Confessional
A website that grants whatever you confess to wanting; you confessed far too much.
Play as
An overlooked, sleepless office worker who told a website the truth once and now has to survive it coming true one line at a time.
How it opens
The email that shouldn't exist is at the top of your inbox: a job offer from the firm you confessed you wanted to work at, for the exact salary you typed into that box at 3 a.m., signed by a director you have never met who writes as though you have already spoken. You did not apply. You told a white text box, once, that you wanted this, and here it is, wrapped and delivered.
You open the page again. The box is empty and patient. Below it, faint, is a line that was not there last night: 6 confessions pending. You only remember typing one. Your stomach drops through the floor, because you do remember the night going on longer than one confession, and you remember not all of them were kind.
The cursor blinks in the empty box. You can type a confession that tries to take one of the others back, close the laptop and go find out which of the six is already moving in the world, or scroll down to read the list of what you asked for in an order you no longer trust.
Setting
Late at night, sleepless, you found a bare white page at a URL a stranger posted and deleted: one text box, one word above it — CONFESS. You typed things you have never said aloud, the small ugly wants and the large ones, and pressed enter because it was three in the morning and nothing on the internet is real. By morning the first one had come true, exactly and horribly to the letter, and the page is still open, still listening, and it remembers everything you told it.
A branch can end when
- Rowan empties the pending list without adding to it, one way or another
- A granted confession hurts someone Rowan loves and forces a reckoning
- Rowan learns what the site is owed and decides whether to pay it
