A wiser man might have had a better solution. A wiser man might have known how and when to act, how to get to the real center of it all.

Even though you have not abandoned your goal, it seems awfully unobtainable at the moment. It would make you want to sigh, perhaps, if you hadn't been inoculated against this very kind of situation. Incident after incident with everything seemingly out of your control has made your hide tough indeed. There's always a method to the madness, you know at least that much, and so you can take comfort in that as long as you keep trying there's a chance that you'll find what you're looking for.

Kaguya seems so slender as she is now, her back pressed against you as you sit together with your arms around her waist. The smooth and fine fabric of her dress is loose around her delicate arms and the outside drapes down to her lap. The collar, as well, has been carelessly left to droop and from your angle you can see the symmetrical lines of her neck blend into those of her collarbone and transform yet again into other lines that vanish into the darkness of her clothes. She gives the same impression as a porcelain doll wearing an ill-fitting dress.

Her head leans back onto your chest, her body sinking deeper into yours. The rich smell of oily minerals and scented herbs waft from her hair to your nose. It's a fragrance that continues to be highly stimulating even as it becomes more familiar. You squeeze her gently, holding her in a way you hope is reassuring. She's incredibly warm, it bleeds through her clothes straight into your arms and your chest. It wouldn't be right to compare her to a doll - no matter how delicate and fine her features may be she is too warm and soft for you to ever confuse her for one. There's an unmistakable feeling of human presence and human life which resonate with your heart.

She is quiet now.

It took her the better part of an afternoon to vent. There's no better way of describing what she did than that. Plenty of words wasted on the small things and minor incidents that, by themselves, do not signify much. Actions fitting a concerned friend or perhaps an overbeari

The site is back, more or less, so with that, I move back to the normally scheduled board. Previous votes still count, which means that there's still a tie; and having caught up with everything, I do believe I am a gigantic lazy asshole. Apologies wouldn't really cut it.

But with that said, message finally continues:

--

“It has, Your Majesty…” you breathe, and as Princess Kaguya starts to toy with your hair, you slip further into that sunlight bliss. Soft, curious teasing fingers… it feels good. Tingly, warm and slow washing all over.

The last time, you recall, was six years ago. She was sadder then, but she hid her feelings, burying them in some unfathomable place, so that only if you looked hard you might find a hint in her voice, in the way she would look at you, into you – and because she was like that, you could always be at ease at her side. At a time like then, when the sky echoed with the whispers and screams of the dead and dying and killed by your hands, when the things in your nightmares were you and your sisters, there was someone else like that. Kaguya. Kaguya, lord God over all, the Empress to who we all belong.

In the present, her skin is pale. Pale, creamy white, alien and familiar at once; and when her hand grazes yours, you shiver warm white hot. Her Majesty. Her Majesty, who you now loom over, whose careful, needy touch you know by instinct. Slipping into your lap.

Into your –

“P-princess…”

“Ssh.”

If her finger on your lips or the look in her eye wasn’t reason enough to be silent, then the ice feeling crawling down your spine would have; and like it or not, your voice dies completely. You can feel the Princess almost all over you – feel the heat of her body, of her presence, you can even smell the scent of her skin – and it’s too much. She’s so close. She’s so close. That you can’t think, what are you supposed to do? You’re afraid of what she’ll hurt you? With your heart pounding, just staring at her like an idiot.

“Are you uncomfortable, Reisen?” the woman in your lap asks, and you blink, swallow, breathe. What did she say? Uncomfortable? Yes,

Yes, it has a title now.
Previous >>16979
-

Time spent in solitude was like a curse. It made me very much aware of how sore my body was still. It rotted my mind. I felt dumb whenever I was not talking to Eirin. A type of occurrence that, because of circumstances beyond of my control, became grittingly rare. I was left to my own devices for the most part, left to wallow by myself in the long and arduous process that was recovery from near death. Time lost much of its meaning during this period, with the days being defined by the meals and the occasional bedside visits.

I busied myself, whenever I could muster the courage, with childish games of cards and base sketches of whatever might have happened to catch my eye. My main intellectual escape was a book given to me by the physician, of matters regarding the body and its condition. It was dense, not entirely to my interest, but it was something I could distract myself with. And beyond that it was something that lessened the dullness that came from realizing that I could not hold fascinating discussions as I had only a few days prior.

In a very real sense, my recovery stalled. There was nothing physically impeding me from healing but I somehow knew that my body was not performing as well as it could be. My mood soured and my outlook darkened. Time ebbed away too slowly. I annoyed me. I cursed my inability to mellow out. And my dreams became increasingly disturbed.

Darkness, being lost or being confused – all standard scenarios in my dreams. The wet feeling of rain, drenching me wherever I went, no matter I did. It was only when I woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night that I realized that I was, in fact, having a nightmare. I didn't know why I was having those dreams and I attributed to the general malaise that was affecting me.

“Want some company?” The eternally smiling assistant asked after dropping off breakfast. The rest of the night had been sleepless, with my tossing and turning only limited by the soreness felt by my joints.

“...” I couldn't be bothered to answer her, my mind was

New to the site, new to the touhous, but I want to try my hand at this CYOA thing.

Care to try your luck, anon?

------

“Look, Christina, I- no, no, I understand.” The railing burns my hand, but it doesn’t hurt as much as the one clutching my cell phone. Sunlight splashes on my sleeves… it feels like, insects crawling across my skin.

Why is it so bright today, I wonder.

“…How is he doing?” The phone chatters into my ear – the volume’s set way too high, and I mishear her through the blaring noise. I must have misheard. Even though I know I didn’t. “I have a fucking right to know, Christina!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to prevent the headache I already have.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you, I just-” He’s my son too; but, I can’t bring myself to say it. I’d make a god-awful father, so it’s really for the best. The phone seems to agree with me when the call ends, in that abrupt way only cell phones can manage.

The dial tone used to be comforting, somehow; made for good white noise.

I heave a sigh and shove the phone in my pocket before trudging downstairs- the mail still won’t check itself. What kind of shitty future do we live in, anyway?

There’s… actually mail. It’s almost surprising.

Bill. Credit card bill. Child support payment due this month. Student loans. Reminder that I could already be a winner. Invitation to a five year high school reunion? I crumple that one up and hurl it into a nearby waste bin. Last thing is… some sort of package, with a letter inside.

Well, let’s open it up.

…

…

What.

The plain manila envelope seems like it’s taunting me now, looking so ordinary. It should’ve been, covered in sequins, or loaded with brightly-colored papier-mâché, or on fire. Not- in my mailbox, though.

…Anyway. Put simply, this letter- this letter sent in a generic envelope with no return address- is an eyesore.

“Congratulation! You are already lucky winner great prize adventure! Lifetime journey of magic in Fantastic Illu

I am not a psychologist. My expertise has always rested in the pharmaceutical arena,
where causality is complex but consistent. Believing that a person can ever completely
understand another, regardless of how meticulously the study is executed, is folly. Insight
may be gleaned, at best.

However, the mind is part of the body. As convenient as segregation of the two would
be, there is no vacuum seal. Unknowns such as psychoimmunology can always raise their head
and scramble expectations. And so as I refine my chosen craft, insight from another field
comes unbidden to me.

The Doll's poisons are exquisite. Such efficacy rivals the best the moon has ever
produced, and it is fabricated in ignorance. As she gains experience and
understanding of her inborn craft, her efforts will surpass all competitors. If I can keep
her here, willing to provide me with samples of her latest works, my capacity to treat
poisons will be similarly peerless.

She doesn't know how much she helps me, so all she asks in return is conversation.
Of course, this is a small price to pay for superlative toxicology. I indulge her, and it is
through this venue that my insight was gleaned. I was, and still am, unprepared for it. I
will preserve it here, so it does not lose potency on some mental shelf.

---

The Doll came in today with a new submission. Details are filed under MELANCHOLY-
070822 as per the usual documentation protocol. After our dialogue on the poison's intended
effects, she turned to leave. Upon reaching the threshold, however, she stopped.

"I admire what you do, you know."

It was difficult to hear her from across the lab, with her back to me.

"Pardon?"

She turned to continue.

"Mitigating suffering is a noble thing, even when the recipient is one's enemy. Though
you work to help those who oppress dolls, our goals are similar; the removal of antagonists
to our respective charges."

I am not entirely sur

Hia /eientei/, I'm not sure where this came from. But I've been browsing this place for a while now and decided why not? I've not the best writer, but I don't intend on making this go on for too long.
Anyway enjoy!~

====

It's cold, colder than even you are comfortable with. Hunting during this time of the year is unthinkable, even for you.

However you've hunted in this forest in winter before, hell you've hunted in this forest your entire life! Though there isn't as much to be hunted. The tracks in the snow are freshly made, the heavy snowfall last night left it much easier to track something that came by recently.

You sling your bow over your shoulder, you check your quiver making sure you have all your arrows.

14 Regular, nothing special medium quality arrows- you don't mind wasting a few of these since they are pretty cheap, but they serve their purpose.

6 High Quality, specially crafted arrows. Your teacher gave you these arrows before she left. She taught you a lot of things, hell she practically raised you and your little sister. You don't wish to waste these.

You also have your knife by your side. Your teacher also left it to you. It has the word 'trust' inscribed on it. Your teacher sure was a weird person.

It's snowing lightly now, but night'll come fast, and then it'll get even colder. The thought of it getting colder than this makes you cringe.

The tracks you've been following are leading you up a hill, you were planning on bagging it and going home before nightfall. The tracks lead to a tree, a large tree at that. These tracks don't go past the tree either...did whatever this thing is climb this tree?

Speaking of which, what were you tracking? These footprints looks almost like ones of a small child...fuck. You were too focussed on the weather and you absentmindedly followed some kid up this hill. As far as you know you can't eat a child.

The footprints are definitely that of some kid...barefooted. Why would anyone go out in this weather barefoot? This kid must be crazier t

For the record, these are links to the previous thread: >>21225

And here's the download links for all the saved threads and original documents (let me know if they are broken or need to be re-uploaded):

http://www.mediafire.com/?fjetfmmhqmm
http://www.mediafire.com/?jhzihnmcyag

I'm not using my laptop right now, by the way, so yeah. Give me a few minutes while the update is being prepared.

The night is coming.
Well, not exactly coming. Perhaps "falling" is a better term.
Whatever, the night's here.
And I'm lost.

Uuuu. I have to remember what Miss Keine said about peoples getting lost in forest.
"Don't go running everywhere kids! If you're lost in the woods, you're in serious danger!"
Well, I'm lost in woods.
I think this one is called... Bamboo Forest of the Lost.
It's a nasty place to get lost.
"..."
It could be worse. I could be in ...
...
I think I'm in hell. Not real Hell, but a really frightening hell.

I'm in a place, without any landmarks.
It's night, so I almost can't see anything, and it's cold.
...
I'm 10 years old. I must have a mature reaction.
"HEEELP MEEEE!"
I didn't found anything else.
I'm lost, I'm tired, I'm cold.
I was hoping for a full moon, but ...
This is not THIS time of the month.
Dad told me once:
"Full moon are easy to notice. Just watch your mother's behavior. If she start acting strangely, then it's full moon."
Thanks Dad. Even if Mom passed away one month ago, I still like to remember her.
"Mommy."
I think I remember her, actually. She always had this smile on her face.

Except in THIS time of the month, where she frantically cleaned everything in the house.
EVERYTHING. Get it?
I smile. This is still a good memory of my mother.
Mommy. I miss you. Can you come back, please?

Everything is going dark.
Even darker than before.
I noticed that, even in pitch black, you can ALWAYS see. Even if there's just a little light, you still can see.
As long as the darkness are not magicals.
But this time, it's really really dark.
And I know why.
It's because I'm closing my eyes.
I too tired to move.
It's cold.
I'm lying on the floor, trying to get some heat.
I'll just sleep a little, after that, I'll continue to walk.
...just... a little...
...

yeah ?
moko x neet ?!

A quick glance at the sun makes you consider cutting short to the little ‘walk in the park’ and return immediately, but unfortunately for the lovely ladies waiting there, something else caught your attention and you will allow no interference.

What is this? A guy is walking alone in a forest and suddenly a noise comes from behind as the sun start going down? Definitely not clichéd! My ass to the fire that there won’t be anyone when I turn around. And as you do so. Yup, just as expected.

Before you is the completely empty trail you have been walking on for the last… how long was it? Hours? Regardless, it’s still as empty as the average inhabitant of San Pedro’s bank account. Not even a small woodland creature to add to the clichéd. If this scene hadn’t been overused just that damn many times, you might have cared, maybe even doubted a split-second, but right now it’s nothing but amusing. You start to walk back, a smile on your face as you scan the place, searching for anything suspicious.

-“Right-o, let’s go Stalker Hunt-GAH WHAT THE FUCK!”

Interrupting your witty comment, the ground under your feet gives way and you fall in the bottom of a just as clichéd hole in the ground.

-“For God’s Sake don’t tell me people actually DO use this kind of trap… well looks like they do.”

The hole isn’t really deep; you could easily get out but not without getting dirtied a little. It is about two meters tall and a meter wide.

What I’m really wondering now is how the fuck did I not see it coming. Scratch this, how did I not fall in the first time I passed here? This has to have been already there…

-“Eeh? Clown-san what are you doing falling into rabbit holes?~”

This voice can only belong to ONE little rabbit. As to confirm your suspicions, bunny ears, short black hair, sparkling brown eyes and that oh so annoyingly innocent smile show themselves above.

-“You got me there, well, I’d say that if this wasn’t one of the most clichéd, unoriginal and vulgar trap you could ever use…” You reply w