Archived Thread
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18816 No. 18816
The smell of tea leaves trembles in the air, ethereal and enveloping like muses of the autumn forest. You awaken to a world of moon cast shadows, a lake rippled blur of white and black. Your eyes feel frail. It’s hard to see. It’s dark. It should be cold, but it’s warm, as you lay upon a comfort akin to a bed of fading leaves. Wall battered sounds slowly crawl into your ear, and the numbness of sleep makes it hard to tell if it’s your ears or the sounds that are weak. Your limbs refuse you. There is no pain. You hear footsteps from your hollowed surroundings, and you listen. Bitter words follow bitter aromas, and a clatter rings from the nearby place. There are curses. Then the world is suddenly still.

A breath long and weary moves the tranquility. Footsteps follow, slow and careful like a wisp through crackling leaves. They grow louder. Your eyes open. You lay upon a couch, a blanket draped across your body. A figure comes through the door, a girl of mellowed gold hair and tender blue eyes. She lays the tray down and brings light to the room. Her smile is faint as starlight. “I made you some tea. Sorry if it’s a bit burnt.” Small figures move around her. You think faeries as you blink drowsily, but they are dolls of earnest making. She takes a seat across from you.


Silence. The dolls look at you, curious, with eyes as oddly alive as fallen leaves. The girl... she is alive, surely, but her eyes, they are like that of her dolls, but different somehow, like a flipped coin. She seems to take solace in the tranquility, but she soon looks troubled, and quickly leans over to the tea set. "Sorry." The smell and warmth sweeps around you like sunrise. She adds cream and sugar, moonlight reflections, and offers it to you with a steady hand. Your hands move slightly, and then fall to your side. Silence, again.

She sighs, long and weary, as she puts the cup down and moves closer to you. Her hand rests firmly against your back, and together you manage to sit up. The dolls watch from across the room. The girl holds the cup of tea. Her hand trembles ever so slightly, as if it felt the pulse of wind that sweeps through the autumn forest. She swallows audibly, and blows on the cup a few times. The world grows warm for a moment. Her face is nervous, but not flush, as she brings the cup to your lips. You sip. It’s bitter. She brings the cup near her breast, hand steady, eyes watching intently for a reaction.

[ ] “It’s bitter.”
[ ] “Thank you.”
No. 18817
[X] “It’s bitter.”

Well I like this already.
No. 18818
[X] “It’s bitter.”

Nice to see you here, COCKSLAP.
How's the absinthe?
No. 18819
Flipped a coin.

[X]"Thank you."
No. 18820
[✠] “Thank you.”
No. 18821
[x] “Thank you.”
No. 18823
[X] “Thank you.”
No. 18825
[x] “Thank you.”
No. 18826
[x] “Thank you.”

it's the thought that counts.
No. 18829
[X] “Thank you.”
politan gaems
No. 18830
[X] “It’s bitter.”
No. 18832
[X] “I-It’s b-bitter...”
[X] Ahn~

[X] “Thank you.”

No. 18833
[X] “Thank you.”
No. 18836
[X] “Thank you.”
No. 18850
{X} “Thank you.”
No. 18852
[X] “It’s bitter.”
No. 18853
[x] “It’s bitter.”

We must have some weird taste buds going on if cream and sugar taste bitter to us.

Honesty is the best policy though.
No. 18858
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[X] “Thank you.”

Your lips move. The girl nods. Her gaze is like ice over a fish pond, but she seems content. “You’re welcome.” She moves her hand and you sip again. It’s bitter. It’s warm. A drizzle of sugar spills over your tongue. A crystal stream runs down the cup. She looks at you briefly. Her lower lip retreats. “Sorry.” She swirls a spoon through the cup and it vanishes like magic. Her eyes are heavy, but you share a will. Her hand moves through the air as if it were crawling across the ice of spring. You share another sip. It’s bittersweet. It’s warm. You both soon fall asleep.

Gold shines upon gold in the morning. The sun awakens the autumn forest, and the world is veiled in the warm colors of decay. Your eyes open. Your body listens, and turns. Across the room, the girl is asleep. A few dolls stand still on the tea set, caught in picturesque cleaning. Your limbs creak with fatigue as you sit up. The room is simple and western. Dolls line the many shelves, their diversity concealed to the eye. Gusts of wind play leaves in the background. The world is warm. The world is cold.

[ ] Awaken the girl.
[ ] Drink some tea.
[ ] Look at the shelves.
[ ] Go outside.

repost because i’m a retard
No. 18859
{X} Look at the shelves.
No. 18860
[x] Look at the shelves.

We should check out her handiwork as she sleeps.
No. 18861
[X] Look at the shelves.
Two updates were enough to make me like this story. Nice.
No. 18862
[x] Look at the shelves.
No. 18863
[X] Go outside.
No. 18864
[x] Look at the shelves.
No. 18866
[X] Look at the shelves.
No. 18867
[x] Look at the shelves.

I guess it can't harm to have a spot of tea on the side, just in case it's been freshly brewed.
No. 18880
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Echoes of life and death. You stand. You fall. You’re weak. You return to the earth. No pain. Once again you try. You stand. You fall. No pain. Again. Stand and fall. Trial and error. Resurrection. Evolution. Growth. Once more you stand upon on a film of ice, a chance undecided. The world is small. One step. Two steps. Three. You lean against the wall. You stand beside the shelves of dolls. Together you are still. You’re weak. The world grows by three steps.

The dolls are asleep like trees, waiting for spring to awaken. They sit, so numerous and similar that one by one they blend into one like single leaves into a pile. The shelves support you as you move your hand to one. You caress its hair, a feeling more real than reality, a material dream. The world suffers from insomnia. The doll lives, but it doesn’t. The doll is dead, but it isn’t. The doll is made of dreams, and it moves. It looks up from beneath your hand, then across the room. You turn around and the girl stands awake amidst the golden light of decaying autumn, rubbing faded dreams from her eyes. The dolls shed their stillness and finish their duties. She gazes through the waking fog and looks at the dolls with a smile. “Stay here. I’ll make some tea.” She picks up the tray and leaves like wind, carrying her leaves out the door. It is still again. Only the wind plays with the silence.

[ ] Stay in the room.
[ ] Follow her.
No. 18883
[x] Stay in the room.
No. 18885
[x] Follow her.

We need to learn how to walk.
No. 18889
[x] Stay in the room.
No. 18891
[X] Stay in the room.
No. 18892
[x] Stay in the room.
No. 18895
[x] Stay in the room.

I think we shouldn't over strain ourselves yet.
No. 18909
[X]Stay in the roombut consider practicing your walk within room

worth a shot.
No. 18915
[x] Stay in the room.
No. 18922
The day begins in quiet. You lean against the shelves where the dolls are still, waiting for the sun to return. Time passes without sound and you listen to the wind. It blows, and you part from the shelves, a leaf from its branch. You take a step and move into another. The wind fades. A fleeting movement of will, and the leaf sways in the air. You fall. No pain. Outside, the wind keeps blowing. The world wavers. You stand, legs trembling, twigs to be broken by the will of the wind. You fall. No pain. The wind is ceaseless and infinite. You stand. You walk. You fall on the couch. No pain. You stare into the autumn forest. The dolls wait for the sun to return.

Silence. Time passes. The world grows warmer as the sun brings light to the room. The girl enters with a smile of starlight. She lays down the tray and the dolls twirl around her. She pours two cups. Red dusk turns golden dawn with the passing of the moon. She offers it you with a steady hand. Your hand moves slightly and you take the cup. Silence, again. She smiles. You bring the cup to your lips. You sip. It’s sweet. It’s warm. The wind blows silently. The morning moves. The world is warm. You smile.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Time passes silently. Together you watch the dolls. They dance like leaves to the wind of her fingertips. You do not blink. You do not breathe. You watch and you smile with her. The tea set has been cleaned up and the sun runs high through the sky. For a moment, she glances at you. Curiosity. You watch the dolls dance, but the world is silent for a moment. You look at her.

[ ] “Who are you?”
[ ] “Where am I?"
[ ] “Who am I?”
[ ] "..."

newfag here. comments and flames are appreciated.
choose more than one if you wish to do so.
No. 18923
[x] “Who am I?”
[x] “Who are you?”
[x] “Where am I?"

Hope this isn't too many.
No. 18924

No limits.
Also, I forgot the capitlization of my tripcode.
No. 18925
[x] “Who am I?”
[x] “Who are you?”
[x] “Where am I?"
No. 18926
[x] “Who are you?”
[x] “Where am I?"

Hmm... don't want to ask something too crazy.
No. 18927
[x] "..."

Let's be EDGY.

I kind of want to hear her story though, before we explode into any questioning.
No. 18933
[✠] “Who are you?”
[✠] “Where am I?"
[✠] “Who am I?”

It's a little corny, but I think I like it.
No. 18935
[X] “Who am I?”
[X] “Who are you?”
[X] “Where am I?"
No. 18936
[x] “Who am I?”
[x] “Who are you?”
[x] “Where am I?"
No. 18937
[x] “Who am I?”
[x] “Who are you?”
[x] “Where am I?"
No. 18938
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Not EDGY enough:

[X] “Who am I?”
[X] “Who are you?”
[X] “Where am I?"
No. 18939
[x] “Who am I?”
[x] “Who are you?”
[x] “Where am I?"
No. 18963
File 125687641210.jpg- (101.74KB , 763x705 , e73ba4cb4098b4fb08f88d7a7780aae9.jpg ) [iqdb]
As a simple matter of courtesy to anyone who spends some of their time following this thread, I'm just saging in a note that today's update will be a tad late due to some freelancing work I had to do first.


Also, here's the image that was suppose to come with the last update.
No. 18971
“Who am I?”

The dolls keep dancing. The inertia of the wind.

“I don’t know, but you’re you, aren’t you? I don’t have the right to say who you are.”

The world grows calm. The dolls curtsy as they settle to the ground, and the girl watches silently with a smile. She puzzles you, and your question puzzles yourself. Who am I? You don’t know who you are, but it’s not because you forgot. You just… aren’t. You’re nothing. A flame flickers. The world is hazy with the final glimmers of summer. The forest shines of gold. The forest is rich in death. With pestilent mushrooms and flesh-eating plants, the forest sings solemnly to the winds of nature. The world only grows with decay.

The dolls get in pairs and begin brushing each other’s hair. A sliding rhythm strings the still air, and the girl gets up. “I’ll get some pastries for lunch.”

“Thank you…”

The wind stokes the flame.

“Who are you?”

The girl smiles and curtsies.

“I am Alice Margatroid, magician.”

“Where are we, Alice?”

“In the Forest of Magic.”

You are still for a moment. She leaves the room.

[ ] Watch the dolls.
[ ] Follow Alice.
[ ] Go outside.
No. 18974
[x] Watch the dolls.

She never said to follow her, and it's nice doll watching.
No. 18975
[ ] Watch the dolls.
No. 18976
Any ideas on maybe making your updates a bit longer? Though I enjoy decision making, and your style is notably dense, I honestly fear that you may begin to stumble around a bit too much if this keeps up, since I'm pretty sure you're genuinely trying to get at something specific with your story, but you'll probably need more authorial control to actually get there. That, and I like your style and would like to read more, instead of getting this daily little spurt. Hope that’s not asking too much.

[X] Watch the dolls.
No. 18977
[X] Follow Alice.
If I were the MC, I'd pretty confused right now.
No. 18978

I have a plan, but I think it'd be better that I do this slowly so I can easily reflect on what I've written. Again, newfag here, and I honestly have not written anything in this style of mine for a few years. Adjusting to a lot of things. Though, once I feel comfortable writing like this again, rest assured that I’ll do my best to make my updates a bit more satisfying than they are now.
No. 18979
[X] Watch the dolls.

No. 18980
[X] Watch the dolls.
No. 18981
[X] Watch the dolls.
No. 18982
[X] Watch the dolls.
No. 19005
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Light fades into the clouds. The wind speaks through the falling hair of dolls. Rooted to the earth, you watch them like a dream. A waving motion through a sunlit sea. Rising yet falling, time folds into itself through progress. A cycle perfected. A fantasy of the moon. The world would be still were it not for the leaves outside. The world would be still if the winds did not blow.

Time unravels in a red bow. A breeze goes through the air and a doll lands beside you. She looks up at you, and then she looks down. Time loops one ribbon around her neck. She is silent. The world becomes still again. You watch the dolls. You do not blink. You do not breathe. The air decays though the stillness. There is an isolation of space. A brush of fate brings a breeze through the fantasy. Your eyes notice. Your arm moves. The air stirs to your hand. The dolls look at the brush. It brings reality into your grasp. You turn to the doll. She stirs to your movements. You unravel her red bow, and a wave born of wind enters the moon drawn sea. Time loops through the progress.

A drizzle of laughter shines upon the world like a star. It moves through the window and the world grows warm. The golden leaves stir to a wind of black and white. You exchange glances with her. Her mouth is arced in warmth of an eclipsing sun. She brings a finger to her lips and swiftly moves past the border of the window. She vanishes.

[ ] Go to the window.
[ ] Leave the room.
No. 19006
[x] Go to the window.

A glance wouldn't hurt.
No. 19007
[x] Leave the room.

And bring Shanghai with you.
No. 19008
[X] Go to the window.

You really should've called this Phantasmagoria of Hollow Decay or something, because phantasmagoria perfectly explains your writing style. I'm trippin' balls here.
No. 19010
Mhmm. Phantasmagoria is the name of my .txt for this thread. It reminds me of Roberta Williams, but that fits. I don't dislike Growth of Hollow Decay, but my first post was made in a drunken stupor. Granted, I like it somewhat better than Autumn Insomnia Session, which is the name of the song that I've been listening to all day on loop for the past eight days or so.

Saging for irrelevance to story.
No. 19014
[X] Go to the window.
No. 19015
[x] Leave the room.
I have a feeling that that window's going to break soon.
No. 19019
[X] Leave the room.
No. 19020
{X} Leave the room.
No. 19021
[X] Go to the window.
No. 19023
[X] Go to the window.
No. 19025
No update today, but the next should be about twice as meaty as my usual dollop.

Reasons are the sudden pile of freelance work I've found, the votes are still moving quite closely, laziness, Halloween, and the fact that I should probably get the story moving somewhere.

Thank you for your time and votes~
No. 19029
[X] Go to the window.
[X] Leave the room.

Oh ho, why not both?
No. 19033
[X] Go to the window.
No. 19046
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The world outside. Curiosity flickers warmly against your hand. You stop. You move. They stop. The dolls watch your crawling shadow. It’s quiet. You wonder if the wind’s still there. You creep along the ground. You reach the window and peek beyond the horizon. The sun glints in your eye. Millions of winds and billions of leaves. Young of green and old of gold. Winds that are neither black or white. Just winds of nature’s chaos, and leaves so frail yet bold. So many you cannot see them all. Too many for you to remember. Vastness fills the world beyond.

A breath enters you.


The black and white grins beside you.

“Autumn’s quite the season, ain’t it?”

You nod.

“What a nice view Alice has here. Too bad she’s such a loner. It’d be a nice place to relax with some tea and persimmons. Speaking of which…”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a fruit.

“Here you go.”

It feels smooth in your hands. It’s warm and orange.

“Go on. I have plenty.”

The skin feels delicate, the fruit tender. Smells of fall.

“Don’t worry. It’s from this forest, but it won’t poison you.”

She takes a bite from her own, chews, and then swallows.

“See. And I’m human, so it definitely can’t hurt you.”

Your hand trembles to whether or not a persimmon can actually kill you.

“What, did Alice make it so you can’t eat things from strangers or something? That’s rude, you know. Even strangers have feelings.”

Her sigh pushes against you, moving the fruit to your mouth. You skin it with your teeth.

“What. That’s not a bite. Here!”

The air moves. Her warmth moves in through your skin. You can’t breathe. It’s sweet. The juices feel sticky against your face. The sun shines through the leaves and a cold wind blows.


“Oh, Alice! Are those pastries and tea? What kind?~”

“What are you doing to her?”

“Persimmons. You want one? I picked some up along the way.”


“Oh come on, you make me feel like I’m in trouble. I’m just here to check up on you, like a good friend should.”

“I’m fine. You can leave.”

“Aww, don’t you let humans stay over when they stumble into this doll shack of yours?”

“You’re far from human.”

“Nah. I’m pretty human.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Sure. Just wait a few years.”

“…A few? Wh-”

“Well, in your time. Do you even know what day it is today? ”


“Haha, see! You’ve got your head so deep in your research that you’ve even forgotten the date. I bet you’d only visit my death bed to see whether or not if I’d be one of your test subjects or something.”

“That’s not true.”

“No, no, I’d be fine with that. We’re friends, right? Just don’t stuff any gunpowder in me. Pastries would be fine though, of course.”


The world grows silent as the sun drifts down to earth. The tastes are sweet. The tea is tepid. The room is warm. The day mellows through a quiet afternoon.

“Mmm… it’s nice today.”


You nod. The air tastes sweet with the scent of persimmons. You take another bite. Marisa chuckles.

“Say, why don’t I show you two where the persimmon trees are? It’s better to feel the wind and the leaves than to watch them anyway.”

“Hmm… I’d enjoy a walk, but I’m honestly too tired, and she just woke up yesterday. It’d be hard for either of us to walk too much.”

“Bah, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’ll just carry one of you if we end up getting lost.”

“What if we both collapse?”

“Then I’ll carry you both, ze~”

The two exchange breaths warm and weary. A gust forms between the hot and cold air.

“Say, what is your name, anyway?”

You shake your head. You’re nothing, apparently.

“Hmmm. Well, we have to call you something.”

“I have some books we could look at.”

“Ooo, I’d like to read some of those after the walk.”

“We’d be too exhausted to read if we took a walk.”

“Then I’ll just pick something while you’re both asleep~”

[ ] Go take a walk outside.
[ ] Go look at some books.
No. 19047
[X] Go take a walk outside.

Not as much duplexed imagery, but I enjoyed that nevertheless. Still, off to the forest~
No. 19049
{X} Go take a walk outside.
No. 19050
[x] Go take a walk outside.
No. 19051
[X] Go take a walk outside.

I heard it helps on memory loss cases.
No. 19053
[X] Go take a walk outside, not too far though.

The forest is a deathtrap of the inexperienced.
No. 19058
[X] Go look at some books.

Quiet time with Alice is nice, Marisa is too rambunctious.
No. 19078
[X] Go look at some books.

We can barely walk, and I'm actually pretty interested in how your writing style would actually play with books.
No. 19080
[X] Go look at some books.
No. 19082
[X] Go take a walk outside.
No. 19085
{X} Go take a walk outside.
Then it's about time we learn how to walk.
No. 19094
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You watch the ethereal winds, meaningless without the leaves. The trees dance shyly amongst the currents. The days grow shorter with every dawn. The seasons come and go. The wind wants to move the leaf, and the leaf moves to the wind. You stand. You look outside. The two girls feel the breath of autumn. You carry them to their feet.

“…Are you sure?”

“Hehe, it’ll be fine, Alice. Come on. Let’s get some snacks just in case~”

Your legs tremble with the pulse of the wind. The two girls leave. The room watches. The ground rests. You stand. You wait. The sunlight cast shadows. The room seems large. The floor feels brittle. The pulse of the wind feels cold against your body. You stand. You wait. Warmth of want and chill of fear. You feel the wind in your body. Your legs tremble as they wait for a lull. You stand. You wait. Time repeats. Then a void of feeling. You move. You break off. The floor shudders. You fall. No pain. You’re weak. You’re nothing. The room echoes you in laughter.

The sun begins to set. The leaves begin to rot. The day approaches the end. The floor sounds soft with footsteps. The walls feel safe from the cold. You hear halting whispers and whiffs of debate. The world outside is small. The world inside is vast. Your limbs refuse you. There is no pain. You wonder about sleep as a weight lands upon you. You look up. You watch the doll finish up its ribbon. She sits on you. With animate eyes, she watches. Neither of you blink. Neither of you breath. Time repeats. Both of you are still. The two of you watch each other. The two of you move together. One moves, and the other follows. A single wind. You sit. You stand. The doll lands on your shoulder. The sun sets, and a fading gold shines through the room. The air is warm. The air is cold. The wind is strong. You do not blink. You do not breathe. It is quiet. The trees rustle, shaking leaves from their branches. The wind wants to move the leaf, but the leaf must move to the wind. You tremble. You ignore it. You move with the wind. One breeze after another, the leaf flies through the air. The hallway glows yellow from the setting sun, and the doorway seems brighter with shadows. Alice smiles. Marisa chuckles. You walk outside and you blink. You breathe. The air is cold. The ground is cold. A million winds. A billion leaves. A boundless sky. Reality is a dream. A gust of autumn wind seizes your body. It overwhelms you. It moves you. When it stops, you can’t help but smile as you fall upon your knees. The dead are made alive by the will of the earth. The leaves dance in the air. This is the wind.

The black and white wind laughs as it pulls you up, bringing you closer to the dusk burned sky.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod.

“It is.”

Alice ruffles your hair with a smile like candlelight.

“I told you this wouldn’t work.”

“Hehe, don’t worry. I can carry her.”

“Hmm… why don’t you just use your broom?”

“I could, but flying slowly isn’t fun.”

“Just make it hover or something.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. I never thought I’d need to, so I never learned.”

“You’re incredible.”

[ ] Piggyback on Marisa.
[ ] Fly through the forest.
No. 19095
{X} Fly through the forest.
You're writing is rather enjoyable, though it's pretty gimmicky and repetitive at times, COCK.

Though I can kinda see some reason for a few of your choices, like your use of sentence fragments, some things are just annoying the piss out of me, like your obsession with falling. Is this some childhood trauma with playing Spelunker or something?
No. 19096
[x] Fly through the forest.
No. 19098
[x] Fly through the forest.

>You're writing
No. 19104
[x] Fly through the forest.
No. 19106
[x] Fly through the forest.
No. 19107
[x] Fly through the forest under your own power.
Tweest, etc etc.
No. 19118
Very likely no update today. Bogged up in work and my mind's not working properly. This style is finally screwing with my head. I should probably go on a bus and get someone to slap me.

It bothers me as well sometimes, but I am an absolute whore when it comes to repetition. The first draft of yesterday's update was hilariously shitty with this. I’m trying to tone it down after that mess, but if it starts to get out of hand again, then I’ll take some strong measures to see how I can fix my phrase recycling.

Also, Spelunker's music haunts my soul. Praise to the god of Kusoge.
No. 19119
[X] Fly through the forest.
No. 19123
[X] Fly through the forest.

Also, regarding the declining standard of your writing, I think there are three things screwing you up.

1] You've been focusing too much on autumn and the wind as of late, and it’s rather obvious that it's a bit forced from how much annoying repetition you have. I enjoyed this thread much more when it seemed like you simply wrote down whatever image came to your mind. From reading through the thread again, I do see that you’re planning certain things out from some of the alternate meanings I've been finding, but I think it's much more important for a CYOA to be flexible and fun than deep and directed. Take it easy~

2] I really don’t think you need to worry about having meatier updates and such. Most daily writers here post about ~300 words per update, and you hit that almost dead-on. Word count is a shitty way of determining the quality or significance of a post, but you’ve generally given some decent choices and arguably made some progress with the character. It’d be nice to have a plot or some conflict besides the fact that our character can’t walk, but, hey, it’s the first thread, and the first eight updates. Which leads me to my last point.

3] Its still your first thread, and you’re still a newfag, so don’t worry too much about votes and audience participation and the like. Once you get enough posts up and begin to develop a plot, then maybe we’ll start talking, because there just isn’t much we can say besides, “Ooo, that’s a pretty sentence,” right now, and most of your choices are arguably one-sided, so don’t expect all your readers to vote, because quite a number of people just lurk around here anyway. That, and THP is fucking slowpoke a lot of the time.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to what you’ll to write in the future. Hopefully you’ll stop planning shit out too much and just let those drunken images fly~
No. 19126
I'm pretty sure I know who you are, and even if I don't, thank you very, very much for this. There is little else I can say, so I'll get to writing now.
No. 19145
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The sky is dusted with the ashes of heaven, the sands that make the glass of the globes, and the flames that form the figures of lore. They drift along with the cosmic tides, and the light of their voices echo the age of gods. Their presence above all demands reverence, and you are silent in awe amongst the winds of the earth. The world grows smaller. The world grows larger. You reach out for the skies. The moon and the stars look a bit smaller beside the joints of your hand. Your hand looks a bit smaller beside Marisa’s.

“How about we fly over to the persimmon trees and then walk back, Alice?”

“…Sure. That sounds fine.”

The broom is old and its elements are beyond ancient. The broom, like many things, is made of star stuff, and by its will and ours, it rises from the earth and flies to the heavens above. You watch the world under and over you. The stars move no closer and the trees shrink and blur through the distance. Alice’s house is but a speck amongst the leaves. The mountains beyond are only mounds to the land. The Forest of Magic is but one among the growths. The world is beyond measure. The horizon stretches forever. There are no walls to this world. You tug on Alice’s sleeve.

“…Where are we?”

“This is Gensokyo.”

“It probably looks big to you after being in Alice’s house, but in reality it’s pretty small.”

“How big is it?”


“I don’t know. We could probably ask Reimu about that, though I doubt that she knows.”

“Wanna drop by the shrine for a bit? I’m sure the red-white would appreciate the food we brought and make us some tea.”

“…I’d rather not. I’m too tired to play around with you two.”

“Tsk. Fine~”

“Well, like Marisa said, Gensokyo isn’t too big. You can probably see most of it from where we are now. Umm… you see those mountains in the distance?”

You nod into her back.

“That’s essentially the end of Gensokyo. Going beyond there leads you against the Hakurei Border.”

“Which is pretty much a giant magical wall that surrounds Gensokyo.”

“Basically. It’s far more complicated than that, but I don’t know how to explain it. Just remember that it’s pretty much impossible to go through it without the permission of that shrine maiden.”

“You could probably sneak by her if you wanted to though. Everyone there spends most of the day sleeping.”

“It’s not that easy, Marisa.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard either though.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Never tried.”

“Just like you’ve never tried to fly slowly?”

“I’ve tried. It’s just useless to me and I’m not good at it.”

“I’m not surprised. Where are you going anyway? We should’ve already gone past the village at this rate.”

“I’m lost, so I’m going to head over to my place and retrace my steps.”

“You’re lost?”

“Not for long, but yes.”

[ ] Go to Marisa's house.
[ ] Go to the Hakurei Shrine.
No. 19147
[X] Go to Marisa's house.
I don't want to bother Alice too much today. We can probably go visit the miko the next morning anyway.

>You nod into her back.
If you're going to be ambiguous and leave certain details to the reader, then stay ambiguous. Things like this can confuse the reader's mental image of the scene, especially since you already said we're on Marisa's back.
No. 19149
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{X} Go to Marisa's house.

No need to go bothering any shrine maidens today. We can do that tomorrow.

No. 19150
[X] Go to the Hakurei Shrine.

I don't want to encourage you to stop this story or anything, since THP is already fucking rotten with dead threads, but I think you should really consider doing a story, or maybe adjusting this thread, in the style of 2001: A Space Odyssey, since I think that movie’s very much like your writing style. Not to be a downer, since I really liked your first few posts, but your recent updates have been kinda rambling and bland, though that may be that I’m just not liking the course of the progress right now, or the odd pacing. Your dialog isn’t bad, but we have people here who do that sort of thing better. If you just relaxed the focus and hidden meanings of your imagery a bit, and just let us enjoy the scene, I think you’ll make a return to form.

Just a thought.
No. 19151

I honestly disagree with not killing off this thread, not that I want to bring the body count up again or discourage COCKSLAP, but this story has already tripped itself up pretty badly despite the encouraging start. Newfaggotry can do that, and what's one more crippled body amongst foundations? I really don’t think that this story should just go with the flow and the like since I think that'd just be a waste of his writing style, which just whores itself out for subtle hints and meanings. The plot feels like a slice-of-life right now, but his style seems more appropriate for something much more directed and conflict driven. Still, I think we should just watch and see, since we’re only half way to the thread limit and it’s only his ninth update. Maybe things’ll pick up.
No. 19157
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"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe."
No. 19160
[x] Go to Marisa's house.
No. 19166
[x] Go to the Hakurei Shrine, with some freshly picked persimmons.
I think Reimu would appreciate it.

I agree. I was initially interested by the lack of dialogue, since the first few updates with Alice were oddly beautiful, like they were written for imagery sake and not for the sake of expounding some sort of metaphor between the wind and willpower. It's definitely an interesting idea, and the images are quite wonderful, but you don't need to overextend it to this extent. I think we may be expecting a bit too much since you write in such a unique way, in that everything feels a bit fragmented and stuttering, even though it feels like every phrase has some purpose to it, but honestly don't mind us too much. Listen to what >>19147 said and the like, but posters like >>19151 and I are just voicing our concerns at the moment.
No. 19168
Gonna delay the update for a bit (hopefully just today), since I really need some time to think about the comments that were brought up here. Thank you very much for your time, and hopefully I'll make some headway into this.
No. 19172
[X] Go to the Hakurei Shrine.
No. 19173
[x] Go to Marisa's house.

Since you seem to want our opinions, your writing is pretty interesting, but what you write about is pretty shit. That's basically it. You need to plot this crap out, man.
No. 19174
[x] Go to Marisa's house.

Reading your story is a chore because of how oddly it's written, but you make some bluntly interesting statements with every other sentence, so it's at least intriguing to read. Only problem is, how all these observations and comments fit together into a cohesive message is beyond me, though I sucked ass in highschool English, so I'm probably not one to be talking.
No. 19177
I don't mind the slow build up, but perhaps cutting down on the purple prose. Such a thing would be nice for a nice poetic oneshot, but for a longer story something a bit less flowery would do.
No. 19178
>purple prose

This. This a thousand fucking times.
No. 19180
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After some debate, I think it would be best that I kill this thread off. There’s just way too much newfaggotry and carelessness in the fact that I haven’t written anything creative for years, I made the thread without even having read a single story on THP, and this story started out as a drunken whim in the first place. The two weeks of archive diving and lurking that I’ve done since I first came here further assure me of my inexperience and this decision, so I’ll reserve myself from writing till I feel confident enough that I can actually do something proper. I greatly appreciate all the time people have invested in this thread, and hopefully I'll be able to take these lessons and comments somewhere productive and interesting in the future.

Thanks and apologies.

No. 19181

Yeah, probably better now than later.
You write decently and you seem like you're honestly trying to improve, so I think you'll do fine once you gain a handle on things. It isn't like we're in a rush or anything here on THP either, so take your time.
No. 19183
A pity. Like you said, it had a good start but it lacked consistency. Looking forward for your next story.
No. 19193
Don't worry, what's one more dead story on top of a pile of many dead stories?

But seriously, I'm sure your next attempt will be better. And at least /forest/ still has Klaymen, Norseman, and Mikospark to keep it alive.
No. 19211
>at least /forest/ still has Klaymen, Norseman, and Mikospark to keep it alive.


Seriously though, we'll be waiting~

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