Veridae's Bunny Mode

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick - Veridae's Bunny Mode

In today's Easter-themed episode, Veridae shows Kade how to become bun

Why is this called "Darkest Magick?" You might find out soon.

The Loyal Soldier

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #1 - The Loyal Soldier

La Lanza’s eyes narrowed, searching for an exit that didn’t exist. He slithered around in a circle, feeling absolutely dragged down by his sprawling snake body. He just wanted to sprout legs and start running away as far as possible. With tears welling up in his eyes, La Lanza clenches his one remaining fist and simulates what could only be described as a silent scream. The serpent’s jaw stretched and pulled, failing to separate anything that would allow his nonexistent vocal cords to shout terror into the jungle. La Lanza slumped to the cave floor, burying his reptilian snout into his arm.

“I can hear your thoughts easily,” Nisarga said. “You are made to follow orders, not talk back to me.”

The old war commander delivered everything as clinically as possible. Even the smallest conversations felt like orders that La Lanza had to memorize and follow.

“When you earn your right to speak, it will be at my behest. You have in your mouth the deadliest weapon in Eterna. A single drop of enhanced venosan venom will render an entire tauran dead in ten seconds.”

La Lanza wished to channel his rage somehow, yet for some reason, he could not direct it towards Nisarga. Thoughts of killing him and escaping were there, but they felt… flat, like La Lanza simply couldn’t act on them.

The Temple of Nisarga was thought to be lost over a hundred years ago. As an old venosan war criminal, Nisarga was caught by the wiccans at some point and endured something that either resulted in his death or a “transcendent” change, as was common at the time. Nobody knew… at least until now. The Temple was a giant opening in a cliffside that transitioned into a cave, a location so obvious that it dumbfounded La Lanza. Three long days of being lost. No food, no water, deadly animals and diseases. It wasn’t uncommon to hear about scientists dying in Eterna as their mortality rate wasn’t impressive, but La Lanza didn’t expect to become a statistic so quickly.

He fell down on the cave floor, the drops of water echoing around him. His energy reserves were gone. Everything had failed him. The Temple was right there. What a horrible, ironic death… then suddenly, he felt a painful bite around his neck, followed by a swift and immediate coldness throughout his body. He completely knocked out cold… then reawoke as something new… Something ancient… Something deadly…

“As for your recruitment, La Lanza, you will learn to respect and embrace it. Serving the Venosan Empire is one that is deserving of tremendous honor and respect - especially now, considering that it’s virtually gone in its current state.”

La Lanza - or whatever stupid name Nisarga issued him - specialized in the venosans upon his arrival in Eterna. It was the closest thing to a race of snake people that Eterna had, and much like the taurans, they were once in a perpetual state of war. Unlike the taurans, however, they lacked any kind of political stability nor the leadership required to take over even one country, let alone all of Eterna like they wished. Modern day venosans are a stark contrast to their former selves: they are a very quiet and sequestered species, living almost exclusively in south-eastern Volgstrad due to its warmer climate.

Despite this, venosan soldiers were well known for their viciousness and brutality, even when compared to the taurans. This was especially reflected in their venom, which would result in immediate death upon being bitten. La Lanza studied many of their strategies: there was an emphasis on stealth and swift methods of killing. Many of their stealth tactics at the time were brazen and clever in comparison to the more warrior-like approach of the rest of Volgstrad. The thought of Nisarga being a product of his time period left La Lanza in awe. A raging zealot, perhaps, but as a literal piece of living history, his mind was brilliant and precious. As a genuine living relic that could tell of a world long gone, Nisarga was now perhaps one of the most important people alive - but this information was not his to demand. The Commander would disclose this information when presented at the most optimal time, and La Lanza would respect his orders.

La Lanza had initially arrived in Eterna as a scientist, absolutely thrilled to explore such an exotic place, but now his purpose had changed. Nisarga’s words empowered him, the energies of a hundred year-old tribe surging through his formerly human body.

Nisarga, still attached to La Lanza’s body, stared into his subordinate's face. The soldier could almost feel his smile. “You are more enthusiastic than I had anticipated.”

La Lanza was confused momentarily, then it hit him. Oh, dear God. He covered his face, hiding his own shame. He could almost feel the commander’s ego swelling at the sight of his new recruit.

“It is your natural inclination to look up to your superiors, soldier. Even now, you feel a deep reverence and respect for me, and it will only continue to deepen.”

La Lanza looked away.

“Did you think your name was always La Lanza?”

La Lanza groaned silently. Of course not, but he couldn’t remember it anymore.

“That is the name given to my former protege, who fell in battle a very long time ago. I wish to dedicate it to you, but this requires the relinquishing of your old name. You will not need it anymore.”

The commander’s serpentine body swirled restlessly, tugging gently where he connected to La Lalanza. He angled his entire body downwards, creating a pointing motion with his body as he gave attention to the fallen weapon in the cave.

“Pick up your weapon, soldier. You will not throw it again.”

La Lanza’s eyes widened. A sharp certainty took over his cursed body, as if he unlocked a puzzle. Turning his head towards the spear he threw to the ground earlier, the serpent slithered patiently towards the weapon, leaning down and grabbing it with his only hand. It was firmly held and respected, but that didn’t last as long as Nisarga hoped. La Lanza trembled and fought his superior, pushing every muscle in his body to open up his fingers and drop the spear.

“How do you feel right now?”

La Lanza was denied any and all ability to be outraged by his master. There was no reaction he could conjure that could directly defy Nisarga’s will. It all went into what his master wanted - to make him into some kind of killing machine.

Yet still, this weapon… he felt… empowered by it, as if La Lanza became part of the weapon’s history, itself. Without even realizing it, the serpent took control of Nisarga in the same sense as his left arm and began swinging the spear skillfully. Nisarga, functioning as La Lanza’s left arm, grabbed the other end, controlling the weapon in perfect unison. La Lanza must’ve practiced this single stance no less than a thousand times over his life… or… or did he?

Nisarga opened his jaw, dislodging from the bottom end of the spear. His voice took on an oddly warm tone.

“That is a well-used weapon in your hands, soldier. It was honorably retired a very long time ago, but still carries the spirit of its former duty. An old weapon perhaps, but the stains of its foolish combatants are still as fresh as ever. It would feed if it still could.”

The commander shook his head. “Unfortunately, even as skilled warriors, I fear that we would not find our place in this world. I have studied your thoughts and memories - this is clearly an Eterna that has moved on. Wiccans no longer enslave people. Feyans no longer build and innovate with a furious passion. Even our fetid tauran neighbors have resigned from the art of war. I will admit, this is very disappointing. And you, La Lanza… You are not even Eternan. I do not feel like I have a place in this world.”

Whether or not some mind melding was involved, La Lanza couldn’t help but sympathize. This was, beyond all doubt, a different Eterna than when he was alive, and as a (former) human, La Lanza was even less relatable. But still… La Lanza was a researcher, and this was a valuable opportunity to learn something that virtually no one else would ever experience. He opened himself up to the old war criminal, hearing out his thoughts.

“Your body is no more than an extension of my will, soldier, but in return, you will learn everything that I know. It is the least I can do for you… and perhaps the most I can do in the world. Now stop fighting me and focus!”

More episodes of Darkest Magick coming soon. It will basically be a bunch of random stories/characters/things happening in my universe.

I'm Busy

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #2 - I'm Busy

Scientists will encounter a dazzling world of different species when touring Eterna for the first time, but no one ever forgets their first time seeing a tauran.

UPDATE: Changed the speech to Я занята since that's for the female gender.

Club Lepus

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #3 - Club Lepus

So, how does it feel, trainee? Even for our standards, I must say that you turned into a particularly busty rabbit. And gosh... those legs just go all the way up, don't they? There's a lot of people out there on the floor - do you think you can handle all those eyes on your goods? You better. It's your job.

Don't like the uniform? That's the curse, long legs: you're always in uniform. Every shirt, pair of pants or shoes you touch is gonna turn into something resembling your current look. It may lighten up after a while: the curse doesn't seem to mind dresses or short shorts or crop tops, but it's still quite limited.

Oh yeah, I'll go ahead and save you some trouble: yelling and screaming doesn't help. Running out into the streets and bothering random people doesn't do it, either. All of us here know that because we've all tried it. We've tried every possible thing you can imagine to escape. Trust me: whatever you're thinking, it won't work. Not a single one of us willingly joined, and now you're no different. See what being an ass-pinching pervert gets you? That's OK - I'm sure you'll be perfectly fine with someone doing it to you, right?

...

Alright, alright... maybe I'm being a little mean. But as your new boss, I absolutely do not tolerate any bullshit. Our waitresses deserve respect in this establishment. Hopefully, this will give you a better perspective.

We will begin your training tomorrow as we're 30 minutes til' closing. I expect you in by 7:30am. By the end of this week, I'll make a fine bunny waitress out of you.

Vixen

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #4 - Vixen

Imagine for a moment that you woke up from a dream.
And in that dream, you thought you did everything right.
You made no mistakes. You made no missteps.
The top of class. The straight-A student. The high-paying job.

In other words, the good girl.

Everyone thought that you had your shit together.
You were confident and friendly, yet always professional and dependable.
You took pride in your accomplishments.
You had it made.

Until one day... something woke up.

You didn't notice it at first, but your old self was gone.
The new you looked in the mirror, not in horror... but in admiration. You smiled.
A long vulpine body with a beautiful sandfox coat! You were a goddess.
All you needed now was a pretty red dress and nobody could look away.

You were gifted with unusual powers. You were faster. Stronger. Sleeker. Like a superhero!

In celebration, I decided to call this new persona Vixen.
Not because I was concerned about hiding my identity,
but because I felt she deserved her own distinction.
It would be no fun if it was just boring old me, right?

But that was fine. I loved Vixen, but I also loved myself... right?

After a night of fun, that boring old me eventually came home.
Because I still had a life to return to, no?
Except... when I revisited this old me... The one I thought I knew so well...
I noticed things I never saw before.

And those things... were always there. I just never realized it.

All I could fixate on were the mistakes I made. The risks I never took.
I was so worried about how I was perceived that nothing else mattered.
I never fucked up because I never tried.
Suddenly, this idealistic life I spent so long building felt... hollow. Empty.

I couldn't cry because I was too mad.

And so Vixen came back. Again and again and again.
She was everything I never got to be. The mysterious bitch. The troublemaker.
I encountered it all: freaks and thugs, organized crime, curses and spells. It's a strange city.
Vixen was a name people knew, yet rarely saw. She was a creature of the night.

She was the real me now.

The Drydena

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #5 - The Drydena

Not only is the drydena morph absolutely ancient - perhaps more so than any other - but it's easily one of the most terrifying to encounter. It has long been the source of many nightmare stories for those who even think about getting lost in the Eternan woodlands, and it still remains that way to this day. I shudder to think of the likelihood of a drydenic fruit making its way to Earth and terrorizing humans in exactly the same way it did us! Thankfully, there have been no cases reported yet, but that has yet to prevent humans from getting caught when they visit here. Only 25 in total, but still...

Anyways, it begins with a drydenic core in the soil - usually 3 meters down - and shoots out hundreds of roots that can reach up to 50 meters. A right pain in the bollocks to locate, too. After that, any living thing that passes within its radius is at extremely high risk of joining its collective. The "roots'' will disguise themselves as small trees or bushes, then pounce on their victims. From that point forward, the situation will range from salvageable to tragic.

drydena are rendered into tree-like beings, bearing the humanoid shape of their former selves. Their legs fuse together into perfectly solid stems, then their arms are either frozen out to the sides to bear the branches, or the arms shoot straight up and fuse together. Aside from the spine and neck - both of which are already extremely stiff and just spring back into a straight standing position - everything in the body is petrified solid. This is made much worse by their completely fused-shut mouths, which prevents them from yelling out for help or warning others.

After two weeks or so, the drydena will begin to bear fruit, which eventually drops to the ground and sinks into the soil, becoming more cores and thus expanding the radius even farther.

Yes, indeed, just the thought of being trapped like this is a nightmare, no? Yet for the drydena, it's a bit of a different story. It takes no more than a few hours after the transformation finishes for their minds to become relaxed. The drydenic root directly feeds on their negative emotions and stresses and transmutes it into an extremely euphoric chemical, which results in irreversible alterations to their brain structure. Affectionately titled Nymph's Kiss, the drydena becomes so viciously dependent on this chemical that cutting off access to it will quite literally result in their deaths.

Now, could it get any worse? Oh, yes... yes it can. Let me explain stage two:

After a month or so of being a drydena, they will develop the ability to grow arms and legs again, allowing them independence from their collective. However, by this point, the drydena is so hopelessly dependent on Nymph’s Kiss that nearly every thought process in their head centers around harvesting as much of it as possible. Their logic and reasoning abilities have become weakened, almost to an animal-like state where they respond to instinct first.

By this point, we now have a terrifying image: drydena will emerge from the forests, seeking out wildlife, random people and even loved ones, and begin to convert them. From there, they lead their victims back to the dryden field where they, too, become one with the collective.

I’ve been the witness of a drydenic field once before. It’s… not recommended to visit one.

Drydena were somewhat useful back in the Eternan 1800s due to the ridiculous amount of magick energy they generated, but of course, people were generally not willing. And for once, it wasn’t something the wiccans got up to! Feyans produced entire farms of drydena, which made up for their lack of magick energy, but that gradually became an unsustainable venture and they quit.

Perhaps the most deceptive thing about drydena is the fact that it’s miraculous to the body. Yes, indeed, it’s the literal forbidden fruit of Eterna! Missing limbs? Terminal illnesses? Think of the most horrible combination of ailments you can imagine and a drydena morph will probably cure it in an afternoon. But is it worth it? Ehh… There has been some research in that particular field, but you’ll never see me recommend it, especially after working with a victim once.

I once worked with a human lad named Tina who went exploring in the northern Feyanlands only to run into a field (also, it’s also worth mentioning that drydena fields are EXTREMELY rare these days and you will probably never run into one, even if you tried). But anyways, Tina had been converted for several months and this left me in a compromising position. Thankfully, due to a LOT of external help outside of my expertise, Tina recovered amazingly well from the heavier mental and physical effects and regained her life, but she is ultimately stuck as a dryad now. Due to her lack of a mouth and inability to digest food, she still must resort to turning back into her stage one form to get sufficient nutrients into her body, which is bollocks, but at least it’s only once a week and required for around six hours.

Anyways, if you’re visiting Eterna, have fun exploring the woods! There’s only a .03% you’ll ever encounter a drydenic field!

One massive lore dump courtesy of our local dark magick expert, Veridae.
Also, I changed it from mortal dryad to the drydena because I think it's a way better name.

Missionaries of the Diamond

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #6 - Missionaries of the Diamond

Surrender to me your deepest fears,
your happiest thoughts, your saddest tears.

My job is revealing what they truly mean,
But rarely is such knowledge understood or seen.

To decry the truth and run away,
Is just as human as the start of a new day.

And despite my service of singing a million rhymes,
Nothing has been done to prevent the End Times.

So stare, my dear, into the Diamond I hold,
Do not resist me - you will do as you are told.

If you value enlightenment more than overcoming your strife,
I will charge you wholesale what defines your life.

The Ceremony of Joy is the one that never ends,
The smile of a Missionary neither breaks nor bends.

Free of the pain that shapes a genuine soul,
The Missionaries dance and play with no goal.

As pure as children, yet darker than the night,
A glimpse into their eyes reveals a hollow, empty sight.

Serve the Diamond! Joy is King!
Spread the Love! Dance and Sing!

DANCE, DANCE, DANCE! DANCE AND SING!
DANCE, DANCE, DANCE! DANCE AND SING!

DANCE!

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #7 - DANCE!

The sound... It's giving me a headache...

I can feel them trying to burrow into my head...

They're... getting closer...

I... I have to do something...!

DON'T STOP THE MUSIC!

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #8 - DON'T STOP THE MUSIC!

DON'T STOP THE MUSIC!
TO DANCE IS LIKE A FIGHT!
YOU CAN SHOW YOUR EMOTION!
YOUR SECRET SIDE, ALL THE NIGHT!
DON'T STOP THE MUSIC TONIGHT!

The Diamond Theatre

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #9 - The Diamond Theatre

In the realm of the Diamond Folk,
Our only work is Play,
But to make the world a beautiful place,
We must prevent it's decay.

We sing, we dance, we laugh, we cry,
The Show relieves us from strife,
For if we do not work for the passion in our hearts,
Then what is the purpose of life?

Spectators like yourself may appreciate our work,
But it's little more than a view,
So why not step up on our stage,
And we'll show you what a Maskarella can do?

Part of the Show

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #10 - Part of the Show

Silly clown! You can't just rip off your "suit"!
We have a performance rehearsal in 20 minutes!
Quit fiddling around! Not unless you wanna use one, that is!

No Good Bitches

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #11 - No Good Bitches

Careful, boys - this one already made the mistake of threatening me.
You wouldn't want to end up like your poor helpless friend here, now would you?
Don't worry, I'm sure he'll make a good footrest some day.
Seriously, though... did you bitches have to get blood on my $500 dress?

In a typical night for Vixen, traumatizing a bunch of braindead thugs is just one of many thrills.
Realistically, the clown box curse will reverse itself in just a few hours, but there's no fun in telling them that.

Darkest Magick #12: Dancing in the Diamond Theater

C91Industries/The Darkest Magick/Darkest Magick #12_ Dancing in the Diamond Theater

Just beyond the paper-thin limits of mortal perception lies a home for the fantastic and the surreal, a plane that refuses to bend to the laws of ordinary space and time. Mystified and mischievous entities freely danced and twirled, their forms presented as little more than impressionistic blobs of chaotic energy. No reasoning could be applied, no train of thought was built to last - the Nomad’s Plane was in the service of the subconscious, the thoughts that directed us in the deepest edges of our dreams, now brought into clear, unfiltered reality.

From time to time, whether it be an intentional mission or an accidental trip through a rabbit hole, mortals will find themselves traversing this parallel realm. There has never been one single method of entering the Nomad’s Plane and there never will be. Entities may look upon them with wonder, just as the mortals look back with confusion. Strangers are often met with the friender side of the Plane - those with quite tangible forms, cohesive thoughts and familiar languages. As long as one does not stray off from the central path, the threat of imminent chaos will at least be minimized, and an unforgettable experience is highly possible. The farther one strays off the path and into the dark wilderness, the more it becomes unclear, paradoxical, surreal.

Even in the Nomad’s Plane, the Diamond Theatre never had a fixed location. Typically hidden behind walls of fog at extremely late hours of the night, a confused onlooker heading to their car may squint at the enticing, distant glow of circus lights and fun music. Dancing, winding beings of swirling color spun gracefully, smiling and laughing back at the hapless stranger as they beckoned them further inside. It wasn’t the type of thing one would expect hiding behind a gas station or in an empty parking lot that hasn’t been visited in half a decade, but that is how the story always goes. Rumors of a haunted theater often got around in the places it regularly appeared - the Nowhere, USA types of areas - and like any good rumor, there were always just enough people lacking in self-preservation to seek it out. Those who ultimately do find out come back with vague, mumbling recounts. Some were gone for weeks or months or even years. Others disappeared completely and never returned, ever again. Nobody knew why.

“More passion! More ENERGY!”

The stage director sat diligently in the front row, holding a clipboard as she shouted out to the dancer. Her rounded, oversized glasses hid most of the maskarella’s expressions, but like any of the others, her skin was ghostly white and adorned in some level of garish color. Pink lips matched her pink bobbing hair, along with the ridiculously large fedora. Amongst fellow denizens of the theater, there was no such thing as looking too ridiculous, and the boldest of the bold were the most rewarded.

“Strut those stockings, clown! Jiggle those jugs! Clack those heels!”

Despite the monochromatic cat’s experience with being nimble and unnaturally stretchy, she was genuinely shocked at how graceful she was in these stompy, high-platformed stilettos. The spins of a ballerina were pulled with zero effort, her arms flexing in and out and above her head as she flowed across the stage, then followed it up with a series of backflips. Every clack of her heels produced an obnoxious HONK that echoed through the empty theater. And despite her comically oversized breasts being in the way constantly, the skimpy suit did a good job of keeping them in place rather than haphazardly flopping in random directions or smacking her in the face.

The green aura brought Charlie’s thigh straight up to her chest, nearly parallel with her standing body. The energy was not incredibly forceful, but it was enough that she complied with its physical commands, which were clearly all extensions of the Director’s words. With a quick magick POOF, she summons a striped green clown horn, then proceeds to strategically honk at her own crotch.

HONK! HONK HONK HONK!!

A layer of sweat covered her chest, running down her torso, neck and arms. Her uniform was already glossy, but the perspiration brought a slight extra shine to her cursed nylons and her bodysuit. The plastered-on fake grin and her tired eyes nestled somewhere between uncanny and honest with her successful performance. She was learning fast.

Charlie’s ears perked up in the direction of a quiet chuckle. She glanced over at the director with some level of contempt in her eyes, but it was the kind of contempt where she knew not to do it too much or else she would face another reprimanding. The feeling of not saying how she felt and the freedom of doing as she pleased being stripped away was painful. It was suffocating. It was worse than anything she experienced as a human, and it was the entire reason she put on the Gothic Cat suit in the first place: to feel unbound and unafraid as her insecurities dropped away. Not that it mattered anymore, anyway, as the suit elements of her transformation had been long dissolved into her actual being, so to have this happen on top of it was likely confirmation that she’d probably never see her former male Charlie Cat body, ever again, let alone the human body that predated it.

Or maybe she was overthinking it.

The permanent piano-like grin etched across her face never faltered nor fell down - it was a sickening, plastic smile that betrayed every conviction in her soul, and it kept her completely dead silent except for the perpetual jingles and honks of her maskarella uniform. Maskarellas did not wear masks or uniforms to hide their real feelings. She approached the Director.

“Very decent performance, clown. You did well.”

Charlie bowed slightly.

“We’re certainly teaching this naughty troublemaking cat a lesson, now aren’t we?”

Charlie grimaced through her frozen grin, daring to furrow her brows at the Director.

“A silly stretchy kitty terrorizing an innocent city with his own version of righteousness? That is deserving of some rehabilitation, don’t you think? Perhaps giving back to those you disturbed - even for a little while - might humble you?”

Is everything a rhetorical question with you? The more questions she was given, the more her frustration grew. Who the hell did I disturb, bitch? I was HELPING people.

Her voice was middle-aged and experienced - the cat assumed she was some type of teacher in a past life.

“You can dwell on how wrong things are, clown, or you can accept what has become of your fate. We could let this go on for a week - or we could keep you forever. It hardly matters to me. The important thing is I believe you see others as being the enemy to your visions, and until you see otherwise, it’s the safest to keep you here and train you into a proper, respectable maskarella. I promise you will find no dull moments here in the Diamond Theatre.”

Charlie’s fists tensed up and clenched, only for her to release her tension. Her shoulders hung and her head tipped down. The ceiling lights in the enormous auditorium illuminated her silken legs perfectly, and she didn’t bother to look away or get distracted. Of all the stupid ways to drag someone into a curse, this is what the maskarellas chose to do with him? Or rather… her. She ran a gloved hand down her thigh, pinching at the stockings as she watched the material snap back to her thigh. It’s easy to forget how much the thigh high heels simply covered so much of her legs versus how much they were now exposed. Charlie Clown expected to stop thinking about them after a few days, but her legs were such a prominent part of her outfit that it was basically impossible. They absolutely were gorgeous to look at and fit the theme of being a world-class performer. It’s not like she didn’t have experience with such a thing given how her former Gothic Cat suit functioned, but this was recontextualized into something designed to shame her… Or at least in her mind, it did. Charlie’s enjoyment of crossdressing and embracing the forbidden freedoms of the opposite gender were really put on display now that she was actually forced to become female. What felt like instruments of kink fulfillment were now just daily, ordinary things she had to wear for work, and her brain had to learn to adjust. This was all on top of being transformed into an ethereal being that did not function like a mortal creature. In a sense, the curse binding her to this maskarella form revolved exclusively around crossdressing.

It also didn’t help that the size of her breasts were a constant distraction, which was categorically the worst part of the curse. She lived in fear of the Director saying “make them bigger” again in response to any kind of insult or disobedience, and they only shrunk back to a manageable size if she was on good behavior, so that’s what she did. Any amount of squeezing or slapping of her breasts would produce a cartoon-style HONK that would immediately result in everyone present to begin laughing, or at the very least, ask some pertinent questions, so she was very careful where she placed her hands while doing literally anything. In some way, it helped that people were far more drawn to the breasts and her swirling eyes than the actual cause of the curse, so she counted her blessings.

The Director tapped the clipboard. “Are we ready for our next act? Remember: how you look in rehearsal is how you will look in a live show. The attitude and confidence you bring to me is what shall be brought to your loving audience. Understood?”

Charlie Clown nodded.

“Good. Let’s begin our next routine.”

In a shocking turn of events, I have decided to resurrect my Darkest Magick series from the dead for CLOWN WEEK! A fun time to write about maskarellas, as well as the mystifying Nomad's Plane and the Diamond Theater.

I have also decided that a familiar troublemaking rubbery cat has finally been caught and punished for the chaos he caused! And in classic maskarella fashion, it's something of an ironic punishment. How long will he stay this way? Who knows? He - or rather, she - better get used to clowning around!