Indeed we have. That is to say, I do not remember it. “The…point?”
His head dips. “The mines. No, you can’t borrow my glow ring and go there alone. From what I understand of the game that presented this world, all the danger was set apart from you, in a device, that you then had means to interact with through buttons. One mistake here results in real pain that I hope you aren’t accustomed to. Being unaccustomed to real pain couldresult in response delays that could result in death. No smart adventurer ever faces danger alone. It’s the first thing you’re taught at a guild:You are not alone.”
This…is not information that ever appeared in any of the backstory cutscenes for Samson. It sends a shiver down my spine. Looking at my plate, then at the calm, empty rooms in the open floor plan around us, I swallow. I know from game lore that Samson was an orphan raised in an adventurer guild where he was abused, used, and isolated. Now I know his upbringing taught him he was never alone while making him feel nothing but. So he wound up here. Shunning anyone who comes his way.
I used to appreciate the depth and tragedy in his story.
It was beautifully written.
Made him a stricken hero—kind to the point of breaking, because he knew true brokenness, because he knew utter loneliness came most when people were everywhere.
I used to appreciate it.
Back before it was real.
“Okay,” I say, forcing a smile so I won’t cry, “I won’t go by myself. We’ll go together. Then neither of us will be alone.”
Returning my smile, he nods, and we finish our meal.
Chapter 14
♥♥♥
Did anyone beg for a glow-up montage?
Ines all but cackles wickedly as she tosses her purple hair and circles me, like a vulture, in Samson’s living room. Were itonlyher, I may not be quite so crippled by the torrent of emotions rioting in my chest.
But it’snotjust her.
It is also Samson.
Reclinedon his sofa.
Watching me.
A hint of amusement sparks in his eyes, and it unveils me, stripping me down to the fragile core of who I am.
“What a perfect, precious,beautifullittle doll,” Ines states, lifting my arm and stretching a tape measure out against it. Pulling a pad from one of the hundred pockets in her patchwork dress, she jots a number down and throws the tape around my throat, tugging my head back as the measure tightens.
Samson’s eyes widen a fraction, and he coughs into his hand, putting his attention squarely on the kitchen counters across the living room.
Blush warms every inch of my poor, tortured body as the tape measure pulls away to grab my hips, and I’m so glad Samson isn’t watching anymore.
“This is going to be so much fun.” Ines chortles, and I squeak when her tape gets me around the bosom.
Samson’s attention flicks to me and jerks off all in the same second, then he stands. “Should I not be here—”
“Sit down,” Ines says, and Samson issat.
Immediate like.
Bless him.
I, too, am afraid of Ines.
She’s got manic in her blood. Ninety percent of her lines are deranged or mixed with casual lore drops bridging on horror. She’s got her own creepypasta stories, and—truth be told—I try not to think about them. It’s just too easy to give the goth-loli, hyperactive character often depicted with a needle and pins wicked lore.
Even though she is nothing but kind, considerate, and supportive of the player ineverypossible way.
