A Comprehensive Warning Document About Sunny/Rapunzel
Set in online fandom spaces circa 2022, A Comprehensive Warning Document About Sunny/Rapunzel is a coming of age story that follows two isolated young adults as their relationship gradually unravels across Tumblr, Twitter, and Discord. Told through collages of chat logs, art, and both fake and real social media posts, this story invites readers to fall down the rabbit hole the way they would any other entertaining internet drama.
A Comprehensive Warning Document is structured through a serialized zine format. One issue will release every week until Volume 1 is completed. Volume 2 will begin release as it's completed (TBD).
Issue #1 just went live today! (6/11/26)
This zine project of mine has been in the works since early 2025, so I'm very excited to finally be releasing it now. Page previews below:
Announcing 'Attack Dogs' by Talia Bhatt and M Zakharuk!
Inspired by works such as 'Gundam: The Witch From Mercury' and 'Ghost in the Shell', our new project is sure to be of interest to fans of 'Gunmetal Olympus' and the mechsploitation genre!
Stay tuned for more information and previews on the Patreon, and we'll see you in August :)
Left alone to her own thoughts and devices, Cora decides to look for some answers of her own. However, things don't quite go as she hoped. And a close encounter with Thaddeus brings things into a new perspective...
Hey! I made an update in less than six months this time! Yay!
Gotta flesh out the end of this story and fill in around the bits I've already written, though I feel like the climax is still building. As are the nsfw parts... Hope anyone still with me is enjoying the mystery. Let me know what you think.
-----
Time dragged mercilessly, with each hour feeling like an eternity. I had hoped Thaddeus would return. Would second guess the way he left things, or need more “information”. Any excuse for him to return. For me to be able to see those dark eyes of his, to hear his voice. To linger close to him…
My thoughts swirled endlessly around our kiss. The way he had tasted, the way he had felt. Rehashing each moment until I was hardly certain what had happened and what I had simply imagined. That night, I even woke in a cold sweat with the heat of his body lingering over mine. But when I did fully return to the waking world, I was still alone in the dusty old bed. My heart racing, my mouth parted and waiting. Not a sound to be heard other than the ominous feeling of the old mansion breathing around me with each creak of its old beams. I lay awake for a few hours after that, staring at the canopied ceiling.
When over a full day had passed and I hadn’t seen hide (nor tail) of him, my frustration grew. I kicked the books over, as if they were somehow at fault. The isolation was driving me almost as insane as the waiting and wondering. Not even Hector had shown himself, leaving trays of food outside the door to grow cold before I could find them. The second morning, the breakfast had tasted especially salty. I hadn’t been able to finish it.
Aside from thoughts of Thaddeus, my mind kept inexplicably going back to the pendant. An heirloom, it seemed based upon the portrait in his mother’s rooms, but why would his family have kept an item with such an enchantment? Thaddeus was wrong about his most recent tangent, the answer was not with me. It was with him. His family. Had he bothered to show his face, I would have told him again that he was chasing shadows trying to hunt the would-be assassin. The answers were not with them, they were with him. It had always been him. But that claim would need more proof. And the nobleman had shown himself hardly world wise enough to find it himself.
It was surprisingly easy to slip back out of the mansion, once I had made up my mind to do so. Though he had insisted I would be safer within its walls, I had never been specifically banned from leaving. Right? That didn’t keep away the lingering pallet of guilt as I slipped between the long swaying grasses of the unkept grounds. And I felt like the old house watched me as I left. More than once I glanced over my shoulder at it to make sure it was still there. My breath feeling dry and tight in my chest the further I got from it. Thinking about those whispers in its halls waiting to be heard, but indistinguishable to my ears. I needed more information. And considering the lack of informants within the walls, I decided to try my luck with out.
The archives on the other side of the river were my first thought, but attempting to navigate them myself had me almost completely dismissing the idea as soon as it occurred. Poorly maintained in the best of years, completely corrupted misinformation in others. No, I had to speak to the archivists to figure out what records were not influenced by crime families and politics of the sleazy city. Or at least, was the least influenced. Which meant I needed coin, to grease the right palms. Find the right secret to be whispered. Not a single man, woman, or child in this city ever did anything for free. Luckily, I had been raised to be distrusting.
My secondary stash of emergency coin was behind the third brick from the right on the outside wall of the old mortuary. Not many dared come to the graveyard on the outskirts of town near the archives due to superstitions. For a city with such a short life expectancy, its residents were not fond of the dead. I didn’t mind, finding my life had enough of a bad streak in general that the old taboos didn’t seem to bother my luck either way. So once I had the small bag of coin in hand, I made my way to the first archivist I could find in the crumbling, musty old building. Who pointed me to the next archivist, then the next. None happy to be roused in the middle of the day from their sleep, but between a few silvers and a sharp dagger, I found I moved quickly through them.
Four archivists in and now feeling the weight of my missed breakfast, I finally got something useful. An old tome, hidden and half destroyed. But a starting place for the records of the old mansion on the hill… except it was in a language I didn’t understand.
“Not my problem.” The archivist grumbled, scratching at the base of his beard and knocking a few fleas free.
“Why even bother to give it to me then?” I demanded, trying to sound properly intimidating.
He didn’t seem to notice. “You asked for the clearest, least corrupted record of the mansion on the hill. That’s it.” He slowed his scratching to give a toothy yawn. “Probably being in that language is what has kept it untouched all these years. Not many can read it, so no need to change what it says.”
“Have you read it?” I asked, a bit exasperated.
He shrugged. “A long time ago.”
“Well, what does it say?” I pressed.
Another shrug, another toothy yawn. “Nothing interesting. First noble to live on the hill, all their descendants, all their marriages, all those marriages and descendants. Up to the former noble’s family.”
“It stops.” I concluded. “Who usually keeps the record? Why is it in this language if it’s up to date?”
He picked up a nearby quill and spun it lazily between his fingers. “I’ve been here a long time, but not that long.” He told me. “Book hasn’t been touched since I’ve been here.”
I dropped the heavy tome onto the desk between us, causing him to jump at the sound. The book crackled as I turned it to the last entry, half scribbled, the corners charred. A broken page from somewhere in the middle fell out as I spun it around to the archivist. Tapping the entry.
“What does this say?”
He eyed it, then eyed me. Raising one brow pointedly. I sighed heavily, fishing the last of my saved coin out of my pocket to slide across the wormy wood to him. His spindly fingers reached out, tapping the coins as if counting them. Weighing the options.
“Lord Grimaldi takes a wife.” He translated, “Details to follow.”
“… That’s it?”
“That’s it. For the most part.”
I sighed again in exasperation. “Word for word, you useless lout.”
His sleepy eyes flicked to me, then down to the page. He sighed to himself, then dropped one long index finger to the text.
“’His eminence, Lord Grimaldi, settles a wife. She is good of upbringing, but from foreign heritage. No information yet received. No record for name.’” He recites, then flattens his palm across the page. Sliding the entire tome back over to me. “’Details to follow’.”
“Grimaldi was the last Lord, right?” I asked. “The current noble on the hill’s father?”
He nodded. “Yup. Grimaldi kept this city under his thumb. Best in the business, even by his family’s standard. Pity the whole thing went to waste when he died.”
“How did he die?”
A shrug. “Nothing on the official record.” He tapped the crumbling tome pointedly. “But rumors say a ghost.”
“A ghost?” I echoed in a soft scoff.
Yet another shrug. “Ghost. Accident. Poisoned. Who knows for sure. There’s so many. They say he was seeing things before he died.”
“And his wife?”
“Kept to herself mostly when she got here.” He dug his pinky into his ear, fishing out a nail-full of dirty wax and flicking it off to the side. “Can’t say there’s much record of her even being around. Rumors say fire. Or poisoned. People like poison.”
“What about the current noble and his household?” His head jerked up slightly at my inquiry. “There must be something on him.”
The archivist looked at me warily. “Nothing. Keeps to himself. As should you.”
“But-”
“Listen, shop’s closed now.” He interrupted. “Time for you to head along.”
“This isn’t even a shop.” I complained.
The archivist wasn’t listening. Sliding out of his slump and heading to the back room. I sighed heavily, looking down at the heavy brittle tome. Ancient language or not, maybe it had more information than he said. Either way, Thaddeus might like to keep it safe in the mansion, being as it was the history of his entire family. He might even know the language himself. I traced my fingertip around the edge of the worn out cover, wondering if maybe the legend of the Headman’s Ghost might actually have its start somewhere within the pages. With a final sigh, I hoisted the old book up and made my way out of the crumbling building. The sun would be setting soon, I should get back to the mansion before I was missed.
That thought made me pause just outside the doorway. It had come to me so casually. As easily as breathing. Yet here I was, free from the secrets and suspicions of the old house. Free from the rules, and the stuffy old rooms… Why would I go back?
I glanced up and down the streets, which were still fairly quiet. Especially on this part of town, closer to the ancient, decrepit graveyard and the dark woods beyond. Even if someone was out to tie up loose ends, I could just… leave. I was skilled at hiding in plain sight, making myself small and unnoticeable. Surely whomever (or whatever) wanted me dead wouldn’t bother to follow me out of the city proper.
I took a few steps towards the wrought and rusted iron gate of the graveyard. Considering it. The creak of the old tome in my arms at my movement made me glance down at it. And the sight of copper skin floated up to my mind’s eye. Warm to the touch, firm. His hot kisses, his scarlet eyes. I felt my breath catch in my throat a bit at the reminder. Wondering what Thaddeus might do if I disappeared from his halls. And a sudden ache gripped my chest as I realized that even if I could run… he could not. I had been a means to an end, and Thaddeus was that end. Someone (or again, something) wanted to hurt him. I ran my hand over the cracked spine of the book, my brow furrowing slightly.
I had to protect him.
The idea almost made me laugh, considering he was the half-demon in this equation, but it did seem to fill me with resolve. A determination I hadn’t felt in a long time. I turned with greater purpose, partially covering the tome with the remnants of my cloak just in case anyone watching would think it valuable. Hastening back towards the mansion. Not like I would make it far without a proper meal all day, I reasoned. Though being on Hector’s bad side made that an unlikely prospect even if I did return.
I was crossing the rickety old stone bridge that was more wooden boards than stone at that point when a loud crash and shout had me startling out of my thoughts. There was a thunderous roar of hooves on stone, and I jerked my head up. Just in time to launch myself out of the way as a burly workhorse bolted across the bridge. Tethers snapped in half and eyes wild. Kicking and bucking as it ran.
Its frantic hooves barely missed me as I pressed to the side of the bridge. I could feel the shape of them graze the air just past my chest as it bolted past. But I didn’t have time to linger on that as a sharp CRACK filled my ears and I felt my whole body drop. Instinct alone had me reaching for something to grab hold of as the stones beneath me began to cave in on themselves.
I scrambled, flailing for the remaining stones, my legs dangling over the edge. I felt my nails slipping against the rock, bruising the tips of my fingers as I desperately grasped at them to avoid the ten foot drop to the filthy waters below. My swinging foot found purchase on a protruding wooden board and I shoved against it as hard as I could. I used the rest of my momentum to pull myself up the rest of the way. Collapsing onto the rotting wood beside the crumbling bridge.
The workhorse had barely made it to the other side itself, and was currently evading capture with its leads snapping about like whips as it reared and batted at its pursuers. Thoroughly spooked by whatever had it bolting in the first place and not about to be placated by yelling. I rolled to my feet as quickly as my nerve would allow. Knowing in this town, it was not good to stand out. And the sounds were bringing more and more people out of the surrounding buildings. Each wandering over to mutter about the destroyed bridge. I heard a few even complain about how to reach the opposite bank, though none seemed particularly bothered by it in the grand scheme of things. Gathering around and pointing at the mess half floating in the dirty waters.
I followed the growing crowd’s gaze, realizing only then the tome was no longer in my arms. Having been abandoned to its fate as my limbs had been utilized in more urgent pursuits. I chewed at my lip as I watched the small bubbles on the river’s surface pop, its surface disturbed only by the few loose pebbles still dripping off what was left of the bridge. Knowing the tome was likely already at the bottom of the riverbed by now. Well beyond reach, and probably effectively destroyed.
What were the chances, I wondered with an uneasy chill running down my spine. Then again, how many times before had I passed over that bridge and thought it a minor miracle it was still standing at all. Still, as my second near death (or at least near terrible injury) in so many days, I decided not to push it. Pulling my soiled cowl over my head.
I didn’t bother lingering, my heart in my throat, my mind racing. I jumped at every sound as I retreated back to the mansion. Darting through the long grasses like a wary deer. Finding the open window on the first floor I had slipped out of that morning to slip back in.
And jerking to a halt as I found Hector standing in the hall before me. Drumming his fingers on his crossed arms and with a deep scowl fixed to his face. Almost as if he had been waiting for me, like a parent of a recalcitrant child who had snuck out after curfew.
“And where exactly have you been?” He half growled.
I shook myself of my nerves, waving at him dismissively. I didn’t have the energy for his disdain right then.
“Out.”
“Tracking in all types of filth,” He jerked his chin at me, “You will ruin the carpet.”
I scoffed. “You can’t even see the carpet.” I exclaimed as I slunk around him. Heading back towards the west wing. “And who’s even around to notice a little mud?”
“I am.” He snapped, turning to follow my progression with his eyes. “Discard those clothes immediately. Burn them if you must.”
“I’ll get right on that.” I grumbled. My head was already starting to pound, and I didn’t want him to see my hands shaking.
“Next time you leave, grant us the favor of not coming back.” He called after me as I reached the stairwell at the end of the hall.
I ignored him, returning to the guest quarters and heading straight to the washroom. Gripping the edge of the basin and breathing heavily for a long time. My head hanging, my legs shaking with the weight of holding me up. Waiting for the ringing in my ears to settle, for my breath to stop coming in hazardous gusts. Around me, the mansion seemed to be waiting as well. Each little creak of the old masonry like it was breathing. A surprisingly steady presence to soothe my nerves.
Eventually, everything calmed a bit, and I could reach up to rub my palms across my face. I could smell the dirt on them, and was grateful for once to find a basin of water and fresh (if a bit musty) linen in the little washroom. My clothes were thoroughly coated as well, and clung to me with each little movement.
I did strip down, begrudgingly. Tossing the soiled clothes into the fireplace as I passed it, though it wasn’t lit at the moment. Going to the armoire and digging through the old garments there once I had managed to wash the worst of the grime off myself. My head spinning in circles as I thought about my escapades. Near death experiences rather came with the job, I tried to remind myself. But I did not like having lost the tome. I had rather wanted to gift it to Thaddeus…
Once I had settled upon the simplest dress I could find, I did up the ties and went hunting at the door for a silver tray of food. Hoping Hector had left the midday meal to grow cold. But was disappointed to find there was none.
I nearly tripped over the skirts of the dress as I made my way back down the halls towards the kitchens. Fiddling with them again and on edge for any little sound of approach. I wasn’t used to dresses. I preferred trousers. Made sneaking around much easier. But my growling stomach and roaring headache would not be satiated by air. I just had to hope the kitchen had more sustenance than the rest of the mansion.
Fortunately, though small and obviously makeshift, the kitchen was well stocked. Far more herbs and spices than any kitchen needed, but also a fair inventory of bread, cheese, and smoked meats. Allowing me to eat my fill without even leaving a dent. I perused the contents of the larder and cabinets while I chewed, noting the half rotted labels of what looked like old teas and spices. The dusty fine china and silver cutlery. Next to the makeshift one, I found a larger, proper kitchen. More befitting the size of the mansion, but obviously not used in many years. Filled with empty barrels and discarded litter from the current kitchen. The big ovens looking one dry day away from having their mortar give way. Each with ash still sputtering out in a trail in front of them from gusts of wind coming down the chimneys. The chef or whomever they employed kept an ample supply of pre-made foods though. Obviously not needing anything in the proper kitchen and choosing to cook it elsewhere. I wondered if maybe I would be better served hunting down my own food every day. Certainly, it would be less salty.
Tickled with the thought, I headed back to the west wing. My headache had faded, and the nerves were a distant buzzing hum I could easily dismiss with a full stomach. Just as I reached the turn off to the guest quarters, I heard the soft creak of wood from the floor above. The hairs on the back of my neck raised, and I froze. Listening intently. There it was again. The distinct click of fine boots, the creak of the wooden floorboards. He must have ascended just minutes before me. I wondered if he had stopped by the guest rooms first. Which made my heart skip with excitement. Suddenly weary of isolating myself once more given my day and longing for company. Especially his.
He sounded alone. But I checked to make sure Hector wasn’t lingering in some shadowy corner, then snuck up the stairwell to Thaddeus’ hallway. Still on edge but determined. Wishing I had the tome, or some better proof of my new resolve. Yet unwilling to wait for the nobleman to circle back. If he wasn’t going to come see me, then I was going to him.
When I made it to the top landing, he was already most of the way down the hall. I couldn’t see his face, but he moved slowly. As if distracted. My heart skipped again at the sight of him.
“Find anything of interest yet?” I asked. Trying to keep my tones cheery. Wondering how to brooch the subject of my outing. Feeling my fingertips itch at the reminder.
I saw him stiffen at the sound of my voice. Pausing barely a yard away from the door to his chambers. There was a long, belated hesitation before he turned to face me. Though he never quite raised his eyes even as I drew closer.
“I would have brought news of import to you directly, Miss Cora.” He assured me, his voice flat. “Now, if you will excuse me-”
Following the extremes of my day, that had me bristling more than usual.
“Are you mad at me?” I demanded even as he turned away.
My tone made him freeze in his step, his shoulders stiff. I watched his head drop, watched his breathing stagger.
“If I have done something to offend you, I did not mean it.” I pressed.
A little shake of his head now. “You did nothing wrong.” He told me, still without looking.
I resisted the urge to scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I must have done something,” I insisted, “For you to give such a cold shoulder.”
He turned a little more, so that I could see the slight profile of his face. But his eyes were still downcast, which only further frustrated me.
“I intend only to keep you safe.” He said, his deep voice a soft rumble in the dark hallway.
“Your brand of safety feels a bit like torture.” I replied, huffy in my frustration.
“Miss Cora-” He began, starting to turn away once more.
“Stop,” I stepped forward, scooping up his arm lightly in mine, halting his retreat again, “Please, look at me.”
He didn’t pull away, but I saw him turn his face as if he meant to. “Miss Cora-”
“You still aren’t looking-”
“I cannot-” His voice was sharp and tight, but he caught himself, and took a steadying breath that heaved his large shoulders, “… I dare not.”
“Does the sight of me offend you so?” I asked quietly.
He almost seemed to shiver, his arm tight beneath my touch, his shoulders taut.
“Never… ” He breathed, then stopped. “You must let me go.”
“I won’t.” I said stubbornly.
“Miss Cora-”
“You seem determined to pretend nothing happened.” I told him. “I am determined to remind you it did.”
“I could not pretend.” He said softly. “Even if I wanted to… The thought of you burns within me.”
“… You have a strange way of showing it.”
He shook his head. “I.. I cannot show it… It is not safe.”
“You could at least look at me.”
“I cannot!" He snapped, then stilled himself again, falling silent for a long moment. "... The remembrance of your smell makes my heart race,” He confessed at last, haltingly, his deep voice still a soft rumble, “I am so possessed by your voice I hear it in my sleep… I fear…” He hesitated, dropping off briefly, “… I fear that if I look upon you again, I will not be able to control myself.”
My own heart beat like a rabid animal against my chest, and I felt myself take an unconscious step closer to him. I brought up my other hand, gently pulling on his arm, coaxing him to face me. He kept his eyes downcast, but turned obediently. Slowly. His brow furrowed with the effort of his concentration. I reached up, smoothing my palm along his jaw, watching the magic instantly ripple beneath my touch. Causing his illusion to break. I had to stand almost on my tip toes to reach him better, and felt his hot breath on my wrist.
“I trust you.” I told him softly.
He started to shake his head, but stilled for the feeling of my palm at his cheek.
“You cannot-”
“You have never been anything but gentle and kind with me.” I pressed. “You have always treated me with care and respect.”
I ran my thumb across his skin, felt him hesitate. Almost shivering beneath my palm. He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath… Then leaned into my touch.
“I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”
When his eyes opened, they were a vibrant scarlet. Fixing upon me with a hellish fire burning in their depths. It made the air falter in my breast, made electricity race beneath my skin. Made a tiny smile spread across my lips. I watched them flick to my mouth, then down to my dress, watched his skin ripple as the magic failed. Heard the groan of protest from his shirt as it strained to accommodate his new girth.
“I think about you too,” I told him breathlessly, “I think about our kiss, I think about the taste of your mouth, the heat of your lips.”
Thaddeus took a step closer, his big copper hand coming out as if to catch my waist. The heat coming off him was dizzying, and I dared reach up my other hand to brush the longer black curls out of his face. Another step, and I backed up, bracing myself against the wall as he surrounded me with his bulk.
“Cora…”
He almost growled my name, his voice deep and guttural with his proximity and its low volume. Instead of laying them upon me, he flattened his palms on the wall on either side of my head. Dropping his own head now crowned in horns and drawing in deep, steadying breaths that billowed like a forge around us. Filling the hall with his heat. Bleeding into mine and fueling it tenfold.
“I think about your eyes,” I continued, unmoved by the edge of warning to his voice, smoothing my thumb under the subject of my litany so that it brushed the lashes there, “I dream of red eyes at night. Dream of you kissing me… touching me…”
I heard the soft, slow crunch of the mortar as his claws dug deep into the way on either side of me. Felt the wall at my back shift with the strength of his grip. I heard and almost felt the swing of his thick tail in the air behind him, but didn’t dare break away from the fixture of those scarlet eyes. I let my hand at his cheek slowly breeze down his thick neck, until it reached the obsidian chain resting atop his collarbone as he leaned down closer.
“I dream of taking off your mother’s pendant,” I murmured, practically against his lips he was so close, “And letting the real you free.”
My eyes had fluttered a bit, so I didn’t realize he had retreated slightly for another heartbeat or two.
“… What did you say?”
His tone made me hesitate. It was so cold it burned in stark contrast to his previous husk. And he spoke softly, as if the words were barely hissed out between clenched teeth. My mind spun, half lingering in the heat of our proximity, of the smell of him surrounding me. Half dropped in a cold pit of water, unable to breathe for the tightness in my chest at the sudden switch.
“… I misspoke.” I guessed breathlessly. “I should not have reminded you-”
“Reminded me of what?” He cut me off quietly, not with sharpness, but with that same chilly tone that made my breath catch again.
“Of the pendant, or your mother,” I clarified, my tones equally hushed, “I did not mean to ruin the moment with the sadness of her memory.”
I started to reach out, to run my fingertips over the edge of his collar. Still hoping to return to the previous heat. His huge fist snapped up mine, making me jump. Engulfing my entire hand in his palm and crushing his fingers around it.
“Why did you say that?”
His words were a question, but spoken as an order. I looked between his scarlet eyes, framed by long black locks, his horned head bowed slightly. Those intense eyes weren’t looking at me, but somewhere beyond me, through the wall beside my face, dark lashes all the darker for the copper tone of his skin and the vibrant hue of his eyes. My heart beat upon the walls of my ribcage, feeling a hint of fear amid my usual admiration which only made my head spin more.
“… It just came out.” I tried to explain. “I’m sorry-”
“No.” He cut me off again. “The pendant. Why did you say it was my mothers?”
That surprised me. I blinked stupidly for a moment, trying to remember exactly why I had thought it was his mother’s at all. Fighting through the fog of my spinning thoughts, the intoxicating smell of him, the dizzying heat wafting off his huge body still surrounding me. I forced a breath out of my tight chest before I remembered.
“In her rooms.” “I explained. “There was a portrait of her, I think, with the pendant. I just assumed-”
“You assumed wrong.” His hissed, his soft volume like the crackling spit of hot coals. Emphasized with a squeeze of my hand still trapped in his, so tightly I thought my bones might crack.
I didn’t flinch, I refused to flinch. But my expression must have twitched. His eyes snapped to me and he dropped my hand sharply. Balling his back into a now empty fist. He stared at me for a long moment, and I studied his face. Longing to reach out once more but afraid to push him further away. Uncertain how to rectify whatever insult I had caused. Watching his features slowly pull taut, his sharp teeth flashing beneath his lips. The bulging muscles of his arms slowly flexing-
CRUNCH!!
I jumped as his fist suddenly connected with the wall his claws had already crushed. His knuckles went straight through, and it felt like the whole mansion shook around us. I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding as he turned his face away, his expression tight. His brow furrowed.
“… You should go.”
“But-”
“Go.” He pulled himself away from me, extracting his fist from the wall with a soft echoing crunch, his tail lashing behind him. “Now.”
I lingered, torn. Wanting to comfort him, to ease whatever ailed him… wanting to feel the heat of his body a little longer. But not wanting to push him too hard. Whenever I pushed, the more he seemed to pull away. Still, I hesitated, watching him struggle with whatever internal battle currently raged in the storm on his brow.
A quiet creak down the hall had me turning, pulling me back to the present. Hector stood there, his eyes dark, his slender shoulders hunched. I wondered briefly how long he had been standing behind us. Surely the commotion of Thaddeus’ fist against the wall would have called the attention of anyone in the house. But surprisingly, the manservant didn’t speak. Didn’t approach. Those cold, dark eyes of his just watched us.
If he sensed him, Thaddeus made no indication of it. He didn’t even look over his shoulder. But finally he moved, turning his back to me. Striding over to his door and shoving it open with one shoulder. The force he used seemed minimal, yet still the door careened in and crashed against the opposite wall. I stared for a moment more at his retreating figure, then reluctantly relented. Turning to make my own exit back to my rooms. Still at a loss for exactly what had transpired.
Hector didn’t say anything to me as we brushed past each other. He moved after his master, barely sparing me a cold glance. Had I been in a better state of mind, I might have been surprised. Seeing as he had always seemed to prefer to scold me promptly and directly before. But I didn’t have the presence of mind at the moment, and slipped down the hall away from the noble’s private rooms.
“My Lord, let me make you some tea.” I heard Hector say quietly as I reached the stairwell. “Something to soothe your nerves.”
I didn’t hear if Thaddues replied. Blinking back tears as I retreated back to the guest quarters. Alone.
🥠 The song that plays for free is the one you pay for the longest.
You didn't come for the food. No one does. You push past the steam on the glass. The sign says 福運, though on a bad night one character dies and it just reads 運, luck with the fortune burned off. A cleaver keeps time in the kitchen. Nobody stops you.
Behind the kitchen, a curtain of bamboo beads. Thru the beads, the floor: red light, smoke, a table where the bishop and the beggar bleed the same.
This type of dealer doesn't take your money. He plays you a few bars instead, meant only for you, and gone before you can name it. You'll hear it again. The house will make sure of it.
He left a key on the table. It only works for the ones in the book. KVLT MEMBERS ONLY.
Alright y'all, Glassblade Chapter's 1-11 are up on Wattpad, and you can read it for free here
Chapter 12 just went out to early access subscribers, so if you want it in your inbox next Monday (6/8/26) when it goes to general audiences, click here
If you want to upgrade to a paid subscription to support the story directly, click here
Blurb: "For generations, the noble and ancient Schwan family kept a secret and silent watch over the city of Tacoma. Then, in one night of bloodshed and fire at the dawn of the new millennium, they were gone. Thirteen years later, nobody knows whom is responsible, how it was done, or why.
The year is 2013. In the Schwans absence, the delicate tapestry of polite lies and political compromises that has held their supernatural world together is fraying at the seams. The remaining six houses royal jockey for position. Revolution simmers beneath the thin surface, and the adults are too attached to how things used to be to recognize the darkness coming. Amidst this conflict, five lives are drawn slowly together.
A Prince's daughter struggles to find her own destiny within the web of power surrounding her father. One retainer searches for answers whilst another, long retired, protects her charges from royal and commoner alike. A regent-in-exile hunts a forgotten monster through the city's back-alleys and dark shadows.
And in a farm-house outside the city, long occluded from sight, a power stirs, its bearer abruptly forced into a world that will hunger to control him, or destroy him entirely."
My Blog consists of generally two different stories/worlds, but I will also post one off's and or other types of stories from time to time. While all my specific content is constructed/developed by me I do use AI because much like a pen or a typewriter, it is a tool
Life with Avery → slice-of-life charm, humor, emotional beats, Love Stories, .... although this will change in time to a different story/character as its more freelance.... Sci-fi/fantasy/horror
I post one chapter a day till a whole story or episode is complete on a rotational basis and each will have tags to allow for you to follow and find fairly easily.
Feel free to like, comment and or follow the blog and i appreciate any that like and enjoy what I Post
You can also find me and many full stories, episodes, character sheets, Lore and Images of characters on my Patreon at
Get more from Dreamweaverstudios69 on Patreon. The Paradoxicalverse • Virelia Prime — The Fenwick Files • Origi. Support Dreamweaverstudios
DO NOT ASK ME FOR MY STORIES/EPISODES PRIOR TO THEM BEING POSTED TO MY BLOG
I also may repost others work I find enjoyable
#fantasy oc #original story #original characters #oc writing #serialized fiction #ongoing story #worldbuilding #character driven #multi chapter story #fenwick files #character lore #hybrid havoc #doomblagotta lab #chaos duo #chee-zoos #fenwick oc #hybrid oc #Life with Avery #paradoxicalverse
