cornelia sim

//''Deluge.''// //Cornelia Augustine is at the house alone today. Spend a day in her shoes, pursue leisure or productivity, and make sure she takes care of everything before the storm rolls in.// --- [[Wake up.->time 0]]

The day begins early. When you wake, sunlight has not yet passed the curtains. You take a few moments to orient yourself, stretching both hands above your head and pulling fingers through tangled hair. Dreamless nights pass quickly – not that you’d ever complain. You spend a few quiet moments getting yourself together, combing through your tangled hair and pulling back the curtains to let in the soft glow of daybreak. You know that you’ll be alone again today. Wyatt won’t be back for a few days yet. They left just under two weeks ago, and the journey is too far. Looking out your window over the unusually quiet sea, you take a few moments to hope for their safety. There is nothing at all you can do from here, though, and so you don’t spend too long on your concern. Indeed, the best you can do is handle things at home. Only the two of you live in this house, and so for now, this place is your responsibility. You will take care of things here, until they come back home. [[...->time 1]] (set: $sweep to false) (set: $kitchen to false) (set: $mend to false) (set: $painting to false) (set: $chess to false) (set: $read to false) (set: $chores to 0) (set: $leisure to 0) (set: $ocean to false) (set: $tea to false) (set: $knife to false)

(set: $time to it + 1) This has been a long time coming. With hands on hips, you look disapprovingly at the state of the foyer. Sand and dust and stray pieces of pale grass litter the entranceway, tracked in over weeks from dirty boots and wayward breezes. You take a short while to clean up the floor, sweeping the debris out onto the front porch. And then a few minutes more to rearrange the shoes by the doorway and straighten the coats hung up on the near wall. It’s not a terribly large space, so you make progress quickly. Feeling ambitious, you decide to tackle the light fixtures as well. You clamber up to the chandelier, brushing away what must be at least a season’s worth of dust. Your nose wrinkles. When you sneeze, the ladder trembles, and you shoot out a steadying hand to the wall. Your steps are a bit slower as you climb back down, and you’re grateful when your feet reach the floor. Perhaps you could polish things a bit more, but… well, you probably shouldn’t push your luck any further. Good enough. (if:$time is 2)[[[...->time 2]]](if:$time is 3)[[[...->time 3]]](if:$time is 4)[[[...->time 4]]] (set: $chores to it + 1) (set: $sweep to true)

(set: $time to it + 1) Even with just a single occupant, the kitchen still accumulates mess. You take the time to dump out the vegetable cuttings, scrub a yet-unnoticed stain off a corner of the stove, and straighten up the cupboards. At the back of the shelf, you find a box of sweets you’re positively certain you’ve never bought before. You eye it less suspiciously than you ought to before popping one in your mouth. It tastes like sea salt. The damn seagulls have come back onto the patio, and they squawk at you as you beat the flour out of your apron. Over the din, you threaten to turn one into stew. It blinks its beady eyes in your direction, turns its head left and right, and ruffles its wings unperturbedly. You wish turning away and heading back inside didn’t feel so much like forfeit. The birds are still audibly chattering outside as you finish up. You hang the apron on the wall, wash up a few stray dishes, and set aside a few ingredients for tonight’s meal. The pantry looks good enough; you could probably go another few days before the somewhat arduous trek to market. You toss the gulls one last dirty look before you close the curtain. That should do for now. (if:$time is 2)[[[...->time 2]]](if:$time is 3)[[[...->time 3]]](if:$time is 4)[[[...->time 4]]] (set: $chores to it + 1) (set: $kitchen to true)

(set: $time to it + 1) In a corner of your room, a few neglected articles of clothing lie on top of a dresser. There’s not too much – one of your dresses, a single blouse, a slightly too-big shawl – but it is still a task that needs completing. You’ve put it off for a while, seeing as you’ve not needed anything from the pile. But despite how overcast it is today, the weather is warming, and it’d be nice if you could have a full wardrobe for spring. The motions of thread and needle are familiar. Your stitches are small and neat, and most of your alterations are hard to notice. One of few skills you hold that are truly practical, even if many of your hours were spent in decorative embroidery. You repair the hem of your dress and the sleeve of your blouse in little more than an hour. You’ll have to find something to use to patch up your shawl; the hole there is too large to be simply sewn together. You rifle through a box of old fabric scraps. Most of the contents have been cannibalized from your old gowns and are far too thin, but a few off-white scraps at the bottom catch your eye. You’re fairly sure, given the color and fabric, that they’re not from your own clothes. Wool, maybe. Perhaps it was from Wyatt’s old coat. The patch stands out somewhat among your own cream-colored cloak, but you don’t seem to mind. The thread winds comfortingly tight around your pinky finger as you tie the knots off. Looks like that's settled. (if:$time is 2)[[[...->time 2]]](if:$time is 3)[[[...->time 3]]](if:$time is 4)[[[...->time 4]]] (set: $chores to it + 1) (set: $mend to true)

(set: $time to it + 1) That’s a decent idea. It’s been a while since you picked up your paints. It takes some time to clear off the dried crust that built at the edges of your palette, leaving a scattering of residue on the floor. You nudge it distastefully with the toe of your shoe and make a mental note to sweep up before you go to bed. A collection of unblemished canvases still leans against the far wall, leftover from a time in which you had more faith in your creative ambition. You maneuver the easel into the center of your room and consider the canvas with hands on hips. What should be your subject? [[The sea.->Leisure A1]] [[The flowers.->Leisure A2]] [[Yourself.->Leisure A3]]

(set: $time to it + 1) From your admittedly limited understanding, one isn’t meant to play this alone. But your ordinary opponent isn’t due to be home for a while yet, and you’re bored, so you find your way out to the checkered patio table. Out of habit, you set the pieces up on both sides of the board. Perhaps you could simply try playing against yourself? In truth, you could probably use the practice. You’re not especially good at this game. You tend to make moves impulsively, unable or unwilling to keep track of the many possibilities that stretch out from each play. The game requires more patience than you typically possess, and so your moves at times end up rather poorly thought out – though, it can be fun to throw your opponent off. Playing both parts isn’t as boring as you imagined, and it does indeed help you think about your moves in more detail. You actually get into it by the end of things, and when one side of the board finds victory over the other, you actually feel a bit excited. You wonder whether this practice will help you close the monumental gap in victories when your real opponent return. It’s a nice thought, even if you’re pretty certain it will not turn out that way. Smiling to yourself, you put the game pieces away and decide to get back to work. (if:$time is 2)[[...->time 2]](if:$time is 3)[[...->time 3]](if:$time is 4)[[...->time 4]] (set: $chess to true) (set: $leisure to it + 1)

(set: $time to it + 1) You head into the office downstairs. Inside, bookshelves stretch more than halfway to the ceiling and lean at a somewhat worrying angle. The shelves are not packed to the extent of a library, and thick tomes sit next to trinkets and research notes. Nonetheless, there’s plenty for you to choose from. Not many of these books are yours – indeed, very few are. When you were younger, you often lost yourself in grand, romantic tales of monsters and heroes and devils and gods. However, you’ve soured on fairy tales of late, and many of your old books were left behind long ago. You spend a while debating before choosing a botanical handbook. The book is duller than you expected, and even descriptions of profoundly dangerous toxins feel dry when described scientifically. But despite the dry style, the topic is fairly fascinating. You rarely pay so much attention to anything in your life, let alone such minute details as a fern’s anatomy. A few hours pass, and you eventually raise your head from the page, blinking into the room that seems to have just reappeared. Seems like you got a little carried away. You take the handbook up to your bedside table for you to peruse later. For now, you can get back to work. (if:$time is 2)[[[...->time 2]]](if:$time is 3)[[[...->time 3]]](if:$time is 4)[[[...->time 4]]] (set: $read to true) (set: $leisure to it + 1)

You assess the stranger in a few heartbeats. You’re clearly not what he expected, and it seems he’s not yet discerned what relation you hold to his objective. You rush to fill the gaps in his knowledge yourself before he can put it together. You live here by yourself, you explain, and you were rather startled by his appearance. But nonetheless, you’re happy to help. He’s got something important to do, right? Perhaps you have some information that might be helpful. He should step inside, and the two of you can sit down over some tea and talk things through. The man is sufficiently won over by your long-disused charm, or at least, suitably unmoored by your rapid-fire speech. He agrees to come inside. As the front door shuts behind him, the absence of howling wind brings an oppressive silence. You gesture for him to sit, and step aside to the nearby kitchen as he begins to speak. The tone of his voice implies that he’s recited this story several times before. As he mentioned, he’s a hero, and he’s come to find someone very dangerous… You hum in reply to show that you are listening. As you open the cabinet, you push aside your favorite tea leaves and reach far back into the cabinet until your fingers brush a package wrapped in burlap. You return to the stranger in a few moments holding a steaming kettle. With steady hands, you pour one cup for each of you. You raise your own to your lips and wait, the warm liquid lapping at the surface of your skin, as the stranger drinks distractedly of his own. You aren’t really sure how quickly this is meant to work, and so it’s something of a surprise when the stranger’s head hits the table mid-sentence. You hurry to his side, put two fingers to the side of his neck, and hold your own too-quick breath as you count. //One, two, three, four.// The stillness is a relief, even if it cannot fully dissolve the tightness in your throat. With tremendous effort, you heave the man’s body out of the dining room. A collection of gulls scatter into flight as you shove the patio door open with your shoulder and stomp out onto the porch. The wind wails, and a ten-minute walk to the shore stretches closer to thirty, but soon enough, seawater laps at your heels. You watch the man’s body wash out with each wave, sinking lower and lower beneath the surface. You stand there until it begins to rain, and the spatter of droplets on your sweat-slicked forehead are enough to startle you back to reality. [[Go home.->time 6]] (set: $tea to true)

You comment, astutely, that he appears to be looking for something. He is unable to deny it. You gesture back towards the sandy beach, dotted with black rock and fading splashes of ocean foam. The shore is large, and the fog hides too much. You could show him around, if he’d like. Perhaps he could find some trace of what he’s looking for. The stranger agrees with too little hesitation. He follows you in silence as you pick your way towards the shoreline. The wind picks up a little bit, and you worry you might not make it back before the rain begins, but even so, neither of you suggest turning back. As you walk, you explain to him one or another peculiarity of your home – that storms roll in far too often, here; that the fog is often so thick you cannot see your hand before your face. It’s hard to tell whether he’s paying attention. Not far from the house, a short path winds its way up a blunt seaside cliff. It seems as good a place as any to give him a view. On the ascent, your foot slips. The stranger instinctively reaches out a hand to help, and his touch feels like fire at the small of your back. You give him a fluttery smile, stoop to fix your shoe, and gesture for him to go on first. When he reaches the top, he hesitates. He turns to survey the ocean, as if he might find what he’s looking for in its gray expanse. He’s quiet, and calm, but you can see in his eyes and the sternness of his brow that within him lies a fierce determination too stubborn to be easily unwound. Whatever he’s here for, he won’t soon let it go. Quietly, you step up behind him and push with both hands. The other side of the cliff is steep, and the rocky sand beneath his feet gives little purchase to slow his descent. You hear the splash well before you’re able to pick your way to the edge, your own feet planted firmly on the uneven ground. You watch the ocean beneath for a long while, fingers clenched tight in your skirt. The only motion is the spattering of foam against rock and the uneven reflection of dying sunlight on the dark water. It begins to rain just as you turn around. [[Go home.->time 6]] (set: $ocean to true)

You’re not exactly sure why the knife comes to mind so readily. It’s not like you’re the one who hid it. Nonetheless, you’re quite certain it’s still there, nestled in a gap between the cabinet and the wall. You press your collected garments into one hand, holding them close to your chest, as you walk back to the house. The invitation you stammer is altogether too clumsy, and though your nerves must show in your stiffness, he follows you to the house regardless. Perhaps he feels bad for frightening you. You’re nearly shaking with anticipation by the time your fingers are on the doorknob. You go through the motions as quickly as possible, not caring very much how it appears: you throw open the door, step inside, drop your laundry on the top of the cabinet, pretend to lose a sock behind the back, stick your hand down the crevice, grope until you find a cool metal handle. Through all this ridiculous charade, the stranger tries to make awkward conversation. Your silence clearly unnerves him, even if you’re cooperating. With an almost embarrassed hesitance, he lingers just past the doorframe and asks you your name. You turn and plunge the knife into his chest. He doesn’t react, save to stumble back a half-step against the wall. His impact causes a framed canvas to shudder in place, and his eyes go wide in surprise and alarm. Warm blood seeps over your fingers. You don’t think about how easy it might be for him to stand back up, how little effort it would take to wrench the knife from your fingers, how dizzy the metallic scent makes you feel. You simply follow him forward and push the blade as deep as you can, both your hands white-knuckled around the handle. A shaky breath escapes him as he collapses to the floor. He nearly drags you down with him, and your grip loosens as you wrench yourself back. You stand there for a moment, breathing hard, fingers splayed open and twitching around the hilt of a weapon you no longer hold. You stare for a long while, heart thrumming in your throat. It itches in a strange way, and you don’t realize you are retreating until the cabinet jabs into your lower back. The stranger doesn’t move, of course. After too long, you finally regain your wits enough to move the body. Adrenaline makes it a simpler task than it probably should be. You drag it to the beach and watch the stranger disappear beneath the waves, his body sinking deeper with each retreat of the foamy water. Fat raindrops splatter your forehead and cheeks as the thick clouds above finally open up. [[Go home.->time 6]] (set: $knife to true)

(set: $time to 1) It is sunrise, or something close to it. You’ve got a whole day ahead of you – what should you start with first? (link-reveal:"You should get started on some chores.")[(if: $sweep is false)[ [[* //You'll sweep the foyer.//->Chore A]]](if: $kitchen is false)[ [[* //You'll clean the kitchen.//->Chore B]]](if: $mend is false)[ [[* //You'll mend your clothes.//->Chore C]]]] (link-reveal:"You have time to take a break, first.")[(if: $painting is false)[ [[* //You could do some painting.//->Leisure A]]](if: $chess is false)[ [[* //You could play a game of chess.//->Leisure B]]](if: $read is false)[ [[* //You could read for a while.//->Leisure C]]]]

A glance out the window reveals that the sun still hangs high on the horizon. It’ll be a few hours before you’re hungry enough for lunch. What should you do next? (link-reveal:"You should get some work done.")[(if: $sweep is false)[ [[* //You'll sweep the foyer.//->Chore A]]](if: $kitchen is false)[ [[* //You'll clean the kitchen.//->Chore B]]](if: $mend is false)[ [[* //You'll mend your clothes.//->Chore C]]]] (link-reveal:"Maybe it'd be nice to rest a while.")[(if: $painting is false)[ [[* //You could do some painting.//->Leisure A]]](if: $chess is false)[ [[* //You could play a game of chess.//->Leisure B]]](if: $read is false)[ [[* //You could read for a while.//->Leisure C]]]]

Before you realize it, it’s nearly noon, and your stomach begins to growl. You take a break to fix yourself something to eat, a ham-and-butter sandwich that you tear into messy halves to avoid cleaning a knife. It’s nice enough to eat outside, though just barely – the wind picks up so fiercely at times, it almost blows your hair into your food. You dust the crumbs off your skirt and eye the distant skyline, wondering if those pesky gulls will return to snap them up. In the distance, you catch the approaching gloom of thick clouds. You retreat indoors. The sun hangs lower in the sky, but sunset is still a few hours away. You’ve got time to get something else done, if you’d like. (link-reveal:"You'll finish off some chores.")[(if: $sweep is false)[ [[* //You'll sweep the foyer.//->Chore A]]](if: $kitchen is false)[ [[* //You'll clean the kitchen.//->Chore B]]](if: $mend is false)[ [[* //You'll mend your clothes.//->Chore C]]]] (link-reveal:"You'll wind down for the day.")[(if: $painting is false)[ [[* //You could do some painting.//->Leisure A]]](if: $chess is false)[ [[* //You could play a game of chess.//->Leisure B]]](if: $read is false)[ [[* //You could read for a while.//->Leisure C]]]]

The red-orange glow of sunset signals that the day is coming to a close. It’s about time to wrap things up. (if:$chores is 3)[You’ve done plenty, after all.] (if:$chores is 1 or 2)[You’ve gotten enough done, you think.] (if:$leisure is 3)[You weren’t as productive as you would have liked, but there’s always tomorrow.] Clouds hang on the horizon, and you have the feeling that it might rain tonight. So before settling down for dinner, you ought to take the laundry inside. (link:"Step outside.")[= As soon as you open the door, it becomes clear that a storm is approaching. The air is thick and stifling, and heavy gray clouds obscure your view of the setting sun. A strengthening breeze buffets your skirt against your legs and hinders your efforts to retrieve fluttering garments from the clothesline. You hold them tight against your chest, stretching up on tiptoe to pull down the last few shirts. You do not notice the shape on the horizon until it is very close indeed. At a motion in your periphery, your eyes flit from the clothesline to the reddening sky to the man standing a few scant yards away, backlit by the setting sun. It is not Wyatt, not yet. You know that they must still be very far away from home. What you look at now, impossibly, is a stranger. Dressed in traveler’s clothes with long dark hair that the wind whips aside haphazardly, the man has the nerve to look as if //he’s// surprised. Your own shock is so severe that the reaction loops back to numbness. A gown falls free from your slackened fingers and falls to the ground. There is nothing on this stretch of land except barren rocks, a turbulent sea, and your very own home. No one ever comes here, not by mistake. Your heart lurches strangely, and dread coils tightly around your lungs before you even open your mouth. [[...->time 5]]

(link:"//“Who are you?”//")[//''“Who are you?”''// (align:"<==")+(box:"=XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX=")[You’re certain he cannot be lost. Intent radiates from every tense muscle in his body. But he doesn’t look like a thief, and it’s hard to justify exactly why his polite words make your skin crawl. He’s a bit offput by the inquiry, and you get the feeling that he’s used to people questioning him less severely. Nonetheless, he moves to reassure you that he means you no harm. //I’m a hero,// he tells you, //and there’s something important that I must do here.// The knot in your chest does not relent.]] (link:"//“How did you find this place?”//")[//''“How did you find this place?”''// (align:"<==")+(box:"=XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX=")[If the question itself is damning, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Your home is more than remote; under ordinary circumstances, it should be borderline impossible to reach. A dense fog wraps it on all sides, beginning about a half-mile from the house. Even you have trouble coming back, sometimes. How could a stranger make it here untouched? His brows pinch slightly. //It wasn’t easy,// comes the reply, with a glance aside. Despite the struggle, he fought his way here. You wonder whether his blessings are so robust, or whether his motivation is merely that strong.]] (link:"//“What do you want?”//")[//''“What do you want?”''// (align:"<==")+(box:"=XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX=")[This time, there is no hesitation before he replies. //I have to find someone, //he intones. He doesn’t say the rest, but it’s all but outright in the ensuing silence. You can see a sword hanging at his hip, only partially covered by his cloak. Your eyes slide past him, on to the horizon. He is speaking to you freely, so it’s obvious that you’re not his target. But if he made it this far, it’s only a matter of time before he finds who he’s really looking for. How are you supposed to stop him, before then?]] (more:)[Your fingers clench tighter around the fabric in your hands. You cannot collect your thoughts. With enormous effort, you swallow it all down, and manage to focus your attention on a single point. * [[The tea leaves tucked in the very back of the cabinet.->Encounter A]] * [[The sound of the increasingly tumultuous waves.->Encounter B]] * [[The thin knife hidden in the foyer.->Encounter C]] ]

You stand still for a long time at the window, staring at nothing in particular. By now, the sun has disappeared beneath the horizon, and the last vestiges of daylight have wisped away. The raindrops, scattered at first, soon open up into a heavy downpour. Your reflection becomes increasingly visible in the glass as the light fades. It’s far too late for dinner, and besides, you’ve no remaining appetite. You eventually come to your senses enough to wash up. (if:$knife is true)[You scrub the blood off your hands and beneath your nails, throwing a bucket of pink, muddied water out onto the grass. A quick glance at your reflection confirms that your blouse is beyond saving, and you toss it into a rumpled heap in the corner of your room.] (if:$ocean is true)[The seaside wind has mussed your hair and torn free its ribbons. You work through it with a comb, again and again, until the strands are too soft beneath your fingers.] (if:$tea is true)[You go back to the dining room and collect the dishes. You scrub the stranger’s teacup for far longer than necessary, ensuring every trace of the toxin is washed away.] (link:"...")[= In the midst of cleaning up, there is a knock at the door. For a moment, your addled brain permits the insensible fantasy that Wyatt has come home early after all, and you’ll no longer be alone with what has transpired. But the moment passes too quickly for you to truly enjoy it. Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. Almost in a trance, you make your way to the front door and push it open. The stranger’s hair is soaking wet, plastered to his cheeks and forehead and the back of his neck. It drips water steadily onto the foyer tiles, a growing puddle creeping towards your own feet. You can still smell the sea on him. Behind him, the relentless torrent of rain continues to roar. You stare at him, limbs frozen in the face of impossibility. He was dead, this much you were certain of; and yet, you know he is altogether too tangible to be a mere ghost. Breaking from your stupor, you move to slam the door in his face. But his reflexes have been insufficiently dulled by his brief stint among the dead; he catches the door with his elbow, and a considerable sliver of open air remains between you and him. He blinks. Salt and sand are caught on the ends of his eyelashes. His voice comes out slightly hoarse. “Shall we try that again?” Your lips part, and silence hangs in the air between them. At once, you laugh. Your shoulders shake and your mouth curls lopsidedly at the ends, as the sound of the now-howling wind fades beneath the thundering pulse in your ears. He's a true hero, after all. What a joke. (after:15s)[[[Start over.->title card]]]

Your bedroom window faces out to the coast, and the foamy waters of the ocean stretch out as far as the eye can see. Which isn’t all that far, admittedly, before a familiar dense fog falls like a curtain. You chew your lip as you mix colors, eyes shifting between your brush and the scene outside. Blues, grays, black and white. It’s a struggle to pick out the shape of the sharp rocks that constitute the shore beneath the waves that crash atop them, but you make your best guess. When you’re done, you lean back and frown at the canvas. If you squint even a little, the entirety of your work smudges out into an amorphous gray cloud. The entire canvas emanates ambiguity, despite your intentions. You’ve made a half-dozen attempts to catalog the peculiar location where you reside, and each one turns out much the same. Even so, this is one of your better efforts – perhaps you’ll show Wyatt, when they return. You leave the painting on the easel to dry, and rise to your feet. You ought to get back to work. (if:$time is 2)[[[...->time 2]]](if:$time is 3)[[[...->time 3]]](if:$time is 4)[[[...->time 4]]] (set: $painting to true) (set: $leisure to it + 1)

With a bit of effort, you heave your window open. You scoot a little closer to the light, peering down at the windowsill. Just outside the pane of glass, you’ve been maintaining a small window box of flowers. The plants rustle slightly in the breeze as you lean out to your shoulders, examining the state of your tiny flowerbed. It’s a sad sight, truly. The leaves of even the newest additions have begun to brown and curl. Was it too much water, this time, or too little? You’ve never been good at this. Thank goodness the house doesn’t have a proper garden. With palette in hand, you position your stool by the open window and get to work. You do your best to capture the petals’ likeness, limp and wilted as they may be. It gets tedious, after a while, but the tedium is soothing. The finished product is nothing special, but you’ve done a decently good job approximating the colors of the early-spring blooms – though, perhaps, you took some liberties in depicting just how brown the flowers have become. You hum to yourself as you leave the painting to dry. You ought to get back to work. (if:$time is 2)[[[...->time 2]]](if:$time is 3)[[[...->time 3]]](if:$time is 4)[[[...->time 4]]] (set: $painting to true) (set: $leisure to it + 1)

Lacking a mirror, you start on the empty canvas without reference. It begins well enough; you can easily approximate the flush of your cheeks and the reddish shades of your hair. But you find yourself hesitating at the brow, the shoulders, the neck. You are unwilling to rise and find something to look at, and so you stubbornly continue on, painting with a tighter expression upon each stroke. You’re very far along when you realize, at once, that the woman on the canvas does not much resemble you at all. Or at least, she makes your skin prickle to look at, and you’ve an unhelpful desire to take your palette knife and drag it edge-first through the canvas, corner to corner. The painting finds its way to the garbage, unfinished. Paint smears on the palms of your hands as you brush yourself off, retreating quickly down the attic stairs. You ought to get back to work. (if:$time is 2)[[[...->time 2]]](if:$time is 3)[[[...->time 3]]](if:$time is 4)[[[...->time 4]]] (set: $painting to true) (set: $leisure to it + 1)