#AND lettered for the first time in illustrator! what a confusing beast she is

[scribsisnotdead]

hi gang! short little my inner demons fancomic, okay? okay

[st4rg8te]

The Villainess' Redemption (P. 1?)

Various! Yanderes X Ex-Villainess! Reader

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Synopsis: You were once the villainess from some poorly-written romance novel, and somehow, you’ve ended up taking the place of a girl who shared your name—a girl who died while reading your story.

This world is different. Here, you’re no longer tied to a script or doomed to a villainess’s fate. Can you rewrite your ending, and find a place for yourself in this new reality? 

(aka cliche villainess reader gets transported into the modern times and suffers a lot)

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The last thing you remember is the swing of the executioner’s blade against your neck—a fitting end for all the terrible crimes you’ve committed. 

Or so you thought.

When you wake up, it’s not the fiery pits of hell that greet you, but a room unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

Through blurred vision, you make out walls impossibly smooth and white, gleaming like polished marble. The light above burns unnaturally bright. The air is sharp and clean, carrying a faint, acrid tang that prickles at your nose.

Was this the afterlife?

Thin tubes are attached to your skin, running from your veins into strange machines you can’t begin to understand. A spike of panic grips you, your breath quickening as your mind scrambles for an explanation.

What if you weren't dead? What if they kept you alive to make you suffer more?

Your trembling hands brush over your body, and your face burns when you realize they’ve stripped you of your former clothes. You’re left in plain, white garments—clean, but thin and exposing.

The indignity is almost as much as the confusion, but you swallow it down, determined to unravel the mystery of this waking nightmare.

On the table beside you lies a book, its presence almost unnoticeable in the room. Yet something about it draws your attention, an unspoken pull that makes your hand reach out despite the unease in your gut.

The front is adorned with a vivid illustration: a man and a woman locked in a tender embrace, their faces soft with affection. There’s something hauntingly familiar about their faces, though you can’t immediately place why.

The title, etched in bold, flowing letters, reads: Enchanted by Fate.

You flip the book open, its pristine pages cool and crisp beneath your trembling fingers.

At first, it seems harmless—a typical romance, the kind that young noble ladies often liked to read. But as your eyes skim the text, a dreadful recognition dawns.

The names leap off the page like venomous snakes: his name—your old lover—and her.

Your heart pounds as anger flares, spreading through your chest. You can almost see her face again, the one who orchestrated your downfall, the one who plunged the blade into your back long before the executioner ever did.

Then your fingers freeze.

Your name.

Paragraphs upon paragraphs detailing your life, your crimes, and your eventual execution. The words blur as the memories resurface—the blade, the crowd, the jeers. Your breath hitches, and the sterile air suddenly feels suffocating.

You slam the book shut, the sound echoing unnaturally in the room, and throw it across the floor. It lands with a dull thud, pages spilling open like a gutted beast, taunting you from where it lies.

That book knew everything. It was impossible. Yet it was real.

With your mind still reeling from what you've just read, you fail to notice the woman entering the room.

Then, the sound of her voice cuts through the fog.

“She’s awake!”

You must have been right. This is your own personal hell.

✦✧✦✧

Human beings are resilient.

So, despite the mental blows you've suffered in a single day, you slowly begin to adjust to your strange new existence in the hospital over the following weeks.

There's so much about this world that you don’t understand, and begrudgingly, you admit that it still frightens you. You can’t shake the feeling that this is all some form of witchcraft.

The nurses, though kind, remind you of your old maids, their faces polite but distant as they introduce you to odd contraptions you can't begin to comprehend.

They call it technology, and they show you things like a 'television,' a box that displays moving images as though alive, and a 'toilet' that can swallow waste with a single flush—something that still seems impossible to you.

They find your lack of knowledge a little concerning, but none of them have the courage to say anything about it, chalking it up to a side effect of your memory loss.

It’s humiliating beyond words to be treated like a clueless child. The condescending tones, the endless explanations of things that feel like they should be second nature—it grates on you until the frustration threatens to spill over as tears.

In your past life, you were always the one in control. You were the influential daughter of a noble family—admired and feared by many. Now, all of that feels like a distant memory, a cruel joke played by fate.

You feel lost.

But the worst part—the part you can never quite confront—is the stranger in the mirror. The face staring back is not your own. You're told she shares your name, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

You can't help but avert your eyes every time you see reflections of yourself.

“[Y/N], are you doing okay today?”

The deep, gentle voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. When you look up, a handsome man comes into focus.

It’s Your Doctor ♡.

Initially, he took an interest in you purely out of professional obligation. Your case was unlike anything he’d encountered before. He had treated patients with amnesia in the past, but never one as severe as yours. Especially considering the circumstances of why you were admitted in the first place. You reminded him of a wild animal—eyes darting with mistrust and fear, shrinking away from your surroundings. And yet, against his better judgment, he found himself drawn to you, compelled by the need to unravel the mystery of your mind. While you lacked even the most basic understanding of modern conveniences, certain skills and knowledge seemed to come to you effortlessly. You could converse fluently in multiple languages. You knew the names and precise uses of every piece of cutlery, from fish forks to soup spoons, and could recount their placement in a formal table setting. It was truly strange. He began to set aside his busy work, stealing moments during breaks to visit your room. It became a routine—teaching you; how to use a water dispenser, explaining the functions of a phone, or describing the significance of certain holidays and traditions.. He relished the way your face would light up in awe at the simplest things. The wonder in your eyes made him feel like he was witnessing the world anew, through your gaze. He still chuckles quietly to himself when he remembers your reaction to the television. The way you gasped, wide-eyed and almost frozen, as moving images flickered across the screen—it was unforgettable. “Pft.” The sound escaped him, soft but audible. A nurse passing by stopped in her tracks, stunned. She had worked with the doctor for years and had never seen him laugh—let alone blush. Yet here he was, smirking to himself like a schoolboy with a crush. After that, whispers began to circulate through the halls: that the hospital’s famous bachelor had fallen for someone.

"I'm feeling fine. Thank you for asking, doctor."

"I'm glad to hear that," he replied, his tone warm. "And you don't have to be so formal with me."

He sits down by your bedside, eyes curved upwards in a gentle smile as he begins to speak again.

"You're being discharged this afternoon. You'll be able to go home soon."

"Home?"

Would that mean that you would have to meet the body owner's family?

Throughout your entire stay at the hospital, not once had anyone visited you except the doctor and the nurse who attended to you daily.

A knot of nervousness forms in your stomach at the thought of finally meeting those people. What if they found your behavior too strange? What if they saw through you?

They didn’t know the truth—that their daughter was gone. Replaced by a stranger.

The doctor seems to notice the shift in your demeanor. Without hesitation, he reaches over, his hand warm and steady as it rests over yours. The gentle squeeze pulls you back to reality.

"Don’t worry," he says softly. "If you feel any pain or discomfort, please don’t hesitate to let me know. And I can give you my contact information—you can call or text me if you need help with anything."

"I... I’ve troubled you enough already," your eyes are fixed firmly on the bedspread, unable to meet his intense gaze.

Maybe it is normal in this world for women and men to touch eachother so casually like this.

"Nonsense," He replies with a chuckle. "Helping you is my job, after all ♡."

In the end, you are sent off with a small bag containing all your belongings and a crisp white slip of paper in hand, the string of digits scribbled neatly on it.

He watches you walk away, his gaze never wavering. A part of him wishes you had stayed longer.

He exhales a long, quiet sigh, his lips curving ever so slightly into a smile. You’ll call him soon.

And when you do, he’ll be there, ready to help.

✦✧✦✧

To your surprise, a nurse leads you to what they call a “car” parked in front of the hospital entrance—a carriage without horses. You feel a small flicker of pride in yourself for remembering the term.

It moves faster than any carriage you’ve ever known. And as the scenery blurs by, you can’t help but press your face to the window, eyes wide with wonder. Towering buildings scrape the sky, their glass and steel glinting in the sunlight. The bustling streets are filled with all kinds of people from all walks of life.

The driver eventually steers the car away from the bustling scene, guiding it into a quieter neighborhood. The streets narrow, and the towering skyscrapers give way to smaller, more subdued structures. Finally, the car comes to a halt in front of a large, old building.

"Have a nice day, miss."

"Ah… thank you," you say softly as you step out, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

The car drives off, and then you're finally left alone.

You turn to face the building, its weathered facade staring back at you. Compared to the grand mansion where you spent your entire life, this place feels cramped and shabby, its age evident in the peeling paint and creaking steps. Rows of numbered doors line each floor, stretching upward in a vertical maze.

Navigating the unfamiliar hallways proves to be a challenge, every turn leaving you more disoriented. When you finally find the staircase, you hesitate. The nurse had mentioned “elevators,” those strange boxes that carried people between floors. But the thought of stepping inside one fills you with unease.

Shaking off the idea, you take the stairs instead, the journey upward feeling longer than it should. Your legs ache with every step, and by the time you reach the supposed floor you live on, you’re out of breath.

At last, you find your door. Apartment 303. The brass plaque gleams faintly in the dim hallway light.

"Hello?"

You knock on the door, but only silence greets you. Anxiety begins to coil in your chest, tightening with each passing second. You glance around the empty hallway, hoping for a sign, a clue—anything. But nothing comes.

Your gaze shifts to the pad mounted beside the door. The arrangement of numbers stares back at you. It should be easy, you tell yourself. Just enter the code.

You press the first digit, then the second. It feels right—like you’re doing what you’re supposed to—but when you hit the final key, the pad lights up red and emits a harsh beep.

Locked.

Your heart sinks. You try again. But the result is the same: a flash of red and that sharp, cold beep.

Again.

Each failure making your frustration rise. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as the sudden overwhelming pressure of everything catches up to you.

The tears spill over, warm streaks running down your cheeks as quiet sobs escape your lips. You feel pathetic.

You miss your family.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to think about them until now—not fully. But their faces stay clear in your mind.

You miss your father’s embrace, your mother’s soothing voice, the way your brothers would tease and protect you in equal measure.

But they are gone. All of them, condemned to death because of your stupid actions.

And now, here you are—trapped in this foreign land, surrounded by incomprehensible machines and alien customs. The people here don’t know you, and you’re certain they never could. You’re an imposter in a world that feels as if it’s actively rejecting you.

And for the first time since you woke up in this strange world, you let yourself finally admit the truth.

You don’t belong here.

✦✧✦✧

"Holy shit lady, are you okay?"

The last thing Your Neighbor ♡ had expected after coming home was to find you sitting on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably by your apartment door.

The two of you have exchanged pleasantries a handful of times, maybe a nod or a muttered “hello” in passing. But it had still worried him a little when he hadn’t seen you in months. Hell, he even figured you’d finally had enough of this place and moved out for good.

"Do you… need help?" he asks, stepping closer cautiously.

Your face burns with embarrassment. You quickly wipe at your tear-streaked face with the sleeve of your shirt, sniffling as you try to compose yourself.

"I just… I can’t get the door to open.."

His eyes flickers to the lock and then back to you. "What, the code’s not working?"

You nod, avoiding his gaze. "I… I’ve tried it so many times, but it keeps locking me out," you say, your voice wavering. "Do you know how to open it?"

"Yeah, I can take a look. Just give me the code."

As he steps closer to the keypad, you wipe at your eyes again, trying to salvage what is left of your dignity.

What is wrong with you? Your mother would have been disappointed at you acting like this.

"Hey," he say after a moment, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Don’t sweat it. This lock’s a piece of crap. Happens to me all the time."

"Um... do you know if anyone else lives in this place with me?"

The man tilts his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "I don’t think so."

A part of you feels relieved. The idea of facing her family—the family you now supposedly belong to—had been gnawing at you since you left the hospital. At least you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not.

But at the same time, the thought of living alone makes your stomach twist. You’ve never been on your own before. In your old life, you were always surrounded by people—your parents, the servants, ready to spoil you rotten. You never once thought about what it would be like to have to manage on your own.

This is your punishment.

The irony isn’t lost on you. The gods must have seen how you mocked her—your father’s bastard. You used to laugh at her and make fun of her upbringing. Now you can't help but think that she would have done much better if she was in your situation.

"Thanks." you mutter finally, your voice barely audible.

She wouldn't have cried over some stupid door like this and humiliate herself in front of a random man!

"Anyway, that's how you do it. If you need help with anything else, just knock on my door-"

BAM!

Before he could finish his sentence, you were already gone.

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Your Neighbor ♡ thought that would be the last time you two would really talk to eachother.

Every time he saw you in the hallway or from across the parking lot, you’d scurry away like a startled rabbit, avoiding eye contact. He figured you were just shy—or maybe embarrassed about how you’d met. Either way, he didn’t expect to hear from you again.

So, he was surprised when, a week later, there was a knock on his door.

When he opened it, there you stood, cheeks flushed an indignant pink, holding a neatly folded napkin in your hands.

"What’s this?" he asked.

"I made it for you," you said, thrusting it toward him. "It’s a gift for helping me that day."

He unfolded the napkin and blinked in surprise. His name was carefully stitched onto the fabric, surrounded by flower motifs.

"Holy shit. You made this?"

It was the sweetest gift he had ever received.

I-I noticed you seem to… sweat a lot. Whenever I see you. I thought it might help," you added, the words tumbling out in a rush.

It took him a second to register what you’d said, and when he did, he couldn’t help but laugh. "Oh, that’s because I go to the gym a lot. Not because I’m just… sweating everywhere."

Your eyes widened, mortified. "Oh! I didn’t mean—"

He grinned, cutting you off. "Relax, it’s thoughtful. Thanks."

There was an awkward pause before he gestured behind him. "You want to come in?"

That moment marked the beginning of something—he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Friendship? Maybe. But that night, over tea, you finally opened up and told him about your memory loss.

A protective instinct had sparked in him the day he found you crying outside your apartment, and it only grew stronger as the two of you started spending more time together.

Before long, it became a routine—going back and forth between apartments, sharing meals, and finding small ways to help each other.

You didn’t know how to cook, so he often brought over dinner and started teaching you how to make simple meals. At first, you were hesitant, your pride making you stubborn, but he patiently guided you through every step.

Grocery shopping became another shared activity, with him pointing out what to buy and explaining things you didn’t recognize. Though he did like to tease you whenever you added far too many sweets to the cart.

One day, he had casually mentioned his interest in learning an instrument, and before he could blink, you’d practically leapt at the opportunity to teach him. Your enthusiasm embarrassed him at first, but he couldn’t say no to you.

When you discovered the dusty electronic keyboard he’d tucked away in a storage box, your eyes had lit up like it was treasure. From that moment on, you became his self-appointed music tutor, insisting it was your way of repaying him for everything.

“Why do I feel like you’re only spending time with me for the keyboard?” he jokingly asked after yet another lesson.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m doing this because I want to help you.”

He couldn’t hold back his grin.

The more time he spent with you, the harder he fell. You were blunt and prideful, but also sweet and endearing in a way that caught him off guard. When he told you about his job as a club bodyguard, you had compared him to a knight, which made him burst out laughing.

On his way to the gym, a nosy neighbor had stopped him. “So, are you two dating yet? I remember her asking around about your name once.”

He blinked in surprise before the memory clicked. It must have been when you made that embroidered napkin for him. The image of you nervously going door to door asking around, too shy to talk to him directly, made his chest tighten.

Without thinking, his hand drifted to his pocket, where he still kept the cloth. He was on cloud nine the entire day.

Ah, he’d ask you to be his girlfriend soon. That much he was sure of. If only you weren’t so wary of relationships—and that other man who kept hanging around you. How irritating.

The man claimed to be your doctor, but what kind of doctor visited his patients so often? He wasn’t naive, and he could see the way the guy looked at you, the way he lingered too long in your presence. He knew those signs well enough.

Well, no matter. He’d just have to keep a closer eye on you.

After all, you were his to protect.

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EXTRA:

After slamming the door in the man’s face, you sighed in relief.

Finally, some peace.

Turning to the apartment, you fumbled around for the light switch. When the bright light flickered on, it hit you—and so did the sight in front of you.

"What the hell?!"

The walls were plastered with posters—of him. Your old betrothed. His smug face stared back at you from every direction, alongside her, the woman who ruined your life.

You froze, taking it all in. It wasn’t just posters. There were figurines, framed photos, and even a pillow with his face on it.

It didn’t take long to figure out the awful truth. The girl whose body you’d taken wasn’t just any stranger—she was a die-hard fan of the book you came from.

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A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this wacky gift for New Years. I plan to introduce 2 more love interests if I ever get to writing the second part. They're like color coded. Anyway, this was like massive compared to my other works.

I'm still writing Twisted Affections Pt. 3, but some pieces of smut are probably going to come out before that. Thank you for patience!

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[ladyherenya]

Books read in April

I probably spent more time reading but I also read a handful of novellas and a couple of children’s novels, which means I read more books than usual.

Many of these were, if not outright retellings, than heading close to that sort of territory: faeries and fairytales, Sherlock Holmes, Jane Austen, and Norse gods...

Favourite cover: Masque, maybe.

Reread: Nothing, too busy reading new things...

Still reading: Cinder by Marissa Meyer.

Next up: There’s a new Murderbot novel out in early May!!!

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing and Dreamwidth.)

*

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams (narrated by the author): Adams’ descriptions are clever and unexpected, and he strings together a series of events even more bizarre and unexpected than his descriptions. Sometimes I felt exhausted on behalf of his poor protagonists, bounced from one mishap to another, but I was impressed by Adams’ ability to turn this madness into such a coherent story.

Flamebringer by Elle Katharine White: A solid, tense conclusion to Heartstone and Dragonshadow. However, I suspect it would have made more of an impact had I read the first two books recently. It assumes that the reader remembers more worldbuilding details -- about history and family connections and magical folk -- than I did. And because I found such details confusing, I didn’t pay close attention to some of the history and politics revealed in this book, and those things turned out to be unexpectedly important. A trilogy in much need of a glossary.

Hamster Princess: Harriet the Invincible by Ursula Vernon (aka T. Kingfisher): A very amusing take on ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Upon learning of her curse, Harriet accurately concludes that she must be invincible until it strikes -- and when the time arrives, she’s determined to avoid falling into an enchanted sleep. This is heavily-illustrated. The pictures are great, but were often awkwardly displayed in the Libby e-book. 

The Art of Theft by Sherry Thomas: More of a heist story than a murder mystery, which may explain why I found it less compelling than The Hollow of Fear, although admittedly, it has its suspenseful sequences. Thomas does some interesting things in expanding her portrayal of the era as well as Mrs Watson’s story, taking Charlotte Holmes and her trusted associates to France on a mission along with someone from Mrs Watson’s past. I liked that Livia gets to play a more active role in those adventures. But I expected to like this more.

Love Lettering by Kate Clayborn: Meg is desperate for inspiration and company. She comes up with a project, looking for hand-lettered signs around New York, and invites along a former client -- who has turned up to question Meg about the hidden message in the wedding program she designed for him and his ex. A story about signs, secrets and the importance of having difficult conversations. I liked how those themes are explored in different areas of Meg’s life: making an effort to get to know Reid, setting boundaries with a new client, and trying to stop her best friend from drifting away.

Once Upon a Marigold by Jean Ferris (narrated by Carrington MacDuffie): Christian was brought up in a cave by Edric the troll, who discovered Chris hiding in the forest. Now Chris is in love with the princess Marigold, with whom he has exchanged letters carried by pigeon but has never met.  If I had discovered this in 2002 when it was first published, I suspect I’d have been delighted by its gentle, whimsical, almost-fairytale-ness. These days I tend to want more complexity and more emotion and, often, more critical engagement with the genre’s tropes. But this was still pleasant company while I did a few hours of housework.

The Shards of a Broken Sword novella trilogy by W.R. Gingell: 

Twelve Days of Faery: King Markon’s son appears to be afflicted by a strange curse, because accidents and misadventure befalls any girl the prince flirts with. When an enchantress offers to deal with the curse in exchange for the expected reward of the prince’s hand in marriage, Markon gets swept up in her investigation. This is so much fun. I liked the way it focuses on a middle-aged father, rather than any of the more usual candidates for this sort of story, like his son or any of the young women affected by the curse. And I enjoyed Althea’s confidence and practical competence.

Fire in the Blood: Another story interested in twisting fairytale tropes. A prince sets out to rescue a princess from a tower, but neither of them are the protagonist -- that’s Rafiq, the prince’s enslaved dragon, forced into human-form. Rafiq has been dragged along on this quest and quietly hopes that his vicious master will fail to unravel the tower keep’s protections. I enjoyed this. The tower keep, with its magical puzzles, was an intriguing setting, and it was rather satisfying to see Rafiq and the princess’s serving girl subtly undermine the prince’s efforts without drawing his ire.

The First Chill of Autumn: The first two standalone and take place over a few days. This does not. It begins with Princess Dion’s childhood. At seventeen, Dion is sent on a tour of her country and discovers the truth about the Fae’s influence. She ends up joining forces with characters from the previous books. I liked each of these sections. However, this could easily have been expanded into something novel-length and been stronger for it. If more time had been given to Dion’s relationships -- with her sister, Barric and Padraig, and maybe her parents -- the ending would have made more of an emotional impact.

“A Tale of Carmine and Fancy”: This short story takes place during The First Chill of Autumn. I didn’t care about Carmine one way or another when he turned up in the trilogy, so I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this.

A Posse of Princesses by Sherwood Smith (narrated by Emma Galvin): Sixteen year old Rhis is one of many princesses invited to attend festivities held in honour of a crown prince. My first impression -- a nice-but-unremarkable story with an irritating audiobook narrator -- quickly changed. I got used to the narrator’s voice. I really appreciate Smith’s portrayal of social interactions and of group dynamics from the perspective of someone who is trying to understand why others are competing for attention. And once the plot took off, I was hooked. I have mixed feelings about the very end but that didn’t change how much I liked the rest of the story.

The Two Monarchies sequence by W.R. Gingell:

Clockwork Magician: Several years after Blackfoot, Peter starts at university. Because Peter ends up messing around with time-travel, there are scenes from his future in the previous books. It’s interesting getting those moments from Peter’s perspective and fitting the puzzle pieces of his story together. I also felt invested in Peter’s journey even though he spends a lot of time being arrogant and oblivious, because I knew that there must be a significant change up ahead. The way his dawning realisation is handled was unexpectedly satisfying. I also enjoyed seeing more of Poly and Luck, and getting to know Glenna.

Masque: A murder mystery which turns into a Beauty and the Beast retelling. Lady Isabella Farrah is determined to investigate after a friend is killed at the Ambassador’s Grand Ball, even if doing so annoys the official investigator, the masked Lord Pecus. Isabella is excellent company. She’s quick-witted, resourceful and uncowed. I really enjoyed watching her banter and meddle. The Beauty and the Beast elements are cleverly woven into the story, and even without the murder investigation, there’s enough to make it a unique take on an old tale. A delightful standalone companion to this series.

Frankly in Love by David Yoon: Frank Li has watched his parents react to his older sister’s choices and he knows they will never accept him dating anyone who isn’t Korean. So he and a family friend, Joy Song, pretend to date. Fake-dating is one of my most favourite romance tropes but I’m not a fan when it’s a cover for actually dating someone else -- I don’t like others getting hurt by the deception. Despite that, I found this YA novel engaging and unexpectedly moving. And an absolutely fascinating look at being the child of immigrants.

The Night Country by Melissa Albert: The Hazel Wood was excellent, sharp and compelling, but I didn’t enjoy the sequel much at all. In the first book there’s a much stronger thread of hope running through the darkness.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone: The letters exchanged between Red and Blue, two agents on opposing sides of a time war, are vibrant and memorable, playful and poignant. I particularly enjoyed their different names for each other. (“Dearest Blue-da-ba-dee”, “My Dear Mood Indigo”, “Dearest 0000FF” -- that one made me laugh, “Dear Red Sky at Morning”...) The scenes in between leave many questions unanswered about the war being fought. I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that if I actually understood what was going on, I wouldn’t like the characters. Nevertheless the letters are brilliant, and I can deal with uncertainty for the space of a novella.

A Dead Djinn in Cairo by P. Djèlí Clark (narrated by Suehyla El-Attar): This novelette is too brief to involve what I enjoy most about murder mysteries, like carefully prying into people’s motives or characters forming supportive relationships in the face of an atmosphere of suspicion and unease. It is possible I’d like this worldbuilding in a different story, and that I would care more about Special Investigator Fatma el-Sha'arawi if I spent more time with her.

The Jane Austen Project by Kathleen A. Flynn: Rachel and Liam, a doctor and an actor-turned-academic, are sent back to 1815 to befriend Jane Austen and uncover an unpublished novel. Time travel allows for portraying Austen’s world with historical accuracy from the perspective of a woman with contemporary attitudes, and creates interesting challenges and anxieties. There’s a high degree of wish fulfilment in meeting Austen, but also realistic complications and consequences. This book impressed me even though -- or perhaps because -- it wasn’t always comfortable or to my taste. I’d have adored it, had things been slightly different, yet it’s nevertheless gripping and thought-provoking storytelling. I respect that.

[pom-friend]

First Starlight - Hikari

From a Discord prompt.

The sky grew paler as autumn came to its repose to make way for winter. Though the days had been cut short, and the waters and winds of La Noscea's shores had grown sharp and cold, it didn't deter the little girl's daily ritual of standing at the edge of the shore, until her feet were swollen, raw and red and numb from the cold, the seawater rushing in through her shoes and soaking them down to the soles. 

 Her guardian had at first tried to discourage this behavior, but found that doing so only made her more sullen. So he came to her with the terms that only when she was clear within sight of their home, and only when he was present in its walls, could she take her trips to the shore. She had never responded one way or the other, but nonetheless, complied. Never before had the man been responsible for rearing a child, much less one not of his own nation. She was entirely an enigma to him, a gangly ghost who hadn't yet grown into her long limbs, silent to the world since the day she had come into his care. 

 The man supposed that he couldn't blame her. She was present to see her own mother succumb to illness, delusional and speaking to imagined specters, her body failing itself before the child's very eyes. And her father had made himself distant; disinterested, disappointed, saddled with guilt, and his own progeny's silence only vexed him further. He had spoken critically of his daughter before, lamenting her trivial, savage interests and the meek timidness of her nature. But his wife's death had only further widened the divide between the two. A harsh man, he was, and difficult to understand, certainly not fit to comfort this child with her foreign sensibilities. He needed privacy to grieve, and with war before them, the Empire was in need of his skills. As cold as it seemed, country came before family.

So it was his friend, and the appointed godfather of the girl, who came to take her in, and took her away, far from Othard, from Doma, from the familiar banks of the One River, to live with him as he worked under the name of another man. The timing, though he loathed to admit it, was fortuitous. A man with a family would fall under less scrutiny than a man who lived in solitude.

But so persistently silent was she, so adamant to refuse to respond to anything, whether it be casual chat or a question of her preferences, that the man felt he may as well have been alone. There was nothing he could tell of what the girl felt regarding him, if she felt anything at all, and she would constantly try to leave to stare at the horizon. Her interests changed only a few times, to focus instead on the sea birds, or a scuttling crab, or even in one instance, a Bloodshore bell (MUCH to the man's concern and distress), so he contacted an acquaintance of his to come and tutor her, and teach her about the wildlife local to Eorzea. Though she seemed to respond to the lessons, it was difficult, still, to decipher her language of silence, and the man knew that her father would only be frustrated by this behavior, were he present for it.

He had met her several times before. Even before the loss of her mother, little Hikari was quiet and reclusive. Her mother made mention of the fact that she had few friends, save for a few children of a neighboring family. Since bringing her to La Noscea, her guardian had noticed that the child would stare at other children, as if longing to be near them, but when approached, would seize up and run from them.

With his work, there was only so much time in his day that the man could dedicate to his newly appointed ward. But he understood that the child was in desperate need of something, and he understood what it was she was looking for as she stood upon the shores and faced the East. He tried to find what ways he could to ease the transition.

This child was not his, but he still felt the yoke of responsibility for her heavy on his shoulders.

The Starlight festival was a tradition that had reached some pockets of the Empire. Largely, it was dismissed as base, savage nonsense. Eager as Hikari's father had been to play at every Doman custom he could, with all the clumsiness of a tourist, he was one who shunned the Ishgardian tradition, finding every conceivable way to write it off as foolish. So, the child had never come to know Starlight. While other children whispered excitedly of what gifts they desired from the Saint, Hikari's eyes remained ever trained on the horizon.

Seros felt uncertain of how to carry out certain Starlight traditions. He asked his companions in Maelstrom uniform, where they had found their sentinels, what kinds of foods they planned to cook, and what gifts their children had been wishing of. He constructed a Starlight celebration for the child with as much care and discretion as he could. If she were to call Eorzea a home, then surely, she must also learn the culture, and partake in it just as any other child of Eorzea may.

The morning finally came. Hikari awoke from her bed to find their own Starlight sentinel in the home, albeit, a rather small, knobby, crudely bent little sentinel, its branches thin of needles and its boughs bent under the weight of what shining baubles her guardian could find for it. On their sitting room table was a cake, cooked thick and colorful with chunk of diced fruit, and beside it was a package wrapped in colorful paper. Her guardian rose from his chair, leaving his morning coffee to cool, and he bent on one knee to offer the child the gift.

"Happy Starlight, little one. This is for you."

The girl's maroon eyes blinked several times in awed confusion, though she took the gift, nonetheless, and opened up the paper with such care as not to tear it. Beneath the wrappings was a thickly bound book, its pages still crisp and its leather still smelling new. In gilded lettering, the words 'The Raimdelle Codex' were penned on the cover. Taking her thumb to the heavy tome's pages, she spread them apart to see a detailed illustration of a massive, hulking, horned beast beside the text. She turned the pages to see others. A Bloodshore Bell. A Duck. A Dhalmel. With every page, the little girl came to understand what this book was.

Anxiously, the man awaited her reaction, if any was to be had. Her head was bowed over the book, her hair covering her face from his sight. He saw her back rise with a deep breath. And, for the first time since her mother's passing in the late summer, the girl made a sound. She cried out a wail, starting out quietly first, then rising so loudly that the man feared the neighbors would worry. Flustered and bewildered,  his hands hovered over the girl uncertainly, as he tried to think of some way to comfort her.

“ Do you--not like it?"

 Hikari only continued to wail, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks. She shook her head, then, clutching the book to her breast, her other hand grasped at her godfather's coat, and she buried her face into his side. Utterly flabbergasted, he placed his hand on the child' back and drew her in for an awkward embrace.

It was not a spoken response, but regardless, it was progress. 

[vertigovault]

The Saga of the Swamp Thing Annual #1

Story Title: “Swamp Thing”

Writer: Bruce Jones (based on the screenplay by Wes Craven)

Artist: Mark Texiera & Tony DeZuniga 

Editor: Len Wein

Colorist: Tatanja Wood 

Letterer: Gaspar Saladino

Release Date: August 1982

I’m gonna go ahead and start by giving this book the most damning criticism that can be bestowed upon a piece of media: this thing has absolutely no reason to exist. 

Here we have, in lieu of a new story, an adaptation of Wes Craven’s live-action Swamp Thing. Now, the film, contrary to what one might expect, isn’t actually the worst thing ever put to celluloid. It’s not good, per se, but it does a surprisingly competent job of capturing at least a little of the dark poetry at the heart of Alec Holland’s story. Craven is unquestionably a talented filmmaker, and while the film is definitely not one of his career highlights, it’s also not as bad as it could have been, which is probably the best praise that could reasonably be achieved by a live action Swamp Thing movie made at the dawn of the Eighties. 

This puts this “Official Adaptation” in an uncomfortable place. It’s a completely superfluous product, as the movie’s greatest strength is Craven’s direction, something that can not be replicated on the page. While a perfectly competent comic from a technical standpoint, there’s no reason to read this rather than watch the film. The only advantage it has over its source material is that it can be consumed in an eighth of the time needed to watch the film, and even that barely qualifies as a selling point. I’m guessing most people would rather eat a large amount of bland spaghetti than a rotten tomato mashed up with a handful of uncooked penne. 

I can’t help but wonder who the intended audience for this thing was. If it was designed to get fans of the film interested in the comics, then it’s a poor place to start, as the major alterations to the characters will do nothing but confuse and alienate the audience. If it was meant to entice comic-readers towards the film, then it fails on that front too. Changes that might be more forgivable onscreen become completely alienating on the page. For example, Holland’s friend Matt Cable, a major player in his life, has been replaced in the film with a new character named Alice Cable. This change might have even been interesting if it were a simple gender switch, but despite apparently being a badass federal agent, she exists mostly to be the Beauty to Holland’s Beast.

I’m not going to recap the plot of this thing, because it really doesn’t matter. I will, however, outline some of the stupider changes made to the material. Alec’s wife Linda is now his sister, presumably to make his subsequent romance with Cable more palatable, but that raises the question of why she’s in the movie in the first place. In the comic Linda’s death provides for about 50% of Holland’s moping and main-pain, but here she exists to get killed and then never mentioned again. Swamp Thing’s nemesis, Anton Arcane, is no longer the menacing sorcerer/scientist he is in the comics, but is now a dopey businessman. My favorite alteration, however, is the revelation that the Bio-Restorative Formula does not alter DNA, but rather “amplifies the true nature of what it affects”, demonstrated when one of Arcane’s henchmen is tricked into drinking it and becomes a weird little rat man. This scene is evocative of the scene in the live-action Super Mario Bros. where Koopa mutates his henchmen into lizard people. By this logic, Holland was always a shambling Jolly Green Giant inside, he just needed the formula to realize that. 

The artwork is perfectly functional, even at times quite good, but all that does is serve to highlight the fact that it’s being wasted on a mediocre product. One particularly minor alteration sums the whole affair up rather nicely. “Oh shit, there goes the neighborhood,” becomes “Uh-oh, there goes the neighborhood,” nicely illustrating the way this adaptation takes away any minor bite the film had. The only purpose I can imagine this annual serving is as a historical curiosity to total Swamp Thing geeks like me, and even then there’s no reason to actually read the whole thing unless you really hate yourself. Luckily for you, I do, and can tell you from experience that this is one comic that would have been better served by being set on fire and thrown into a swamp. 

[monkeyandelf]

Notable demons who terrorized the ancient world

Storytellers tell stories of ancient demons that have ravaged humanity since time immemorial. In the Middle Ages, people were so fascinated and frightened by these supernatural entities that entire books were devoted to the list of demonic creatures, the areas of life they influenced and how to protect themselves from them.

Lilith: ancient demon, black deity or sexual goddess?

Lilith, satanic angel. (CC BY-NC 2.0) Lilith is one of the oldest known female spirits in the world. Its roots come from the epic of Gilgamesh and it has also been described in the Bible and the Talmud. Lilith's name comes from the Sumerian word "lilitu", which meant a wind spirit or a female demon. From the beginning of its textual existence, it was linked to Sumerian witchcraft. In the Babylonian Talmud, Lilith was described as a dark spirit with an uncontrollable and dangerous sexuality. She would have fertilized with male sperm to create hundreds of demons. In Jewish tradition, she is a notorious demon, but in some other sources, she appears as the first woman created on Earth. According to legend, God formed Lilith in the same way as he created Adam, except that instead of pure dust, he also used dirt and residue. Lilith was also known in the culture of the Hittites, the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Israelis and the Romans. Later, she migrated to northern Europe. It represented chaos, sexuality and would have cast spells on people. Its legend is also linked to the first vampire stories .

Detail from a modern illustration of Yuki-onna. ( CC BY SA) The legend of Yuki-onna (the snow woman) comes from Japanese legends. She is part of the long list of so-called "yokai" - supernatural creatures known as monsters, demons, spirits or other mythical beings. Yuki-onna is believed to live in places with snow-capped mountains where she feeds on the energy of human life and regular food. It feeds on travelers lost in heavy snowstorms. It draws human life force from the mouths of its victims in its own, freezing them solidly. With ageless white skin that is as cold as ice herself, Yuki-onna would have incredibly deep eyes and beautiful long black or white hair. Although Yuki-onna may fall in love, marry and live among humans, she will never age and her identity will eventually be revealed, therefore most legends say that Yuki-onna chooses to stay near mountain roads and to attack travelers.

Spring Heeled Jack, the uncatchable demon of Victorian England

Spring Heeled Jack as represented by an anonymous artist. ( Public domain ) It is not certain that Spring Heeled Jack was a man or a beast. Witnesses report that he has long, pointed nails that almost looked like claws. His eyes had a crazy look at them that some said was glowing when he was about to strike. Whenever city dwellers attempted to catch him, he easily escaped, running quickly through crowded alleys, jumping over fences and disappearing into the night as if he were a ghost. The Spring Heeled Jack was first seen in 1837 and has continued for decades. In particular, he looked for young women, but the damage he caused affected all kinds of ordinary people. As the story of this creature of darkness spread, its attributes became more demonic. Reports have indicated that he has horns and a pointed goat, that he can jump over roofs and that he can breathe fire. Despite all the terror he caused, Jack did little harm other than reports of ragged clothes, hysteria and heart attacks. In the 1880s, Spring Heeled Jack was overshadowed by a much more lethal villain, Jack the Ripper. The legacy of the jumping devil lives on in popular imagination to this day, most notably in the playful little toy known as Jack-in-the-Box.

Uncovering the true identity of the Jersey Devil

Jersey Devil. (pyro-helfier / Deviant Art ) Jersey Devil’s history places it at the height of puzzling crypto-zoological mysteries. It has confused and fascinated audiences for hundreds of years. The creature is often described as a flying bipedal cryptid with hooves, but there are many conflicting opinions as to its actual appearance. The common description of eyewitnesses is that it looks like a creature resembling a kangaroo, but with the head of a horse, leathery bat wings and long bird legs, claws, hooves, a face hideous and a tail fork. Several people have even said that his body looked like an alligator. It has been reported to move quickly and has often been described as uttering a "blood-chilling cry". Eyewitnesses say he hops around like a bird. It has been called a variety of different nicknames such as flying death, kangaroo horse, flying horse, cowherd and a prehistoric lizard. From January 16 to 23, 1909, the state of New Jersey experienced a major paranormal event, it was seen in person by thousands of people, schools were closed and factories closed temporarily for fear. He is said to have lived in the Barrens of Pines in southern New Jersey and was named official demon of the state in New Jersey in 1939.

Krampus, son of Hel: Punishment of the devil and the Christmas child

Krampus, the Christmas devil. ( CC BY SA 2.0 ) The Krampus tradition is popular in countries like Germany, Austria, Hungary, Slovenia and the Czech Republic. The name derives from the German word krampen , which means claw. He has a "mutilated, disturbed face with bloodshot eyes atop a hairy black body. Giant horns wrap around his head, showing his half goat, half demon line. "(Billock, 2015) According to legend, Krampus is the son of the Norse goddess Hel, ruler of Helheim (the Nordic kingdom of the dead). Krampus is a counterpart to other Christmas demons such as the Frenchman Hans Trapp and the Dutchman Zwarte Piet (Black Peter). Along with other pagan traditions, Krampus mingled at Christmas as Christianity spread across Eastern Europe. About 1,500 years ago, Krampus became the counterpart of Saint Nicholas. On the night of December 5 to 6, Saint Nicholas walks around, leaving small gifts in the shoes and boots of children who have behaved well. Just behind, Krampus, which leaves a rod in the skin of naughty children. Krampus carries a bundle of birch sticks with which he strikes especially bad kids. The worst offenders he stuffs in a bag and drags them to his lair where they are likely to be eaten. In the 12th century, the Catholic Church began its work to eradicate this pagan devil. Christians were fairly successful in banishing the Krampus until it reappeared in a consumer crisis of the 19th century.

Incubi and Succubi: overwhelming nightmares and sex-hungry demons

The nightmare ‘(1781) by Johann Heinrich Füssli. ( Public domain) Known by many names around the world and over time, various cultures have spoken of vampire-like demons that feed on human energy and attack their victims at night. Two of the popular names in English for these entities are Incubus and Succubus (plural Incubi and Succubi) - demons who attack their victims by pressing them, often while sexually assaulting them. Incubus is the male form of the demon. The name of this demon comes from the late Latin "Incubo" which means "nightmare" which originates from the Latin word "incubare", to "lie". This description is well suited to what the Incubus does to its victims - it lies (or "crushes") them. They are said to be very difficult to remove once they have chosen a victim. These demons supposedly can change shape, so their appearance differs, although they are often said to resemble humans. It has been said that the Incubi may be particularly physically attractive to their victims. The succubus ("spiritual wife" or "lying under") is the feminine form of an Incubian demon. The accounts of these demons appear in the ancient Akkadian, Sumerian and Greek texts. The princess of demons is called Nahemah. Succubi have often been described as women of exceptional beauty, but sometimes with bats or other wings of flying animals on their backs. As with the Incubi, the Succubi attack their victims at night and would also prefer victims with a religious spirit. The Succubi are looking for sleeping men and are said to be draining their blood, breathing, vital energy and sperm - until the victim can die.

Baphomet? Was the evil demon truly worshiped by the Templars

Tarot card representing Baphomet, detail. ( wimage72 / Fotolia) The first known reference to Baphomet dates back to a letter written by a French crusader in 1098. According to the crusader, the Muslims of the Holy Land called on a certain "Baphometh" before the battle. It is commonly accepted today that this name is a corruption of Muhammad, the founder of Islam. European Christians at the time viewed Islam as the worship of Muhammad, which they viewed as idolatry. The evolution of Baphomet continued in 1307, when the powerful Templars were suppressed in France. Some of the Templars admitted to worshiping an idol, it seems that their accounts were inconsistent. For example, some claimed that the idol was the severed head of St. John the Baptist, while others claimed that it was the statue of a three-faced cat. It was not until 1854 that Baphomet became the goat-headed character we know today. It was Eliphas Levi, a French ceremonial magician, who reinvented Baphomet as a figure he called the "sabbatical goat". Levi’s Baphomet was adopted by the famous occultist, Aleister Crowley. It was Crowley who linked Baphomet to Satan and linked this icon to the idea of ​​suppressed knowledge and secret worship. Thus, in opposition to traditional Christian thought, Crowley argued that Satan was not the enemy of mankind, but his ally.

Were the worshipers of the Egyptian god following a god or a demon?

Seth (Set) Left, and Horus. (Niedlich, S / CC BY SA 2.0 ) Set (Seth) is an ancient Egyptian god depicted with the head of an unknown animal designated by Egyptologists as an "animal Set". The ancient Egyptians believed that Set was the god of chaos, the wilderness, storms and darkness. He was venerated mainly in Upper Egypt from the pre-dynastic period. Originally, he was believed to be a benevolent god who lived in the underworld and was responsible for helping the dead to reach heaven, although he was later considered to be an evil god during the conflict with Horus. The disciples of Horus triumphed over those of Set, thereby demonizing Set. Another theory suggests that Set became associated with the Hyksos invaders who conquered the Nile Delta and, by the time of the second intermediate period, Set had become regarded as a malicious deity. As the god of the desert, Set was also considered the antithesis of everything that represented life. However, it was not entirely bad, in some myths the gods used Set's force and power for good. The best known of these is Set’s role as the defender of Ra’s solar boat. Each night, as the solar boat made its journey through the Underworld, Set fought Apep, the serpent of chaos. Set is often depicted as standing on the prow of the sun boat, and spearing Apep.

The shocking demon who brings the plague and devours babies

Manananggal, mythical creature from the Philippines. ( Public domain ) Rangda embodies power - she is electrifying, dangerous and from another world. She has protruding eyes, large hanging breasts and a long red tongue hanging down her body. Her mouth is full of big teeth and curved fangs; her nails are extended to long pointed claws, and her shaggy mop of gray hair hangs down her back. Rangda's legends include his taste for eating children as well as for causing illness and plague. Although she may have been an ancient goddess, Rangda is now identified as a wicked demonic queen. However, Rangda is also considered a protective force in certain parts of Bali. In the Barong dance, part of the ritual drama that focuses on the ongoing battle between good and evil, Barong represents good and Rangda represents evil. The Barong protects the villages from the plague and malicious magic, while Rangda is the one who inflicts these plagues and these difficulties. Top image: Ancient Demons: Manananggal, mythical creature from the Philippines. ( Public domain ) Krampus, the Christmas devil. ( CC BY SA 2.0 ) Detail from a modern illustration of Yuki-onna. ( CC BY SA) Spring Heeled Jack as represented by an anonymous artist. ( Public domain ) Lilith, satanic angel. (CC BY-NC 2.0) The Jersey Devil. (pyro-helfier / Deviant Art ) Source: ANCIENTORIGINS.NET Read the full article