You're on a path in the woods. At the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. That's the extent of what you can remember. Your hand doesn't seem human. It looks like a bird's talon, with dark raven feathers extending down your arm.

You're on a path in the woods. At the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. This all seems oddly familiar, as if you've been here before and done some of these things in a previous life or another world. You certainly remember the part where the Princess tore you apart, or was it some cruel accident? And, look, things are different now. The woods and the cabin have changed, and so has the Princess.

If multiple worlds do exist and death has no meaning for you, since you'll always return to the path in the woods, does any of this have any true purpose for you?

That's strange. Despite the Narrator leaving it out of his description and remaining adamant that there is no such thing, there is a mirror in the cabin. Do you dare to look into it? There seems something oddly… final about it. Far more than just a means to preen yourself and gawk at how handsome you are, the mirror reflects the strangely fragile reality of your situation. Stepping through it dissolves the world and the cabin away, restoring your memory and sending you back to The Long Quiet.

Practical, with noble intentions, the Voice of the Hero is reasonable and reactive, trying to do the right thing.

The Voice of the Smitten was head-over-heels for the Princess, speaking in gallant soliloquy of his devotion for the fair maid regardless of any horrific evidence to the contrary.

The Narrator's descriptions of places and events inform you of the facts of your reality, though they are not always immutable, depending the ever-present aspect of your choices and the interference of the Princess. Heavily biased towards you slaying the Princess, at any cost, he will bend the scope of opportunities available to you as much as he is able to ensure that you slay her. As the Narrator of this story, it obviously seems he knows more about what is going on than he's telling you. Information is need-to-know and you're better off not knowing because that would just make things harder and more complicated than they need to be. Really, you should stop reading this and use your valuable time to go ahead and slay the Princess.

Is the Princess more than what she seems? What lurks beneath the facade of that archetypical storybook Princess with pale white skin? The Narrator seems adamant that if she is allowed to leave the cabin it will mean the certain end of the entire world. If you can trust him, the Princess is exceedingly dangerous and any of her honeyed words are manipulation to prey on your conceptions so she can escape. She does very much want to be free from the cabin where she has been chained to the wall for a very, very long time.

She will remember your treatment of her, whether kind or cruel. She had a dissonant attitude towards violence, not shocked at the sight of blood or bone and willing to endure, or inflict, brutal mutilation in order to win her freedom.

The storybook world fell away. Everything, every voice, even the Narrator was gone. There was nothingness apart from you and Her, the Shifting Mound, a twisted and horrifying amalgamation of the infinite possible variations of the Princess grasping with a million arms and seeing with a million eyes. The Mound speaks with an eerie calm, reflecting on the nature of the constructed reality you both inhabit. She can wipe away your memories and send you back, once more to the path and the cabin. By either slaying or freeing the Princesses from the cabin you contribute the essence of their fragmentary vessels back into her singular whole. She is the true Princess, beautiful and terrible.

Taking the blade, as the Narrator so strongly insists, is an act of great consequence. It's your only means of slaying the Princess. So, if you want to slay her, you'll have to pick it up. But is that what you want to do?

The Princess is keenly aware of the significance of the blade. Just by carrying it, you'll put her on edge, wary of your intentions. Perhaps by even considering the blade you're provoking her to resort to a violent response?

Oh, but without the blade you're defenseless and the Narrator constantly reminds you how dangerous she is. It might be prudent to take the blade, just for your own sake. The Narrator is even going out of his way to insert the blade however he can into your situation, making it appear as if from thin air, to get you to pick it up and slay the Princess.