Irene was drinking tea that was meant to be Lecil's. The teacup rattled rapidly against the accompanying saucer. Today's shock was still being filtered.

Lecil decided to leave her a moment. She was also overjoyed someone was drinking the tea. Lecil's taste for warm tea dropped dramatically after having inherited Celia's memories. Coffee, hot chocolate, tea. Beverages were meant to be cold, preferably with ice. Celia would kill for an Iced tea.

What? Was Celia supposed to act British now that she was actually a noble? Bunch of ninnies.

Celia held vivid memories of a high school history course with a history teacher she loved to listen to. This was where she learned about how insane the British were.

Tea was one of China's biggest exports, and when the British found out about it, oh-ho-ho, they went absolutely bonkers. They ordered ALL of it. The Chinese officials were all like, "No, we need some for ourselves and our tea ceremonies." The British were like, "We don't care, take our money." The Chinese were like, "Fine. We will quadruple the price!". The British were like, "Hah! Is that all?"

The Chinese were like, "All right, they surely have enough now," and cut off trade. The British Ambassador was like, "What the tosh? Where's our bloody tea at?" The Chinese leaders were like, "You've had enough. We need some for our tea ceremonies. If you want more, you need to pay ten times the price!" The British Ambassador laughed and said, "Hah. Is that all?"

So the British continuously bought up nearly all the tea since they couldn't grow enough on their islands. Eventually, the Chinese treasuries were overflowing, and they were like, "We have enough money, surely?" So they cut the British off again. The sorry lot was so hooked that they offered even more money. The Chinese rejected the offer and said, "If you get on your hands and knees and beg, we will sell you more." The British were like, "Hah! Is that all?"

Thus Kowtowing was invented.

So, every time they requested tea from then on, they had to bow their heads to the floor while also paying obscene amounts of money. This was somewhere around 1800. Celia couldn't remember the exact dates. Her teacher never stressed it as important.

"As long as you know the general timeframe and aren't off by hundreds of years, world history isn't that hard."

Celia laughed at the British but never fucked with them. Because when the Chinese got tired of selling their tea for good the British got them addicted to Opium. The roles reversed and the Chinese were begging for Opium so much that they traded away all the money they earned and continued selling tea. If that wasn't enough there were not one, but two Opium Wars.

Crazy wankers.

Wile Lecil admired Celia's diverse collection of profanity, she need to forcefully cut off her errant thoughts. Celia's memories were all connected like a string. Pull one, and you start pulling them all—a useless font of fun facts that didn't even apply to their world anymore.

Well, maybe their combined knowledge could come up with a way to make iced tea. It would probably be a hit. Especially in the warmer regions. Could Lecil rake in some coin that way?

Lecil wandered over to the dresser during her mental escapade. She moved a small clock and picked up a journal, leafing through. Taking a magical pen, she jotted down some more notes and underlining for emphasis.

Iced Tea? Make sweet and cold. Watermelon Flavor.

Other than the Renegade notes, there wasn't much else filling the pages. Lecil wanted to capitalize on the potential of another world, but Celia couldn't hold her attention long enough without daydreaming of something else.

After so much time in the same body/brain, you'd think they'd get along and merge. Or at least cooperate.

Unfortunately the two girls were too different. The only thing they agreed on was screwing over the game devs.

Celia contributed all she could about Renegade, but she never got past the proverbial starting zone. She spent hours on the game yet always inevitably died when meeting Duke Sallow. She missed something crucial and could never figure out what.

"Irene? Can I ask you to throw out this clock?"

"The. Clock. Princess?"

The words were clipped and confused.

"Yes. Before it's incessant noise drive me to murder it. I will get a magical one later. One that doesn't tick."

The small ticking of the clock infuriated Lecil and served to keep her up for an entire week. She vowed to smash it into a thousand pieces once she was free to act; however, using Irene to dispose of it became more attractive. A confidant was needed, and keeping Irene busy would help stabilize the whiplash she was currently suffering from.

"I-I'll take it to the incinerator."

Lecil approved.

"By the way, do you know where that thing came from? I don't remember it."

Irene blinked.

"It has Princess Anne's initials on it. It is likely hers."

"Oh."

Lecil felt her face contort in a foul manner. She stopped when Irene reacted badly.

"Well. Don't bother giving it back. I like you're incinerator idea. Also, Please come back immediately. I still have some things to discuss with you."

"I understand."

She didn't.

Watching Irene bow, accept the trash-bound clock reverentially, and exit all in a daze was concerning. Lecil didn't want to overstimulate the poor girl. Hopefully she would get back in time for the event.

She was supposed to be absent during the next event, but Lecil wanted to mess with the status quo. Her inital plan was to stuff Irene in a closet and have her watch secretly. That plan was tossed out after seeing how shaken the girl was.

The likelihood of a bad ending increased when witnesses decreased. Even with Irene as a witness, risks would need to be taken.

If I die... is a restart possible? Or will it be a permanent game over?

=

Am I standing in the right spot? I believe this was how it goes.

The doors to the bedroom were flung open.

-

Main Event - Blood Brother

Rewards: Affection+

Consequences: Death

-

Those poor doors.

"Lecil."

Looking back over her shoulder, the First Prince appeared the same as last time. Formal clothes, needless pizazz, sword at his hip, that annoying scowl imprinted on his face. He could probably charm any fair Lady if he smiled.

Tristan marched over to the balcony where Lecil leaned. He stopped at the edge of the doorway. Sneering, he eyed her up and down.

"Why do you look like that? Why aren't you dressed when it is already noon?"

She hadn't readied herself other than having her hair combed. Lecil was in her slippers and nightgown. Her wounds were clearly visible for anyone to scrutinize. Tristan either chose not to see, not to care, or was utterly unable of either.

"Brother. That is the second time you've entered without knocking."

"Don't toy with me."

"I'm not."

I am absolutely toying with you.

How could she not when she could finally speak freely?

Lecil's gaze held steady. Tristan affection score was still negative.

-3%

"I heard from Anne that you didn't choose a suitor. You chose to postpone the decision and remain here. Why?"

The winter wind chilled the air. It was cold outside and she really shouldn't be out here, nearly naked. The sun was out, fortunately, helping to mitigate the temperature. Lecil smirked as a breeze passed through her straightened hair.

"I convinced Father that Anne wanted me around."

Tristan brought a hand to his sword, resting it there. Celia remembered how this option originally played out. Picking this choice was a death route. Lecil didn't care.

"You know very well that none of us want you here."

He growled as he crossed the threshold.

"You should have chosen a suitor and escaped while you still could."

He drew his sword.

Lecil laughed in his face, making him grow red with anger.

The person in front of her wasn't her brother. He wasn't a Prince. He wasn't even a person. He was a piece of script designed to torment her That he thought he was anything more was laughable.

"Is this something to laugh about?"

The sword shimmered in the sunlight. Cold steel touched her neck, halting her movement but not her quiet laughter. There was no fear in her eyes—only burning hatred and pity.

This was Lecil. The girl who had no grand birthday parties or gifts. Who ate alone ever since her maid mother was exiled. The little girl who cried herself to sleep, wondering why her brothers hated her and her sister kept hitting her. The teenager who stood in the shadows at every public event, attracting stares and rumors. The hypnotized girl who believed it was all her fault that the world scorned her. Hated her. DENIED HER.

The laughter ceased. Madness swam in her eyes as she grinned unnaturally. Lecil didn't have a 'pretty' smile. Just an evil one.

"Do it."

"What?"

Tristan seemed confused. None of this was going how he imagined. She should be crying and pleading for her life. Then Tristan would deny it and end her pitiful existence.

"I said, do it."

Lecil grabbed the rapier. The cold metal bit into her bare palm like a scorpion as she wrenched the tip to point at throat.

"Here. Thrust and get it over with."

"You're mad."

"Hahaha~"

Blood flowed down her clenched hand onto the blade, trickling down its pristine surface, bloodying the weapon for the first time.

"Just a few inches forward. That's it. Come on! Barely a flick of the wrist and I'm dead. That is what you wanted, right? You drew your sword because you were going to use it. RIGHT?"

Tristan tried to remove his blade, but it didn't move. Stuck in her palm. If he pulled hard, she would lose her fingers. If he pushed, she died. Wait. Wasn't that what he wanted? Just push-

"KILL ME!"

Dark fire burned and roared. Lecil looked down her nose, backdropped by white winter.

His character was flat. He didn't deserve to be a star. A romantic interest? Hah! He was more deserving of being a background character. A pitiful tool scripted to act, suddenly trapped in inaction when things didn't go his way.

"Too bloody? Just push me over instead. Make it an accident. I'll die from the fall, and you will live to be the unfortunate soul who tried to save his falling sister. People will love you. It will give you a bit of character."

Her voice became scornful as she pulled Tristan's blade with her. She brought him to the very edge of the balcony, backing up. Tristan had no choice but to follow or finally commit to a course of action. Lecil watched his eyes travel down to the ground below, bouncing between it, his sword, and his half-sister. Indecision and puzzlement defined him.

The drop from three stories would to kill her if she landed on the stonework. Below, her body would be discovered, smashed against the bricks and framed in the flower beds. Her blood splattered like morning dew on white winter snowdrops.

"You're crazy."

"Crazy? Don't be like that. Did you want to make this more personal? Here."

Lecil pushed away the sword and grabbed Tristan's empty hand with her injured one.

"You and Kly. The staff. The King. Anne."

She guided Tristan's hand to her throat.

"You all drove me to this. You all made me."

"What are you doing?"

Tristan's hand wrapped around her neck. She leaned back, perpendicular, hanging over the edge. She forced Tristan in close, staring directly into his grey eyes, and making her potential killer the only possibliity of survival.

"You reap what you sow."

...

Neither moved. Locked in an eternal moment.

When stray cloud passed and cast them both in shadow, Tristan came out of the spell. Quickly, he pulled Lecil to safety before hastily separating himself. He looked at his hand and then to Lecil's neck. His sword dripped crimson blood onto the stonework. His eyes seemed confused, then settled for apathy.

"There is no need to dirty my hands. I have no desire to kill someone looking to die."

The icon above his head settled at 0%.

It was a victory in the loosest sense. Lecil knew that her only chance to live was to change Tristan from a cold killer into an unwanting executioner.

That is the second time. I refuse to play the victim a third time.

Lecil clenched her burning hand, causing a few more drops to fall. Fresh snow blew by and caught the scarlet vow.

=

The figure peeking in through the open doorway vanished quickly. When Irene was certain Prince Tristan left, she quickly ran into the bedroom searching for the Princess.

Lecil sat on the balcony balustrade, watching the wind.

"What took you so long?"