You are Charlotte Fawkins, dashing young noblewoman. After throwing yourself off your towering city-state into the ocean three years ago, you drowned — the seawater in your body rendering you unaging, hungerless, water-breathing, and curiously unable to swim upward. It's not that special! Every single person on the seafloor is drowned by definition, no matter how they got there: execution, murder, suicide, or an unfortunate accident (many people's dubious excuse). You fall into none of these categories. You knew you wouldn't die from drowning, because your talking snake Richard told you so.

  Richard also told you you'd find the Second Crown, your long-lost family heirloom, somewhere on the seafloor. This has proved less accurate so far — you've been stuck underwater, fruitlessly searching, for three whole years. Thanks, Richard. You were just about losing hope when, yesterday, you received a tip-off that could change everything. The Crown's location now in hand, you've set off on your final quest, bringing your hapless acquaintance Ellery Routh along for backup. He's good for nothing except carrying your rucksack and serving as monster bait, but monster bait is a very important job around these parts...

  It is a beautiful day underwater.

  Really, it is, even according to your high standards. The sun through the mangrove canopy casts delicate, quavery shadows onto the soft sand underfoot. Little ghost shrimp scuttle between newly-flowering clumps of seagrass. An eastern current ruffles your hair. You step over protruding roots and duck under branches, and it'd almost be a pleasant walk if not for...

  If not for everything, really. If not for the crushing weight of anticipation. If not for the eye. If not for the thing coiled languorously around your neck. If not for three years, wasted. If not for the man tromping along behind you—

  “Ellery,” you say, sweetly.

  Ellery gives you a look somewhere between “what is it now” and "what have I done this time". You take this as an invitation to continue. “Whoever taught you to walk so loudly? Honestly, were you raised in a barn? It's not—”

  He rubs the corner of his eye with one hand. “Are we going the right way?”

  “What?”

  “Are we going the right way? I mean— I don't think, uh, I don't think this looks right. But you're the one with the map, so...”

  Okay, so maybe you've been a little more focused on the scenery than the navigation. Does it matter on such a beautiful day? You're not rushing this.

  ?Charlotte.? The thing around your neck stirs, flicks its forked tongue, speaks directly into your head. You will never get used to it. ?I said it an hour ago. I said, ‘this is the wrong way’. What you said in response, verbatim, was—?

  You frown.

  ?'Shut up, Richard, don't be stupid'. I think the irony rather speaks for itself, there, so I won't—?

  His impression of you is terrible. Is that the point?

  ?Just look at the map.?

  You cast another glance back at Ellery (who has begun to whistle, off-key), stop, and unfold the map. “THE COMPLEET MAP OF THE KNOWN REGIONS OF THE OCEAN,” it says pompously across the top in thick wax crayon. You squint at the southeast corner.

  ...Well, it's actually a simple mistake to make. You're heading north. It's just that you want to be heading...

  >[1] East, towards town... a 15-minute walk from camp. You're looking for Tom's Cave, rumored to be haunted. Also rumored to be gator-infested. These traits may be connected.

  >[2] West, towards the dreary mud flats. You're looking for the third sinkhole to open up in as many weeks. Something about skeletons? Cannibals? Or was that a joke? It's so difficult to tell with these locals.

  >[3] South, towards—you peer down to make sure you've read it correctly—Hell. Ellery shrugs. “It's hot. They're very straightforward around here.” You're looking for a cave named “Hell's Jaws”.

  Ellery leans over your shoulder and swears out loud. “Son of a bitch."

  You clasp the map to your chest and whip around, primed to chastise. He takes this as an opportunity to chastise you back. “Tom's Cave?! Seriously? It's right there! How could you possibly have—”

  ?He's right, you know. Your incompetence is mind-boggling.?

  You scowl at the both of them. Of course you knew this was the wrong direction. You took the opportunity to walk, because it's a nice day (not that they'd appreciate that), and because... this is your whole life, right here, about to begin. After years of searching. After years of dreaming.

  And it's in some ratty little gator-infested hole next to a podunk town, 15 minutes from where you live.

  This fact crept up upon you slowly, like a burglar on creaky floorboards. It has just begun clocking you over the head. It's over, and it was pointless anyways, and bereft of even a satisfying climax. Tom's Cave. It might be only be decent if one of the gators got Ellery, and you arrived just too late to save him, and wept over his bloodied corpse, but the tears hardened to steely resolve as the weight of nobility pressed upon your neck, and you forged ahead, the fire of grief in your belly—

  “Lottie?" Bless his heart, but concern does nothing for his features. You smile benignly up at Ellery.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh! Oh, sorry. I just thought you looked a little—”

  ?Maniacal. We've talked about this.?

  “—I don't know, really. But, uh, I was saying... you need to tell me what you're looking for. I mean it. If I'm going to be risking getting mauled by gators— hell, if I'm going to risk getting mauled by Margo!—"

  “You wanted to come,” you say evenly. He does. You made sure of it. “Without knowing what I was looking for.”

  He slouches forward a little. “Also without knowing our destination. What is there to find in Tom's Cave? Algae?"

  The Second Crown. Gold and glittering crystal. Relic of an ancient age. Marker of the right to rule. Your family's lost heirloom. You will cradle it in your hands, and place it on your head, and the ranks of sneering nobles—Birdwells and Harrisons and Falks—will fall to their knees before you.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  ?He won't understand, if you tell him.? Richard slips off your neck and onto your shoulder. ?He'll only ask questions. He has the look of someone who asks questions.?

  There is, you have to admit, an inquisitive jut to Ellery's chin.

  >[1] Parry Ellery's question with one of your own. He might not be pleased, but that's something you can live with.

  >[2] Lie. If he buys it, that's him off your back. If not... you can cross that bridge when you come to it, surely.

  >[3] Just tell him. You'll have to swear him to secrecy, of course, and the follow-up questions may be too much to bear. But it's simplest.

  >[4] Write-in.

  "Yes," you say.

  "Huh?"

  "There's algae in Tom's Cave. It's, uh..."

  You're not a good liar for how often you do it.

  ?It's rare and valuable. You think it can be used to reverse dissolution. It's for a scavenger hunt. Make something up already.?

  "...I don't know what they want it for, but I'm getting paid, so. Ahaha."

  "You're getting paid? Is someone... shit." He makes as if to take the map, but thinks better of it. "Uh, who... was it one person hiring you, or a representative of— I don't know, a sort of organization? Sorry, did you say what kind of algae?"

  "Green?"

  "Green... goddammit." He kicks at a passing minnow, who darts away from his boot. "Well. Guess we ought to get a move on."

  ?Congratulations. You've managed, somehow, to tell a truth. Too bad it's not the right one.?

  You refold the COMPLEET MAP bemusedly and set off after Ellery, now tromping along ahead of you. You'll have to mark "green algae" down on your list of buttons to push.

  Tom's Cave. You've passed by it, briefly, but have never been inside. Supposedly, most people who enter never return. This sounds like melodramatic GS to you...

  >[1] But you still came prepared. Not only did you pack an entire rucksack of supplies, you asked around about what's supposedly inside. (You have supplies and knowledge, but people are aware of and might ask about your expedition.)

  >[2] So you brought a positive attitude. If there are massive gators, you'll deal with it as it comes! A little surprise is good for the soul. (You have a +10 Positive Thinking bonus to most actions, and your expedition remains a secret. But you don't know what's ahead, or have any supplies excepting what Ellery may have brought.)

  ...so all you brought was a positive attitude. Your back is as light as your step. Nothing can go wrong when your purpose is so noble! The universe wouldn't allow it! Surely!

  It takes another thirty minutes to make it out of the depths of the Fen, and ten more before the foliage is recognizably Landing-ish. You know you've arrived when Margo Lindew's strident voice breaks through the water.

  "—I don't care what kind of ... my town! ... feathered floozies—"

  In front of you, Ellery stops and ducks abruptly behind a tree. "Get down!" he signs furiously. "She's looking this way!"

  You sidle off the path and into the brush, which does little to hide your searing white peacoat. You're going to have to deal with Margo, anyways. She's guarded the mouth of her husband's cave every day for 50 years (they say, and "they" are less than unreliable).

  "You there! Girl! You'll come out and help with these cretins."

  It's not a question when Margo has fixed you with a gimlet eye. You cast a self-satisfied glance towards Ellery and sidle back out past him. He groans and follows you.

  Margo is in her usual rocking chair, surrounded by two people you don't recognize. One, a woman, has a few tasteful feathers in her hair. The other, a man, is positively shaggy with them. Both are up in Margo's face. "We have a decree," the woman hisses, before following Margo's gaze to you.

  Courtiers. Right rat-bastards, if you'll be so vulgar.

  "Come down," Margo says. "You both. You've been around here, haven't you? Why don't you explain to these poor confused folks that the cave is off-limits?"

  "—a decree from the Apogee—"

  "I've said, I don't give a damn about no Apple Gee!"

  You look at Ellery, who raises his hands in futility.

  ?We could,? Richard says, ?just walk past them. They couldn't stop us.?

  No, but they might follow you. You don't relish the idea of dealing with either Margo or a tag-team of Courtiers, though, either. Decisions.

  >[1] Come down and help Margo against the Courtiers. She might be grateful enough to let you in with minimal fuss.

  >[2] If the Courtiers have a decree, or whatnot, you're going to take advantage of that. Argue on their side and see if they'll let you enter with them.

  >[3] Get a better idea of the situation. What does the Wind Court want with a bunch of alligators in a hole? Surely they aren't looking for your crown?

  >[4] Just walk right in past them all. There's no barriers to the entrance, and you're sure good fortune is smiling upon you.

  >[5] Write-in.

  "Pardon me," you say, from a distance. "What sort of—"

  "Come here, girl. And speak up. Bring your tall friend, too."

  You clamber past mussel-encrusted outcroppings down to the clearing where Margo sits.

  ?You look silly and you're going to tear your coat.?

  Ellery takes the path down and arrives first. "A decree?" he's already asking.

  "Yes," you jump in over him. "The Wind Court doesn't have jurisdiction here. That's all to the northwest..."

  Wind City lies to the northwest. You know all about it. You thought you made certain there was no Court presence here.

  "Oh, okay." The woman dismissively tucks a red lock behind her ear. "It's more hicks, Molina. Ignore them. Mrs. Lindew, I'm afraid we're going to have to..."

  Your cheeks flush. "Excuse me?!"

  "You're excused," the man (Molina?) says, and pats you on the shoulder.

  You slap his hand away. "There's no Wind Court outpost! This is virgin territory! You can't—"

  ?You're making a fool of yourself, Charlotte.?

  You fume.

  Ellery steps bodily in front of you. "Sorry," he says. "Sorry. She doesn't— you guys just moved in, right? A few weeks ago? You have to understand, uh, she doesn't get out much. Doesn't hear the news. Uh, welcome to the Corcass..."

  "We'd be more welcome," says the woman, "if this— if Mrs. Lindew would give us our rightful passage. As we are due."

  "Okay," Ellery says. "And why won't she?"

  "You should know, boy." Margo clenches the arms of the rocking chair. "I've seen you about. This here is my Tom's cave..."

  "And you're protecting his bones, whatever, yada yada." You don't want to hear this all over again. "But these people aren't looking for his bones, right? They just want..."

  "That's classified," says the Courtier woman.

  "...Something that isn't bones. So why not let them in? Or anybody in? Why not just take the bones out and give them a sensible burial? You're not some sort of pagan, surely?"

  Margo looks sideways at you. "Gators."

  "And," says Molina. "We're not going in. We're waiting for Lucky."

  "Before we got sidetracked," the woman adds.

  They stare at you with barely-concealed disdain. Margo stares at you with ordinary disdain.

  Option slates that conclude a chapter will be unbolded: the winning option will be revealed when the next chapter is posted. Think about what you would've voted for! (Then be disappointed as the players inevitably vote for something worse.)

  >[1] Okay, so, great. You'll go in and get Tom's bones, and also the crown, and get out. Problem solved. The Courtiers can wait until after you're all done. Boom.

  >[2] Margo won't go in because of the gators, and the Courtiers are waiting anyways, so you can just stroll right in. Excellent.

  >[3] Why not kill two birds with one stone? You go in and get the crown, the Courtiers get whatever they're getting, done. Margo can't stop four of you.

  >[4] Write-in.

  I found this story...