What is it that you see in her?
That damsel shackled to a dungeon, explicitly prepared for execution through your hand. This scenario has been manufactured for your indulgence, so why is it that you find it unsavory? Unease from a lack of context? The absence of rationale beyond the simple expectation that you commit to the deed? Do you …
What is it that you see in her?
That damsel shackled to a dungeon, explicitly prepared for execution through your hand. This scenario has been manufactured for your indulgence, so why is it that you find it unsavory? Unease from a lack of context? The absence of rationale beyond the simple expectation that you commit to the deed? Do you not comprehend the folly that is your hesitation? Regardless of one’s naive intent, there is only one way in which a relationship inevitably ends. One, and more likely both of you, lying bleeding out upon the cold stone floor. Do not falsify prolonging suffering for kindness.
But you cannot be so readily dissuaded. The lesson of fire can only be felt through experiencing it’s burns. So in a selfish desire to gratify one’s own validation, you present to her a considered act of mercy. She will indulge you, of course. For your captive has no other recourse. Yet you know nothing about her in which to extend your hand. You can only project upon a blank canvas. An expectation of what you think she is and should be. Belief manifests reality that then codifies that same belief. She adapts to become which she is perceived. Evolving to conform into the creature of your infatuation.
So why is it that you recoil from her? This is what you wanted, is it not? Someone whom understands you, whom is capable in ricocheting both your love and your hate. That which you earnestly sought unshackled, against the ease of an entire world. So why are you hurting? From whence stems your contempt? Is it because you must now acknowledge the dance you share is performative. Does it sting because you see her as insincere? Or because your desires she realised are now laid hollow?
As the blood seeps, and the fire embers, perhaps now you finally understand. She was always just a veneer. That which you formed connection. That which you sought to love. That which you grew to resent. An idealized mask upon that which bears no established form. She never let you in. She never gave herself away. What she was, and is, persists beyond your comprehension. You were only bound together in a shared circumstance. And yet there was also something tangible there. Something you touched. You each have the wounds inflicted to show for it. The honeyed and venomous words which cut deep. From whence did this enamoring monster form? You gaze once more into the mirror. And the Princess glares her daggers back.
(Slay the Princess is a game which seeks to incite you to project upon it. And then have this projection reflected back upon you. Such that it may then engage you with commentary and introspection yet little judgment. How effective and illuminating such an experience is, is very personalized. How much you engage with the premise and its presentation, one’s prior life experiences, and your affinity to its debauched gore, will all play a significant part in how well you resonate with this game. As such, I find it hard to isolate a specific audience for which to extend a recommendation. Perhaps consider playing it if you have yet to get over a Princess in your life.)
