It started, as many things do, with the King being dead. He's been dead for weeks now, and they think the Queen is [[going to die]] soon too. Everyone could see it from the day he died; how a hazy grief stole her away from the realm of the living, and claimed more of her spirit every single day.
(text-rotate-z:180)[If I'm honest, watching her disappear like that makes me //miserable//.]No-one knows this to be true more intimately than me. I've sat with her day after day, watching as more and more mist takes up residence in her eyes, and as she fades into a shadow in the corner of her room, a shadow of the woman I once knew. if I didn't know better than to believe in such things, I'd almost think the King's soul was trying to claw her into the afterlife to be with him. [[x ->fetch]]She sent me away to fetch some sort of herb, or remedy. ~~[[She wouldn't have sent me away unless it was absolutely necessary.]]~~ It's been two days since then. My days and nights crossing the moor have been inhabited by fitful dreams and howling dogs. I'm near a village now, and I'm thankful I won't have to camp another night out here. I think I'm about half a day out, and it's only morning. [[It won't be long now.]] She wouldn't have sent me away unless she had to.I'm safe. I just have to remind myself of that. I know what the locals say about the fog out here - people disappear into it, and come out changed, or worse, don't come out at all. [[But that isn't going to happen to me now,]] because (link: "I can see something on the horizon.")[(goto-url: 'https://thesquare.neocities.org/rocks')](text-colour:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.6))[[[It's so foggy. ->fetch]] ]I think the Queen has died. It's taken be a lot longer than it should have to get to her - I just have this //feeling// in the pit of my stomach, like a black shroud wrapped around my insides. It will have been the grief that got her - grief that was the fog in her eyes which seeped out of her being and into mine. Her grief was palpable, and I left her alone in it. And now I think she's dead.
[[Head for the village.]]Even if she is dead, I have to keep pushing on. After all, I won't truly know until I see her; until then she's Shrödinger's Queen. I'm on the edge of the village. Hopefully someone here will have news of her.
[[Carry on.]][[Carry on. -> keep it up!]]Something's wrong here. Everything is shut, and not in a 'Sunday trading hours' way. I think the people here are scared, and //that// is more unsettling than it should be. I wonder what is lurking out there in the fog. That's got to be what they're scared of. It's beginning to fall, actually. I need to find somewhere to go, before I can't see my hand in front of my face. There is a light on at the end of the street.
[[Turn back.]]
[[Ask about a place to stay.]]It's the middle of the day now, but maybe if I sprint I can make it to the city. Maybe. the thought of another night out here is petrifying. Not that I could say why, I don't even know myself. One hears too many stories, of wolves and dogs and (text-colour:grey)[kings that claw your soul into the afterlife] and ghostly women and [[god knows what else]].They're looking at me like I'm something contagious. Their faces peer out of the glass at me, eyes wrinkled, faces gaunt and full of concern. I catch sight of my reflection - it's miserable and ghostly. There's guilt written across it, guilt that spillls my secret - [[I think I let the queen die.]](text-rotate-y:180)[ I cared so deeply for her and I let her die.](text-colour:(hsl:0,0,1,0.85))[Are they looking at me like //I// am the one [[who killed her?]] Do they believe me to be the monster in the fog?](text-colour:(hsl:0,0,1,0.75))+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.2))[Speaking of fog, it's descending fast. I back away from the window, desparate for somewhere else to stay. There's nowhere. the windows are like pits, a grey darker than the fog but ready to swallow me up all the same. [[I think I'm going to die here.]] ](text-colour:(hsl:0,0,1,0.6))+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.3))[The fog is trapping me here, the dim glow of the light now extinguished under it's heavy blanket. I can feel it pressing down on me, [[an oppressive weight]]. Like grief, I think it might be a killer.](text-colour:(hsl:0,0,1,0.45))+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.45))[I've breathed it in now. I don't think there's any escape for me. it's filling my organs one by one, [[a dead weight.]]](text-colour:(hsl:0,0,1,0.25))+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.65))[I have to get out of here. It's not something //in// the fog they were afraid of. It was the fog. And now it has me, like a glue trap. It's all I can do to claw myself along the cobbled streets out onto the moors. In my head I wanted there to be fresh air, but it was a trick. If anything, the fog is even thicker here. I can't breathe through it.
[[* -> next]]](text-colour:(hsl:0,0,1,0.15))+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.9))[[[... -> next 2]]]Is this how it feels to die of grief?
[[x -> end]](text-colour:grey)[[It's getting foggy.]](text-colour:grey)+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.1))[[It's getting really foggy.]](text-colour:grey)[Oh, God! I think it's in my lungs!
]
[[Cough it up.]]That's left a pit in my chest. That was unbearable. I wonder if that was how the Queen felt when her grief and broken heart killed her. Did it enter her from elsewhere, filling her lungs and eyes and stomach or did it come from within? Is that what's spilling out across the moors, or is that something else? I think the locals were right to be scared. I shouldn't have dismissed them like that. If I don't make it to the city, [[I think the fog might kill me.]][[Carry on. -> once more]][[Carry on. -> twice more]](text-colour:white)+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.8))[I can't see. It's in my chest. No matter how much I heave I can't cough it up. It's spreading, like a malady or a broken heart. I don't think I'm getting out of this. Oh God, oh God. it's in my lungs, my stomach, my heart, my womb, my limbs. [[It's robbing me of myself. -> next 2]] ]I can pull myself along the floor a little more. I've had most things forced out of my mind by this struggle, but all that fills my mind now is the Queen's misty grieving eyes. The way she seemed to exhale the fog that consumed her being. [[Was she even real?]] And (link: "do I even remember her anymore?")[(goto-url: 'https://thesquare.neocities.org/')] Was her grief contagious?For a second I think her shadow is stood over me, but it's not her. I've not died from her grief yet. It's a tor, towering over me, striking an imposing figure through the fog.
[[I crawl towards it.]][[Crawl.]][[Crawl. -> again]][[Help me.]][[Please, I know you're there. Help me.]][[... -> next 3]][[... -> next 4]](text-colour:orange)[["Hey, you did a great job on the route for this hike! Maybe you should plan our outings more often, mate."]](text-colour:green)[["Ha! I knew I had it in me. It's just a little further to the next tor, and then -"]](text-colour:orange)[["Then what?"]](text-colour:green)[["Oh, God."]](text-colour:orange)[["What?"]](text-colour:green)[["I think there's someone dead over there."]](text-colour:orange)+(bg:(hsl:0,0,0.5333,0.8))[["It's getting so foggy, though. How can you possibly tell?"]](text-colour:green)[["Can't you see what I see?"]]
d[[Gh]]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(text-colour:orange)[["What?" -> what 2]](text-colour:green)[You heard me.] (link: "x")[(goto-url: 'https://thesquare.neocities.org/nextrocks')]
↶↷It started, as many things do, with the King being dead. He's been dead for weeks now, and they think the Queen is going to die soon too. Everyone could see it from the day he died; how a hazy grief stole her away from the realm of the living, and claimed more of her spirit every single day.
If I'm honest, watching her disappear like that makes me miserable.