Sagaland - story adventure Facebook ad: “Sagaland - Interactive Fiction”

About this ad

Meta Ad Library ID

2276290499892252

Platforms

Facebook, Instagram, Audience Network and Threads

Relaunches

0

How we count

Ad text

"You're done playing poor." Ryan said it as he set a paper takeout bag on my kitchen counter. He stood in the middle of my small studio in his dark wool coat. I had just unlocked the door after a six-hour ballet rehearsal at Lincoln Center. My feet hurt, my dance bag hung from my shoulder, and my keys were still in my hand. Ryan had kept a copy of my key from the day I moved in. He let himself in with takeout after my ballet rehearsal to criticize my body and my dancing. I moved into this Greenwich Village studio three weeks ago to escape Ryan's controlling behavior. We dated for a year, and he tried to control everything I did. He is twenty-four, and his family runs a private equity firm. He has millions of dollars, and he thinks money gives him the right to manage people. When we lived together in his penthouse, he told me what to wear, who I could talk to, and what I was allowed to eat. Moving into this walk-up was the first real choice I made for myself. Ryan pulled a plastic container of pasta out of the bag and took off the lid. "Eat," he said. He pushed the container toward me. "Look at your arms, Sophia. You look like a sick child. You're wasting away." I have struggled with a restrictive eating disorder for three years. The ballet company demands that I stay thin, and my own perfectionism makes me skip meals when I get stressed. Ryan knows that. When we lived together, he used it against me. If I ate a normal dinner, he told me my stomach looked soft. If I skipped a meal, he told me I was frail and pathetic. He brought this food to make me feel small. He wanted to remind me that he thinks I cannot take care of myself. "I'm not hungry, Ryan," I said. I set my bag on the floor. "Thank you for bringing food, but you shouldn't be here. Please leave." He did not leave. He took off his coat and threw it over my armchair. He looked around the room with disgust. "Look at this dump," he said. "The radiator barely works, and you're starving yourself to dance in the back row of an ensemble that pays forty dollars a week. You're playing house, Sophia." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded document. He smoothed it flat on the laminate counter next to the pasta container. It was an early lease termination paper. My landlord's signature was already on the bottom. Ryan brought a pre-printed lease termination paper to force me to move back into his penthouse. "I talked to your landlord today," Ryan said. "I paid him three months of rent to void your lease. He took the check. I called a car to wait downstairs. Pack your things." "I'm not moving back," I said. "This is my apartment. I signed the lease." Ryan's face tightened. He stepped around the counter, blocking my path to the apartment door. Ryan has a volatile temper when I defy him, and I usually placate him to keep the peace. The last time I tried to break up with him, he threw a drinking glass against the wall and grabbed my arm so hard it left bruises for a week. When he gets angry, my habit is to apologize and do whatever avoids a fight. But I worked extra shifts and saved for months to pay the deposit on this room. I moved here so I could dance and live without his permission. If I give up this apartment, I will never get away from him. Ryan slides the lease termination paper and a pen across my counter. He stands between me and the door, waiting for me to give up. He taps the pen on the counter. "Sign it, Sophia. You can't survive out here on your own." You decide what happens next. #interactivestory #sagaland

Where the ad sends people

apps.apple.com

Sagaland - Interactive Fiction