swfchan: Haunting Nosferata Branching Story.swf (info)

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This story is rated "M" for mature.
Reader discretion is advised.

New Story

Index

Haunting Nosferata

The Beginning

Open

Closed

Truth

Lie

Talk

Letter

Decision

Refusal

Cleaning

Bath

Index

Daydream

Sleep

Voiceless

Safe

Sure

Packing

Book

Scene

After

Stay

Early

Willemina

Stanley

Left

Struggle

Obey

Frenzied

Right

Young

Library

Read

Play

Lament

Lamented

Lunch

Leave

Leaving

Righted

Righting

Wrong

Alone

Offer

Clean

Dining

Dinner

Later

Late

True

Haunting Nosferata

With

Rough

Undone

Together

You’re bending to scoop up dust into the dustpan when you hear it – a few short
raps against the wood of your door. Busily you bustle to the garbage can under the sink,
opening it to dispose of all your floor’s dirty little secrets. You catch your reflection in the
mirror as you pass back over to the common area. Hair a bit of a mess, socks slumping,
you smooth out your apron. You really need some new outfits.
A knock sounds again; reminding you. Oh yes. That. Absently you wonder who it is;
you’re not expecting anyone. Your mother’s not in town, and it’s not like you know
anyone who would visit you at home. Who wants to dine with a cleaning lady, anyway?
You contemplate the door.

The Beginning

Index

And decide to answer it.

Or not.

As soon as the door’s open the postman bursts right in, fat as ever and mustache
polished. He waddles into the middle of your hallway and turns, grasping the straps of
his satchel. His green pants clash horribly with his purple hat, and erupts into his usual
all-too-talkative jovial self straight away.
“Miss Alara!” He exclaims to you, as though it’s been years, and you hadn’t just
bumped into him at the market the other day. “So good to see you! How are you, my
dear?”
For a moment you’re not sure what to say.

Open

The truth?

Or a lie?

Deciding the knock must be an honest mistake, you pace back to your cupboard and
fish out a dust rag. Floors clean – time for the tables. The trouble with spending all your
days cleaning other people’s houses is that you never want to do your own – the result is
a month’s worth of build-up – an embarrassing state for a professional like you. You try
to do a good job dusting, anyway, tracing lightly over vases and harder over your
wooden table. But you also try to be quick. It’s getting late and you need to make lunch.
What will you make? Garlic stew, maybe... you mull on a little further, before you
hear another knock.
Whoever it is must not realize their mistake. In confusion and ever-so-slight
irritation, you drop your dust rag and walk over to the door.

Closed

You answer it.

“Horrible,” you tell him, opting for the honest route. “You wouldn’t believe what
happened to me yesterday.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” And he does look sorry. His mustache visibly wilts with
the news. “Try me, though – you’ve always been an honest lass. I promise I won’t laugh.”
You blush. “Well, I’m glad. I went swimming in the pond in the dark – I didn’t think
anyone would see me! I had my undercoat on, of course, but it’s so thin, and turns so
clear in the water... anyway, you know the local errand boy the general store uses?
He came running out of the bushes chasing a squirrel with a stick just as I got out – he
saw everything!” You drop your head into your hands, shaking it. “What will I say if
his mother comes at me?”
The postman chortles, breaking his promise. You raise your head to mock glare at
him, and he quiets. “Er.” He clears his throat. “Terribly sorry. But I wouldn’t worry
about the wee lad running to his mam. You’re a very pretty lady, Miss Alara – I’m sure
the boy considers himself rather lucky!”
You blush further, still feeling embarrassed. Waving it off and trying not to think
about the boy’s face raking over your perked, soaking breasts, your lingerie just barely
clinging to them, your hair wet and down around you, you shake your head. How
embarrassing. But anyway,

Truth

"Enough about me. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

“Wonderful,” you tell him, opting for the easy route. There’s a whole – well, minor
– story of minor events that lead up to your ever-so-slightly under-the-weather mood
today. But this is just easier.
He nods. “Good, good! I’m so glad to hear it. You’re such a lovely lass, Miss Alara.
Every day should be as bright as your smile!”
You blush heavily, and struggle to swallow the compliment. You’ve always thought
yourself very plain-looking. Looking for a distraction, you counter,

Lie

"Thank you. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

“Oh, that!” The postman pauses, puffing himself up. Official business, then. “As
much as I love to see your pretty face, I’m actually here on official postman business!
Yes, I know – it’s been a while! But I have a letter and everything. You won’t believe
who it’s from!”
You tilt your head while he continues. A letter? You weren’t expecting anything....
A horrifying thought enters your head. Catching it, the postman chuckles.
“No, don’t worry, it’s not from your mother. You see, I was actually jogging passed
the bridge today – not actually crossing it, of course; it’s best to stay away from that place
– but you know, postmen do have to keep in shape.”
You smile in agreement at this, politely not mentioning that he’s not at all in shape.
But it’s nice that he’s trying.
“Anyway,” he continues, “this hooded figure on horseback came riding down the
bridge, and called out my name to wait. I have no idea how he knew it – am I that famous?
I do deliver all the mail, but I’d never seen him before... oh, I’m getting off track, though.
So I waited for him and he approached me, and gave me this letter to deliver to you
from the Countess Pamriev herself! Can you believe it? So mysterious!” He pauses to
look off into the distance, clearly awestruck. You understand the sentiment. The Countess
is a bit of a legend – she’s rarely seen in town.
“I’m sure if you’ve heard all the creepy stories,” he reminds you. “Probably just old
wives’ tales to keep children off her land, but still! The whole place has a creepy air to
it. Mighty expensive, though. I reckon the Countess is the richest person in the whole
county, never mind the town! And to think, she’s breaking her silence to speak to you!
I suppose she does need servants to keep up such a large place – and you are the best
cook, gardener, maid, and everything basically...”
Fishing absently in his bag, the postmen pulls out a large, yellowing letter,
wax-stamped and scrawled on old, expensive parchment. Opening it carefully, your
eyes run over the heavy calligraphy.

Talk

Letter

“So, you’ll be going, of course?” The postman half-asks, half-insists. You lower the
letter to look at him. “You’d best be on your way as soon as you can if you’re to have
an audience with her, Miss Alara. It wouldn’t do to keep the Countess waiting!” He
bustles on as though you’ve definitely decided to go. But then, with the Countess,
perhaps it isn’t a choice... “Best be careful up there,” he adds, after a moment.
“Especially at night. Some people even say it’s haunted.”
You nod. Yes, you’ve heard the stories.
“I’ll see you out when you’re read to go.”
It’s a kind offer. He does have a point.

Decision

Such a powerful women shouldn’t be kept waiting.

Or perhaps you should pack some things.

But you’re not sure about going...

“Thank you,” you tell him, after a moment. “But... I don’t think I’ll be going today.
I need some time to decide on this.”
For a moment the postman wears an incredulous look, as though he’d never dream
of refusing the Countess anything. But then, most people wouldn’t. Her dining room
must be the size of your whole house, judging from the size of her estate. For a
moment you reconsider your decision.
On the one hand, the Countess has a very lovely home, and would probably pay
generously for you to keep it that way. On the other hand, it’s such a ways out of town
that it’s probably a live-in situation, and you’re poor, but not so hard up for money
that you have to go. Resolutely nodding, you walk back to the door.
“Thank you again for the letter, but I really must get back to cleaning now.”
The postman shakes his head to himself, muttering as he exits, “As you wish,
Miss. But you’re turning down quite the opportunity. You flash a smile of
acknowledgement, and close the door after your final goodbyes.
Ah, alone again. Now, what to do...?

Refusal

You could continue cleaning.

Or you could take a bath.

Or you could even go straight to bed...

Picking up your discarded dust rag you trace over your home’s many surfaces,
humming to yourself all the while and contemplating your new letter. It is quite the
surprise – just imagine what people will think once news gets out! An employment
offer from the Countess Pamriev herself...
Personally, you’ve only ever seen the Countess once or twice. She’s a gorgeous
woman, naturally, a little older than yourself, but still prime and incredibly attractive.
You blush to yourself at the thought, trying not to focus on her long, ebony hair or
her strong, curvaceous frame. She’s only ever been spotted in the most handsome
of gowns, sporting a host of jewelry and other sparkling confections. Perhaps if you
were to work for her you could afford something similar. You doubt you’d look as
good in such splendor, but it’s still fun to dream.
But no, you said no. You’re doomed to your plain little dresses, and your plain
little aprons. Catching a lackluster glimpse of yourself in the mirror you look away.
And wonder what the Countess sees in the mirror this very moment.
Drat. A few books topple off the shelf you’re dusting, and you bend to straighten
them again. At the last book on the last shelf you stop, and march over to the window
to shake out your rag. That’s enough dusting for today. Enough cleaning in general,
you think. Besides, you’re too distracted to work right.

Cleaning

Now, should you have a bath?

Or perhaps just go to sleep...

Padding over to the bathroom, you roll your sore shoulders and begin untying the
bow from your hair. It’s been a long day, as always. It doesn’t look it, but cleaning
really is a hard bout of work. In the bathroom you slip off your apron, and begin to
wiggle out of your dress. It hits the floor in a soft heap you step out of, onto the plush
of the bath matt. Absently you turn on the taps – mostly hot, a little cold.
While it fills you step onto your scale, wincing inwardly at the number it reads. It's
never really what you want it. With a useless attempt of vanity you unhook your bra
and pull down your lace panties – does that help? No, the number stays stubbornly
the same. You pout at it as though it’ll help.
The sound of the pounding water pulls you out of your reverie. The bath is half-way
full now – you step over the edge and slip in gently, enjoying the warm lake that laps
at your skin. You reach over to the counter (dripping little pools all over your floor) and
grab the bar soap. As a cleaner you always feel dirty and dusty, no matter how much you
scrub.
You start at your face, dipping under the water quickly, soaking your hair and
smoothing it out, away from your eyes. Then you gasp back up, and try to rearrange it
right. The long chestnut strands, straighter than usual with the weight of the water, cling
to your back and shoulders. You run the soap along each arm, between each finger, and
scoop it around your breasts, one at a time. The water you splash on drains down the
middle, and you have to manually wet them down, wondering oddly if having smaller
breasts would make it easier to bathe. And then you’d probably weigh less, too. You
frown down at your breasts, rising and falling ever-so-slightly with your breathing. The
water pulls around the edges and licks at your nipples, teasing them forward. You bite
your lip and tug them gently, thoughts wandering.

Bath

But that’s dangerous; you should stop.

You can’t.

Of course, it wouldn’t be so bad to work for the Countess, would it? She’s incredibly
stunning, and at least you’d have eye-candy. Your cheeks warm at the thought. You’ve
never had dirty thoughts about a client before, but now your hand runs down your
belly, leaving a soapy trail underwater in its wake. The Countess isn’t like any other
client. She’s tall, and lean, with pale-as-the-moon skin and raven-black hair, piercing,
almost-red eyes, and such an air of elegance it’s breathtaking. Yes, you’ve only seen
her a few times, but she’s the sort to leave a lasting impression – the sort that’s talked
about for days after, and thought about for weeks. What would it be like to work for
such a woman?
Unable to resist, your fingers slip lower, and you slide back in the tub, head landing
to rest on the rim. Biting your lip, you tilt it back. You fix another hand on your breast,
squeezing, imaging it’s the Countess’ hand, her powerful, domineering presence leaning
over you. You wonder what it would feel like to be a fly in her web. But the Countess
could have any girl she wanted – why pick you?
So you’ll just have to daydream, setting up a steady rhythm, parting your lips and
trying not to moan. You live alone, but there’s still something shameful in the action.
Something forbidden. Rolling a finger around your nipples, one at a time, your long
lashes flutter closed. What are the Countess’ rooms like? Her beds are probably huge.
Probably king-sized. Plush, and soft, and canopied, curtained and ornate. She’d lay
you down in her own – gently, of course, and run her long, red nails down your front,
before bending to capture your lips. You’d gasp into them, and she’d kiss her way
down your face, down to your neck. She’d nip at the flesh there, biting you gently as
her fingers went to work on your bodice. You’d pant and arch into her, breath heavy
and labored. She’d smirk and chuckle, and love all your inexperience and flaws. She’d
tell you how cute and pretty you are, how she’d just love to bite you, mark you, make
you hers and keep you, away in her gorgeous, grand estate...

Daydream

Mouth stuck and gasping, you buck into your own hand, freezing, skin flushed,
and fall apart far quicker than usual. You’re still for a few moments before wilting,
boneless, back against the tub. You feel silly and immature. Blushing furiously, you
busily scrub off all the remaining soap.
You pull the drain out and watch the water lower beneath you. The little whirlpool
at the end feels funny against your toes. Standing, you grab your nearby towel and step
out, patting yourself down. You fluff out your hair and decide to leave it – you’re too
tired to do much else. Save it for the morning. You pad into your bedroom and
want to collapse.

But you’d better get ready, properly.

Determinedly shaking off your less-than-wholesome thoughts, you harshly scrub
off the rest of your body. And try to think about breakfast. What’ll you make tomorrow?
A much more decent thought. Pancakes, maybe. You haven’t had pancakes in a while...
Deciding that this bath, while deliciously warm, isn’t quite worth the lack of sleep
it’ll cost you, you pull out the little drain. Water pools around it, lowering, disappearing.
Standing up you reach for your towel, and pat yourself down. You shake your hair out
in the mirror and finger-comb it absently. You don’t exactly like sleeping with wet hair,
but you’re tired, and not about to wait for it to dry. And not about to bother fixing it.
Half-heartedly smoothing it, you make your way to the bedroom.

Mm, time for sleep.

You change into your nightgown in a distracted mess. You flick off the light and
slip into your single bed, mind crawling over today’s events like confused molasses.
Usual in most respects, not so much in others. You’re tired and ready for sleep, but still
wondering faintly – a letter from the Countess? Really? You?
But you’ve done so much on-the-floor scrubbing and on-your-toes dusting today
that your limbs are to heavy for this nonsense. Curling up into a little ball, hair every
which way, you drift rapidly off. Eyes closed in the darkness, blankets all the way up
to your chin. Your thoughts run dry and out.
And then you’re up and awake, in your room but not. It’s like your room, so
clearly, but blurry around all the edges. It’s a dream, you half-understand, half-don’t.
You’re floating like a ghost. Watching your naked body below, posed seductively on
the bed. A figure enters the room that it takes you a moment to recognize.
Marisa, the baker’s daughter. Her fiery red hair is braided in two pigtails that trail
down her shoulders, her milk-maid dress falling off her shoulders. She approaches you
slowly, but surely. Sitting up on your elbow, you reach out to her: cup her face in your
hands. Grinning, she leans in. Leans down. You lean up. You capture her lips in a quick
but heated fervor – your hand slides to the back of her head and you pull her closer.
She gasps against you, startled, and has to put a knee on the bed for balance. You pull
her further in – nearly on top of you. She giggles, rolling with you, your legs twisting in
her skirt and her large breasts tumbling out of her top. Ecstatic at the gorgeous sight,
you duck your head down to capture one perfect nipple in your mouth, sucking gently.
She moans and presses into you. You laugh and move up to recapture her lips.
Before you know it she’s shimmied out of her dress, and your bare breast are pressing
together. Two sets of hands are everywhere, two sets of legs intertwined. She has one hand
in your hair and the other at your inner thigh, stroking. You’re pulling her thin waist into
yours, holding her neck. As your tongue slips expertly into her mouth you notice something
strange – something not quite right. She pulls back and gives you a devilish smile, and
licks her lips.
Licks her teeth.

Sleep

Or would a better word be fangs?

Grinning all the while like a Cheshire cat, she licks a trail down from your collarbone
to your neck, making you shudder. Her fingers have finally dived in, erasing all
suspicion. Or want to further pursue any thought that might halt this process. This
is a dream, in all senses of the word, and you can’t feel anything but pleasure. She bars
her fangs again at the edge of your nipple, and before you can do so much as scream
she’s biting into your breast, sending a shock up your spine and making you buck.
Buck into her mouth. Your body goes rigid as she sucks, and you can feel the pool
of blood welling up around her fangs. It’s a sharp, horrible pain, and yet an
insurmountable pleasure. Overwhelmed in an excruciating bliss you orgasm around
her busy fingers, mouth open in a soundless cry. You never were good at screaming
in dreams.
It comes out a begging whisper. A plea for an end, for more. She's sucking hungrily
at your blood, draining you dry, and you can literally feel the colour bleed from your skin.
You feel your teeth twitching, eager. Your eyelids falling, your toes curling. Your body
drifting off, but your tongue hungry. You don’t know why, don’t know what for.
Marisa breaks the bite, then, leaving two puncture wounds dripping rivers of blood.
Her chin is soaked crimson and she makes no move to wipe it away, instead moving over
you. With zero sense of remorse she presses your lips together. It smears your own blood
all over you. You can taste the coppery feel on her tongue.
But you kiss back. And inexplicably love it.
You move to try out your new fangs on her when the dream shifts, when the world
collapses.
You shoot up in your bed. You, the real you. Sweaty and wet and thirsty. You’re
panting slightly, and have to lift your nightgown to check. No wounds. You’re safe.
(But it’s time for another bath, apparently.)

Voiceless

And then maybe head out to see the Countess...

No, no, you’ll just stay here.

Stretching your arms above your head, you throw your legs over the side of your
bed. Slip off, and head to the bathroom. You clean up, take a quick bath, get dressed,
and make breakfast. Eat it, clean, head to the market, and there Mrs. Pebblesworth, a
batty old lady with very severe crows feet, asks you to come clean her cottage. You
do so. You use the money to buy more groceries on the way home.
You live a peaceful, mostly happy life, and every few years you look back, and
wonder what could have been.

Safe

Nodding, you stuff the letter back in the envelope, and put it in your apron’s pocket.
“Thank you for the escort,” you tell the postman. He nods back, tipping his hat.
“Any time, Miss Alara, any time! It’s my pleasure, really. It's such a long ways
between the town and her front door, however. We probably won’t be arriving until
almost nightfall. But then, I suspect she must know that – an intelligent woman I’ve
heard, that Countess!”
With a sudden thought, you add, “But how are we to get there? I haven’t got any
horses...”
The postman waves a hand. “No worries, my dear, no worries! You know good old
Bradley, of course?”
You nod. “Yes, I clean for him on Tuesdays.”
“Yes, well then I’m sure you know he has quite the stable! He’ll be quite fine lending
you a horse, I imagine – they’re smart things, Bradley’s horses, so sure-footed. And no
man with any decent soul would let you approach the Countess’ estate on foot – why,
it’d take you days! Enough time for all those nasty trolls and warlocks to get you, if they
do exist.” He chortles, although you’re paling at the thought.
“But if you come with me,” you realizes, slowly. “You’ll have to travel back in the
dark.”
His face falls. “Hmph, you’re right.” He brightens. “Well then, to the bridge it is!
You won’t mind, will you? Those horses are such clever things, and all you need to do
is follow the path passed the bridge, and you’ll be there in no time! What do you say?”
He’s looking at you hopefully.
Nodding, you smooth out your dress. It’s so very plain. But you haven’t got
anything much better. “Well then, shall we be off?”
“Yes, yes,” the postman bustles, headed for the door.

Sure

“Mustn’t keep the Countess waiting,” he chirps merrily.

He pauses. “If you’re all ready, that is.”

Hm, thinking to yourself, you glance over your shoulder. “I suppose I should pack
a few things, if I’m going then.” He nods heartily at your decision.
“I’ll wait right here.”
Smiling at him, you walk back to your kitchen, and put the letter on the table. You
have a brief and silly thought of framing it later – you’re probably the first to get written
word from the Countess in a good several years. You look sadly down at your standard
dress, and wonder what in the world you should bring. Accommodations will,
apparently, be fully provided. So what else should you pack?
Glancing around, you spot a pot of garlic, and laugh to yourself. What a funny thing
to bring. Giggling at the thought of stuffing your pockets full of garlic, you move on to
the bedroom. In your drawers you have a lovely silver necklace – the sort of thing for
special occasions that never arise in this town. Donning it happily, you examine yourself
in the mirror. It’s made out of pure silver, and glints in the light. Gorgeous.
On the other side of the bed you have a book on your nightstand – just a little
something you’ve been reading the past few nights. Walking around, you sit on the edge
of your bed, vaguely aware that you’re meant to meet the postman back at your door.

Packing

But maybe you have time to read a short snippet before you go.

Or you could be sensible and go back.

Unable to resist the temptation, you fall back into your bed, book in your arms. Just
a paragraph or two – just a daydream for the road. You flip to your bookmark – chapter
eighteen. The heroine has just escaped the hospital, and is panting outside, leaning
against a brick wall. She’s still in her little paper gown, hair a mess and heart pounding.
“Jessibelle hears the screech of a bat and her heart leaps into her chest,” you read
aloud, in a soft murmur to no one but yourself. “Flinging herself off the brick wall she
hurtles towards the forest, bare feet cold against the pavement. She scales the waist-high
wall at the edge of the parking lot and keeps running until she hits another gate, this
time made of steel at twice her height. She could almost fit through the bars, if not for
her chest. In nothing short of a crazed stupor she runs the length of it until she reaches
the door – the open door. Hurtling through she follows the cobblestone path up the hill.
The dark, damp hill, the moon high in the sky and the fading light of hospital windows
dying in the distance. Passing blurring gravestones, rotting flowers, and crosses. When
she can’t run anymore she swerves off the path and falls, clutching her stomach, onto a
raised, stone grave.
“She hesitates to catch her breath, doubling over. It’s not until then that she realizes
how cold she is, how freezing the stone is beneath her, how useless her paper gown is.
It covers nothing: offers no protection.
“Clutching at her heart, she turns just in time to see Alissa bearing down, fangs wide
and open.
“Alissa lands on the ground with a soft thumping sound, wings gone into the ether.
She’s wearing a very wide, broad smirk, and approaches Jessibelle in a casual strole.
Jessibelle tries to get away, but Alissa’s too fast, almost super human in her speed...”
You drop the book atop your chest.
Then shake your head.

Book

Okay, time to get back.

Or maybe just one more scene...

Scene

With a heavy sigh you put the book back on your nightstand. Your cheeks are a deep
crimson now, your hand itching to move. Your panties are slightly wet. You fidget, biting
your lip. The postman’s waiting for you – but is it even such a good idea? If the Countess
knew all about your silly, childish and inappropriate daydreams, would she even want
you in her lavish estate? The Countess is a wealthy upper-class socialite, and you’re a
little girl with her head in dirty clouds.
And if the Countess doesn’t want you to work for her, she could easily make it so that
you could work nowhere else in town. Someone with the power of the Countess could do
a lot of damage to you.
Feeling insurmountably ashamed, you wonder again.

After

To go...

Or not to go...?

The postman smiles at your return, and you flash a guilty, weak smile back. “I’m so
sorry,” you tell him, “but... I’ve had a change of heart. It’s probably best that I remain
here.”
“Really?” The postman asks, incredulously, as though he’s never heard such an
astounding thing in all his years. But then, who would turn down such a luxurious,
probably-high-paying job, with one of the most powerful people in the land? You,
apparently. “Well, I’m... sorry to hear that...” He’s still looking at you oddly as you
shuffle towards the door, and he steps out.
“Thank you so much for the letter and your time, though,” you tell him, trying to
be kind. “It was truly appreciated.”
Puffing up again, he brightens. “Yes, yes, any time, m’dear! Well, I’d best be going,
then... mail doesn’t deliver itself!”
You smile and wave as he departs, then close the door and sink down it.
Cheeks on fire, you walk back to your bedroom, and read more of your silly novels,
wistfully wishing of more exciting times. You nap, get up, clean, cook, head out to the
market and pick up some more garlic. You do your hair up in the mirror and head over
to the pastor’s house for some sweeping. You come home, bathe, and sleep.
You live a long, mostly happily life, and never think twice about the opportunity you
threw to the wind.

Stay

You’re a little unsure, all the way through bathing, dressing, doing up your hair
and watering your plants. There’s a strange trepidation running through your fingers
as you weave through town towards Bradley’s house, the last stop before the bridge.
Bradley has a nice little cottage-sort-of-home at the edge of town. It’s away from
most of the hustle and bustle, although those on horseback all wind up back here
eventually. You knock stiffly on his door.
“Miss Alara!” He greets as he swings open the door, overalls already smudged
with dirt. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Not quite sure how to phrase this – you’ve never been one to ask favours – you
hesitate. “I... I was wondering... if it wouldn’t be too much trouble that is,” and you
blush before continuing, “I-I mean I’ll work it off, of course, but I was wondering if
perhaps I could borrow a horse?”
Hands diving into his pockets, he nods heartily. “Of course, of course! It’s why
I have ‘em. No need to work it off.” He chuckles. “My horses are free for everyone!”
And he steps out of the house, trailing around the back. You follow him to the
stables, where various grunting and swishing sounds meet you. “Where’re you going,
I might ask?”
You hesitate to tell him. “Over the bridge.”
He turns, frowning. “Over the bridge? That’s a nasty place. Haunted and all that.
Have business with the Countess, do you?” You nod. He nods. Mostly to himself.
“Yes, yes, best you take a horse then – she’s got quite the maze of a mansion up there,
and the grounds are no better, I hear!”
He walks over to two horses at the end.

Early

“Best take Willemina here – she’s a wild one, but’ll get you there fast.”

He pauses. “Or Stanley here – slow and steady.”

You chose Willemina, for no particular reason. She is a wild one, for sure, and bucks
at every mouse that passes. You’ve never been particularly comfortable in a saddle, and
she makes things hard. But she carries you steadily up the bridge and down the long,
hilly path to the Pamriev mansion. She’s a beautiful horse, and you pat her between
bucks, but she snorts and paws the ground a lot, which worries you.
The path is, for the mot part, straight-forward. The grass is grass, the path is faded
dirt. It winds and weaves through various hills, twists around large rocks and is lined
with forest on either side. You hum to yourself for a while, and watch Willemina’s ears
perk up with amusement.
But then your stomach turns horribly, when she stops at a fork in the road. A fork in
the road? No one warned you of that.... Mentally scanning the letter, you don’t think the
Countess mentioned it. Well that’s silly. Someone really should’ve told you...
You look off in the distance, but both paths weave through trees and up the
mountain; you can’t tell anything. There’s nothing for it. You’ll just have to pick.

Willemina

Right?

Or left?

You chose Stanley, for no particular reason. He’s mild-mannered and an incredibly
smooth ride. You’ve never been particularly comfortable in a saddle, but he makes
things easy. But he carries you steadily up the bridge and down the long, hilly path to
the Pamriev mansion. He’s a beautiful horse, and you pat him every so often, but he
just keeps slowly walking.
The path is, for the mot part, straight-forward. The grass is grass, the path is faded
dirt. It winds and weaves through various hills, twists around large rocks and is lined
with forest on either side. You hum to yourself for a while, and watch Stanley’s ears
perk up with interest.
But then your stomach turns horribly, when he stops at a fork in the road. A fork in
the road? No one warned you of that.... Mentally scanning the letter, you don’t think the
Countess mentioned it. Well that’s silly. Someone really should’ve told you...
You look off in the distance, but both paths weave through trees and up the
mountain; you can’t tell anything. There’s nothing for it. You’ll just have to pick.

Stanley

Left?

Or right?

The left path is a long one, spotted in trees on either side. You’re painfully aware as
you ride that the sun won’t stay up for ever, and your shadow is getting longer. But
there’s no sense going back, now – you knew this was a long journey when you started.
Eventually the path starts running thin, the trees completely obscuring your vision.
The sun is low and an owl hoots. Your horse bucks its head. When the starlight is the only
pale guide you squint down a the ground to notice there is no path. You stop your horse,
confused.
You climb off. It’s awkward in your short dress. You’ll have to find the path again.
Then a bat streaks past your head – your horse spooks, it stomps, you go to try and
calm it, but it runs passed you before you can stop it. Gasping and terrified, you call out
it’s name. But it’s gone.
You feel a shadow behind you and shiver, not wanting to turn. You don’t have to.
Another bat swarms into the picture, and you scream as it disfigures horribly before
your very eyes. It stretches, its fur shrinks, its wings retract, its hair grows; you want
to turn to run but your feet are frozen and heavy.
The woman the bat’s become stalks towards you, her long, flowing dress fluttering
in the light breeze. Her skin is so pale it’s almost blue, and her eyes shine red in the
moonlight. Her long, wavy hair ghosts wispily over her shoulders, and one delicate
finger twirls a curl absently.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here...?” Her voice is low, and raspy. Even in
your thick fog of fear you can make out the predatory tone.
Two arms snake around your waist from behind, and another vampire purrs,

Left

“Are you going to struggle, pretty thing?”

“Or are you going to give in like a good little girl?”

With an incredible will and speed you didn’t know you had, you elbow the vampire
behind you, hard. Startled, she lets go, and you turn, shooting off into the distance. You
run as fast as your legs can carry you, tripping on various roots and carrying on, hair
streaking out behind you, fabric twisting in your legs. You hurtle through the trees like
a bat out of hell, and try not to look back.
But you run straight into another one, who grabs your waist to steady you as you
stumble into her. She laughs darkly as you straighten to try and push away. “Really,
little one? You’re going to try and outrun beings that can fly?” Someone you can’t see
from this angle approaches from behind, and you feel a heavy chest press into your
back.
“Aw, don’t you want to play with us?” Her fangs extend and brush your neck, just
like you’ve read in stories. It makes you shiver to feel it, your knees quaking in. Her
voice is such a seductive purr. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
That’s it for foreplay. Her fangs sink into your flesh with a horrid squelching noise,
and the vampire in front of you clamps one hand over your mouth to stifle the scream.
She kisses you through it. You buck wildly as the pain spreads, overwhelmed and
confused at the pleasure that follows the pain. Your eyelids are drooping, your body
heavy. They catch you before you can fall. The vampire in front of you has no trouble
moving your head to the side as she sinks in her fangs – your neck is soaked in blood.
You’re so out of it that you barely notice their hands roaming, touching everywhere,
they start to pull up your skirt and you gasp, leaning up. Your head falls back on the
vampire’s shoulder as she slips her hand into your panties. You lift a hand to hold her
head for support.
You don’t understand anymore why you ran. This pain is wonderful. You arch into
her plunging fingers.

Struggle

You want this to end.

You want more.

The vampire before you pulls away to kiss you, harsh, and rough, smearing your
own blood across your chin. But your eyes fall closed and your mouth opens. You let
all off her power in. Sandwiched tight between their two bodies, you melt. Your
hands are grabbing at them, willing them closer. They oblige. The world is a foggy,
dark haze of everything delicious and torturous.
The contrast is too much – you shudder as they start to tug your dress from your
shoulders. But you help them shimmy out of it, whining when they have to part ever
so slightly. Their robs follow. Perfect in the pale moonlight the three of you walk a fine
dance between forbidden pleasure, bare and open for all to see. It’s cold and your
nipples are hard, but with every slurp from the vampire at your shoulder the sensation
of cold dissipates a little more. Until you’re neutral, your labored breaths unnecessary.
You’re filling your lungs with useless oxygen, your chest heaving in habitual effort.
You can feel the damp patch on your leg from the vampire in front of you, your valleys
lined up, bucking and fervent. The one behind you has your hips in a death grip,
grinding you together. You hold the one in front in place while your tongues duel –
you hate to be apart.
It doesn’t take long like this to come undone, pleasure streaking up your body and
down from your bite wounds. You’ll have bruises from their hands tomorrow, but what’s
tomorrow? You have eternity for this pleasure, now.

You cry out, loud against her lips.

They’re vampires, of course. You’ve read the stories. Know the tales. You can’t
outrun them, can’t outsmart them, can’t outfight them. So you lower your head in
resignation, tears prickling at the sides of your eyes.
You try to see the silver lining. To say you’ve never read your books and fantasized
about this would be a lie. But it’s so much scarier, now that it’s happening.
“Aw,” the first vampire croons, now foot-to-foot with you. Her heels stretch her
height far above your head. As though you could feel any less intimidated. “Is the little
kitty scared?”
Well what kind of a stupid question is that? You’re scared out of your mind. She lifts
your chin with a single finger, and lowers for a kiss. You open your mouth obediently,
and her tongue slips in. Your heads tilt, and the chaste gesture becomes one of passion,
and just as you’re getting lost in the pleasurable sensation, you feel two teeth bare into
your throat, and you break the kiss to shriek.
A flood of dueling pain and pleasure pools up with your blood, exploding in your
veins like firecrackers of sugar. The sharp sting increases as the fangs sink deeper, and
the vampire sucks your blood. Oh god, you can feel her sucking it out. Limply you
collapse in her arms, and the one in front of you is watching you. Through lidded lashes
you can see her smirk. Her lick her fangs. She leisurely begins to undress you as the
other drinks, and you have no energy left to fight, even if you wanted to. You have no
energy to sink. You’re hazy and unfocused and honed in at those two holes in your
throat all at once, and feel sick and nauseous. And warm and wet. It’s like nothing
you’ve ever felt before.
Then the vampire wrenches her fangs out, and grabs you for an awkward, over-the-
shoulder kiss, before she releases you. You’re a shivering, quivering mess, and the other
vampire is tracing lazy, bloody circles down your now exposed chest.

Obey

They draw back.

As they separate from your body you slump to the ground, warn in all senses. But
they return to hold you, wrapping your still body in their cloaks, stroking your cheek,
playing with your hair. They’re smiling at you, lips red with your blood. “You’re one of
us, now,” one whispers. “Our sister.”
You’re far too far-gone to grasp the full meaning of that, now. But it hits you when
you wake the following night, and as the days pass – the months. You’re one of them,
now; you sleep upside down and rise at the moon. You float around the woods in a small,
furry state, waiting for unsuspecting girls to wander too far into the woods, like mobile
bowls of soup. You drink and feed and fuck – a bloody mess of a once-was girl that will
stalk these woods for eternity.
As the years pass you forget the postman, forget your letter, forget whatever you
were once doing. It never occurs to you to look for your horse or make it to the mansion
just up the hill. The centuries pass and you pass with it, gorgeous as ever. Feral, and
hungry, and gray.

Frenzied

The right path is a long one. It weaves through stray trees and large stones, up the
mountain's path. The light wanes as you move, bouncing gently up and down with each
step. You’ve never been the best rider, and by the end, your rear is sore. You know it’s
the end because finally, finally, you can see the Pamriev estate in the background, shining
tall and grand. It’s elaborate and ancient-looking and gorgeous.
You’re in awe as you climb off your horse, and startle when that horse turns to trot
off without you. You want to call out, but... it’s not really the best place for a horse
overnight, anyway. And who are you to keep Bradley’s horses away from him?
Gulping nervously, you make your way through the gardens in front, painfully
aware of the dying light. The neatly arranged, stone-set flower beds sway as you pass.
There’s a small wooden bridge you have to cross over a deep moat. The garden on the
other side is similarly intricate and well-kept, symmetrical on either side. The mansion's
doors are gray and ancient-looking, the walls pale stone. The roof is a deep purple,
sporting many banners embroidered with the Pamriev Crest. It always looked a bit like a
bat to you.
You use the large iron knocker twice. Before you can try a third knock the door flies
open. It sounds heavy, looks heavy, and the figure on the other side is draped in a long
cloak, shadow obscured from view. It nods you in, and you nervously step inside.
The floors inside are a beautiful, polished checkerboard, and there’s a bath of
embellished crimson carpet climbing up the grand staircase in the middle. At the top of
the stairs the Countess stands, regal as ever.

Right

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Ah, Alara,” the Countess drawls, walking slowly down the steps. Your frozen feet
click into place – you rush to meet her, instead. You feel silly, and short, and under-
dressed. Her gown is gorgeous, crimson and beaded, her pearl necklaces glimmering
faintly. “I’m so glad you could come.”
You nod. Stammer, “I-it’s an honour.”
She grins shallowly. “I’m sure.” Glancing over your shoulder, she seems to survey
the land through her stain-glass windows, the sun falling from the sky. “And you’ve
arrived earlier than expected; the night is still young.”
Blushing, you hurry to offer apologies. “Oh, I’m quite sorry, I-”
But she doesn’t seem to want to hear them. She waves you off with a perfectly-
manicured hand. “No, no, no matter. It’s a good thing, really. I do like to discuss my
business during a late dinner. But it seems we have some time to... kill.”
She turns in place, glancing back to offer you a hand.

Young

“Perhaps you’ll join me in the library.” An eyebrow arches.

“Or are you hungry? It’s a long journey here – perhaps a quick snack...?”

Her library is grand, and contains more books than you’ve ever seen, not just in one
place, but combined, in your entire life.
The rows are tight, shelves numerous, back-to-back and stuffed with dusty volumes
from floor to ceiling. You’re in awe as you step inside, heels clinking against the tile. The
door closes behind you and you turn to see the Countess, stalking up towards you. She
grins.
“Do you like my library, Alara? It’s rather vast. And you’re welcome to it, any time,
of course – should you chose to take me up on my offer.” You nod vacantly. Yes, you
love it. You love books, love stories. But you’re not sure what her offer is yet – a live-in
maid situation, undoubtedly.
Strolling through the nearest isle you pause on a familiar book, and bend to run a
finger down its spine. You have this one at home. It’s one of your favourites. You blush.
The thoughts it inspires are breathtaking, but... not exactly wholesome...
Images of the hungry vampires within, described as gorgeous and lusty, slip
through your mind in a sensual haze. You glance at the Countess, cheeks aflame. She’s
right next to you, now. You’re facing the shelf, back to her, book half in your hands.

Library

“Or perhaps you would like to play...?”

“Would you like to read that one?” she asks.

Read

You let out a sharp scream as your body’s shoved into the bookshelf before you, and
the book slips from your hands. The Countess is on you, her front to your back,
sandwiching you between a warm body and the shelf. But that’s just is it – her body isn’t
warm; yours is. Her body is devoid of any temperature, and as her teeth scrape your
neck you realize you can’t feel the ghost of breath that should be there.
“That’s one of my favourites,” she purrs in your ear. “Isn’t Jessibelle happy, now?
Wouldn’t you like to feel that pleasure?” You don't entirely know what she's talking
about. One of her delicate hands is tight around your waist, scrunching your skirt up.
Your breath hitches, and cracks.
You almost want to moan, “Yes,” want to beg.
But there’s no need. Her fangs slip into your neck as her hand clutches at you
through the fabric, you arch unnaturally deep and cry out, a hand flying back to fist in
her raven locks. But you don’t pull her away. You hold her in. It’s everything you’ve
ever hoped. A burst of exquisite bliss in your neck, the natural aphrodisiac rushing
through your veins. The grotesque sloshing sound of your blood in her mouth is one of
the most erotic things you’ve ever felt, and you don’t know why, can’t control yourself,
but your knees buckle. She holds you firmly in place. One hand on your panties,
separated by the thin material of your dress. The other on your breast, squeezing firmly,
making it clear.
You're hers now.
You have the puncture marks to prove it.
When she finally lets go you crumple to her feet, panting heavily and wanting more.
You look up at her through dilated pupils. She smirks, and in one, fluid movement,
drops her dress to the floor.

Play

It's everything.

The Countess Pamriev is nothing short of gorgeous. Stunning, beautiful,
modelesque, thin, and curvaceous, and perfect. Her skin is pale, her ears are sharp, her
ebony hair drifts down over her shoulders and her chin is dripping with blood. Your
blood.
She beckons for you and you crawl to her, unable to do anything but listen. Utterly
under her spell. Intoxicated, entranced, seduced. You stay on your knees and her hand
guides you, firmly under your chin. You lick at her soft folds and whimper at the bitter
taste, but don’t pull back. You suck on the nub at the tip and dip your tongue into a
pink abyss, tight and wet. You lap at it in longing, suddenly overwhelmed with the
need to please your new master. Then your eyes flicker up to her as you lick and suck
and caress, and the smirk she rewards you with makes your chest swell with joy.
Closing her eyes and moaning softly, your master finishes in your mouth. You
triumphantly lick up the mess, and trace kisses up to her bellybutton. Look up for
permission. Get it, go higher. When you’re standing again she puts a careful finger on
your tooth – your fang, you now realize.
“Mm,” she drawls. Her voice is a low whisper, sending sensual chills up your spine.
“You’re mine now, Alara. You're a child of the night.”
You nod, and she takes your hands in hers, still bare and beautiful in the moonlight
that flitters in through the windows.

Lament

Master helps you into your coffin – your first coffin. You’re insurmountably excited
and thirsty and horny again. It’s plush and warm and red inside. Quite comfy, really.
You lie straight, and she puts her hand on the lid. For one horrible moment you think
she’ll leave you. But she merely chuckles, and climbs in atop you, closing the lid behind
her.
The darkness swallows you. And you respond by pressing up into her, a shuddering
mess of longing. Your limbs intertwine and your fangs clash, your breasts crush together
and your hair tangles. Wet and slick noises, fabric shifting, skin flushing. Perfect, perfect,
perfect. Your lips lock and won’t let go. You love every bite she decorates you with,
every scar she leaves. Every perfect mark of her ownership. She bites your nipple and
you gasp, mouth stuck open. You come undone a second time in her skilled arms,
collapsing for a nap – you’re all burned out.
“Sleep, my little one,” she whispers, as you drift off into a nebulous cloud of tiredness.
“And tomorrow... the real fun begins...”

The Countess’ dining room is as stunning as the rest of her home. Hooded figures
serve you, shrouded in darkness and revealing nothing. ‘Lunch,’ she calls it, but it’s
really more of a dinner to you, judging by the orange light through the windows. But
far be it for you to contradict the Countess.
Will you discuss this possible employment, you wonder? But no, the Countess
offers mostly small talk. You politely chop the pie you’ve been offered. The Countess
isn’t eating. Confused, but not about to be rude, you do. Probably due to your distracted
thoughts, you cut yourself. You wince. It’s just a small thing: just a thin sliver of blood.
You blink at it for a moment, wondering if you should ask for a band-aide. Or stick it in
your mouth. Would that be terribly uncouth?
Before you can decide, the Countess moves. She takes your hand in hers, pulling
your arm across the table, and raising it to her lips. She sensually licks the blood away
in one path, sending a shiver down to your toes. You look into her red eyes, unable to
look away.
Blushing furiously and desperately grasping for a distraction, you stumble, “Aren’t
you going to eat?”
“Oh, no,” she purrs. “I had something else in mind.”
Blinking, you inquire, “What’s that?”
She grins, very broadly, and this time it reaches her eyes. And then she hisses,

Lunch

“You.”

It happens so fast you don’t have time to react. The Countess has pulled you across
the table by your arm, and your body knocks plates and food out of the way, scrunching
up the white table cloth. You’re stretched along the table top now and you fall onto your
back – the Countess captures your lips from above in an upside-down kiss. You’d
struggle, but she has one hand on your arm, the other on your neck, holding your head
in place. She licks her way down to your throat and you can feel her teeth scrape along
your flesh. They’re longer than you remember, sharper. Two in particular trace a
mirrored path, before diving in.
In shock, pain, and some other feeling you throw your head back, hair tumbling off
the table. The Countess is bent over you, pressing you down with her body weight, now,
and you can feel the cool slick of blood drip down your neck as she drinks you, sip by
sip. Your heart’s clambering in your chest, trying vainly to escape. You can feel the burst
of feeling explode in the wound, and, at the same time, all the energy evaporate from
your body. You’re feeling weaker, better. You arch off the table suddenly when she bites
harder. You gasp. She shoves your chest back down harshly, slamming you into the
wood. Cutlery bangs and slides over the edge – you’re fisting your hands in the
tablecloth, now, scraping desperately for purchase.
When the Countess finally pulls back she’s laughing, cruelly and happily, and she
crudely wipes her mouth on the back of her sleave. You’re panting, exhausted, still
splayed out on the table. You can feel an odd sensation running through your body –
you know things are changing.
Things are changing.
She kisses you again, and you taste your own blood on her tongue. You open your
mouth obediently for her, too tired to struggle. And not really wanting to. When your
fangs clash you realize your own teeth have grown – they’re twitching and itching,
stretching, and you raise a disbelieving hand to test them.
You prick yourself in the process.
The Countess sighs. “I was going to keep you for a maid and a drink, but... oh, I just
couldn’t resist... I’ll call for another girl tomorrow – you’ll be permanent company, now.”
The final kiss is oddly affectionate, oddly perfectly. It feels right. She laughs. “You’re
welcome.”

Lamented

The postman continues his regular chatty mantra all the way to Bradley’s house.
He’s eager to tell you every nightmarish legend about the Countess’ estate, and, at the
same time, all the glamorous rumors of her success. It’s a confusing contrast and by
the time Bradley’s helping you onto a horse you don’t know what to believe.
“A mysterious woman,” he tells you, as you approach the bridge. “Oop! Looks like
this is where we must part ways.” He gazes forlornly into the distance – you watch the
water run beneath the bridge, oblivious to all the postman’s rambling. “As much as I’d
love to escort you all the way to the gates, I’m afraid it would be rather rude of me to
impose my company on the Countess, and I would never make it back before nightfall.
And, well, best not to be out after dark around these parts...”
You nod. Yes, you’ve heard the stories. The many, many stories...
“Thank you very much for your company thus far. I appreciate it.”
The postman beams. Absolutely glows. “Anytime, Miss Alara. I wish you luck on
your endeavors, then. Good day!”
You nod and he leaves. You turn your own way and set your horse to trotting up
the humble path. You’ve never been particularly comfortable on horseback. You bounce
up and down clumsily, the dirt path below seemingly ingrained in the horse’s psyche.
It faultlessly guides you up the trail as the minutes pass, then the hours. It’s a very long,
tedious, boring ride, passing mostly open fields with forests in the background, the
occasional sprinkling of trees and/or largish rocks. Your shadow grows long as the sun
grows tired. Before long you’re thirsty. You really should’ve packed water...
And then, to your utter horror, a conundrum presents itself. Your horse stops dead.
The path splits in two. You have no idea how to navigate it, and judging by the orange
sky, it’s far too late to turn around for advice. You scrunch up your forehead, wondering
if the letter warned you of this. No, you don’t think it did...

Leave

The postman continues his regular chatty mantra all the way to Bradley’s house.
He’s eager to tell you every nightmarish legend about the Countess’ estate, and, at the
same time, all the glamorous rumors of her success. It’s a confusing contrast and by
the time Bradley’s helping you onto a horse you don’t know what to believe.
“A mysterious woman,” he tells you, as you approach the bridge. “Oop! Looks like
this is where we must part ways.” He gazes forlornly into the distance – you watch the
water run beneath the bridge, oblivious to all the postman’s rambling. “As much as I’d
love to escort you all the way to the gates, I’m afraid it would be rather rude of me to
impose my company on the Countess, and I would never make it back before nightfall.
And, well, best not to be out after dark around these parts...”
You nod. Yes, you’ve heard the stories. The many, many stories...
“Thank you very much for your company thus far. I appreciate it.”
The postman beams. Absolutely glows. “Anytime, Miss Alara. I wish you luck on
your endeavors, then. Good day!”
You nod and he leaves. You turn your own way and set your horse to trotting up the
humble path. You’ve never been particularly comfortable on horseback. You bounce up
and down clumsily, the dirt path below seemingly ingrained in the horse’s psyche. It
faultlessly guides you up the trail as the minutes pass, then the hours. It’s a very long,
tedious, boring ride, passing mostly open fields with forests in the background, the
occasional sprinkling of trees and/or largish rocks. Your shadow grows long as the sun
grows tired. Before long you’re thirsty. You really should’ve packed water...
And then, to your utter horror, a conundrum presents itself. Your horse stops dead.
The path splits in two. You have no idea how to navigate it, and judging by the orange
sky, it’s far too late to turn around for advice. You scrunch up your forehead, wondering
if the letter warned you of this. No, you don’t think it did... You finger your silver
necklace absently, pondering.

Leaving

Before you can decide, your horse turns right. Very well.

The right path is a long one. It weaves through stray trees and large stones, up the
mountain path. The light wanes as you move, bouncing gently up and down with each
step. You’ve never been the best rider, and by the end, your rear is sore. You know it’s
the end because finally, finally, you can see the Pamriev estate in the background, shining
tall and grand. It’s elaborate and ancient-looking and gorgeous.
You’re in awe as you climb off your horse, and startle when that horse turns to trot
off without you. You want to call out, but... it’s not really the best place for a horse
overnight, anyway. And who are you to keep Bradley’s horses away from him?
Gulping nervously, you make your way through the gardens in front, painfully
aware of the dying light. The neatly arranged, stone-set flower beds sway as you pass.
There’s a small wooden bridge you have to cross over a deep moat. The garden on the
other side is similarly intricate and well-kept, symmetrical on either side. The mansion's
doors are gray and antique-looking, the walls pale stone. The roof is a deep purple,
sporting many banners embroidered with the Pamriev Crest. It always looked a bit like a
bat to you.
You use the large iron knocker twice. Before you can try a third knock the door flies
open. It sounds heavy, looks heavy, and the figure on the other side is draped in a long
cloak, shadow obscured from view. It nods you in, and you nervously step inside.
The floors inside are a beautiful, polished checkerboard, and there’s a bath of
embellished crimson carpet climbing up the grand staircase in the middle. At the top of
the stairs the Countess stands, regal as ever.

Righted

Righting

“Ah, Alara,” the Countess drawls, walking slowly down the steps. Your frozen feet
click into place – you rush to meet her, instead. You feel silly, and short, and under-
dressed. Her gown is gorgeous, crimson and beaded, her pearl necklaces glimmering
faintly. “I’m so glad you could come.”
You nod. Stammer, “I-it’s an honour.”
She grins shallowly. “I’m sure.” Glancing over your shoulder, she seems to survey
the land through her stain-glass windows, the stars now out. “You’re expected, of
course. Although the hour is late; I’m afraid most of my servants have retired for the
evening.”
Blushing, your hurry to offer apologies. “Oh, I’m quite sorry, I-”
But she doesn’t seem to want to hear them. She waves you off with a perfectly-
manicured hand. “No matter. It’s a good thing, really. I do like to discuss my business
during a late dinner. I think more sensibly. Won’t you join me in the dining room?”
She turns in place, glancing back to offer you a hand.

Late

You take it.

Later

The Countess’ dining room is as stunning as the rest of her home. Dinner is already
set, and the large, open windows reveal nothing but the night sky. The food is far more
expensive than you’re used to. Positively luxury.
“Oh my,” you exclaim, partially to yourself, as you slice out a piece of what you
equate to some sort of pie. “This looks absolutely lovely.” Raising the fork, you notice,
oddly, the Countess isn’t doing the same. Her head is resting on her hands, and she’s
sporting an elegant grin. Lowering your fork, you ask, “Oh... but aren’t you having any?”
“Sweet of you to ask, but actually this...” She pauses as she fingers the base of her
wine glass, “...red wine is quite enough thank you.” You haven’t tried yours yet. She
takes a leisurely sip.
Then she lowers it. “But let us move on to more important matters.” Her long lashes
flick towards you. “I hear you’re quite the housemaid, Alara. A good cook who keeps a
clean house and a healthy garden – exactly what I need.” Her voice lowers, and she looks
vaguely off the side. In a barely audible whisper she drawls, “There will be other duties,
as well, but nothing a cute, young thing like you can’t handle.”
Smiling, she looks back, voice returning to normal. “But unfortunately it is such a
long journey from you village to my home – I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a
live-in situation? Accommodations will be fully provided, of course, separate from your
pay... would you be interested in something like that?”
Startled, you only take a moment to consider. From the outside, back in your own
home, it would’ve been a larger decision. But here, encased in this elegant beauty, this
decadent comfort... your mind comes much faster. “Oh my, that’s a big offer... to live in
such a lovely place? I’d be honoured! When would you want me to start?”
Looking pleased, the Countess replied easily, “As soon as possible, actually. You’ll
be paid handsomely, I assure you. I’ll have a room set for you in the morning. For
tonight, I’m afraid it’s much too late to be traveling home. You will stay the night,
won’t you?”
You’d thought that was understood, but hurry to nod, anyway. In your haste and
clumsiness you cut yourself, flinching suddenly. It’s just a thin sliver, but it’s bleeding.
For a moment you hesitate, wondering on the proper etiquette of this situation...

Dinner

But that’s not a decision you have to make.

The Countess’ dining room is as stunning as the rest of her home. Dinner is already
set, and the large, open windows reveal nothing but the night sky. The food is far more
expensive than you’re used to. Positively luxury.
“Oh my,” you exclaim, partially to yourself, as you slice out a piece of what you
equate to some sort of pie. “This looks absolutely lovely.” Raising the fork, you notice,
oddly, the Countess isn’t doing the same. Her head is resting on her hands, and she’s
sporting an elegant grin. Lowering your fork, you ask, “Oh... but aren’t you having any?”
“Sweet of you to ask, but actually this...” She pauses as she fingers the base of her
wine glass, “...red wine is quite enough thank you.” You haven’t tried yours yet. She
takes a leisurely sip.
Then she lowers it. “But let us move on to more important matters.” Her long lashes
flick towards you. “I hear you’re quite the housemaid, Alara. A good cook who keeps a
clean house and a healthy garden – exactly what I need.” Her voice lowers, and she
looks vaguely off the side. In a barely audible whisper she drawls, “There will be other
duties, as well, but nothing a cute, young thing like you can’t handle.”
Smiling, she looks back, voice returning to normal. “But unfortunately it is such a
long journey from you village to my home – I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a
live-in situation? Accommodations will be fully provided, of course, separate from
your pay... would you be interested in something like that?”
Startled, you only take a moment to consider. From the outside, back in your own
home, it would’ve been a larger decision. But here, encased in this elegant beauty, this
decadent comfort... your mind comes much faster. “Oh my, that’s a big offer... to live in
such a lovely place? I’d be honoured! When would you want me to start?”
Looking pleased, the Countess replied easily, “As soon as possible, actually. You’ll
be paid handsomely, I assure you. I’ll have a room set for you in the morning. For
tonight, I’m afraid it’s much too late to be traveling home. You will stay the night,
won’t you?”
You’d thought that was understood, but hurry to nod, anyway. In your haste and
clumsiness you cut yourself, flinching suddenly. It’s just a thin sliver, but it’s bleeding.
For a moment you hesitate, wondering on the proper etiquette of this situation...

Dining

The Countess’ eyes flicker to your hand, then, oddly, to your necklace.

The Countess shocks you with her speed – your hand is in hers before you know it.
She lifts your wounded finger to her lips, and with a smile soft as the wind, she kisses
it chastely. Then her tongue protrudes and she sensually licks the digit from base to tip,
teeth grazing your sensitive flesh. You shudder and stifle a moan. It’s an odd, but not
unwelcome, twist. So unexpected, but you’re not about to complain. She grins wickedly
at you as she withdraws – your cheeks are on fire.
Glancing absently at your plates the Countess purrs, “I suppose you must be tired.
Shall we retire for the night?” She looks back at you, expectantly.
You’re not quite finished your food, yet, but far be it from you to defy her.
Especially now. “That sounds nice.” Your hand drops to your lap and you hold it with
the other, as though savoring the lingering touch.
“Lovely. Well then I suppose there’s only one question that remains.” You tilt your
head in confusion. Her smile is positively seductive as she asks, “Would you like to stay
in one of the guest rooms, or, perhaps, in my personal chambers...?”
Blushing madly, you’re thrown into a pit of surprise all over again. Is the Countess...
suggesting what you think she is...? Ablaze, your finger whispers forbidden daydreams
in your ear.
You open your mouth, struggling to find the words. How to sleep, how to sleep...

Clean

Alone?

...Or with the Countess...?

“That’s a lovely necklace you have,” the Countess tells you, although the sentiment
doesn’t show in her eyes. There’s a hint of a frown on her crimson lips. Looking
elsewhere, she adjusts her napkin neatly in her lap. “Silver, is it?”
You glance down, fingering it. “Yes, I believe so.”
The Countess gives a curt nod. She changes the mood, and the subject. “I suppose
you must be tired. Shall we retire for the night?” She looks back at you, expectantly.
You’re not quite finished your plate, yet, but far be it from you to defy her. “That
sounds nice.” You hold your hand down in your lap, wiping off and squeezing your
cut finger under the table. The Countess’ grin returns.
And she practically purrs, “Lovely. Well then I suppose there’s only one question
that remains.” You tilt your head in confusion. Her smile is positively seductive as she
asks, “Would you like to stay in one of the guest rooms, or, perhaps, in my personal
chambers...?”
Blushing madly, you’re thrown into a pit of surprise. Is the Countess... suggesting
what you think she is...?
You open your mouth, struggling to find the words. How to sleep, how to sleep...

Offer

You’d make your mother proud right now. You chose to sleep alone, against all
your wants and desires, and the hum of your body at the lurid thoughts that still drift
longingly through your mind. But perhaps in alignment with your better judgment.
You’re here to cook and clean, not to... well... well. You’re not that much of a hussy.
Having been too foolish to pack pajamas, you step out of your dress, bare save for
your undergarments. You slip between the covers of the rich canopy bed in the deluxe
‘guest’ room left to you. This bed alone is more expensive than everything in your
entire home, you’re sure. Perhaps by double.
The moon is a stifled, pale glow beyond your curtains – the darkness all around.
In the empty abyss your eyelids close – your mind wanders. Would it be... terribly
inappropriate, you wonder... to daydream about the Countess now...? You bite your
lip in embarrassment.

Alone

In her own home? Terribly wrong.

And yet, so alluringly right...

Pushing the fantasies aside with some force, you wrestle your mind blank. It’s
difficult to clear, but does. The excitement for tomorrow and what’s to come washes
over you, the confusion of the day floating away. As a grandfather clock ticks gently in
the background your mind slips off. And before you know it, you’re drifting in a sea of
dreams. Off to the next adventure...

Wrong

Thick with shame and light with anticipation, your fingers snake along your body,
between your belly and the sheets. You roll onto your side so it’s easier – cross your
legs – slip your hand between them – picture the Countess this morning, greeting you
on the stairs.
She’s a gorgeous woman by conventional means, but even more so by your tastes.
She’s pale, with stunning red eyes and stunning red lips, and long, flowing, black-as-
night hair. Every curve about her is the perfect angle, and her voice is a seductive growl.
She exudes power naturally, and her aura is a sensual beckoning. Naturally, she’s
completely out of your league. And yet...
And yet she asked to share a bed with you, of all people. And chose you, of all
people, to stay at her home. And she did call you cute at one point, didn’t she? Your
cheeks burn with the memory; you bite your lip and your fingers squeeze.
She mentioned ‘other duties,’ didn’t she? Would those be, could those be...?
Effortlessly your mind conjures up a scenario, your Mistress calling you to her
quarters. Broom in hand, in your little maid outfit, you’d instantly run to her. “You
missed a spot,” she’d purr, and you’d hurry to apologize.
But it wouldn’t be enough, and she’d drag you over her lap, lifting up your skirt to
reveal your bare bottom. She’d chastise you for being such a slut, and you’d croon that
you’re her slut. She’d spank you for your failure to clean everything perfectly, and you’d
cry and splutter more apologies. But she wouldn’t let up until you were nice and red,
and then she’d kiss it better. And then she’d kiss you, better. And you’d kiss back, and
she’d pull you onto the bed, and pull off your lace-up corset. She’d throw you down and
ravish you and make you scream in pleasure and-
And with an intense groan you arch into your own hand, mouth in a perfect ‘o.’ Your
fingers are wet, your skin slick. You slump back down, drained and exhausted, and wipe
your hand on the sheets, feeling embarrassed and silly. You’ll have to wash them
tomorrow. But tonight you’re too tired for that, and satiated and yet yearning, your mind
slips off. Before you know it, you’re drifting a sea of dreams. Off to the next adventure...

True

Your mother would be ashamed. But you really don’t want to think about her
right now.
The Countess’ bedroom perfectly matches the rest of the house in every aspect.
The spotless checkerboard floor, lined in a flawless gold-rimmed carpet, crawls to
her four-poster canopy bed, draped in the richest of silk. She guides you gently
towards it, holding your hand in a feather-light grasp. She turns you and backs you
into the bed, until the back of your knees hits the frame and you fall into it.
She picks you up by your waist and hikes you back into the array of pillows at
the top, easily, as though you weigh nothing. Then she climbs atop you, and puts
both hands on your collar bone. Your breath catches in your throat. Slow as clouds
her splayed palms slide over your flesh, brushing off the sleeves of your dress on
either side. You lay like a doll and let her.
This can’t be real. It’s all happening so fast, so unexpected. You almost can’t
believe it’s happening. But it is. You want to tug at her clothes, too, but don’t want
to be rude.
The Countess must notice your fingers twitch – she’s grinning.
“Sit tight, little mouse,” she murmurs into your ear, making you shiver. “You’re
in for a delicious ride.”

With

The Countess strips you leisurely, and runs her hands across every surface she
unveils. You gasp and moan with every touch – skin crawling to get closer. You lie still
and let her do whatever she wants. So far, you want everything she does.
When you’re completely bare it hits you – she’s still fully dressed. You blush with
the thought; she still holds all the power. But she always will, you know. Her smirk is a
permanent delight. Fingers absently tracing all the contours of your body, the Countess
leans in to lick a maddeningly slow trail down between your breasts. Your head lolls to
the side and you cover your own mouth to stifle all the pleasured noises you try to make.
Her tongue continues its trail, and sinfully dips lower, lower, pausing at your navel
before diving in and – oh –
You buck wildly into her mouth – or try to. She holds your hips firmly down. It
takes all the energy you have to control your body and eyes enough to watch her, look
down and witness the incredible sight. To you, she’s never looked hotter. The Countess
catches your eye, smirk widening, and she bars her teeth.
Her fangs.
Somewhere in your haze of pleasure you appropriately feel fear. But the rest of
your body can’t stop humming in delight, and as she grazes her fangs along your inner
thigh you can do nothing put moan wantonly. She sinks them into your flesh slowly, so
painfully slowly, and holds your leg still. But you won’t thrash. Instead you arch, as the
saccharine pain and bittersweet pleasure shoot through your veins. You go completely
rigid and make fists in the sheets. Her other hand trails up your other thigh, and her
fingers finish what her mouth started.
The mix of sensation – her bite and her caress – overwhelm you. Your mind is blank,
your body wracked with shivers, wrecked with ecstasy. You’re almost convulsing it’s
so intense. So intense. She’s drinking you slowly and you can feel the change it brings –
the blood draining from your body – the colour fading from your skin. Your ears and
teeth are twitching, your eyes firmly closed. It’s as if she’s sucking all your life out, and
you’re powerless to stop her. You don’t want to stop her.

It feels too damn good.

It doesn’t take long for it to all be too much. For you to hit your mark in a shattering
explosion, body frozen in mid-thrust off the bed, just as her fangs withdraw. She
slithers up your body like a snake, and wipes the blood off her chin on your neck. She
looks you right in the eyes, and you know, just know, that your eyes are like hers, now.
“You belong to me now,” she informs you, as though there was ever any debate. She
strokes you sweaty cheek and moves your bangs from your eyes. “You’re a child of the
night.”
She watches you expectantly, and somehow, you find the energy to nod.
You can feel everything changing. You’re not sure yet if it’s good or bad.
But somehow it does feel...

Right.

Together

She’s right, of course.

And yet you feel inexplicably like you should keep it on.

You undo the necklace easily, and throw it across the room. With a rather wide
smirk, the Countess leans over you, and before you can react her arms are on your waist
and she throws you onto the bed. Climbing atop you, her fingers ghost over your skin.
The Countess’ strips you leisurely, and runs her hands across every surface she unveils.
You let her. You gasp and moan with every touch – skin crawling to get closer. You lie
still and let her do whatever she wants. So far, you want everything she does.
She remains fully dressed, and it makes you blush to think of it. She’s so powerful.
Her smirk is a permanent delight. Fingers absently tracing all the contours of your body,
the Countess leans in to lick a maddeningly slow trail down between your breasts. Your
head lolls to the side and you cover your own mouth to stifle all the pleasured noises you
try to make. Her tongue continues its trail, and sinfully dips lower, lower, pausing at
your navel before diving in and – oh –
You buck wildly into her mouth – or try to. She holds your hips firmly down. It
takes all the energy you have to control your body and eyes enough to watch her, look
down and witness the incredible sight. To you, she’s never looked hotter. The Countess
catches your eye, smirk widening, and she bars her teeth.
Her fangs.
Somewhere in your haze of pleasure you appropriately feel fear. But the rest of your
body can’t stop humming in delight, and as she grazes her fangs along your inner thigh
you can do nothing put moan wantonly. She sinks them into your flesh slowly, so
painfully slowly, and holds your leg still. But you won’t thrash. Instead you arch, as the
saccharine pain and bittersweet pleasure shoot through your veins. You go completely
rigid and make fists in the sheets. The her other hand trails up your other thigh, and her
fingers finish what her mouth started.
The mix of sensation – her bite and her caress – overwhelm you. Your mind is blank,
your body wracked with shivers, wrecked with ecstasy. You’re almost convulsing it’s so
intense. So intense. She’s drinking you slowly and you can feel the change it brings – the
blood draining from your body – the colour fading from your skin. Your ears and teeth
are twitching, your eyes firmly closed. It’s as if she’s sucking all your life out, and you’re
powerless to stop her. You don’t want to stop her.

Undone

Your fingers drop. “I... I’m sorry, I’d rather keep it on.” You’re not sure why, but
you feel so very strongly that you must. The Countess’ whole demeanor changes. Her
face darkens, her lips frowning. Her eyes glint with a sentiment you don’t recognize,
but it puts fear in your heart all the same.
“So, that’s how it will be,” she drawls, slowly.
Then, with lightning-fast speed, she grabs you by the hair, and knocks you down
into the bed. She seals your lips in a demanding fire, climbing atop you, knocking you
over, you’re taken by surprise and you gasp – she takes the opportunity to dive her
tongue in. A whimpering sound drifts through the air, and it’s not until she pulls back
that you realize it wasn’t from you. The Countess pulls back and glares down at you,
like a hungry cat with a disobedient mouse. Flushed and panting, your wide eyes watch
her, terrified. The flesh on her neck is red – it looks like it’s burning - a horrible contrast
on her pale figure.
Then she spits at you, “Get out!” And you, trembling, fly off the bed and scramble
to the door. You don’t know what’s happened, don’t want to know, but you hurtle to
the guest room you’d passed earlier on tour. You hurry inside and slam the door behind
you, slinking down it. With a sigh of relief to be away. And a sigh of confusion as to
what’s gone on.
It takes a few moments to regain your breath, another few to re-steady your head.
And then you push up to your feet and head over to the bed, falling onto it in exhaustion.
What a day, what a day.
You fall asleep faster than you have in years, and don’t dream a thing.

Rough

/End.

/To Be Continued...?

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}
Symbol 321 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Book");
}
Symbol 324 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Leaving");
}
Symbol 329 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Leaving");
}
Symbol 332 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Scene");
}
Symbol 339 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("After");
}
Symbol 344 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Leaving");
}
Symbol 347 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Stay");
}
Symbol 354 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Willemina");
}
Symbol 357 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Stanley");
}
Symbol 362 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Right");
}
Symbol 365 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Left");
}
Symbol 370 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Left");
}
Symbol 373 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Right");
}
Symbol 378 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Struggle");
}
Symbol 381 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Obey");
}
Symbol 387 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Frenzied");
}
Symbol 390 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("More");
}
Symbol 395 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Frenzied");
}
Symbol 400 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Frenzied");
}
Symbol 401 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("EndV");
}
Symbol 408 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Young");
}
Symbol 413 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Library");
}
Symbol 416 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Lunch");
}
Symbol 421 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Play");
}
Symbol 424 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Read");
}
Symbol 428 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Play");
}
Symbol 433 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Lament");
}
Symbol 436 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Lament2");
}
Symbol 442 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Lamented");
}
Symbol 447 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Righted");
}
Symbol 452 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Righting");
}
Symbol 455 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Late");
}
Symbol 457 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Later");
}
Symbol 462 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Dinner");
}
Symbol 464 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Dining");
}
Symbol 469 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Clean");
}
Symbol 474 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Offer");
}
Symbol 479 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Alone");
}
Symbol 482 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("With");
}
Symbol 485 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Together");
}
Symbol 490 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Wrong");
}
Symbol 493 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("True");
}
Symbol 494 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("EndTBC");
}
Symbol 501 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("With2");
}
Symbol 505 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("With3");
}
Symbol 509 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Lament2");
}
Symbol 514 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Undone");
}
Symbol 517 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("Rough");
}
Symbol 520 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("With3");
}
Symbol 525 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("index");
}
Symbol 531 Button
on (release) {
	gotoAndStop ("index");
}

Library Items

Symbol 1 Font	Used by:2 3 4 5 6 7 10 12 14 18 19 21 22 24 25 27 28 30 31 33 34 36 37 39 40 42 43 45 46 48 49 51 52 54 55 57 58 60 61 63 64 66 67 69 70 72 73 75 76 78 79 81 82 84 85 87 88 90 91 93 94 96 97 99 100 102 103 105 106 108 109 111 112 114 115 117 118 120 121 123 124 126 127 129 130 132 133 135 136 138 139 141 142 144 145 147 148 150 151 153 154 156 157 159 160 162 163 165 166 168 169 171 172 174 175 176 178 179 181 182 184 185 192 193 194 206 216 221 226 231 235 240 251 262 270 278 287 292 297 308 310 318 326 333 341 349 351 359 367 375 384 392 397 403 405 410 418 425 430 435 439 444 446 449 454 456 459 463 466 471 476 484 487 496 498 500 511 519 522 523 524 529 530
Symbol 2 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 3 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 4 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 5 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 6 Text	Uses:1	Used by:8 9
Symbol 7 Text	Uses:1	Used by:8 9
Symbol 8 Button	Uses:6 7	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 9 Button	Uses:6 7	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 10 Text	Uses:1	Used by:11
Symbol 11 Button	Uses:10	Used by:16
Symbol 12 Text	Uses:1	Used by:13
Symbol 13 Button	Uses:12	Used by:16
Symbol 14 Text	Uses:1	Used by:15
Symbol 15 MovieClip	Uses:14	Used by:16
Symbol 16 MovieClip	Uses:11 13 15	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 17 Graphic	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 18 Text	Uses:1	Used by:20
Symbol 19 Text	Uses:1	Used by:20
Symbol 20 Button	Uses:18 19	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 21 Text	Uses:1	Used by:23
Symbol 22 Text	Uses:1	Used by:23
Symbol 23 Button	Uses:21 22	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 24 Text	Uses:1	Used by:26
Symbol 25 Text	Uses:1	Used by:26
Symbol 26 Button	Uses:24 25	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 27 Text	Uses:1	Used by:29
Symbol 28 Text	Uses:1	Used by:29
Symbol 29 Button	Uses:27 28	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 30 Text	Uses:1	Used by:32
Symbol 31 Text	Uses:1	Used by:32
Symbol 32 Button	Uses:30 31	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 33 Text	Uses:1	Used by:35
Symbol 34 Text	Uses:1	Used by:35
Symbol 35 Button	Uses:33 34	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 36 Text	Uses:1	Used by:38
Symbol 37 Text	Uses:1	Used by:38
Symbol 38 Button	Uses:36 37	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 39 Text	Uses:1	Used by:41
Symbol 40 Text	Uses:1	Used by:41
Symbol 41 Button	Uses:39 40	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 42 Text	Uses:1	Used by:44
Symbol 43 Text	Uses:1	Used by:44
Symbol 44 Button	Uses:42 43	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 45 Text	Uses:1	Used by:47
Symbol 46 Text	Uses:1	Used by:47
Symbol 47 Button	Uses:45 46	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 48 Text	Uses:1	Used by:50
Symbol 49 Text	Uses:1	Used by:50
Symbol 50 Button	Uses:48 49	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 51 Text	Uses:1	Used by:53 188
Symbol 52 Text	Uses:1	Used by:53 188
Symbol 53 Button	Uses:51 52	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 54 Text	Uses:1	Used by:56
Symbol 55 Text	Uses:1	Used by:56
Symbol 56 Button	Uses:54 55	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 57 Text	Uses:1	Used by:59
Symbol 58 Text	Uses:1	Used by:59
Symbol 59 Button	Uses:57 58	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 60 Text	Uses:1	Used by:62
Symbol 61 Text	Uses:1	Used by:62
Symbol 62 Button	Uses:60 61	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 63 Text	Uses:1	Used by:65
Symbol 64 Text	Uses:1	Used by:65
Symbol 65 Button	Uses:63 64	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 66 Text	Uses:1	Used by:68
Symbol 67 Text	Uses:1	Used by:68
Symbol 68 Button	Uses:66 67	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 69 Text	Uses:1	Used by:71
Symbol 70 Text	Uses:1	Used by:71
Symbol 71 Button	Uses:69 70	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 72 Text	Uses:1	Used by:74
Symbol 73 Text	Uses:1	Used by:74
Symbol 74 Button	Uses:72 73	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 75 Text	Uses:1	Used by:77
Symbol 76 Text	Uses:1	Used by:77
Symbol 77 Button	Uses:75 76	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 78 Text	Uses:1	Used by:80
Symbol 79 Text	Uses:1	Used by:80
Symbol 80 Button	Uses:78 79	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 81 Text	Uses:1	Used by:83
Symbol 82 Text	Uses:1	Used by:83
Symbol 83 Button	Uses:81 82	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 84 Text	Uses:1	Used by:86
Symbol 85 Text	Uses:1	Used by:86
Symbol 86 Button	Uses:84 85	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 87 Text	Uses:1	Used by:89
Symbol 88 Text	Uses:1	Used by:89
Symbol 89 Button	Uses:87 88	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 90 Text	Uses:1	Used by:92
Symbol 91 Text	Uses:1	Used by:92
Symbol 92 Button	Uses:90 91	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 93 Text	Uses:1	Used by:95
Symbol 94 Text	Uses:1	Used by:95
Symbol 95 Button	Uses:93 94	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 96 Text	Uses:1	Used by:98
Symbol 97 Text	Uses:1	Used by:98
Symbol 98 Button	Uses:96 97	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 99 Text	Uses:1	Used by:101
Symbol 100 Text	Uses:1	Used by:101
Symbol 101 Button	Uses:99 100	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 102 Text	Uses:1	Used by:104
Symbol 103 Text	Uses:1	Used by:104
Symbol 104 Button	Uses:102 103	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 105 Text	Uses:1	Used by:107
Symbol 106 Text	Uses:1	Used by:107
Symbol 107 Button	Uses:105 106	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 108 Text	Uses:1	Used by:110
Symbol 109 Text	Uses:1	Used by:110
Symbol 110 Button	Uses:108 109	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 111 Text	Uses:1	Used by:113
Symbol 112 Text	Uses:1	Used by:113
Symbol 113 Button	Uses:111 112	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 114 Text	Uses:1	Used by:116
Symbol 115 Text	Uses:1	Used by:116
Symbol 116 Button	Uses:114 115	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 117 Text	Uses:1	Used by:119
Symbol 118 Text	Uses:1	Used by:119
Symbol 119 Button	Uses:117 118	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 120 Text	Uses:1	Used by:122
Symbol 121 Text	Uses:1	Used by:122
Symbol 122 Button	Uses:120 121	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 123 Text	Uses:1	Used by:125
Symbol 124 Text	Uses:1	Used by:125
Symbol 125 Button	Uses:123 124	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 126 Text	Uses:1	Used by:128
Symbol 127 Text	Uses:1	Used by:128
Symbol 128 Button	Uses:126 127	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 129 Text	Uses:1	Used by:131
Symbol 130 Text	Uses:1	Used by:131
Symbol 131 Button	Uses:129 130	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 132 Text	Uses:1	Used by:134
Symbol 133 Text	Uses:1	Used by:134
Symbol 134 Button	Uses:132 133	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 135 Text	Uses:1	Used by:137
Symbol 136 Text	Uses:1	Used by:137
Symbol 137 Button	Uses:135 136	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 138 Text	Uses:1	Used by:140
Symbol 139 Text	Uses:1	Used by:140
Symbol 140 Button	Uses:138 139	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 141 Text	Uses:1	Used by:143
Symbol 142 Text	Uses:1	Used by:143
Symbol 143 Button	Uses:141 142	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 144 Text	Uses:1	Used by:146
Symbol 145 Text	Uses:1	Used by:146
Symbol 146 Button	Uses:144 145	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 147 Text	Uses:1	Used by:149
Symbol 148 Text	Uses:1	Used by:149
Symbol 149 Button	Uses:147 148	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 150 Text	Uses:1	Used by:152
Symbol 151 Text	Uses:1	Used by:152
Symbol 152 Button	Uses:150 151	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 153 Text	Uses:1	Used by:155
Symbol 154 Text	Uses:1	Used by:155
Symbol 155 Button	Uses:153 154	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 156 Text	Uses:1	Used by:158
Symbol 157 Text	Uses:1	Used by:158
Symbol 158 Button	Uses:156 157	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 159 Text	Uses:1	Used by:161
Symbol 160 Text	Uses:1	Used by:161
Symbol 161 Button	Uses:159 160	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 162 Text	Uses:1	Used by:164
Symbol 163 Text	Uses:1	Used by:164
Symbol 164 Button	Uses:162 163	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 165 Text	Uses:1	Used by:167
Symbol 166 Text	Uses:1	Used by:167
Symbol 167 Button	Uses:165 166	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 168 Text	Uses:1	Used by:170
Symbol 169 Text	Uses:1	Used by:170
Symbol 170 Button	Uses:168 169	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 171 Text	Uses:1	Used by:173
Symbol 172 Text	Uses:1	Used by:173
Symbol 173 Button	Uses:171 172	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 174 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 175 Text	Uses:1	Used by:177
Symbol 176 Text	Uses:1	Used by:177
Symbol 177 Button	Uses:175 176	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 178 Text	Uses:1	Used by:180
Symbol 179 Text	Uses:1	Used by:180
Symbol 180 Button	Uses:178 179	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 181 Text	Uses:1	Used by:183
Symbol 182 Text	Uses:1	Used by:183
Symbol 183 Button	Uses:181 182	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 184 Text	Uses:1	Used by:186
Symbol 185 Text	Uses:1	Used by:186
Symbol 186 Button	Uses:184 185	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 187 Graphic	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 188 Button	Uses:51 52	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 189 Graphic	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 190 Font	Used by:191 199 203 205 209 211 212 215 220 225 230 239 250 261 269 277 282 286 291 296 307 309 317 325 340 348 350 358 366 374 383 391 396 402 404 409 417 429 434 437 438 443 445 448 453 458 465 470 475 483 486 495 497 499 502 506 510 518 521
Symbol 191 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 192 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 193 Text	Uses:1	Used by:195
Symbol 194 Text	Uses:1	Used by:195
Symbol 195 Button	Uses:193 194	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 196 Font	Used by:197 198 201 202 207 208 209 211 212 213 217 218 222 223 227 228 241 242 244 245 247 248 252 253 255 256 258 259 263 264 266 267 271 272 274 275 279 280 283 284 288 289 293 294 298 299 301 302 311 312 314 315 319 320 322 323 327 328 330 331 342 343 345 346 352 353 355 356 360 361 363 364 368 369 371 372 376 377 379 380 385 386 388 389 393 394 398 399 406 407 411 412 414 415 419 420 422 423 431 432 440 441 450 451 460 461 467 468 472 473 477 478 480 481 488 489 491 492 503 504 507 508 512 513 515 516
Symbol 197 Text	Uses:196	Used by:200
Symbol 198 Text	Uses:196	Used by:200
Symbol 199 Text	Uses:190	Used by:200
Symbol 200 Button	Uses:197 198 199	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 201 Text	Uses:196	Used by:204
Symbol 202 Text	Uses:196	Used by:204
Symbol 203 Text	Uses:190	Used by:204
Symbol 204 Button	Uses:201 202 203	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 205 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 206 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 207 Text	Uses:196	Used by:210
Symbol 208 Text	Uses:196	Used by:210
Symbol 209 Text	Uses:196 190	Used by:210
Symbol 210 Button	Uses:207 208 209	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 211 Text	Uses:196 190	Used by:214
Symbol 212 Text	Uses:196 190	Used by:214
Symbol 213 Text	Uses:196	Used by:214
Symbol 214 Button	Uses:211 212 213	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 215 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 216 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 217 Text	Uses:196	Used by:219
Symbol 218 Text	Uses:196	Used by:219
Symbol 219 Button	Uses:217 218	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 220 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 221 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 222 Text	Uses:196	Used by:224
Symbol 223 Text	Uses:196	Used by:224
Symbol 224 Button	Uses:222 223	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 225 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 226 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 227 Text	Uses:196	Used by:229
Symbol 228 Text	Uses:196	Used by:229
Symbol 229 Button	Uses:227 228	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 230 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 231 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 232 Graphic	Used by:234 238
Symbol 233 Graphic	Used by:234 238
Symbol 234 Button	Uses:232 233	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 235 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 236 Bitmap	Used by:237
Symbol 237 Graphic	Uses:236	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 238 Button	Uses:232 233	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 239 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 240 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 241 Text	Uses:196	Used by:243
Symbol 242 Text	Uses:196	Used by:243
Symbol 243 Button	Uses:241 242	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 244 Text	Uses:196	Used by:246
Symbol 245 Text	Uses:196	Used by:246
Symbol 246 Button	Uses:244 245	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 247 Text	Uses:196	Used by:249
Symbol 248 Text	Uses:196	Used by:249
Symbol 249 Button	Uses:247 248	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 250 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 251 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 252 Text	Uses:196	Used by:254
Symbol 253 Text	Uses:196	Used by:254
Symbol 254 Button	Uses:252 253	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 255 Text	Uses:196	Used by:257
Symbol 256 Text	Uses:196	Used by:257
Symbol 257 Button	Uses:255 256	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 258 Text	Uses:196	Used by:260
Symbol 259 Text	Uses:196	Used by:260
Symbol 260 Button	Uses:258 259	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 261 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 262 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 263 Text	Uses:196	Used by:265
Symbol 264 Text	Uses:196	Used by:265
Symbol 265 Button	Uses:263 264	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 266 Text	Uses:196	Used by:268
Symbol 267 Text	Uses:196	Used by:268
Symbol 268 Button	Uses:266 267	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 269 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 270 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 271 Text	Uses:196	Used by:273
Symbol 272 Text	Uses:196	Used by:273
Symbol 273 Button	Uses:271 272	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 274 Text	Uses:196	Used by:276
Symbol 275 Text	Uses:196	Used by:276
Symbol 276 Button	Uses:274 275	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 277 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 278 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 279 Text	Uses:196	Used by:281 436 501
Symbol 280 Text	Uses:196	Used by:281 436 501
Symbol 281 Button	Uses:279 280	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 282 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 283 Text	Uses:196	Used by:285
Symbol 284 Text	Uses:196	Used by:285
Symbol 285 Button	Uses:283 284	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 286 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 287 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 288 Text	Uses:196	Used by:290
Symbol 289 Text	Uses:196	Used by:290
Symbol 290 Button	Uses:288 289	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 291 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 292 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 293 Text	Uses:196	Used by:295
Symbol 294 Text	Uses:196	Used by:295
Symbol 295 Button	Uses:293 294	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 296 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 297 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 298 Text	Uses:196	Used by:300
Symbol 299 Text	Uses:196	Used by:300
Symbol 300 Button	Uses:298 299	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 301 Text	Uses:196	Used by:303
Symbol 302 Text	Uses:196	Used by:303
Symbol 303 Button	Uses:301 302	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 304 Graphic	Used by:306 401 494
Symbol 305 Graphic	Used by:306 401 494
Symbol 306 Button	Uses:304 305	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 307 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 308 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 309 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 310 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 311 Text	Uses:196	Used by:313
Symbol 312 Text	Uses:196	Used by:313
Symbol 313 Button	Uses:311 312	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 314 Text	Uses:196	Used by:316
Symbol 315 Text	Uses:196	Used by:316
Symbol 316 Button	Uses:314 315	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 317 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 318 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 319 Text	Uses:196	Used by:321
Symbol 320 Text	Uses:196	Used by:321
Symbol 321 Button	Uses:319 320	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 322 Text	Uses:196	Used by:324
Symbol 323 Text	Uses:196	Used by:324
Symbol 324 Button	Uses:322 323	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 325 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 326 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 327 Text	Uses:196	Used by:329
Symbol 328 Text	Uses:196	Used by:329
Symbol 329 Button	Uses:327 328	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 330 Text	Uses:196	Used by:332
Symbol 331 Text	Uses:196	Used by:332
Symbol 332 Button	Uses:330 331	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 333 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 334 Bitmap	Used by:335
Symbol 335 Graphic	Uses:334	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 336 Graphic	Used by:339 428
Symbol 337 Graphic	Used by:339 428
Symbol 338 Graphic	Used by:339 428
Symbol 339 Button	Uses:336 337 338	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 340 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 341 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 342 Text	Uses:196	Used by:344
Symbol 343 Text	Uses:196	Used by:344
Symbol 344 Button	Uses:342 343	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 345 Text	Uses:196	Used by:347
Symbol 346 Text	Uses:196	Used by:347
Symbol 347 Button	Uses:345 346	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 348 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 349 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 350 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 351 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 352 Text	Uses:196	Used by:354
Symbol 353 Text	Uses:196	Used by:354
Symbol 354 Button	Uses:352 353	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 355 Text	Uses:196	Used by:357
Symbol 356 Text	Uses:196	Used by:357
Symbol 357 Button	Uses:355 356	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 358 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 359 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 360 Text	Uses:196	Used by:362
Symbol 361 Text	Uses:196	Used by:362
Symbol 362 Button	Uses:360 361	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 363 Text	Uses:196	Used by:365
Symbol 364 Text	Uses:196	Used by:365
Symbol 365 Button	Uses:363 364	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 366 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 367 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 368 Text	Uses:196	Used by:370
Symbol 369 Text	Uses:196	Used by:370
Symbol 370 Button	Uses:368 369	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 371 Text	Uses:196	Used by:373 447
Symbol 372 Text	Uses:196	Used by:373 447
Symbol 373 Button	Uses:371 372	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 374 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 375 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 376 Text	Uses:196	Used by:378
Symbol 377 Text	Uses:196	Used by:378
Symbol 378 Button	Uses:376 377	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 379 Text	Uses:196	Used by:381
Symbol 380 Text	Uses:196	Used by:381
Symbol 381 Button	Uses:379 380	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 382 Font	Used by:383 404 429 437 453 465 470
Symbol 383 Text	Uses:190 382	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 384 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 385 Text	Uses:196	Used by:387
Symbol 386 Text	Uses:196	Used by:387
Symbol 387 Button	Uses:385 386	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 388 Text	Uses:196	Used by:390
Symbol 389 Text	Uses:196	Used by:390
Symbol 390 Button	Uses:388 389	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 391 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 392 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 393 Text	Uses:196	Used by:395
Symbol 394 Text	Uses:196	Used by:395
Symbol 395 Button	Uses:393 394	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 396 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 397 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 398 Text	Uses:196	Used by:400
Symbol 399 Text	Uses:196	Used by:400
Symbol 400 Button	Uses:398 399	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 401 Button	Uses:304 305	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 402 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 403 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 404 Text	Uses:190 382	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 405 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 406 Text	Uses:196	Used by:408 455 457
Symbol 407 Text	Uses:196	Used by:408 455 457
Symbol 408 Button	Uses:406 407	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 409 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 410 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 411 Text	Uses:196	Used by:413
Symbol 412 Text	Uses:196	Used by:413
Symbol 413 Button	Uses:411 412	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 414 Text	Uses:196	Used by:416
Symbol 415 Text	Uses:196	Used by:416
Symbol 416 Button	Uses:414 415	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 417 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 418 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 419 Text	Uses:196	Used by:421
Symbol 420 Text	Uses:196	Used by:421
Symbol 421 Button	Uses:419 420	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 422 Text	Uses:196	Used by:424
Symbol 423 Text	Uses:196	Used by:424
Symbol 424 Button	Uses:422 423	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 425 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 426 Bitmap	Used by:427
Symbol 427 Graphic	Uses:426	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 428 Button	Uses:336 337 338	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 429 Text	Uses:190 382	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 430 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 431 Text	Uses:196	Used by:433
Symbol 432 Text	Uses:196	Used by:433
Symbol 433 Button	Uses:431 432	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 434 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 435 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 436 Button	Uses:279 280	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 437 Text	Uses:190 382	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 438 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 439 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 440 Text	Uses:196	Used by:442
Symbol 441 Text	Uses:196	Used by:442
Symbol 442 Button	Uses:440 441	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 443 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 444 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 445 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 446 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 447 Button	Uses:371 372	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 448 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 449 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 450 Text	Uses:196	Used by:452
Symbol 451 Text	Uses:196	Used by:452
Symbol 452 Button	Uses:450 451	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 453 Text	Uses:190 382	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 454 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 455 Button	Uses:406 407	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 456 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 457 Button	Uses:406 407	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 458 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 459 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 460 Text	Uses:196	Used by:462 464
Symbol 461 Text	Uses:196	Used by:462 464
Symbol 462 Button	Uses:460 461	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 463 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 464 Button	Uses:460 461	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 465 Text	Uses:190 382	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 466 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 467 Text	Uses:196	Used by:469
Symbol 468 Text	Uses:196	Used by:469
Symbol 469 Button	Uses:467 468	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 470 Text	Uses:190 382	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 471 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 472 Text	Uses:196	Used by:474
Symbol 473 Text	Uses:196	Used by:474
Symbol 474 Button	Uses:472 473	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 475 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 476 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 477 Text	Uses:196	Used by:479
Symbol 478 Text	Uses:196	Used by:479
Symbol 479 Button	Uses:477 478	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 480 Text	Uses:196	Used by:482 485
Symbol 481 Text	Uses:196	Used by:482 485
Symbol 482 Button	Uses:480 481	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 483 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 484 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 485 Button	Uses:480 481	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 486 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 487 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 488 Text	Uses:196	Used by:490
Symbol 489 Text	Uses:196	Used by:490
Symbol 490 Button	Uses:488 489	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 491 Text	Uses:196	Used by:493
Symbol 492 Text	Uses:196	Used by:493
Symbol 493 Button	Uses:491 492	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 494 Button	Uses:304 305	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 495 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 496 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 497 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 498 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 499 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 500 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 501 Button	Uses:279 280	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 502 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 503 Text	Uses:196	Used by:505 520
Symbol 504 Text	Uses:196	Used by:505 520
Symbol 505 Button	Uses:503 504	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 506 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 507 Text	Uses:196	Used by:509
Symbol 508 Text	Uses:196	Used by:509
Symbol 509 Button	Uses:507 508	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 510 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 511 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 512 Text	Uses:196	Used by:514
Symbol 513 Text	Uses:196	Used by:514
Symbol 514 Button	Uses:512 513	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 515 Text	Uses:196	Used by:517
Symbol 516 Text	Uses:196	Used by:517
Symbol 517 Button	Uses:515 516	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 518 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 519 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 520 Button	Uses:503 504	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 521 Text	Uses:190	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 522 Text	Uses:1	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 523 Text	Uses:1	Used by:525
Symbol 524 Text	Uses:1	Used by:525
Symbol 525 Button	Uses:523 524	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 526 Bitmap	Used by:527
Symbol 527 Graphic	Uses:526	Used by:528
Symbol 528 MovieClip	Uses:527	Used by:Timeline
Symbol 529 Text	Uses:1	Used by:531
Symbol 530 Text	Uses:1	Used by:531
Symbol 531 Button	Uses:529 530	Used by:Timeline

Special Tags

FileAttributes (69)

Timeline Frame 1

Access local files only, Metadata not present, AS1/AS2.

Labels

"Loading"	Frame 1
"Warning"	Frame 6
"OP"	Frame 12
"start"	Frame 51
"index"	Frame 52
"Index2"	Frame 53
"TheBeginning"	Frame 54
"Open"	Frame 55
"Closed"	Frame 56
"Truth"	Frame 57
"Lie"	Frame 58
"Talk"	Frame 59
"Letter"	Frame 60
"Decision"	Frame 61
"Refusal"	Frame 62
"Cleaning"	Frame 63
"Bath"	Frame 64
"Daydream"	Frame 65
"Daydream2"	Frame 66
"Up"	Frame 67
"Sleep"	Frame 68
"Voiceless"	Frame 69
"Safe"	Frame 70
"Sure"	Frame 71
"Packing"	Frame 72
"Book"	Frame 73
"Scene"	Frame 74
"After"	Frame 75
"Stay"	Frame 76
"Early"	Frame 77
"Willemina"	Frame 78
"Stanley"	Frame 79
"Left"	Frame 80
"Struggle"	Frame 81
"More"	Frame 82
"Obey"	Frame 83
"Frenzied"	Frame 84
"Right"	Frame 85
"Young"	Frame 86
"Library"	Frame 87
"Read"	Frame 88
"Play"	Frame 89
"Lament"	Frame 90
"Lament2"	Frame 91
"Lunch"	Frame 92
"Lamented"	Frame 93
"Leave"	Frame 94
"Leaving"	Frame 95
"Righted"	Frame 96
"Righting"	Frame 97
"Late"	Frame 98
"Later"	Frame 99
"Dinner"	Frame 100
"Dining"	Frame 101
"Clean"	Frame 102
"Offer"	Frame 103
"Alone"	Frame 104
"Wrong"	Frame 105
"True"	Frame 106
"With"	Frame 107
"With2"	Frame 108
"With3"	Frame 109
"Together"	Frame 110
"Undone"	Frame 111
"Rough"	Frame 112
"EndH"	Frame 113
"EndV"	Frame 114
"EndTBC"	Frame 115