𝘿𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Hello, and welcome to my little writer's nook!
Here you'll find a character diary, character musings, short writing samples, longer writing samples and more.
Some things may be graphic, so with that in mind I'll try to apply trigger warnings where they're needed.

𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚. 𝙄'𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙯𝙚𝙙. ♥

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Entry 1
Dear Diary,
I woke in a strange place last night. In a strange room with a strange man and his strange, wet hands. 

Red painted the wall behind me, bright in some places and dark as rust in others.

I remember the distinct smell of copper and how it burned my nose.
How I hung, suspended from the floor, by crude shackles—my body crucified and excoriated.

Torn flesh adorned my broken, bare ribs.
My organs undulated, moist and glistening in the faded light.

I told myself it was all just a dream. That each careful pass of my admirer’s burrowing lancet was the ticking of an old Grandfather Clock.
I told myself that I’d wake in a warm bed. In a cold, quiet space.

But deep down I knew that to be a terrible lie.

Spoiler

Entry 2
Dear Diary,
The weather was delightful today.
I've managed a harvest fit for fifty stomachs, and still, an abundance of fruit hangs ripe at the ends of their branches.

Should Ms. Lacrosse bear witness to my juice-making skills, I fear she’ll never lend me the kitchen again.

Spoiler

Entry 3
Dear Diary,
It’s strange, is it not? To dream of talking trees?
To wake to their whispers when rain patters my feet?
In fall, I hear the Earth breathe her sigh of relief.
A breath, I discover, that lasts all too brief.

Spoiler

Entry 4
Dear Diary,
Father brought home a book today, and immediately, I’m fond of its plot—how its twists and turns leave my lip sore behind apprehensive teeth marks. Dawn has quickly become dusk, and still, I’m left at ease, nestled between the tiny arms of my wicker chair.
Father says that I slip through the skin of reality all too easily when new stories find themselves propped within my lap.

I’d be silly to deny this claim.

Spoiler

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 1—DEPRAVITY
I wanted to believe that it wasn't human once. That it wasn't something I had created as a result of father's morbid curiosity.
Most importantly, I wanted to believe I knew this all to be wrong. That I would never do it again.

Those hopes withered as the sound of heavy footsteps advanced forward.
Falling wet against the floor like slabs of flesh and fetid clot.

I knew now that father would be proud.

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 2—A QUIET PLACE
It crippled her, you see.
The blood on her hands like dry, scabrous ink.
The melody with which she committed her atrocities.
Piano fingers danced in the dark, united with her own loneness.
And during that still hour she came to you.
You, her infinitely quiet space.

 

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 3—WOEFUL MURAL
A metallic taste permeated the air as her voice sang sweet like a rotting apple—tempting at first but ruined by underlying putrefaction. Comfort and intimacy held hands with her, as dark and viscid as coagulated ink. It trickled past her fingertips and palms and dripped from her elbows while each stroke of her index stained the wallpaper a midnight black-red. The mural was almost complete.
As enigmatic as it was, Jezebel’s artwork was like music tossed onto a wall, patterns merging into a symphony of shapes. To any onlooker, the beautiful complexity of her creation would have pleased the eye and soothed the mind. Only for a sickening realization to set in…

Bone, blood, and viscera painted each intricate curve.

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 4—THE FORSAKEN NORTH
“It must ache, mustn’t it? To exist here, invisible, in a world of blue and gray.”
By the time her question concluded, the lone sallow with which Jezebel had found solace shivered its branches in wake of a whispering North wind. Leaves fell from crown to foot in a curtain of silver, blanketing the maiden’s already wraith-like figure. It was cold this evening. And how cold it must have been to wake an elderly osier from its deep-seated, arboreal sleep.

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 5—RIPPLES IN THE DARK
The drum of his heartbeat was music to Jezebel’s ears. And the leverage she possessed? It was invigorating. He should’ve known well enough not to press her too far.
“I’ll be gentle,” she reassured. “Just look at me.”

A voice of velvet, audible only to the one who held her attention. Its influence possessed Liam—apparent by the way his eyes glassed over, jaw slack. And during that moment of frailty, Jezebel capitalized. She angled her wrist in the form of a cradle beneath his chin. Her thumb teased his lower lip, plucking its fleshy barrier; a silent command telling him to ‘open wide.’
So he did.

From there, her curiosity ventured past his teeth to explore the surface of his tongue. Up and down, up and down. Slow and deliberate.
 “What is it you see...?”

The question seemed odd to him. As expected, he’d stare at the reflection of himself within those silver-blue depths. But then that mirrored image contorted, replaced entirely by a maw of jagged fangs.
A moment of terror spilled across the detective’s features. And just as he let out a scream, that dreadful creature lunged forth.
Reality ruptured, tearing like paper. Darkness swallowed, setting Liam adrift in an ocean of nothingness.

…And again, came her familiar  voice…


“̸̢̨͖̲̫͙́̈́̍́̂͘A̷̢͗̎r̶̮̰͇̲̱̰͒͠e̸͚̼̘͉͕͍̥̠͐̉͝ͅ ̴̹͕̤̬̳̿̔̓̓̍͘ỷ̴̘̖͗̏̊̾͂̀̚o̶͘̚͜͜͝ͅȕ̵̡̧̢͖͉̘͔͔̦̜ ̶̳͍̓̑̀͐͆̎̚͝s̴̢̫̹̣̞̩̝̉̉̄̋́͛͜͝͝c̷̡̟͐̉͂͂́̎̄a̶̡̡̡͙̣̳̞̟͛̍̔̾ŗ̴̜̞̝̼͛̽̒̔͜è̴̡͍̞̝̖͉̉̏̋d̶̨̜̘̗͕̝͐͌̏̆͆̃̒̓ ̶̛͔̯͇̗͔̩̼̮̫̾̐̂̉̃̇̐͒͝n̴̢͖̩͉̻͋̍̏́͋̚͠ͅo̴̤̭͕̟̗̹̰̙̍́͛͒̓̆ͅw̵͍̿́͒͌͋̐̍͘?̴̢̡̠͓̪̙̤̙͈͖͂”̸̧̙̩̖̱̹̲̃̉̀̅̓̚͝

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 6–BORN OF CHAOS
featuring @cruel.
What would she feel like? That curiosity surfaced within the minds of many, but not all lived to tell the tale of their experience. He, however, held a degree of her attention that demanded obedience—pliability achieved through sessions of bending, breaking, and reconstructing. She was no hound of Hell, sure, but meager titles didn’t define diligence.

With a single command, her attention conformed to the source of masculine stature. Blood drip, drip, dripped from the underside of her mandible—remnants of a recent kill—as silence crept into the air like a promise from death’s tongue.
Nothing but despotic stillness donned an otherworldly guise.

She was crouched on all four feet, allowing his charm to reach her. A single hand crept across the crest of her head, smoothing against an ivory carapace, urging her to lower herself further…further… Until her underbelly met the floor.

He’d touch her, but it was never easy. This level of control wasn’t painless, nor was it elementary. Each passing moment became increasingly difficult to maintain a writhing torrent of primal-infused chaos. Either she prevailed, or she didn’t.

And if she failed to succeed, well… the repercussions weren’t pleasant to consider.

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 7–LIE WITH ME AMONG SCARLET ROT
He pulled her from her bed of decay.
Crystallized forms of corruption cracked and ruptured around her limbs, relinquishing its hold, but not without resistance.

Skin stretched thinly across bone. Dirt and bacteria blotched her face, neck, and arms—similar to pockets of fungal spores—and bruises bloomed like blue and yellow petals scattered upon moon-kissed flesh.

Her body appeared frozen in time.
And still, she slept…

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 8—GAMBIT’S GRANDEUR
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
Trevor plucked the fruit from Jezebel’s lips before her taste buds could relish its sweet succulence. The discourtesy tore her attention away from the chess board, eyes probing him for any encrypted details. Since the time she could remember, Trevor was always ruthless. No, not ruthless, but bold. Foolishly bold to spite her and call it cute.

In retrospect, she should’ve tripped him when he’d entered the foyer earlier this afternoon but ultimately chose wiser.

“Nervous? What might I be nervous about?”
“Nervous that you’ll lose again.”
One side of his mouth twisted upward in a sly grin. To think that he believed his intimidation tactic would successfully dissuade Jezebel from her winning move was the opening she needed. And with a smirk of her own, her voice fell to a murmur. “You shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Even a pawn, so lowly in power, utilizes perseverance in this endless game of chess.”

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 9–STILLNESS IN SORROW
That indescribable, yet all-too-familiar smell: rotting flesh with a tongue-coating glaze of spoiled cheese and, quite terribly, an undertone of freshly churned butter. The deathly fragrance combined with a sweetness of neighboring marigold accentuated her deathbed’s allure as vultures gathered in mourning, their heads bowed and beaks stilled in sorrow.

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 10–LUDWIG'S LONGING
“It doesn’t end here. The nightmare has only just begun.”

Oh, Ludwig, she thought. How it must hurt to move. To speak. To pray to gods who cannot hear you.

Jezebel’s palm flattened against the scapula of her treasured companion, an abomination both horse and man. The mouth there swelled like an annular abscess, expelling noxious, shuddering breaths. A grayish-green substance trickled between the gaps of teeth curving the lower portion of this malformed maw as it stretched and contracted with each heavy heave.

“They’ve hurt you, haven't they?” Sadness lurked behind blue eyes as Jezebel’s fingertips inched across a callous canvas, his skin marred with rust-colored stains. And as her touch grew closer to the withers of this beastly behemoth, his hooves buckled, and he lay there, neck curling around her with a protectiveness only he could provide.

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐦
(miscellaneous character musings)

✧ He kissed the length of her neck, urging it to part further and further from her shoulder. Long, wavy strands tumbled to one side, glistening against the moonlit backdrop. Her eyes were dead. Distant. She felt dead.
Welcoming only numbness into the sanctity of her body. ✧

✧ The great apocalypse came when you tore the wings from my back and left craters full of sorrow. ✧

✧ She was simultaneously human and monster, neither of which he could tame.
For she bore the crest of destruction—an infectious curse. ✧

✧ “Your freckles,” he acknowledged, leaning toward her. “I could count them like constellations if they weren’t so soft. So dim.” 
“Perhaps they were always meant to be,” she replied a little too simply. ✧

✧ She wanted it p r i m a l—her body bruised beneath him, his scent slathered all over. ✧

✧ “You puncture the lip that trembles to quench the thirst of your ever-present desire.” ✧

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 11–A BLESSING IN DISGUISE
inspired by: @mon Diable
The orphan twins, Annabelle and Isabeth—or, as they called themselves, Annie and Liz—helped one another into their little velvet dresses. But as the baron attempted to separate tangles from their light blonde locks, they grew increasingly restless.

"Girls," Gascoigne growls. This wouldn't be the last time he'd spend hours separating them. "How on earth did you two get tangled again?"

Quite a peculiar pair of specimens. They weren't physically attached at the scalp, but they might as well have been. And their mannerisms: complex in how they shared one another's breath and skipped the chateau's halls in unison as if they'd been invited to some macabre tea ceremony.

"We were beset by ghosts," one twin whines.
"They chased us down the corridor," confirms the other.

Their tones were identically sincere, but their faces shared the same elfin grin, hidden just out of their father's line of view.

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 12–TWIN DIALOGUE EXCERPT
inspired by: @mon Diable
"Both of you. Come here."

Quickly, the twins slid from their chamber beds, floating toward the doorway in the uniform fashion that they always did. And by the looks of it, neither appeared like they’d slept for several moons.

“You can call us by our names, you know,” one says.
“We do have them.”

Their father had little patience for their antics. Standing as rigid as a nail, his open palm gestured to a pile of loose fabric lumped in the hallway. A tapestry torn to smithereens.

“W-we didn’t do anything bad.”

Gascoigne’s gaze honed, and the girls flinched.

“Honest.”
“It was ghouls!”
“—Ghosts.” Isabeth corrected.
“They told us they’d do it if we didn’t let them sleep in our beds tonight.”

 

[𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡]

Short Sample 13–LITTLE NIGHTMARES
They say baking comes down to a science. They were right. In my fifty-two years, I can count on a single hand how many times I’ve proofed yeast or kneaded dough, and of those, more than four attempts have resulted in disaster. I used to believe it was something I could conquer over time, but the more I thought about it, the more it rattled my nerves, knowing I didn’t possess the patience required for the job.

Or, rather, the patience for this task specifically, I conclude as my eyes dash toward a pair of dainty hands across from me. They come up to grip the edge of the countertop, white as bone, starved of sunlight. Sheets of flesh stretch thinly across gaunt knuckles, and veins feather between tiny tendons like light blue rivers before disappearing beneath two frilled cuffs belonging to a silken gown. Just as I go to speak, another pair appears, all four palms belonging to a dual-eyed set of twins, Annabelle and Isabeth. They’re peering straight at me, only the top halves of their little heads cresting the marble slab.

“You two should be in bed!” I hissed. But I can’t tell if I’ve said it to them or to myself.

They continue to stare with those pale green eyes, confirming the latter. I wring my hands and wipe them on my apron, praying the Master doesn’t smell worry seeping from my wrinkled pores. The girls’ sights follow me around the counter and I kneel in front of them. “What are you doing awake? Your father will have you over his knee if he finds out!”
I can barely tell the two apart, but one identifying factor is the small, slightly discolored birthmark in Annabelle’s right eye. It glows a faint silver—the same color her sire bears.

To Be Continued. . .