The Fourth wall breaking of DEADPOOL meets JANE AUSTEN meets MAGICAL WEIRDNESS
When a mysterious new boy comes to town, seventeen-year-old odd ball, Peneloper Auttsley, must confront the secrets of her past in order to save her present.
...
Though Peneloper knows more than she ever has, it's still not that much. Consider knowledge as an ocean, vast and deep, possibly endless. If this be the case, then Peneloper's grasp of said knowledge would equate to a drop of water, not enough to cure dry mouth let alone satisfy a healthy appetite for the stuff.
But if the story offered no learning curve, our heroine's journey would prove rather dull, no? So she'll start out knowing very little and end up understanding slightly more.
Peneloper is fast asleep if you're wondering, exhausted from seeing the layers of the world as they are.
If she's asleep then, how can the story progress? Well, because it is progressing. Right now, in fact, whether you like it or not.
Look closer, focus, on Peneloper's nightstand, underneath the seashell lampshade and beside the analog clock, at her notebook. See how it jumps? Not typical notebook behavior by anyone's standards.
Watch as blue sparks shoot from its cover. See and hear the black smoke hissing from between each page.
The notebook rocks angrily, back and forth, before diving toward the ground where it lands with a thud and a screech. Anyone in the magical know would recognize that sound, for it is one of dying, defeated magic.
The notebook opens, pages flipping wildly at the prompting of invisible fingers only to stop at the last page written of Captain Stormholden's story.
Oops! Această imagine nu respectă Ghidul de Conținut. Pentru a continua publicarea, te rugăm să înlături imaginea sau să încarci o altă imagine.
• Welcome•
All manner of trick and deception were at her disposal. Captain Stormholden knew them well, and when facing off with the Scarlet Reef, the thief of Calaband, he knew how to play her game for the only outcome he sought to herald: that of his winning and of her defeat.
The red-haired woman whimpered, the rusty shackles cutting into the tender, pale flesh of her wrists. "Please, spare me."
The captain slid the dagger across her throat, not enough to slice the flesh but to assure the woman, his threat, this time, was serious. He would not make the same mistake twice; he'd learned.
Scarlet's lip trembled, the color like that of Illeadian silk and soft as petal, though it spewed only lies, no matter how sweetly they might have sounded to the captain's ears. Green eyes dazzled up at him, tears held back by thick, auburn lashes. "I just can't seem to stop stealing." Her shackles trembled, just like her voice. What sweet, pathetic lies.
The captain pressed his dagger into her neck, again, hard enough to make his intention clear, his mouth an impassive line that brokered no compromise.
Scarlet straightened, her lips pulling into a smile. "Alright," she said, nodding toward the dagger. "You're obviously not buying what I'm selling this time."
