*Clap*

The chandelier overhead turned on, magical lights illuminating the room. Colors turned brighter, and the bedroom almost looked happy and comfortable.

*Clap*

Darkness returned. Color drained. The clouds became overcast, shading mid-morning sunlight. The dark navy blue bed covers felt cool and inviting, lulling an occupant into eternal slumber. The french doors derived from birch wood and glass gated the three-story balcony—a veranda to elsewhere.

*Clap*

Light swallowed the darkness. The ornate dark purple carpet flipped back into a lighter violet. Maroon drapes hung from two squat windows to either side of the balcony. Grains in the ebony wood bedpost became a more golden Spruce.

*Clap*

Her world was cast in shadow. A reflection disappeared. She became invisible for the brief moments it took for her eyes to adjust. Slowly, through the refracted light that wormed its way past thick winter clouds, her image reappeared.

Dark purple irises framed by subdued whites shone through a cage of long eyelashes. Pink lips parted slightly in a silent word. A dark lace choker covered her neck.

Her hands slowly raised back into the air.

They slammed together.

*CLAP*

The Illusion faded.

Comfortable obscurity transformed into a disgusting reality. Dim circles framed her eyes. Her previously porcelain skin was now gaunt and ill. Lips chapped.

A horrid bruise ringed her throat like a binding snake.

"Hah."

A dry laugh escaped Lecil's throat. The dense cloud cover overhead parted for a moment. Her head dropped to land in an open palm Shoulders jerking, the delicate hand covering her face tried to contain the errant emotion.

Useless, it spilled out of a cup already overflowing. She couldn't prevent a morose chuckle from escaping her cracked lips. Sliding her fingers through knotted hair, lifting tangled bedhead, she smiled crazily at her own reflection. Breathing through her too-perfect nose, she tittered haltingly.

"It's a clapper."

=

Lecil long ago learned how to apply her own makeup. When she got it wrong in the past and would made fun of, she would cry herself to sleep—such a silly thing to fret about, looking back. The people who insulted or demeaned her would have found something else to use against her even if her makeup was flawless. And they did too.

Oh, your eyebrows are too thick. Your lips are pale. Why don't you cut those bangs already? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were trying to hide a pimply forehead.

Wait.

Was all that me? Maybe it was Celia who had acne.

Lecil now had memories from another life. She knew that her entire life was a game and that her emotions had been manipulated for years. It was always in the plan to make Lecil cry herself to sleep. There was a reason she cut her wrists when she turned sixteen. There was a reason she wasn't allowed to die.

With everything already ordained by some greasy game designers... there must also be a goddamn purpose to why she hasn't been able to get more than a few hours of shut-eye in the last week!

Why? Who knows. The developers were cruel. Maybe it was solely Lecil's problem, but now she would always wonder.

Not a single person came to visit her other than Irene, the maid from before. She never utters more than a few words when dropping off food. When Lecil tried to speak with her, Irene entirely ignored her. As if the maid wasn't scripted to talk back. No one else visited her, and whenever she tried to leave, Lecil succumbed to an irresistible urge to crawl back into bed.

The pattern repeated. An unavoidable tiredness caused Lecil to lie back down, to fail at achieving meaningful slumber, subsequently staying awake and reliving a second set of memories, getting frustrated and throwing furniture, then trying to open the door again... rinse and repeat.

"Fuck this game."

The words were very unladylike. However, Lecil liked the word. She never really cursed before this, and Celia had some really fun expletives.

Lecil looked at herself in the mirror. Dark lipstick and porcelain skin. Combed back black hair that fell softly along her back. Long eyelashes fluttering.

And yet.

Lecil tried to apply eyeliner for the fourth time. Her hand curved off, drawing a black line to the edge of her eye socket. Enraged, she cleaned the mess up again. She was trying to hide the dark circles under her eyes using any method possible without being extra. None of them worked. She either kept messing up, or they showed through anyway. Celia wanted to throw on some sunglasses and brush it off as a phase when asked.

"It's going to happen soon. Isn't it? Surely, soon..."

Any longer and Celia would go insane. The boredom and the monotony. At least let her live a little bit!

There had to be a way out of the loop. The first way was to wait for an event to start. There was one coming soon, she knew, but a better option needed to be possible.

Is everyone being controlled by magic? There is magic in this world, so what if some shadowy figures are using magic to write people a certain way? They make people follow specific actions like SIMS.

"Their magic supply can't be unlimited."

The only evidence that supported her theory was a thrown chair.

Back when Lecil was quite literally flipping her shit, she threw a chair at the door. The maid wasn't expecting that. It wasn't part of the opening scenario either. The upsetting bit was that Lecil grabbed the chair afterward, without thinking about it, and then sat back down. That was how she was still sitting when Tristan barged in.

Because the chair was crucial to the event.

The only reason Lecil could go off script was due overwhelming emotion.

I.e. The only way to break her pacification was to start flipping shit.

What if she tried talking to the maid again? It should be easier to interact outside restrictions with a non-important character. Maybe if she tried really hard this time?

A knock at the door. Lunch-time. Lecil grinned.

"Come in."

Her voice sounded meek, entirely unlike how she was feeling.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The doors opened. Irene walked in a cart of food and tea.

"I've prepared lunch, princess."

Lecil was silent. Why was she silent? She was certainly trying to speak. Not even a thank you? The game was making her out to be heartless monster. Irene bowed to leave.

"Then..."

That simple word sparked a hazy memory. A soft hand halted her steps, gentle compared to those before it. The words exchanged escaped her and the face was blurred with dark colors. What did he say? It felt important.

The maid was walking away.

No! Come back.

The words were a lump in her throat. Lecil reached out an arm. Her body straining with effort.

Stop. Don't go. Talk to me!

A ticking clock. The maid followed her script, not even looking back.

Anger. Rage! Channel your all-mighty rage, Celia! You can do it! Start cursing up a storm. DO IT!

Her mouth opened silently. The maid grabbed the door handle and was pulling it closed.

Lecil wanted to scream, but the words didn't come out. They were never meant to be spoken.

"Wait-"

The doors shut.

Lecil's knees caved in as she collapsed, sweating and panting. She failed! They tried so hard to do it, too. To change the script. To make things different. To have a single person to talk to besides herself.

They were going insane in here.

=

Finally, the time came. The doors opened without preamble.

"Father wants to see you."

Kly, the second prince, stood in the doorway. He wore the same placid look as always. Uncaring.

He's probably being forced to act that way too.

Lecil hiked up the hem of her dark green dress. It covered all the scars and fading bruises, including the line across her throat. She'd been standing there for thirty minutes, waiting.

[1. I'm busy. Come back later.]

[2. It's been a while, brother. How are you?"]

[3. Lead the way.]

Even if Celia didn't know the correct answer, and even if the wrong answer would lead to death, Lecil mentally smashed the third option with the force of a crashing dumptruck.

"Lead the way."

Kly simply nodded and walked away, displaying a 0%.

Lecil grinned happily. According to Celia's memories, there was a chance to be free from this prison of inability.

Lecil realized that she hadn't been told where the King was waiting for her. A jab of Kly's own flavor, it was supposed to slow her down and make her scramble. Fortunately, Celia knew the King was in his office and Lecil knew the way.

Hastily, she marched way through the corridors, taking zero time to admire the freedom her slackened chain permitted. The light being cast through the colored glass windows made her nauseous.

*Click-Click-Click*

Celia hated wearing heels. As someone naturally talented at running, wearing something so limiting was anathama.

The palace is needlessly large. Running through these halls on my way out will be fun.

Lecil buried a thought that wasn't her own.

After a hasty walk across an absurd distance, she arrived. Muffled words through the doorway halted her steps. Eavesdropping wasn't normally in Lecil's nature, but it was in Celia's. Neither of them minded doing it now.

"The Northerners are moving closer.... as... there is.... into the South. Richter is...."

It sounded like there was a war brewing. Maybe more than one. Richter? She didn't know that name.

Not willing to press her luck and eavesdrop further, Lecil knocked twice.

Silence and a short moment later, the door opened. A scholarly man opened it, standing in her way for a moment. The man looked down at her and whispered.

"Princess, you don't look well. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

Wait. That's it? Hah! I wrestled through an entire week of sleeplessness for a comment from an extra.

Lecil couldn't flip him off or respond. A fake smile plastered her face.

"Who is it, Feor?"

Feor realized his actions and stepped aside to let the King see who it was.

"We'll continue later. I have business with my daughter."

Have you ever thought of me as your daughter? You always ignore the signs right in front of you.

"Yes, your majesty. I'll take my leave then."

Lecil didn't step aside for Feor and made him squeeze past her without touching her. It was a funny sight. Sometimes inaction was pleasant payback.

"Enter and shut the door behind you."

"Yes, Father."

The use of the word felt odd on her tongue. Had the King ever acted like a father? She remembered having a loving father and mother in a two-story suburban. An adorable puppy and a pet parrot. A family.

Lecil closed the door and walked in wordlessly. The clicking of her shoes softened by an expensive rug.

The King sat at his desk, backlit by fading light. There were a few magical lights around the room that added a soft atmosphere. It was contradicted by the permanent scowl written on the King. Celia recognized this famous scene as the official start to Renegade,

Interlocking his fingers, he intoned.

"You are almost of age and you haven't chosen a suitor. I kept out of it due to pressing business; however, with less than two years before you turn twenty, it is time you made a decision."

Lecil wanted to roll her eyes. This moment was the first real choice in the game and would determine many of the ecounters moving forward. Depending on her answer, she'd spawn an event.

"I refuse to marry you off to the northern barbarians or the backstabbing desert dwellers. I'll let you choose from one of the Ducal households. They each have a bachelor around your age."

There were three Dukes.

Duke Raiden. At the age of twenty-two, he succeeded his household after receiving numerous commendations during skirmishes along the southern border. His parents retired extremely early, choosing to spend the rest of their lives in a beach villa instead of managing their household.

[Klein Raiden the War Hero]

Duke Astor was eighteen years old, the same as Lecil. Despite having four older sisters, the Dukedom was passed down to him. It wasn't purely due to sexism. It was mainly because he excelled in mathematics and had a talent for business. He already runs most of the family's businesses and is the richest of the three dukes. He is praised as a genius talent.

[Daven Astor the Tycoon]

Lastly, Duke Sallow. The problem child. He was the only one who remained an heir and wasn't officially a Duke yet. With the Duchess' pregnancy, some raised questions as if Bellavarn was fit to lead. However, Lecil knew that Bellavarn Sallow would succeed his household through nefarious means. He would then go on to rebel against the kingdom—the worst path to her continued survival.

[Bellavarn Sallow the Renegade]

Each choice was terrible. None of the Dukes liked her. Raiden was the best option, with her affection score starting out at 10%. Mainly due to her attractive appearance.

Astor held a variable percentage based on their first meeting. It can start anywhere between 0% and 15%.

Bellavarn Sallow, upon their first meeting, would have a reputation of -30%. Why? No idea. The game developers wanted to make a challenge. If Raiden was the "easy" route and Astor was the "playstyle" route, then Sallow was for those who wanted the ultimate challenge. No one had even step foot on his route. There were no guides or hints. Anything you did could set him off. With a massive negative affection score, it was no wonder Lecil was killed on sight. The only way to raise it was indirectly or through special events.

"What is your decision?"

Fanfare began to play when the following screen appeared. It was more regal than the previous ones.

[1. I prefer Duke Raiden.]

[2. Duke Astor is the best choice.]

[3. I choose Duke Sallow.]

This is it! Her only chance.

While the game window was up, Lecil was given the ability to talk and choose a fourth option.

It was a secret/glitch in the game mechanics and Lecil's only chance at freedom. It was published on social media as a "WTF" option. Secret things were supposed to be good, so why add something that actually makes the game more difficult? Celia had scoffed at the option in the past, but now it was her saving grace.

"I wish to be free."

The pleasure of seeing the King's reaction was a prize in of itself. The King waved a hand.

"Then speak freely. I am giving you a choice, after all."

The magic vanished. The floating box disappeared. Lecil could breathe! Had she been inhaling stale air this entire time? Her lungs were free. Her voice was free. She was free!

Of course, she still had to make a choice. She couldn't click her heels together and magically go back home or live happily ever after. No, this choice allowed her free will to move about in the game. Write whatever she wished into existence. Say whatever she wanted.

It was a curse for most players who were unwilling to be creative in their answers. Multiple choice was a crutch most players relished in. This route held an exponential amount of possibilities for failure and death, but there were increased chances for secret events and positive outcomes.

Lecil tilted her head innocently and gave the most pure smile her pretty little face could muster. At last, she spoke with her own voice, even if the words were dry and bitter.

"I understand I need to choose a partner, father. But I wish to take more time to make a proper decision. I would like to ask to remain at home to support my older brothers and help little Anne grow up."

Grey eyebrows inched up ever so slightly.

"I thought you didn't get along with your siblings. Has that changed while my attention was elsewhere?"

Lecil bowed her head. When she looked up, her eyes were watery.

"It is true we haven't got along. Still, I wish to support my family in what they do. If you grant me the chance, father, I am sure we will all make amends. If you can postpone me getting engaged another year, or only a few months, I am positive that I will be of use to brother Tristan and brother Kly."

The crocodile tears worked. The King was considering it. Taking her chance, she hammered the nail into the coffin.

"Little Anne wished for the two of us to spend more time together. It would be a shame for the engagement to get between us."

"I see. Another few months won't hurt. I expect you to make a decision by the end of next summer."

Anne was the King's weak spot. Stating that it was "all for little Anne" pushed the King over the edge.

"Thank you, Father! I am sure Anne will be overjoyed."

=

"That bitch postponed her engagement! How? I thought I made it clear to father to get rid of her—useless waste of space. I'll rip all her clothes and make sure she can't leave her room without going naked! She'll rue her decision to stay behind. I'll make her life a living hell and make sure Tristan and Kly both do the same. She'll wish she was never born. That stupid, little, worthless, infuriating tramp! I'll... I'll... UGH!"

Anne's maids fled in terror.

=

Meanwhile...

Lecil snored. Safe and sound. Fast asleep.