text: [Themes: house setting, female protagonist, homosexual, horror]
  
  > Look around
  The modest study has a cold, neglected feel to it; the air is still and oppressive, the silence broken by the stern, relentless ticking of a wall clock. A flimsy desk against the far wall provides support for a primitive-looking computer. An overflowing bookcase sits against the south wall, while the door leads back west to the living room.
  
  > look at the clock
  It's a plain, unattractive, ticking timepiece. The hands point to 7:15.
  
  > go west
  It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.
  
  A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to the study. The entry hall is to the south.
  
  > take the note
  I don't need to take the note with me; I can read it where it is.
  
  > Turn note
  Nothing obvious happens.
  
  > look up the art theory in the books
  Which do I mean, the art theory books, the romance books, the fantasy books or the self help books?
  
  > examine the art theory books
  Art theory, history, essays and other related texts.
  
  > examine the romance books
  A few "stock standard" Mills & Boon, though most of the books seem to be from smaller publishers.
  
  > examine fantasy books
  Fantasy novels about strong-willed lady knights and sorceresses. I think I can see a scrap of paper protruding from one of the books.
  
  > take the scrap
  Taken.
  
  > examine the scrap
  It's a scrap of lined paper, probably torn from a notebook. In small, neat writing are the words "serenity devoid".
  
  > Type serenity devoid
  The password field vanishes.
  
  The desktop is displayed. The following icons are available to click on:
  
  Word Processor
  
  > Open mail
  I'm not sure what that refers to.
  [If I am trying to "open" something on the computer screen, I should try "click"-ing it instead.]
  
  > click the mail
  I double-click on the "Mail" icon.
  
  Marissa's inbox. The following emails are available to read or reply to:
  
  Plymvale Health Centre   Auto reminder: Prescription renewal Pain~M.eds               80% discounted prices
  Helena Jevne             Re: Re: Hi
  ClassmateReunion.com     Inquiry Results
  Helena Jevne             Re: Hi
  Helena Jevne             Hi
  Estelle Clements         Thank you
  Estelle Clements         Request
  
  I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
  
  > read the request
  I am expecting some company later this week. Would you be available to come over on Wednesday in addition to your usual Tuesday?
  Estelle
  
  > read thank you
  Thank you. I appreciate it. You are always so reliable.
  Estelle
  
  > read hi
  Dear Marissa,
  It was lovely to run into you again today. You're looking well. It is such a pleasure to speak to you again after so many years. I hope you made it home safely.
  Well wishes,
  Helena
  
  > read the inquiry results
  Dear Marissa,
  In response to your recent inquiry, this email is to inform you that your search for "Helena Jevne" returned 0 results.
  Thanks for using ClassmateReunion.com!
  
  > read the prescription renewal
  This is an automated message to remind you to renew your prescription for Valium. We look forward to seeing you at Plymvale Health Centre soon. Please do not reply to this email.
  
  > Escape
  [Try "click escape" or "click esc"]
  
  > click the escape
  I return to the operating system.
  
  The desktop is displayed. The following icons are available to click on:
  
  Word Processor
  
  > click the browser
  I double-click on the "Browser" icon.
  
  The browser is open. The following icons are available to click on:
  
  I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
  
  > click the history
  Empty! Either she doesn't actually use this computer, or she goes to the bother of clearing her history. How paranoid.
  
  The browser is open. The following icons are available to click on:
  
  I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
  
  > click the favourites
  Marissa has very few favourites saved: there are a couple of art blogs, an online bookstore, and one of those "classmate finder" websites.
  
  The browser is open. The following icons are available to click on:
  
  I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
  
  > Click bookstore
  I could while away many hours browsing through all this, but then Marissa would likely come home and find me in here. Besides, I'm sure I can manage to occupy myself with other things.
  
  > click the Word Processor
  I double-click on the "Word Processor" icon and glance briefly over the program. Marissa has only one recently-opened document: a Tax Invoice template for "M. Ridley Cleaning". Her business, I assume. Interesting. I give the file a cursory glance, then close the word processor.
  
  The desktop is displayed. The following icons are available to click on:
  
  Word Processor
  
  > look at the clock
  It's a plain, unattractive, ticking timepiece. The hands point to 3:16.
  
  > examine the clock
  It's a plain, unattractive, ticking timepiece. The hands point to 3:17.
  
  > go to the west
  It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.
  
  A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to the study. The entry hall is to the south.
  
  I can hear a phone ringing from somewhere to the west.
  
  > Go west
  The kitchen has a dated feel to it; a laminate bench runs around two walls of the room, and white tiles line the wall above an aging sink and stove. An old fridge is tucked into the far corner of the room, and several potted plants decorate the bench around the spotless appliances.
  
  A calendar and old-fashioned cordless phone hang on the wall near the door leading east.
  
  A handwritten note has been placed near the middle of the bench.
  
  The phone rings out just as I step into the room. It echoes eerily in my head.
  
  > Dial 1
  (on the telephone handset)
  (first taking the telephone handset)
  Curious, I dial "Estelle". The phone rings once. Twice. Six times, then a female voice - no, a recording of one - answers in stiff Oxford English: "Hello, you've reached Estelle. I am unable to receive your call at this time, so please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as possible." I hang up before the tone.
  
  > examine the phone
  (examining the handset)
  The handset has very little functionality; it must be a relatively old model. On the LCD, there is a remarkably brief list of what appears to be contacts stored in the phone's memory:
  
  1. Estelle: 01395847839
  2. CAB: 01395137503
  3. PHC: 01395042356
  
  > Dial 1
  (on the telephone handset)
  Curious, I dial "Estelle". The phone rings once. Twice. Six times, then a female voice - no, a recording of one - answers in stiff Oxford English: "Hello, you've reached Estelle. I am unable to receive your call at this time, so please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as possible." I hang up before the tone.
  
  > Continue
  (on the telephone handset)
  I don't really have cause to call her again. Besides, that stiff voice sends a chill up my spine.
  
  > think about Estelle
  Her name alone nauseates me. I am certain there is something dangerous about that woman.
  
  > Dial 3
  (on the telephone handset)
  PHC... Plymvale Health Centre? I don't need to call them.
  
  > go east
  I replace the telephone handset on the base.
  
  I flinch, startled, as I step into the living room: an elaborately-dressed woman is sitting at Marissa's dining table, bold as day. She looks to be in her late fifties and glares at me from beneath a permanently-wrinkled brow.
  
  [1] "Who are you?"
  [2] "What are you doing here?"
  
  > 1
  The woman meets my eyes with a steely gaze. "Surely, you've already read enough of my correspondence with Marissa to know." My vision wobbles threateningly, but I square my shoulders and glare back at her.
  
  [1] "What are you doing here?"
  
  > 1
  She smirks. "Marissa wishes it. Can you honestly say the same for yourself?" I can begin to feel rage quietly building up beneath my ribcage.
  
  [1] "I think you should leave, now."
  
  > 1
  "You utter imbecile. Can't you even recognise yourself in the mirror?"
  
  [1] "Mirror? What would you know about that?"
  [2] "Of course I can, you vile woman!"
  
  > examine the woman
  An older woman with an air of wealth and haughtiness. She wears a strikingly elaborate blue gown, and a tiara is nestled in her silver perm.
  
  > look at gown
  What an excessive garment! It looks oddly familiar.
  
  > look at the tiara
  It seems a strange accessory for a grown woman. What might it represent to her?
  
  > examine the queen
  (the strange woman)
  An older woman with an air of wealth and haughtiness. She wears a strikingly elaborate blue gown, and a tiara is nestled in her silver perm.
  
  > 1
  "I was watching from behind the glass - as, obviously, were you."
  
  I gasp, tiny fibres from the carpet floating into my mouth; somehow I am lying cheek-down on the floor. The woman is gone. Presumably, the old bitch struck me prone.
  
  I raise myself to my feet, feeling angry for the intrusion. Who exactly is this woman that Marissa is dealing with?
  
  I hear the front door open and look over to see Marissa entering the room. She greets me with a shy smile and places her handbag down on the table.
  
  > think about the queen
  I'm admittedly relieved the porcelain figure is gone. Somehow, that little queen made me more uncomfortable than the ugly clay ornaments.
  
  > talk to Marissa
  Marissa turns her eyes upon me, questioning.
  
  [1] "You're home. How has your day been?"
  [2] "Marissa. Where have you been all day?"
  
  > 2
  She seems confronted, her head lowering. "Just at work. There's a lady I help... it's housekeeping. Nothing glamourous. How was your day?"
  
  [1] "I've just... looked around your house a little."
  [2] "Fine. Why do you ask?"
  [3] "I've had a pleasant stay. Thanks for all your kindness."
  
  > 1
  I feel a twinge of something unpleasant in my chest. Treacherously, my lip twitches. Marissa's eyes, wide and unsettlingly clear, flick down to my mouth, then meet my eyes seriously. That vague look enters her expression again.
  
  "Of course." She closes her eyes for a moment before staring at me seriously. "Helena... I'm sure you'd do no harm here." She almost reaches for my arm, then seems to think better of it. The silence swells.
  
  [1] "I'll let you get on with your business."
  
  > 1
  Marissa clears her throat. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be out soon. Please don't mind me." She walks off down the hallway and I am again left alone.
  
  > look at the handbag
  A soft fabric handbag with a shoulder strap. I can see something inside it.
  
  > look in handbag
  The contents of the handbag are neat and few. A purse, a keyring and a piece of paper.
  
  > take the keyring and the paper
  No... as a guest, I think I need to be more mindful than that. One action at a time.
  
  > take the keyring
  Taken.
  
  > take the paper
  (the piece of paper)
  Taken.
  
  > examine keyring
  A metal keyring, with an intricately plaited decoration of thread and beads trailing from it. On the ring are a well-used mortice key and a gold mortice key.
  
  > examine paper
  (the piece of paper)
  It's a little memo, written in a stern hand. "Marissa. Kindly make the arrangements today as discussed. The white roses are appreciated. Everything else you'll need is in my room. Estelle."
  
  > go north
  Hallway (south end)
  The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.
  
  I can hear the shower running.
  
  > go north
  The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is the door to Marissa's bedroom.
  
  > open the east door witthe well-used mortice key
  I unlock Marissa's bedroom door.
  
  > go to the east
  (first opening Marissa's bedroom door)
  Marissa's Bedroom
  Marissa's bedroom is initially confusing to the eye; the walls are almost entirely covered in an eccentric display of unframed paintings and tiny mirrors in mismatched frames. Lace curtains drape over a window in the north wall, letting dappled light filter onto a white-framed bed. In the dimly-lit south side of the room is a bedside table, covered in a pale floral cloth and a reading lamp. A white wardrobe, far less intimidating than the one in the spare room, is here too. The door is to the west.
  
  > look at the paintings
  The paintings are nearly all landscapes, with any human figures silhouetted or obscured by scenery. Every painting seems almost to glitter with creativity, and yet there is a sense of longing to all of them - each waterfall is not dramatically foregrounded, but lingers, hazy, behind a layer of mist; each sky seems to stretch endlessly, not quite delivering on the promise of a horizon.
  
  > examine the wardrobe
  A tall white wardrobe for clothes.
  
  > open the wardrobe
  I open the white wardrobe, revealing some clothes.
  
  > examine the clothes
  Marissa's clothes - mostly simple garments, with a few lacy affairs tossed in.
  
  > examine mirrors
  There are dark eyes everywhere, blinking at me from every wall. The mirrors are framed in a whimsical assortment of frames, ranging from dark wrought iron, to embossed silver, to raw timber.
  
  > examine the curtains
  The window looks out to the north. The neighbourhood looks lifeless beneath the grey sky.
  
  > look at the table
  A little round table with a floral cloth draped over it. A drawer, its face rounded with the curve of the table, faces towards the bed.
  
  > open the drawer
  Around me, all over the walls, blonde women lunge forward in reflective fragments. Dizzy, I focus on the drawer. There is a small diary inside, its cover hand painted.
  
  > examine diary
  The cover is a painting of a girl, her head rested on her folded arms, melancholy blue eyes staring out beyond the image.
  
  > open diary
  It is important that I know as much as possible about Marissa's situation in order to help her. Later, I am sure she will understand to thank me for my concern. I remove the diary from the drawer and spread it open on the bed.
  
  There are several pages filled with text. I read the first entry.
  
  "Life outside the studio window blurs on without me. Sometimes, when the loneliness is at its strongest, I move my easel close to the door and hide behind it, watching the neighbourhood's movements. There is a little old lady across the road who I often see struggling to carry her groceries inside from the bus. No-one is ever there to help her. I wonder what her name is, why she is alone."
  Excuse me?
  
  > read diary
  I continue reading.
  
  "I'm trying to keep to my schedule. Cleaning, always cleaning. Nothing is ever clean enough. Nothing is ever essential enough. I look away from my canvas and everything seems without essence and covered in dirt."
  
  > Continue
  "Estelle is the kindest employer I could ever hope for. Today she told me a little more about her work at the opera theatre. I listened, spell-bound as a child. I think she knows I have no anecdotes of my own to contribute, so she just talks and smiles kindly. I guess what she is is a friend, though I retreat from the word with uncertainty."
  
  > Keep going
  "I am sure the sunrise is influencing my palette - dear Matisse would not approve! - but oh, the studio is spectacular in the dawn light. I paint all night until I am too exhausted to think, and then I sleep and sleep and sometimes I can't get out of bed. The itch of tears is fresh in my eyes when I wake because I dream of such pretty things and then I wake, and I stare at my blank ceiling, blankness reflected in such blank eyes."
  
  > continue
  "Oh Nan, how is it that I live like this? I dreamt of you and I hope I keep your house well enough for you because I do still miss you, every day. I hope you are in peace."
  
  > Continue
  "Coming back from Estelle's today, I ran into Helena Jevne. She is still as strikingly beautiful as she was back in school. And goodness, so tall. Nervous as I was, I could not escape from our conversation for over two hours... but in retrospect, I am glad. She seems such a strong-minded, sensible person. Better-adjusted than me, most likely. She has brought me back from this slumber of blankness, I think. I dare to hope that maybe I will see her again."
  
  > Continue
  "Alone. It bites at me over and over and over and I have forgotten my schedule, but it seems so meaningless so meaningless so"
  
  > Continue
  "I almost can't look at my paintings after they are painted. The loss of that moment of creation is painful. I dreamt of so many things, once. Now I hold onto a series of singular dreams, fluttering against my palms as I grasp them, almost too afraid to breathe for fear of crushing their delicacy, and I paint them with a mechanical concentration. And can't look back. I am beginning on the cliffside I saw in my dream. I hope it will be enough for now."
  
  > Keep going
  "Emails. So nerve-wracking. Of course I am intimidated by her; her wisdom and her worldliness must see right through my meek existence. 'Purity' is what I value, I tell myself. In the face of another human being, though, my convictions waver... and even if I weren't so shy, I don't know if I could let a person into my life. Especially... well, oh. I don't know."
  
  > Keep going
  This page is smeared with dark stains, rendering most of it illegible. "... phone call in the night ... ecked and the key wasn't there ... rror had been smashed in viole ..."
  
  > keep going
  The dark stains continue on this page, and the following. "... been here for over a week now ... re white roses from the garden, stained with hairdye! She must have tak ... aints, everywhere! ... drawer, found the most terrible thing but didn't dare ..."
  
  > Continue
  I flip through the pages, reading the few fragments I can, all written in a hand seemingly overcome by distress. "... ntire mirror covered in plasters! and I ... heart-stopping crashes and then a thud on my door ... ound the mark of a fist! What does sh ... scraping at the brickwork ... a knife, no less! and bloo ..."
  
  > keep going
  The rest of the pages are blank.
  
  From somewhere to the west, I can hear Marissa calling for me. My clammy palms betray an inexplicable apprehension.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against Estelle's memo, a keyring, a scrap of paper, a study door key, a medicine cabinet key, my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my beige overcoat and my blouse and skirt.
  
  I thought there was something else I was carrying before... well, perhaps not.