Potential Prologue (Patreon)

Here's the potential new prologue chapter I mentioned, which I primarily wrote to signal the genre and tone to the reader better than the current opener, which I think does a poor job of indicating what sort of story it's supposed to be. This takes place between the previous, cut prologue - which is still canon - and the current opening, and reveals a little more context of what's going on, though nothing that wouldn't have been shown relatively soon otherwise. It's also short, since people complain about being overwhelmed going in a lot.

I'm not sure if I'll actually put it up with the next chapter. I need another day to think about it.

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On the day that pursuit came to an end, I was very, very tired.

Time was frozen on the busy highstreet. There was a golden hue to everything, as if the world as preserved in amber, and the air was utterly still and silent. Horses were stopped in mid stride, and flower petals were held in mid-descent.

We stood on either side of the carriage. If I craned my neck, I could see in through the window, though I didn't need to look in order to know what was inside. There were two people. One was short, with muddy brown hair, and was currently peering down intently at a book.

The other, staring upwards with a vacant expression, was me.

Well, rather, she was me with some minor differences. She was dressed a little differently, in an aquamarine wool stola, in contrast to my black dress robe, and her hair was in a much better state, her braids neat and tidy. And while she also looked tired - I couldn't remember the last time I hadn't - it was to a much lesser degree.

I wanted to say I pitied her, and I did, to a point. But that wasn't the predominant emotion I was feeling.

I turned to face the figure on the other side of the carriage. Raindrops hung in the air, their stillness making them look hard, like fragments of glass. My head simply passed through them as it moved.

They were also a woman, though you wouldn't have been able to tell. Everything beneath the head-area was buried under black fabric, without so much as an inch of flesh visible, and their face was covered with a expressionless, androgynous porcelain mask. Otherwise, the outfit evoked something like a funeral gown, with only subtle frills around the cuffs and hem of the skirt.

"It is done," she said, her voice emotionless. "Everything is ready."

I nodded, saying nothing. 

"I must recite the contract."

"Still?" I glanced downward. "Even now?"

"Yes," she said. "It is obligatory."

No kidding. I sighed, just slightly. "Fine."

She reached for her waist, and grasped a scroll of parchment attached to it with a leather buckle, removing and unfurling it before her face. Then, after a moment, she spoke.

"We once more approach the re-enactment of the hour of reckoning," she said, "all factors are set in motion, and the scenario shall commence imminently. The predestined tragedy approaches, but by the grace of the Dying Gods, you have been granted a chance to amend this cruel fate, for yourself and all others."

I was silent, looking at the ground.

"Understand this: Your role in the scenario has been elevated from that of bystander to that of the heroine, and your victory condition is thus," she continued. "You must ascertain the identity of your opponent, the cause of the bloodshed to follow, and prevent it before it comes to pass. In order to accomplish this goal, you must pay close heed to all which transpires, and use deduction, alongside your skills and past experience of the events to follow. Do you understand your role?"

"Yes," I said, muted.

In stories, at moments like these, you were supposed to want to laugh.

Yet I didn't feel like laughing. The absurdity of it all only felt crushing, suffocating.

"Should you deviate from your role, the scenario will be compromised, and a grave outcome is forewritten. But should you succeed, then you shall open the path to a brighter future." She paused for a moment. "That is all. Should we begin?"

My eyes wandered back to the side, and I stared at my other self. At her face, and past the spectacles, the subtle anxiety in her eyes. 

"I have a request," I said.