“Lady Isabel Reading,” I said.

Miles nodded. “That’s the duke’s second daughter, yes?”

“Yes.”

Of the three, she’d definitely been the most interesting. There was an air of mystery to how she’d been able to pick me out, why she’d wanted to test my maths. I had thoughts based on later events in the game, but, really, those were only guesses. Besides all that, she also had felt more like a girl from my times, like I could have bumped into her in a store while she had a bottle of red wine and crisps in her basket (in a few years when she could legally drink). Spending time talking with her would probably have been more comfortable for me than with the other two.

That decision quickly felt like it hadn’t been much of a decision at all, Miles saying nothing more on the matter. I hadn’t exactly hidden my reluctance to choose any of them, so it wasn’t strange for him to pick up on it.

The next day onwards brought lessons from early in the morning until supper. Between the lessons were decent breaks, not wanting to rush the girls from one room to another and allowing time to tend to any necessities. Compared to the boarding school, we boys were taught much more the sort of thing expected of nobility, from spoken French to ballroom dancing to philosophy. We shared one class with the girls, which was English literature, and it focused particularly on reading aloud in a clear and compassionate manner to convey the emotion of the text—whatever that meant.

Other than that, I only saw the girls in passing (rarely, their classes mostly in a separate building than the manor, and the weather too cold for them to wander around the grounds) or in the library. To avoid Beatrice, I mostly read in the cafeteria or my room. Gwendoline wasn’t much of a risk as long as I didn’t hang around before or after literature class. Isabel, well, I felt trying to hide from her would only make her more motivated, so I didn’t do anything special to avoid her.

The first month passed quick. I enjoyed the lessons more than before, even if they were still near enough rote learning and doing things as the teacher wanted them done. Miles did well enough, although I still helped him out in his weaker classes. However, I had to spend most evenings practising to dance in my room. Dancing hadn’t ever been a thing for me, rhythm something I could follow for playing music but struggled to move to, clumsy in a way I hadn’t noticed.

There’d otherwise been no trouble. For all the worrying I had tried not to do, the most I’d seen of the girls was when they were asked to read in class. It was the same as in The Key To Her Heart, the game busy setting the scene and all that, getting to events with the girls later on.

However, I was approaching the first choice in the game.

Three sharp knocks interrupted my afternoon reading. I would have ignored them, but Miles knew how to persist—probably because I ignored him if he didn’t. Carefully slotting in the bookmark Daisy had made for me, I closed the book, and then shuffled over to the door.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“With your eyes.”

He tutted, sliding past me and into my room. “You’ve done that joke before.”

“Well, it’s a good joke,” I said, shutting the door.

As he always did, he made himself comfortable sitting on the edge of my bed. His gaze flickered to the view outside, a habit of his to check for anything interesting going on out there. “So now that you’ve done your bit, what do you think of my suit?”

“Could you leave? I have to change,” I said.

Hanging his head, he sighed. “All I’m asking for is a word or two of encouragement.”

“You should try a dictionary,” I said, opening up my wardrobe.

That gave him a chuckle, and he stood up, joining me. “What one are you thinking?”

“There’s the black jacket, or the black jacket, or maybe the black jacket. To go with it, obviously the white shirt. And then the hard choice: a black vest, or a charcoal-grey vest.”

“Grey isn’t one of the two permitted colours,” Miles said, tone chiding.

I clicked my tongue. “You’re right, I should know better.”

Though I’d joked about it, the three jackets were well-made and distinct. I checked the fit of them over my school shirt and settled for the one that felt a bit tight, maybe not another chance to wear it. Fortunately, no top hat was required, and I was fine with the school tie. Elbowing Miles out the room, I changed quickly and then joined him in the hallway.

It would still be some hour until it started, but tonight was our debut ball.

Passing the time out on the grounds, we walked up to the river and back at an unhurried pace before heading to the building which was, as far as I knew, exclusively for events like this. We entered a room to the side, waiting in there with the other boys. This ball was for first-years only, an introduction to them and how they were hosted at the school, but later ones would include the upper years as well.

What was more, everyone would dance, either with a partner of their choosing or randomly assigned by a chaperone. I didn’t imagine any of us had a partner in mind after so little time here.

Outside, the night turned dark, and we boys were lined up in the hall, where a line of girls filed out to stand opposite us. Gas lamps on the walls and candles on the tables off to the side lit the scene, warm light. I wondered if the gas burnt cleanly in this world or if the janitors had to wipe the soot off the walls every time an event was held.

At one end of the line, the teacher cleared his throat. “Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.”

No one moved. Of course no one moved. But, in the game, Albert had the choice of boldly going over to one of the three heroines, which was really stupid of him. I would’ve hated to be put in that kind of spot where I felt I had to dance with the person or else make a fool out of them.

No sooner had I thought that that one of the girls stepped forward. My heart clenched when her gaze met mine, an impish smile. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hall as she strutted on over to me.

She held out a hand.

Isabel Reading.

She led me to the dance floor, and I felt like a child again, anxious under the looks of my peers. Not quite humiliated, but that was more to do with my worry being focused on the upcoming dancing. There was, of course, no hushed whispers or any other disturbance, but they would come the moment the chaperones looked away, the days following.

Soon enough, we were joined by the couples decided at the whim of a pointing finger and the words “You and you”. Then the music began, a small orchestra playing at the opposite side of the room as the tables.

The girls had more colours to choose from for their outfits. Whether it was the game world or that I didn’t know what Victorian fashion looked like, the style surprised me. Isabel wore a long, crimson dress which showed little skin (maybe a gown given the occasion), with a black sash to pull her waist in. There might have been a corset underneath, or something like a wireframe cage to give the skirt a little billow, but it didn’t look all that different to her normal silhouette. Pleats and small ruffles gave the dress character.

“Do you like what you see?” she softly asked, looking up to meet my eyes.

“As nice of a dress as it is, I doubt it would fit me.”

She tittered, holding the laugh behind a smile, and left it at that for now.

We had just a little longer to wait before the chaperone-in-charge instructed us all to, without further ado, dance. My anxiety on high alert, I offered her my hand. She held herself with confidence, no hesitation as she stepped close to me; I was tempted to warn her that that was a dangerous place to be. The couples around us moving, I couldn’t put it off even if I’d thought a few more seconds would have helped.

Harder than any exam, more challenging than any homework, I moved my feet. My ears tuned to the beat of the orchestra, the questions she sent my way were entirely ignored, at least until she asked, “Are you ignoring me?”

Even my ears weren’t stupid enough to ignore that.

“Either I can listen to you, or I can avoid stepping on your toes,” I said.

She gently laughed, or maybe that was someone nearby. Regardless, she soon said, “So you do have a weakness.”

I stepped on her toe, quietly apologising as she winced. It honestly hadn’t been on purpose. The message well-received now, she stayed silent for the rest of the dancing—a good half an hour, broken up by a short break every ten minutes. Just looking at the girls then, I was glad I didn’t have to wear such heavy clothing. My suit wasn’t all that much better for exercise, though, sweat sticking to my skin.

At the end, we all did our bows and curtsies, and then (elegantly) scuttled off to the tables for a glass of wine. I didn’t condone underage drinking, but it was a welcome treat, feeling cold with how hot I was, and it was just the one glass.

That was it—at least for now. Miles asked me a couple of questions on the way back to the dorms, but then stuck to sympathising with Isabel for having to suffer through my dancing. Unsurprisingly, none of the other boys were interested enough to bother talking to me, my reputation poor as always.

Over the coming days, she didn’t appear in an odd place like our first meeting, our eyes never met in literature class. I thought I’d maybe put her off—hoped, even. After all, rather than me choosing “her route”, it was more like she’d chosen mine. If she wanted to load an old save and change her mind, perfect.

A week before the end of the term, another ball was going to be held. This one would include all three years of students and go on a lot longer than half an hour, but we wouldn’t be expected to dance the whole time. Networking, socialising were a part of it, as was looking for a fiancé or fiancée—one of the rare times the boys and girls could talk “freely”.

There was a mandatory dance for the first song. After that, I was prepared to sit in a corner by myself the whole time, Miles dropping in now and then. Despite what some stories said, I was confident that no girls would take an interest in me and my brooding.

So the day came and started near enough like the last, Miles getting ready early and bugging me about how he looked (better this time, his red tie going well with his pale complexion). Not caring myself, I stuck with the school tie, again choosing the suit which fit best. Then we were off on another tour around the grounds, but hurried by the cold, taking refuge in the cafeteria for the last half an hour or so before we needed to go to the hall.

It was a lot busier, expectedly. Despite all my growing, being surrounded by the older boys reminded me of how young my body was. Back in my day, at fifteen, I’d been riddled with spots and going through a chubby phase that lasted until uni, unhappy, lonely. Time had helped with the last two, although not by solving them. I’d come to realise that happiness wasn’t an emotion but a state of mind, the times when I enjoyed what I was doing and forgot my worries. Loneliness, I had eventually given up on finding someone who understood me and still accepted me, learned to quiet the voice that told me I couldn’t be loved.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Even now, I felt that Miles liked the Albert I pretended to be. I wasn’t exactly acting, yet I wasn’t being honest either.

The third-years were taken through to the hall first, and then the second-years, and then finally us leftover boys. I tried to settle myself with a deep breath, repeating in my head that my dancing had got better over the last two months.

Finally, the first-year girls lined up opposite us. I wondered if they’d maybe reached the point I should have thought of them as young ladies. In my time, it had been a bit of a weird phrase, usually used for young girls; however, young woman was more twenties, maybe eighteen at a stretch. Mature as they acted, I was sure there were hormones and brain development and all that teenage stuff going on. If asked, I probably would have stuck with just ladies.

Isabel caught my eye.

“Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.”

She raised an eyebrow, taunting me, an unspoken threat to walk over to me once again. I felt it keenly. If I’d thought there was even the slimmest chance she wouldn’t follow through, I would’ve held my ground, but I knew she would. Saving myself maybe some of the embarrassment, I gave in and strode over to her.

Then she made me stand there for a painful second before taking my hand, the bloody tease. At least unlike last time, we were far from the only couple on the dance floor, a few other first-years coming with us and all the older students there already. Poor third-years had been waiting near ten minutes already. Like last time, the rest of the first-years were then paired up at random.

Finally, the music began, a flicker of worry crossing her face. I smiled, but that didn’t seem to reassure her. It took a minute of dancing without any accidents for her to relax.

“If you want to talk, I think I can listen and dance now,” I said.

“You think?”

“Sometimes, but I try not to.”

A laugh tried to slip through, stopped by her lips pressing into a thin smile. After a second, she said, “You are rather witty.”

I almost stepped on her foot, so easily forgetting to shorten my steps. “What did you want to ask?”

She hummed a note in thought, effortlessly moving to the rhythm, always with a pleasant smile. Then she said, “You’ve no grand ambitions.”

“Nothing at all.”

“You seem little interested in the ladies,” she said, and then added, “nor making connections.”

I gently shook my head, careful not to upset my balance.

“What does interest you?”

“Books, silence, a half-decent bed, two good meals a day,” I said, listing them off as they came to me.

Her smile let through a soft laugh. “If not for the first, you might well have been better off born a pet cat.”

“I could give up reading as long as my owner isn’t the sort to try and pet me all the time, or try to have me play fetch, or otherwise interrupt my naps on the windowsill.”

This time, she couldn’t help but turn her head away, embarrassed as she let out a giggle. When she turned back, she still had no trouble meeting my gaze. “That is a rather specific image you’ve put in my mind.”

“I have a specific owner in mind,” I said.

The conversation ended there for the rest of the song, a little breathlessness coming to her even though she’d been the one who had wanted to talk and dance. With the first song over, it seemed a good half of the couples stopped, bowing and curtsying and going on their way. Of course, I did the same.

She followed me.

I sat down at the table nearest to a corner, my back to the wall, and she gracefully sat down opposite. Really, I’d been hoping that the little chat had satisfied her. In the game, it had been Albert asking her to dance, Albert asking her questions. It had been more of a quiz in some ways, where I was supposed to learn details about her and use those to choose how to appeal to her. However, I had been terrible at that, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that I didn’t know what she was thinking, why she did what she did.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked.

“It is a bit late to act like you care.”

I’d said it without thinking, but, the moment I’d finished, I regretted the words that were so needlessly cruel. This was why I only talked to Miles, why I spoke so carefully with my father, why I ignored my older sister’s taunts. The habit I couldn’t let go. Worst of all, I couldn’t shake the feeling in the back of my head that she deserved it, that if she wanted to pry then she should accept what she got, that this wasn’t some scared eleven-year-old trying to act tough.

She laughed it off, but I knew she’d felt the sting. I knew that awkward smile, the way she didn’t quite meet my eyes, the moment of hesitation as she considered just getting up and leaving.

An apology might have helped; I’d never found that they did. Once I crossed a line, well, I couldn’t just step back and pretend it had never happened. And it happened over and over, ending friendships, relationships. Miles was the only person who’d stuck around, and I still held back, the nastiest things to say coming to mind even if I really did like him as a friend.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed when she spoke.

“I have taken advantage of your kindness,” she said, her smile troubled. “Yet I hope you would believe I meant it in good faith.”

Though I didn’t know quite what she meant by that, most of the sentiment had got through. And I thought I might have misjudged her. I thought, maybe, it wasn’t my words that had hurt her. For all she seemed to know about me, she surely knew what I was like, and she’d sought me out anyway.

“There was… a letter for me, claiming to be from you,” she softly said.

“I didn’t write it.”

She smiled, nodding. “Of course not. Besides knowing you wouldn’t, the handwriting was also too rough. I’m not so delusional to believe just any pleasant lie.”

“You know what my handwriting looks like?”

Looking away, she had a distant expression. “It’s unsightly of me, which I have been told many times, yet I am a curious person. It’s not that I know much of you in particular so much as I know a lot. For example, your friend attended several events with his father over the recent summer, and your father was seen talking to Lord Dunstable at two of them.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a terrible thing to be curious.”

She laughed behind her hand, the sound hollow. After a short pause, she cleared her throat and continued. “I hope to write in the future—in the papers. To be someone who attends events and sees what wonderful dresses and suits are worn, sees the lords talking, sees what foods and desserts the ladies favour. If my husband would permit me that, I would be a happy wife.”

“It’s a reasonable enough request that I can’t imagine any decent man would refuse you.”

“You think better of decent men than I,” she said, her tone dry.

From there, we went through patches of silence and idle conversation until she excused herself. I didn’t really know what to think. Four years hadn’t changed that I couldn’t understand how people thought. She’d wanted to confirm I hadn’t sent her that letter. Other than that, I felt she liked talking to me, someone a bit detached and casual who she could be more honest with. It was probably hard for her to make close friends if the other ladies saw her as a gossip.

I didn’t dwell on it, Miles soon coming over and subtly inquiring how things had gone. For his part, he’d managed a second dance with his randomly chosen partner, bragging over his womanly charms.

A couple hours of nibbling snacks and watching Miles try to get another dance later, the ball ended. That was it for now. The last week of school saw most of our classmates vanish as they went home early for All Hallows’ Tide, and then Miles and I headed off on a coach together, dropping him off in Dunstable before heading to the Luton manor nearby.

Just like whenever I’d returned from the boarding school, I was ignored, taken to my room by a servant and left there until supper. At the end of the meal, just as always, father said, “Welcome home, Albert.”

“Thank you, father,” I said, bowing my head.

In a disinterested tone, he asked, “How was your time at the school?”

I’d never felt the need to lie, to try and impress him. This time, though, there was a small pressure to lie by omission, but I was sure it would come up eventually. “I settled in well and have taken to my studies. There isn’t a club to my liking at this time, the sports only starting in spring. And I have entertained Lord Reading’s second daughter at the balls.”

Mother perked up at that reveal, her eyes darting to see if father would speak or if she could. After a moment, he said, “That is Lady Isabel.”

“Yes.”

He nodded, and then turned slightly, looking at mother. She asked, “Should we send her an invitation for the festivities?”

“If that is father’s wish. However, I wouldn’t want to trouble her at this time,” I said.

Later, when I went to see Alice, Daisy had a few questions of her own to ask me. It was a little funny since she’d been growing away from me the last year, more interested in her romance books—she was at that age.

Once the holiday passed and I was back at school, I didn’t have to wait long for the New Year ball. Almost a routine, Miles and I had our back and forth and a wander around the grounds, and Isabel caught my eye when we were lined up. By now, I was comfortable dancing with her. If she didn’t mind, better her than putting another lady through a dance with me.

After the first song, I talked with her a bit like last time, shallow questions about if I was enjoying the school, what had the boarding school been like. For someone so talkative, she listened well. But she had her ulterior motives, pulling me up for another dance in return for all her listening. It looked like she expected me to refuse, surprised when I stood up so easily—I did at least try not to be mean unless I had a reason.

A couple months later, the Spring ball. It was (quite literally) the same song and dance as always, small talk, a nice enough time. Along the way, I’d remembered why I had downloaded The Key To Her Heart all those years ago.

Isabel was a beautiful lady, in this world or back in mine, shoulder-length hair swept into a cute half up braid, gentle face, warm brown eyes, just on the slim side. However, that was only half the story. When I was a woman, I could get the first date. It was the second and third dates that were a struggle. I thought Isabel wouldn’t have that problem. She made me feel like what I said was interesting, that who I was was interesting.

And I wondered how the men I’d gone on dates with had felt. They’d probably got quite a different impression from me. I didn’t want to hear about their job (I’d spent all week at mine), and I didn’t want to hear what they did in their spare time because I’d already read their profile. Now, I felt like an idiot, not far off from the kind of woman who turned up to a date and sat on her phone the whole time. They’d probably all thought I was mooching a meal off them, surprised when I offered to pay half at the end.

That was in the past. Unfortunate since I felt like I could do a better job with Isabel as my role model.

There was one last ball in the academic year. I’d never attended it in the game, the endings all coming the night before. When I thought of that, a little voice of anxiety sat in the back of my head, worrying me day after day. Nothing had really happened like the game besides the forced meetings with the three heroines, maybe the dance at the first ball.

I couldn’t sleep the night before the Summer ball.

Sitting at my desk, the night outside barely looked dark. It was the sort of darkness where a lady may have felt safe when she wasn’t.

Eventually, I gave in, changing back to the school uniform. After a check for teachers outside, I opened up my window, carefully climbing out and dropping down to the ground, my shins unhappy about it. There was always a teacher at the entrance to the dorms until around midnight, so I wasn’t coming back for a while.

In the game, the “bad end” for Isabel, it was near the girls’ dorms. I skirted around the pair of teachers patrolling, plenty of places to hide with shrubs and trees dotted all over the place. There was no one by the first-years’ dorm, or the second-years’.

On my way to the third-years’ dorm, I saw someone in the distance near the storage shed for the sports equipment, out where there was no reason for anyone to go at this hour. My heart beat painfully in my chest, hands shaking with a sudden flood of fear.

I crept across the grass as best I could, less cover as I moved towards the sports fields, pulse pounding in my ears. Closer and closer. It was definitely a lady standing there, the silhouette in the mild darkness matching the girls’ uniform. She had shoulder-length hair, brunette. I felt like I’d soon faint, my breaths quick and shallow, vision narrowing in on her.

Then she turned, and it was her face.

It was Isabel.

If her bad ending had been the first ending I’d seen in the game, then I might have thought she’d started dating someone else—a bad ending because I’d lost her sort of thing. Any second now, a man would come out the shadows and greet her, and they would happily walk off into the night together.

But I’d seen the other bad endings, death sentences for the heroines.

An unavoidable fate. I felt less than powerless. My mind went blank. A voice in the back of my head told me this wasn’t the game, that she’d obviously arranged to meet up with someone, that nothing was wrong. Flickers of water flashed through my head, an immense, crushing regret. I couldn’t focus on it. Warm water, cold water. Weak, weakness, tearing me apart.

But I wasn’t the sort of person who sat by and watched as something terrible happened. I wasn’t. I tried to remember that until I broke through the paralysis.

I walked, step by step, closer to her. My heart hammered at my ribcage. I felt I could collapse at any moment, body strung too tight. Step by step until I could have reached out and touched her, until someone else could have grabbed her.

“Isabel,” I whispered, and she jumped, hand on her heart.

“Oh you gave me such a fright,” she said, a touch of nervous laughter to her voice.

I reached out and took her hand, and she let me, following without question, without complaint, as though she’d been waiting for me the whole time. It couldn’t have been that easy. Yet, no matter how far away we walked, there was no one to stop us.

“Really, I thought it couldn’t be true, that you wouldn’t have sent me such a letter,” she said softly, just enough to reach me. “But if you had and I ignored it, why, I couldn’t bear the thought of you coming to hate me.”

I’d been quick to call her a lady when I should’ve known better. This was why laws were made. It was easy to forget how differently teenagers thought, and this different world didn’t help. Of course a teenager would make this sort of mistake. Of course she wouldn’t have flirted as obviously as women did back in my world. Of course I would’ve mistaken the signs for friendship, not attracted to women and as oblivious as a brick.

She’d fallen in love with me and it had nearly cost her everything, and she didn’t know it.

Even if I hadn’t meant to, I’d strung her along, didn’t turn her away. Even though nothing had happened tonight, I would have to hurt her eventually, one day turning around and telling her I had no feelings for her.

And then there was the voice in the back of my head, telling me that all I’d ever wanted was someone who loved me. I could pretend to love her. Maybe, one day, it would become real.

“So,” she said, dragging out the word. We came to a stop, the moon high above us, river whispering to the side. “What is it you wanted to ask me?”

I had the key to her heart; all I had to do now was turn it.

Route A Bad End