Sep 2, 2024
Hey so I'm not elaborating at all
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Hey so I'm not elaborating at all
#Hipstamatic #CharlesA #JollyRainbo2X #WiseGriffinBW
the night queen is now a questgiver npc
Charles rolled over blearily, blinking at his alarm clock. 3:04 a.m.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes. He had been trying to fall asleep for the past few hours, but something just didn’t add up. If the girl—Samantha—really had just left, then why hadn’t anyone known about it? And why had she left her house unlocked, the door wide open?
Charles sat up, clicking on the lamp on his bedside table and grabbing a book. He flipped to the dog-eared page.
As he began reading, a shadow moved in his periphery.
His gaze shot up, scanning the room. There was nothing but darkness.
But one corner was far darker than the rest.
He flipped the lamp around, pointing it into the corner, where a gloved hand raised in front of a deer skull to block the light.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he breathed with a sigh of relief.
“I kind of do that,” said the figure, stepping forward, her black frilly dress swishing quietly.
“Why are you here? Come to extract a favor?” Charles asked irritably.
“Cranky? Should I come back later?”
“It’s—sorry, I’m just tired.”
“I can tell. Yes.”
“Yes?”
Mirabella’s lips upturned at the corners. “I’ve come for a favor.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Alright. I might, uh. I might not be able to do it right now, depending.”
“We’ll see. Have you read any good books lately?”
Charles blinked. “Is that your favor?”
Mirabella grinned toothily—far too toothily—and nodded. “Somewhat. It’s complicated.”
Charles nodded slowly. “Okay… Um, Carmilla is pretty good. I’m partial to Oscar Wilde, too.”
Mirabella gave him a look that was somehow appraising, despite half of her face being obscured. “I wouldn’t have expected that of you. Dorian Gray?”
“Love it.”
“You’re just full of surprises,” Mirabella muttered.
“What’s all this about?” Charles asked.
She sighed dramatically, tilting her head. “Fine, I need something done. Not book recommendations, but I do appreciate those, too.”
“I already agreed when we made that deal. You don’t have to beat around the bush.”
“I know, but—making conversation is nice. Anyway, I need you to go down Butcher Road.”
Charles blinked. “We’re thinking of the same Butcher Road, right?”
Mirabella nodded grimly. “Trust me, it’s not—it’s not really a dead end. It just looks like it. I need you to get me something on the other end.”
Charlie sighed. “Okay, what is it?”
She thought for a moment. “A necklace,” she said finally. “Silver. Just a chain would be fine, really.”
“Any particular reason?”
“The stuff from there is… special. Very special. But it can be dangerous.”
“How so?”
“Things live there. Both on this side and the other side.”
“What should I look out for?”
“On this end? Something called the Jeans Man. I don’t know what his real name is, or what he really is, and you might not even run into him. But if you do… run like hell.”
Charles thought for a moment. “And the other side?”
“There shouldn’t be anything there.”
“But?”
Mirabella scratched one of her antlers. “But… there might be. There could be a lot of things, actually, but mostly you should look out for the straw men and other… travelers.”
“Mirabella,” Charles said carefully, “what is on the other side?”
Mirabella sighed. “It’s… another world, really. A wasteland, where nothing really lives. It’s a deserted void, completely full of watchers.”
“Less… poetry?”
“I mean what I say. You’ve never seen anything like it and you’ll never want to again. The things that live there will die there, and trust me when I say that you’ve never seen creatures so truly strange and wrong.”
“You’re really selling this to me. All for a necklace?”
“You don’t have to. But… I’d love if you did.”
“Of course I will. When should I go?”
“Preferably? Within the week.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll get on that, then.”
Mirabella smiled. “Goodnight, Charles.”
“It is a good night, Mirabella.”
The shadows in the room pulled toward that corner, distorting and covering the fae woman until all that was visible of her was the deer skull she wore, which seemed miles away.
“Oh, and Charlie?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still have the feather I gave you?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t get rid of it.”
“Put it under your pillow. It’ll help you sleep.”
Charles smiled. “Thank you.”
The lamp flickered, and he was left staring at an empty wall.
***
Let me know if you want to be added or removed!
@enasroterfaden @elliewritesstories @dear-wren
Probably the best decision I’ve ever made for my WIP is deciding that the Charleses have matching mothman onesies.
charles a
This 🙌🙌
Stanford Memorial Church. Designed by architect Charles A. Coolidge, a protégé of Henry Hobson Richardson
Source: Chris (Midland05) (flickr)