VIVIENNE [EN]

“She’ll be ready shortly, my lord.”

The woman at the door was lying.

I couldn’t even sit up.

I had managed to lift one shoulder off the mattress when something clenched beneath my ribs. The pain knocked the breath out of me. I fell back against the pillows, clutching a fistful of sheets.

“My father has already postponed the meeting once,” a man replied from the hallway.

“I’ll help her dress.”

“See that you do.”

The footsteps receded. The door closed, and a young woman in a gray dress turned toward the bed. She wore a white apron and had a gown draped over one arm.

None of this belonged in my bedroom.

Neither did the carved canopy overhead, the marble fireplace, or the porcelain washbasin. My room had a radiator that rattled all winter and a desk wedged beneath the window. I should have been asleep with my cheek on a notebook, paying for finishing another route instead of going to bed.

“My lady?”

The maid laid the gown on a chair. Ivory silk slipped over the wooden arms.

I tried to ask her where I was.

My lips parted. Nothing came out.

A translucent rectangle appeared between us.

DIALOGUE SELECTION REQUIRED

1. Tell my father he can wait until I feel like receiving him.

2. Get out. Your voice is making me ill.

3. Fetch a doctor. Unless you’d rather explain to my father why you refused.

Auto-select in 00:15.

I stared at it.

The maid followed my gaze toward the window. The rectangle stayed in front of her face.

“Is the light troubling you?”

Where am I?

My throat tightened. I could breathe. I could swallow. I could even feel a groan trying to escape whenever the pain shifted.

But the words wouldn’t come.

00:09.

I raised a hand. My fingers passed through the rectangle.

00:06.

A gold border appeared around the first response.

No. A doctor. I needed a doctor.

I looked at the third option and concentrated.

“Fetch a doctor,” I said. “Unless you’d rather explain to my father why you refused.”

I didn’t recognize my own voice. Low, a little husky, and far too composed for someone about to lose control.

The maid pressed her lips together.

“Of course, Lady Vivienne.”

She left without taking the gown.

Vivienne.

I went still.

Another window opened.

CROWN OF GRACE

Restricted Route Initiated

Character: Vivienne Ashford

Role: Antagonist

Level: 1

Vitality: 9/40

Consecration: 84 days remaining

I knew that name. The room, too, now that I noticed the canopy’s green curtains and the little clock on the mantel.

I’d seen it behind Vivienne in one of the game’s bonus scenes. She had been standing beside the fireplace, accusing Celeste Marlowe of turning her family against her. I’d skipped part of the conversation because it repeated an argument I’d already watched twice.

The rest of her story was behind a paywall.

I hadn’t paid.

My stomach turned.

Vivienne was the duke’s daughter. She ruined dinners, insulted the servants, and loathed the girl her father had taken under his protection. In every route I’d completed, she tried to interrupt Celeste’s consecration.

And died.

I remembered white steps. A glove on the floor. Vivienne on her knees, reaching for the hem of a ceremonial robe while everyone else stepped away.

Then the game went back to Celeste.

I’d never seen anyone check whether Vivienne was still breathing.

“Exit,” I whispered.

The word came out.

I could speak when I was alone.

EXIT UNAVAILABLE

Complete the active route to restore access.

“Log out. Main menu. Quit game.”

The message didn’t change.

I closed my eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. The canopy was still there. Beneath the sheets, my feet were freezing.

“Wake up.”

Origin link available for initial verification.

Access?

I accepted before I could think.

The room vanished.

For an instant, I saw my desk from above.

The laptop was still open. Beside it sat the mug with its handle fixed in place by a crooked line of glue. My sister had broken it three years ago and insisted that made it more valuable. The notebook where I kept track of my job application dates peeked out beneath my cheek.

My body was slumped over it.

A hand gripped my shoulder.

“Claire?”

My sister leaned over me, her hair still wet from the shower.

“You said you were coming, and…”

She stopped. Shook me harder.

I tried to reach her. Something wrenched inside my chest, and I was back in the bed, gasping against an embroidered pillow.

ORIGINAL BODY: SUSPENDED

Temporal suspension established. Time in your original world will remain frozen for the duration of the active route.

Your consciousness and continued life are linked to the current character.Character death will end both.

Restoration unavailable.

I read the last few lines until the letters stopped making sense.

My sister was beside the desk. As far as she knew, I had just stopped responding.

I dug my fingers into the mattress. Once, then again, until I could feel the seams through the sheet.

Whatever this was, I had to stay alive long enough to get back to her.

A smaller notification waited at the edge of my vision.

Tutorial Objective Complete: Request Medical Attention.

Experience gained: 20

Autonomy Points gained: 10

I almost laughed. It turned into a painful cough.

Ten points. Apparently, threatening a maid into calling a doctor counted as progress.

There was a tab beneath the notification. I opened it.

AUTONOMY UNLOCKS

Silent Response — 10

APReplace One Word — 20 AP

Rewrite Response — Locked

INFORMATION ACCESS

Relationship Profile — 25 AP per person

Detailed Character Status — 20 AP

When I focused on “Relationship Profile,” an explanation appeared.

Current disposition toward your stated interests.

Percentage: [LOCKED]

I had ten points. I could buy the right to keep my mouth shut or save them to find out whether anyone was willing to help me.

The door handle turned.

I bought silence.

Silent Response unlocked.

Available during dialogue selection. Permanent.

Autonomy Points: 0

The maid returned carrying a basin. The man from the hallway followed her in.

I recognized Tristan Ashford before he reached the bed. The game had given him immaculate clothes, fair hair, and a habit of considering everything his sister did irrational. In person, he had a small shaving cut beneath his jaw and a spot of sealing wax on his cuff.

He looked at the gown on the chair.

“You haven’t even begun.”

The maid set the basin down carefully.

“I’ve sent for the doctor, my lord.”

“Again?”

The question hurt in a way I hadn’t expected. With it came a brief, confused impression: this same room in darkness, a woman carrying a candle away, my hand trying to stop her.

Then it was gone.

Tristan took out his watch.

“Father has invited the temple delegation to luncheon. All you’ve been asked to do is attend for an hour.”

He waited.

1. Let Celeste entertain them. She’s had plenty of practice pleasing people.

2. I’d rather be ill than spend an hour listening to her admirers.

3. Tell Father I won’t come down until he dismisses the delegation.

4. Remain silent.

I chose the fourth.

My jaw relaxed. Until then, I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been clenching it.

Tristan waited a few seconds longer.

“Very well,” he said, putting his watch away. “I’ll tell him myself.”

He left before I could decide whether keeping quiet had accomplished anything.

The maid lifted a cloth from the basin.

“May I?”

I nodded.

She wiped my face, taking care around my eyes. The water was warm. Between the unfamiliar room, the floating windows, and the impossible sight of my sister, that small comfort nearly made me cry.

“Your hands are cold,” she murmured.

She covered them with the sheet without waiting for an answer.

I wanted to apologize for the threat. The moment I tried, my throat closed again. No options appeared; apparently, I wasn’t allowed that conversation.

The maid mistook the effort for another cough and offered me a glass of water.

I took it in both hands.

A silver mirror lay on the dressing table. I pointed to it. She hesitated before bringing it over.

Black hair brushed my jaw. My bangs lay flat against my forehead, freckles dotted my nose, and a pillow crease marked one cheek. Pale eyes, somewhere between blue and green, tracked every movement of my hand.

I’d seen that face on a screen, twisted with rage. Without the sneer and the raised chin, it looked exhausted.

The maid tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“There. That’s better.”

In the mirror, I spotted a small portrait behind the bed: a dark-haired woman wearing pearls around her neck.

I turned to look at it.

“Her Grace’s hair was the same color,” the maid said. “Your mother’s, I mean.”

Her expression changed as soon as she said it.

“Forgive me.”

Before I could work out why she was apologizing, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Edmund Ashford entered without knocking. Tristan followed.

The duke was still fastening a shirt cuff. One glance took in the basin, the glass of water, and the untouched gown.

“Leave us.”

The maid curtsied and left. I watched the door until it closed.

My father—Vivienne’s father—stopped at the foot of the bed.

“Tristan tells me you refuse to attend.”

Four responses appeared. I chose silence before reading the first three.

“The doctor examined you yesterday,” he continued. “You had no fever.”

Yesterday belonged to someone else. I searched for a memory and found only the unpleasant certainty that I’d heard those words before.

“Celeste has been receiving patients since dawn. Some have traveled a great distance. I had hoped you would sit with her at luncheon.”

My grip tightened on the glass. Water trembled against the rim.

The duke noticed.

“Put that down before you break it.”

Tristan took it from me and set it on the bedside table.

“You needn’t stay all afternoon,” he said. “Come down, behave yourself, and then go back to bed.”

For a moment, I imagined doing it. The maid would dress me. Someone would lead me into a beautiful room. I would sit beneath a chandelier and choose between insults until I’d destroyed any chance of getting help.

“The delegation will be here for several days,” the duke added. “I expect you to improve your behavior.”

He turned toward the door, then stopped.

“And whatever grievance you believe you have against Celeste, you will keep it out of the drawing room.”

He left with Tristan. Neither asked where it hurt.

I waited until I could no longer hear them.

Then I covered my face with my hands.

I’d spent all my points to get through a conversation without making things worse. In return, I had permission to miss lunch and the certainty that the man who ruled this house thought I was pretending.

I still couldn’t afford to find out what my brother thought. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, either.

The clock on the mantel kept ticking. Beyond the windows, wheels crunched over gravel. Voices drifted in, followed by the clunk of a carriage step unfolding.

Patients. Celeste was receiving patients.

I remembered her illustrations in the game: the gentle expression, the light gathering around her hands. The animation always came with a soft chiming sound.

Somewhere downstairs, a woman screamed.

I lifted my head.

There was a pause. Then laughter. Several people began talking at once. A man’s voice reached me through the floor, breaking with relief.

“They can stand up. Look… They’re standing.”

I had just shifted toward the edge of the bed when pain shot through my right leg.

My knee gave way before my foot reached the carpet. I grabbed a bedpost and slammed my shoulder against the wood. For several seconds, all I could do was hang on.

Vitality: 7/40

Below me, someone began to clap.

I pulled the sheet aside. My knee looked unharmed. There was no wound, no swelling that I could see. I tried bending it and nearly threw up.

I reached for the bell on the bedside table.

This time, I kept ringing until someone came.