j.

This hasn't been the first time he's done this, blabbering about a newfound crush- not even close- but it always makes your throat close- and your eyes prickle, your demeanor bubble up into unbridled annoyance. But, it's not like you're going to say anything. . . you're just going to sit there, nodding along to each honeyed word that falls from his lips. He always listens to you, right? What kind of friend would you be if you didn't listen to him. . ?

Your name falls off Hiro's tongue smoothly, confusion drawn around each syllable, and it snaps you back into reality, your head tilting to the side while your eyes focus back on him rather than a spot on the wall devoid of paint. "Are you listening?" He asks, his soft smile tainted downward.

"…Yeah, of course," you reply, shuffling and tugging up one of the blankets he patched in a sewing phase in his early teens, "She seems nice." The complement is practiced, lazy, and repeated- you have not been listening. You can tell he knows when his smile dissolves completely. You scramble to fix it. . . right your answer- to pull the corners of his lips back up. "I mean. . . like, you guys seem like you'd be really cute together." You offer up, a placating grin added along with it. The words don't feel right- they leave a sense of bitterness tanging your mouth. Your nails press into the skin of your legs where they lay idly.

"Really?" He beams, pointy teeth shining, "I think so too," he shifts forward, grabbing your hands like it's the easiest thing in the world. It is- to him- but it makes your breath hitch, your attention glued to the absent-minded touch. Your fingers twitch, "She's so pretty, and her voice. . ." he trails off, dramatically at a loss of words, as if nothing could describe it.

"Hiro," you say, and you catch the shake in your voice at the beginning, inwardly cringing. His brows furrow, cocking his head, doe-like eyes staring at you with traces of concern and puzzlement. You gently bring your hands back to yourself, placing them in your lap. With your withdrawal, worry attacks him, lips parting, no doubt with reassurements about to leave him. This has happened multiple times before- your jealousy showing itself- but it still manages to irk you every time, even if you're the one who made your discomfort aware. You wish you had kept your mouth clamped shut and let him ramble on about the girl, who you've already forgotten the name of.

"What's wrong?" He questions. He knows you're jealous, but not because you're in love with him. He thinks you're worried he'd get distracted by the girl and forget about you, let your friendship fade. You guess he's half-right, but the in-love part… has started to outweigh that. But you can't confess to that. You don't want to. So, you let the silence hang heavy in the air until he continues. He eventually does once he realizes you won't answer,

"You're my best friend, okay?"

. . .Yeah. That's the problem.

"I won't let some relationship ever change that." He promises, looking like he's about to reach for your hands again and squeeze tight, but he composes himself, keeps his hands to himself- part of you wishes he wouldn't. He's smiling gently at you, an expression reserved only for you, this kind of unmeasured love. Platonic love.

You force yourself to nod, a trembling grin plastered onto your face, "Yeah, I know. . . I'm just dramatic." You look at him, tight-lipped, and he shakes his head in disagreement with your claim. You're not dramatic- you're possessive. You know you are. You've been called it by him and Finn- jokingly, of course. You know they sorta mean it. They aren't wrong, though. Every time Hiro- or Finn- mentions someone new, all your breath leaves your lungs, and a tightness settles into your chest, swirling and clinging to you.

After a moment, he slants forward, pats your thigh, then leans back. "It's fine, don't worry about it. I think it's cute. It reminds me that you love me." He grins. He's teasing, but it still sends shocks down your spine and causes your posture to turn slightly rigid.

"Who would love you?" You retort, scrunching up your features with faux distaste. He laughs, eyes crinkling, the sound shimmering.

"You, duh."

Mortala, the word, derives from the Latin adjective "Mortalis." meaning "subject to death." Comparable to the English word "Mortal." meaning the same. —

You live in a rotting world. And that's not a metaphor.

You've known that since you can remember. It's a fact that's been drilled into your mind on repeat.

A rotting world that you must not explore. Stay where you are, stay where you're familiar with, stay where you're comfortable— In The Cinders with your older brother.

The Cinders might not look pretty, but it's not horrible. Steer clear of most streets, keep your head down, don't poke around in other people's business, and you'll be fine. You've learned to navigate pretty well, not to toot your own horn.

Plus, you've got a job, and so does your brother. Not good ones, but ones that can, with a joint salary, keep a crumbling roof over your heads. —

Another thing that's been forced into your mind since you were spoon-fed is to never, ever disobey Belamour.

Belamour is a peaceful organization that was made to keep you safe. To do this, they have strict laws in place, and officers crawl over the cities to make sure you follow them. They are not a government, and they make it very known that they are not.

If you fail to obey, you'll get sent to your city's rehabilitation center! Isn't that nice? Or, on the worse side, you can end up in the Belamour Rehabilitation Center all the way in The Frost.

You and your brother made an agreement when you were very little that you would stick together, and neither of you would break any of the rules for fear of being sent to a rehabilitation center.

. . . An agreement your brother broke.

Now you have to find out how to get him the fuck out of there.

Mortala is a 16+ game due to explicit language, violence, death, anxiety, mention of past emotional abuse (not of MC), messy relationships, and more. A detailed trigger warning list will be listed before every chapter.

Customize the flawed main character, ranging from their gender to their style. (Semi-set personality. Set last name and age.)

Make risky choices that might result in you dying or being injured.

Build relationships between characters, romanceable and not.

Finally wipe The Cinders' ashes off you and explore more than just the burnt city you grew up in.

Go against everything you were taught growing up.

Lie to save your (and your brother's) skin.

These characters are not all romanceable, and you will not meet most of these characters until Chapter Two. Also, it's important to note that not all these characters have plot armor. This does not include sub-romances or all the characters you'll interact with.

FINNLEY ROSE. ✩ ---- Finnley has raised you since you were 5, making him 11 when you started to rely on him. You never really understood the gravity of that until you were in your late teenage years, and that's when you really started to appreciate him. You regret things you've said to him, how you've hurt him— and lately, with his absence, that's all you can think about. ---- His skin is a shade lighter than yours, the same textured hair as yours, and he has brown hooded eyes outlined with eyelashes that make you jealous. He stands at 6 feet, 2 inches. (187.96cm)

HIRO LA'EI. ✩ ---- Hiro has been your best friend since you were in diapers. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. You genuinely think he might be one of the sweetest people alive, despite what others might assume, and he jumps at the chance to help you with anything. . . ---- He has tan skin, wavy dark brown hair, and pretty doe-like brown eyes. He stands at 5 feet, 10 inches. (177.8cm) ! Option to have a crush on him— it goes nowhere, though.

MEDUSA CALIXTE. ♡ ---- Medusa. What can you say about Medusa? To put it plainly, she's your best friend's ex-girlfriend. She broke up with him and gave no reason. At the time of their relationship, you thought she was. . . interesting, for lack of a better word, and when she left your best friend, it took a huge toll on him, and from the looks of it, it barely affected her. ---- She has russet brown skin, coiled light brown hair, often shoulder-length and worn in dreads, and upturned hazel eyes. She stands at 5 feet, 2 inches. (157.48cm)

MONROE HALILI. ♡ ---- Your brother's best friend. They're concerned, and not just about their best friend. They're observant, annoyingly so, and can tell how bad his leave has affected you. Obviously, due to their status, they've taken it upon themselves to check on you- wanted or not. ---- They have deep tawny skin, curly black hair with white underneath, and dark brown monolid eyes framed with long, naturally curled eyelashes. He stands at 6 feet tall. (182.88cm) ! Option to have a childhood crush on them. (Three-year age gap.)

LIVIA ALARIE. ✩ ---- Monroe's daughter. From what you heard from your brother, she's incredibly timid- Oh, and she's smiled at him. (He wouldn't shut up about it for a week.) You've never seen her or talked to her yet. ---- She has tawny skin, wavy black hair that reaches below her ears, and dark brown almond eyes. She stands at 3 feet, 7 inches. (109.22cm)

VIVIAN DE LA CRUZ. ♡ ---- Your ex. You still think about them occasionally— you don't date someone for 5 years and forget about them even if you want to. You don't like how things ended, but you don't know if you want to see them again. ---- They have warm golden skin, light blue wavy hair, and downturned brown eyes. They stand at 6ft, 1 inch. (185.42cm) ! Details of the past relationship in their character profile.

Character profiles

Hiro La'ei Medusa Calixte Monroe Halili Vivian de la Cruz

Informational posts

The Cities Belamour Organization

Outside of Tumblr links

Playlists Pinterest Demo/Proof of concept

Extra

My other interactive fiction blog @destined-if My personal account @bunnifly

Important

My banner is by Thomas Dubois This interactive fiction is very loosely inspired by The Hunger Games

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, causing her to pull away– just barely– clumsily tilting forward to push her forehead against his. Tears relentlessly stream down her tawny cheeks, long eyelashes fluttering over almond eyes each time she blinks. “Who do the stars shine for?” He asks, squeezing her frame gently.

There’s a pause where she assesses him, and a blatant vulnerability is plastered all over her face when she warbles her reply out, “Me.” Despite the shakiness tainting her voice, a smile adorns Monroe's features at the answer while his other hand reaches upward, cupping her face.

“That’s right, My Love,” fondness leaks into his voice, thumb gliding over her tear-stained skin, “All for you."

---

Ivy:

Dusk seeps into the air, painting ribbons of colors across the sky and glowing down onto the city below. The sun shines the earth in a divine golden hue as a kiss goodbye while the moon rises to take its place.

Although the time, the heat is still blistering, beating down on the people that litter the downtown streets. Kids play in the small puddles formed in the wedges between the road and sidewalk, teens lean on the side of walls, and adults walk out of stores, bags in hand.

Isla steps out from an antique jewelry store, one of her hands covering her pocket. She slips around people and eventually stands in front of a medium-sized, worn-down house. Its walls are stripped of most of its paint, and vines coil up and around it. The few windows are boarded up with planks of rotten wood.

She walks onto the cracked driveway up to the door and jumps when a voice speaks from beside her: "Ew, you're back?"

She relaxes when she processes the familiar voice, an easy smile pulling her lips up while she turns to face them. An ivory-skinned girl with jet-black hair sits crisscrossed on a rocking chair that squeaks each time she moves.

"Hi, Ivy," she greets, walking closer as she grabs something out of the pocket she was covering, "I got you somethin'." She holds it out in front of her. It's a black steel ring with tiny red gemstones that glisten in the setting sun.

"What the hell?" Ivy mutters, taking the item in. "How much was it?" She asks, snatching it from Isla's hands to observe it better. "Free. I stole it," she grins, her eyes crinkling.

"You didn't have to do that," Ivy reassures despite the fact she's slipping it onto her middle finger, which already has a simple black ring adorning it. "You're right, I didn't have to. I wanted to, though,"

"Think of it as a birthday present." Isla inclines forward, fingers landing on Ivy's shoulder. She quickly shrugs the touch off before speaking, "It's not my birthday," she grumbles, turning her head to squint at her like she's stupid. She probably is in her mind, anyway.

"You don't know that. It could be," she shrugs. "Thank you," Ivy says lowly, her eyes moving back to the ring. Isla's grin widens, "What was that?" She questions, leaning forward dramatically.

"God, you're annoying," Ivy groans, pushing her back, "Last time I try to be nice to you," she adds with a roll of her eyes. "No, it's not," she hums. "Is everyone inside?"

"Yeah, and they're being loud," she huffs, leaning back on the chair, her gaze still wandering around on the ring, "Is that why you're out here?" Ivy nods, glancing up at her.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?" Ivy's eyes soften at the question before she lifts her shoulders into a shrug. "I don't care what you do," she mutters. "But where would you sit? There's no more chairs."

Isla blinks at her, looking around incredulously, "…On the floor?" She replies. "No," Ivy shakes her head, already getting up, "Sit here."

"Aw, thanks," Isla runs her hand down Ivy's arm as she passes. "I knew you loved me." She's earned with another eye-roll, "That's hope talkin', believe me when I say I don't."

"Liar."

Ian:

Dusk seeps into the air, painting ribbons of colors across the sky and glowing down onto the city below. The sun shines the earth in a divine golden hue as a kiss goodbye while the moon rises to take its place.

Although the time, the heat is still blistering, beating down on the people that litter the downtown streets. Kids play in the small puddles formed in the wedges between the road and sidewalk, teens lean on the side of walls, and adults walk out of stores, bags in hand.

Isla steps out from an antique jewelry store, one of her hands covering her pocket. She slips around people and eventually stands in front of a medium-sized, worn-down house. Its walls are stripped of most of its paint, and vines coil up and around it. The few windows are boarded up with planks of rotten wood.

She walks onto the cracked driveway up to the door and jumps when a voice speaks from beside her: "Ew, you're back?"

She relaxes when she processes the familiar voice, an easy smile pulling her lips up while she turns to face them. An ivory-skinned boy with jet-black hair sits on a rocking chair that squeaks every time he moves.

"Hi, Ian," she greets, walking closer as she grabs something out of the pocket she was covering, "I got you somethin'." She holds it out in front of him. It's a black steel ring with tiny red gemstones that glisten in the setting sun.

"What the hell?" Ian mutters, taking the item in. "How much was it?" He asks, snatching it from Isla's hands to observe it better. "Free. I stole it," she grins, her eyes crinkling.

"You didn't have to do that," Ian reassures despite the fact he's slipping it onto his middle finger, which already has a simple black ring adorning it. "You're right, I didn't have to. I wanted to, though,"

"Think of it as a birthday present." Isla inclines forward, fingers landing on Ian's shoulder. He quickly shrugs the touch off before speaking, "It's not my birthday," he grumbles, turning his head to squint at her like she's stupid. She probably is in his mind, anyway.

"You don't know that. It could be," she shrugs. "Thank you," Ian says lowly, his eyes moving back to the ring. Isla's grin widens, "What was that?" She questions, leaning forward dramatically.

"God, you're annoying," Ian groans, pushing her back, "Last time I try to be nice to you," he adds with a roll of his eyes. "No, it's not," she hums. "Is everyone inside?"

"Yeah, and they're being loud," he huffs, leaning back on the chair, his gaze still wandering around on the ring, "Is that why you're out here?" Ian nods, glancing up at her.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?" Ian's eyes soften at the question before he lifts his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug. "I don't care what you do," he mutters. "But where would you sit? There's no more chairs."

Isla blinks at her, looking around incredulously, "…On the floor?" She replies. "No," Ian shakes his head, already getting up, "Sit here."

"Aw, thanks," Isla runs her hand down Ian's arm as she passes by. "I knew you loved me." She's earned with another eye-roll, "That's hope talkin', believe me when I say I don't."