To Heartberge Gardens

The Perpetual Virgin’s acquaintance finds you by the high steel gates. They emerge from the shadows behind the dark and florid doors, wide open despite the late hour. An urchin, by your estimate, of indeterminable age and gender, dressed in the sooty approximation of an evening suit. Their stovepipe hat is bent and broken, and the shirt under the shabby and too-long frock coat has never been white. A paper-mâché mask in the form of a Saint covers their face.

”Wif me,” they say, muffled under the saintly visage.

A gilded lion perches atop each gate post, their eyes alight with Feyish sorcery. The urchin leading you stops where the eyes meet, standing in a cone of orange fire and surrounded by shadows.

”You the guy, then?” they ask, continuing without waiting for your answer. ”Welcome then, gentle Sir, to sights that bedazzle, inspire and uplift. Tonight, these gardens are a vision. A dream of distant islands, untouched by civilisation and close to mysterious Tithebarn.” They pause and clear their throat. ”If you’d kindly tag along then, guv’.”

The paths are familiar, but the sights are not. You follow your urchin guide past the low hedges, and similar shapes move in the corner of your eyes. More masks in motion; paper, wood and silk, Saints and Feyer things alive behind the shrubbery. Some are other urchins, you guess, but some are older, wizened yet child-sized. One removes his mask to show off his moustache, groomed with obvious care.

Your urchin guide leads you to a clearing and to her. The Perpetual Virgin is dressed in red, her body covered by chaste rows of flowing, blood-dark fabric. She rises from her bondage. Ropes, slack and silver, tie her to a wooden pole. Her movements are unencumbered, sensuous like a snake and as flowing as spring waters.

More masked figures rise, dancing, from the grass. And the others have followed, an undulating circle that encloses you and guides you towards her. She bows, slipping her bonds, and smiles at you. There is a last rise, then a flash of light, and the masked choir is gone.

You approach and consider pressing her against the wood, lifting her skirt and entering her tight hole. A few thrusts would be enough and your cum would shine as silver as her bonds. You stop and she giggles.

You have regained Sanity. (Understanding may come in time)

Your Sanity is now: {if Sanity = 2}2 – Nightmares {elseif Sanity = 3}3 – Bad Dreams {elseif Sanity = 4} 4 – Dreamless Sleep {elseif Sanity = 5} 5 – Pleasant Dreams (This boon will not last) {else} X – You are not playing {endif}

Realisation dawns as you kiss the offered hand. You have started to forget and started to remember. The memory of a tentacled nightmare, one hounding you most days and every night, has faded. You search your mind, no longer afraid, and find words – but the flashing images have been replaced by her smiling dance.

Your heartbeat measures the time lost.

{if The Passage of Time > 95} Your Time in Barenhaven is running out {elseif The Passage of Time > 80} Your Time in Barenhaven is coming to a close {elseif The Passage of Time > 60} You have some Time left in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 50} Your Time in Barenhaven is half-way over {elseif The Passage of Time > 30} You have quite some Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 15} You have a lot of Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 5} Your Time in Barehaven has just begun {else} You are now spending Time in Barenhaven {endif}

”Did it work?” she asks, seated beside you on a wooden bench.

Behind you, the park’s shadows rise, but the dark trees seem friendly now, inviting as if touched by brilliant sunlight. You take her hand into yours, and she squeezes tight. The silence and smiles, though soothing to be shared, do not last. Her helpers move in the distance, and you wonder if you owe her for the show.

She rejects the offered payment with good grace and flowery words, but you insist against her insistence, and opening your purse find it lighter than it was before.

You have lost 15 Taler

You now have {@69 Talers} Taler

”My dearest friend, I cherish the thought, but you needn’t – is something the matter?” Her smile fades at your telling. ”I am inconsolable. They all came recommended, and I – I – oh! Forgive my lack of caution, my blind carelessness. I thought only of the game and I have steered you wrong. Please, please, please, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

You protest her innocence and your honest gratitude, but her offer gives you pause.

”You are too kind,” she says, ”but I am in your debt.” Her face is hidden in darkness, but her caring blush is plain. ”You are a dear friend, though I dare not speak of your – your boorish predilections.” She grasps your hands, allowing you to sense a shiver and a smile. ”I am in your debt, but I hope you won’t be too – too demanding when next we meet, in knowing that I may not resist.”

She gives you a chaste kiss...