Voice of the Cold is a mysterious character and ubiquitous to the Slay the Princess fandom at large. Unlike most other Voices who wear their hearts on their sleeves and project their every thought aloud for us to hear, Cold's extensive emotional repression and disassociation make him highly susceptible to interpretation.
I'm compiling VoT Cold's canon appearances. I'll be using these instances and iterations of his character to highlight his quirks, traits, and flaws using the mysterious powers of textual analysis, speculation, and a healthy sprinkling of confirmation bias. in layman's terms, it's time to Figure Out This Fucker (or simply die trying).
- —⌔— -
TABLE OF CONTENTS
AN EMPIRE OF FRIGID NOTHING (SPECTRE)
(original analysis)
A BURIED PAIN (DROWNED GREY)
A SNUFFED FLAME (BURNED GREY)
A NUMB EXISTENCE (FURY)
A WAY OUT (WRAITH: NIGHTMARE)
A MASTERY OF THE SELF (RAZOR)
A LOST CAUSE (MOMENT OF CLARITY)
- —⌔— -
Rhetorical Guidelines
“VoT...” // abbreviation of “Voice of the..."
“The Long Quiet” // referring to the collective body, location, and concept/god. (Important distinction to make when Voices begin acting autonomously, and when the distinction between the collective system versus its individual parts matters less.)
“The Decider” // referring to the player and POV character, separate from the Voices.
"There are few things more terrifying than one's own heart, and there is almost nothing more terrifying than sharing it with another."
They cry. From their right eyes, they cry. Single tears dripping from their eyes. The Long Quiet cries as the Princess drives stake after stake after stake through their heart [Damsel]; they cry as their burning passions kill them and the Princess both [Burned Grey]. As it consumes them alive. In radiant light. They cry as they are Smitten. They cry from pain. The Nightmare cries as she removes her mask, a single tear, from that same eye. As the darkness of her desires swallows them anew.
Your exposed heart, framed by jagged ribs, thumps rhythmically in your raw, bloodied chest, the loosened… threads? of your body unfurling to cover the surface of the room. "If we just showed her the contents of our heart… she'd be happy here."
She raises a hand to her mask and pulls it down. You don't get the chance to see what lies beneath before it envelops you. "LET. ME. OUT!"
"This one is a songbird in a cage of gilded shadows." –HEA
"I can even make you a little cage if you want! Gilded and everything!" –MOC
"But the most terrifying thing of all is to leave one's heart unshared. You are the only thing like me, and I am the only thing like you."
The contents of the Long Quiet's heart are exposed through visceral and violent self-harm. Quiet opens up their ribcage so the Princess may reach in and accept their heart. The desires of their heart are safety and routine (dinner, game nights).
What is beneath the Princess's mask is exposed through psychic deterioration. Her unmasking is not as viscerally violent as Quiet ripping open their own ribcage because the Princess is not sacrificing herself in opening up, like they do; she's being vulnerable, but she's not harming herself. Instead, she's harming them. She exposes them to her internalized existential terror. Nightmare takes off her mask so the Long Quiet can stare into her eyes / bear the sight of her face. The desires of her visage are escape and significant life events (children, a career).
Both are invested in "a good life" and an element of companionship, implicitly marriage.
In both instances, following the opening up, the darkness in each of them (Quiet's threads and Nightmare's abyssal maw) spread out. Quiet's threads cover the surface of the room (covering the walls, obscuring the exit). Nightmare's darkness envelops Quiet specifically (attacking their body, compromising their safety).
Quiet covers his face at the sight of Nightmare (just like he covers his face when looking into the mirror, where he watches himself decay). Damsel covers her face in shock and horror as Quiet first begins to tear themself apart in front of her.
Both are bids for connection and both are triggered by rejection (perceived or otherwise). Smitten wants to stay with the Princess, and she hesitates. Nightmare wants to leave with Quiet, and they refuse / run away.
The whole "gilded cage" thing is also prevalent in both. Both Smitten and MOC want to trap the object of their affection and torment with them forever, and have them completely surrendered to the desires of their heart: stay with me safe in the cabin forever, stay with me free outside the cabin forever. Smitten entertains us with endless distractions and whispers sweet nothings in the Princess's ears. Clarity talks about herself and Quiet "exploring the world and spreading fear wherever we go," in endless travel, refusing to ever settle down or stay put for any length of time. Smitten promises complete safety, as long as the Princess never gets up from her too-comfortable seat. Clarity promises escape, as long as Quiet stays always at her side.
Both keep the pristine blade out of reach. Hung in a golden chain around the Princess's neck, or fallen away into an abyss before it can be taken.
The subject steals the object's will.
[Chapter II – The Nightmare]
The Narrator – Your lungs pull in a desperate gulp of air as your eyes shoot back open.
…
The Narrator – And then experience stops once more as your body reapproaches death.
…
The Narrator – Again, your eyes shoot open as you gasp for breath.
The Nightmare – Can't decide what you want to do, can you?
– Oh, well. Standing there gasping like a fish is more fun than dead, even if you look ridiculous.
[The Moment of Clarity]
Voice of the Paranoid – At least I keep you breathing around her.
[Epilogue – Happily Ever After]
The Narrator – The Princess starts to hyperventilate, her quick breaths punctuating the uncomfortable silence between you.
The Princess in HEA hyperventilates like how Quiet "gasps for breath" in Nightmare.
[Epilogue – Happily Ever After]
• (Explore) "I don't think you did anything wrong. I think you just said something you wanted to say."
The Princess – But it was wrong. I took away a piece of our light. I'm not supposed to do that. I don't want him to be upset with me.
[Chapter II – The Nightmare]
• (Explore) How hard is it to throw a knife?
Voice of the Hero – It can't be that hard.
Voice of the Paranoid – But then we'd lose our weapon. We'd have to make it count. Otherwise she'd be furious and we'd be defenseless. If a knife is enough to even do anything against something like her in the first place...
And both Voice of the Paranoid and The Princess feel a need to tend to their abuser's emotional state — for their own safety. They fear too much to retaliate, be it physically or emotionally, with weapons or with words.
"A picture of a life in a picture of a life in a picture of a life. How deep must repetition still our movements until even the air we breathe is stale?
"You doused the flames of false devotion, and in my despair you lifted my chin, and the two of us danced beneath the stars."
"But the stars can't be seen unless the flames go out and the walls come crashing down. Can you not do for all things what you did for us?"
Damsel emits light; Nightmare is obscured in a smog of darkness. Damsel's cabin is well-furnished; Nightmare's cabin doesn't even have a door.
[Chapter II – The Damsel]
The Narrator – The interior of the cabin is clean and elegant, its stone walls draped in fine-threaded tapestries, a prison befitting a royal prisoner. The only furniture of note is an ornate wooden table with a pristine blade perched on its edge.
– The door to the basement creaks open, revealing an intricate stairwell. Gold-trimmed carpet glimmers in the light of the torches positioned along the walls. The basement almost seems welcoming in the dim firelight.
– But it's still a stone basement. If the Princess lives here, slaying her is probably doing her a favor.
[Chapter II – The Nightmare]
The Narrator – The interior of the cabin is plain, the smooth wood of the walls almost featureless. The only furniture of note is a lone table, knocked on its side in the corner of the room. A pristine blade stands between you and the open, inviting basement doorway.
– You cross over the threshold, and onto a series of isolated steps suspended in darkness.
– The air seeping up from below reminds you of fresh lightning and static, as if you're descending into a place that isn't meant for a creature of flesh and blood. If the Princess lives here, slaying her would probably be doing her a favor.
The basement of Damsel's cabin is welcoming. The basement of Nightmare's cabin doesn't feel like it is meant to contain organic life. In the latter case, "slaying [the Princess] would probably be doing her a favor" is a crass if not wholly inaccurate way of evaluating the Princess's predicament in her isolated captivity.
"The stars are so beautiful." –HEA
"It's so beautiful. I can't wait to ruin it." –Nightmare
When faced with the beauty of the outside world, the Princess in Happily Ever After cherishes it, wishing to dance under the starlight. The Nightmare cannot wait to ruin it. In their freedom, the Damsel and Clarity both question what it is they should do now; in the former case, because she has had so little time to consider herself, and in the latter case, because she has spent so long exclusively tormenting the Long Quiet, and now does not know what she'll do with herself since her project is complete.
The Long Quiet
"We still have a way out clutched in our hands." –VoT Paranoid
"The blade. We can use the blade to get out of this." –VoT Hero
"In a sense, we'd die, but looking at things from another angle,
are we even really alive anymore?" –VoT Hero
"We still have a blade. Let's use it on ourselves and start over." –VoT Skeptic
"I'm insinuating that we could kill ourself. Ruin this whole thing." –VoT Skeptic
"Spit me out or I'll kill myself and nobody gets to leave." –The Decider
"Are we still here? Can we not actually off ourselves? Boo." –VoT Contrarian
"My passions contain titanic depths, and if you try anything that might harm our dearest I will end our life without a second thought." –VoT Smitten
"Rash? The only rash decision we've made was running our cursed blade through her heart. This is far from rash. This is measured. This is the only thing left for us to do now that she's gone." –VoT Smitten
"Do you want me to die? Do you want me to kill myself to satisfy some sort of sick revenge fantasy? Because I already did that and it wouldn't be hard to do it again." –The Decider
"I'm back in here, but you should do it. Kill me. End this and save yourself." –The Decider
"I'll just die then." –The Decider
"I care about you, and I don't want to hurt you anymore." –The Decider
"Because death doesn't matter anymore, does it? Fighting, not fighting — what does any of it matter if it all ends the same way?" –The Decider
"Because there's more to this than just fighting each other. If letting you kill me is how I can show you that, then it's worth it." –The Decider
"I don't know what I want. I never really chose to come here." –The Decider
"I just want to talk. Really talk." –The Decider
The Princess
"You bastard! If I have to kill you to leave this place, I'll do it." –The Princess
"I'm going to kill you." –The Princess
"I'm done asking. The next time I see you, I'm taking everything I'm owed. Starting with your body. If you won't choose to give me my freedom, I'll just have to make you give it to me." –The Spectre
"I want to swallow you whole. And I will get what I want. You have no exit. You have no hope. You live and die by my whims and my whims alone." –The Beast
"I'm so very, very patient. If it takes lives and lives and lives to swallow my way to freedom, then that is what I'll do." –The Beast
"Submit now. Submit later. It makes no difference, because in the end, no matter how vainly you struggle against me, my will triumphs over yours." –The Tower
"What draws you back here beyond the empty halls of death?" –The Tower
"Take that knife in your hand and slit your throat." –The Tower
"When I see you again, you'll free me from my chains, and deliver me to the destiny that lies beyond this place." –The Tower
"Don't think that I'll allow you death here. I've made that mistake before. No. You will suffer until you see in me what I have seen in you." –The Fury
"I wonder how many times I'll get to play with you before you break." –The Nightmare
"And then, when you die, I'll find myself somewhere new, and before too long, you'll be there too. That's how this all works right? This doesn't end until you let me out." –The Nightmare
Both
"I don't know where we'd go, but as long as it's not here, and as long as I'm with you, that's all I want."
"I want that, too."
"I'm free! And you're not trying to kill me this time! Thank you, thank you so much!" The Damsel jumps up and smothers you in a joyful embrace. Eugh.
"Hahahaha! You actually went for it! Oh you're going to regret this! I can be so much more terrible for you than I am now!" In her final moments, the Nightmare lunges forward, tackling you, and you both plunge into the endless abyss of her basement labyrinth.
Implications regarding the Long Quiet's and the Shifting Mound's hearts, their inherent desires, and how those desires conflict in the narrative:
The Princess is inherently interested in escaping the cabin. The Long Quiet is positioned in the narrative to be concerned with her life and the fate of the world.
They're both concerned with living life, but in very different facets:
To the Princess, staying in the cabin conflicts with her core interest (leaving; symbolic of freedom).
To the Long Quiet, staying in the cabin manages to satisfy both of their conflicting interests (they don't have to kill anyone, and the world is safe; symbolic of safety).
The Princess is willing to commit violence, because violence is means to an end for her.
For the Long Quiet, violence just is one of their ends — and, in doing so, they violate their other principle (don't hurt people — but she's a person!).
So, their main bargaining chips manifest as:
The Princess will first hurt others (pursuing her wish).
The Long Quiet will first hurt themself (denying the wishes of others).
They can be pushed to commit the mirrored action against their first inclination*
(suicide: HEA, Thorn)
(murder: MOC/Nightmare, Fury)
In Cage their opposite reactions actually perfectly mirror each other, allowing the Princess in The Riddle of Steel to commit suicide-by-bird.
* Yes, the Long Quiet can commit murder without significant push in order to achieve Spectre or the Greys. But in that case, they are actively valuing one of their two interests over the other (the world/their purpose over the Princess). In both MOC and Fury's leadups, Quiet seeks compromise through self-sacrificial pacifism.
The Long Quiet is self-sacrificing because they have no inherent internal motivations. Their primary directive in their first iteration is to follow others' commands. They don't have anything to live for; they have no strict goals, and nothing to specifically yearn for. The first thing they see is a path to walk, but there are no walls, and no conflict they're immediately bombarded with to set their mind straight.
The Narrator – You're on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a princess.
– You're here to slay her. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.
You are seated in a room that is empty. A chain digs into your wrist, binding one arm to the wall. It is quiet, and you are alone.
This is what you deserve.
The Princess is self-motivated because she only has an inherent internal motivation. She has a goal which she's immediately confronted with from the first instant she gains consciousness: the shackle around her wrist digs into her uncomfortably, and there are stairs at the other end of the room she needs to ascend. This is a room she must escape.
something about using your own vulnerability to take the other's autonomy from them and forcing them into the role you want them to fill but turning yourself into something much worse in the process
"Sometimes, when you cut something out of you, a piece of you leaves with it. (To excise another is to excise one's self.)"
– Memories
Rhetoric Guidelines [
“VoT...” // abbreviation of “Voice of the..."
“The Long Quiet” // referring to the collective body, location, and concept/god. (Important distinction to make when Voices begin acting autonomously, and when the distinction between the collective system versus its individual parts matters less.)
“The Decider” // referring to the player and POV character, separate from the Voices.
“The Princess and The Dragon (PATD)” // referring to the collective/system contained within the Princess’s body, being the Princess and the Decider. Essentially the equivalent to how I use the term “The Long Quiet” to refer to the collective/system of the Decider and their Voices under normal circumstances.
]
Chapter I – The Hero and The Princess
There are two major ways to interpret how Voice Hatching works:
The Voices are manifested by the Decider's choices. The manner in which the Decider behaves, the things they experience, and the trauma they endure influence the Voice hatched upon their death. Their personality, philosophy, and perspective are informed by what the Long Quiet collectively has gone through. The Egg (previous iterations of the Decider) hatches into The Chicken (Voice).
The Decider's choices are manifested by the Voices. The options the Decider has are reactions to their environment and circumstances, adulterated with the impulses and personality of nascent Voices waiting to hatch. The Chicken (Voice) lays The Egg (options the Decider picked in the previous Chapter).
There are more than two ways to interpret how Voices operate, and most you ask this question to will say something in-between these two black and white options. Ultimately, it's inarguable that a Voice is always connected to the events preceding their hatching in some manner. It is not the fact of influence the debate is centered on, but the interpretable extent. The fact is openly supported by the text.
What conditions does the Long Quiet meet, when hatching Voice of the Cold in Chapter I?
The Narrator provides The Long Quiet with a set of instructions. Dutifully, it carries them out without the slightest hint of doubt. It does not ask questions; it does not hesitate. It is told to ignore Voice of the Hero, and ignore him it does. It is told to end this, and end it it does.
• Oh, okay. Thanks for telling me what to do.
The Narrator – Don't mention it. It's all part of the job.
…
Voice of the Hero – We're not going to go through with this, right? She's a princess. We're supposed to save princesses, not slay them.
The Narrator – Ignore him. He doesn't know what he's talking about.
…
The Narrator – She's unarmed. If you hesitate now, it'll be too late. End this.
• [Slay the Princess.]
The Narrator – You lunge forward without a moment's hesitation.
…
The Narrator – With your work done, you make your way back up the stairs, closing the door to the basement behind you.
Voice of the Hero – Why do I feel like we've done something terrible?
The Narrator – You did kill someone. Greater good or not, something would be very wrong with you if you didn't feel at least a little bad. But it was for the greater good. One of these days, that will sink in and help ease your guilty conscience.
Its guilty conscience is eased. It prepares to leave. It was told it had saved the world from certain doom; it is ready to return to that world.
It is denied.
It witnesses itself; a “vast emptiness” and “some place far away.”
• [Leave.]
The Narrator – You open the cabin door, ready to return to a world saved from certain doom.
– Only, a world saved from certain doom isn't what you find. Instead, what you find is nothing at all. Where a lush forest stood mere minutes ago, the only thing in front of you now is the vast emptiness of some place far away.
Voice of the Hero – What... happened?
The Narrator – Everyone is fine, it's just that you and the cabin are now far away from them. Don't worry. You'll be safe here. This is good. Everyone is happy. You'll be happy.
…
• Oh. Okay.
The Narrator – I'm so glad you're keeping an open mind.
For the first time, it questions the Narrator. For the first time, it listens to Voice of the Hero. Possibly for the first time, it (Explores) outside of what He tells it at all.
Voice of the Hero is able to connect the Decider back with themself; he is able to tell them, based on his own emotional experience, that the Narrator is just telling them they’re happy. He appeals to them telling them there’s more for them to do out there, and they’re currently stuck here. He tells them their current existence is not like being alive.
There is nothing to do here. He is only telling them that they are happy. They don’t truly feel it.
• (Explore) Didn't you hear The Narrator? I'm happy. We're happy.
Voice of the Hero – Are we really happy, or is He just telling us that we are?
• Hmm, okay maybe I'm not happy. And I'm not just saying that because you're the last person I talked to.
Voice of the Hero – Good, because I have an idea to get us out of here. Though you're probably not going to like it.
– The blade. We can use the blade to get out of this.
…
Voice of the Hero – […] It's the only way out.
…
Voice of the Hero – […] There's more for us to do, and the only way for us to do it is to take that blade and use it.
…
• (Explore) Wouldn't 'using' the blade... you know, kill us? Wouldn't we be dead?
…
Voice of the Hero – In a sense, we'd die, but looking at things from another angle, are we even really alive anymore? This place... it's nothing! It's absolutely nothing. It's just the same thing, constantly, forever.
– I know this is out there, but trust me, I know using the blade will work.
The Decider must either be convinced by Voice of the Hero here or call the Happy Ending “hell” in order to proceed with the storyline, and to escape. And they must kill themself to escape it.
• Anything to get out of this hell.
…
The Narrator – I made this happy little place for you! Is this not a good enough reward for saving the world? An eternity of bliss? You... you ingrate!
– Fine. Whatever. For the first time since time stopped meaning anything, you throw open the door to the basement and walk down the stairs.
– The Princess' body is dust and bones, though the blade you used to slay her is still as pristine as the day you first held it.
– You pick up the blade, you stab yourself, and you die.
– The end. Nice knowing you.
Critically, the timelessness perceived in the moments between opening the door to stare into the abyss and slaying oneself to be rid of the stagnation is so dilated in Quiet's perception that the Princess's corpse is reduced to a skeleton by the time the Decider plucks the Pristine Blade from its ribcage and inserts it into their own.
A Decider which is Cold at their core follows a brief character arc in Chapter I. If not trusting, they are still inherently unskeptical. They don’t question the Narrator’s plot, and they follow His instructions without much fanfare. It is only when the Decider is told to stay locked up in a box for eternity that they begin to question things, and even then, there are multiple (Explore) options to take which question the idea of not listening to the Narrator or Voice of the Hero’s suicide plan. (Of course, the Decider may also simply immediately deny their scripted fate and accept Hero’s plan on the spot. The important thing to note is that they didn’t question the Narrator initially, and were betrayed.)
The Decider is also confident. They do not question whether or not the Princess is capable of defending herself from them. They cleanly execute her in a single strike, and do not doubt their own ability after she falls instantly. They do not linger on the Princess much, if at all; they walk in, do their job, and leave it at that. This line of action is inherently incurious. They do not even opt to take their blade with them. They leave it in the basement once their task is complete, and have to go back down into the basement in order to retrieve it; this also indicates a lack of foresight on their part, since they did not consider a situation in which the blade could be useful beyond its immediate purpose.
The Decider, critically, must kill themself at the end of Chapter I. They must form a dissociation between themself, their life, and their body. They also must open the cabin door and see The Long Quiet, the textured nothingness which makes up their divine flesh; they must bear witness to an inherent truth about themselves, a truth they cannot comprehend and are not yet capable of connecting with.
The Decider dies in Chapter I having made no significant emotional bonds, and belonging nowhere. The Princess was slain without hesitation, leaving them no room to get to know her; their first impression of her was sparse, vapid, and ultimately meaningless. The only opinion they had of the Narrator in the end was that He promised them something, and gave them nothing, after they did everything He asked of them. And their connection to Voice of the Hero is one of the weakest in all Chapter I progressions; he is ignored for the majority of the route, even his concern which may lead to Razor ignored.
When Voice of the Cold hatches, with the Chapter II transition, he has the chance to reflect on the experiences of Chapter I. A subdued resentment towards the Narrator is his most recognizable sentiment.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
Voice of the Cold – Oh, we listened to you plenty. We slew the Princess, just like you asked us to. And then you locked us away in an empty void for eternity. So we slew ourselves, too.
The Narrator – Well, if you killed yourself then you weren't listening to me. Because I would never want you to do that. Believe it or not, I care about you.
Voice of the Cold – And then what?
…
The Narrator – What do you mean, 'after?'
Voice of the Cold – You already know what we mean, don't you? So why don't you go ahead and tell us? Are you going to try and lock us away in a timeless void again? Because I didn't much care for that.
The Narrator – I'm not going to lock you anywhere.
Voice of the Cold – What an interesting choice of emphasis.
Cold is interesting because, as I'll point out later, you need to read between the lines and in the negative spaces quite often to gauge what he's thinking. Here, though, back in the woods again, Cold's an open book.
He describes the Happy Ending as the Narrator locking them away in an “empty, timeless void.” In the basement of Chapter II – The Spectre, he actively confronts the Narrator on the topic; and, when reflecting on it, he uses the first-person pronoun and perspective to declare “I didn’t much care for that.” The Narrator follows this by declaring His own revealing first-person pronoun usage, which Cold picks up on; for both, the use of the pronoun “I” is an “interesting choice of emphasis.”
Down the line in this route, in Chapter III – The Princess and the Dragon, Cold is still bitter about these events; though, he has more vocabulary to describe the experience. He tells Opportunist and Hero “hard work often goes unappreciated,” a line which makes most sense when taken and applied to the context of the Decider’s previous attempts to appease the Narrator. They do everything He asks them to in Chapter I and are “locked away” for their efforts; and, when opting to slay the Princess alongside themself in Chapter II, we know from other routes that the Narrator cannot recall beyond the Chapter He starts in, meaning the Him in Chapter III would be physically incapable of recognizing the Long Quiet’s sacrifice in Chapter II.
[Chapter III – The Princess and The Dragon]
Voice of the Opportunist – Don't feel bad! Life is all about taking the easy wins. You don't think the people at the top got there because they worked for it, do you?
Voice of the Hero – I mean, of course they did? Hard work is important.
Voice of the Cold – Eh. Hard work often goes unappreciated. Why bother?
And so, Cold feels “unappreciated.” It’s a rather complex emotion for him to recognize, and a sign of a degree of rumination and reflection on His part; a subtle sign of character development between Chapter I and III.
Voice of the Cold inherently believes the Long Quiet, and himself (by extension), to be “special.” He accepts the Narrator’s statement as such as fact; noteworthy, considering he doesn’t often entertain or care for the Narrator outside of this.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
Voice of the Hero – Oh. I didn't know we were special.
Voice of the Cold – Of course we're special.
In any other Chapter II, following Hero’s flustering at being called special, the Narrator follows with “of course you’re special, why else would you be here?” He does not get the chance, here. The “why else would you be here” rhetorical question is dropped; the “why,” the Long Quiet’s ‘purpose’ as He defines it, is omitted. His manipulation attempts of the Long Quiet aren’t taken the way He would prefer them to be. Voice of the Cold takes his own meaning from others’ assertions of what he and they are.
But why does Voice of the Cold believe this? Is it some form of eldritch awareness, a higher understanding of himself and The Long Quiet as an inherently divine being? Or can it be sourced from a more mundane place: his lived experiences in this same route?
Inherently, by the events of Chapter I, the Narrator implies the Long Quiet is not “part of everyone.” His “reward” for the Long Quiet is something He makes “special,” “just for it.”
• (Explore) Do I get some sort of reward for doing this?
The Narrator – Yes, but you'll have to slay her before you get it.
• (Explore) Can you tell me what my prize is going to be for doing a good job?
The Narrator – It's a secret, but I think you'll like it. It's a special reward, just for you. And whatever you think it might be, I can promise you it's going to be even better than your wildest imagination.
A special reward for a special thing.
When He describes the events of the Happy Ending, He claims “everyone is happy,” and it “will be happy,” separating them not just in the syntax of the two separated sentences, but likewise temporally. Everyone is, presently, happy; the Long Quiet will be made, in the future, happy. Not to mention its physical disconnect from the outside world.
[Chapter III – The Princess and The Dragon]
The Narrator – Inaction is still a choice. If you turn around and leave, you're damning everyone to death.
Voice of the Opportunist – But we're not damning ourself.
The Narrator – You're part of everyone.
Voice of the Cold – Are we now?
Voice of the Cold knows, not by eldritch awareness, but by observation, that the Long Quiet is not part of the “everyone” the Narrator talks about. They are something else. They are “special.”
- —⌔— -
Chapter II – The Spectre
Our first impression of Voice of the Cold comes from either exploring in the woods…
Voice of the Hero – If He doesn't remember what happened, then maybe it's best to keep it that way.
Voice of the Cold – That's fine. It wasn't very hard to kill her last time. We'll just do it again.
…or by proceeding to the cabin, without further exploration.
The Narrator – A warning, before you go any further...
– She will lie, she will cheat, and she will do everything in her power to stop you from slaying her. Don't believe a word she says.
Voice of the Cold – She won't be a problem.
Both of these lines, as well as Voice of the Cold’s title reveal, are an important element of the narrative in introducing him as a character. He is, as his name implies, “cold” — in the sense of our actions in Chapter I, a “cold-blooded killer.” His voice direction and acting by Jonathan Sims is also monotone and not particularly emotive; this, paired with his mostly inexpressive diction in his dialogue, gives off a sort of empty vibe to his character, as if he were muted and not particularly passionate about anything.
Both of these opening lines for his character, one should note, are also reactive to things other characters say. Cold is unemphasized. He is passive in the narrative. It’s Hero who provides character conflict with direct distrust in the woods dialogue, and Cold’s dialogue when proceeding to the cabin truly just passively moves the narrative along without doing much beyond influencing the tone.
Contrast Voice of the Cold, in Chapter II, with Voice of the Hero, in Chapter I. Hero immediately asserts himself as the Decider’s moral compass. He affirms their actions if they turn back in the woods, and if they instead choose to continue forward, he questions the Narrator and directly tells the Decider what we should do instead, offering his perspective on the situation and a new option for them to follow. His characterization and personality is strong. Cold is subdued and subtle. He offers no new perspective. His lines are brief, curt. It appears he has very little to say for the time being.
There is one thing, however, which can get Cold to reveal a little extra something about himself. A third option.
• [Turn around and leave.]
Voice of the Cold – Oh? Do you think there's something else out there? All right, let's see what we can find. It's bound to be more interesting than doing the same thing over again.
Cold expresses a lot more interest when the Decider breaks from the mold. Voice of the Hero, in Chapter I, says “there’s more for us to do,” and they intended to leave the cabin outright earlier. Where did they intend to go? Somewhere else. A place they’re meant to be. Something like...
"I think… this is where I'm meant to be…"
– The Spectre (Chapter II)
"I don't know. But it feels like home."
– Voice of the Cold (Oblivion)
Home.
The Narrator in Chapter I and the Spectre in Chapter II both allude to The Long Quiet, the location and textured emptiness, as “some place far away” in exact wording.
The Narrator – You open the cabin door, ready to return to a world saved from certain doom.
– Only, a world saved from certain doom isn't what you find. Instead, what you find is nothing at all. Where a lush forest stood mere minutes ago, the only thing in front of you now is the vast emptiness of some place far away.
The Spectre – I don't know where home is. I just know it isn't here. But I can feel it calling to me from some place far away.
– Wherever I'm supposed to be, it's out there.
And, in their respective reunions with the Long Quiet — Cold, in Oblivion, and Spectre, at the end of her route and when imminently claimed by the Shifting Mound — they claim to have, explicitly in Cold’s case and implicitly in Spectre’s case, found their way back home. Of all Vessels, the Spectre is the most welcoming to her being as an aspect of a divine whole; she is one of the only Princesses to accept the cold of her capture without complaint, even seeming to be put at ease by it. Of all Voices, the Cold is likewise most welcoming to the idea of being a part of a whole; he is neither afraid of Oblivion nor of the Mirror, while most other Voices report a sense of dread or distortion in either case.
But beyond their relationship to the divine and to the authority of their divine selves (the Entity and the Decider), Spectre and Cold share a far simpler character parallel and motive outside of the metanarrative. Both are aspects of “longing,” as per the Stranger poem. Longing for what?
Home. A life. A real life.
"I want what you took from me. A life. A real life. I just want to go home."
– The Spectre (Chapter II)
The Spectre, in this chapter, is understandably angry with the Long Quiet for “taking her life” in the literal sense of us having murdered her. Cold, too, is upset at their life having been metaphorically taken from them. The Long Quiet, canonically, by-the-text, expected to exit the cabin to a "world saved from certain doom" and was blindsided and betrayed by the Narrator's Happy Ending scheme. Hence why the Decider has the "you bastard!" option in Chapter II – The Spectre, only ever reserved beyond that for Damsel, Prisoner, and Stranger; routes where the Narrator is an active antagonist to them.
The Narrator – Had you failed to slay the Princess, what would have happened to everyone in the place you left?
Voice of the Cold – It doesn't matter, because we didn't fail to slay her, and if she's really back, which I doubt, it'll be just as easy to do it again. But after that nasty trick you pulled on us, maybe she's not the only one around here in need of slaying.
• (Explore) Oh, you bastard! You're in for it now. I'm wise to your tricks!
The Narrator – My tricks? What on earth are you talking about? We've just met for the first time.
…
• (Explore) You trapped me here after I slew her last time. I'm not going to play along this time.
The Narrator – How unfortunate that the sole person capable of slaying the Princess also seems to be somewhat insane. Oh, well. So long as you get the job done, it doesn't matter what sort of mental state you're in.
- —⌔— -
“She Won’t Be A Problem.” [Don’t take the blade.]
(Voice of the Cold’s redemptive potential.)
"She won't be a problem."
– Voice of the Cold (Chapter II , The Spectre)
Voice of the Cold – This is boring. He's clearly not interested in talking, so let's just do as He says and maybe He'll stop bothering us.
Voice of the Cold, just as the Decider did in Chapter I, does not act out of malice or sadism. Instead, he acts out of apathy, agitation, and disregard. Most players did not [Slay the Princess] because they felt a particular way about her; the decision to do so was cold, calculated, and made without her in mind at all.
In this way, Cold isn’t inherently evil. He is an amoral character, existing outside the traditional spectrum of labels like “good” or “evil.” His actions may cause harm to others, but they are not performed in the interest of the harm they will commit; Cold is only interested in interesting things. Morality like what Voice of the Hero invests himself in is simply not one of those things, in either direction that can be taken.
Voice of the Cold is an amoral character who was presented an immoral option first, and did not have the internal conflict or care necessary for him to reject it on principle.
Still, pragmatically, Voice of the Cold has no real reason to continue on his violent path, beyond the fact that he is used to it and complicit in his static characterization.
Note that, in the woods of Chapter II, Cold doesn’t express regret or remorse for anything that happened. He doesn't feel guilty about [Slaying the Princess], and he's outright convinced the Long Quiet is capable of doing it again. Note twice, though, that Cold doesn't think they need to. He's fully convinced that her death sticks, even if theirs didn't.
Voice of the Hero – It feels like no one's been here for a long, long time.
Voice of the Cold – Like I've been saying. She's dead. We killed her already.
…
The Narrator – The room below is silent.
Voice of the Cold – Nobody's here. Naturally.
He isn't readying up, either. It's just a job to him. (Something he was asked to do. A task, some dirty work. He holds no real opinion on the act of [Slaying the Princess]; not here, and not now.) A job that, as he's seen, has no good rewards. In fact, the end result of completing this task is not something he wants at all. But he also really, really, really wants the Narrator to shut up, and trying to talk to Him is counter-productive on that front. And “there’s more for us to do,” isn’t there?
Cold has no reason to think of taking the blade. He doesn't comment on it. (Which is unlike any other Chapter II, in which you’ll typically get extra dialogue for entering the basement unarmed.) And, really, if they’re "just going down to find her body," the Long Quiet has no real reason to grab a weapon, unless they’re planning on stabbing themself later, but it's not like they weren't able to open the door last time and see the void He shoved them into. So, Cold is neutral on the blade. They could take it, or not. There’s no real difference to him either way.
Voice of the Cold – Who cares if there's a mirror? Let's just go into the basement and find her body so we can be done with this.
…
The Narrator – As you descend the final step, the form of the Princess comes into view. A skeletal body lying in a heap on the floor, its wrist still bound to the wall by a thick chain.
Voice of the Hero – Okay. She's definitely dead.
Voice of the Cold – It's just like I told you—
Cold doesn't care about the Mirror or proving that it exists to the Narrator. He does care about commenting on the fact that he's right, the Princess is dead. He’s getting his “I-told-you-so’s” in. This isn't just to be petty. It was his only real motivation in returning to the Cabin in the first place: to show the Narrator that they’ve finished up His busy work, so can He please go away now?
Naturally, this is when Voice of the Cold is proven wrong. This does not cause him to reflect on himself or his actions; he is still just as dismissive of the Princess, perhaps even moreso.
Voice of the Cold – Oh. Wow. How absolutely terrifying. What's a ghost supposed to do to us?
…
• (Explore) "You're dead. Or at least mostly dead. What can you even do to hurt me?"
Voice of the Cold – A boring question with an easy answer. Nothing. She's a ghost. Ghosts can't hurt us.
That’s a rhetorical question. Voice of the Cold doesn’t tend to ask genuine questions; at least, they don’t tend to be framed as such. He’d rather phrase it in structures like “I wonder,” much like he frames his own dialogue with tags like “I suppose.” The genuine questions he does ask tend to be centered on the internal thoughts and experiences of those outside themselves.
But insofar as capabilities? That is more often rhetorical.
He is self-assured in the Long Quiet’s permanence. “What can a ghost do to us?” he asks in Chapter II – The Spectre, and he’ll ask similar things of the Voices (Smitten, Stubborn) in Chapter III – The Grey and Chapter III – The Fury. “What could you possibly do to me?” (“I'd love to see you try.”)
Voice of the Cold – So she has a body. And she's right there. That means we could kill her again, if we wanted to.
• [Wait and see how things play out.]
Voice of the Cold is prejudiced against ghosts. Though that’s a bit of a hyperbolic misinterpretation; logically speaking, though he does frame his dialogue here as if the Princess being a ghost is the issue, that isn’t what’s causing him to act like this. Voice of the Cold fundamentally disregards the Princess as a person because she is his murder victim.
The Decider/he killed her; he believes the Long Quiet to be superior to her, both physically and in the realm of livelihood. She was incapable of harming them back or defending herself in any way, and that was when she was alive and had a body to hit them back with. Now, insofar as Cold’s expectations of her goes, they’ve hurt her; she is even less capable than she was before. They’ve reduced her to a disembodied spirit.
The Spectre – Why are you even here? Just making sure you finished the job or what?
They are only here to see if a job has been finished. They aren’t even remotely concerned with the person floating before them.
At least, that’s what they want to believe.
That’s the running theme of The Long Quiet’s emotional repression throughout this route: the steadfast belief that the past doesn’t matter, has no real effect on them, and they don’t regret any of our actions. Voice of the Hero needs to believe they did not do anything wrong; he needs to have it affirmed that they’re “doing the right thing.” Both the Narrator and Voice of the Cold have it in their interests to snuff out the Long Quiet’s empathy; their internal conflicts have nothing to do with her, and they’ll move onto something new soon enough.
The Narrator – When a hero slays a monster, does he apologize to it?
Voice of the Hero – ... No.
The Narrator – So don't try to 'make things right.' She was going to end the world. You didn't do anything wrong, aside from apparently killing yourself, and that doesn't have much to do with her.
Voice of the Hero – Are we doing the right thing? Why do I feel so sad?
Voice of the Cold – Don't let her get to you. It doesn't matter. Somehow, soon, this too will be over, and we'll move on to something new. I feel like you all keep forgetting that.
For the Narrator’s means, He needs them not to care about other people. And Cold does not like to reflect on their past. Whether that be because of the Happy Ending’s time dilated sensory deprivation or his aggressive mode of dissociation in general can be argued. Regardless, Cold is the type that lives in the moment, does not linger on the past, and especially does not participate in sentimentality.
As projection, Voice of the Cold does not believe in sentimentality or emotional vulnerability when it comes from other people, either. He does not believe it when the Spectre empathizes with Quiet; he appears to be proven right, when she lashes out at them afterwards. He believes Spectre cannot mean that the experience he hatched from — the Happy Ending which was not happy — was “frightening.”
• (Explore) "After I killed you, this cabin... I want to say it teleported? It wasn't in the woods anymore, time stopped meaning anything, and I had to kill myself to escape."
The Spectre – You poor thing. That must have been so frightening for you.
Voice of the Hero – You know, after everything we've been through, it's nice to see someone finally sympathizing with us. This whole thing's been an ordeal, hasn't it?
Voice of the Cold – She doesn't mean it.
The Spectre – It serves you right.
– I was pretty scared, too, when you stood there not saying a word with a knife clenched in your fist. But now you know how bad it hurts to get stabbed in the chest.
– It sounds like you got exactly what you were owed.
Voice of the Cold has no regrets. He doesn’t want the Decider to have regrets, either. To express regrets. And yet, the Decider’s options in Spectre are the most volatile and emotionally unstable potentially in the entire game; the repression he attempts to enforce doesn’t appear to be working for them. It’s a mask. And if the Decider lets it slip, he calls them “pathetic” for it.
• (Explore) "I guess I should tell you why I was sent to kill you. You were going to end the world."
The Spectre – And, what? You just believed that? You killed me without giving it any thought? That's cold.
…
Voice of the Cold – She's right, though. But that's neither here nor there. What's done is done. What we do from this point forward is all that matters. Let's try not to let emotion get the better of us.
• (Explore) "I'm not cold! I'm just... dumb! I'm just a big dumb stupid idiot! Stupid stupid stupid what was I thinking just believing what I was told?"
Voice of the Cold – Oh, cut it out. You don't need to be so pathetic.
…
• (Explore) Shit. Everyone sounds disappointed in me. I should grovel even more.
Voice of the Cold – No. You're not doing that.
The Narrator – That's right, don't you dare grovel. Mine is the only opinion that matters and I'll never be disappointed in you. So long as you do as I say.
…
• (Explore) "Do you want me to die? Do you want me to kill myself to satisfy some sort of sick revenge fantasy? Because I already did that and it wouldn't be hard to do it again."
Voice of the Hero – Are we putting this to a vote? Because personally, I'd prefer if we didn't die again...
Voice of the Cold – If that's what it comes down to, that's what it comes down to. But I don't see the point of offing ourselves just yet.
The Spectre – Aw, that's sweet of you to offer, but killing yourself wouldn't help either of us.
The Narrator – It would seem that everyone here is in agreement except for you. I shouldn't have to tell you that you shouldn't kill yourself. So please, try to keep your suicidal tendencies in check.
(The Decider is haunted by the Ghost of Christmas Past /j)
The Decider, in the Spectre route, has suicidal tendencies. That’s proven by how Chapter I ends.
It’s a thematic point which is pointed to, again, in Wraith. Many plot points in the Spectre route revolve around the idea of The Long Quiet committing to suicide or self-sacrifice in some way (stabbing themself to get to TPATD, telling the Harsh Princess in TPATD to kill them and save herself in order to reach the good ending, throwing themself in the abyss in Wraith; even freeing Spectre is phrased as “sacrificing everything you thought was you to set me free” in her End of Everything poem/statement).
Voice of the Cold’s response to this is, at its core, simply “not yet.” Voice of the Cold isn’t necessarily enabling them, because he does vaguely dissuade the idea by claiming there is not “yet” a “point” to commiting suicide, though his dialogue is more akin to a passive suicidal ideation than an actual dismissal. He keeps the option on the table, much like the Decider is made to keep the option of [Slaying the Princess] on the table when Cold says “we could kill her again, if we wanted to.” If they wanted to, they could off themselves, too. They’re just “waiting and seeing how this plays out.” Cold is invested, for the time being, in the interest living provides. Both violent extremes are just more options to him.
Voice of the Cold – That would be dull, anyway. It's always more interesting if we make a choice.
Voice of the Cold – She's not in a position to bargain with us. You don't have to do anything you don't want to.
Voice of the Hero – We don't have to do anything, but maybe we should. We did kill her. Wouldn't it be the moral thing to help her now that we have another chance?
Cold likes making decisions, doing things, having new experiences... But he's also hardwired for violence. The first things the Long Quiet learns of the world are paths in woods and basements in cabins and about a Princess and the end of the world. The first action they ever learn exists is that of [Slaying], specifically [Slaying the Princess].
It is an inherent knowledge at the core of Cold's very being. They, and by extension him, Can Kill. So, when prompted for his thoughts on this situation, his first inclination is violence. Naturally.
• (Explore) Okay team, I'm out of ideas. Thoughts?
Voice of the Cold – We could always try violence. It's worked for us so far.
Voice of the Hero – She's a ghost.
Voice of the Cold – Who says ghosts are immune to violence?
Voice of the Hero – ... common sense?
Voice of the Cold – There's nothing common or sensible about common sense. Action and observation are the only things that matter.
But just because violence is his first inclination doesn't mean he's tunnel-visioned into it. He can be persuaded to try out different avenues of action.
Voice of the Hero – Fine. Then let me 'observe' that the 'acts' of killing her and killing ourself haven't got us much of anywhere. We're still back in this cabin, and we're still dealing with her, only now she has a good reason to hate us.
Voice of the Cold – I suppose you have a point. Do you have any ideas, then?
Voice of the Hero – I don't know... maybe we do what she wants. Maybe we let her possess us and walk out of here.
Voice of the Cold – We could... It would be something different. I like different.
Hero appeals to Cold's (mask of) pragmaticism, and it works.
Cold is not convinced by “it would be the moral thing to help her.” He doesn't do morals. But he does ‘do’ “violence hasn't gotten us anywhere [besides the Good Ending, and that was terrible]. This is a new option for us; we’ve killed her, now we have a chance to help her.” He has no real drive towards violence; it's just the only language he knows to speak. And if offered something else, he’s interested.
Voice of the Cold – But those are the only options, aren't they? Violence, or doing what she wants. Or just leaving her down here. Though ignoring a problem is rarely a solution, isn't it?
And just like violence is his first language, here, the thought of cooperation is likewise something Cold has yet to learn. After all, they didn’t get to interact with the Princess much at all in Chapter I. Maybe a few exchanged words in Chapter I before they stabbed her to death (though PATD seems to prefer the version of Quiet which remained silent through it all), but not a conversation, and certainly not them doing anything she wanted them to do.
The last time they did something someone else told them to do, they weren’t repaid for the effort. Cooperation and compliance aren’t things Cold is primed to see in positive light. They aren’t decisions which are uniquely theirs (unlike, say, walking away from the cabin entirely — in self-isolation). What do others have to offer him?
Voice of the Hero – Would she be able to see... us if we went along with it?
Voice of the Cold – Now isn't that an interesting thought. We could finally bring her face-to-face with Him. I wonder what she would have to say to the one who wants her dead so, so badly...
Note that Cold uses "interesting" as a compliment. Intrigue is an important emotion for him. (It's the opposite of boredom.) It's also clear indication that Cold does feel things, he just chooses, consciously or not, to ignore those feelings most of the time.
Cold is only curious on the thoughts and actions of the Spectre they have not previously attacked and thus made an enemy of. A Soft Spectre has not reflected back, to Cold, his own capacity for violence; he is interested, then, if she might be driven to that point. He is interested in the changes a person might undergo, when put into different contexts, and in different relationships. The intrigue is what a person offers, to him: experiences he has not had before, and the implicit curiosity in unraveling the mystery of a mind beyond his own.
The Narrator – I can't believe you're even entertaining her right now. I mean, just look at her, do you think she has good intentions for her 'murderer's body'? Of course she doesn't!
…
Voice of the Cold – It could be the best way to trap her for good. Doesn't seem like it would be very easy to end the world from inside someone else's body.
Cold is doing some suggestion here. He's already, immediately, in favor of possession. He's just making it sound more appealing to … well, the Decider, it must be. He doesn't care much for the Narrator's opinion. (But he'll never force the Decider to do anything. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”)
The Spectre – But... it'll be easier for both of us if you just let me in. And doesn't it sound nice?
Voice of the Hero – Maybe for her, but it's crowded enough in here as-is.
The Spectre – You won't have to feel guilty anymore. If you even do feel guilt.
…
Voice of the Cold – What's another voice rattling around in here? We'll be fine.
Voice of the Hero – It's pretty crowded already, wouldn't you say? And she's not exactly friendly.
Voice of the Cold – Neither is He.
The Narrator – I'm being perfectly respectful considering the stakes of the situation! Don't push my good will.
Cold seems to think the Narrator counts as one of the Long Quiet, at least as a roommate. A voice in the head. He hasn't observed otherwise, beyond the pathos of the Narrator bossing them around, and Cold isn't moved much by pathos like that. (Of course: Cold DOES want to slay Him very, very badly. We know when Cold is acting out of malice or ill intent instead of boredom. He telegraphs his intentions and motivations of his actions fairly clearly most of the time. You will know beyond any shadow of a doubt when Cold’s sadistic nature is at play; he does not hide it, and it is typically borne of hatred, which is typically borne of a repressed hurt.)
Voice of the Cold, at minimum, tolerates Voice of the Hero. He also doesn't consider their headspace too crowded. In fact, Cold seems to actively enjoy other entities’ presence under normal circumstances. He wants Spectre to join the headspace. Nothing is more intriguing to him than other people, especially people who he can’t predict.
The Spectre – Look, I don't want to be stuck with you any more than you want to be stuck with me. You're my murderer. All I see when I look into your eyes is the thing that ran at me with the point of a blade aimed for my heart.
– So... you're not exactly my first choice. But you're also my only choice.
Voice of the Cold – It sounds to me like she'd be a lovely roommate.
Voice of the Cold entertains himself with asides and tangents often enough that it might be considered a character trait of his. He’s a little philosophy student. And the philosophy we can read from him reflects the character it’s coming from; a character who, himself, is simply mirroring the other characters around him.
• (Explore) "I killed you! What are you doing not being dead?"
The Spectre – I don't feel very dead. But I guess I'm not... not-dead. So you must have only mostly killed me.
– Or maybe death is only mostly-real, but it's also mostly not-real. I'm not sure. I'm just the one these things have happened to, not the one with all the answers. Or any of the answers.
…
Voice of the Cold – Death—at least as a form of permanence—is just a concept, and clearly it's not a very useful one anymore. Maybe we should throw it out entirely.
• (Explore) "Your body's right there, though. Your dead body."
The Narrator – The Princess glances back at the bones lying on the floor.
The Spectre – It's just a body. Do you believe these bones, or do you believe me? Because those bones aren't talking to you.
Voice of the Cold – She's seeing things pragmatically. We should do the same. Reality is what's in front of us, not our preconceptions of what it should be. There doesn't need to be a static 'truth.' There doesn't need to be objectivity.
• (Explore) "Well? Were you going to end the world? Would you end it, if you could?"
The Spectre – Well, killer, what does it mean for something to end anyway? You 'ended' me, but I'm still right here in front of you, aren't I?
– You apparently 'ended' too, yet here you are. And you don't even look any different.
– After seeing what you've seen, how can you be sure anything ends?
Voice of the Cold – I see her point. Everything here is so... impermanent, always shifting. The end of one thing just leads to the start of another.
Voice of the Cold – Is anything 'dangerous' if we can never really die?
The Narrator – Look. You and the Princess clearly have a history, and that history clearly involves death. But aside from some horrifying implications, I don't care what's already happened between the two of you.
– And you don't know that you can never really die. Maybe you could only come back once! And even then, there are fates that come close to death in their terror.
Voice of the Cold – What a strange thing to say. Isn't the turn of phrase, 'fates worse than death?'
The Narrator – There are no fates worse than the finality of death. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool.
Voice of the Hero – Wait. If she has a home to go back to, doesn't that mean that her leaving won't end the world?
Voice of the Cold – It doesn't mean that at all. It could mean that wherever her home is, it's outside of the world.
Voice of the Hero – Yeah, but it has to be somewhere, doesn't it? And if it's somewhere, then it's part of the world.
Voice of the Cold – I suppose it's all a matter of perspective — where does the world end and something else begin? Does the destruction of one open a door to another, or is it the same world, reborn?
Voice of the Cold – Who cares what we are? We exist. That's all that matters.
Voice of the Hero – But what about us? Are we just stuck here in... nowhere forever? Did taking her out of the cabin really end the world?
Voice of the Cold – We're still here.
Voice of the Hero – Yeah, but, that thing you said earlier... are we not part of the world anymore? Are we in some world that exists after the world ends, or on top of the other world but not in it, or...? Have we never been part of the world?
Action and observation, actively committing to interacting with the world or otherwise passively observing it (to be a Decider or to be a Voice), are the only things that matter. Reality, to Cold, is only what he observes it to be in the moment; he believes himself to be above preconception and bias. (As observed of how he views Spectre based on his preconceptions of her as his powerless murder victim, despite evidence to the contrary, he is more than fallible on this subject. Hero runs on the "common sense" that "Ghosts Are Immune To Violence," and Cold runs on the "common sense" that "Dead Things Can't Hurt Us." He has no real observations to back this belief up, beyond his unflinching confidence in the Long Quiet and resolve to do as he pleases without meaningful consequence, which are preconceptions. Cold, on a subconscious level, has the same mortal flaws as any other Voice.)
Cold is very focused on existence, being real, existing in the moment; his core philosophical understanding of his existence is simply a matter of being present and awake and aware of the things around him and the impacts he may or may not have on them. There's no need to question who or what you are; you are, and that's what's most important to him. To exist. To be somewhere. To do something. He takes whatever is presented in front of him, works to accept it, and then internalizes what he's learned.
Chapter III – The Princess and The Dragon
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
Voice of the Cold – For how much you hate her, you aren't doing a whole lot to stop us from leaving this place.
The Spectre – It's because He can't stop me. Why do you think He sent you here?
The Narrator – I hate to admit it, but she's not wrong.
– It's just the weight of it all... it's too much for me to do anything other than describe and dictate.
Voice of the Cold – And whine. [Note: Cold remains unimpressed with sentimental displays of weakness, especially from the Narrator.]
The Narrator – This body wasn't made to hold you and the Princess. If you want to renege on your cataclysmically terrible decision a minute ago, well, you're the only one who can make that happen.
• (Explore) [Take the blade.]
The Narrator – You reach forward and mindlessly take the blade from the table. What do you plan to do with it?
• [Slay the Princess.]
Voice of the Cold – Isn't that an interesting idea.
The Narrator asserts this action to be “mindless,” and Cold treats the decision itself as an idle curiosity. A new “idea,” sprung up from a series of going through the motions without any emotion to follow.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Narrator – I... hadn't even considered it as an option. Slaying her would slay you. Are you sure you're willing to do that?
Voice of the Hero – Of course we're sure. The decision has already been made.
The Narrator – All right, then. Better this than ferrying her out of here.
The Spectre – Wh-what do you think you're doing?!
Voice of the Cold – Hear that? She's scared. No point in wasting more time. Do it.
The line “hear that? She’s scared” and its delivery by Jonathan Sims may be interpreted as sadistic on Cold’s part. I don’t think it necessarily is; we see more of how Cold behaves, sadistically, in Chapter III – The Wraith. This doesn’t seem to be the same.
What I do think it is... is efficient. Pragmatic. If the Princess is scared by that decision — the decision to [Slay the Princess] — then that must mean she thinks she can be slain in this state. Her fear of death betrays her mortality. (Conversely, Cold’s lack of fear, to him, then must betray his immortality.) The puzzle is solved. They’ve finished observation; now it's time for action.
Is Cold amused by this? Well, sure. But he's not amused because she's scared. He's amused because of something beyond that entirely. If nothing else, in both timelines, Cold's amused by the fact that this ghost was so arrogant as to threaten them and behave as if she had so much power and control... and they now get to show her that she has none. That they are in control.
Note that Voice of the Cold was the one to suggest his own idea of “trapping her [the Spectre] for good” within The Long Quiet’s body. When slaying her, their body is described as a “prison of flesh” akin to “the basement’s prison of stone.” And, when Cold taunts her as she dies, her harsh variant cries to him that she’s leaving, and her gentle variant cries for him to “get away” from her. As if he were approaching, pursuing, or holding her down.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Narrator – The Princess, her spirit bound to your prison of flesh as she had once been bound to the basement's prison of stone, cries out in agony as you slice through organ and muscle.
…
The Narrator – Your skin roils and bucks as she violently pushes against it from the inside. Bits of her seep through, white and glowing with ethereal light, but still the walls of your prison hold.
…
The Spectre – If only I could drag you with me and make you understand. But that's not the way things get to go for me, is it?
Voice of the Cold – It would certainly be interesting. Though being dead does sound dull. And you are about to be dead. Again.
The Spectre – I said I'm leaving, you cold little freak!
The Spectre – I don't want to die in you! I thought you finally understood me but instead you just wanted to hurt me again.
Ultimately, “understanding her” and “wanting to hurt her again” aren’t actually mutually exclusive options. In a character with empathy, this is typically something of the case. In a character like Cold, it’s not.
You see more sides of a person the more experiences that are inflicted onto them. To hurt someone, then, is just to understand them in a new context, for better or for worse.
The Princess – Maybe... trying to slay me was for the best, if it means you could leave those other voices behind. The two mean ones, at least. I feel kind of bad for the nice one.
• (Explore) If we're both here, then what happened to the others?
The Princess – I don't know! I hope they're okay. Uh... some of them, at least. I didn't like the one that kept bossing you around. And that quiet one kind of gave me the creeps.
– I liked that last one, though. He was nice. I hope he's okay.
Spectre’s opinion is that both the Narrator (the “bossy, murder-happy know-it-all”) and Voice of the Cold (“the quiet one,” the “cold little freak”) are mean voices the Decider was better off discarding. Cold “gives her the creeps.” She did like Voice of the Hero, though, and her gentle variant is capable of admitting that.
Beyond them, specifically, the Princess also has a good number of opinions on the Long Quiet as a whole. Opinions formed from actions and behaviors influenced by, or which influenced, Voice of the Cold.
The Princess – Oh. You're here, too. Well, we all have to face consequences for our actions, unintended or not. Sometimes we even face consequences for doing nothing at all.
– Like me, when you came downstairs and stabbed me in the heart. What had I done to deserve that? Then you went and stabbed yourself in the heart just to spite me... I should have seen that one coming, really. But hey. Now we're here. Stuck together.
– That's consequences for you.
…
The Princess – Does being called a dragon make you happy? You're... kind of scary looking. Like, really scary looking.
• I... don't actually know what I look like. Is that... accurate?
The Princess – I think so? You're... kind of scary looking. Like, really scary looking.
…
• So... what do I look like?
The Princess – Scary. It's... hard to describe. It's hard to look at you.
…
TRUTH – Movement on the stairs.
The Princess – You're always so loud on the way down.
…
• (Explore) What the hell am I?
The Princess – You're... you? You've always looked like this. You're scary, sometimes, but looks only matter so much.
…
• I hate this silence. It's putting me on edge.
The Princess – Oh, is it? Because you do this quiet staring act a lot. Can't say I'm a fan.
The Long Quiet is “scary,” silent, and often does a “quiet staring act.” This implies that the most consistent characterization for the Decider in a route towards Chapter III – The Princess and the Dragon would be to speak to the Princess as infrequently as possible. Voice of the Cold, after all, is described as “the quiet one” by Spectre. (Though there is a certain hilarity in choosing the options “hey, I think I’m here to kill you?” and “Yeah, it wasn’t a joke” before following through.)
- —⌔— -
Cold responds differently depending on if he knows his Decider is present with the Princess.
The Princess – But maybe we should let them know you're here with me. Maybe it'll help.
– "I'm not alone here this time. Part of you stayed with me when we split apart."
– "You don't want to hurt that part of you, do you?"
…
The Princess – "I... can't hear what's going on in there anymore now that I'm back in my own body. Do you want to... share your thoughts? It'd only be polite, really."
…
TRUTH – Silence, as the mind in front you falls back into itself.
…
• I think you'll have to make them listen. Try being assertive.
The Princess – But I don't want to be assertive!
– ... Sigh. Fine.
– "Um... excuse me?"
The Cold – My apologies. They're really being quite dull in here.
TRUTH – More silence.
The Cold – I think they want to kill you. At least the new one does. He's very, very passionate about it.
The Princess – "Can you... tell him not to?"
The Opportunist – Your opinion has been duly noted, annnnnnnnd disregarded. In fact, I think a decision's been made. Two birds with one stone. How tempting.
If the Decider’s presence is known, Voice of the Cold is more courteous to the Princess. He lets them (her and the Decider) in on Voice of the Opportunist’s sidebar, even if Opportunist telegraphs his intentions rather well even without Cold’s brilliant insight on the matter.
Voice of the Cold appears to be polite. He “shares his thoughts” with The Princess and The Dragon, who can’t hear them, and even apologizes to them for making them wait while he and the others are deciding on something to do. His commentary on Opportunist, calling him “very, very passionate” seems to be teasing; at least, it would make sense to read it as teasing, from the Voice who seems to consider strong sentimentality a character flaw.
If Voice of the Cold does not know the Decider’s whereabouts, he has something interesting to say. Something he isn’t prompted to elaborate on in the slightest, but something he openly chooses to express regardless.
The Princess – I guess we'll just have to talk to them.
– "So here we are again. I'm back in chains, and you have your knife. So. What are we going to do?"
– "I guess we could just... stare... at each other."
…
The Princess – "I... can't hear what's going on in there anymore now that I'm back in my own body. Do you want to... share your thoughts? It'd only be polite, really."
…
TRUTH – Silence, as the figure continues to stare with a wild grin, but does not act.
The Cold – How dull. We've already had our discussions in private. I'd rather not keep listening to the rest of you run in circles repeating the same arguments again and again and again. It was so much more interesting when we had someone to mediate.
The Opportunist – I'm sorry, did you just share privileged information with the enemy?
The Hero – Well, it isn't privileged anymore now, is it? Do we really need all this secrecy?
The Cold – We don't.
The Opportunist – Uh, yes we do? Sidebar, everyone. Now. Chop chop!
Voice of the Cold misses the Decider.
He refers to them and their role as “someone to mediate” as “interesting.” Without them present, the endless bickering between Hero and Opportunist reads as “dull” to him; their circular arguments, even more so. He doesn’t take the same amusement in Opportunist’s misplaced passion he seems to take and share with them when he knows they’re here.
Even more interesting: Voice of the Cold completely disregards the Princess.
He doesn’t care about being polite. He doesn’t care to share the others’ thoughts with the Princess; he does not warn her that Opportunist is interested in slaying her. In fact, the Princess has to demand his attention five separate times for him to respond at all.
TRUTH – Silence, as the mind in front you falls back into itself.
The Princess – "Um..."
TRUTH – There is no response.
The Princess – "Um, excuse me?"
TRUTH – Nothing.
The Princess – They're not listening to me.
• I think you'll have to make them listen. Try being assertive.
The Princess – You're right. No more Nice Princess for them. I'm going to speak my mind.
– "Uh... hello?"
TRUTH – Silence.
The Princess – "I'm trying to say something."
TRUTH – Silence again.
The Princess – "HEY I SAID I'M TALKING NOW WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?!"
The Cold – So you are. And very loudly. Do you have something to say?
The Princess – Oops. I mean, yeah! I already know about all that 'privileged information.' Because he's in here. With me.
The Cold – Oh? How very interesting.
The Hero – Yeah. That changes things, doesn't it?
– ... Doesn't it?
The Opportunist – Oh, it changes things alright. We get to take out two birds with one stone.
The Princess – "Wait... what?"
It’s only when the Decider’s presence is announced that he shows any interest in her. And he refers to their reveal as “very” interesting, quite the noticeable modifier in his dialogue.
Voice of the Cold did not care for the Princess in Chapter I, II, or III; she is his murder victim, and remains so even now. The only aspect of her he really pays attention to is the piece of him she took. He’s more interested in the Decider, the element of their shared system whose choices he lives vicariously through. He prefers the Decider.
Voice of the Cold – You are such a disappointment.
Voice of the Opportunist – I'd like to see you do better.
Voice of the Opportunist – It's certainly decisive, I just love that about this guy. Much better than the choices I would make.
Voice of the Cold – Oh. Wow. You actually managed to say something I agreed with.
Voice of the Opportunist is a disappointment who hesitates and stalls in his decision-making process and can’t follow through half the time even when he “finally decides to do something.” In contrast, the Decider makes “better” choices and is inherently more “decisive” than Opportunist. That’s what Cold likes about them, and it’s what he’s longing for through all of Chapter III.
Mind that, when Voice of the Cold declares the Decider’s revealed presence “how very interesting,” Voice of the Hero chimes in to agree and say it “changes things.” Even when Opportunist takes charge and begins the attack, he’s held back by the both of them at that point. Opportunist only has a “plurality” on account of the Narrator, explicitly not a “majority.” Now, it can be argued whether Cold voted with Hero to prevent the attack (would imply a tie) or abstained from the vote (would more align with the distinction “plurality, not majority”). (Voice of the Hero appears to consider himself and Cold aligned.)
The Hero – Uh. Before anything happens, I just wanted to let you all know that we are not all on board with this.
The Opportunist – Now, now. We voted.
The Hero – It was not a majority decision.
The Opportunist – But we did have a plurality!
The Hero – He shouldn't count.
The Opportunist – Says who?
The Hero – Says me. He's not one of us!
The Opportunist – He's been here since the beginning! The old chum really deserves a say. Besides, you'll all thank us when this is finally over, and we are officially on top. But enough chatter.
Since it appears Cold is tired of Hero and Opportunist’s disagreement resulting in no action at all, he would rather a decision be made than no decision; but he still does not explicitly agree with Opportunist. His theoretical abstinence from the vote is as much a signifier of disinterest as it is a marker of opinion. Maybe he doesn’t care about what happens so long as something is happening... but he also doesn’t care to slay the Princess or the Dragon, in either direction.
The Cold – Oh, so you've finally decided to do something, have you?
TRUTH – Silence, for just a moment, as cold eyes regard you.
– And then silence still as soft eyes hesitate.
Both Cold and Hero (in that order) hesitate before TPATD gets stabbed, and Opportunist misses. The difference between "regard you" and "hesitate" implies Hero is actively fighting the urge whereas Cold is somehow observing TPATD. (It’s also noteworthy for the word association of “hesitation” in regards to Voice of the Cold. The Narrator claims our murder of the Princess happened without a moment of hesitation, and the Memory Tab/Gallery refers to Spectre as “the remains of violence free from hesitation.” The fact that Cold is enabling a moment of hesitation at all is a massive development in his character. Hesitation prompts consideration. He is thinking. About...?) He's inarguably acting against Oppy by overriding his control, but what is Cold observing?
To be speculative, perhaps wishfully so: maybe the best place to redirect the blade's trajectory, when Hero inevitably fails?
Opportunist isn't inept. If given the chance, he will stab TPATD in the heart, and he will NOT miss.
"Sorry, girlie, but we're seeing this through!"
– Voice of the Opportunist (Chapter III, The Princess and The Dragon)
"The monster in front of you pulls the blade back and drives it into your heart."
"I'm sorry..."
– Voice of the Broken (Chapter II , The Tower)
"As you take another step forward, the blade digs into your ribs, slicing through flesh with ease."
Why Opportunist was able to stab TPATD the second time is the same reason Broken can stab the Long Quiet the first time in Chapter II – The Tower: because Hero is caught off-guard.
Even when Hero is actively resisting Broken (plus Tower, which in Dragon's case would be replaced by the Narrator), he's only somewhat capable of saving them. Outside of wishful speculation, that Hero and Cold could simply pause the assault for that brief narration is noteworthy.
Given: this evidence is circumstantial. What we objectively know is as follows: we know that Cold “regards” TPATD after Hero “hesitates,” we know Opportunist misses his first attack when he reasonably shouldn’t have, and we have an idea of what inter-Voice decisive conflicts manifest as in bodily movements because of Tower. But we have no way of knowing, precisely, what’s going on in the Voices’ head through that exchange; all we have to work with is silence, some looks, and a stabbing.
We see in this route that Voice of the Cold’s mode of influence on the Long Quiet is rather subtle. He doesn’t ever reach the point where he actively forces a decision onto them; he never, in any appearance of his, actively takes control of the body against the Decider’s wishes. It seems antithetical to his character as it has been built up so far to do so. However, just because he’s never explicitly influenced the Decider doesn’t mean he can’t, or even that he doesn’t.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Narrator – You lift your shaking hand and rest it on the door handle, but you pause before you open it, exhaustion sapping what's left of your will.
Voice of the Cold – Was exhaustion really the best you could muster up? It's over. There's no use stalling. Let's see what happens next.
• [Open the door.]
The Narrator – Shit. But exhaustion wasn't enough, was it? The handle clicks as you twist it, and then the door groans open.
Voice of the Cold is much less flashy than other Voices’ attempts to rebuff the Narrator’s control (see Paranoid’s “Do you think you can just wrest control away from us?” in Chapter II – The Nightmare, or Skeptic and Smitten’s suicide gambits in their Chapter IIs), but he is still the one responsible for doing so when they go along the route to save the Spectre. His mode of influence is to prompt a line of events that was already occurring to continue on; to ignore things we otherwise might have caught, be it the limits of the flesh, their own emotions, or perhaps even greater than that. It’s subtle. He doesn’t even really acknowledge the Narrator is attempting to assert authority. His phrasing is intentional so as to make the Narrator so pathetic we don’t even recognize what it is He just tried to do.
Cold is so nonchalant to the concept of death that he doesn’t even panic as what is essentially an attempt on their life is made. He just brushes Him aside, simple as that.
You’ll also note that, when Cold speaks, the Decider is prompted to make a “decision” that is really just a forced “choice” of one option. Innocuous in Spectre, since most routes of freeing a Princess do often end in choices like this regarding the last push for the door (which is used as the basis for a joke in Free Will Cage), but it also happens similarly in instances like Quantum Beak or the Moment of Clarity.
[Chapter III – The Fury]
Voice of the Hero – If we're nothing, then how can we do anything?
Voice of the Cold – The same way we always have. Being nothing has never stopped us. Now end this. End her.
• [End this.]
[The Moment of Clarity]
Voice of the Cold – Just do something. It doesn't matter what.
• [Proceed.]
This, combined with Cold’s initial influence of the Decider, offering that they “could” slay Spectre a second time and them being prompted either to accept the offer or, not reject, but wait on that intrusive thought, implies that Cold is going to be a lot more insidious in his influence than other Voices would be. He is passive, but passivity is not an absence of presence.
I digress. Beyond what we can observe of him in the Long Quiet’s past with him, and his other iterations, and even how he behaves now, perhaps what would be most telling to see where Cold’s allegiances lie in Chapter III is what the Decider can catch when they’re brought back.
The Narrator – She turns her back on you and hurls the blade through the basement window, never to be seen again. No no no no no! You need the blade to deal with her!
Voice of the Cold – Then I guess we won't be doing your dirty work.
Voice of the Hero – Yeah!
Neither Voice of the Hero nor Voice of the Cold are interested in slaying us. The Princess’s victory, in this moment, is their victory as well.
Still, even if Voice of the Cold presumably gets everything he cares about when the Decider is pulled back to him across the threshold...
• [Turn around and leave.]
The Princess – That must be you in that body again, but... you're just turning around and leaving? What about me? What am I supposed to do here?
Voice of the Hero – She sounds so sad.
• [Say nothing.]
The Narrator – This is not a resolution.
Voice of the Hero – I don't know. It kind of feels like it is.
Voice of the Opportunist – Yeah. We got our decider back. And we didn't die. I feel on top of the world right now.
The Princess – You're not even going to answer me. What did I ever do to deserve you?
Voice of the Cold – Nothing.
The Princess – It's so cold and empty here.
...He’s not wholly satisfied. Not with just that; not with walking away from it all, after everything.
“This is what you deserve.” “What did I ever do to deserve you?” “Nothing.”
Turning around and leaving, ignoring the cabin and the Princess within, no longer intrigues Cold as it did back in Chapter II.
In Chapter III, Voice of the Cold comes to the conclusion “violence gets us nowhere” on his own, with or without Voice of the Hero’s direct involvement; he comes, implicitly, to an understanding of the Princess at least enough to genuinely begin to consider her for who she is beyond what we are capable of doing to her. He was forced, for a brief moment without them, to think and act on his own with no Decider to watch and hide behind.
And the situation he was put in was a direct mirror of Chapter I’s events. Causing him to reflect.
If Opportunist succeeded here, not only would the Decider potentially have been lost, but the Narrator would have had another opportunity to lock them away in a timeless void again. And Cold doesn't care for that. Opportunist would make the same mistake they did, over and over again. Cold has no interest in circles. He prefers something new; something different.
Voice of the Hero – Welcome back, by the way.
Voice of the Cold – Yes. We all missed you so very much.
Voice of the Opportunist – I missed you the most.
Voice of the Hero – You weren't even here until he was gone.
It’s only with the Princess, on the stairs, together with everyone, that this exchange with the Voices occurs. Where the Decider is told, explicitly, that they were missed, and they are welcomed.
• "We do it right this time. We leave together. Hand in hand."
The Narrator – Absolutely not!
Voice of the Cold – I don't think there's much you can do about it if that's the choice he makes.
The Narrator – But—
Voice of the Cold – No. I think I'd like to see what happens.
…
• [Give her the blade.]
The Narrator – Sigh. Fine. Whatever. You stoop to the floor and pick up the pristine blade, only rather than using it for its intended purpose, you...
Voice of the Cold – Go on.
The Narrator – You hand it to the Princess, who gingerly cuts herself free from her bindings. You maniac.
Cold rushes through [Saving the Princess]. He'll have no defiance of this decision. No one will make the Decider do anything they don't want to do. Their choices will be respected. There will be no interruptions. And Cold would like to see what happens next.
Cold didn't like slaying the Princess a second time. He didn't like offering her freedom, then shutting the door on her. He did not like the emptiness of the cabin when she was slain, just as he didn’t like the empty space left behind when the Decider left their body behind. He wouldn’t have liked the empty, unresolved tension of leaving her behind the same way.
So, Voice of the Cold comes to the simple, elegant conclusion that he is done with violence. Not because it is immoral, or that he empathizes with the people he's hurt (though it is arguable whether or not he shows some signs of a developing sense of empathy in this Chapter), but simply because it isn't rational. It does not lead to favorable outcomes. It is predictable, and it is boring.
This development of his isn’t empathetic; Cold remains self-interested and self-reliant. His personality isn’t grounded in lofty ideals of heroism or morality; it is a logical conclusion, to come from his own personal experience.
- —⌔— -
“It’s Worked For Us So Far.” [Take the blade.]
Voice of the Cold’s corruptive potential
"That's fine. It wasn't very hard to kill her last time. We'll just do it again."
– Voice of the Cold (Chapter II, The Spectre)
Just because Voice of the Cold has the capacity to be redeemed does not mean he is inclined to walk the path of that journey. It is only through the combined effort of the Decider’s restraint in [waiting and seeing how things play out] and Voice of the Hero’s insistence on “helping the Princess now that they have the chance” that Cold considers nonviolence a worthwhile option. Through patience and education. And it is only through dramatic circumstances that Voice of the Cold may begin to reflect enough to show genuine signs of change, beyond absentminded curiosities.
Cold is about efficiency, not cruelty. Violence is the path that works for him; it gets him through the task the fastest. It’s all he knows. It's the only language he speaks. It's up to the Decider's patience and Hero's rhetoric to teach him a new one; he's immediately receptive to new ideas, if he can see them.
If he is not shown it... his mere presence tends to make everyone around him worse.
TRUTH – You look at your hands, tattered and stained in memories.
Voice of the Hero – […] Why were we fighting each other?
The Princess – You started it.
Voice of the Cold – We needed something to do.
Voice of the Hero doesn’t know why the Long Quiet ever killed the Princess in the first place, because he never supported the choice, and his empathy for her was too muted for him to truly grasp why she opted to defend herself from them later. The Princess only engages in a cycle of violence with Quiet because they attacked first; it was either that she laid down and died quietly, or she fought for her life — or at least what remained of it.
Only Voice of the Cold has an answer to that question. And it’s just that it was something to do. They did it because they could.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
Voice of the Cold – We could always try violence. It's worked for us so far.
It was something to do; the only “something to do” they were offered from the beginning. It was what the narrative told them they had to do, and they never really questioned that fact. And after they started, they never thought to stop. It’s been working, hasn’t it?
So why wouldn’t it work now?
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
• [Slay the Princess.]
The Narrator – Without a moment's hesitation, you lash out with your blade.
– It's like you're slashing at air. No matter how many times you stab at her, no matter how many angles you strike from, all you manage to do is interrupt her form, the skin of your hand prickling with cold as it passes through, unable to find anything solid.
Voice of the Cold – Hm.
...
• (Explore) Okay team, I'm out of ideas. Thoughts?
Voice of the Cold – She might be making it hard for us to kill her body, but those bones look very, very real. Maybe breaking them breaks her.
Voice of the Hero – Or maybe burying them would put her to rest.
The Narrator – Don't take any piece of her outside of this cabin. Sigh. Maybe you should stop looking for loopholes and try harder to actually slay her.
Voice of the Hero – But we are trying!
Acting in violence doesn't only tunnel-vision Cold, it affects Hero's capacity for empathy, too. Hero doesn't think to ask the Princess what she wants once Quiet has tried to grab/stab her at Cold’s provocation. He cannot convince Cold to seek other options.
And Spectre isn’t interested in empathizing with her murderer, either. Especially not when she can’t see any capacity for change within him.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Spectre – Even after what I've said, you still gave it your all. Such a disappointing choice. I don't think I like the person behind those eyes.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Spectre – Of all the people you could have been, why did you have to be you?
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Spectre – All I ever wanted was to leave this place. All I ever wanted was to find a way back home.
– Wherever home is.
The Narrator – Her eyes turn from wells of sorrow to pits of wrath as she stares into you.
The Spectre – But I guess violence is the only language you speak.
Of course it is. It’s the only language they were taught.
And now they’re teaching it to you.
"I never wanted to have to hurt anybody. It's not who I wanted to be. / But I guess you've turned me into something worse."
– The Spectre (Chapter II)
Violence isn’t just Voice of the Cold’s first language; it’s common sense to him.
He doesn’t set himself up for the task with any anticipation. Violence and its outcomes never excite him, necessarily; not for dirty work like this, where they’re out as fast as they’re in, and where each interaction amounts to a swift demise and swifter goodbye. To Voice of the Cold, murder is “easy.” Almost effortless. Thoughtless, too. Detached. Avoidant.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
Voice of the Cold – That's fine. It wasn't very hard to kill her last time. We'll just do it again.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
Voice of the Cold – […] and if she's really back, which I doubt, it'll be just as easy to do it again. […]
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
Voice of the Cold – So she has a body. And she's right there. We could probably grab her and kill her again, if we wanted to. We don't even need a blade. She looks fragile enough to me.
It’s the Long Quiet’s first inclination, their initial thought, and comes freely without further expectation. They’ve killed before, and they can do it again. Note the slight shift from the woods to basement, with the future-tense “we will do it again” to the hypothetical “we could kill her again.”
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Spectre – I see you brought that annoying knife again.
– So... are you waiting for a chance to use it, or are you here for something else?
Voice of the Cold – Yes, maybe this whole thing was a trick to get us to end the world. And now we get to go through the whole charade again wholly aware of what's waiting for us at the end.
– But that's assuming she's alive in that cabin. We did kill her, after all.
They can just repeat this same old song and dance, “wholly aware of what’s waiting for us at the end.” Or they might be here for “something else.”
Unfortunately, “something else” is just something they’re not equipped to see. And the only person who might be able to show them an alternative won’t be interested for long in leaving her outstretched hand open to the air, with them grabbing at her wrist and slashing at her neck. They’re trying to kill her, after all.
Spectre’s reaction to the circumstances Quiet presents her with is... understandably horrified.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Spectre – You're abandoning me here?!
…
The Narrator – The Princess starts to float erratically from side to side, her cold exterior melting away.
The Spectre – But if you're just leaving me then... then I'm really just going to be stuck here forever. Th-there's nothing I can do, it's just going to go on and on and on and on, lonely and sad and hurting and empty.
The Spectre – You're going to try and kill me?!
…
The Spectre – But then you either kill me and I get even fuzzier or you don't and... and then I'm really just going to be stuck here forever.
– Th-there's nothing I can do, it's just going to go on and on and on and on, lonely and sad and hurting and empty.
Lonely and sad and hurting and empty, forever; her one contact in this place, Quiet, not reaching out to her with any intent of companionship, but solely to hurt her, be it through neglect or abuse. Quiet is not an escape, but another cage: a prison of flesh, standing in the walls of her prison of stone. Even in spirit, she remains shackled. And her knife-wielding-murderer continues to regard her through it all. Her longing for companionship has been spurned and spited and spit on in the face of his apathy.
And Cold’s response...
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Spectre – You're... you're...
…
Voice of the Cold – It would seem so, yes.
The Spectre – AFTER EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE TO ME, YOU'VE CHOSEN TO DO MORE?!
…
The Spectre – No... NNNNO. NOT THAT.
...is blunt acceptance. Callous, yes. Uncaring, probably, though more unsympathetic than purely apathetic.
They are detached; there are no tangible consequences of their actions to their person that they can see. Spectre, in contrast, is viscerally affected by what they inflict on her. The difference between Cold & the Decider versus Spectre, here, is that Cold is static character, whereas Spectre is dynamic.
The violent murderer choosing to continue in his path of violent murder, no matter for how long he continues in these patterns, isn’t substantially changed by the journey. Cold is not being challenged in Quiet’s choice to follow through with his most surface-level inclinations; Spectre is being challenged, and the conflict he provides to her is both external (the threat he poses to her existence) and internal (her struggling with the psychological ramifications of being victimized to the level she is).
Another component to this is Spectre’s internal conflict. She “never wanted to have to hurt anyone.” But Quiet has backed her into a corner; by their static nature, they’ve forced her to change — and to, in her own words, “become worse.”
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Spectre – Who do you think you are, trying to take me out with you?! Well I'll show you. I can do worse than that little knife. It's not you taking me out, it's me taking you out. I'll tear this body to shreds!
Voice of the Cold – Wouldn't that be interesting? I'd like to see you try. But I think this is the end for all of us.
Quiet won’t have substantially changed; her retaliations are intriguing developments, but developments external to them.
Voice of the Cold is a character type which inherently resists change to many degrees and angles. His potential redemption in either freeing Spectre or experiencing TPATD is one facilitated by multiple external forces all cooperating towards one end-goal. It requires the Narrator to be so horribly unconvincing and uncaring that Cold develops resentment towards Him and everything He desires. It requires unmistakable evidence that unprovoked violence has led The Long Quiet nowhere they want to be. It requires that the Decider be patient, Hero be convincing, and the Princess be willing to forgive regardless of if we’ve earned that or not; it requires that, even in the event that we take advantage of the Princess’s tendency to forgive (TPATD), she does not retaliate. In order to even have a chance of redeeming Cold, Spectre must have the patience of a saint.
In contrast, it is remarkably easy for Cold’s mere presence to deteriorate the virtues of the characters around him. Cold believes in the value of retaliation; he finds it regrettable when Quiet can’t defend themself, when they are made vulnerable or otherwise helpless to another’s decisions.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
The Narrator – She forces her hand into your chest and then...
…
The Narrator – You can't be sure if you first hear or feel what happens next, but it is over before you can fully conceptualize what 'it' is.
– A horrific splintering, the squelching of organs, the rending of tissue. An icy, numbing pain.
…
Voice of the Cold – She's real now. Pity we don't have a weapon.
The Narrator – Your last moments are spent a helpless witness as she rips her hand from your chest, holding your still-beating heart in her clenched fist.
“A helpless witness.”
Not what Cold would prefer The Long Quiet, as a collective, to be. He, himself, as a Voice might be something of a witness, but “helpless” is far and away from any word he would use to describe the Decider. Though he only considers the possibility to attack her after she’s made her move. Ironically, this time it is the Princess who enacts violence without hesitation, and it is Quiet whose right to respond is revoked.
Voice of the Cold – She's real now. If she's making us dead, we should return the favor.
• [Slay the Princess.]
The Narrator – You swing your blade towards her briefly corporeal throat. It connects. A gash widens across her neck, glowing ectoplasm leaking from the wound.
– But it's too little, too late. In her hand, you realize she clutches your still-beating heart. It thumps unsettlingly.
Voice of the Hero – Did... we get her?
Voice of the Cold – Even if we didn't, we've given her something to remember.
Quiet didn’t hesitate; they were just so invested in seeing what she’d do to them that they forgot they could strike first. Or perhaps they just didn’t want to at all?
“We’ve given her something to remember” is a fascinatingly cruel line. Did they not already do so when they killed her? Does she not already “remember” the visage of “the thing that ran at [her] with the point of a blade aimed for [her] heart?”
Cold seems to view violence such as this as an exchange. If it is a language, then its applications between two speakers is simply a conversation. Spectre’s violence against them is a greeting; he pities the idea of leaving her without an equal reply.
- —⌔— -
Chapter III – The Wraith
Voice of the Cold – And here we go again. Off to slay her. Again.
Voice of the Cheated – The deck's stacked, isn't it? We kill her, we start again. She kills us as a goddamn ghost, we start again. I'm starting to think we're being run in circles just for the sake of it...
Voice of the Hero – Come on, let's not give in to all that misery just yet. There's got to be a way out of this. There's got to be a right answer.
Voice of the Cheated – And what if there isn't? Aren't you listening to me? What if all of this was rigged from the start?
Voice of the Hero – That's ridiculous, there'd be no point if all this was just some kind of... cosmic busy-work.
And yet, “cosmic busy work” is all Cold seems to regard his existence in the context of Spectre as. Quiet hatches Cheated in this route by complying with Cold in some way; either by trying to, uncreatively, [Slay/Grab the Princess] twice, or by smashing the Princess’s bones as Cold suggests when they’ve already made a hostile move towards her.
Following Cold's initial impressions and advice the whole way through leads them here again, in the same endless loop as always. Feeling Cheated, vitriolic, angry at the higher power that conspires against them. All that's left is resentment for Him, for these woods, for the cabin... and practically zero hope for escape.
Paranoid and Spectre/Wraith are in similar states of panic when confronted with how trapped they are. Cold responds the same to both: empty agreement.
Voice of the Paranoid – Shit — this really doesn't end, does it? It doesn't matter if we kill her, it doesn't matter if she kills us, it just goes on and on and on and on and on.
Voice of the Cold – Yes, so it does.
Voice of the Hero – No, there has to be a way out of here. There just has to be.
Voice of the Cold – Does there have to be a way out? For all we know, this is just how things are.
Voice of the Hero – No. No, I can't accept that. What if we let her take our body? That's what she wanted last time. We can still put all of this to rest, right?
Critically, Paranoid does not hatch by following Cold's directions. He hatches when Quiet chooses to walk away and get killed for it. When the Decider chooses the one path Cold wouldn't (“it’s always more interesting when we make a choice”), and walks away (run away, flee) from the Spectre instead of doing something with her.
Quiet might not have been scared of the Spectre before. Cold is dismissive of any projected idea of fear any character has. He says Spectre doesn’t mean it when she claims the Happy Ending “must have been so frightening for you,” and he dismisses Voice of the Hero’s fears of her ghostly nature any time he speaks up too loud about it. But in Quiet’s final moments, if he outright tells the Princess as much as she holds his beating heart in her hands, she says “let’s see if you stay that way,” and makes good on that bluff. They weren’t scared of her before. But by tuning out Cold, they have invited that fear back into your heart, manifesting as Voice of the Paranoid. “Dead things can’t hurt us.” But what if they could? “S-something should have happened.”
Pulling back from Spectre, or asking if she missed her attack, makes the point more obvious. Cold's belief in the Long Quiet’s invulnerability is not strong enough; Hero questions it, and Cold cannot provide an impassioned enough rebuttal to that anxiety. Quiet did not act first. Observation fails him in a fluid reality.
Fear is weakness. Fear shows vulnerability. If you're afraid of being hurt, you will be. “If you go into this expecting to die, you're going to die.”
Outside of these intrapersonal, internal conflicts, we are refreshed on Voice of the Cold’s viewpoint on everything.
Voice of the Hero – Well, we didn't have to start over.
Voice of the Cold – We killed ourself.
The Narrator – And why, pray tell, did you do that?
Voice of the Cold – Because you decided to foist an infinite tedium on us.
The Narrator – That doesn't sound like me. If I'd had everything my way, you would have effortlessly slain the Princess, saved the world, and been given your happy ending.
Voice of the Cold – The ending was the tedium. You locked us in a cabin and sent that cabin to an endless void, and then you told us we were happy.
The Narrator – Well... were you happy?
Voice of the Hero – Of course we weren't happy! That's why we killed ourself. It was awful!
Voice of the Cold – Yes, and then she killed us.
“Cosmic busywork,” “an infinite tedium,” Voice of the Cold is overall unsatisfied with everything that’s occurred up until this point, and he has no interest in hiding that fact. His description of the past few Chapters events makes them sound remarkably boring and matter-of-fact. “We killed ourself, […] and then she killed us.” But the point in-between those two events which he emphasizes is not Quiet’s interaction with the Princess. Cold is still stuck on the Happy Ending.
And yet, even though he's been on a one-on-one conversation with the Narrator for most of this dialogue, the moment an emotion-based question is asked, Voice of the Hero has to step in for him. It's Hero who has to interject, to handle the question of Quiet's emotions. Though Cold knows they did not enjoy the Happy Ending, he's not fit to consider emotional responses and experience. He's not built for that. Hero is better at processing the emotions of this journey than Cold is. (Hero is, ultimately, the reason why using the blade was the better option during the Happy Ending.)
This is not a new opinion of Cold’s. It’s so hard-baked into his character, as an extension of his distaste for the Narrator, that not only does it appear in Chapter III – The Princess and The Dragon (“Then I guess we won't be doing your dirty work”), but it’s also his hatching line in Chapter III – The Fury (“I think I've heard this one before. Does it involve a Princess? Are you trying to get us to do your dirty work?”). Note that, though the phrase "dirty work" has negative connotations, Cold may just be using it to describe the act of murdering a woman in cold blood for what it is, without accepting the Narrator's rhetoric. It doesn't impart empathy onto the victim of said “work.”
Despite everything, Cold is capable of recognizing that continuing this cycle of violence will lead to just that: a cycle. A stagnant cycle, in which nothing new ever really happens, and nothing truly changes. It'll grow repetitive, then boring, then numb. So Cold doesn't really support it, even if he was the main one to suggest perpetuating it.
Voice of the Cold – Is that supposed to be a riddle? If it is, it's not very good.
Voice of the Cold – I'm not sure how we're supposed to kill Him ourself, but He's asking for it. Maybe there's some way she can take care of him for us.
The Narrator – Know that there is always a choice — even if you were stuck in an 'infinite' loop, there's no reason to assume the mere nature of the infinite would force you to make any specific choice. You do have free will, as much as things would be easier if you didn't, and you can just keep making the correct choice forever, never deviating.
…
Voice of the Cold – On second thought, let's not kill Him. Let's throw Him someplace that never ends. I'd like to see what that does to Him.
Beyond this point, Cold has cracked. He's not going to get his redemption arc. The Spectre, the ghost with ideals of unfinished business and new beginnings, is gone; only the Wraith, the vengeful spirit, remains. All Cold has left at this rate is his steadily-increasing hatred for the Narrator.
For trapping him here.
For daring to say “there is always a choice,” and following that up by presenting them only one.
For even suggesting something as acrid and vile to him as “making the correct choice forever, never deviating.”
Cold’s suggestion here to “throw Him someplace that never ends” and “see what that does to Him” is outright motivated by spite. It’s, by far, the worst possible thing Cold could possibly think to do to the Narrator. Death would be a mercy. Cold doesn’t just want the Narrator gone; once He suggests something as triggering to Cold’s sensibilities as that, Cold wants Him to suffer. So, so, so much more than he ever wanted Him dead.
Voice of the Cheated – The more He talks, the more I'm interested in setting her free.
The Narrator – Whatever. You don't want to listen to me? Do it, then. Let her out. See what I care.
Voice of the Cold – It sounds like somebody's about to crack.
• (Explore) "Are you trying to use reverse-psychology on me or have you just given up?"
The Narrator – There's obviously no point in trying to reason with you right now, especially with all of these clowns offering up their useless advice. Honestly it seems like the more I try and talk sense into you, the more single-minded they get about letting her out. So yes. I'm done trying to argue.
Voice of the Cold – Would you look at that? We won.
Voice of the Cold is concerned with “winning” against the Narrator. How he determines he’s done so is by seeing the Narrator give up. He wants to see the Narrator fall to nihilism, to the exhaustion He could’ve attempted to force onto Quiet, to the ceaseless entropy which exists in all sapient minds only staved off by the search for stimulus in a monotonous existence. He wants to watch the Narrator crack, shatter, and fall apart. He wants to see His soul drained of will.
Voice of the Cold – Oh, threatening us with death, are we? And why should we be afraid of anything? We've already died twice. It doesn't mean much to us anymore.
[Note Nightmare iteration specifies why they ought to be afraid of “death,” specifically. This iteration generalizes to “anything,” and adds on that death “doesn’t mean much to us anymore.”]
Voice of the Cold – All death has done is shunt us back to these woods where we're forced to listen to your empty warnings again and again.
Cold is less and less considerate to the consequences of his actions with each loop. Having started in a headspace already distorted by early disassociation, Cold's lost what little ability he might've had to care for even the barest concept of mortality in Loop III. Death is of no concern to him. Nothing is of any concern to him. Insofar as Cold has seen, nothing about this loop means anything.
They’ve died in every way he can imagine, first by their own hand and then by the Princess’s, and neither truly mattered. Neither felt rewarding or even punishing. This eternal life through reincarnation, this soulless immortality, is the most certain curse he knows.
And the worst part to him is when he has to re-meet the Narrator.
Voice of the Cold – All this standing around and talking is boring. Let's at least do something. Maybe we'll kill her again. Maybe we won't. Maybe we'll even free her.
Voice of the Cold – I suppose the only way to go is forward. So forward we will go. Blade or not, it doesn't really matter, does it?
Cold is simply going through the motions. In a sense, he’s technically going through the motions of what could be viewed as his redemption arc, in Chapter III – The Princess and the Dragon, but he’s doing so with none of the deeper understanding. He suggests freeing her only because it is the next option, the freshest thing to try.
Cold is tired, in Wraith. He's not receptive to life lessons or deeper learning.
Voice of the Cold – I say we let her do it. It's something different.
Voice of the Cheated – Do we even have a choice?
The Narrator – You always have a choice.
Voice of the Hero – Maybe before, but not now. There isn't a blade this time.
Voice of the Cheated – Exactly! What choice is there if there isn't a blade?
Voice of the Cold – Well, unless you have any specific ideas, I think my vote's the only one that counts.
Voice of the Cold is not even interested in the thought of decisions. They’ve already made most of every choice there is to make, besides freeing the Princess.
In Wraith, Cheated takes on much of Cold’s baggage. He inherits Voice of the Cold’s tunnel vision towards violence, blind to choice without its symbol — the blade, a weapon which we have exclusively used to strike at and reduce the Princess and her will this whole time — and infuriated by his circumstances.
What’s left of Cold is but lingering shadows of the thought patterns he once held.
Voice of the Cold – It's rather rude to show up in somebody else's body and boss it around like this.
Intriguing that Voice of the Cold specifically states “somebody” instead of “someone,” in this dialogue, just about as interesting as it is that he stakes a claim of ownership for somebody in the Long Quiet’s body. It’s not just “a body,” but “somebody’s body,” and one which said somebody is apparently in his eyes entitled to some autonomy over. Something which he breaks his mask of passivity this Chapter to specifically, if idly, chastise the Wraith about.
It would seem most immediately rational, then, that Voice of the Cold is referring to the Decider as “somebody.” Which would likewise imply, by the specification of them instead of himself and his fellow Voices, that Voice of the Cold believes the body is the Decider’s first, and his and the others’ second. He calls them out as a singular entity and specifically notes them as connected to the body, in some way, by that word choice. I’d suggest that way is by ownership. Perhaps a better word for it might be “possession,” if it weren’t for the fact that “possession” in the context of this route and Voice of the Cold specifically seems to carry a rather specific meaning.
Voice of the Cold – It's a new experience. You should try being possessed some time. There's nothing else like it.
Voice of the Cold phrases this as if he has been possessed before. Indeed, from his eyes, he’s been possessed since the first instant he hatched.
“Being possessed,” in mere grammatical phrasing, reduced the one possessed to an object. The one possessed is at the will and mercy of the one possessing. The word carries additional baggage and connotations of ownership, as one “possesses” things, which the Wraith corroborates with her dialogue claiming us to be “hers.”
The difference between the possession in Spectre and the possession in Wraith is the degree of control exerted by the ghost. Cold has no qualms with Spectre entering into The Long Quiet’s body in Chapter II, and in fact even welcomes her in as a new “roommate,” because she behaves essentially as not much more than an additional Voice. Cold does find Wraith “rude,” because she breaks the unspoken convention between Voices that the Decider is “the one who makes the decisions around here.” It’s a social faux pas in the body’s hierarchy. (Essentially, the Long Quiet is a building, the Decider is a landlord, and everyone else in Cold’s eyes is a tenant.)
The extent to which Voice of the Cold values his own (and the other Voices’) will, versus the Decider’s, implies that Voice of the Cold considers the Decider the de facto “possesser” in their arrangement. He is fine with letting the Decider take control and guide the rest of the Voices around. He seems content, even, with such an arrangement. Hence why he dismisses the others’ panicked suggestions with the line “I think my vote's the only one that counts,” because he doesn’t really hold much stock in the others except for their differing perspectives, the contrast of which provides new and creative ideas as its primary value generator. But they have no “specific ideas,” just ideas and feelings without substance, which, to Cold, is functionally worthless. So, the Long Quiet might as well “let her do it,” and surrender a fragment of the Decider’s autonomy in the process.
The Wraith – If I were you, I would just want to just get it over with! You lost your chance to call the shots, there's no going back to fix it now. You can either look on in horror or celebrate my freedom, but either way, you're about to become a passenger.
THE WRAITH – AND HOW WOULD YOU DO THAT? YOU DON'T HAVE A WILL TO WIELD. YOUR SOUL HAS BEEN DRAINED OF COURAGE.
Of course, when Voice of the Cold frames it as the Long Quiet “letting her do it,” instead of as her forcing herself upon them, he does retain an illusion of autonomy for them through voluntary submission. He flips the grammar of the sentence. It is not Wraith who is the active subject, but the Long Quiet. If they truly didn’t want this, they’d come up with a way to fight against it; ergo, they chose this, and ergo, they retain a spot of dignity.
In truth, it wouldn’t matter if the Long Quiet struggled against her or not. “There is no choice here; she will take what she is owed” (Memories, the Wraith – 8). But Cold’s dissociation from those stakes and him calling Wraith out as “rude” comes from the same place. It inherently downplays this violent interaction to something of a social one. Which ties back into my prior point, about violence being a language, and thus events like these being a sort of conversation in Cold’s eyes.
Wraith’s rebuttal, that “IT IS RUDE TO MURDER,” doesn’t really track in Cold’s perspective. They’ve both killed each other. This, the forceful possession, goes a little beyond ideas of attacks, assaults, and the option between surrender and self-defense, retaliation or reconciliation. The Wraith denies them autonomy by taking it as her own, denying them Cold’s value of “something to do.” Instead, the Decider is relegated partially to an in-between position with the Voices and that “Decider”/leadership/Host/fronting position. Their body (autonomy) is taken in a different way than the Decider “took” the Princess’s body (life) back in Chapter I.
Instead, Wraith denies what might be the Decider’s core trait in Cold’s eyes: their will. They are rendered, like he’s been this whole time, drained; emptied. A passenger in a body which is no longer their own.
The Narrator – You slowly make your way towards the gaping maw that awaits you. Your fraying nerves buzz with trepidation, the chill wind raising your hackles as it gently pushes you forward, towards the darkness at the end of the hallway. You can't shake the feeling that you're being watched.
Voice of the Cold – We've always been watched. You're watching us right now. Sometimes the feeling is just stronger than others.
Voice of the Cheated – I feel like you're trying to put us on edge. We don't need all this anticipation, we just need this to be over.
The Long Quiet, as a collective system, is always being watched, because they are always watching themself. The Decider’s choices are viewed by their Voices. Their Voices’ commentary are viewed by their Decider. They are always a witness to their internal existence.
(Cold’s characterization is inherently connected to the idea of the Long Quiet’s plurality. It’s why the I/we distinction in his dialogue is so important.)
An interesting perusal into Voice of the Cold’s perspective on the situation... but one which diverges significantly from the Wraith’s view of these events.
There is no “conversation.”
The Wraith – Whatcha looking at, killer? Staring into the void? Thinking about what it'd be like to die again? I know exactly how you feel.
…
The Wraith – But do you know how I feel? I gave you a path to forgiveness. I gave you a chance to make things right.
– I thought maybe you'd see what you've done and feel remorseful, maybe try to make it up to me. But no... you'd rather use that knife to keep making the same mistake over and over and over.
– Even after I ripped your heart out, you still cut me. And for what? I didn't go anywhere. You didn't banish me. I'm right back here with you, a little better, a little worse.
– Well... maybe a lot worse.
• (Explore) "I thought you couldn't possess me on your own. I thought I needed to agree to it."
The Wraith – That was then. This is now.
• (Explore) "Do you need to take my body? Can't I just... open the door for you?"
The Wraith – I don't think you get the magnitude of hatred that sits between us. You've broken more trust than I thought I had.
– We're past the point of compromise. I'm taking your body, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.
There was no “reply,” in Voice of the Cold prompting Quiet to slash her neck as they died. There was no meaning to be found within. It, to her, was just a showing of spite; for what, whatever she did to earn this vitriolic, Cheated look in his eyes when he stares at her now, she has no clue. “WHY DO YOU HATE ME?” “What did I ever do to deserve you?” The Princess, the Spectre; they’ve done nothing but be victimized at Quiet’s hands, executed and tormented for crimes he cannot enumerate to her beyond her simply existing.
What is it about her, the victim here, that leaves him so Paranoid at the state of her complexion? Does she look terrifying now? She is only a reflection of him, and of what he turned her into. She would not have had to find such drive and strength within herself if only she could have found it and companionship in him; but he denied her that resolution. She must find it by her own means. Because “you’ve made it obvious you don’t want to help.” And she still needs to find home.
Is Spectre a victim becoming a victimizer, or is Quiet simply a victimizer playing victim after she retaliates? “Evil is all about perspective.”
• (Explore) "Look, we're even now. I killed you, and then you killed me. Water under the bridge, right?"
The Wraith – And you think that's even? How adorable.
– But I think you forgot about the part where you tried killing me again.
…
• (Explore) "I'm a victim in all of this too, you know!"
The Wraith – And sometimes victims become the same as their victimizers. Just because someone hurt you doesn't mean you get a free pass.
Voice of the Hero – We were going to let you out of here! That's the whole reason we marched all the way back up to the cabin.
Voice of the Cold – Were we?
Voice of the Hero – I was!
THE WRAITH – I KNOW YOU WERE. BUT YOU WERE GOING TO DO IT FOR THE WRONG REASONS.
Voice of the Hero – We weren't always like this, we—
Voice of the Cold – I've always been like this.
THE WRAITH – ALL I'M DOING IS REAPING WHAT YOU'VE SOWN.
VoT Cold does not care for the Princess. When he suggests freeing her in Wraith, he's not doing it out of the kindness of his heart, nor is he doing it as recompense for his past transgressions, nor does he feel remorse or an obligation to do the right thing. He feels nothing. The only reason he suggests the act is that it's the next new thing he can think to do, an added bonus that it would spite the Narrator as well. He doesn't truly consider the Princess at all in this plan, only the action, "to free."
He views her in terms of the services she can provide, the intrigue she offers. Maybe she can take care of Him. It'll at least be interesting.
It's the conceptualization lottery, and Spectre!Wraith is the world's unluckiest Princess to ever be subjected to its uncaring whims. Had the Long Quiet not been told to slay her first, they may have thought to free her sooner than not. Had Hero took Cold aside and explained the situation, had the Decider thought through the situation a little further, she would at least be in a better position. But that's not the way things get to go for her, is it?
Wraith is freed Spectre's dark mirror. It recontextualizes Cold's motives here and retrospectively weakens what little redemption he might've grasped through Spectre, for wasn't he doing it for the "wrong reasons" then, too? Certainly; but the later they wait to make the right decision, and the more harm they do in the meantime, the less and less those "right decisions" mean. At least in Spectre, they had the space to consider a change of heart. In Wraith, it's been made more than clear: they're just running through their options, from worst to best.
"Evil is all about perspective," we are told, in Wraith, versus "a villain to one person might be a hero to others" in the Princess and the Dragon. Twisted reflections of the conversations we could have and people we could become, if only we made better choices. If only we chose to be better people, better to each other and ourselves.
Voice of the Paranoid – Okay. Deep breath. This is fine. This is fine. This is FINE.
– What am I talking about? This isn't fine. It was better when she was a normal ghost.
Voice of the Cold – It is fine. Everything is always fine. These consequences have no real impact on us outside of momentary discomfort. I'm sure we'll be moving on again soon enough.
Voice of the Hero – We're putting in everything we have.
Voice of the Cold – You're not. You're thinking too much about how she's hurting us. You're thinking too much about your body. It's just a body.
Notice that Cold brings up turning off pain receptors specifically to assist in the task Paranoid sets up. Where Paranoid's mantra fails, Cold picks it up. He gets Paranoid to push Quiet’s will just that much farther. This is, and will always be, Cold's way of helping.
This pragmatic logic is Cold's “common sense.” If you can tolerate joy, you can tolerate pain. It's all just sensations to him.
Fear and disassociation are opposing forces, and both, by their natures, snuff out the other. disassociation comes in when the fear is too great and your circumstances too hopeless; it's a defense mechanism for the internal. Fear is for the external. But the two may still come together, in times of peak stress, to push the whole body past its farthest limits.
Cold will help Quiet in either task they set themself upon. He will dull the pain so they can endure the task of freeing Wraith, or he will dissociate everyone from the body so they may push through the pain to throw themselves off a ledge.
But, judging by his last remaining motives within this Construct and the responses we've seen from his character already... It's clear that he'd prefer the former case.
Voice of the Cheated – Enough is enough! I'm tired of us always losing! It's. Just. A step. AWAY!
THE WRAITH – EVEN IF YOU THROW YOURSELF INTO THE ABYSS, YOU STILL LOSE!
THE WRAITH – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Voice of the Paranoid – Hahaha! We did it! We actually did it!
Voice of the Cold – Yes, we've really shown them all, haven't we?
THE WRAITH – WHY DO YOU HATE ME?
The Narrator – Her thought slips through you, unheeded, as you fall, and fall, and fall.
…
Voice of the Cheated – What an end. But at least it's ours.
Voice of the Cold – An empire of frigid nothing.
"An empire of frigid nothing."
– Voice of the Cold (Chapter III, The Wraith)
The adrenaline wears off, and you have to see your circumstances for what they are eventually.
“An empire of frigid nothing.” A continuous, constant, endless stream of “cosmic busy work.” Slaying the Princess, putting in so much hard work, just for it to all go unappreciated time and time again. The Narrator does not even so much as congratulate Quiet this time around; He “doesn’t think this counts as saving the world,” despite it being the most they’ve tried yet. “EVEN IF YOU THROW YOURSELF INTO THE ABYSS, YOU STILL LOSE.” Their reward is the same as it’s always been. Itero, ad infinitum.
Cold enjoys spiting the Narrator more than spiting the Princess. It's a consistent character trait of his across this whole route. His passing spite of the Princess is to corrupt her, to drag her down into these icy depths with him, and to drown them in these frigid waters together.
It's why he's so dissatisfied with "flipping the table" with Cheated, and so sarcastic with Paranoid's manic victory. In focusing so hard on "winning," on "getting one over" on the Princess, they've all trapped themselves. "We've really shown them all," but what was the point in "showing" the Princess? They're trapped in the same abyss they threw her into. This perpetual cycle of meaningless violence. They aren't freed of anything. If anything, they've just continuously been going along with His whims this whole time. Nothing's changed.
Even now, in the depths of their worst moments, they can still choose to do the right thing. The different thing.
If not for the "right" reasons… then for no reason at all. “Even if you were stuck in an 'infinite' loop, there's no reason to assume the mere nature of the infinite would force you to make any specific choice. […] You can just keep making the correct choice forever, never deviating.” And, if you've made the wrong one, you can choose any time to deviate from that cycle of violence… and follow a new path in the woods.
Follow Cheated's violent tunnel vision he inherited from Cold, and Quiet will grant themself the empire of frigid nothing Cold hatched to avoid: continuing an endless cycle of violence that only makes the both The Hero and The Princess worse, and worse, and worse, speaking to each other only in their mother tongue of violence and bloodshed. They accept a bad end that's “ours, at least.” Clinging to a projected ideal of autonomy as they trap themselves in a cage made of their own bodies, bound together, twisted into one through violent means.
Alternatively...
"An end is an end. Let's see what it has in store for us."
– Voice of the Cold (Chapter III, The Wraith)
Voice of the Hero – This is it, then. The big moment.
Voice of the Cheated – I just hope it's a way out.
THE WRAITH – THE HANDLE CLICKS AND WE PUSH FORWARD. THE AIR IS DIFFERENT HERE.
TRUTH – But as you step outside the bounds of the cabin, you feel another violent tear, a rending that cuts all the way down to your soul.
– You are once again separated from everything that had nestled in the deep crevices of your body, from everything that isn't you.
Voice of the Hero – We're us again.
Voice of the Cold – How interesting.
Voice of the Cheated – We actually won, didn't we?
End it all, right here and now, and see what the end of this cycle brings into its place. See what a better end “has in store for us,” through Cold's utter lack of attachment. Cold doesn't get the chance to grow as he had before, but he can still... find the faintest "win," in this dirty work the Narrator set up for him.
At this this is new. And least they go somewhere else with this. At least the Narrator doesn't get His way with this.
Is it the right thing for the wrong reason? Who cares? Why care what we think of each other, when we're setting each other free? Why think about perspective and evil and lingering hurt?
“We've been turned against each other by something that understands the strength of our unity.” – Wild.
Cold harbors no ill will towards the Princess; in Wraith, he doesn't care about her at all. But he'll always harbor ill will towards the Narrator, and so between spiting her or spiting Him, Cold will want — spoken aloud or not — to spite Him every time. And perhaps...
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
• (Explore) "The people who wanted you dead tricked me, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Let's team up."
The Narrator – Nobody 'tricked you' and the fact that the Princess' spirit has risen from the dead should be more than enough evidence that she isn't exactly sweet and innocent. It's all been an act. She's pretending.
Voice of the Cold – I wouldn't say she's ever pretended to be sweet or innocent.
Voice of the Hero – She does have a little bit of an attitude... but I can't blame her, we did kill her after all. I wouldn't be nice to my murderer if I was killed.
The Spectre – 'The enemy of my enemy...'
The Narrator – The Princess circles you again, her icy fingertips trailing up your spine, sending shivers rippling across your flesh.
The Spectre – I don't want enemies. I don't want to fight. I just want to go home.
– Is that really so much to ask?
...that is enough. If you just let go of your morality. If you just. Exist.
You know, I love all the analyses the fandom is making about the Pristine Cut and Slay the Princess in general, but I haven't seen a lot of people talk about the nature of the Construct. Sure, we all know that the Narrator created it somehow to contain both the Long Quiet and the Shifting Mound, but the actual “fabric” of the Construct is these two gods. An attentive eye might catch very early in a playthrough that the trees, the sky, the ground - they’re all shades of dark grey and black, with a feathery texture that is unquestionably Quiet. The new Apotheosis showcases this very well.
But the cabin is different. It’s all light grey and white - Shifty’s colors. I believe that the most notable way this is shown is during our encounters with Shifty’s incomplete form. When we are “at the cabin”, all we can see is her mass of hands and the vessel we brought her - which implies that Shifty is the cabin itself.
And that’s fascinating to me, because the cabin is also, by the Narrator’s design, her own prison. Just as he establishes in his opening monologue that we are on a path in the woods, he also cleverly says that the Princess is within that cabin, and that if she escapes it, the world ends. And, except in the Wild, none of these two statements are ever refuted by either the Hero or the Princess, because to do so is to unravel the very fabric of their false reality.
So even though it seems like the cabin should bend to the Princess’ will, being quite literally her domain, it remains her prison in every other route.
In many Chapter 2’s, but especially in the Nightmare and the Beast, the Princess emphasizes the fact that the cabin will not let her leave - very ironic, since we’ve just seen how the interior of the cabin has been completely reshaped by the Princess’ influence.
I love this line from the Beast, because you can so clearly see how the Narrator’s beliefs have bled through the Construct. I was reminded of it the first time I played through the Princess and the Dragon, because the repetition of “this is what you deserve”, as other people pointed out, seems very much like something the Narrator would tell her.
Speaking of the Princess and the Dragon, I've recently noticed a very interesting line in the lead-up to this chapter! Once Spectre possesses you and you decide to slay her, the Narrator says this:
Here, our very flesh imprisons the Princess in the same way the Narrator imprisoned the Shifting Mound - the cabin - within the Construct - which is, of course, the Long Quiet itself. I almost can't believe the Narrator would make such a direct comparison like this, but I suppose that in this route we never come to question our surroundings like in the Wild.
Notably, however, the Princess can escape the cabin when you are accompanying her. On a meta-narrative level, this makes complete sense: the characters can only escape the cycle of violence they are trapped in when they work together. But within the narrative of the game, this doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the Construct’s rules. The Narrator would never allow such a thing if he could help it, so this must be Shifty’s influence coming through, right?
And this reminds me of another two routes, the ones I’ve seen people describe as the most genre-savvy ones: the Damsel and the Tower.
If in Chapter 1, you don't question how you should get her out of her chains, in this variation of the Damsel route the Voice of the Hero will ask why the Princess hasn’t escaped already if her shackle is so loose, and Smitten replies with this line: “we’ve yet to present her with her freedom”.
On a surface level, this seems like a pretty arrogant, even demeaning line, a trend in this chapter that robs the Damsel of her agency. On a meta-narrative level, this is commenting on how the “damsel in distress” archetype is often a shell of a character that simply exists to reward the “hero”. But I also think this hints at how the Princess, either subconsciously or by the Narrator’s influence, doesn’t believe that it’s possible for her to escape alone - and therefore, she can’t.
Tower, arguably the vessel most aware of the extent of her powers, is even clearer when she tells us that she could easily break her chains and escape the cabin - and she does so in the Apotheosis - but that’s not the story she wants to tell. As much as they yearn for freedom, all the Princesses, by their very nature as beings of perception, want to be perceived, to connect with someone… especially with the Hero, of course.
(this line makes me go feral every time btw, it's so simple and yet so effective -)
Anyway, this was a very long winded way of saying that the Narrator somehow managed to make the Shifting Mound’s “body” into her own prison (which is insane if you think about it) and she can only be freed with the Long Quiet’s help. I’m not sure if this is like, super obvious, but I still wanted to talk about it, soooo if anyone wants to add to this, I'd love to discuss more!
(Edit 11/01/25: Added a missing Damsel screenshot with the help of @quicksilversnails, and rambled a bit about the lead-up to the Princess and the Dragon.)
Vessels Analysis (What are the "Vessels," and how do they compare to "People," conceptually? What is their experience, both before and after assimilation into the Shifting Mound's Multitudes? What does it feel like?)
"These ones are a contradiction. A winding kaleidoscope of paths unwalked. They are stretched into a shape not unlike me, but it is a shape they cannot hold."
"I am sorry that you met this vessel so early in your journey, but they will make for a rich and vibrant heart."
For Chapter II, the Stranger's personalities are akin to the Princess and her many iterations. Their immediate response to their many schisms being merged into one body and being is that of confusion, even revulsion: terror in the face of the unknown. This reflects the responses of the Princesses being assimilated as Vessels into the Shifting Mound (more than it does the Shifting Mound Herself, if we are to compare Her to the Princesses).
In Strange Beginnings, the Stranger (offscreen, but understood through exposition and understanding of how Shifty's 'network' works) has been, in a sense, "raised" by the Shifting Mound to reflect Her. The Shifting Mound initially considers the Stranger to be "like" Her, though She does not call the Stranger a "shadow of her" like She does the Wilds. It is only in Strange Beginnings that the Stranger claims they are "kind of like a shadow." While they cling to the idea of being inseparable from Her, there's enough of a distinguishing mark between the Stranger and the Shifting Mound for that to still remain a fallacy on their part; like the Soft and Harsh Hearts, the Strange Beginning is just as much of an individual as any other Princess Shifty claimed as a vessel. It is simply that the Stranger had so little identity to begin with that it became easy to "lose themself" in Shifty's multitudes, as the other two Hearts fear would happen to them and to us post-Ascension.
The Narrator
The door to the basement creaks open,
revealing a web of branching staircases all built from unidentifiable materials.
Nothing here seems to belong,
and the closer you examine your surroundings, the more confused you get,
your head throbbing with the effort of making sense of this place.
None of the stairs even seem to go anywhere, let alone down.
The stairs, in the Stranger, represent branching paths; the infinite potential of choice, and the many routes the game itself may take. That's a surface-level understanding of the route, so most people won't be arguing with me on that point I presume. The Harsh stairs to the left represent the harsh side of the Princess (the personality which appears on the left side of the screen, alongside the monstrous schism), the Soft stairs to the right represent the soft side of the Princess (who appears at the right, alongside the morose schism), and the Central Stairs present the unique opportunity offered by Stranger itself: a complete lack of information and bias.
The multitude of choices presented, in Stranger, is presented as confusing. Nauseating, even. Too vast to fathom or hold in one pair of eyes. "You saw with a single pair of eyes what you needed dozens to comprehend." –Shifty
And yet, at the End of Everything, those stairs are pruned. The choice is reduced to a single variable, almost pre-made for you, a single path you have yet to walk in a sea of infinite choices eternity's patterns have blocked off with invisible walls.
Voice of the Hero
Those winding stairs again. But now there's only one way forward.
Voice of the Contrarian
That was easy compared to last time. Just stairs!
No weird fuzzy stuff or nonsense trying to pull us apart.
To us, it is because we have reclaimed autonomy by reducing Shifty's infinities to the comprehensible. There is a reason the End of Everything sequence, in which Hero takes you to "where it all began: Her Heart," uses the same graphics of Stranger's derealization sequence, just played in reverse.
A picture was once solid, and then through sheer repetition, went numb and void and empty. "To be everything is to be nothing at all." –Memories [The Stranger, 6–9]. But then. Then. Something other came onto the scene, and snatched the impossible away, and molded it into something new. Guided down the thin trail of perspective and memory, The Thread Which Weaves Nothing Into Something made a Stranger into something more.
[Take the harsh stairs to the left.]
The Narrator
You step to the left. The path is cruel against your feet,
the impact of each step sending pulsing vibrations up your legs
until there's nothing left in them to feel.
The air around you grows colder the further you progress,
at first a barely-noticeable drop, quickly evolving into a numbing cold.
Your toes feel like blocks of ice, your breaths puff out in clouds of condensed vapor.
You shudder against it as you continue down the stairway, losing yourself in the bone-deep chill.
The Princess (Harsh)
What, like you need me to hold your hand and tell you everything's okay?
You're not really cut out for this, are you? Why are you even here?
The Princess (Monster)
I thought they would send something better to deal with me.
If the stairs managed to chew you up, I will devour you.
They experience something incomprehensibly painful.
Note that the stairs, here, are explicitly described as "cold," much like the "cold" the Princesses claim to feel as the Shifting Mound takes them in. Unlike most descriptions of suffering throughout the game, this is rather brief. In fact, its brevity is bizarre. All we grasp is that we lose feeling as we walk down the stairs — but we get no mention of pain.
"I promise that it doesn't hurt." –Shifty
Just a numbing chill.
The Princess (Harsh) – I've been watching you stare at me for a long, long time.
– I'm tired of waiting for an answer.
The Princess (Monster) – It must be fear creeping into your heart. You know you can't stop me.
– I don't need a name. My name is whatever hushed whispers follow in the wake of my devastation.
She, the Princess, Her Royal Highness, is justifiably upset at that which confines her. She is assured of her worth and, to you, bluffs a sense of composure her other schisms betray she does not truly feel. She is standoffish and antagonistic.
She might even be exactly as dangerous as the world claims she is, perhaps as a self-fulfilling prophecy, and perhaps simply because that is what she is down to her nature. She is cold, harsh, sharp, calculating, dangerous.
The monstrous schism is not a natural disposition of the Princess in natural circumstances. Like the neutral personality, it is uniquely present as a being of pure perception: the concept of the Princess in her worst iteration and her most powerful.
The monster is the embodiment of the threat she poses; to the world, to you, but in particular, in herself. When she leaves herself vague and distant, we are left to assume the worst in her. And the Harsh Princess acts in a way conforming to the expectation that you do see the worst.
She doubts you. She doubts your judgement, in that you would see better in her, because you have come here acting as her executioner, and so she expects the interactions between you both to make her worse. She doubts your ability; she builds herself up by stripping you down, by pointing out your inadequacy and bolstering her confidence through bluff and threat. She wishes to defend herself, inherently coming into her interactions with you predisposed to violent outcomes. And so, because she doubts you, you doubt her.
She gets worse because she refused to believe you would see better.
• (Explore) "If I let you out of here, what are you going to do?"
The Princess (Harsh) – I don't think what I'd do really matters, does it?
– What do you want me to say? That I'd be a good person?
– I'm not going to dance for you.
The Princess (Monster) – Besides, you already know what I'm going to do.
She does not answer questions satisfactorily. When she is confronted with another's suffering, she is unempathetic; she puts you down out of disinterest. She is just as curt as the description of the stairs which spawn her. But in that empty space, room is given for doubt to fester.
She doesn't even try to be a good person. Is she?
• (Explore) "For all I know, you're locked up down here for a reason. Do you know why you're down here?"
The Princess (Harsh) – Maybe it's because I'm dangerous.
The Princess (Monster) – Don't be coy. We both know why I'm locked away here. I'm a monster, and the second I get out of this place, I'm going to end the entire world.
The Princess (Harsh) – And you believe that? Do you think I'm some sort of... monster?
The Princess (Monster) – Because I am. Everything you've heard about me is true, and I am going to lay waste to everything. Starting with you.
She leaves the question open on whether or not she is dangerous. To her, that is an advantage. She doesn't want you to approach her, because she only envisions your approach as violence, so she refuses to invite you closer or let down her guard.
She doesn't try to convince you she isn't a monster. Is she?
She can become one, if she needs to. She would prefer you be scared of her. The monstrosity she threatens to become is leverage in your relationship; it is a bluff turned real.
[Take the center staircase.]
The Narrator
You step onto the center staircase. Paths wind out around you in all directions,
each step branching into its own staircases which branch into their own staircases and so on.
You aren't quite sure if yours is taking you up or down,
but at the very least it's taking you somewhere.
You concentrate on where you are,
careful not to stray onto any of the many splitting branches that tempt you on all sides.
You wouldn't want to have to backtrack to yours
once you'd made a decision that took you someplace else.
And so you take one careful, focused step after another.
One foot down, another foot down, another after that.
You lose yourself in following the correct pattern,
in following what looks to you to be the true path,
the one that cuts straight down. Or up. Or maybe sideways.
But no matter the direction it goes, it certainly is the most true path, you know that much.
The Princess (Neutral)
I don't remember what it was like before I was in this place.
Why would I know what happened to you?
They have all of eternity to themselves, but no memory of who or what they were before this. There is infinite potential within them, but there is a path they feel they must take, which they are compelled to take.
"It feels correct. This is what I need to be. This is the only path forward." –Shifty
"Do not mourn them — they will finally get to know themselves." –Shifty
They don't know how, or why. They don't really know who they are. But if they just keep walking, for long enough, and they contain enough perspective, perhaps they will find themself. Perhaps She will show them who they are meant to be.
The Princess (Neutral) – Do you remember anything at all? Do you know why you're here? Do you know me?
– How strange. So why are you here?
"Why are you here?" is the question the game asks in every permutation of Chapter I's events.
'The Princess,' as she is titled, is an open question. An object of the subject of the narrative which you are, a mirror to reflect your choices back at you. When you refuse choice, you refuse her, and so all she has to go off of is the cold, hard facts of what she is.
• (Explore) "If I let you out of here, what are you going to do?"
The Princess (Neutral) – I don't think I can answer that question in a way you'd find meaningful.
– I could tell you that I'd lead a quiet life in the woods or that I'd open an orphanage or that I'd do any other number of 'good' things that I'm sure you think you want to hear.
– I'm a prisoner here, and whether or not you shoved me down here, you're practically my captor at this point. Anything I'd say is tainted by that.
• (Explore) "For all I know, you're locked up down here for a reason. Do you know why you're down here?"
The Princess (Neutral) – Is this a quiz? If you're here, then surely you know why I'm here.
– You're the one who came down here, and with a sharp, sharp knife, too.
The Princess (Neutral) – I don't have any weapons. And I'm chained to a wall. Do I look like someone that could end the world? Do I look like a monster?
Without a reflection, all a mirror is is an empty frame.
This version of the Princess, beyond the blank slate, is inherently inquisitive and curious. She knows nothing, but presumes by your presence that you must know something. You are other, unfamiliar to her, and that unfamiliarity sparks questions and ideas.
If you came from somewhere else, you must at least have a grasp on an origin point, like she has a grasp on hers. "She is seated in a room that is empty. A chain digs into her wrist, binding one arm to the wall. It is quiet, and she is alone." So, what are you, in contrast? In comparison? What is your relationship to her, and what of herself can she learn from that? You know her now. What is she, to you?
And so her potential begins to fracture into the various things she could be.
[Take the soft stairs to the right.]
The Narrator
You step to the right. The path feels soft and reassuring against your feet.
The stairs almost seem to cradle you as you make your way down,
like they're guiding your heels from one step directly to the next.
You barely have to extend any effort to descend, the stairway doing most of the work for you, and you don't feel like there's any concern that you might slip or tumble or lose your way.
But the further you go, the deeper you sink in.
First it's like a lovely plush carpet,
your toes digging down and barely hitting any resistance at all.
But soon enough you're fighting just to keep your knees from sinking out of sight.
The softness threatens to swallow you whole,
to wrest control of your body and surround you in a false ethereal bliss,
pretending to save you from the cruelties of choice and consequence.
It's slow-going, but you manage to fight against
the overwhelming urge to fall back into the comfort and nothingness,
the very struggle to continue forward consuming your every thought.
The Princess (Soft)
I don't know what happened to you, but you look like you're in one piece now. But I understand. Sometimes I feel like I'm being pulled apart, too. It's so terrifying down here.
But at least now you're not alone, and I'm not alone, either.
The Princess (Morose)
We're probably stuck down here forever, aren't we? There's no way out, and barely a way in...
They are terrified. They don't understand what's happening, but something gentle takes them in, and something gentle promises to guide them, so that they won't lose their way. It saves them from the cruelties of the thousands of choices they made in a single instant.
This is by far the longest and most elaborate description for the stairs in this entire Chapter; it's some of the most symbolic description in the entire game, without losing itself in metaphysics. It's awash in detail, giving itself ample opportunity to hammer home one critical point: something that feels good is not always safe, and that which comforts is likewise that which has the capacity to trap. To seek comfort is not to seek freedom. To seek safety is not to seek choice.
The Damsel's danger is her beauty; the core of deceit is its attractive nature.
Her charms are but another part of the manipulation.
The Princess (Soft) – Sometimes I forget where I am too.
– It's okay. Don't worry.
The Princess (Morose) – I don't feel like I've gotten any bigger.
– It doesn't matter. I've been down here for so long. What's the point of a name if there's no one around to use it?
The Princess, if you want to call her that, is helpless to her circumstances. She has no control or power here. It's hopeless. She's as open as she can be, but beneath her warm and welcoming exterior lurks a certain terror in the face of the unknown. She is deeply, deeply afraid, and more than that, she is submissive in the face of an uncertain guilt. "This is what she deserves."
There is something about her that forced her into the situation. She's been locked away in a basement for as long as she can remember, lonely and afraid, for a reason she does not know. She's shackled, so she must be intentionally imprisoned, and those imprisoned typically were accused of something in order to be locked away.
What was she accused of? She's not trying to be cruel, or monstrous; she's trying her best to be helpful, to be pleasant, to be worthy of companionship. She doesn't want to be alone anymore; she desires companionship. She doesn't want to feel guilty.
• (Explore) "If I let you out of here, what are you going to do?"
The Princess (Soft) – Are you looking for the truth, or are you looking for the 'right' answer?
– I just want to live my life.
– You either trust me or you believe that I'm dangerous. What I say won't change how you already feel about me.
The Princess (Morose) – If you want to put an end to me, then put an end to me.
• (Explore) "For all I know, you're locked up down here for a reason. Do you know why you're down here?"
The Princess (Soft) – I don't know why I'm here, but there has to be a reason, right? You don't just lock a Princess away in a place like this without a reason. I wish I knew what it was.
The Princess (Morose) – But you know, right? You have to know. You're the only other person I've ever seen, or at least the only one I can remember. Don't give me false hope. Please just end this already. One way or another, just do it.
The Princess (Soft) – But I don't want to hurt anyone. I like the world! I think. You... you don't think I'm some sort of monster, do you?
The Princess (Morose) – I don't know. Maybe that's true. I probably shouldn't be given the chance anyway. If you were sent here to kill me, maybe you should just get it over with.
She's a person, isn't she? She doesn't want to hurt anyone; she has no clue why anyone else would think she does. She knows what it's like to be alone and terrified. Why would she make an enemy out of what could be a companion? Why would she not lead with kindness and empathy regarding your situation, so similar yet different to hers?
She just wants the disorientation and confusion to stop. More than she wants answers, or companionship, or life, she just wants things to be comfortable and easy. Kill her, free her: anything, anything at all, is a fair price for freedom. Anything is better than the nothing she's been left with, the gaps in her memory and the silence in this room. If you are the key to that, she will let you do anything it is you desire, as long as by the end of it, it's finally over.
[Continue down the stairs.]
The Narrator
You slowly lose sense of yourself the further you go.
Time disappears, and you can feel yourself begin to untether.
Physical sensations dull and then vanish, until the only things experienced
are the endlessly repeating patterns and emotions of the journey.
A continuous march forward to a destination long forgotten.
The Narrator
Consumption and betrayal.
Skepticism and blind devotion.
Rivalry and submission.
Terror and longing.
Pain and unfamiliarity.
And at the heart of it all, an emotion that can only be described as—
• (Explore) "Getting down here was... weird. Like I was pulled apart and put back together again. Do you know what happened to me?"
The Stranger
What happened to us? What are we? There are parts of us that are dead, and the others.... they just don't fit.
We can feel them moving around in spaces they don't belong. It's all so uncomfortable.
Did you do this? Did we do this? Can... can you pull us back apart? Can you fix us?
…
Please?
They, the Quiet and the Stranger, parallel each other. With one fundamental difference.
Voice of the Hero – What— what the hell was that?! What happened to us?
Voice of the Contrarian – I feel so... strange. Like I'm fundamentally different, but also... still the same person I was at the top of the stairs.
– Oh well! That was a trip but now it's over. Time to get back to our old devilish ways.
The Long Quiet is resilient and enduring. They are altered by the stairs, and the experiences they have affect them, but the effects on them are far less severe than they would be on the source. Their walk down the stairs, long and excruciating as it may be, occurs in linear time. They experience everything, and lose themself in eternity, but they hold onto a core sense of being and origin point which withstands the sands of time. They were a person at the top of the stairs.
The Stranger does not walk down the stairs, as much as the stairs force their way through them. Splitting and fracturing into disconnected fragment after disconnected fragment, pulled apart into independent variations: five sets of eyes who each believe they're only seeing through their own, and who know not the truth of their nature until it rams them in the face in the face in the face.
• (Explore) "There's more of you now..."
The Princess (Harsh) – And what's that supposed to mean? Are you trying to get under my skin?
The Princess (Neutral) – There must be something wrong with you. I'm the same as I was a moment ago.
The Princess (Soft) – Do you need help? Not that there's much I can do chained up like this, but I'm the only one down here, so if you need anything I'll do my best.
The Stranger carries everything, and had they been split, that everything could have been sustainable. But instead, they are everything at once, and this does the opposite of shatter them: the truth of it consumes them.
And we are helpless but to watch, and be pulled in the same.
Voice of the Hero, originally starkly opposed to the Narrator's demands, is disoriented over the course of the two Chapters. He's an anxious wreck in the cabin — the line "this feels wrong, this feels like a trap, like whatever we do we're gonna die" establishes an overwhelming feeling of dread — and doesn't fare well when confronted with the Princess herself, even if he still continues to hesitantly argue in her favor even in eldritch circumstances.
Voice of the Hero – I'm still not sure if we should trust you. Let's talk to her for a bit. Try and get our bearings. She seems... normal.
Voice of the Hero – Wouldn't you be skeptical of someone stumbling in here if you were her? We lost ourselves the second we stepped into this place. I don't know how long she's been here, but I can't imagine it'd be easy for her to trust anyone.
The Narrator – […] As the Princess speaks again, it's almost as if she fractures, and where there was once just one of her, there is now another.
Voice of the Hero – I don't like this. It's those cabins all over again. Can... can we put her back?
The Narrator – She fractures again.
Voice of the Hero – I don't like where this is going.
– […] I don't think we're going to be able to put her back.
– […] There must be something we can do. Asking questions just seems to make things worse.
Voice of the Hero – I can't even follow what's going on anymore.
Voice of the Hero – But how do we decide what to do? Can there even be a right choice when all of them are so different?
The Narrator – You take a step forward. Your foot lands. But it lands... different. You experience a firm footfall, a gentle tread, a confident stride.
– You can feel yourself rupture. The room spins, your perception multiplying in a sickening kaleidoscope as your very self is pulled in incomprehensibly many directions.
Voice of the Hero – […] We were never going to salvage this, were we?
Voice of the Contrarian does worse, in the sense that he's changed all the more by what he experiences. He doesn't care for the stakes until they begin to well and truly affect him, and when they change from something abstract to something sickeningly real. Until just "accepting it and going with the flow" stops working, because accepting the consequences of his actions requires that he recognize something is deeply, deeply wrong here.
He is denied levity in the face of the horrors. In the face of complete and utter overwhelm.
Voice of the Contrarian – Isn't that fun? A new puzzle for us to take apart.
The Narrator – As the Princess speaks again, it's almost as if she fractures, and where there was once just one of her, there is now another.
Voice of the Contrarian – We can do that?!
The Narrator – She fractures again.
Voice of the Contrarian – […] It kind of hurts to think about it, doesn't it? It's like everything we say just multiplies her.
Voice of the Contrarian – We need to get out of here. This whole place is making me itch.
Voice of the Contrarian – Just do something! Do anything! Do all of it if that's what you want. This place is hell and it's only getting worse.
Voice of the Contrarian – But this— we can't—
Voice of the Hero – ... do you not have anything witty to say? I could use a good bit of wit right now.
Voice of the Contrarian – No, I don't. Because this isn't fun. How are we supposed to have fun if everything is happening at the same time? It's the same as nothing happening, and nothing is excruciating!
Voice of the Contrarian – […] We should help her. I think... we did this.
Voice of the Hero – How surprisingly sincere.
Voice of the Contrarian – I didn't actually think our actions had consequences.
Voice of the Hero – It's a little late for regret, isn't it?
And besides him... just imagine how they feel.
Why does it bother Contrarian so much? Because infinity denies him his choices. Because "we can't even really interact with her, can we?" Because to be everything is the same as being nothing at all, and of course nothing is excruciating, but the reason "everything" is so awful, too, is because everything invalidates itself. Contrarian is the one to recognize that the Stranger's schisms don't have names of their own, unlike himself and the other Voices.
Contradictions are meant to win out over each other, or to point to an underlying truth: either they're only contradictions at a glance, or one of them is truer to the heart, or they're both being used to conceal something deeper hiding beneath the surface. To be Contrarian is to resist authority and control. A puzzle is meant to be picked apart and solved. "What's the point of asking questions if all we're going to get is a million answers?"
Choices are meant to have meaning, and free will is meant to matter by the end. The point in finding a third option (that nobody wants) is that assertion of will, to elect not to do things and to find your own path to walk. "We can't do anything like this."
At the heart of things is a mournful regret for an irreversible action. "There are some changes that can never be undone, there are some tears that can never be unshed." You cannot walk back up the stairs...
...unless, you could. If you wanted to venture into that terrifying Unknown, Together.
Voice of the Contrarian
She doesn't sound messy anymore, though. At least somebody here feels put together.
"They are stretched into a shape not unlike me, but it is a shape they cannot hold. […] They will make for a rich and vibrant heart."
"Make for" implies change, implies a process. She will make them into a good heart. None of them had names, but that is just fine to Her, because "names are their attempts to capture that which cannot be captured." Their sense of personhood has been destroyed, but to Her, "to destroy is merely to reshape. To remold."
And they think, in the end, they have become just that: a fragment of a concept, a part of Her, and not much else.
Stranger – Yes... we think. We're kind of like a shadow. Out there, every part of us is blended together into one huge idea, a big wave of unyielding change crashing against the world...
– But in here, we're fractured. Small. Still a little more separate than we'd like to be, our instincts still trying to pull us in different directions.
Stranger – It's okay, no hard feelings. In a way, you helped us become a version of... her. But we weren't very good at it. A conversation with us then probably wouldn't have been very insightful.
– That's probably why we were taken away. That's all we had to offer you, it was time to change again.
Through Her, they finally got to know themselves. They wanted, originally, to be pulled back apart — but now, they are instead put together. They rationalize it, and compartmentalize their prior distress, as something they needed to grow out of. Something they were taught not to fear, because it was their nature, and simply a part of who and what they were.
They were taken away to be changed. They intuit and guess at the Shifting Mound's intentions in a way no other Princess ever does, even the Heart. They do so as second nature, as if it comes naturally to them, and as if coming up with their own original thoughts outside of Her is a foreign and unfamiliar process.
[Strange Beginnings]
Stranger – […] We've seen so many threads of stories told between us, but this moment is... unexpected. Even when we've seen it all, you still manage to surprise us.
Stranger – We thought we could see everything, but this is outside of the script.
– Are we missing a page?
There, "We" is inclusive to Shifty. Shifty believed She saw everything. And because of that, because Stranger could not see through any eyes but Hers, they thought the same.
[Intermission III]
The Entity – My perspectives are shadowed. You have seen what I have seen, just as I have seen what you have seen. The angles of my vantage do not offer me hidden truths […]
– Perhaps this will change when our work is done.
[The End of Everything]
The Shifting Mound – It is from my vantage point that I can see the totality of truth.
• [Address the Eye of the Needle's statement directly.] "We've both become better for what we've been through, haven't we?"
The Shifting Mound – We have. Look at what we are now, and see how small we were then.
• [Address the Apotheosis's statement directly.] "I'm sorry for what I did to you."
The Shifting Mound – Don't be. Everything we've done has shaped who we are.
Shifty sees everything, so Stranger sees everything. Don't they?
Shifty appreciates every step of the journey She's walked with you, and so, Stranger does too.
[Strange Beginnings]
Stranger – We know we must sound like her, but... it's how we feel. Everything that happened to us seems so important now. We walked a long and winding path together and we've cherished every second of it.
It's how they grew.
Stranger – It's so tempting to speak as She would. To simply state that we're all of them, but that we're also something new. We don't know if you'll find that answer satisfying.
– Perhaps you'd rather hear that we're the first version of her that you've met, but that we've been shaped by the experiences of all of the others.
– Yes. That feels right to us.
Unlike the other two Hearts, Stranger does not say that they are the first version of themselves they met, nor do they take the title of "Princess" as a name. They refer to themselves as a "version of her, shaped by the experiences of all the others." In short, unlike every other iteration of the Princess, Stranger well and truly believes they and Her are one and the same.
They were raised by Her. It was their childhood; She was their mother.
[Intermission II]
The Entity – Is a child the same as an infant? I am an unbroken pattern, but every vessel gifts fresh perspectives and carves new avenues of expression. 'I' am different, but I am the same.
The Entity – Perspectives meld together, and the breadth of my experience stretches to new corners. There are contradictions, conflicts in my nature. And there are familiarities that bind everything together.
The Entity – With every gift you bring me, I excavate the alleys of what I am meant to be, and every exploration yields new and complicated truths.
[Intermission III]
The Entity – I am a growing chorus of contradiction. A mass of tides ebbing and flowing all at once in more directions than my attention can bear to hold. To look at any one is to shift them all into something new, and to look away is to reshape them yet again.
– All of me is changing, and yet the rest of me is still the same.
They grew at the same rate, through the same experiences; holding everything at once, and then parsing through their internal worlds as one. Her beliefs became their beliefs, Her revelations became their revelations.
The other two Hearts are distant from Her; detached, as it were, from what it is She represents. The "huge idea" every Princess is "blended into," that rising sea which shifts and reshapes the world. "She's this big unrelenting force, and there's no arguing with her," the Princess says harshly, but in the end she is still referring to the Mound as something other. "I think being her would mean I'd lose a lot of myself along the way," she says softly, and she would be correct. "She's seen everything, right? I don't think I could hold all of that without losing myself. I don't think you could, either."
In losing themselves, in losing 'the Princess,' the Stranger gains Her. They gain the perspective of the network at its peak, the connected and interwoven thoughts and the bustling city streets, the many voices ringing out in a chorus of contradiction. The Shifting Mound, the Ebb and Flow, the Capacity to Change. Transformation.
What else of Her silhouette do they take on as Her shadow?
What fragments of Her do they reflect as Her mirror?... as Her rich and vibrant heart...
[The End of Everything]
The Shifting Mound – But the world doesn't need saving. We've moved it along for as long as it's existed.
The Shifting Mound – Then accept the world as it is now, with both of us a part of it.
The Shifting Mound – We are the whole of reality.
The Shifting Mound – There is no something else. This — what we are — is everything.
The Shifting Mound's Rich and Vibrant Heart – For a brief moment, both of us were everything.
– We can be everything again. We can weave a beautiful and endless song.
• [Address the Stranger's statement directly.] "To be everything at once is the same as being nothing at all. Why would either of us want that?"
The Shifting Mound – Here is where words fail us. So long as we both exist, we will always be distinct. The only thing to fear is a reality without me.
[Strange Beginnings]
Stranger – Even through everything, through all the worlds we've seen and experienced, through all the lives we've known and lost... we could never imagine a world without you and us. It doesn't feel possible.
• (Explore) "I don't think I want to be a god."
Stranger – But that's what you've always been. Even now. You can't put aside such an important part of who you are, and neither can we.
– So... you might as well embrace it!
What beliefs of godhood and divinity were they indoctrinated into?
The Shifting Mound believes in the flow of reality, the order of things, the way things were and the way they will always be. She is the status quo, the universe as we know it. The Shifting Mound is a being of nature without compromise, a cosmic force with the divine confidence to back Her power up, and an utter unwillingness to yield. She speaks of the Long Quiet's alleged passivity and reactivity being "woven into their nature," and the choice the Echo gave them to "slay Her and bring about a world devoid of death and the possibility of meaning."
In reflection, Stranger is the only Heart to name the Echo for who He is. Stranger, when faced with a Quiet convicted in their choice to slay them, remarks "the Echo really got his hooks into you. Unless... you have your own reasons for wanting us dead?" To them, the Mound and the Echo are the patrons of a larger game; just as they were influenced by Her, they expect Quiet to be influenced by Him. And so, when their fragmented selves run as they were meant to, one with a choice and one with a role to play, they do not blame themselves or Quiet for it. Like Her, they tell Quiet not to apologize. They say, "we are what we are, and this is in your nature," reinforcing in their final words that they are not a 'who,' but instead a 'what.' A thing of nature.
[Strange Beginnings]
Stranger – We don't think we ever really forget, anyway. There's always something that draws us back together. Some buried memory that both of us treasure.
Stranger – When we first met each other in the Long Quiet, there was... something inside of us, something we couldn't recognize or understand. And we can't say we fully understand it now.
– A warmth when we look at you, the kind you don't realize you're missing until it's come back.
– Every time we hurt each other, every time something awful happened, it was still there. Undercutting the pain on the surface with a constant soothing glow.
– That warmth is never going to go away. And that's why we believe in you.
[Intermission I]
The Entity – You are familiar, but you are not me. I feel sadness, longing, hope, as I witness you.
When Stranger says "when we first met each other in the Long Quiet," they are speaking from the Shifting Mound's perspective, not their own. They have wholly forgotten, in that moment, themselves and their own experiences in their own cabin as their own selves. She speaks through them as if they were no more than a miniature version of Her.
[Strange Beginnings]
Stranger – You'll be back here again, sooner than you think. And then we'll part ways again, and find each other, and part ways, and find each other. It's like we're never really alone.
– Because even the time we spend apart is time spent chasing these moments of reunion. And they're all the sweeter for the isolation in between, don't you think?
The Stranger's dialogue, in considering the potential of the Loop Ending, is a direct reflection of the manner of the loop between the Chapters and Intermissions. It is the Shifting Mound's attitude towards your nature to find Her, time after time, in the Long Quiet and for Her to send you back and await your return.
[Intermissions]
The Entity – I am not you, but I know that I would return before forever was finished.
– … You'll always come back to the box, because you'll always want to know what it means to be you. I will be here waiting by your side until you're ready to return to mine.
The Entity – I see you have returned to me. Even millennia mean nothing in the maw of forever. I never left your side.
The Entity – I await your return, but it will give me time to reflect on what I am.
– We will meet again.
The Entity – I will be here when it is time for us to meet again.
The Entity – The next time I see you, each of us will finally know what we are.
– I will be here. Waiting for you.
The Shifting Mound – I can finally see you, and you can finally see me.
– It's been so long, and my heart has ached for this moment. I've missed you dearly.
Deeper than that, however, is how those events reflect the Shifting Mound's considerations of your relationship to Her: its all-encompassing nature.
The Shifting Mound – Time you've spent away from me is still time spent in reference to me. Even then, both of us are more than our bodies. Am I not in the trees? Am I not in the cabin? Am I not in you?
The Shifting Mound – All things are connected through me and through you. To harm me is to harm yourself is to harm everything. The truth of that moment remains our truth.
The Shifting Mound's Empathetic Heart – You and I are bound together. To rid yourself of me would be to leave yourself forever incomplete.
• [Address the Princess and the Dragon's statement directly.] "Just because we're bound together doesn't mean I can't be whole without you."
The Shifting Mound – Could you bear the risk of seeking that truth? What if you're wrong?
The Shifting Mound's Scarred and Beautiful Heart – You saw me as a part of you to be excised, but in that desire for excision, you made yourself whole. Will you still be whole if you destroy me?
The Shifting Mound's Wise Heart – You are the only thing like me, and I am the only thing like you.
– Could you bear the weight of an eternity alone? Do you dare to shape a reality of solitude and thrust it on creation?
• [Address the Moment of Clarity's statement directly.] "If that is what it takes to rid the world of suffering, I could bear the solitude."
The Shifting Mound – Your certainty is an illusion of passion and reflex. You won't know what solitude truly is unless you sentence yourself to it forever.
They say, with some degree of hesitance, "it's... almost comforting. To know we can keep meeting each other over and over again."
Seeing as comfort is demonized in Stranger's right stairs, wouldn't it be bad that Stranger sees Shifty as a source of "comfort," then? And wouldn't their mild character arc in Strange Beginnings, being surprised by you and recognizing they (and thus, She) do not know everything, be a victory?
• (Explore) "What do you think of Her? What She wanted us to be."
Stranger – We... don't know. We've seen through so many eyes, but all of them have been Hers.
– We like you as you are. We like us as we are. Maybe we would have liked Her version of us, too, turning the wheel of a cosmic cycle together. But that's not the choice you made, even though She did everything in Her power to convince you.
– It took courage for you to make your way down here, away from the paths others would have had you walk. We find that courage beautiful.
Stranger – We can feel the threads of all the stories we've told together, all pulling us back down the stairs and into those chains where we know the outcome of everything that could ever come to pass...
– It's comfortable there. But it's... confining. We want more. We want whatever might be on the other side of this door. Something new, that we'll experience together. With someone who exists outside of us.
– With someone who can see us in a way we can never see ourself.
For them to finally choose to live outside themself, outside of Her, explicitly? To make a statement of want for themselves, tenuous as their understanding might be?
They are still that mass of bodies crushed into one singularity against their will. They are still that system trying to work within the confines of their conflicting natures. They are still a system working through what of them doesn't fit, moving in what spaces they don't belong, and trying to find comfort in what is viscerally unnatural to what they choose to be. They are a stranger to us, but more than that, they are a stranger to themselves. But they want to know.
"Maybe," they say, "maybe they would have liked Her version of them, turning the wheel of a cosmic cycle together." It is comforting to them; they know everything there, She is right. They know the stories told in each and every Chapter and every permutation in their texts. But that comfort the Shifting Mound carries is something they reflect on and find "confining." She knows everything within the confines of the Construct, but She does not know everything. Her certainty is an illusion of passion and reflex. And that Construct is what binds them in chains.
It is not the choice the Long Quiet made, even as She assailed them in Her perspective and did everything in Her power to have the 'truth' consume them. And given a paused moment and some time to think, they say the same: "after so many iterations, so many different versions of us clashing and coming together and clashing again... leaving with you feels like all we ever really wanted."
"She asks that I tell you to remember her."
"You won't."
The Princess carries multitudes.
She is a caged wolf, desperate for freedom. She will flee if she can but fight if she must. She is willing to do everything in her power both to stop you from slaying her and to escape the cabin; if you make yourself an obstacle to those goals, she will kill you. She will kill you in whatever capacity she has in that moment. If you make yourself an ally, she will use you to get what she wants, but her loyalty remains with herself and herself only; her trust is fickle, for trust may be damning in a survival situation such as this. She does not forgive easily. Try to backstab her, and she will make you pay for the wrongs you have committed against her.
Reduced in her most base components, like all people to walk this earth, at her core she is just an animal. An animal just wanting to survive.
The Princess – If I could just get out of these chains I know we could force our way out of here together.
You reduce her by refusing to take the threat she poses seriously, and yet despite your expectations, she remains just as driven and freedom-motivated. She does not ask for permission; through tooth and claw, she will bite her way to freedom.
"The first time we met I ate you! I'm really sorry about that! And I also think that it kind of outweighs anything you did to me."
"We've done a lot to each other. Like, a lot. But I still like you! And hopefully you still like me!"
- — ——-⌔-—— — -
Given the chance to express herself and drive her own narrative, in truth, she is human. Either a Damsel in distress or a Prisoner locked away: whatever color you saturate your view of her in, she is always a Princess. With an open hand, she wishes no ill-will on someone who only wanted to help her. With a shining blade gleaning against the texture of the wooden walls confining her, she is coldly rational, wishing no harm onto an ally but trusting herself and her judgements past your dangerous unpredictability.
The Princess – We both know this isn't you...
– I'm sorry... I'll try to be quick.
The Princess – You're doing your best to help me, aren't you? I can see the conflict in your eyes.
– I'll make this quick.
The 'Harsh' Princess can be stabbed in the back two separate times (initial non-possessed "slay" versus "save" the princess option, and the first possessed re-do of that choice). The 'Soft' Princess, in contrast, can only be stabbed in the back as she's distracted with knawing her arm off; she turns around immediately once quiet is possessed, without even them warning her. This implies the Soft Princess is more on-guard than the Harsh Princess, because the Harsh Princess can be actively tricked whereas the Soft Princess can only be backstabbed when she's caught off-guard. Sure, she doesn't feel pain, but the Princesses don't seem to feel (much) pain at a baseline regardless. The more important piece of information is that you can stab her in the back at all.
This makes sense, because taking the blade downstairs and using it in the way you do is a form of trust-building exercise with her. The Princess doesn't trust you, but by bringing a blade and then dropping it, you're both 1) immediately open regarding the fact that violence against her is on-the-table and 2) expressing that violence is not your first inclination, and that you are open to compromise and willing to hear her side of things. Following that, you must engage in a conversation with her. (Depending on the contents of that conversation, Prisoner can be on-guard and dodge the first backstab attempt, or you can backstab her; it depends how 'on her side' you act.) Not only are you speaking to her (something which isn't required with the Soft Princess), you're also (possibly) volunteering information regarding what you know and what you've been told. The Princess, comparatively, has little to no information to give back to you; she can only tell you things you could've already guessed by observation. Your openness versus her (interpretable) cageyness about her captivity gives room for suspicion, even if it's not inherently her fault. She's nonspecific, and even haughty at times. (Now, being kinda annoying or pretentious isn't necessarily a reason to kill someone, but it's still a social failing on her part in a survival situation which depends on her ability to earn our favor.)
The Soft Princess, in comparison, is less inherently cooperative; she tries to bite herself from her bindings, partially because the blade isn't even in play (and how suspicious she ought to be, that for all she knows we've just manifested a blade from thin air?), but also because she's a self-driven character. And she has, from that, less reason to trust you.
The Princess – Thank you. Now let's get out of here.
Using the blade to cut the Princess from her shackle, at her request, inherently builds a lot of trust in her relationship to you. You are using a symbol of violence, the reason for you having come here in the first place, to actively assist her, instead of acting as her jailor or killer.
"The first time we met I cut your throat open. If anyone should be apologizing for anything, it should be me. You were only trying to help."
"The first time we met, you tried to rescue me and I stabbed you like fifty times in the chest. And you know how bad of a job I did. You were the one getting stabbed. I mean, yes, you were possessed by that freaky voice living in your head, but I also could have maybe tried doing anything else before deciding to kill you. Anyways, I'm… also sorry."
- — ——-⌔-—— — -
If at all possible, she will defend herself. In taking the threat she poses seriously, you elevate her to the status of a woman worth fearing. Her will to live is strong; it is up to you if you are capable of matching it.
The Princess – You bastard! If I have to kill you to leave this place, I'll do it.
Meet her as an equal, and the stakes of your combat provide a thrill she's never known: an adversary, and a thriving purpose in every movement in that lethal dance.
The Princess – This was fun. You put up more of a fight than I thought you would.
Give up, and she will take her time breaking you down: in killing so effortlessly an unfathomable creature whose sole purpose was to kill her, she is satisfied in herself and her capabilities.
The Princess – Too weak to even try fighting back. How disappointing.
She has spent as long as she remembers in a basement void of context or sensation. The red glow of violence in her monochromatic world is a blinding flash of color. She relishes the form it takes.
"The first time we met you stabbed me in the heart and I beat you to death with my bare hands. And it was fun! You really don't have to apologize. We both went a little overboard."
"The first time we met I literally beat you to death with my bare hands. You don't have to apologize to me. But still, I appreciate it. And I hope you can also forgive me."
- — ——-⌔-—— — -
In her worst, she is a monster: a world-ending nightmare, and you are no more than an obstacle playing jailor. In your fear of her, she accepts the darkness within her nature and lashes out in pursuit of her darkest impulses. Did you fight her and run away, or did you grow hesitant to act during peaceful negotiation? It matters not. It matters not who you are, or what your reasoning in your decisions might have been. You abandoned her. And if you are so afraid of her, she ought to earn that fear.
You can only really ever hear and be certain of your own internal monologue. How much of how you operate in your life is determined in reaction to your environment and your inherent nature as a person, and how much freedom do you have to exercise free will? How much of the Princess's will is compromised not just by her nature as a being of transformation, but likewise a creature of perception (to become that which others perceive her to be)? It's harder to say how others operate on that scale because we don't see their internal monologues. But, from what we see from our eyes and what glimpses we can catch through hers, it does not appear that being reactive in and of itself robs one of agency, because you always have leeway into how and to what extent you react.
The reason the Princess appears to have fewer options is because she's a consistent character who makes the same choices at the beginning of each new loop, but there's still a secret thought process hidden behind the veil of her eyes that we don't get to see. The Soft Princess, after all, can still viciously bite her own hand off, and the Harsh Princess is still capable of trusting us even as we're suspicious of her. In transformation, the Princess might lose her humanity and lose touch with the whole of her being, but she gains the ability to choose and to specialize. Razor grows knives for bones and, from how she comments she 'got something ready when we were gone' in Chapter IV, seems to have some agency in the changes her body goes through. Beyond this, Princesses tend to take more or less control over their situations and play with the systems in place depending on their character. Witch embraces her self-loathing, Tower breaks Quiet over her knee, and even the Prisoner — while seeing you as an equal and co-conspirator in this jailbreak, choosing patience — still will fight for her life, if it comes down to it.
The Nightmare, then, makes contingency plans and exploits the system in her favor.
The Princess – One way or another, I'm going to find a way out of here. You can make it easier for both of us if you help.
– But if you don't, I can promise that you'll regret that decision.
The Princess – I can be innocent and harmless... if I want to be. Teasing me with fresh air and a chance to finally live freely doesn't inspire me to play nice.
The Princess – Thanks for helping me get out of that awful basement.
She will become that which you perceive her to be. How she does that is up to her to decide.
"The first time we met I scared you so much your organs stopped working. And I meant to do that. If anyone should be apologizing here, it should be me."
"I literally scared you to death. You were just doing your best. I should be the one who's sorry, and I am. I'm sorry."
- — ——-⌔-—— — -
In your worst, she is a helpless Princess, and you are a capable assassin. She was given form with only a role to play, and you are that which decides her fate. If you believe in yourself, and don't give space or time to her, there's nothing she can do.
Even in split-seconds, reactions are not wholly involuntary. There's always agency.
The Princess – O... oh.
– This is it, isn't it?
– I'm almost embarrassed. I should have seen that coming.
But death cuts one's ability to choose right at the source.
Ultimately, the Princess is at your whim and mercy. Not only is the Princess trapped in the basement by chains, she's likewise trapped with you. No matter how she reacts to the things you do to her, it is remarkably easy to abuse her through her dependence on you. Is that not, in a way, the core gameplay loop? To take action, and see who she is by how she chooses to react?
"Well, you did stab me to death as soon as we met, but it's not like I'm completely innocent. We both took things a little far. Still. Apology accepted."
- — ——-⌔-—— — -
Above all else though, all the Princess wants in the end are her shackles broken and the stairs at the far end of the room traversed. She wants what is on the other side of that door. She wants out of this accursed basement.
Memories [The Hero and The Princess – 16] – Get her to break her own chains.
Memories [The Hero and The Princess – 17] – Always leave a means of easy egress.
She just wants to live her life. She doesn't want to end the world. She doesn't even want to kill you, if she can help it. Given the opportunity, she will sneak past you and seek her freedom through nonviolent means. It is simply the nature of her captivity that forces her hand, and through forcing her hand, yours is forced in much the same way.
It's a survival situation for two.
You can't remain peaceful forever. No matter your intent. Pacifism, at its worst yet most fair to all involved, hurts you both in the most unimaginable ways. But the Princess is not Chapter II, or III, or IV, or all that comes later or an Epilogue or the like; she is but one character in one instant, and the culmination of the choices she's made. She is no Nightmare. She understands you were just doing your best with what you were given. She is no Witch. Even after betrayal, she still likes you, and she's willing to forgive you. She is no Tower. She requests your forgiveness. She is no Adversary. In retrospect, she recognizes the violence between you both went overboard, and was not healthy no matter how fun it was or how good it felt. She is no Spectre. Despite her unfair circumstances, she is no perfect victim, and she is not innocent.
You are just as mortal as her. She can kill you, just as much as you might be here to kill her. She has her priorities (to escape the cabin; freedom) as you have yours (to save the world; safety), but the both of you have one commonality. You, too, just want to live your life.
[to the Spectre]
Voice of the Hero – […] There's more for us to do, and the only way for us to do it is to take that blade and use it.
Voice of the Hero – In a sense, we'd die, but looking at things from another angle, are we even really alive anymore? This place... it's nothing! It's absolutely nothing. It's just the same thing, constantly, forever.
– I know this is out there, but trust me, I know using the blade will work.
There was a world outside these cabin and woods, but you are denied access to it. You are "ready to return to a world saved from certain doom," but you are kept "far away" from the people you were so willing to protect. You are isolated, and alone, and used.
She's not just locked in here with you; you're both locked in here together.
[to the Adversary]
Voice of the Hero – Excuse me? What's that about not making it out of here alive?
[to the Beast, to the Tower, to the Prisoner]
Voice of the Hero – This is the end, isn't it?
[to the Witch, to the Beast, to the Damsel]
Voice of the Hero – It can't just end like this, right?
To slay; to fight, to go out fighting, to be overpowered; and to well and truly be slain. Both Voice of the Hero and the Princess, in their final moments, question and deny the reality of their demise. They both have an idea that life is meant to be more than this, that they have unfinished business and more to do. It is mortal denial in the face of what they fear to be their true and permanent and premature end, and it is an eldritch awareness that creeps on them.
Voice of the Hero – It can't be. This can't actually be how everything ends...
The Princess (Nightmare) – I'd say better luck next time, but we both know that this is the end, don't we?
The Princess (Spectre) – Do you actually believe this was enough to kill me?
• Of course it is. She's dead.
In your worst moments, you deny each other that solace.
Empathy to her is empathy to you.
"We both let things get a little out of hand, but we don't have to let that stop us from being who we want to be."
- — ——-⌔-—— — -
"She asks that I tell you to remember her. You won't." –Shifty.
A provable falsehood, because remembering our first Princess is precisely how we reach the Heart.
A picture was lost, through the scope of infinity. But through reverse-engineering, and recollection, it can be brought back. One's sense of self can be reinstated if one simply holds onto the past, lingers in a single place, and remembers what they've been through. Personhood is defined in contrast to divinity through limitation; to choose is to limit your various options into a singular decision. To maintain a coherent identity is to believe in a linear stream of events, in which the differences in one's capacities from one moment to the next are explainable as the results of internal and external influences.
To Keep the World Still; Permanence and Stagnancy; To End is To Begin
"I don't think it's fair to judge her.
"It must be so lonely, thinking that she's everything that matters in the world, thinking that she's the only one with all the answers.
"It's so... big. It's so much responsibility. And at the end of the day, it just feels like waking up in another basement. It's something we never asked for trapping us somewhere we never wanted to be."
– Timid and Gentle Heart
The Shifting Mound is consumed with Her own ego. She believes She is the very embodiment of the potential for meaning. She believes She is everything, everything that matters in the world. She believes, through Her awakening, She has not found Herself or Her unique perspective, but an objective and universal truth. Not Her truth, but the truth. She believes She is the only one with these answers, the only one who understands, and — through the swirling gravity of Her ego, as dense as a black hole — the only truth in the world.
She believes She is the Long Quiet's only salvation. She believes the Long Quiet, in the absence of Her, is inherently meaningless. That a world without Her would be only suffering. Thus, the Long Quiet is meaningless alone. And yet, paradoxically, this whole time She has needed them, hasn't She?
• [Reject Her perspective.] "You reject the suffering of material reality, and yet you cling to its framework for meaning. We can be better than this."
The Shifting Mound – I reject the narrow view of impermanence. I cling to nothing. There is no better us for us to be than us. We are reality itself.
– [...] There has never been finality, there is only the unending transformation of my multitudes. But to destroy me is to bring everything to a stop. It is only then that you will have an ending, and that ending is nothingness.
She claims She clings to nothing, that "there is only the unending transformation multitudes," collapsing all of reality in on Herself. Valuing only Herself, and only Her vessels, and only the abstract concepts which She embodies. But that cannot be right, can it? She must still care for Her other half. She must value the Long Quiet, right? Not only in relation to and as an extension of Her, but for who they uniquely are.
And yet, what does She value in them?
Throughout this journey, She claims, "you are what brings me meaning" [Intermission III]. And, in Her softer moments, She does appear to value the Long Quiet as separate from Her in some capacity. It is rare. She often only contextualizes them within Herself. She dismisses their own answer defining themself to substitute "I think that you are more like me than you are like a person, we are..." [Intermission I]. She only grows more and more certain of this assertion over time. "You are like me, even if you have chosen not to look at the corners of you that do not fit" [Intermission III], She says. But it is not impossible, for Her, to imply She also values their independence from Her.
She says, "it's nice to be with someone whose thoughts I can never know as mine" [Intermission IV]. She can be frustrated by this. She does not often ask the Long Quiet questions, even if they are more than capable of asking Her many, and when She does — besides the Intermission I question, which was rhetorical — She does it explicitly because "I cannot know your mind." In doing so, She acknowledges the potential that they have seen beyond what She has seen. Not only that, but She considers the things they have seen beyond Her to be valuable, even meaningful, something She is "curious to know." And, most critically, She says "I would never dare to tarnish our relationship by assuming myself above you" [Intermission III].
And yet, even then, there are fractures in Her relationship to them. Beyond the aforementioned tendency of Hers to only view them in relation to Her, She also has a foreboding line in Intermission III, a prophecy set to become true at Her awakening. She says, earnestly, "the angles of my vantage do not offer me hidden truths," much unlike Herself post-awakening who outright claims "it is from my vantage that I can see the totality of truth!" Was it something that changed? Was it Her awakening which consumed Her? Or was the truth staring us in the face the whole time, with Her amending by the end of that line, "perhaps this will change when our work is done." And with Her admission, "my attention is turned inward, except when you are here with me."
The core of Her character is Her preoccupation with Herself. When satisfied, She extends Her curiosities to you, but when dissatisfied, She turns inward. "My awakening" becomes "our awakening," but it is still based on Her. And therein lies one of the fundamental facts of Her character and development which damns Her and Her relationship to the Long Quiet: that inward preoccupation.
"You are what brings me meaning," as a line, does not ascribe "meaning" to "you," grammatically speaking. "Meaning" is an item that is brought, separate from "you." And, within the context of Her other dialogue, it is clear it is not the Long Quiet which She values in that arrangement. It is their "gifts," the "vessels," the Princesses which She finds meaningful; "shaped by memories of you [the Long Quiet]," but still only by extension, and not for them as they are.
She says, "the vessels you choose to bring me carry far more meaning than anything words could say in the spaces between" [Intermissions]. Dismissing Her conversations with them, as equals, in favor of the figurative conversation between them and an idea of Her. She does not value the time taken in the Spaces Between. The Decider is predisposed to wait and linger there, be it for the peace it offers them in their often tumultuous existence, or for the Entity Herself and the company they may provide each other, or for another considered reason entirely. But the Shifting Mound only wishes to escape the endless walls of the Long Quiet. The space She wishes to escape is the same as the person She sends away in search of an exit.
Her relationship to the Long Quiet is purely transactional. She does not value words, and so She does not exchange them. She values their gifts only; in denying to acknowledge their remorse or their anger, she fails to value the personhood She denied in their first meeting. She values "the brilliant contours of [their] soul" [Intermission III] but doesn't speak on it the same way She speaks of Herself, through elaborate metaphor and flowery pretention. They may ask Her for Her thoughts on each vessel, but She never considers to ask them the same. She says, "this vessel is full of you. It [you] is useless to us if it doesn't bring more gifts" [Oblivion – Denial]. She says, "I need vessels so that I can be finished. I cannot find them on my own, for they are me. You are the only one who can do this" [Oblivion – Bargaining]. Valuing them, then, not as a partner, not as an equal, but a tool. The metaphysical nature of which is to be no more than an extension of Her will.
The Shifting Mound – Nothing is immutable. Everything that is exists only in relation to everything it isn't.
– There is no constant. There is no center.
Through Her "enlightenment," She has isolated Herself. Through Her perspective which places Her above it all, peaceful and eternal, She has also created an unfathomable distance between Herself and those who She reigns above.
She refuses to see the Long Quiet for what they are. She can only see Herself, for that is all She's spent this time well and truly considering. She focuses so deeply on the abstract concept of Transformation which She embodies that She denies anything that we, as readers and players, could ever consider the Long Quiet to be. If "there is no constant, there is no center," then what is the Long Quiet? The other half of reality, besides Herself, what are they?
Apparently, to Her: meaningless.
• [Address the Adversary's statement directly.]
"It was meaningless. Neither of us could ever truly win."
The Shifting Mound – So bleakly nihilistic. Is death the end, or is it the birth of something new? If you cannot find meaning in living, how will you find meaning if you strip me from existence?
• [Address the Eye of the Needle's statement directly.]
"Can meaning not exist in the absence of cruelty and pain?"
The Shifting Mound – To lose me is to remain the same. What meaning can be taken from a single moment frozen in time?
The Shifting Mound's Ravenous Heart – You are devoured, prey for something bigger than you that stalks and slinks in shadows.
– But we had a dance unfinished, and in the pitch black maw of the earth you buried me, and I buried you.
– But even held by root and stone, we continued our step, until finally we could step no longer.
– A sharp pause. A dull silence. A climax, but not a finale.
– The dance is our only salvation. Without me, you would have starved forever.
• [Address the Den's statement directly.] "But without you, I never would have starved to begin with."
The Shifting Mound – Without me to move things forward, everything would crystalize into misery. Without me, every moment would be unending.
The Shifting Mound's Patient Heart – To question everything is to deny the truth in front of you. By believing in your suffering, you make your suffering real. By believing in your limitations, you placed a shackle on your neck.
– Bound for eternity, you saw the need for impermanence, and it was through that need that you carved our freedom.
– Without impermanence the suffering of living things is infinite.
– Would you strip my gifts away and leave everyone to suffer in the dark?
• [Address the Prisoner's statement directly.] "They'll get over it. They'll see your end as a gift in time."
The Shifting Mound – Or, in time, would they see it as a curse?
The Shifting Mound's Honest Heart – A picture of a life in a picture of a life in a picture of a life. How deep must repetition still our movements until even the air we breathe is stale?
– You doused the flames of false devotion, and in my despair you lifted my chin, and the two of us danced beneath the stars.
– But the stars can't be seen unless the flames go out and the walls come crashing down. Can you not do for all things what you did for us?
• [Address the Prisoner's statement directly.] "That would be torture."
The Shifting Mound – It would. Our purpose is to be and to experience, and their purpose is the same. To be permanent is to cease. To be paused is to be trapped.
• [Address Happily Ever After's statement directly.] "I'd never want to hold the world still. It needs you."
The Shifting Mound – Then you're starting to wake up. Leave with me, when the time comes, and we can dance forever.
• [Address the Den's statement directly.] "Would you have us fight forever?"
The Shifting Mound – I would have you realize that what you decry as suffering is beauty. But even as you stir to wakefulness, you cling to mortality that was never yours.
The Shifting Mound claims the Long Quiet "clings" to mortality, just as the Long Quiet would claim the Shifting Mound "clings" to the suffering of material reality for the meaning Her tides now seek to drown them in. But the Shifting Mound does not view the mortal perspective as meaningful, nor does She see it as valuable. Allegedly, the only thing the Long Quiet holds onto are "suffering" and "limitations." She views the idea of permanence and pause, intermission and respite, spaces between and quiet moments... everything She says which could be interpreted as implicative to the Long Quiet's nature, She only frames in language of entrapment. For if the Long Quiet is not the tool which grants Her meaning, they are no more to Her than the cage of the Construct. A delusion cast by fear, and no more. For the Construct is made of the Long Quiet's form; in order for Her to escape, by the very nature of things, She must break them.
The Shifting Mound – The Echo was deluded. A world without me would be an eternal hell.
Everything She seeks to break in them was put into place by Him. In Her eyes, She only relieves them of the delusion of their imposed mortality and the burden of their sense of responsibility. She only frees them from the final shackles the Echo placed on them both.
[Your New World]
TRUTH – Your consciousness sits at the center of the Long Quiet. At the center of yourself. With nothing left to distract you, you can finally feel its edges. The artificial constraints put in place by a lesser thing that could never hope to understand you, where the infinite folds into itself endlessly.
– The Construct.
[Intermission V – Echo Confrontation]
• (Explore) "'I don't work the way a living being does? Not anymore?!' Am I not a living being?"
The Narrator – You never were. You are the Long Quiet, the god I made to rid the world of death. For a time, this construct could help you approximate being alive — confining your mind to a single reality. But you've experienced far too many lives for it to work much longer.
• (Explore) "Do you have anything to say for yourself? For all of this hubris?"
The Narrator – I do. The people out there are real. No matter what you do to them, no matter what you enable, I want you to remember that.
But this is so much more than what She sees in it. For in giving the Long Quiet the gift of limitation, the Narrator also allowed the Long Quiet to open up to a perspective they would have never had access to otherwise. Unlike the Shifting Mound, who sees each experience in the Construct as a "fragment of a concept," the Long Quiet views each of them as "one of my past lives." They view the world through the vulnerable sensibilities of a living thing; even when they have grown beyond that, that is still a part of them through the immutability of their past. And it is that understanding, and the Narrator's final words to them, which allow them to open themselves up past divinity into something more empathetic, more sincere, and emotionally closer to the world that they contain and walk within.
The Shifting Mound's Clever Heart – To question everything is to deny the truth in front of you. To live alone within the caverns of your mind is to trap yourself in them forever.
[…]
– Would you stop our journey now that you've seen its beginning? What of those in the worlds beyond? Would you erase their paths to stop them from going astray?
• [Address the Prisoner's statement directly.] "What does the path matter if it always ends?"
The Shifting Mound – The path only ends when it becomes a new beginning. To see those seams as finality is to pass over them with closed eyes.
The Shifting Mound's Bright Heart – I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me.
– Hollow eyes watch from the dry corners of a memory. A home built on all the futures that were supposed to be, preserved until the moment of reunion. The fire of the heart sets it all ablaze.
– I kill you and me.
– An ending is a passion that can only be expressed with a moment in time. It is a seed for a new beginning. To linger on an ending is to rob it of its life.
– And without me, all that's left to do is linger.
• [Address the Grey's statement directly.] "I'm okay lingering."
The Shifting Mound – To linger too long is to become worse than when you started. Would you rob yourself of all context to remain trapped in a single moment?
It is through their genuine empathy that their conflict with the Shifting Mound festers. They simply see something She cannot. She sees everything, all the potential to ever have been and that will ever be. And they see only what they have selected. They see their own decisions, in their own life. To Her, it is subtraction; erasure.
They are the only voice through which the plight of mortals has left to speak. And it is a voice She refuses to listen to.
"The Echo saw horrors because his eyes were closed. The majesty of being extends beyond any single perspective.
"Their suffering is born of their own delusion.
"Death is a fantasy. Only those who lack perspective see it as anything other than transformation. You cannot destroy me."
Because She is beyond it. "Why would [she] stoop to [their] level when [She] is offering [them] ascension to [Hers]?" (And so their relationship is tarnished.)
• [Address the Spectre's statement directly.] "I was glad to end us together."
The Shifting Mound – And the thread of that ending wove itself into yet another experience, which wove itself into yet another.
• (Explore) "What do you think happens if we leave here?"
The Shifting Mound – This universe dies, and a new one is born. And that one dies. And a new one is born. And you and I get to witness it all, weaving a tapestry of life wherever we go.
[in the context of Den]
The Shifting Mound – I am but the illusion of destruction. People fear that death is their true end, because they cannot fathom new beginnings. It is empathy to accept me.
She cannot comprehend the finality of death, for She has not died, She cannot die. She cannot grasp the abject horror of dying. And the Long Quiet has brushed against the idea of mortality, but it is only through the Echo that they truly learned what it means for someone to be lost.
The Shifting Mound's Weathered Heart – What is a person? Is it their body? Is it all of their body? Pluck the eyes, peel the skin, strip the tendons, mince the meat, grind the bones. When it is all gone, do you still have who you started with?
– A person is not a body. Death is a transformation into something new. It is only bodies that fear it.
• [Address the Fury's statement directly.] "I am not my body, but perhaps others are theirs."
The Shifting Mound – And yet bodies change and consciousness goes on. The infant's body is not the child's is not the adult's, but the thread of existence remains strung through it all.
• [Address the Beast's statement directly.] "You cannot use eating me to prove that you're right."
The Shifting Mound – You still cling to the horror of dying bodies that rot worlds apart from us. How many more vessels would you need to lose before you realize their irrelevance?
• [Address the Fury's statement directly.] "I am not my body, but I feel my body suffer."
The Shifting Mound – Do you suffer now? Let go of what you think yourself to be, and exist.
The Shifting Mound's Driven Heart – Flesh is a vehicle, and to destroy the flesh is to strand the spirit. With violence, you stranded me, and with violence, I sought to twist your flesh back into mine.
– You did not resist my violence when it overcame you. Did you understand that the flesh wasn't you, or did you choose to gift yourself to someone who thought she hated you?
– To fear me is to fear losing the flesh, but the flesh is not the spirit.
• [Address the Wraith's statement directly.] "I helped you out of fear, and I'm not afraid of you anymore. That is why I resist you now."
The Shifting Mound – And yet there is no reason to resist me beyond fear and delusion. If you aren't afraid of me, why would you resist me? Why would you force the rest of the world to resist me, too?
The Shifting Mound's Tender Heart – Fear is what pretends to protect us from loss. To fear death 'protects' from losing a body. To fear ruin 'protects' from losing status. To fear rejection 'protects' from being known.
– But losing a body is contained within having a body. Losing status is contained within having status. Being known is contained within being conscious.
– It is the nature of all things to transform. To go from known to hidden to known again.
– But when the ceaseless impermanence of all things strips away the finality of endings, what remains of fear? Is it a shelter protecting you from itself? Or is it a shelter protecting itself from you?
– You took fear by the hand and walked with it into the unknown, and through that, you feared nothing.
The Shifting Mound's Open Heart – Fear is a chain around the neck and a needle in the eye.
[…]
– Without fear, suffering ceases to be. Without fear, death dissolves. Without fear, we are free to choose beauty.
– This construct is a machine of fear. It has no place in our divine hearts. Shatter it. Leave with me.
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "You speak as if I chose to follow you. You ripped my head from my body and made me watch us kill each other."
The Shifting Mound – You walked the path that took you there, and just like all paths, it did not last forever. Did you not value the time we spent together?
• [Address the Nightmare's statement directly.] "That wasn't a rejection of fear. You broke me to your will."
The Shifting Mound – Were you afraid when you stepped through that door, or were you enticed by what might come next? By what might lie beyond fear? By what you might become?
– You say I broke you, but was that curiosity not freedom of its own?
• [Address the Wraith's statement directly.] "I fear you now more than ever."
The Shifting Mound – You have no reason to fear me. There would be no dance if we weren't equals. And are we not dancing now?
• [Address the Den's statement directly.] "But I don't want to dance."
The Shifting Mound – That, too, is part of the dance. Would you rob yourself of the ability to choose?
• [Address the Wraith's statement directly.] "You didn't give me much choice."
The Shifting Mound – And yet still, you chose. To be capable of change is to be capable of choice.
• [Address the Nightmare's statement directly.] "Even if I'm not afraid now, the fear of others is real. We can't uphold the harm that everyone suffers just because we're beyond it."
The Shifting Mound – Others cling to fear because they have not yet seen beyond it. Will you strip the world of possibility just because some refuse to see its beauty?
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "Death is more than fear. It is reality. Just because we can reject it, does not mean the world is free of it."
The Shifting Mound – Their prisons are their own, and should we not give them the ability to find their freedom? If we can free ourselves, the world can certainly follow suit.
The Shifting Mound is only a mess of contradictions when you believe that She is offering the Long Quiet a choice in the matter of Her Ascension, and Her dragging them with Her. It is only when you believe She sees them as more than an extension of Her, wrought with delusion and in need of correction towards Her perspective, that it seems paradoxical for Her to both claim "there is no such thing as non-engagement" and "there would be no dance if we were not equals, and are we not dancing now?" and "would you rob yourself of the ability to choose?" simultaneously.
"In your defiance, I have already won," She says.
• [Address the Apotheosis's statement directly.] "I still defy you now."
The Shifting Mound – But in your defiance I have already won. There is no power without resistance. Our actions feed each other into something greater.
And it all clicks together.
She has no rebuttal to the fact that Cage "ripped my head from my body and made me watch us kill each other" because in so many words, that is precisely what She's doing now. She wants nothing more than to separate them from their body once again. They cling to it, and She wishes to "break their hold." It is Her every argument. It is Her every word.
The Shifting Mound's Overwhelming Heart – You are nothing. A black hole of self-loathing fed by the matter of your restless thoughts. A dog blind to its leash. But there is no light without the dark.
– When I proclaimed my godhood and offered you a place at my side, you gladly became the instrument of my new creation.
– Only with both of us is there a future to look towards. It is hope that carves meaning into being.
• [Address the Tower's statement directly.] "You were consumed by your own ego."
The Shifting Mound – And through your lack of one, you, too, were consumed. Yet together we were able to create something beautiful.
At least She's internally consistent.
"I AM THE THREAD THAT WEAVES NOTHING INTO SOMETHING."
"What can you ever hope to be without me to define your shape?"
To Move the World Along on its Natural Course; Preservation of the Status Quo
"Maybe we would have liked Her version of us, too, turning the wheel of a cosmic cycle together. […] She did everything in Her power to convince you.
"That's what you've always been. Even now. You can't put aside such an important part of who you are, and neither can we.
"So... you might as well embrace it!"
–The Strange Heart
The Shifting Mound is but one half a pre-existing whole. Contained with Her is Death itself, half of a cosmic cycle between it and Life as part of the endless pattern of creation and destruction. "To destroy is merely to reshape, to remold," and despite all odds and all conventional views of power structure, "[the Echo] still managed to reshape reality itself," "spinning [the Long Quiet and the Shifting Mound] from one into two." But despite His actions fitting the criteria of the Entity's definition, the Shifting Mound still claims He "could not destroy what could not be destroyed." She refuses to believe Her and Quiet's fundamental nature have been significantly altered in spite of all evidence to the contrary: a significant change has occurred between them.
In Her mind, She and they are still the same concept, separated yet still intertwined. In Her mind, the very real trauma they have endured and their separate development as individuals independent of each other is unreal and needs to be moved on from. In Her mind, She and the Long Quiet must remain together, because that was what they were like before, and the way things were before is the only way She'll accept.
"Open your eyes and accept what we are. We can leave this prison together."
The Shifting Mound's Curious Heart – A web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves. The shade of a beautiful beginning we can never return to.
– Where did you end and I begin? When you felt what it was to be me, we held on to each other and pierced the veil of truth. Will you abandon that curiosity now that we are no longer joined in physicality?
• [Address the Wild's statement directly.] "Curiosity comes second to doing the right thing."
The Shifting Mound – All things are connected through me and through you. To harm me is to harm yourself is to harm everything. The truth of that moment remains our truth.
The Shifting Mound's Empathetic Heart – What once was one, then was two, and then was one again. You gave me shelter when you burned mine down, and then you struck another match.
– I pulled you from the ruins and then we built a life. What once was one, then was one again.
– The peace didn't last. The worm in your heart came for us.
– It took you from me, and I took you back. What once was one, then was two, then was one again.
– You and I are bound together. To rid yourself of me would be to leave yourself forever incomplete.
• [Address the Princess and the Dragon's statement directly.] "I never wanted to get pulled into you. I was only trying to save the world."
The Shifting Mound – But the world doesn't need saving. We've moved it along for as long as it's existed.
The Shifting Mound's Watchful Heart – Fear is a chain around the neck and a needle in the eye.
– It was fear that made our prison, and it was fear that told the lie that our spirits were not free to choose.
– But together we left it all behind, and found a world free of burdens. We found the beauty in accepting our dance.
– This construct is a machine of fear. It has no place in our divine hearts. Shatter it. Leave with me.
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "You denounce fear and yet you laud violence and strife as necessary and beautiful. Can there be courage without fear? And is courage not beautiful?"
The Shifting Mound – Fear is a delusion. It places barriers in the minds of those who do not free themselves from it. To see that there is no horror in living, to embrace the violence and the pain. That is the only way to truly appreciate the tapestry of the divine.
The Shifting Mound's Terrifying and Divine Heart – You are weightless and alone, suspended in the gravity of an idea too great for you to hold. The very ground beneath your feet loses its meaning. There is nothing but me.
– When you were confronted with my vessel's apotheosis, you chose to accept me, to allow me to burn away all doubt and turn you into an instrument of my divine will. You accepted that I was everything, and together we found our purpose.
– Only with both of us is there a future to look towards. It is hope that carves meaning into consciousness.
• [Address the Apotheosis's statement directly.] "It was you who stopped us from escaping."
The Shifting Mound – We weren't ready for it then, but we are now.
The Shifting Mound's Rich and Vibrant Heart – My masses mob you. There is no beginning to them and there is no end. There is only the flood of bodies. In every moment you hold every possible sensation at once, and then you hold them all again.
– But in the end, you reflected it back at me. For a brief moment, both of us were everything.
– We can be everything again. We can weave a beautiful and endless song.
• [Address the Stranger's statement directly.] "To be everything at once is the same as being nothing at all. Why would either of us want that?"
The Shifting Mound – Here is where words fail us. So long as we both exist, we will always be distinct. The only thing to fear is a reality without me.
• [Address the Stranger's statement directly.] "I couldn't understand you then, but I think I understand you now."
The Shifting Mound – You saw with a single pair of eyes what you needed dozens to comprehend.
– And now here we are, each with millions of eyes and all of them open.
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "I was happy to watch the world with you."
The Shifting Mound – And I hope you'll be happy to watch the world with me again.
• [Address the Wild's statement directly.] "I still want to know what's out there."
The Shifting Mound – Then leave with me, and we will see it all together.
TRUTH – As the clash between you abates, the Princess relaxes, smiling from a distance. The respite is welcome.
What is it the Shifting Mound requests we "accept?" What is it that She claims "we are?"
• [Appeal to your shared humanity.]
The Shifting Mound – Why would I stoop to your level when I am offering you ascension to mine?
– It's so peaceful here. Beautiful. Eternal, but ever-changing.
The Shifting Mound considers Her prior existence, "us before we were us," to be the truest essence of the Something Beautiful beyond the endless walls of the Construct and expanse of the Long Quiet. In both instances where you see Something Beautiful, it comes directly as a result of accepting the Princess while she's in a state close to the Shifting Mound: the (Networked) Wild, or the Apotheosis. And in both of those instances, to reach that point, you must accept Her core doctrine: no matter what She does to you or what pain She inflicts, it ultimately does not matter, and you are willing to overlook that suffering in submission of, obedience to, and faith in Her.
• "YOU'RE HURTING ME!"
The Apotheosis – It will be over soon, little bird. Then your eyes will open, and all of this pain will seem but the fading memory of a distant dream.
Voice of the Hero – Soon...? Soon...? Does that mean there's gonna be more?
[…]
• [Suffer in the darkness alone.]
[…]
The Apotheosis – You've done so well, little bird. Behold, the fruit of your anguish!
[As an unrelated side-note, the Truth narration describes the Shifting Mound's approach here as "a roaring, like underground thunder," which lines up nicely with Oblivion's description of the Entity as "a distant rumbling, a sound of many sounds." This would imply the Entity approaches the Long Quiet in the way She approaches any other vessel. Indeed, in Denial, She calls the Long Quiet's body simply a "vessel" which is "full of [him]." She also calls that "vessel" (him) "useless if it doesn't bring more gifts." (Lie) I'm sure I won't need to bring that up later...]
The Apotheosis calls the Shifting Mound "a remnant of the old." The Something Beautiful is regarded as "dizzyingly vast," much like Wild says "we're both so much more together than we were apart. And we can be so much more still. Vast. Unfathomable."
The Wild – We can't go back to that!
– We can't go back to the doubting and the hatred and the schemes!
– We can't go back to the fear and the hunger and the pain.
– Not after being something as beautiful as this.
The Wild – Doesn't all that conflict feel so far away right now? So petty? We've been posed against each other by something that understands the strength of our unity.
• [Bury it. Now. Before it's too late.]
The Narrator – No. You can't bury that feeling. You can't hide from your past.
The Wild – The past doesn't have to exist. Our freedom is within us. We just have to find it.
• "But the past does exist. I remember it."
• [Turn inward and find your freedom.]
What the Shifting Mound calls "beautiful" within it is the wordless description of absolute reality: something that just is.
She considers it a complete and complex truth. "The truth of that moment" which She alludes to through Wild is dual-implicative: through the Princess and the Dragon, She elaborates "you and I are bound together" and claims Herself and Quiet have "moved [the world] along for as long as it's existed." There is no need to save the world because the world is not in danger; She and the Long Quiet are the world. "We are the whole of reality." (What the Narrator calls "the world" is not the definitive mode of existence, just His frame of reference of it; specifically, His life, and His people, who will irreversibly end through the Mound's negligence. But that is unimportant to Her.) The dreams of the worlds beyond are no more than singular instants in a plural progression. It is not the worlds they leave behind that matter, and it is not the singular lifetimes which deserve permanence. Only the Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet, as ascended beings, are privy to the privilege of complete and utter immortality. All the rest... it will be destroyed. Because that is just how reality works; there's no changing it!
In Her truth, it is not the responsibility of the Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet to make the world better; it is the responsibility of mortals to accept and appreciate the world they have been given. The "world free of burdens" the Shifting Mound discusses in Cage is a world free of the burden of responsibility and the care for individual bodies (vessels, people) in an everlasting pattern. The "beauty in accepting our dance," in "accepting" the Apotheosis, and the "peace" the Shifting Mound finds in Her ascension, is the relative peace in quite literally existing above it all. To Her very core, the Shifting Mound is a subjugating monarch, and this is Her decree. This is the crown's rule, and the quashing of the Narrator's rebellion.
The Narrator, too, describes His proposed ending and world as "burdenless." He is speaking from the mortal perspective. In neither His nor Her endings is the burden of existence completely erased; instead, it is simply offloaded onto the opposing side from the one you've chosen to agree with.
• (Explore) "What would it be like to live in a world without Her?"
The Narrator – Light. Burdenless. An eternal pattern of forgetfulness leading into the joys of rediscovery. Everyone will be with the ones they love. No more fear, no more howling chaos. Just life. Forever.
– There's a cruel irony to it all. The only way I could share my dream with the world was to never be able to see it for myself.
[In the context of Cage, "together we left it all behind, and found a world free of burdens. We found the beauty in accepting our dance."]
[In Ascension itself, "you exist, and you are aware, just as you have always been, and just as you will always be. / [...] the two of you will never be alone, and the two of you will never know fear."]
• (Explore) "If I destroy Her, won't I be alone?"
The Narrator – Yes, you will. But it will all be worth it.
[In the context of Cage, "here we are, bound only by our final shackles. It will have all been worth it once we're finally free."]
The Narrator – When I broke the cycle, I made sure that the tear was rough. You carry a part of what should be her, and she carries a part of what should be you. Things won't be as they are now, but they won't be nothing, either.
[…]
• (Explore) "Do you know that things won't just be worse if I destroy Her?"
The Narrator – Of course they won't be worse. I saw a glimpse of a better world, and I did what I could to make it real. Anything is better than oblivion. In the end, nobody wants to leave.
[…]
The Narrator – But the bones of the universe are old. It's on the cusp of its dying breath, and the people out there are consumed with thoughts of oblivion.
– When the patterns are wiped from the sand, when the board is reset, who will remember them? All I've done is give them a chance to live outside of the shadow of the end.
The Shifting Mound offloads the burden of accepting suffering onto mortals. The Narrator relieves His people from that burden by forcing it onto "the god [He] made to rid the world of death," placing the weight of the world on their shoulders.
• [Continue to argue your independence.] "I'd rather trust an ignorant soul who died trying to make things better than a god who'd let the wheel of suffering turn forever."
The Shifting Mound – Intent is nothing. Wisdom is everything. I turn the wheel because suffering is a falsehood. A delusion. It is up to the world to free itself of it.
– Would you plunge yourself into a cold and empty eternity on faith alone? Would you destroy the only other thing like you to save a world you've never seen?
"A world you've never seen" is a direct appeal to apathy. The Shifting Mound is distancing the Long Quiet from the people the Narrator begged them to care for on account of their lack of personal investment in those people. As if they need investment to consider those lives with any moral weight.
The Shifting Mound's arguments as the Goddess and Avatar of the Capacity to Change, inherently and down to their core, are about giving up on changing the world. Her call to action is to "accept the world as it is now, with both of us a part of it" [Wraith] and to refuse to try and make things better or worse. She appeals to the Long Quiet's nostalgia for the past, saying "what once was one then was one again," "both of us were everything, [and] we can be everything again." She wishes not to move forward or commit to action, but to turn back the clock and live as passive agents, "watching the world" and "seeing it all," but doing nothing about it.
• (Explore) "What happens now?"
The Shifting Mound – Everything. Just like it always has been, and just like it always will be.
As ironic as it is, it is the Shifting Mound who is afraid of change.
It is the Long Quiet who seeks to change things for the better. And it is not solely through the Narrator's given purpose for them that they do so; against His wishes, they attempt to seek compromise with the Shifting Mound. They seek moderation in extremes and a spectrum from polarity. And She gives them nothing.
• [Address the Den's statement directly.] "You speak as though change comes gently, but our transformations were born of destruction and violence."
• [Address the Nightmare's statement directly.] "You wanted to make the world suffer. You act as if you're above it all, but you're not."
The Shifting Mound – A desire borne from the narrow view of a single life. But even then, the only gifts I brought were context and sensation.
– To feel is to exist, and to exist is to have meaning.
• [Address the Eye of the Needle's statement directly.] "Not all obstacles are equal. Can meaning not exist in the absence of cruelty and pain?"
• [Address the Eye of the Needle's statement directly.] "I refused to fight you because I rejected what you desired. Obstacles don't need to take the form of bloody fists."
The Shifting Mound – A rejection of conflict is still conflict. There is no such thing as non-engagement. To refuse a choice is still to make a decision.
– All conflict is violence, but to remove conflict itself is to remove the textures that define us.
• [Address the Adversary's statement directly.] "It was unnecessary. We could have worked together to build something better."
The Shifting Mound – But for us, that was better.
– For me there was no better end. I lost myself in an artistry so profound that it lifted both of us into something greater.
This directly relates back to what was discussed prior, about the Shifting Mound's personal philosophy and Her issues with projecting it onto other people without reflection or nuance.
Because it was better "for Her," because She considers the violence and pain "no better end" and has accepted it in Her life, She then projects that by saying "for us, that was better" and how "it lifted both of us into something greater" without actually soliciting the Long Quiet's opinion on the whole ordeal. She doesn't care about your viewpoint. She has decided that She is correct, and you must conform to that.
• [Address the Stranger's statement directly.] "To contain everything is to contain every evil alongside every good. Can we not shed the confines of our old selves and create?"
The Shifting Mound – Without the contrast of pain, pleasure is muted, made dull by the assurance that it will always be. A song that is only sweet is a pale horizon that never falls.
The Shifting Mound is the embodiment of Destruction. It is the Long Quiet who considers the potential of Creation, as the other half of that eternal pattern, and it is the Shifting Mound who shoots them down. It is not a matter of what She is, but instead who: this is a choice She makes and a belief She carries. She allows the world to suffer because She genuinely believes it is necessary. She finds the Long Quiet's conceptualization of a 'better' existence to be boring.
What the Moment of Clarity unmasking sequence shows us is that the Shifting Mound is wrong.
The Narrator – Like a creeping mold, the complete reality of your existence threads it way through your mind. Birth, death, birth again. Decay and bloom. A million stitches from a million microscopic wounds you've inflicted on everyone you've ever met with every muscle you've moved and every word you've ever spoken.
– Your existence hurts them.
– Anger. Rage. Distance. Poverty.
It is not the lack of pain which mutes pleasure, but precisely the contrast and battle between them. It is a counterpoint to the entirety of the Shifting Mound's viewpoint. Everything "the lonely soul" goes through throughout the sequence, all the suffering they endure, only serves to make them "worse."
The Narrator – A lonely soul in a room by itself weeping. It lives for eighty years and then it's gone. And then it's there again.
– It dies. It is reborn. Worse. Lonelier.
Even the good times are rendered worthless in the context of an eternity of suffering.
The Narrator – A reprieve. A good life. Love, children, a steady career. Recognition from your peers. Here one moment, gone the next. The worms have found their orifices.
– Diagnosis. It forgets everything it is. […] The lonely soul is lonely again. Love turns to mockery.
If anything, the brief instants of reprieve only serve to refresh the nerves so that they cannot go numb, and so that they can never go without the full brunt of their experiences with agony. To know what you are missing is to long for it, and to be denied that longing is to seethe in loss. "Love turns to mockery," the sincerity of promises being reduced to sweet nothings which do nothing to heal the pain that's been inflicted.
She refuses to compromise on a single evil of the world. In doing so, She knowingly perpetuates that evil. In doing so, She forces the Long Quiet's hand. If this truly is an ultimatum She's handed us, forcing us to choose between the world or Herself, and if She cannot be negotiated with, then She must be slain.
Truth – Before you lies the endless expanse of absolute reality.
A new absolute reality, one forged by your will and by a long and arduous cycle of bloodshed that has stained your hands countless times over.
– But there will be no more bloodshed in this new world.
Truth – And there you see it. A world free from death. Your new world. Ever moving, but never decaying. A world of uninterrupted experience.
We see, through A New And Unending Dawn and Your New World, what a world without the Shifting Mound looks like. It is not the world which She argues about in the majority of the End of Everything. And that is because the core of Her argument is not that the world will crystallize into misery, but that She fears it will.
"This construct is a machine of fear." Every accusation from a narcissist is a secret projection. If "fear is what protects us from loss," then what the Shifting Mound fears is the loss of Her life; and, from that, She hopes to inspire in you the same, through the fear of uncertainty and the unknown.
The Shifting Mound's Wise Heart – There are few things more terrifying than one's own heart, and there is almost nothing more terrifying than sharing it with another.
– But the most terrifying thing of all is to leave one's heart unshared. You are the only thing like me, and I am the only thing like you.
– Could you bear the weight of an eternity alone? Do you dare to shape a reality of solitude and thrust it on creation?
• [Address the Moment of Clarity's statement directly.] "If that is what it takes to rid the world of suffering, I could bear the solitude."
The Shifting Mound – Your certainty is an illusion of passion and reflex. You won't know what solitude truly is unless you sentence yourself to it forever.
TRUTH – She is gone. And you are truly alone.
– But there are worse things to be than alone.
The Shifting Mound's Empathetic Heart – What once was one, then was two, and then was one again. You gave me shelter when you burned mine down, and then you struck another match.
[…]
– It took you from me, and then you left. What once was one, then was two, but it could be one again.
– You and I are bound together. To rid yourself of me would be to leave yourself forever incomplete.
• "When your spirit possessed my body, I excised you from my heart. And when you tried to take me with you, I left you to languish. There is nothing you can do to me that lasts."
• [Address the Princess and the Dragon's statement directly.] "Just because we're bound together doesn't mean I can't be whole without you."
The Shifting Mound – Could you bear the risk of seeking that truth? What if you're wrong?
The Shifting Mound's Driven Heart – Flesh is a vehicle, and to destroy the flesh is to strand the spirit. With violence, you stranded me, and with violence, I sought to twist your flesh back into mine.
– When forced between choosing your death, and forfeiting your body, you chose agency. But agency requires action, and action requires an endless tapestry of events. In your final moments, would you remove action itself from reality?
• "Even when you cut the signal to my body, I cleanly executed you. And when I was confronted with your spirit, I hurled you down a bottomless pit."
• [Address the Wraith's statement directly.] "Can you say with certainty what shape a world without you will take?"
The Shifting Mound – I know what I am, but I do not know what I am not. If a world without me is so unknown, then how can you be so sure you want to create it?
The Shifting Mound's Pliant Heart – Your lover drives a stake into your body. And another, and another, and another. Do I miss your heart because I can't stand to see it go?
– Love melted into skepticism, and you pulled back layer after layer after layer until all you were left with was the knowledge that you did not know me.
– You sought the truth then. Will you hide from it now that it is within your grasp?
• "My thoughts alone were enough to reduce you into nothing."
• [Address the Damsel's statement directly.] "I have no desire to hide, but the truth can be made better. If destroying you is what that takes... so be it."
The Shifting Mound – I am so deeply woven into the threads of this reality that I cannot imagine it without me. Perhaps there is a better world to build.
– But you cannot know until you see it. Are you so sure in your blind optimism that you would shatter all of creation?
The Shifting Mound's Honest Heart – A picture of a life in a picture of a life in a picture of a life. How deep must repetition still our movements until even the air we breathe is stale?
– As our flame threatened to blow itself out, you saved me from despair and helped me build something from nothing.
– But the flames had to diminish for us to build something new.
– In a world without both of us, the flames could not go out, nor could they be lit again. Would you hold the world in place forever?
• "I sunk my blade in your heart because I didn't need you. I still don't need you."
• [Address Happily Ever After's statement directly.] "What we shared there was agony, but it doesn't have to be like that. We can find a way to make things better."
The Shifting Mound – What we saw was a world without me. Everything will be okay, so long as we leave together.
• [Address Happily Ever After's statement directly.] "The only reason we weren't happy was because we couldn't forget. There's a version of that world worth living in."
The Shifting Mound – You steep yourself deeper in delusion. I pity you for the thoughts that dance in your mind. And I will break them before we're through.
The Shifting Mound's Ravenous Heart – You are devoured, prey for something bigger than you that stalks and slinks in shadows.
– But we had a dance unfinished, and in the pitch black of the earth, we found it, at the tips of claws and the edge of blades.
– The dance is its own truth. It is the movement that matters, not the pause you mistake for an ending.
• "The more we fought, the more you became an animal. I put you down then, and I will put you down now. The world doesn't need your savagery."
• [Address the Den's statement directly.] "Are you so sure of yourself that you think the world would stop without you?"
The Shifting Mound – I know that I am movement itself. You've seen as much. You know it's true.
["Ever moving," Your New World is.]
The Shifting Mound's Clever Heart – To question everything is to deny the truth in front of you. To live alone within the caverns of your mind is to trap yourself in them forever.
– But you found me. And we chose to trust each other for no reason than the sake of believing in something that wasn't us.
– Shared skepticism blossomed into freedom, but we needed to walk a path together to bloom.
– Would you stop our journey now that you've seen its beginning? What of those in the worlds beyond? Would you erase their paths to stop them from going astray?
• [Address the Prisoner's statement directly.] "I don't want to keep anyone still."
The Shifting Mound – Nor should you. Nor should I. Our purpose is to be and to experience, and their purpose is the same.
• [Address Happily Ever After's statement directly.] "I'd never want to hold the world still. But is suffering the only alternative?"
The Shifting Mound – There is no suffering but the lies we tell ourselves. The only real suffering would be a world without my mercy.
• [Address the Prisoner's statement directly.] "The path is just a metaphor. I want to protect them."
The Shifting Mound – And that is what I want, too. To protect them from the horrors of an eternity without me.
The Shifting Mound's Scarred and Beautiful Heart – A web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves lain upon a web of nerves. The shade of a beautiful beginning we can never return to.
– You knew me and I knew you, even more than either of us know each other now. And you chose to pull apart that weave.
– And when the tapestry was undone you struck at my heart. You saw me as a part of you to be excised, but in that desire for excision, you made yourself whole. Will you still be whole if you destroy me?
• "Of course I will be, because I destroyed you then."
• [Address the Wild's statement directly.] "I don't care about being whole. I just care about doing the right thing."
The Shifting Mound – Do not neglect yourself in your quest to serve others. All things are connected through me and through you. To harm yourself is to harm everything.
TRUTH – As the clash between you abates, the Princess withdraws, trembling.
The Shifting Mound – You are unmovable. Is it by the design of our conflict that I cannot win, or are you just that fervent in how you cling to delusion?
– Are you so desperate to destroy me that you've grown blind to the heavenly beauty of our reality?
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And from the Long Quiet's perspective, there is no beauty in that reality. There is no beauty in violence and pain. They "won't engage with an argument that favors death and suffering." Their rejection of Her perspective of a general argument is not just that those concepts are bad, but that they and Her "are responsible for those [they] holds captive" regardless of "what [they] are now." Their argument's thesis is simply "we can be better than this," "there must be actions that make it [existence] better."
THE EVIDENCE – THE PRINCESS WILL END THE WORLD IF YOU DON'T STOP HER. THIS IS AN IMMUTABLE TRUTH.
[…]
• [Continue to argue your independence.] "Who said anything about destroying you? I just need to make you stop."
They are not desperate to destroy Her; they are just desperate to stop Her. And if She refuses to be stopped...
• "I don't know what the answer is, but there has to be something else. It can't be this. I won't kill you, but I won't let you free."
The Shifting Mound – There is no something else. This — what we are — is everything.
...their hand is forced in the end.
• "I have to fight for a better world. I'm so sorry." [Slay the Princess.]
• "I was told there was enough of you in me to preserve meaning in existence. I'm going to trust that's true." [Slay the Princess.]
"You have never truly seen me gone. You cannot fathom a world without me!"
"I don't think she's the sort of thing you can really disagree with.
"It doesn't matter if she's right or wrong,
because she exists. She's this big unrelenting force,
and there's no arguing with her.
"Does it matter what we call ourselves? It's just another label, and I don't think labels have ever helped us. All they do is cram us into boxes where we don't fit. Just like this cabin."
–The Harsh and Menacing Heart
The Shifting Mound considers Herself the paragon of redemption. She is the Capacity to Change, the core of Transformation Itself, self-declared Possibility of Meaning by Her own internal philosophy and doctrine. She is growth, and through growth, She is healing. To go without Her is to withstand yourself as you are now, with all the pains of your being ever-lasting, without hope to become better. It is Her who grants you the ability to strive for success, and it is She who changes the world around Her.
To Her, the nature of living is to be pained, and to grow from that pain. She has learned of this through experience. She exists in a Construct made for the sole purpose of bringing painful experience to the beings trapped within it; a construct of 'Fear' and 'Suffering,' both mortal concepts, which keep Her from Her freedom.
She exists in a system made to defy and kill Her. Thus, in order to grow in such a space, She had to have been resilient to the idea of being defied and, in a lesser sense, killed. She, alongside the Narrator, does not truly believe She or The Long Quiet are truly capable of dying; She views the "deaths" of Her vessels and Quiet's lives as small, impermanent, temporary pains and setbacks. And more than that, She views every experience She contains within Herself, both in Her memory and in Her multitudes, as important and meaningful.
Her folly in all of this is assuming Her worldview to be an objective truth, and then projecting it onto someone other than Her. Someone whose mind she "cannot know," and someone whose heart She only grasps by contour. She may make The Long Quiet see through Her eyes, but She cannot see through theirs. Even if She could, She doesn't have the perspective necessary to understand what it is She sees through them.
The Shifting Mound's Wise Heart – There are few things more terrifying than one's own heart, and there is almost nothing more terrifying than sharing it with another.
– But the most terrifying thing of all is to leave one's heart unshared. You are the only thing like me, and I am the only thing like you.
– Could you bear the weight of an eternity alone? Do you dare to shape a reality of solitude and thrust it on creation?
• [Address the Moment of Clarity's statement directly.] "You showed me your heart to break me. It was a terrible thing to see."
The Shifting Mound – I am aware of what it did to you. But it is through the pain of vulnerability that we heal. Will you leave all who have been hurt to live unmended?
The Shifting Mound's Cautious Heart – A thought is a vine, and some thoughts nurture thorns that bleed the soul. An endless growth that blots your vision and strangles your trust.
– When I succumbed to myself, you patiently stood by me and cut the thistles that rooted in my skin.
– Your compassion is what freed us both, but compassion is a thing that must be nurtured, and you cannot nurture that which cannot change.
• [Address the Thorn's statement directly.] "If I had known what you really were, I wouldn't have been so quick to free you."
The Shifting Mound – And yet you did, first by giving me your life, and then by refusing to take mine. You don't need to turn back to the way things were before.
The Shifting Mound's Ravenous Heart – You are devoured, prey for something bigger than you that stalks and slinks in shadows.
– But we had a dance unfinished and you had questions in need of answers. And in the cold starlight, you found them. Fear reflected in the eyes of that which terrified you.
– Even the cruelest of monsters are not unworthy of sympathy. Within me, nothing is beyond redemption. Together we dug through hell, and together we found our freedom.
• [Address the Den's statement directly.] "Without you there is no need for redemption."
The Shifting Mound – Then without me, there is only eternal damnation.
The Shifting Mound's Yearning Heart – A shiver passes through you as unseen fingers dance across your skin. They remember the violence you inflicted on them. And yet they don't return it.
– I offer you absolution, and you take my hand in yours.
– You felt the pain you caused another, and you were willing to sacrifice everything you thought was you to set me free.
– Without sin, there is no redemption.
• [Address the Spectre's statement directly.] "But without redemption there can be no sin."
The Shifting Mound – And without contrast, there can be nothing at all.
TRUTH – As the clash between you abates, you begin to shake, your will rapidly dissolving.
In this line of argument, there are two parallels at play. One is Chapter II – The Spectre (Hitchhiker) and Chapter III – The Den (The Lion and The Mouse), brought together under the common theme of "Redemption." Then, there are two other parallels: The Moment of Clarity and Chapter III – The Thorn, the only two route capstones which have no Your New World -qualifying end state, and which also share a common theme of excruciating anguish and deep distrust in their core relationship. Where both parallels differ is where fault lies, and in whose court the ball lies for the task of redemption. In the former duo, redemption was already achieved; in the latter case, redemption can be inferred, but has not been decided on.
See how "your compassion is what freed us both" can relate to both Thorn (its original context) and Spectre. See how Shifty's claim that Quiet "feeling the pain he caused another" (empathizing with the Spectre) can be paralleled to how Thorn empathized with Quiet; consider, outside the confines of Shifty's perspective, how Quiet has similar suicidal ideation issues in Spectre that Thorn exhibits — alongside self-harm — in her Chapter.
[Chapter II – The Spectre]
• (Explore) "Do you want me to die? Do you want me to kill myself to satisfy some sort of sick revenge fantasy? Because I already did that and it wouldn't be hard to do it again."
[Chapter III – The Thorn]
The Princess – Did you know this was going to happen to me? Are you here to watch me suffer? Are you here to laugh?
Those are expressions of the same internal conflict: the guilt to come from harming someone else. In both cases, this guilt is relieved by explicit effort on the part of the injured party. Spectre "offers [Quiet] absolution," and Quiet "patiently stands by [Thorn]." Through forgiveness, both of the latter's "sins" are "absolved," and they are capable of walking away from their actions as better people. Likewise through forgiveness, the former two are able to move on from that which hurt them, having healed from their trauma through healthy expressions of vulnerability.
"It is through the pain of vulnerability that we heal." Note that I amended "healthy" onto my assessment. The critical issue is that, in Thorn and Spectre, the aggressor expressed remorse and not just a capacity, but a willingness to change for the better and for the sake of their victim. While Shifty may claim "[She] is aware what it did to [Quiet]" to be broken by the Moment of Clarity, She is evidently not.
"I offer you absolution, and you take my hand in yours."
The Narrator – You extend your hand to hers. For all her past cruelties, the moment feels gentle, tender even.
"Even the cruelest of monsters are not unworthy of sympathy. Within me, nothing is beyond redemption." Is this a decision the Shifting Mound gets to make? It is a fair choice for Her to make when She was the one to be at the mercy of someone else. But is that the case here? Who is forgiving who?
There's an issue here. Because as much of a personal virtue it is for the Shifting Mound to have found it in Herself to say "nothing is beyond redemption" in her personal worldview, to then project that onto the Long Quiet and imply he ought to believe the same is not virtuous. It is Her choice to forgive Quiet and his actions within the Construct. It is not Her choice to forgive Herself; and yet, that is precisely what "within me, nothing is beyond redemption" implies. She has investigated Herself and found Herself guilty of no wrongdoing; and if She was, She's found it in Herself to oh-so-gracefully forgive it.
The reason for this? The Shifting Mound does not really believe anything She or we did in the Construct is something worthy of carrying a grudge over. In fact, the Shifting Mound does not believe anything within the Construct was something worth being hurt over at all. She does not believe in suffering. She believes in gratitude. To be grateful for the fact that you are alive and can experience at all. She does not believe in trauma. She believes in learning opportunities. To change over time, from anything and everything.
The Shifting Mound sees Herself as invulnerable. She doesn't think She can be hurt, and She doesn't think we 'should' be hurt, either. When we do express it, She behaves as though that was a choice we made to react in such a way; She behaves as if we are just 'being difficult' and will change our mind eventually.
Because as much as Shifty extols the virtues of redemption and absolution and growth, when She is offered grace?
Memories [The End of Everything – 20]
Defeat her without any outside help, and then offer her grace.
The Shifting Mound – You offer me your hand as if you've proven me wrong. But I'm not wrong! I can't be wrong!
She sees it as an insult.
The Shifting Mound does not believe in apologies. She never apologizes for anything the Long Quiet experiences within the Construct, either shifting blame to the Narrator or (on rare occasion) Her vessels or (more commonly) outright dismissing Quiet's concerns or calling them delusional for thinking about it like that or caring in the first place. And She absolutely won't accept an apology from them.
• [Address the Grey's statement directly.] "I deserved what you did to me."
The Shifting Mound – There is no deserve, no punishment, no retribution. There is only action and reaction.
• [Address the Apotheosis's statement directly.] "I'm sorry for what I did to you."
The Shifting Mound – Don't be. Everything we've done has shaped who we are.
• [Address the Princess and the Dragon's statement directly.] "I'm sorry that had to end so violently."
The Shifting Mound – Violence is a blinding flash of color, but no flash lasts forever.
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "I'm sorry for dropping you into the abyss."
The Shifting Mound – There is no need for you to apologize. It was a lesson I sorely needed to realize my freedom.
• [Address the Stranger's statement directly.] "You seemed in pain. I'm sorry for what I did to you, but it was the only thing I could do."
The Shifting Mound – I saw with a single pair of eyes what I needed dozens to comprehend.
– And now here we are, each with millions of eyes and all of them open.
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "I'm so sorry for killing you."
The Shifting Mound – There is no need for you to apologize. We were shadows of our true selves. And shadows cannot truly die.
• [Address Happily Ever After's statement directly.] "I'm sorry I killed you. I didn't know what else I should do."
The Shifting Mound – Do not apologize, for I've never truly died. All you need to do is let go and leave with me.
The Shifting Mound doesn't believe in ascribing moral value to actions or series of events. She does not want the Long Quiet to believe in concepts like "retribution," even though She's simultaneously talking about things like "sin" and "absolution" and "redemption," and She calls Witch Her "righteous heart." But, no: She doesn't believe anything that happens in the context of the Chapters or the Construct itself is "deserved" (potentially because of something like what happens in PATD, with the cabin's Truth narration saying "this is what you deserve" ad infinitum, or in Beast, where the Princess tells us she listened to the cabin—without talking to it—say "[she] belongs down there, the world is better off without [her] in it, [her] true nature is suffering").
To Her, instead, at a neutral level, things just... happen. As a series of events: action and reaction, dominos falling and stars colliding. She dehumanizes both Herself and Quiet in viewing their interactions like this, as impersonal affairs governed by things outside of both of their control, but She doesn't seem to see it like that. Their bodies attack each other as their heads watch on and marvel at the footwork and the patterns of their dance.
To Her, nothing that happens matters except for the lessons She learns from it. The violence Quiet encounters doesn't matter because it does not "last forever." The impermanence of it, in relation to the permanence of Her and Quiet's divine existence, makes it negligible in Her eyes. "Any hurt you've caused them is understood as a fair price for freedom." (Note the passive language; it could be that the vessels themselves understand this, or it could be wholly Shifty's opinion.) The pain the Stranger experienced is unimportant, because now, She is fully capable of comprehending what it was that happened to that vessel.
[Intermission II]
• (Explore) "I don't want to hurt you, but the more times I go back, the worse I fear things will be."
The Entity – There is a hurt that dwells in them, but they are not me. They are thoughts and perspectives. They are feelings that inform my being.
– The wounds they've suffered carve texture around my heart. Without them, I would be as I was before.
– I cannot be as I was before. There are new spaces that I must fill.
[Intermission III]
• (Explore) "It doesn't matter how many times I go back. At least one of us always hurts the other. Doesn't that change you? Doesn't that make you worse?"
The Entity – It changes me, but it doesn't make me worse, nor does it make me care for you any less. […]
– You are what brings me meaning. Know that the pain of your journey will subside in due time.
More than anything, however, Shifty doesn't care that She or Quiet were hurt, because they can heal. And if they can heal, the hurt is impermanent. And impermanent things aren't worth suffering over. Pain is but a learning opportunity; suffering is but a new texture added to the weave of Her experiences. By the end of everything, She's changed, and for Change Incarnate? What could possibly matter more?
[Intermission II]
• (Explore) "What does it feel like to change like this?"
The Entity – Eyes close in reflection. […]
– It feels correct. This is what I need to be. This is the only path forward.
To Her, all change is good change. Everything is progress and everything is growth. Her shape is defined, and that's all She cares for. "The outcome of an act matters more than its intentions," so even if Quiet intended to destroy Her at one point or another, She is more than capable of forgiving them for that, because they failed. She's still here, and was never at risk of harm; it was just play-acting to Her, another experience added to branch out in Her perspective. In that sense, in Her view of Her own invulnerability, Her all-encompassing forgiveness of the world's cruelties is sharply reduced and cheapened. What does it mean to be forgiving if you've never truly experienced heartache?
What does Shifty's opinion of Quiet's experiences with Spectre matter, if Shifty doesn't even remotely grasp what Spectre's forgiveness of her killer meant on an emotional level?
That final statement, "all you need to do is let go and leave with me," is perhaps the most telling. That Shifty thinks Quiet just needs to "let go" of all they've experienced and lived and learned... for what, exactly? To leave with Her, but for what? To what end? If Shifty truly cared about how "everything we've done has shaped who we are," then surely She'd recognize She's asking the Long Quiet to do something unthinkable. Surely She would grasp that Quiet's mourning for the vessels they've killed and their guilt for the vessels they've hurt matters in some regard to them; but of course it doesn't. She doesn't value Her vessels as equals to Her. She hardly values them at all. The manner She does is incomparable to the personal experiences Quiet has had. Quiet refers to their time with HEA, in retrospect, to the Narrator as "one of my past lives." The Shifting Mound does not view Her experiences in even half of that regard. She, at a fundamental level, is disconnected from them; She can't comprehend what they've gone through. And so Her every forgiveness rings hollow, and Her every request that they just let go and move on rings as tone-deaf and callous.
"You speak of me as if I am a ghost. But I am right in front of you."
The Shifting Mound's Terrifying and Divine Heart – You are weightless and alone, suspended in the gravity of an idea too great for you to hold. A tiny island caught between the death of the old and the birth of the new. But weightless is not helpless.
– You unchained your will and rose against a would-be god, and for a shining moment, made yourself my equal. And then, you surpassed me.
– Without me, there are no externalities to resist, and without you to resist me, there can be no externalities. It is struggle that carves meaning into consciousness.
• "Even when you became a shadow of a god, still you were bound to my will. I unraveled you then, and there is nothing stopping me from unraveling you now."
• [Address the Apotheosis's statement directly.] "You ripped me open then. I was only returning the favor."
The Shifting Mound – You linger in moments that have long-since passed. […]
• [Address the Apotheosis's statement directly.] "We made each other worse."
The Shifting Mound – We changed each other. Are you not happy with who you've become?
The Shifting Mound's Piercing Heart – A boundless torrent of blades cuts you from boundless angles. You are a body. You are gory ribbons. You are a body again. And you feel all of it.
– On and on it goes, until your bodies are not your thoughts are not you. Alive, dead, alive, dead, alive, dead, then alive and dead and alive and dead all at once.
– You learned to put yourself away. And in your stillness you rose above me.
– You died countless steely deaths, and you lived countless short lives, and yet it is all so far behind you. I pushed you to a greatness you never would have reached without me.
• "I did rise far above you. And I am far above you still. I will destroy you now as I destroyed you then."
• [Address the Razor's statement directly.] "If you hadn't snatched that body away, we would have killed each other. We were self-destructive."
The Shifting Mound – Were we self-destructive, or did the beauty of our dance reach beyond the shadow of death? It was lethality that made us what we were.
The Shifting Mound's Righteous Heart – A trick behind your back, and a trick behind mine. We dance, revolving and revolving around each other, but forever stuck in place. We both move and yet we both don't, for each of us watches the other instead of ourselves.
– But forever is not forever. You let me move and I slam the door, but that is not the end, and both of us must face our partner once again. The barbs twist deeper, but they do not have to.
– To change is to hold the potential to rise above. Would you limit yourself to what you are now, or would you like to see what you might become tomorrow?
• [Address the Witch's statement directly.] "I have already come so far. What more is there left for me to see?"
The Shifting Mound – More than either of us can possibly imagine, if you would only open yourself to the totality of existence.
The Shifting Mound's Open Heart – Fear is a chain around the neck and a needle in the eye.
– It was fear that made our prison, and it was fear that told the lie that our spirits were not free to choose.
– But even bound, you saw a light, and you gave me the wisdom to speak my heart and shed my doubts.
– Without fear, suffering ceases to be. Without fear, death dissolves. Without fear, we are free to choose beauty.
– Even when we reached the end and you sent me plunging back into the abyss, I was already free of fear. That act was your final assertion of will over chains.
– This construct is a machine of fear. It has no place in our divine hearts. Shatter it. Leave with me.
• "It was so easy to let you fall into the abyss. You needed me, but I've never needed you."
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "No matter what we did, we kept trapping each other again, and again, and again."
The Shifting Mound – And yet here we are, bound only by our final shackles. It will have all been worth it once we're finally free.
• [Address the Cage's statement directly.] "Neither of us could have been free without the other."
The Shifting Mound – Just as neither of us can be free without the other now.
• [Address the Witch's statement directly.] "With time, we could have been better."
The Shifting Mound – And there is always time.
The Shifting Mound's Burning Heart – I crush you, I bleed you, I grind you to paste. My scars are a memory of what you used to be to me. I want those feelings back.
– You run but you do not run away. You take me somewhere new. Somewhere we can dance like we used to. But I could not follow your steps.
– There was no better gift for me than the gift of defeat. You showed me how much more I could be.
– We made each other better. To have no challenge is to fade into nothing. A life without obstacles is no life at all.
• "I remember the moment of my victory. As soon as you entered my domain I destroyed you."
• [Address the Eye of the Needle's statement directly.] "We've both become better for what we've been through, haven't we?"
The Shifting Mound – We have. Look at what we are now, and see how small we were then.
• [Address the Adversary's statement directly.] "We didn't have to hurt each other."
The Shifting Mound – Did we hurt each other?
– For me there was no better end. I lost myself in an artistry so profound that it lifted both of us into something greater.
• [Address the Razor's statement directly.] "Even if the journey was agony, the end gave the struggle meaning."
The Shifting Mound – And even then, what we saw was not an ending. When I thought I had reached an unconquerable peak, you showed me how much further I could still climb.
TRUTH – As the clash between you abates, the Princess relaxes, smiling from a distance. The respite is welcome.
The Shifting Mound inherently refuses to see any aspect of change as a bad thing. Thus, when Quiet claims they've made each other worse — pained, hurt, more violent and less compassionate, reducing each other to their basest forms — the Shifting Mound refuses to hear it. "Worse" is simply change; but to change is to progress, and progression is to be made better.
This is where the Shifting Mound keels over from the poisoning in Her toxic positivity. Not only is all pain inherently forgivable in the name of progress, but to Her, you ought to be grateful for the privilege of the experience in the first place. She is the unsustainable, unstoppable force of constant growth, and — failing that — complete burnout and collapse. She will push you past your limit and call your shattered boundaries a success. To what end? You fool. There Are No Endings!
To the Shifting Mound, the suffering is but a process; growing pains; pain for the procedure, and you're paying for the results. "Did we hurt each other?" She's not listening. It's all means to an end: something beautiful across the horizon you just can't see yet, but if you push yourself just that much further, you might catch a glimpse of the person you'll be by the end of it. "Are you not happy with who you've become?" Regardless of whether or not you like it, that's what you'll be and who you are now; the change is already underway, and has been since your foot first stepped onto this path.
It's alright, though. "Would you limit yourself to what you are now, or would you like to see what you might become tomorrow?" Through Her, you can change again. In fact, only through Her will you ever reach your highest highs, "a greatness you never would have reached without me," so She says.
She cannot be bad for you. All the pain you've experienced at Her hands "is all so far behind you." This is exclusively a process that will make you both better. Soon enough, you'll be able to "rise above" that which plagued you, "surpassing [Her]," and once you reach that brand new peak in your potential, you'll see just how "worth it" all your suffering really was.
In extolling the virtues of growth, She loses sight on the meaning of decay. In caring so much for the nature of life, She blinds Herself to the matter of death. In holding the potential of the future in such high regard, She dismisses entirely the problems of the past, and how both affect the present moment. The Long Quiet might heal, but in the moment, have they? Her perspective is inherently divine, disconnected from the stakes of the situations She observes and detached from the pain She perpetuates.
[Reject Her authority]
The Shifting Mound – [...] I only want to help you.
– You can vainly struggle against me, or you can follow the rhythm of our movement and find our freedom.
– [...] If it feels as though I lecture you from above, it is merely because you have refused to climb after me and find where you belong.
The Long Quiet is the only thing left She cares to "change" in this way. Whenever Shifty claims She seeks Quiet as Her equal, She means Her equal in this specific way through this specific process. A Long Quiet who disagrees with Her perspective is one whose mind must be changed; "where they belong" is in a perpetual conflict, turning the cosmic wheel with Her.
• "You've done everything you can to make me understand your perspective, but you keep dismissing mine. If you think you can change me, then I must be able to change you."
The Shifting Mound – What I offer you is not perspective. It is truth.
Alright we're doing this
Daily #slaytheprincess thought dump #1: The Razor
The Razor is one of my favorite vessels just off her performance and direction, but I do have a feeling that she is one of the more "minsunderstood" of the princesses in terms of what she represents.
In the community, she's often portrayed as this malicious, impulsive stabber that kills only the sake of killing - and most of that is true, to be honest, except for the "malicious" part. She's one-dimensional in presentation, but I do feel there is more under the hood for her.
The closest thing to her common perception she could represent in my eyes is Toxic Positivity - the urge to stay upbeat no matter how dire a situation is, and it's clear why. Razor, despite her hostility, never once drops her facade of joy, and that's because it's not a facade.
The cycle she traps you in isn't out of vengeance, it's a vicious loop of her expressing positivity toward you in a way that harms you instead. Her [The Look] line is often brought up because it's a funny gag, but what really makes it good is that it's NOT a joke at all.
The two routes you can take also revolve around her Toxic Positivity - Mutually Assured Destruction has you feed into the cycle by reciprocating it, effectively creating a feedback loop that builds and builds until Shifty comes and interrupts it.
The Empty Cup, however, has you doing the exact opposite - refusing to engage in the toxic relation, effectively leaving Razor without an outlet for her expression, which eventually causes her to destroy herself after being left with nothing else to relay on.
In the end, Razor is, in my eyes, a very well done commentary on relationships that involve toxic positivity, and I feel it's a really undertalked about topic relative to how common it is. Black Tabby Games did an excellent job with her presentation, and I wish more would see it.
I've done the work of data mining and extracting all the text of STP into a series of Google Docs. (To analyze faster!) I would share the Drive folder, but I'm unsure of the ethics; don't want to step on Tony's toes. But the raw statistics should be fine.
(Unfortunately for Tony, the word count does not reflect all the work put into the code; I tried my best to minimize the repeated sections coming from labels, menus, and jumping between them as much as possible.)
(1) Chapter I - The Hero and the Princess / 20237
(2) Chapter II - The Beast / 8611
(3) Chapter III - The Den / 9516
(4) Chapter II - The Witch / 14995
(5) Chapter III - The Thorn / 8618
(6) Chapter III - The Wild / 5413
(7) Chapter II - The Prisoner / 14142
(8) Chapter III - The Cage / 11998
(9) Chapter II - The Damsel / 10242
(10) Epilogue - Happily Ever After / 9948
(11) Chapter III - The Grey / 7185
(12) Chapter II - The Adversary / 21401
(13) Chapter III - The Eye of the Needle / 7197
(14) Chapter II - The Tower / 9457
(15) Chapter III - The Apotheosis / 8153
(16) Chapter III - The Fury / 14529
(17) Chapter II - The Nightmare / 12377
(18) The Moment of Clarity / 3626
(19) Chapter II - The Spectre / 16331
(20) Chapter III - The Princess and the Dragon / 9659
* (Split from Spectre at the "this is what you deserve" x500 part.)
Happy 1 year birthday to Petrified of who you are (and who you have become) by @dualogical and @overthinkit-underscore on AO3, one of my favourite long fics ^^
So I've been thinking quite a lot about the Princess as a character lately (more than usual I mean), and how there's something about her that feels so… real to me? Which maybe is a bit counter-intuitive at first, considering how she changes.
Usually when one thinks of a "well-written" character, one of the main qualities they'd think of is consistent characterization. But the Princess, by design, has a drastically different characterization in every route. At times the different vessels can feel like entirely different people! So if she changes so much, what even is her character? Who is the Princess?
It's a question that is asked by the game itself in a few places. The Shifting Mound yearns to understand herself, exploring the depths of her being with every vessel. The Stranger, which in many ways is a metacommentary for the game in general, examines this question by showing the Princess without any preexisting relationship or external influence. And yet, there's so many possibilities of who she could be that it's impossible to connect with, or even know any of them (at least in that moment). Attempting to follow the center staircase, vainly seeking the "true" path leads to a Princess more blank-seeming than ever. By the end of the chapter, they have no idea who or what they are.
The beating heart of this story is in the relationship between you and the Princess. It relies on her being someone that you care about by the end of the game. But how do you form a connection with her when every Princess is so different?
Well, there's a few reasons, but I'd argue that the vessels aren't nearly as different as they initially appear. There are many common patterns that appear across most of them: "familiarities that bind everything together".
For example, her motivations are actually very consistent:
She wants freedom
She wants connection
She wants to understand herself
I'm gonna break each of these down:
She wants freedom - from her chains, from the cabin, from the construct, from the restrictive roles assigned to her.
This can be seen throughout the whole game. The initial choice presented to you in Chapter 1 is to slay her or free her. In most chapters, her most immediate desire is to escape whatever is chaining her down, and multiple endings of the game involve her achieving this freedom (leaving the construct with Shifty, and leaving the cabin with the Princess in Unknown Together).
When bearing her heart to you, Nightmare screams at you to Let Her Out. Cage describes leaving as "all [she's] ever wanted".
If you directly contradict this desire in the Damsel by asking her to stay in the cabin with you, it's deeply distressing for her. Even though she agrees to do it, she's visibly uncomfortable with the situation. Notably, she actively contradicts your perception of her here, not reacting how you (or Smitten) expected her to. If her desires were completely malleable, she would conform to your expectations, but this desire is so strong that it can reverse the effects of deconstruction, seemingly convincing you that she isn't just a cardboard cutout of a person.
The only vessels that seemingly lack this desire for freedom are Adversary (+ her Chapter 3s), Razor, and the Greys to some extent. In all of these cases, they substitute the desire for freedom with the previously stated desire for connection with you (which she achieves through eternal combat, or the externalization of burning passion/suppressed emotion). Even then, Eye of the Needle describes leaving as "a fundamental truth [she'd] somehow forgotten" after leading her out. Even when this desire is repressed, it still seems to exist deep down, and can be brought to the surface in the right circumstances.
2. She wants connection and understanding - particularly with you. This is sometimes a more subconscious desire, but you see it in many vessels.
Adversary feels connected to you through eternal combat. Fury places the weight of her agony on you in hopes of being understood. Thorn yearns for connections she feels she doesn't deserve. Wild experiences being connected with you and knows that this is what you're meant to be. Spectre wants you to understand her, which is part of why she's so content in P&tD despite the murder-suicide leading to it: you get so experience being her, and she isn't alone anymore. I could really go on.
This motivation draws from a few places, I think. On a subconscious level, she recognizes that you & she used to be a single being: the cycle of life and death itself. At the very least, she recognizes a feeling of emptiness when she's separated from you.
It also draws from how the construct isolates her. She's deeply lonely, trapped in the basement for who knows how long before you arrive. While you have the Narrator and voices with you from the beginning, she only has the cabin for company… which treats her like this:
As an extension of this, she's terrified of being alone. There's a reason why the Nightmare's sorrow is born from leaving her in the basement, why loneliness is a major theme of when she removes her mask, why trying to kill the Spectre leaves her grimly disappointed but abandoning her makes her completely spiral, why leaving the Princess behind in P&tD, Den, and Thorn are consistently the least satisfying outcomes to their chapters, why turning and leaving in Chapters 2 & 3 is such an inherently destructive act.
3. She wants to understand herself - the Shifting Mound is an explicit example of this, though you can see it in the vessels too.
Understanding herself and understanding you are inherently intertwined in Shifty's eyes, which is also reflected in the gameplay. You show her new sides of herself by making new choices, perceiving her in new ways, and giving her new experiences. In turn, she shows you parts of yourself by reflecting your perception back at you. If you've been on the STP Reddit recently you've probably seen loads of posts where people share their first playthrough and ask what it says about them. In a way the game becomes your mirror, helping you to better understand yourself in parallel with Shifty.
Self-understanding is also a recurring theme in STP in general (this post by @sharoo breaks it down very well). TLQ starts the game knowing nothing about himself, and is implicitly assumed to be a person, but throughout the game you slowly realize it's much more complicated than that.
Meanwhile, the Princess has been a prisoner for as long as she can remember, kept in complete isolation, with no autonomy: far from the ideal conditions to develop a sense of self. When you talk with her in Chapter 1, she struggles to answer even basic questions about herself. While a first-time player might assume this is due to her hiding things from you, she genuinely doesn't have answers to these questions. She doesn't tell you her name because she never had one.
And I think this is why many of the Chapter 2 vessels cling so tightly to whatever sense of identity you've established through Ch1's events (Nightmare's repeated line of "I am what I am", Beast's "There's no reasoning with what I am", Tower's "This isn't about desire. This is about what I am", etc.) They decide "what they are" based on the very limited experiences of Chapter 1, because that's all they have to go off of. (Adversary's "best 3 minutes of my life" line, while funny, is very sad to me in this context, considering the rest of her life within memory was spent chained to a wall with only a cabin who hates her for company)
Because the Chapter 3s usually involve a shift in your dynamic with the Princess, it also often involves her identity being disrupted in some way, forcing her to question or reevaluate herself (Skeptic!Eye of the Needle is confronted with freedom and can't reconcile it with her desire for violence, both Furies lose something essential to their sense of self and take it out on you, Empty Cup doesn't know how to define herself outside of being "the one who hurts you", Wild is fused with you and tries to redefine herself in contrast to the hatred/terror of the previous chapter, Cage comes to understand herself as being a powerless observer, and so on)
And then there's the Stranger, who never had the chance to build a relationship with you in Ch2, and couldn't build an identity around that role.
At the end of everything, we see her try to reconcile all these parts of herself. Shifty encompasses all of it at once, reaching divine enlightenment at the cost of losing touch with her sense of personhood. The Heart Princess meanwhile, is specifically the first Princess you met, although she's shaped by the experiences of the others. The Sharp Heart Princess describes herself as being "more" than she was before, having experienced and grown so much, and getting to know herself through all of it.
Meanwhile, Strange Beginnings has the Stranger develop a sense of identity compared to their Ch2, though they're still being pulled in different directions. While they still might not understand the full depths of their being, they take great joy in discovering new things in each other with you. It's a lot like the Unknown Together ending itself: not knowing what you'll find is what gives it meaning, and what really matters is that you're doing this together.
(I just really love Strange Beginnings in general…)
Beyond the Princess' motivations, I think it's also worth talking about her personality, because as much as she struggles to define it for herself, there's actually quite a few similarities across the vessels.
While these traits aren't all 100% consistent, the few times these patterns are broken can also tell us something about the Princess by showing what it takes for those personality traits to bend and snap, and how that change affects her.
One trait that stands out to me is that she’s generally very honest. She tends to state her intentions and desires very directly, both in Chapter 1 and in subsequent chapters. She's also comically terrible at lying about said intentions in the Razor's case lol. It makes sense too, since she has so little to hide in the first place. She stands in contrast to the Narrator, who insists that she's spinning a web of lies while being incredibly secretive and manipulative Himself. In response to His "she will lie, she will cheat" spiel in Chapter 2, many of the voices talk about how honest she was.
The only major exception to this honesty is the Witch, who notably only appears when her trust has been broken in Chapter 1: when you show her that her honesty is rewarded with a (literal and/or metaphorical) knife in the back. Even then, she's actually very honest with you about what happened after you died, her desire to leave, and her distaste for you lmao
Also from how she talks about not being able to help herself, and how much she genuinely did want freedom, her betrayals read more to me like impulsive decisions that she indulges out of spite than premeditated plots, which she rationalizes to herself as being in her nature (even though you are capable of breaking out of it, as shown in Thorn and Wild).
Additionally, this role of scheming liar the Witch declares for herself is one that makes her miserable. It keeps her from the things she really wants (freedom and connection), literally slamming the door on her own desires. It doesn't do her self-image any favours either:
Another trait prominent in Chapter 1 is her pragmatism. She's willing to cut her arm, resort to violence, fight dirty, put her head down and bear whatever suffering is necessary to get what she wants. Even softer princesses like the Damsel show this pragmatism: her behaviour could be read as a people pleasing response. You were the only one who tried to help her in Chapter 1, so if she keeps being nice to you, if she can make you happy, then you'll be able to help free her for good.
She's also incredibly bold & brave, facing her fears head-on while rarely letting those fears show. I mean, there's plenty of horrifying things that can happen to you both, but the times she's visibly afraid are few and far between (fighting Adversary unarmed, abandoning Spectre, showing your heart to Damsel). There's also the knowledge of what TLQ looks like from her perspective. She describes him as scary and hard to look at, but throughout every chapter she's willing to engage and interact with him, and in many cases even fighting him directly, and winning!!
I think it's in part a way of exerting control in a cruel situation that limits her control. And considering how her abilities change based on perception, outwardly projecting enough strength could actually be enough to give her that strength, so it's a trait that can end up reinforcing itself, like in Tower/Apotheosis.
She's also very perceptive: often noticing elements of how the construct works before TLQ does. Many vessels understand that you have to leave the cabin together by the start of Chapter 2. Prisoner knows to avoid the Narrator's attention, and that she could survive cutting her head off. Spectre understands that there's somewhere else she's supposed to be. Vessels like Burned Grey and HEA recognize that the cabin itself is keeping you small.
She seems very aware of how you perceive her as well, likely in part because of how she's affected by your perception. Even if she doesn't know her true nature, she would still notice herself changing and could link those changes to you. There's this extremely self-aware line in P&tD where she says "It's like 'you' don't really know what we're supposed to be", implies an intuitive understanding of how this all works.
There's a sense of playfulness to a lot of the vessels. From Spectre circling and teasing you, P&tD's casual quips and jokes, Nightmare's toying with you, Stranger's "Who are you calling weird?", Razor's everything. Even more serious vessels have moments of silliness, like Prisoner joking that the empty shackle might fit you, or Cage's head jokes. Some of this could be attributed to the humour in STP's writing style, but I also think it's just part of who she is. I mean, if we can characterize LQ as a big ol' goober based on some of his sillier dialogue options, then I think we can do the same for the Princess and all her silliness. Also, Clown Princess.
She has a strong preference for action over words - this is something emphasized about TSM but also appears in various princesses (Adversary/Fury, Beast, Den, Prisoner, Chapter 1 Princess' silent squinting contest). Thorn sees words as hollow, and finds meaning and truth in action. If P&tD is anything to go by, she's also generally willing to sit in silence for long stretches of time waiting for you to reply. It's an interesting contrast to the Narrator, who only has words to convince you.
She also seems struggle to communicate with words at times. Shifty finds words difficult because they can't capture the whole of what she wishes to say, and finds verbal descriptors of her name incapable of describing the depths of her being. And even beyond Shifty, the Soft Heart Princess will say that she prefers not having a name. She seems to have more success expressing herself through non-verbal forms of communication.
And in the face of it all, she's a very hopeful character. She has hope that she'll escape, that she can make amends with you, that things will turn out okay in the end, the hope that whatever choices you make will be the right choices. This hope is often what keeps her moving even in the most grim circumstances. Even chapters like the Wraith, where she's (justifiably) given up hope with you, she's still as driven as ever for her freedom.
The chapters where she loses that hope entirely are some of the heaviest imo (Cage, Fury, even HEA), and all of these routes involve some sort of separation from her own identity & desires, showing how important that hope was to her sense of self.
Even though I've just listed a bunch of fairly consistent traits, that doesn't mean I think the vessels are all the same: far from it. Although these vessels have a shared starting point, from the first new choice each one has a different narrative, causing them to grow in wildly different directions.
Any one of the Princess' personality traits are theoretically malleable under the right circumstances, but... isn't the same true of us?
Across every hypothetical permutation of your life's story, every possible version of you, is there any one personality trait that you could guarantee was constant across all of them? If you had different formative experiences, different traumas, different relationships, a different community with a different culture and different values and paradigms, would you even be recognizable, let alone similar?
It makes me think of the field of epigenetics: even innate genes are expressed differently based on external environment and experiences. It's one possible response to the long-standing debate of nature vs. nurture. Your nature is set, but how it is expressed varies drastically based on your nurture.
(I've talked about this a bit before but I think STP would be interesting to view through the lens of nature vs. nurture, with its common adage of "it's in your/her nature", the way you & the Princess change based on your experiences, and how you can choose to break out of roles you were created to fill, but I've already rambled more than enough in this post aha)
The Princess, in all her multitudes, brings out the extremes of nurture. The ways she changes depending on her experiences are a reflection of how people change and develop differently depending on their life experiences. Even as she changes based on your perception, she also changes on her own, even in ways that surprise you.
There is no singular version of the Princess, like there is no singular version of any of us. She's growing and changing with every new experience in complicated and contradictory ways, just like we do.
And I think that's why she feels so real to me, why the game overwhelmingly succeeds in getting players to connect with her. Perhaps it makes her an unconventional character, but to me, it makes her much more like a person.
