[Yes]<yes| [No]<no| [[No-ya]] (click-replace: ?yes)[Look at you, bravely committing to a positive answer.] (click-replace: ?no)[Already so decisive! So definitive, so contrary.]Now you're talking. [[But wait, what does that even mean?]] [[Alrighty then]]My German grandmother, one of my many grandparents, used to say "No-yah" occasionally in response to questions. Generally, but not always, these were yes-no questions. No-yah usually indicated "something like that," but sometimes it meant "not quite like that" or "not that at all." [[What an ambiguous yet strangely enlightening answer|Alrighty then]] [[Wait how many grandparents do you HAVE|Grandparents]]Good news! You are (set: $insect to (either: "fireflies", "worms in puddles after a rainstorm", "bottled lightning", "a butterfly with yellow wings")) $insect. [[Sounds cool]] [[Wait, no, I'm not|Alrighty then]]Seven? I think? Wait, no, no, because there’s the four in Michigan and the two that raised me and the one I never met who nonetheless influenced my life immensely and my German grandmother, who I mentioned, who was in love with Yoda and/or Gollum and my great-aunt who sort of became my grandmother it’s complicated and [[yes yes that’s all very fascinating|Alrighty then]]But you are (if: (count: (history:), "Sounds cool") is 0)[also] (else:)[still] a mouse. (if: (count: (history:), "Sounds cool") is 0)[Sorry, I don’t make the rules.] (else:)[And okay I guess I kind of make the rules but you made one too SO?] [[That is literally what you are doing right this very minute]] [[Is this like the bug question where I can say "Wait no I'm not" and then I get a different option?|Change]] (if: (count: (history:), "Make a Rule") is 0)[[[Wait, that's not fair. I want to make a rule.|Make a Rule]]] Oh. Oh, you’re so right. I’m sorry. I’m being tyrannical. Would you LIKE to be a mouse? [[yeppers|Phew]] [[sure thing|Phew]] [[nah|Change]]You're right. That IS fair. You’re making the rules. Hurry, make a rule. (link: "Snacks on Wednesdays")[(set: $rule to "snacks on Wednesdays")(goto: "New rule")] (link: "Tea at half-past two")[(set: $rule to "tea at half-past two")(goto: "New rule")] [I demand knowledge of my place in the hierarchy of the universe.]<knowledge| (click-replace: ?knowledge)[...okay, not gonna lie, I was REALLY hoping that would work. If you figure that out, give me a call, no-ya?]So you're a (if: (history:) contains "Change")[$rodent] (else:)[mouse] and also $insect. One of these is probably a metaphor. Since it's hard to be two things at once, you look like a person most of the time. When you left for the summer, you were given a magic word and a compass. You were told to use them only in dire need, and definitely NOT to run away and hop on an airplane to Death's country. So of course, that's exactly what you did. Now you've [[landed|go]].What…? I mean, I guess you COULD change. Would you rather be a rat? That’s not too much of a stretch. But you have to stay a rodent, I can’t bend that much. (link: "on second thought a mouse is splendid")[(set: $rodent to "mouse")(goto: "Phew")] (link: "make me a rat, i want to be a rat")[(set: $rodent to "rat")(goto: "Phew")] (link: "I'm going to be a giant frilled lizard and you can't tell me what to do")[(set: $rodent to "giant frilled lizard")(goto: "Phew")]The drive is peaceful, and the sound of Claudia twittering away is soothing. In the backseat rests your backpack and one oversized duffle. The compass is in the duffle, and the magic word is tucked into the corner of your tongue. Claudia leans forward and punches the radio. The car fills with some sort of harps-and-parakeets dubstep mix. You aren't sure how to feel about this. "So," she says. She looks at you expectantly. "You're heading to old Death's place? Nervous? You haven't been back since you were yay-high." (link: "'Yeah, kind of. I guess.'")[(set: $yes to $yes + 1)(goto: "Response")] (link: "'I...no? Why would I be?'")[(set: $no to $no + 1)(goto: "Response")] (link: "'I'm not totally sure.'")[(set: $noya to $noya + 1)(goto: "Response")]At least Death would let you control the radio station, you think. Right now, it's playing this weird mix of a vuvuzela and an ostrich's mating call, and you don't know how you feel about it. Your duffel bag jostles across the backseat. The compass is in the duffle -- oh, you hope it doesn't break -- and the magic word is tucked into the corner of your tongue. "So," Claudia says. She looks at you expectantly. "You're heading to old Death's place? Excited? You haven't been back since you were yay-high." (link: "'Yeah, kind of. I guess.'")[(set: $yes to $yes + 1)(goto: "Response")] (link: "'I...no? Why would I be?'")[(set: $no to $no + 1)(goto: "Response")] (link: "'I'm not totally sure.'")[(set: $noya to $noya + 1)(goto: "Response")]The wood glitters in the afternoon light. As you get closer, you see why: the leaves are all made out of shattered glass. Those that have fallen on the ground twinkle in the light, and the trees themselves are smooth, cold pillars. Death appears at your side suddenly. Today, Death looks like something. You're not sure what. "If you go into the forest, you cannot go back," Death says. You don't want to leave just yet.Today, Death is (either: "a kid draped in eight multicolored scarves, only its big brown eyes popping up over the top", "a teen girl in a purple dress"). Death has a carton full of French fries. Death offers you one. (link: "You take it")[The fry is limp with grease. As soon as you bite into it, you can taste the scorch of salt on your tongue. "These things will kill you," you say. Death shrugs and gives you a sheepish grin. "Anything can. But these are delicious." They shake the container at you again, and you take a second fry. Why not? You're here anyway. The second fry is even better.] (link: "You shake your head")[Death shrugs and eats a second fry. You leave.]You step through hanging vines to see a small waterfall ahead of you. Water cascades over the rocks overhead into a small, deep pool. It's about the size of (either: "a Volkswagen Beetle", "a parking space"). The day is scorching, but the water is clear and cold."Drop of blood, drop of saline. Put it in the knothole." (link: "Blood")[(set: $choice to "blood")(goto: "Enter the Forest")] (link: "Saline")[(set: $choice to “saline”)You press your thumb against the knothole and flinch as it pierces your skin. "Interesting choice, $choice. You may [[enter|Enter the Forest]]"]"What's your name?" asks the man. You blink, startled. You didn't expect this. "Well, you don't have to tell me your real name. You can have any name you want here."Death was supposed to pick you up from the airport, but Death was late (as usual), so you're riding with an old woman named Claudia instead. She has short hair and a cheery smile and nine grandchildren, and she has pictures of all of them. They're named after birds: Jay and Robin, Mynah and Dove, Lark and Finch and Linnet and Kestrel and Bat. You ask Claudia about "Bat" and she just grins. [[You're grateful for the company|Company]] [[You kind of wish Death had been on time|Waiting]]Your room is perfectly comfortable. There is (if: $rodent is "lizard")[a heat lamp in the corner with a large brown rock centered perfectly underneath] (else:)[a small rodent-sized cubbyhole carved into the wall and a block of cheese]. By the window, a stained glass window shows (if: $insect is "a butterfly with yellow wings")[a field of tulips] (elseif: $insect is "worms in puddles after a rainstorm")[a cloudy sky] (elseif: $insect is "bottled lightning")[a jagged streak of lightning] (elseif: $insect is "fireflies")[a shower of stars](else:)[a montage of multi-colored chips]. You appreciate that Death has gone through so much hard work to make you comfortable. Other than these things, though, the only decoration is a colorful rag rug on the floor. Death forgot about the bed. [[You should go find them.]] As you stand, you feel a weight upon your shoulders and you freeze. "What is it?" The reason you went to Death's country in the first place, you want to say. Or maybe, nothing important. You probably say one of those things. You can't hear your voice because of the clamor of the shadow. It is [[unpleasant]].Your fault your fault you thought that you could change that you could be different does this person know what you're really like who you are do you even know how badly you're going to disappoint them you should go back you should go back to where you belong you won't hurt anyone there go back to death's country and stay there don't you remember that time in first grade when you stole your best friend's napkin and you made her cry you haven't changed a bit you honestly think you could get through this forest how can you when you barely even know where you're going do you think you have the power to use that compass do you think it isn't wasted on you what do you [[stop]]You inhale, exhale. The shadow's fingers are cold and sharp against your skin. Your friend stares at you, and you smile back, trying to be reassuring. You have the sense that it isn't working. On the right side of your neck, a tiny bit of blood dribbles down. A cut from the shadow's fingers. It wasn't always so sharp, you want to say, but you don't say anything. It's a wooden chapel. Under the rafters, you can see wasps buzzing around, chasing each other in and out of the light. Inside, there is a tattered blue notebook. The cloth cover falls apart when you touch it. Inside, your handwriting covers page after page, words that you don't even remember writing. The sun is higher in the sky now. You're getting close to noon. The dust of pollen drifts by in the early afternoon light, and your companion passes you an apple. What do you think of all of this, they ask. You bite into the apple. For a moment, you remember Death with their apples and fries and love of human food, and you feel a pang of regret. You could still be home with them, you think, if you hadn't left, if you had just been content with what you had. It's good, you tell your companion. It's tasty.You're on a porch with your younger brother. Sugar clings to your hands, and you hop up onto the porch railing, splinters digging into your thighs as you stuff bites of warm doughnut dough into your cheek. In the distance, you hear the slow call of a mourning dove. There is a wizard in the trees. "The trees have my toes for two hours by mutual agreement." Painting equation on the undersides of leaves. Carries the 1, sparkly orbs float from one tree to another. "It's not your fault, you know." "But sometimes it is," you say. What you mean is that sometimes it is and you just have to accept it and try to forgive yourself regardless, but from the warbled look of pity on the ethereal ghost's face, you feel like you haven't adequately communicated your meaning.There is only one line of trees between you and the dawn. You can see pink light filtering through the last of the trees. A hand intertwines with yours. "Don't go," says your shadow. "Stay. You'll lose everything out there." And it's true. You will no longer be $metaphor. You will only be $rodent crouched in human skin. You will have no magic word; you lost that. You will have no compass; you traded that away. "You can get it back," says the shadow. If you [[stay]], it means. But you have to [[leave]].You turn and intertwine your fingers with your shadow's hand. Their touch is cold, but not in an unpleasant way, you think. "Alright," you say. The shadow inclines its head at you. You glance at the towering trees beside you, their forms still winking in the stained glass. The world out there, you know, is less magical, and perhaps more fraught with peril than even this. "I won't leave you," you tell your shadow. "I'll stay. We'll get it back." You cannot truly see, but you think your shadow smiles."I'm sorry," you say. You step backward, away from your shadow and its pleading, away from the glittering cold trees and the crumpled leaves underfoot. "But..." "I have to go." The world out there is less magical and perhaps even more fraught with peril. You swallow your fear and turn and walk into the light.The sky is the deep navy blue of just before the dawn. In the distance, the horizon is turning a faint grey. THERE'S A CHOICE HERE. You can choose to come back with a companion or not. If you come back with a companion. "I can't believe it," says your cousin. He stretches beside you, blinking at the sky. "It's nearly morning." You straighten. Beneath your hand is EITHER a pool of pancake syrup OR a stack of academic paperwork OR the coiled strands of your headphones, still blaring music from earlier this evening. Your cousin traces the outline of his book. His eyes are still somewhere far away. You want to ask him if he remembers. In his face, you can almost see a glimpse of THE PERSON HE WAS IN THE DREAM. IF YOU COME BACK ALONE The sky is grey and navy-blue. A cat with a crooked snicker-tail crosses the street in front of you. You are walking home. You open your palm and stare at the glint of stained glass. Then you tilt your head back and stare at the sky, drinking down the last, lingering star before light suffuses everything. Is it enough? Yes No [[No-ya|End]]The end. Also thanks to my beta readers: (names go here)(set: $yes to 0) (set: $no to 0) (set: $noya to 0) (goto: "Beginning")Claudia nods sagely. As sagely as a woman with feathers coming out of her eyebrows can nod. “Don’t be too nervous, now,” she clucks. Her fingers drum on top of the steering wheel. “Death’s a sweetie. Don’t tell them I said this, but I think sometimes they get lonely, you know? All alone up in that giant house of theirs. It can be a lonely business, being Death.” You nod. You don’t actually know, but you know about loneliness. You guess it must be much the same. "What brings you back?" You stare out the window. [[This one you won't answer.]]Claudia turns off the dubstep mix and smiles at you. “Need help with your bags?” “No, I’ve got it.” You grab each bag and shrug them into your hands. “Thank you anyway.” It is kind of dark though. You turn to look for Claudia’s car, wanting to ask her to turn on the headlights, but she’s already gone, vanished into the gloom. You take a step forward. Another step. Five steps in, and there’s a flare of candlelight in front of you. There's a house there. Do you want to [[go inside]]? Or [[not yet]]?Congratulations! So from now on, there will be $rule. [[Sounds cool]]In. Two. Three. Four. Your head is a cavalcade of images. You can't even see them they're going so fast, laughter and pain and darkness and unwashed hair for days and sitting on the floor staring at the wall you did this you did this you Out. Two. Three. Four. Still too loud still too LOUD STILL TOO In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four. [[Wait. Claudia's speaking.]]"This is a tricky question to ask," Claudia asks. She leans back against the seat and stares out at the dark. "But...are you sure you know what you're doing? Coming here, I mean." You open your mouth, then shut it. You're not sure how long or short of an answer to give. The moon rises higher and higher in the sky. It shifts from full moon to gibbous to crescent. You keep your eye fixed on that last, stubborn sliver, until it, too, vanishes at the zenith of the sky. The car rolls to a stop. And then your answer doesn't matter. You've [[arrived.|Arrival]]As you get closer, you can smell the house. It smells like..burning sugar? "This way!" pipes a voice. You follow, stumbling inside the door...and see... [[A kitchen.]]You tilt your head back and try to drink down the stars. It's not like the sky at home. Dying stars blossom into starbursts or spin into black holes above your head. Constellations reshuffle themselves like a card deck, thin lines gleaming to show you the old legends people used to tell. You used to really like staring at the sky. Small big-eyed kid, trying to memorize where the North Star was. But here, there is no North Star to guide you. [[Just new stories.|A voice]] [[Just dead memories.|A voice]]"This way!" pipes a voice. You glance around, startled. It sounds like the voice was right by your ear, but there's no one near you. "In the house!" it pipes again. You follow, stumbling inside the door...and see... [[A kitchen.]]The kitchen is a mess. There’s an apple pie on the counter by your left hand. Next to that is a platter of dumplings with red centers and icing drizzled on the top. Coconut cupcakes teeter in an uncanny pyramid; a blueberry cobbler fills a deep pan. Snickerdoodles covered in cinnamon sit on a plate to the side. Some of these desserts you don’t recognize: there’s some sort of green wrap that smells like warm sugar, and flaky pastries drizzled in honey and pistachios; bowls of creamy gelato and puffy pancakes covered in jam, round neon-colored pastries and stringy piles of coconut and lemon bars and fried dough and dense chocolate cake. A small child wrapped in twenty-seven multi-colored scarves is tugging a plate of cookies out of the oven. When you enter, the child glances up, and you gulp as you gaze into their blank black eyes. (Why is Death a child? You had this hooded-figure mental picture...but that's right. When you last saw Death, they kept changing shape.) Yes, this must be [[Death]]. “Sorry for the mess,” Death says. “I didn’t know what you’d find most comforting.” “Um,” you say. “You must be hungry after your trip.” Death passes you a plate and looks at you eagerly. “Would you like to eat anything? Please? Everything here is very delicious.” On the one hand, there are all of those [[legends]] about food in magic places. On the other hand...is refusing Death [[really a good idea?]]“Will I be stuck here if I eat?” Memories of Persephone eating pomegranate seeds and revelers eating fairy food flash into your head. Death shakes their head. “No, no. That's only out there." They wave their hand toward the window. "But this is my house! I invited you. You can eat.” Still, the thought has made you lose your appetite. “No, thanks.” Death's shoulders sag in disappointment. They try to hide it by stuffing a cookie in their mouth. Then another. Then three. Death's cheeks puff out like a chipmunk's. You blink in surprise. Death has never looked less...[[intimidating]].You tentatively grab some of the food: a cookie, one of the neon pastries, a creme-filled roll. You munch on them. They taste surprisingly delicious. Except... You bite again. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Death darts from your eyes to the cookies. Their eyes widen with horror. "What's wrong with them? What's wrong?" You shake your head, but Death already has one. They take a bite and flush. "I'm sorry!" they wail. "I forgot about the eggshell." You almost want to hug them. Death looks a lot less...[[intimidating]] than you imagined.You step forward, only to be met with a sudden glance from Death's eyes. Inside, there are galaxies exploding, and it reminds you of...a lullaby? You don't...it's weaving through your thoughts and you can't ignore it, who sang this to you? Who... Death clears their throat. You jump. "Sorry," they say, blushing. "You get used to that." You glance to the side. Suddenly, you're a lot more tired, and a lot less comfortable in the kitchen. “Where is my room, exactly?” Death leads you down a hall that is longer than it originally looks. At the end of it is a wooden door. “[[Here you are.|Death's house]]”You go back down the hall to try and find Death and let them know, but the hall has changed shape since the last time you went down it. You were sure it had been a straight corridor, an easy progression from point A to point B, but now the hallway branches out into three different forks, and you are unsure which fork to take to get back to where you started. Should you go [[left]]? Or [[right?]] [[Center?]] Or [[back to your room]]?[[End (for now)]][[End (for now)]][[End (for now)]][[End (for now)]]Thank you so much for playing "The Wishing Wood!" It's still in progress, but I hope you enjoyed it so far. I know the game so far has been pretty linear. You're still finding your way! As your journey continues, you'll have more opportunities to explore Death's strange world and find your way back to the land of life -- or not. (And don't worry: that magic word will come in handy.) Thank you again for playing and reading! I hope you have a great day.