This story is a choose your own adventure story. The bulk of the actions taken throughout the first 12 chapters of this story were completed via nightly Twitter polls. As a result, the story is written in a second-person perspective.
As of September 5th, 2020, the main story is completed. The ending chosen via Twitter poll (White Ending #1) has been posted. Alternate endings of the story wherein the main character makes a different choice at the end of chapter 12 will be posted in future. Theoretically.
Your name is Alana Quevedo. You wake up in a pitch-black room. You can feel a bed underneath you, but something feels strange. You think there’s a chance you might not be in your own bed.
You feel around the bed. After a few seconds, your hand touches a warm body. The touch elicits a familiar groan. It’s your fiancee, Quinn. She mumbles and rolls over, snoring. You reach over to the nightstand and glance at your phone. It’s 3:45 am. You climb out of bed and feel the warm floor beneath your bare feet.
Why is the floor warm? Your room has cold wood floors.
You reach back into the bed in an effort to jar Quinn awake. She grumbles loudly.
“Is someone dead? There’d better be someone dead if you’re waking me.”
“The floor is warm,” you say, incredulously.
“Yes,” Quinn grumbles. “Hobart Estate has heated marble floors. Is that really what you woke me up for?”
“Why are we in the biggest mansion in the state?” you ask.
“My string quartet played a fundraiser last night,” Quinn replied. “You must still be hammered.”
You remember Quinn playing her violin last night, but not a gala…nor drinking.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t drink at all last night.”
You’re sure of that. Well, pretty sure.
“Right,” said Quinn. “And I’m a highly trained assassin. Come back to bed. It’s cold without you.”
“I’ll be there in a second,” you say.
Quinn answers with a small snore. She’s already fallen back asleep. You grab your phone and illuminate the far side of the room. There are two white doors on the opposite wall. One must lead to the bathroom.
You cautiously open the door on the left. As it inches open, you see a series of pulsing lights. Green. Then blue. Then purple. Then black. Everything is black. You feel like you’re falling uncontrollably. You reach out, grasping for the door handle, but it’s gone.
Like this piece of fiction? Please consider supporting me by buying one of my books, requesting Kotov Syndrome from your local library, or supporting me on Patreon. While you’re here, please sign up for my newsletter.