#pinkalex
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I swung, aiming for surprise, directing the iron at the skull.
It caught the iron mid-swing. I tried to wrench the weapon free and failed.
Another hand emerged from beneath the hides. I had to let go of the weapon and back away before it could claw at me.
It took a half-step forward to follow. It dropped the tire iron onto the road, where the snow muffled the sound.
Blake you can’t fight this with a stick so please run before you die and also get Rose more hurt maybe. Is this what got Molly?
“How does this end, then?” I asked. “We wait out here by the side of the road until I freeze to death?”
I paced, watching how it followed. The knobby, long-fingered hand came out as I drew too close.
There was a hint of hysteria in my voice as I spoke, “Can’t go forward, can’t go back. I won’t go left. Will you let me go right?”
I like that he’s talking in the middle of this. Makes no sense, I’d be breathing hard at least, but I like it.
The hop hadn’t inspired a sudden attack. Briefly turning my back, too, seemed like it was fairly safe.
That in mind, when I found flat ground under my feet again, I ran.
SMART BLAKE YES
“Rose,” I gasped out the name. I fumbled for the mirror, but my hands were frozen. I got a grip on the bar that was supposed to fix the mirror to the ceiling and pulled it out.
“-here.”
Her voice was faint, tiny, and muffled, cutting off as though someone had reached out to muffle her.
ROSE IS ALIVE YES
I could feel a sick feeling in my gut, a combination of fear, despair, and the exhaustion of running.
I saw a figure up ahead, through the tree cover.
A quick glance back showed me the other one was still following. Closing the gap.
“Hello!” I called out, and I was surprised at how hoarse my voice was, my throat made raw by the heavy breathing of frozen, dry air. “Help me!”
The figure pushed through the cover of branches.
A bird skull, a covering of overlapping hides, bleached white and stained, and a heavy wreath of branches around the neck and shoulders, like a nest.
And there goes my good mood. Oooh no.
There, in the distance, in a gap between neat rows of trees. A third, with the hides forming a hood over the bird skull. Shorter than the others.
Bad bad bad
“Rose,” I said.
I heard only a whisper of a noise. I wiped the mirror against the side of my leg, mid-run.
Bad bad bad bad bad
I came face to face with another of the bird-skulls, not looking carefully enough for the white skull and white hides against the snowy background. It clawed at me, backhanded, and dashed the mirror out of my hands. I fell, a result of the combined impact, pain and surprise, landing just beside the flecks of blood he’d clawed from my hand. My glove was cut, the skin around it exposed, and a line of blood was nestled in the center. Bewildered, I watched as the skin parted and joined together, as I opened and closed my hand.
Okay Blake I know that you are amazing but now is not the time to admire yourself
No mirror, no Rose.
WAIT WHAT
It clawed at me, backhanded, and dashed the mirror out of my hands.
NO
Were they wanting me to try to cross? Was that the plan?
I sat by the bank instead.
I looked at the bird masks that had gathered formed a loose three-quarter circle around me.
“This okay with you bastards?” I asked. “Can I sit? You like this?”
The hides flapped in the wind.
“Motherfuckers,” I said. I moved my hands up to my armpits, squishing them beneath my arms. I could feel the pain in my wounded hand. My cheek felt tight where I’d been scratched.
Blake: I want to run
Deerbirds: Run that way
Blake: Okay now I will not do that
“Please tell me reflections in water work too.”
“Yeah,” she responded.
Alright, so not everything’s fucked! That’s good!
“Does it matter? I think those orders are why they’re behaving this way. Barring my path to keep me from certain areas. Driving me away from shelter, wearing me out.”
“They want plausible deaths.”
That means we have a smart antagonist for a smart protagonist... I’m ready for sassy Sherlock and also sassy Sherlock vs Deerbird Moriarty!
“Not sure how I’m supposed to do that,” I said. I sighed, and my teeth chattered as the air passed through my lips. “All I can figure is they don’t want to claw me to death.”
“Molly was clawed to death,” Rose said.
I closed my eyes.
Blake: Okay that’s neat Rose but could you please keep those thoughts to yourself thanks
Alternatively,
Blake: *inhale* boi.
I forced myself to my feet. I was shaking, now.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m not,” I said. “I just hate sitting still.”
“You need a plan.”
“Any fucking ideas?” I asked.
Man, it’s only been two chapters but I’m so invested in Blake. I know he won’t die here but I am really scared it will happen anyway.
Maybe that’s the blogging’s fault?
The three-masked one slowly removed one mask from its shoulder.
It dawned on me.
That mask was going to be mine.
One of those is Molly. Calling it.
“I’ll take a guess, if you have to give me one, Rose. Just lie convincingly. I’ll lose heart if I don’t buy it.”
“Your three o’clock,” she said.
Nothing more. No details. No explanation on why it was the right direction.
Right.
I always love the chemistry between clones. It’s always unique but similar, and this is no different.
Each step was a careful one as I made my way towards the middle of the pond. I transferred my weight with care, doing my best to avoid putting too much weight on one point at once. The three-masked one moved to cut me off, keeping me on the ice.
I heard the faintest cracking sounds. Around me, not them.
I made a beeline straight for three-masks.
Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh-
Woman’s hands, oddly enough, with flecks of nail polish still on one. Wizened, worn, abused, with bits of nail splintered off where they had maybe scraped violently against something.
Grandma Rose?
The ice didn’t break beneath them. My heart sank.
I collided head-on with three-masks, and felt her stab at my shoulders through my coat, clawing through fabric with no heed for her own well being. Frenzied, violent and noisy after the almost tranquil quiet.
Are they ghosts? Wendigos? Some other horrible creature? Either way, they don’t ‘properly’ exist physically.
In one motion, full-body, I managed to heave it about three feet. I watched it bounce off the ice and slide, uselessly, towards the middle of the spread out bird-masks.
It lay there for a good ten seconds before the ice broke. I watched as the things plunged into the water.
Yay! Something worked!
Leaving me with only two to deal with.
I ran, fueled by desperation.
I ran, fueled by the adrenaline that pain was dumping into my body. Through shock and fear. Nothing conserved, nothing saved.
Thick trees tore at me, costing me my toque. My frozen hand and foot were throbbing, now, and my injured hand was so cold I couldn’t open my fist.
NOT THE TOQUE! Saddest death so far. Rip toque, enjoy clothes heaven with scarf.
I found the end of the trees. A strip of snow. A line of road.
Squat, short buildings, and a sign reading ‘truck inspection area’.
Headlights flared in my field of vision, blindingly bright.
I staggered forward, collapsing onto my hands and knees. I could hear a vehicle’s door open.
I’d say Blake is safe but I’m feeling more paranoid than he is.
“Good god, man,” a deep voice said. “What the hell did you get yourself into?”
I thought about explaining, about the others. I’d sound crazy.
I thought about making an excuse, saying I was chased by some delinquent kids. It would get the police involved, and it would delay me.
“Car broke down,” I said, a little numb. “I thought I’d take a shortcut, got turned around. I- I- panicked. I started running and got hurt.”
“We’ll get you an ambulance, not to worry.”
Why do nice people in this make me nervous?
“If I don’t get you to a hospital, and you die-”
“I’m not going to die,” I said, not sure if I was lying. “Drop me off at the rest stop, I’ll warm up and get food. I’ll hitch a ride to where I need to be.”
“If you’re positive,” he said. “I don’t want you haunting me or anything, and I don’t want lawsuits either. I don’t make that much money.”
He nodded. “Sure, then. You need help getting up?”
I like this guy but still don’t trust him. Also, did Whatbomb miss a line there?
Was that a rule, here? No monsters after sunrise, or no monsters when others could see?
I made eye contact with Rose, in the side-view mirror.
She looked drained, haggard. Almost worse than I did.
Day is typically good in stories, so I’d say yes. Also, Rose is okay! Yay! Kinda okay. Maybe a little worn down.
As the truck driver talked to some employees, negotiating a way to get me to my stop, I saw a man in the corner with an oddly crooked stance, leaning against the wall as if his limbs wouldn’t hold him up, the whites of his eyes too white as he tracked us with his gaze. Staying out of the way, almost out of sight.
SUSPICIOUS! STAY AWAY BLAKE, THAT’S A BADDIE
Wow. The chapter’s already done. Not much calling it in this chapter, so I’m gonna hold off on analysis until after a few more ‘calling it’s.
I’m really nervous and I love that!
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Four months later.
OH! So shit doesn’t hit the fan immediately!
I tossed and turned in my bed, fighting to kick the covers off. It didn’t help. I felt a pressure on top of me, pressing me down. My movements were sluggish.
Creepy magic stuff?
I opened my eyes, and I didn’t see my bedroom. I could feel my body in one place, sheets still hooked over one foot, my chest heaving, and I could see in another place.
Creepy magic stuff.
Glances were exchanged down both lengths of the table. On one side, women and girls of varying ages, all blonde, in matching shades of green, white and blue. On the other, appearances varied. Men and women, old and young. Hair color and appearance varied, but there was little doubt they were a family.
Maybe the magical baddies I keep mentioning are sealed away?
“Huh,” the man at the one end of the table said. A member of the family. “I’d hoped she would slip in her old age. A shame, she made other arrangements.”
It doesn’t sound like it. Just magical peeps that knew of the grandma.
I realized I’d been holding my breath, trying not to be heard. When I did breathe, it was a small gasp, not enough to bring air into my lungs.
I closed my eyes, trying to shut it out. When I opened them, I saw a room, everything turned to a right angle. A house, messy, with pizza boxes and garbage here and there. Two twenty-something individuals, a boy and a girl, approached, getting so close their faces filled the field of vision.
Did he just trip some kind of alarm?
“Something big just happened,” the girl said. “Told you. Just now, I told you.”
I think so. Ooooh, this can’t be good, probably.
“I don’t- no, Eva. This is dangerous, and-”
“And what? We should ignore it all?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“So are we, little brother. So are we,” she said. She opened the ledge beneath the living room window, hefting a crossbow. She threw it at him.
Gotta love a crossbow user in a modern setting. This Eva and her brother are on my good side already!
“Cold-forged iron,”
We have fae in here? Awesome.
“The faerie? Sure.”
Yee!
“You’re not getting what I’m saying. If they can fool themselves into thinking they’re vampires, and believe it to the point it becomes sort of true, sparkly skin aside, then they can fool us. This is what bothers me about all this. You can’t make any guarantees, you can’t slap on convenient labels. It’s why we call them others. You can’t plot-”
I swear to god Wholebox did you make your vampires sparkly?
“You’re supposed to be the smart one in this partnership. Anything that can knock the metronome over isn’t human anymore, or it won’t be for long. Let’s assume I’m going out anyways, what do I need?”
What is the metronome, and did Blake’s breath somehow knock it over?
“Someone moved,” a young man responded. “Come on, now. You know better. Everything has a price when you’re dealing with this world, Maggie. Even answers to stupid questions.”
“Right. Thanks,” she said. “I’ll figure it out myself, Padraic. I hope it’s a noob. Be nice to not be the rookie on the block.”
More new names, though we never got Eva’s brother’s name. Either way, I assume these are magical families we’re going to be facing through the story.
The rabbit turned, and the girl turned to look in the same direction.
Bending down, she reached through the snow until she found a stone. She threw it right for the center of the ‘image’, breaking the ‘picture’.
Did these two see Blake spying on them?
Another, quickly after the last. They were starting easier and finishing easier.
Blake’s tripping on some serious magic here.
A weathered aboriginal woman, brushing a young girl’s hair with a broad-toothed comb. It might have been an ordinary scene, except it was the dead of night.
She picked up a chain, then shackled the girl at the wrist. She noted the observer, then scattered the image with a wave of one hand.
Well, that’s creepy.
The dog looked up. It spoke, “Johannes.”
“Mm,” the man in the throne said. “‘Lo, stranger. Listen, I don’t think you should believe what any of them say about me. If you need help, I can offer it.”
“For a price,” the dog added.
“For a price. Resist the urge to dismiss what you just saw, you’re in a bad enough situation as it stands. Now do yourself a favor and wake up.”
These two definitely see Blake. I want to meet these people! Who are you mysterious magical folk Blake is spying on?? Who are you talking dog?
I stood up from bed, staggering for the bathroom. I stopped, the tremor in my hands gone. Every inch the startled prey animal, where a sudden crisis leads to utter stillness.
My heartbeat felt slow, my gaze was no longer darting here and there. I was making eye contact.
It wasn’t my face in the mirror above the sink. Nor my body. A girl looked at me, her forehead creased in worry. She was wearing a camisole and pyjama bottoms. She looked strangely familiar.
Man, that’d be terrifying. Tons of crazy visions that tell you to take them seriously, then you see somebody in the mirror?
“Run,” she said. “Get to the house, now.”
“Which house? Who-”
“Molly’s dead,” she said. “You’re next.”
OH. OHHHH. WELL. If he needs to get to the grandma’s house, how did Molly die? Did she get caught outside?
“Blake, I get it. I do. But you’re next, understand? Grandmother made other arrangements, and those arrangements just came into play. The house is in your custody now, and so are all of Grandmother’s enemies. Understand? She has a lot. The house is sanctuary, Blake. Molly died because she panicked, and she left the safe ground. Don’t make that same mistake. Move. Run.”
Every time I ask a question, it’s immediately answered. Well, that’s certainly a bad sign.
“Run!” She hit the mirror, and it cracked from the point of impact. Pieces on my end fell, landing on the countertop and sink.
I ran.
What an end to a first chapter. It certainly feels faster than Worm, which I think could be a good thing. No spending time with school family drama, just jumping right into death, magic, and mystery.
I like that!
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“While I’m going to school,” she said.
“You didn’t leave?”
“No. Why? When did you move out?”
So Rose is an alternate timeline version, but its more like the alternate timeline was written, and she read the book. She knows it all, but didn’t experience it.
“A bit ago,” I said, noncommittal. No use volunteering unnecessary information.
What’s the magic loophole?
If Rose was a failsafe, who or what was it trying to work around? If it was a trap, then who was the supposed victim? Was there an enemy? Or was it a trap aimed at me?
Man, Blake is paranoid. Sometimes all that Wisdom comes at a cost, eh?
“There was a presence. Like… almost as if there was a patch of something lighter in the darkness, or a sound I could barely hear, or a movement of the air, here, where the air doesn’t move at all. Something was there.”
Something.
“This isn’t helping the paranoia,” I said.
Hgnnn, no it’s not.
Also, it seems like a good time to mention: I’m a wuss when it comes to horror! This is the first horror novel I’ve read, and I’m already getting spooked!
“I’m not any happier,” she said. “If something chases us, you can run. Where can I run? There isn’t much room, on this side.”
I don’t like that idea.
“You had the visions too?”
So she’s identical up to the morning. Maybe, hold on.
*checks last chapter*
I stood up from bed, staggering for the bathroom. I stopped, the tremor in my hands gone. Every inch the startled prey animal, where a sudden crisis leads to utter stillness.
It wasn’t my face in the mirror above the sink. Nor my body. A girl looked at me, her forehead creased in worry. She was wearing a camisole and pyjama bottoms. She looked strangely familiar.
Yep. At some point in between her waking up and Blake waking up, that’s when the timeline split, Rose learned all sorts of stuff, then warned Blake.
“It’s not- no. Blake, the lawyer told me to go. He pointed in a direction, and told me to take a leap of faith if I wanted to help you. I did what he said, and now I’m here. I’m jumping from mirror to mirror, and I’m worried I’m going to jump and I’ll miss, and I’m not sure what happens when I do.”
That’s a horrible thought. Falling into who knows where filled with who knows what...
It was a person, tall, dressed in a long cloak or layered garment of some sort. Right in the middle of the road. The cloth had been white to begin with, it looked like, but it was badly stained. He –or she– wore a mask or a helmet shaped like an overlarge bird’s skull, with a pair of antlers.
Nope. Nuh uh. Nada.
“I can feel it,” Rose said. When I glanced up, she was looking over one shoulder. “I can see it, almost, standing between the patches of light.”
Deerbird is extra-dimensional. Sweet. Maybe he’s friends with the space whales?
A sign of things to come? A harbinger?
My heart was pounding.
I’m so excited to read through this book.
“It’s gone,” I said.
“What? No. No it isn’t,” she answered. Panic was now highlighted by confusion, incredulity. “It’s close.”
It slipped fully into Rose’s dimension? Ooh, I hope it doesn’t kill her.
“We left it behind,” I said, firmer.
“You got close, and it latched on,” Rose said. “Believe me on this.”
How does Rose know this, and also that’s terrifying to think about.
The fuel gauge was dropping steadily.
It had been three quarters of the way full when I’d started driving. Now it was at the twenty percent mark.
The orange needle dropped faster with every passing second.
It had latched on, but not physically. Something else.
Something I love exploring: attacks that target the concept behind something. You can’t literally ‘kill’ a car, but you can attack the idea of it.
“Can you make it?”
Eight percent.
“No,” I said. “Not with the car.”
Well that’s foreboding.
“Bring a mirror,” Rose said. “Please.”
He’s gonna rip the rearview mirror off.
“Sorry, Joel,” I said. I reached up to grab the rear view mirror. There were tabs I needed to depress. I had to pull off my gloves to get a good grip. I fumbled with it some more.
Heh heh called it.
I turned.
Behind us, beyond a point where the snow obscured the road, I saw the dim orange of the street light flicker, then die, swallowed up by the swirl of white.
That’s foreboding!
It snapped off.
“Good,” I said. “With me?”
“With you,” she said.
I’m gonna refer to Rose as his sister because it’s easy and makes sense.
That said, yay! Saving your sister!
“Talk to me, Rose,” I mumbled, past my scarf and the collar of my coat. “Can you feel it getting closer?”
There was no reply. I drew my free hand from the pocket and pulled the mirror free.
Fat, wet flakes of snow had clustered against the surface. With one hand, I rubbed it against my thigh.
Beads of water still obscured the surface.
DONT TELL ME YOU KILLED HER JUST AFTER SAVING HER BLAKE
It was close enough for me to hear.
Better now than never. I turned around, drawing out the tire iron.
“Fine!” I roared the words against the wind. I drew the tire iron from my pocket, gripping it with gloved hands. I could feel how cold the metal was. “You want me!?”
Blake, I have a feeling a tire iron won’t do much against Deerbird.
It closed the distance. Two feet taller than me, and I was a notch taller than average. The point of the giant bird mask came dangerously close as I swung the tire iron, bending my legs as I swung low, to strike it in the knee.
I had only a moment to register the fact that it wasn’t reacting before it drew a hand out of the layered covering of hides. A mitt of a hand, gray-skinned, with knobby knuckles, and fingernails that were just long enough they were starting to curl, almost rectangular. Dirty, uneven, frayed.
I swung again, a two-handed grip on the iron, aiming for the hand.
Blake please just run
I might as well have struck another tire iron, for all it mattered. The weapon bounced off the hand, the hand was knocked back, and then it clawed at my face. I twisted partially away, keeping it from getting my eyes, and felt the pain in my cheek, instead. I backed away, and my scarf stayed. Caught in the ragged ends of the nails.
Blake I swear you’re just a little level 1
My scarf was caught by the wind, flapping mercilessly, until it tore free, disappearing over the dividing line of the highway.
F for scarf :(
“Rose,” I spoke, “Hey, Rose. You gotta help me out here.”
The mirror was silent.
I backed away, and it moved, approaching with long strides that covered the distance with surprising speed.
I stopped, and it stopped.
“Don’t want me to go to the rest stop,” I murmured. There was a hitch in my voice. “Don’t want me to go back to the car. Where am I supposed to go? This way?”
I really hope Rose isn’t dead. I like Blake and Blake^2 would have been amazing. Plus, I LOVE stories that have person A and person A but r63′d. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite things.
“No way,” I said. Taking a step to the side, so I was as off the road as I could get without standing in the snowbank. “I get what you’re after. You want me to get hit by a car or something.”
Smart Blake is back!
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Pact 1.1 Predictions
Let’s go through all my predictions and see what happened!
Surely they’re just totally normal overly interested neighbors that won’t turn out to be some kind of evil magic user or creature, right?
I’m still thinking that these are magical folk, others I think they were called, that want the Thornburns dead. I’d even guess that this kind of crowd was the one that killed Molly.
So… no cat? Dead cat? Not a cat? Either way, sneaky little Whalebone is telling us something there.
Magical cat that doesn’t litter, probably. I dunno if familiars (if it was a familiar) do that but in any case, we do know there was a cat.
Not pictures? Magical stuff? PLOT STUFF? ‘
No real detail on this, so no comment.
Also, Molly seems like she knows something. I don’t know why I have that feeling, but I have that feeling.
Molly said she felt the same feeling of being surrounded that Blake did at the end of 1.1, so I’ll bet Molly did know something. Maybe she didn’t know what she knew, but she almost certainly was slightly involved with magic by this point.
Holy shit, parents that care. Don’t see that often, but when you do… I’m calling it right now, the parents are either killed or taken out of the scene in this first Arc. I don’t like it, but I think I’m genre-savvy enough to guess that.
Family is getting killed off, but not these two yet. YET.
Molly feels too soft to handle hordes and hoards of evil magic stuff.
Welp. I guess she really was too soft.
Molly seems to be the other good cousin, which means she’s either gonna get killed off, captured, or made into the Ron of the group. If we even get a ‘group’.
Ah, well. I was right! Molly got killed off, because there’s only so much room for good cousins!
Wideboat and his foreshadowing. I know there’s some hidden message there I don’t quite get. Maybe that’s what makes the grandma choose Blake or something? Calling it.
Nope. Totally wrong.
I’m calling it, the house has a magical seal that will finish its job then. Whatever is being sealed will be permanently locked away.
Again, far off prediction so nothing yet. Though the house is magically protected, at least.
I swear to god Wholebox did you make your vampires sparkly?
One prediction I really hope doesn’t come true.
That’s gonna wrap it up for 1.1, so I’m gonna call it good here and go get some water, then play with my shiny new Mesa Prime!
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I am back to Pact, and this time around I have lofi Harry Potter music! I’m really excited to get through Pact, since my mind has been coming up with all these potential ways the story could go, so... let’s go!
It was well after dark when someone stepped outside to talk to me. I closed out of the puzzle game I was playing on my phone. The brightness of the screen made for a dark patch that lingered in my vision as I looked up.
Ugh, that’s the worst. Turn the brightness down and it's hard to see the phone, turn it up and it's hard to see everything else.
“She wants us all together,” Paige said.
“Do you want to give her what she wants?” I asked, not moving.
I wonder what it is the grandma actually asked for... She certainly wants something from the girls, but I have no idea what. Them all together, I guess!
“I have to say, I’m painfully disappointed,” my grandmother said.
Nobody had words to reply.
“Don’t worry. The feeling is mutual,” I said, because someone had to.
Blake got the grandma’s sass, methinks. Which means I’m gonna like Blake.
“Molly,” my grandmother said.
Oh shit, okay. I mean, it makes sense. Paige is out because of Peter and Ellie is apparently an addict, but Molly feels too soft to handle hordes and hoards of evil magic stuff.
“Until you’re twenty-five, the estate and all materials herein, my accounts, and all other pertinent materials enclosed in the documents,” my grandmother tapped the papers the lawyer held, “will be managed by Mr. Beasley and his firm. For that time period, you retain control over those assets, with free access to the full funds, modest as they are, and full access to all things relating to the property, excepting the ability to sell it. When you turn twenty-five, you may do with it as you wish.”
I’m calling it, the house has a magical seal that will finish its job then. Whatever is being sealed will be permanently locked away.
My grandmother nodded. “Rich, you’ve been wonderful. I set aside some money already, to thank you.”
The nurse looked stunned. He looked at my family. “No. It’s not allowed.”
Is all her property cursed? Did she just screw Rich over by giving him money? I’m willing to bet that Rich isn’t human, or not a normal human, so he certainly knows what’s going on.
“Granny!” Roxanne raised her voice, more than a little shrill. “You don’t love me enough to give me anything?”
You know I hate to do it to her, but... *takes off a cousin point*
My grandmother hadn’t reacted. I frowned.
And she’s dead. Creepy hag just said “peace out, fuckers.”
I watched as the nurse approached the bedside. He touched my grandmother’s hand.
Things went quiet very quickly.
Nurse Rich looked at his watch. “Two past twelve.”
The arguing had distracted him. The time was off by two minutes.
My grandmother and her cat were both dead.
She died at midnight, the magical pile of sawdust.
“Get out,” Molly said, her voice hard.
“You heard my daughter,” Aunt Irene said. “Out. It’s her house and her say.”
“You too,” Molly said. “Everyone out.”
More Knives Out vibes, which is weird considering how spaced out the two are. Maybe it's just the whole ‘mysterious old person leaves the house to awful family’ thing.
“She can’t kick us out,” Uncle Paul said. “We were invited here.”
The owner invited you, now the owner is telling you to leave. GTFO mate.
“Just go,” Molly said. “Go. You’re not going to scheme your way into any deals here. You’re not going to get some advantage or screw me out of my deal. Not tonight. I’m done talking, I’m done listening. Go, and leave me alone, and when you’ve figured out a plan of attack, run it by my lawyer first. Not me.”
I’ll give Molly a cousin point for being smart, and I’ll also give Paige a point for being so comforting to Molly earlier. I forgot to do that :/
This means they’re both tied for good cousin at 5 points.
“Why is the cat dead?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it was dead all along, and she was fucking with us.”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
Is there a familiar system in here? If the cat was tied to her like that, beyond just a pet cat, then it makes sense why it’s dead.
“Uh huh,” Callan said, from the doorway. “Clever bastard. You don’t want the property. You want to scheme your way in with whoever else gets the place.”
“Fuck off, Callan,” I said.
I’d take a point off, but it would feel a little too easy to do so. I have to make the points mean something!
I stopped short as I saw my bike.
Tipped over in a way that had scraped it hard against the stone wall. Headlight and taillight broken.
Damnit Thornburns!
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“I think you and Ellie have demonstrated you aren’t worth the effort,” Uncle Paul said, his voice low. He’d approached Paige, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.
She stepped away, instead. She was crying, now. “I thought you’d at least play fair, Peter. Maybe you have to be loyal to Ellie because you grew up with her, but I thought you’d be fair, with me. We’re supposed to have a connection.”
“You hear about twins eating one another in the womb,” Peter said. “Maybe I got some of your brains, huh? Because that’s fucking stupid.”
Paul no!
Peter no!
Paige stared at him, incredulous. Then she slapped him, hard.
It was the catalyst for this entire thing to become a full-on fight. Not sniping one another, not lacing casual statements with words meant to cut. Shouting, Aunt Steph trying to grab Paige, and Paige ducking out of reach, running instead.
Damnit Peter! Minus cousin points for all this!
“Molly,” the man at the door said. “She’s asking for you next.”
Wait, is the grandma still alive? I thought she was already dead.
“It’s my turn,” I said. “I’m Blake Thorburn. Go after Paige, Molly. I don’t think I’ll be long.”
“Cutting in, Blake?” Callan asked. “I think you were lying, about not wanting any of this.”
I gave him the finger. When I looked, Molly gave me a nod, before breaking into a run to chase Paige.
Callan loses a point, and Molly gets a point!
Grandmother doesn’t look like someone who’s about to die. The room smelled of flowers and fresh air, from the windows that opened just above the garden.
Oh shit she’s alive!
She had been propped up in a sitting position in her bed, leaning against an arrangement of pillows. She was dressed in an old fashioned nightgown that extended to her broomstick-thin wrists, her hair tied back in a tight bun. Her eyes were sharp as they studied me, and her hands were steady as they raised a teacup to her lips. Her nurse stood to her left in his scrubs, her lawyer to her right was an Indian man in an immaculate suit. Her cat, maybe the largest housecat I’d ever seen, gray and well groomed, lay with its head in her lap.
If the creepy house and hag-ness wasn’t a sign she was a witch, the cat is.
“Well, this is refreshing,” she finally said. Her voice was clear. Not an old person’s voice. Certainly not a ninety-year old’s. “It feels like all the rest of them are dressed like they can’t wait for my funeral. Or maybe they’re too cheap to buy two outfits for the occasion.”
“With all due respect,” I said, picking my words carefully, “I don’t give a flying fuck, you disgusting, evil, rancid cunt.”
Blake damnit don’t piss the hag off
“I think that’s crude,” she said. “A more civilized person would use words to attack me.”
Lemme guess. We’re gonna have magic spells with verbal components?
“What words are going to matter? What am I going to say that’s going to make an impact on you? Honestly, what am I going to do that’s going to make you recognize even an iota of the pain you’ve caused everyone out there?”
“And the pain I’ve caused you?” she asked. “You’re most likely right, I suppose. There’s very little that someone could say that would shake me.”
I’m probably not supposed to like the hag, but I like the hag.
“You’re scum, and you’re the one thing at the root of everything that’s going on out there.”
I wonder what she did to cause that. Bad parenting? Magical side effects? Or is Blake just being pessimistic?
“You took advantage of those things, making all of this one big fucked up game. Laying down the rule, that only one person gets the property and the millions from selling it. Then you say it has to be a grandchild-“
“My children are useless,” she said. She was so dismissive and casual about it.
“-And then you drop the bomb that it has to be a girl. You broke up this family, you did it strategically. You set us tooth and nail against one another, and now you’re enjoying tearing the others down, ruining their hopes.”
Is she looking for an heir to her witchiness? I’d bet the property doesn’t just include the house. If Paige gets it for some reason, it’d explain why she’s involved in magic. But then how does Blake get dragged in?
‘Rich’ turned my way. “I can offer you a cup as well, if you promise not to throw it at her.”
“Don’t offer me anything, then, thank you,” I said. I looked at my grandmother. “I don’t want anything she has to offer. Not tea, not the inheritance-“
“To clarify,” she said, “I’ve stressed repeatedly that it’s a female grandchild that will get the inheritance.”
I like Rich and the grandma. They’re very sassy...
“I’m not about to rule out the fact that you’re messing with us, grandmother. I could see you handing something over to Callan just to see our reactions. Not to mention the trouble I’m having with the ‘I’m dying’ bit, which you’re doing a really bad job of selling.”
If anything I’d said had an impact, it was that. I could see the faint amusement drop away from her. “Are you accusing me of being a liar, Master Blake?”
Since I sorta know about the whole no lying thing, I’d wager being called a liar is a higher insult than Blake understands.
“I consider myself honest, if nothing else.”
See?
She sipped her tea, winced at the heat, licking her thin lips with her tongue, and then leaned back against the arrangement of pillows.
“You remind me of my father,” she said. “He had passion, and an interest in justice.”
“He also fucked his cousin, if I remember right.”
She smiled a little. “You heard of that? Yes. That would be him.”
This goddamn family.
“Not an option,” she said. She stroked the cat, scratching him at the lowest part of his back, just in front of his tail. “The house stands. I��m picking the young lady who I feel can look after it.”
The house has some kind of spell. Maybe a seal keeping demons or other magical baddies away? Maybe the “neighbors” are baddies that can’t hurt the family because of the house’s hypothetical seal. Calling it.
“Look me in the eye, then, if you’re so honest, and tell me you don’t. That you don’t get some measure of glee or satisfaction out of this.”
She looked me square in the eye.
Yet she didn’t say a word.
Yep, she can’t lie. I don’t know if it’s can’t lie as in literally can’t or if she has to consciously be honest, but yeah.
“Blake,” she said.
I stopped, my hand on the doorknob. I regretted it the moment I paused.
“When you first spoke to me, you said, ‘All due respect’. Did you mean it?”
I didn’t look at her. “All due respect, you’re a festering old cunt? One hundred percent.”
Wideboat and his foreshadowing. I know there’s some hidden message there I don’t quite get. Maybe that’s what makes the grandma choose Blake or something? Calling it.
But I dozed, my eyes half-open, a bit of a burden lifted from my shoulders.
Welp. There’s a chapter break here, so I’m gonna leave it here and pick it up either later today or tomorrow. I’m gonna have to find a way to make this faster, because we’ll never finish this story at this rate.
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Cousin Points
Since the cousins seem to be kinda important so far, I wanted to make a tally of all the points they’ve earned or lost, or the times I’ve called them good or bad!
Paige: 5
Molly: 5
Peter: -2
Callan: -1
Roxanne: -1
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“Not a word, not a call? I mean, I know we weren’t close, but I thought maybe you’d say something, let me know you were okay.”
“I didn’t make it hard to find me. I figured I’d go back or whatever if anyone bothered enough to track me down. But they didn’t, so I didn’t.”
Man, that kinda sucks. Expecting your family to care enough to find you but being let down like that. No wonder he’s so bitter towards them all.
“I was on the streets, just for a bit. It was worse than you’d think. A bit ago I met people, and I got help. I know how lucky I am, that I made it this far.”
It was odd, talking about it with someone who didn’t know the story already.
I want to know the story too! Tell me! Why don’t you like hugs? (Hopefully it's not something horribly traumatic and something easy like somebody had a cactus in their coat when Blake hugged them, right? Right??)
“A bike?”
Heck yeah, because Blake Thornburn is stylish!
“Mira. She’s finally going by a different name. No longer a testament to why immigrants shouldn’t let their kids choose their English names. She still asks about you, you know?”
“At least someone did,” I said, smiling a little.
Paige looked like she was going to punch me, then stopped short. Remembering the issue with the hug. “I did, you jackass. Fuck.”
As somebody living in Utah, I’ve seen plenty of kids choosing their own name over their crazy own name. And, y’know, I have trans friends so yeah I get name changes.
Also, Blake be nice to Paige! She’s the good cousin!
“Us three, back together after… nine years?”
“Ten,” I said.
Paige was a year older than me, Molly a year younger. We’d always hung out, back in the days when the family had gotten together.
I knew Molly was important!
“I want this to be over,” Molly said. She leaned against a doorframe. A moment later, she stood, shifting position. Restless.
At least one other Thornburn feels the same way, Molly.
“I remember how we used to make up stories about this place,” Paige said. “Gruesome ones.”
Knowing Wheelbarrow, some of those stories are true.
“Yeah,” Molly said, hugging herself tighter. “They weren’t all made up. That bit about great-grandpa and great-grandma being related?”
Damnit.
“Killed,” Paige said. “I don’t think it counts as murder if it’s during a duel.”
“Semantics,” Molly said.
“I love arguing semantics,” Paige said, smiling mischievously. “Don’t get me started.”
I LIKE PAIGE! Blake please be nice to Paige! And keep her around, she’s the good cousin!
Though maybe Molly is a good cousin too. It seems that way, at least.
“Paige and Peter,” the man in scrubs said.
Paige’s eyebrows went up.
“Lumped in with the twin,” I noted.
Ah, that explains it. Paige is the good twin, Peter’s probably like the rest of the Thornburns.
“Paige,” Molly said.
Paige hesitated.
“Don’t. I can’t explain it. It would sound dumb if I did, but don’t take the offer.”
Paige frowned.
Blake’s gonna take the offer. I’m willing to bet cool ranch Doritos tm on it.
When I spoke, my words were closer to a whisper, a murmur. “Hey, Moll? What’s going on?”
“Don’t know if you remember, or heard, but my mom moved us here. So we’d be closer. Trying to get an advantage. So Callan, me and Chris, we’ve actually been here regularly. Usually when mom invited herself over.”
“I figured it was something like that,” I said.
Molly seems to be the other good cousin, which means she’s either gonna get killed off, captured, or made into the Ron of the group. If we even get a ‘group’.
“I don’t think Callan really gets it, but he moved a few years in. Chris and I have gone to school here. There’s a vibe. Too many things that don’t fit. Strangers knowing who I am and not liking me right off the bat. Does that make sense?”
“Sure. It’s about the property.”
Remember what I was saying about the neighbors that were definitely just nosey neighbors and not evil creatures or magic users?
“You are their mortal enemy, Molly. We are. It’s a small town, people obsess over the smallest things, and this is a big deal to people. When you’re alone, feeling vulnerable to begin with, it’s scarier. I don’t want to make it out to be less than it is-”
There’s more issues tied to the grandma than Blake realizes, methinks. Lots of magical peeps that want a bit of whatever she has.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, Blake,” she said. She managed a smile.
“Thanks,” I responded.
Good Blake, being nice to the other good cousin.
I’ve started to read larger chunks before writing here, just to make it go faster. I realized that I’m about halfway through and have been at this for an hour or so already.
Damn them. Damn it all.
Understandable, even with the little bit of Thornburn I’ve seen so far.
“Fuck you, Peter. Fuck you!” Paige said. Even from the far end of the hallway, there were tears in her eyes.
Peter smirked. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
“You don’t know anything, you asshole. Fuck you! I needed this.”
Called it, Peter’s the evil twin.
“Ellie needs it more.”
“Ellie needs it because she’s a fuckup that hasn’t worked a day in her life. I’m trying to go to school, Peter! You make up lies, to sink me? You’re supposed to be my twin!”
Her voice went a little shrill at the end there.
“What? You thought I’d be on your side? You only need money because Paul had too many kids to take care of any of them. Isn’t that right, Dad?”
Though I have to say, Peter gets cousin points for looking out for another cousin. But then, he gets those points taken away for sinking another cousin in the process.
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I stopped in my tracks as a door opened and Callan stepped out of the nearest room. Aunt Irene’s eldest. A man in white scrubs followed him.
Will reading? I think that’s what it is...
Callan was Irene’s eldest, second oldest of the cousins. If Ellie followed after him, then they had to be going down the list, seeing the cousins in order of eldest to youngest. I watched as Ellie stood, looking out of place and deeply uncomfortable in a dress that didn’t suit her. Her eyes had thick eyeliner, her lips had lipstick too red for her complexion. Her slouched posture and narrow, flat-chested figure evoked mental images of a weasel. She was visibly nervous, but not in the same way Molly was.
Man, they have to stop giving me cousins. I don’t get an ‘involved in the story’ vibe from Callan, despite his odd name, but Ellie feels like she knows/will know something.
“No kidding. Blake?” Callan asked, as I started to walk around him.
“Hey,” I responded.
“You’re wearing jeans? Paint-covered jeans? Now?”
I looked down at the jeans, the lap striped with narrow streaks in various colors, then met his eyes, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter.”
Dangit Blake that is not good funeral attire! Also, I just realized that Blake might not like wearing black, and just has the shirt for the tradition. Maybe he’s colorful, like his pants!
The lawyer found me, alive and well, without much trouble.
Maybe Blake is thinking the same as me, but if Blake’s parents couldn’t find him (perhaps for lack of trying), how did some lawyer find him and call him? Magic I tell you. Maybe.
“If you think you’re going to worm your way in-“
WHEELBARROW I SEE WHAT YOU DID!
“If I was, do you think I’d be wearing these jeans?” I asked. More exasperated than anything, I told him, “Fuck off, Callan. Save your energy for attacking the others. I’m a non-threat. Promise.”
He scowled a little, then summarily fucked off. He took a seat on the deacon’s bench, beside Molly. His hand settled over hers, and he leaned over to murmur in her ear.
Blake probably won’t stay a non-threat for long, knowing Whiteboy’s writing.
He really doesn’t want to get tangled in the family’s issues... too bad the plot has to happen.
“Jesus fuck,” she said, for the second time.
“Hey, Paige.”
She reached out, arms extended for a hug, and I flinched. I stepped back, and nearly knocked a picture off the wall behind me as I bumped into the wall.
She looked stricken. Her arms dropped to her side. Her hair was done up in a french braid, and she looked as comfortable in her clothing as her older sister hadn’t. It was how she’d always been. Prim, proper, preppy. She was almost into her twenties, now, but I could see where she could easily be at home in the world of ties and pantsuits.
wHAT happened to Blake? Who made him reject hugs? What went on in those three years to cause this tragedy!? Let Paige hug, she’s a good cousin! (I hope...)
“No, I just-” I said. “I… reflex.”
I made myself reach out to hug her. It was clumsy, not natural in the slightest. Her head banged against my ear hard enough to be painful, her arms squeezed me in excessive care.
Good Blake. Here’s a cookie.
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The fourth group would be ‘mine’, for lack of a better word. My cousin Paige had recognized me before they did. My parents.
They approached, and I saw that my mom was holding a baby, swaddled in a blanket. I wasn’t good at judging the ages of babies. I’d left three years ago.
Heresy, family members that (sorta) care? How long are they going to stay alive? Also, does Blake have a sibling he didn’t know about?
“No trouble,” I said. “You’d be surprised.”
“Except for leaving to spend the night with friends and never coming back?” my dad asked. I responded with a glare. He changed the topic, “I can’t help but notice you got tattoos.”
Holy shit, parents that care. Don’t see that often, but when you do... I’m calling it right now, the parents are either killed or taken out of the scene in this first Arc. I don’t like it, but I think I’m genre-savvy enough to guess that.
“Ivy,” my mother said. “She’s one and a half.”
“Hi Ivy,” I said. She responded by pressing her head against our mother’s shoulder. “Busy soaking it all in, kiddo, so you have some good stories to tell your therapist, ten years down the line?”
“Blake,” my dad said, the word a warning.
I like Blake. Also, he’s taking the news of a new sibling fairly well. I’d be freaking out, really.
Without looking away from Ivy, I kept my voice calm, the tone almost light, so the vibe wouldn’t upset her. “How hard did you look, Dad? Mom? I got in touch with some of my old friends, you know. Seeing what happened. My friends, the only ones you actually called, said you stopped asking about me after a month.”
“You were almost an adult, and the police weren’t interested or helpful. We called around, trying to figure out where you were staying, but nothing turned up. I’m not sure what we were supposed to do.”
Nevermind, back to sorta caring parents. Maybe they’ll survive the story after all! I mean, come on. If my son went missing, I wouldn’t shrug and go ‘eh, he’s almost an adult.’ I’d hunt that kid myself.
Besides, why devote any more attention to your son, when you could just start over? Have that beautiful baby girl you wanted, right?
Oooooh. That’s gotta hurt. It hurts me at least, and I don’t even know Blake!
“Nothing to say,” I said. “Is it okay if I send Ivy some presents for the special occasions? Birthdays, Christmas?”
“You don’t get to pick and choose,” my dad said. “Family isn’t a halfway thing.”
“Nevermind, then. If it’s one or the other, I’m out. Again.”
“Blake!” my father said, raising his voice.
Blake, your parents almost care! Work to upgrade that! Then they’ll die and leave you forever!
Damn it. It was too easy, to lash out, to retaliate, to get sucked into this atmosphere.
“Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Mom. My bad, Ivy,” I said, my voice soft. I didn’t wait for a response. I walked past them.
There you go. Good boy, being nice to your parents. And sister.
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Nine cousins, spread into three camps. Uncle Paul, his ex-wife, and my Aunt Irene.
Ah boy. Gotta love when a divorce causes extra family problems in an already problematic family. Hoooooo boy.
My Uncle Paul had a wealth of kids, four by his first wife, two by his second. The oldest of my cousins had a child of her own, while his youngest was twelve. Six in all, with Paige and her twin brother Peter in the middle. Those two would just be partway into college, I was pretty sure.
Paige looked like she wanted to approach me, but doing so meant getting between Uncle Paul and Aunt Irene, as they pointed fingers, digging at each other.
So maybe Paige is a good cousin that Blake could tolerate? I wonder if she’ll get dragged into the magic stuff too. I wonder if any of the family will get dragged in...
Aunt Irene had kids, but I only saw two. Molly was close to me in age, and I’d known her well, once upon a time, but I hardly recognized her now. She was so preoccupied she barely seemed to notice me, her fingers twisting into one another in her lap, her leg bouncing a nervous rhythm that her mom tried to still with a touch. It seemed to be rubbing off on her little brother, who was looking equally anxious. They all had brown hair, and Molly was paler than usual, and the black dress she wore only made it worse.
I get why they’re anxious. I hate shouting at social events, it takes all the fun out of the air. Not that there was any fun here to begin with. Can you have negative fun?
Molly. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that Paige and Molly are more important than their older folks.
Also, Molly seems like she knows something. I don’t know why I have that feeling, but I have that feeling.
Uncle Paul’s family, his first wife Stephanie, my Aunt Irene, each with their respective kids. Three groups, three factions.
Well, who cares about Stephanie’s group I guess.
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A litterbox, with a toy. Not a dirty litterbox, to look at it, which struck me as odd. I couldn’t imagine my family had emptied it. It didn’t fit them.
I reached the end of the hall, and I could hear voices from upstairs. A crowd, angry, not shouting, but saying hard words, loaded words. I sighed, putting my hands in my pockets, and made my way up.
So... no cat? Dead cat? Not a cat? Either way, sneaky little Whalebone is telling us something there.
Also, the family is already being dysfunctional, and we haven’t even been shown them yet.
Photographs. Not a single family picture, I noticed. Instead, there were pictures of nature, blue and green to contrast the dark-lacquered cherry floorboards and furniture, the burgundy curtains. It made for a startling intensity, but it was jarring, overly saturated.
Not pictures? Magical stuff? PLOT STUFF?
Am I overanalyzing? Maybe. Shush.
When I crested the top of the stairs, I saw them. One family, divided into four factions, all dressed in black.
Here we go, into the madhouse!
“The prodigal son returns,” Uncle Paul said.
So Blake’s been away for a while? Makes sense, by this chunk of dialogue alone they’re a mess. I’d move out, at least.
Hard words, drawing lines in the sand, striving to establish new ground rules, to hold on to perceived advantages, to garner new ones, or strike at weak points.
For three years, I had been gone. All of this, it had been going on when I left, and it was continuing now.
It never stopped.
Yep, Blake noped the fuck out of there. Can’t say I blame him. Reminds me of Knives Out, now that I think about it. And (spoilers that I remembered) Blake can’t lie, so its an even better comparison!
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I pulled off my jacket, then my sweatshirt. Unlocking and lifting the seat of the motorcycle, I retrieved the shirt I had stowed away. Leaving the other clothes behind, I buttoned up the shirt over a black t-shirt while I made my way up the driveway.
Like Taylor in Worm, it seems Blake likes dressing in dark colors. Maybe he likes how they match his name? Sorta?
If my uncle had parked nearer to the house, he could have spared himself and his family the walk. But no, the inconvenience he could pose to everyone else was apparently the top priority. I wasn’t surprised. I would have been stunned if there hadn’t been anything like this.
Yeah, the family has lots of issues. Hoo boy.
My boots were heavy on the floorboards of the porch as I approached the front door. I stopped to wipe them on the doormat. No ‘welcome’ was printed on the mat. Instead, there were stencil images of roses and thorny stems, as well as the initials ‘R.D.T.’
It fit, somehow. No consideration to the guests, only self-aggrandizement.
My first reaction to the initials were RT Games and R.A.B., which are two things that should never be thought of in the same moment.
Rose D-Something Thornburn? The grandma, probably. It looks like this is her house, which makes sense because old witch has old house.
My lingering impressions of the house were soon banished. Only a house. Books lined shelves in nearly every room with an available wall, some old with cracked spines, some new, recent bestsellers. It was all sorted more like a library than a home, clearly by some arrangement of age and alphabetized.
Anachronistic. That was a good word, to describe it. Old and new. A box of colorful cereal sat between the toaster and television in the kitchen, across from a small table with a crimson, lace-edged tablecloth.
This house has lots of character, and I kinda love it. Though, I have to ask, what kinds of books are there? I doubt witchy things if we have a masquerade, but what is there? Leatherbound copies of Harry Potter?
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I looked down the length of the street. The property was framed by a short stone wall, shoulder height, along with an elaborate iron fence of roughly the same height, shaped into curling vines with metal points at set intervals. It had been covered in some black paint or coating, but rust and peeling paint made for a mottled texture.
This place really sells the whole ‘old magic’ vibe, methinks.
‘No parking’ signs, a good distance in every direction. I was already regretting coming.
No parking signs, the bane of every hurrying person’s existence.
Damn me, I thought, not for the first or second time.
Actually, that is the second time you’ve thought that!
Further down the street, a few of the locals had stopped on a corner to talk. Odd, how they kept looking at me.
Their eyes on my back, I pushed my motorcycle, guiding it through the gap between car and fence. I set it on the lawn, leaning against the inside of the fence.
Surely they’re just totally normal overly interested neighbors that won't turn out to be some kind of evil magic user or creature, right?
Also, Blake has a motorcycle. Neat!
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Damn me, damn them, damn it all.
Hello Blake! It’s gonna be tough remembering that you’re a guy, since I kinda love RWBY.
There was a car, my parent’s or my uncle’s, no doubt, parked in the middle of the gates, at the foot of a long driveway, leading up to Hillsglade House. Symbolic, really, of everything that had gone on for most of my life. Symbolic of everything I had walked away from.
My uncle… I was guessing it was my uncle, had parked the car at the entrance of the driveway to force everyone else to find a place to park.
There’s always that one asshole that blocks the driveway. Since I’m a social wreck, it’s real frustrating having to ask people to stop whatever they’re doing to go and move the car. Luckily nobody’s ever done it to me on purpose.
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Now let’s start actually reading the about page, then we can read the good stuff!
Blake Thorburn was driven away from home and family by a vicious fight over inheritance, returning only for a deathbed visit with the grandmother who set it in motion. Blake soon finds himself next in line to inherit the property, a trove of dark supernatural knowledge, and the many enemies his grandmother left behind her in the small town of Jacob’s Bell.
Yeah. So, I was pretty much right with what I remembered. Good to know that this only really covers early stuff, I hate it when trailers or the about bits of books spoil the whole thing.
Nah, I’m the only one that gets me spoiled :/
Pact is the second undertaking of Wildbow (J.C. McCrae in real life) following the completion of the popular superhero web serial Worm.
In other words, get ready for morally grey decisions, dark themes, emotional pain, and all-around shouting at the main protagonist to do something different.
Pact is generally aimed at readers aged eighteen or older, acknowledging that some younger people are more than capable of handling the aforementioned material and topics, while some older people can’t. Use your own judgement, because you know yourself best.
See what I mean? It’s gonna be a ride.
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