𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐌

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ━ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

THE SOFT, pale glow of your computer screen was the only light in the enveloping darkness of your room. It bathed the walls in cold illumination, casting long, tremulous shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe with a life of their own. Outside, the world was locked in an eerie stillness, broken only by the faint hum of the machine before you and the steady, rhythmic ticking of the clock on your nightstand. Midnight crept closer, yet time had lost its meaning—minutes melted into hours, hours into an infinite void—as you plunged ever deeper into the world of the game.

You sat cross-legged on your bed, nestled in a cocoon of pillows with a blanket tangled about your waist, its weight pressing comfortingly against your legs. The screen flickered, drawing your attention back as the game's next scene struggled to load. The muted colours shimmered and shifted, as though the very pixels themselves held hidden secrets. The title, "Forsaken by the Crown," floated at the top of the screen in elegant, gothic script—its letters laced with an otherworldly gleam, as if daring you to unlock the depths of its story.

This wasn't your typical otome. No, this was something darker, something far more twisted than the usual romantic whims of handsome suitors and dreamy scenarios. "Forsaken by the Crown" was an intricate web of betrayal, political machinations, and perilous romance. It wasn't designed for easy victories or happy endings. No, it thrived on impossible choices and twisted consequences, each decision as razor-sharp as the blades lurking in the shadows of its treacherous narrative. Many players had given up, their patience frayed by the relentless cruelty of its plot. But you were different. You couldn't stop. The game's cruel allure had taken root, binding you to it in a way you couldn't fully explain.

When you first launched the game, it had asked you to enter the protagonist's name and customise her appearance. Without a second thought, you had entered your own name, shaping the heroine's features to mirror your own—right down to the shade of your hair and the curve of your smile. At the time, it felt like nothing more than a playful detail, a moment of whimsy, but now—weeks into this torturous, mesmerising descent—it seemed like an unsettling prophecy.

The character, [Name], was no damsel awaiting rescue, no innocent heroine destined for love and laughter. She was a noblewoman cast as a villainess from the moment her story began, doomed to play a role the world had written for her long before she could fight back. Betrayed by allies, falsely accused of treason, and sentenced to a fate of either execution or life in exile, her survival depended entirely on navigating a treacherous court of deadly intrigue. Her only hope lay in securing the loyalty of one of the kingdom's powerful men—each more dangerous and enigmatic than the last—and finding a way to rewrite her fate.

But this game did not forgive mistakes. Each decision was a perilous dance on a knife's edge. Misplace your trust, and [Name] would find herself imprisoned or poisoned. Choose the wrong suitor, and her fate could be sealed with a swift blade or a noose at dawn. The tension of it all gnawed at your nerves, each click of the mouse a pulse of anxiety as you desperately tried to steer [Name] away from the grisly fate that seemed to hover at the edge of every choice.