hana?

Sure, the world building seemed intimidating. Overblots, dark romance, whatnot . . but you just wanted an itsy-bitsy piece of the guilty pleasure, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t everyday you stumbled upon a game with ridiculously well-crafted and deep characters, after all.

Well . . . now you have no purpose whatsoever, and you mean that in a philosophical sense. Before Yuu, the story goes as follows. You, the nameless villainess, were the only girl in Night Raven, naturally, somewhere in the developer's office, someone decided the pinnacle of storytelling was making two girls hate each other's guts.  It’s a concept you don’t like, even more so when all the odds are stacked against you, and sometimes it even gets tiring, because the pre-determined  dialogue and choices set for Yuu give them a somewhat timid appearance. Grow a backbone! There is an insane power imbalance, you see — and of course they’re going to need extra protection from all their knights in shining armor.

The greatest odd against you, however, is the dorm that’s been chosen for you. 

Knock, knock, knock!

Knuckles drumming against the door, you are roused from your sleep. Bright, lambent sunlight seeps in from the windows, the peak wherein your room’s inundated with a glow so much like a cherub’s tear, attacking your eyes and reminding you, you have no business being up at the ass crack at dawn.

Unless . .  

Title Unlocked — Headless Maiden.

You died! Riddle wanted it to be off with your head. Shame he took it so literally. 

You died again.

You recoil. Images. Images are what you see. A gaggle of memories flooding your brain, crimson’s brutish spread meandering down the crucible of your throat in sprays. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. And it still hurts, a burn so real you realize a scream thrashes at the apex of your tongue until it blurs into a half-choked sob of misery, where your hands are coaxed towards your esophagus, trying to alleviate the sharp phantom’s touch. You have sprung upright, and the bed creaking beneath the sudden weight reminds you someone is still knocking at your door, the door to your room, the room where you’ve died so many times..

The room that’s now stripped of everything. 

Everything is white, as is every respawn. Every single trinket, achievement or personal belonging has now been reset, making you stare at a swathe of the sort of white you’d find in hospitals or an asylum’s padded room. No!  You’d worked so hard at Crisp ‘n dips trying to afford that one lipstick, and now it’s all gone. Every single thing you’d worked your bones off for are nowhere to be seen, thrown into the system’s savage bin, and once again, you suppress a bitter laugh from bubbling over, they truly spare you no pity. 

“Miss?”

Miss. That’s what they call you here. Miss, because you have no name attached to you. Shuffling off your bed and realizing just how enervated you must look, you slowly open the door, peaking through the gap. 

Luckily, it’s just a second year. 

“Housewarden Schoenheit wants everyone to be up and ready. Take a shower, trim your nails, iron your orientation robes.. And—er..”

“And make sure not a single strand is overlooked.”

“Yes, that’s right!”

Your respawn point is orientation. Well, before it. Due to such unadulterated generosity, you are given a few hours of respite before all hell breaks loose and takes you up into its flames. 

A few hours.