had to be near the main part of the house, not the... the abuse tower.
It took me ten minutes of terrified, frantic wandering, hiding from two patrolling guards who looked at me like I was vermin, before the smell of baking bread and roasting meat hit me.
I followed my nose to a massive, bustling cavern of a room—the kitchens.
It was warm. It was so warm. My body instinctively sagged in relief. Dozens of servants were rushing around, carrying trays and scrubbing pots, all under the command of a woman built like a battle-axe, with a red, furious face and a flour-dusted apron—the Head Cook.
I skittered in, a ghost in my thin, gray shift, my shawl clutched around me.
"You!" the Head Cook barked, spotting me instantly. Her voice boomed. "What are you doing here? Servants of the East Tower aren't permitted in the main kitchen. Go back to your sty."
"I... I need food," I stammered, my words weak.
"Food?" She laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "The thing in the tower had its meal. I heard it throw it on the floor again. Ungrateful little monster, you can eat that!"
A maid, the same Eliza who had woken me, sniffed. "Just like I told you, Cook. She's as mad as the child. Now she's down here, begging for scraps."
"I'm not begging," I said, finding a sliver of my old life's indignation. "He's a child. He's hungry. The gruel was... it was spoiled. And the room is freezing. There's no firewood."
The Head Cook's face darkened. "Are you questioning my kitchen, you miserable little rat? The food was fine. And if the Head Butler assigns no firewood to the tower, that is his domain, not yours. Now get out! I won't have your filth in my kitchen. Go!"
She turned her back on me, a clear, final dismissal. The other servants smirked, returning to their work.
I stood there, trembling, but this time it was from rage, not cold.
They were all in on it. The entire household was complicit in a five-year-old's abuse. The Head Butler... Duke Zander's staff.
My stomach growled, a painful, hollow ache. I was starving, too.
I looked at the table. There was a cooling rack filled with fresh, golden-brown loaves of bread. Beside it, a wheel of cheese.
I had no power. I had no reputation. I was "filth." I couldn't persuade them.
So I'd have to do this the "villainess" way after all.
My heart hammered. This was it. I was going to get executed for stealing bread.
[System Alert: New Choice Detected!]
No, not now!
The Head Cook was screaming at a pot-boy. Eliza was polishing silver, her back to me.
My hand darted out.
It was... warm. So wonderfully warm. I grabbed a small loaf, the crust scratching my palm, and in the same motion, I shoved it under my thin shawl, holding it tight against my stomach.
I turned to run.
"Hold it right there."
The Head Cook's voice was deathly quiet.
I froze, one foot out the door. She was staring right at me.
"What," she said, her eyes narrowing, "are you hiding under that filthy shawl, Governess?"
I was trapped. I looked at her, and then down at the suspicious, bread-shaped lump at my stomach.
A new window pinged, bright and cheerful.
[A Spontaneous Scenario has Arrived!]
[Theft in the Kitchen!] You have been caught stealing. Your reputation with the household staff is at rock bottom. How will you escape? [Current Status: Hostile]
[Choose Your Lie:]
1. [Plead] "It's for me! I'm starving! Please, I'll work it off!"
2. [Defy] "It's for the young master. Are you going to deny him?"
3. [Bribe] "I... I saw nothing. I'll make sure the Head Butler knows...?"
4. [Improvise] ???
(End of Chapter 2)
(Author's Note)
Well, that went well. 💀
Elara tried to be a hero but was immediately busted by the Head Cook. Now the System is offering 4 ways out, and "Improvise" is looking awfully risky again...
If you're enjoying the chaos, please drop a Power Stone or leave a review! It helps so much!
See you next #TickyTockThursday!
👉 SCENARIO POLL! (Comment on the paragraph to vote):
BUSTED! Elara's caught with the bread. What's her escape plan?
A) Plead for mercy. (The "I'm Starving!" route)
B) Defy the Cook. (The "It's for Kaelen!" route)
C) Make a deal. (The "Bribe/Blackmail" route)
D) Make up a crazy lie. (The "???/Improvise" route)
E) JUST RUN. (The "Bolt for the Door" route)