To my dear sister,

This is actually the eighth time I'm sitting down to write this. Putting two years of my thoughts into paper actually turned out to be pretty difficult. All this time I've been trying to write a letter to apologize to you, but it always turned into a big ramble that even I couldn't follow. I've written down apologies for everything by now. For blowing up at you, for leaving you behind, for never teaching you to play chess like I promised, for stealing your food so many times, even for just being born and forcing you to live with me.

I've apologized so much, I forgot to ask if you even wanted me to. I haven't seen you in two years, and all I have to say are apologies and all I can think of doing is dredging up all of our worst memories.

I don’t know if this even matters. Every few months I seem to discover a new answer to “what is wrong with you, Deirdre?” and think I’m on the cusp of turning everything around before I cycle back to exactly where I started. Only two weeks ago I thought I finally figured it all out just because I got stabbed and laid in a pool of my own blood for a few hours.

I just keep chasing after what could be wrong with me and new things to apologize for, when all this time I had an obvious answer I just didn’t have the courage to go through with. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve listened to you. All this time I’ve been convinced that you hate me, but I was just using you to punish myself. The only thing I needed to apologize for was pushing you away.

But if you’re hearing this, then obviously I can’t do that anymore. I’ve already failed. I don’t know how it’ll happen, but I have a hunch and I don’t like it. I’m sorry for putting you through this.
I only have two things I can do right now, even if I’m dead. Two things I couldn’t say before.
First: I love you. I’m proud of you. I don’t want you to ever doubt that, even if this is the last time you’ll hear it from me.

The second is more helpful. It’s something I’ve never said before, something I was too afraid to say, but that I should have said a long time ago, for both of our sakes. I can’t say I’m happy with giving Ace the drama he craves oh so deeply, but I don’t care that much. I’m going to use his shitty show to do something worthwhile for once.

Thalia and Walter Durand, parents of Brynhildr Durand,
are physically and emotionally abusive.

Of course, there’ll be plenty of evidence to support my claim. These two may be narcissistic sociopaths, but they’re also extremely dull and uncreative people (which, obviously, is why they rely so hard on their daughter’s accomplishments), and it’s frankly a miracle they gave birth to such an intelligent daughter. Their patterns are stereotypical and predictable. If you know Bryn, does she ‘forget’ to eat often? Does she flinch when you touch her? Does she often look she doesn’t get enough sleep? These behaviors have meaning. I would know, because I went through what she did. If she underperforms, she doesn’t get to eat. If it’s not to punish her, they won’t touch her. If she has time to ‘laze around’ and sleep, then she has time to study. Even the barest investigation into her life will prove I’m right.

I should’ve spoken up earlier. Two years earlier, or maybe even longer ago. I know it’s not something I should blame myself for, but I can’t help it. The only thing I can hope for now is that this letter will be read and that someone will help my sister when I couldn’t.

Dear sister,

When I started writing this letter, I thought I would end with an apology. I wanted to say I’m sorry you had to be born with a rotten sister like me. But now, I think I’ve managed to say something better. I can only hope I’m right. It would’ve been better if I could tell you all of this in person, but I hope you understand this feeling is still true.

I love you.

Signed, your proud sister, Deirdre Durand.

The clock had struck six.

The paintings watched as her shaky hand desperately scribbled on a page while ashes from spent a cigarette peppered her words.

In her letter to Roxie, she detailed all about the buggy wall and how it could be used in a murder, and how she found it on accident while exploring the library. She expressed a very strong desire to die so that someone might escape -- just to have a purpose for once in her miserable life.

”Meet me in the library at 8:50 tonight,” the letter said. When it had been slid under her door at around seven, Roxie was confused. After everything that had happened -- she wanted to die now?

...and she wanted Roxie herself to do the deed?

With an iron grip on the parchment, Roxie made her way down to the library at 8:48 PM. That was when Woody saw her as he was leaving the kitchen.

When she entered the library two minutes later, her eyes met Deirdre’s. After making sure nobody was behind her, the graffiti artist made her way to the letter’s author on the other side of the room.

“Deirdre what the hell is this about?” she whisper-shouted. “You’re kidding, right?”

Her eyes fell to the knife Deirdre had been holding at her side. It was from the kitchen.

“I’m serious… as serious as I’ve ever been about anything in my entire life.”

For a moment, neither of the women uttered a word. Deirdre’s expression remained cold and distant, as if she had already detached herself from what was about to happen.

“You read the plan, right?” she asked. “Kill me where I stand, and use this wall behind me to escape. It’s simple.”

“But, why? Why me?”

“I have nothing worth living for at this point, at least, that’s my belief. My options were either you or Adel, but that boy’s been through enough. I couldn’t do that to him. I can’t ask the other girls either for the same reason. I trust you enough to be able to do this and escape -- to help yourself.”

“You know that Adel or literally any of the others have a chance of being executed in my place should I actually avoid getting caught, right?”

“I… believe that that won’t come to pass. I have my reasons for thinking as much.” Deirdre held out the knife to Roxie, who hesitated in taking it. Seeing her reflection in its blade made her feel sick.

“I guess… it’s time to do it, right?”

Meanwhile, Woody had indeed gone back to his room at 8:50, though he stayed for no more than three minutes. He got a feeling in his bones -- a feeling that he remembered from when Deirdre nearly died in Hugh’s office. It was a sense of dread and unease that told him his beloved was in grave danger.

He crept back down the stairs, but was nearly seen again by Myrion, who was trying to entertain himself with the hallway’s many paintings. It took a few minutes for the robot to leave the area.

Woody approached the library with a sense of caution. He made sure to position himself in a blind spot near the southern entrance to the foyer, careful not to catch the sightline of the people arguing inside.

Inside, the library, Roxie had begun to have second thoughts about the whole idea. It was nine.

“Roxie, do it…

“I can’t… I can’t kill you!” she shouted. Yet, Deirdre grabbed hold of the girl’s wrist and slowly plunged the knife directly into her own chest. She held onto Roxie’s shoulder, nearly collapsing where she stood. Soon, she lost her grip and fell to the ground, resting in a small pool of her own blood as she had done a few weeks prior.

“Oh God… fuck, why Deirdre…?” Roxie muttered.

“DEIRDRE!” a male voice shouted. Turning towards the entrance, Roxie saw an enraged Woody running at her.

“No, Woody, wait!” she shouted, holding up the knife to defend herself. He had run at Roxie in a full-sprint and was able to grab her wrist before she could properly dodge him.

“Why did you do it?! Roxie, why did you do it?!”

She tried to shake him off. “Woody -- let go!”

He squeezed her wrist tight enough that she dropped the knife, which, through some elegant rapid hand movements, he was able to snatch. Woody was, as she was beginning to learn, stronger than he looked. The two continued to struggle some more until Woody managed to pin her against a nearby bookcase.

“Grhk! Rk!” were the only sounds that came from Roxie’s mouth as Woody strangled her, pressing a thumb deep into the center of her throat. Her eyes began to well up with tears, and she tried her best to beg him to stop.

Roxie’s body fell to the floor, limp. She died at 9:09 PM.

Woody looked at the fallen form of his beloved. Realizing what he had just done and remembering what happened the last time he grabbed Deirdre’s bleeding body, he instead went to lean against the wall behind her corpse in an attempt to mourn. However, when he let his body fall against the wall, he fell backwards, appearing in the foyer in front of the mansion’s front door. He interpreted this as a gift from the virtual heavens above and sighed in relief, but quickly remembered that his shirt was still covered in sauce. While not blood, he did tell Ryleigh that he’d change his shirt, and now he was nowhere near the stairs… furthermore, he’d been unaccounted for for too long now, and such a fact would surely make him look suspicious as it had all those before him.

Then... he looked to his side and nearly jumped out of his own skin. Somehow, Roxie’s corpse had traveled with him… he needed to get out of there. He quickly peeked into the living room and didn’t see any obvious signs of life, so, knife in hand, he began to make his way back to his room.

At 9:15, Woody stepped back out into the hallway near the library, being careful not to alert anyone in the bar as he walked past. The moving paintings on the wall all watched him with great interest. Probably because they knew he just left a corpse near the front door. When he made it up the stairs, he threw the knife down the hall, managing to get it all the way to the base of the Statue of the Dead.

He successfully made it to his bedroom at 9:18 and got changed, and two minutes later he heard the announcement while he was chatting with Great Dragon.

Woody suddenly finds himself very... hot? No. Not hot. But sweat beads on his forehead and streams down his neck and back.

He instinctively bolts up and runs into the corner of the room, hunching over with his hands clutching his head. He slumps his back against the wall, supporting himself.

He groans in pain, ripping clumps of hair out of his head, his hat having fallen off and left next to him. He shuts his eyes just as green vines begin to poke through his sleeves, and wrap around his hands.

Suddenly, his eyes open wide, almost bulging out of his head... And then one pops out, dangling in front of his chin, revealing a thin branch rapidly growing out of the now empty socket.

Woody cries out in pain, curling back as several roots rip through his shoes and pants, quickly lifting the boy up a few inches.

Meanwhile everyone watches in horror as the floor around him has been sprouting tufts of grass and flowers, leaving a trail from his seat up to the corner he's currently in.

Woody's left arm suddenly splits open, spraying blood all over his outfit and the floor around him, watering the grass. Leaves and flowers sprout up from the open wounds as his arm locks into place, outstretched. He begins to scream in pain as his jaw drops... and drops... and eventually falls off, revealing red mush that's quickly hidden by geren foliage. The roots at his feet grow longer, and thicker, firmly planting themselves into the ground, as Woody's legs have morphed into a wooden trunk, further lifting him higher off the ground.

Using his right hand, he clutches his chest in pain, struggling to move, before his chest splits open, causing one last muffled cry of pain. His white ribs split apart, jagged and pointy like teeth, and a large, bloodstained flower begins to bloom, hiding the gruesome sight of his insides...

His skull splits as a large, red-stained stalk sprouts out of it, slowly dripping blood onto the flower's petals.

Woody Vernell, the Ultimate Florist, has returned to the earth he was born from.

Deirdre: +$7,116
Roxie: +$29,773,016
Ace’s Cut: -50%

Initial Remainder: $14,890,066

Woody: +$1,039,022

Total: $15,929,088

Game Champions:
Max + $7,964,544
Great Dragon + $7,964,544

Champions get +2 FTE Request next chapter (+3 total), every other player gets +1 from the Major Game Reward (+2 total). All surviving players have their BP doubled.

Game Scrub:
You, the girl reading this.

HSG Rank: A

Leaderboard:

1. μ-r10v (Myrion)
BP = 18
$20,248,994

2. Maxwell “Max” Montgomery
BP = 4
$11,765,480

3. Great Dragon
BP = 8
$7,981,980

5. Adel Wagner
BP = 14
$6,512,104

4. Ryleigh Valentina
BP = 6
$3,097,976

6. Tsubasa Hirayabshi
BP = 8
$2,614,464

7. Luke Malley
BP = 10
$6,936

8. Woody Vernell (Deceased)
BP = 11
$0

9. Roxanne “Roxie” Trudeau (Deceased)
BP = 5
$0

10. Deirdre Durand (Deceased)
BP = 5
$0

11. Devin Lewellen (Deceased)
BP = 3
$0

12. Ramon Aki (Deceased)
BP = 3
$0

13. Ruby Colyer (Deceased)
BP = 5
$0

14. Dale Fades (Deceased)
BP = 2
$0

15. Samuel “Sam” Lockmeister (Deceased)
BP = 0
$0

16. Jennifer Wolfe (Deceased)
BP = 1
$0