marrowmoth

A storyteller who finds the pulse beneath horror. Their tales knot devotion to hunger and obsession to tenderness, until even the loveliest romance might leave teeth marks.

Some love stories leave teeth marks.

A storyteller who listens to the deeply dysfunctional, disastrously awkward and spectacularly unpleasant. The wretched have stories, too.

Even the crooked things carry light.

The Velvet Vesper tells of velvet-dark romances and gorgeous disasters, of obsession and devotion with teeth. But in Willowrot, her lantern burns near the Heartcarver’s: together they tend a lively gathering of Storykeepers, and rarely let the other’s light go out.

Two lanterns, one gathering; neither light burns alone.

A teller of people and feelings that refuse to leave. Ghosts, lost loves, jealous friends and obsessive admirers linger in these stories; sometimes a haunting begins long before anyone dies.

Some hearts linger.

A teller of instincts, old oaths and bonds that feel older than choice. Their lovers, beasts and gods believe some lives are destined to entwine — though not every knot is willingly tied.

Some bonds precede the first meeting.

A teller of scandalously awkward meetings, shameless flirting, hopeless boys and disastrous timing. Their stories turn embarrassment into an art, and nobody escapes without making at least one terrible decision.

A little embarrassment goes a long way.

A storyteller of secret affections, bruised trust, messy friendships and the comfort that might follow heartbreak. Their romances can be tender and terrible at once: even the sweetest things leave an ache.

Even the sweetest things can leave an ache.

A storyteller who opens doors to impossible places: living dolls, hungry gods, haunted rooms, fae kingdoms, strange futures and the people caught between them. No two of their windows look upon the same world.

There is always another door.

Beneath the oldest roots wanders Fortuna, a Storykeeper of quiet menace and wild beauty. Their stories follow things that survive in the dark, where even the gentlest blossom may have claws.

The forest keeps what others would rather forget.

A teller who tends stories of curious creatures, wild hearts and dangerous tenderness. In their worlds, the lovely may bite, the frightening may love, and no beautiful thing is necessarily tame.

Even the gentlest garden has something hungry in it.

A storyteller of intimate secrets, dangerous correspondence and loves that leave a mark. Their tales unfold like sealed letters: beautiful from a distance, and unsettling when finally opened.

Some letters arrive long after they should have been buried.

A storyteller who returns to Coral Springs and the same beloved, disastrous circle of friends. Every prom night, first crush, quarrel and alternate beginning sounds like another verse of a familiar song.

Some songs are worth playing until the tape wears thin.

A little wanderer with pockets full of borrowed keys and a talent for finding paths no one else can see. Their stories delight in mischief, odd companionship and the wonderful trouble of following an unfamiliar trail.

Every locked door is only a question with teeth.

A teller of yearning, jealousy and the alarming thrill of being noticed. From awkward crushes to possessive admirers and prickly knights, their stories catch affection just as it begins to tighten.

To be wanted is to be caught.