Their Tongues Battled For Dominance

by edgesalad

Summary:

Annie is a bookstore owner by day and ghost writer by night. Mikasa is a tiktoker who posts makeup tutorials and book reviews. Everything was fine until Mikasa starts reviewing Annie’s works. How does Annie respond? Simple, become a booktoker herself and praise her own work. It’s not like anyone will figure out her identity because she’s a ghost writer, right? Right?

Notes:

Slowly trying to get back to writing and this was the result. I have outlined the next few chapters but I'm not entirely sure about this one.

Also, I'm not a ghostwriter or anything like that so everything is purely fictional (my research skills suck ass, im sorry)

Chapter 1

“Greetings, fellow creatures of the night. Madame Melancholia here to guide you through the mysteries of the dark and the beauty hidden within the shadows. Thank you for joining me in this journey of mine.”

The room was shrouded in darkness save for the light emanating from beneath the thick quilt draped over the bed. Underneath the covers, in a makeshift cocoon, fingers were curled tightly around the 5.5” source of light that contained Madame’s face and her surroundings.

“The trip to the apothecary’s was bountiful,” the screen cut from Madame’s face to a table filled to the brim with bottles filled with a sort of red liquid, thin black cases with cursive font, kabuki brushes, and fat curved tubes. “Luxe Lash Beauty was kind enough to send me a care package and so, I’d like to dedicate today’s video to them. If my followers see fit, I would like for them to give their page a visit and unlock their hidden beauty.”

Well, then it’s not really a visit. It’s just a sponsored post. And it’s not even an apothecary, it’s your typical drop shipping scam disguised as a makeup business. Guess Madame must be okay with gifting her followers lead poisoning. And what is up with that voice? If Annie didn’t know any better, Madame was a phone sex operator in another life.

“The foundation is a bit too pale, even for my liking ,” Madame remarked, blending the product into her skin with a kabuki brush. “But it does offer a good base for the darker tones we love. ”

Of course it’s too pale. Everything about her look is exaggerated. But damn, she knows how to use that brush. Annie’s eyes hung onto every word that came out of that puckered mouth, her fascination growing with each precise stroke of makeup. Madame’s hands were as sharp as ever, each one delivered with a careful elegance. The dark lipstick, the heavy eyeliner, and the rich, shadowy hues being applied were mesmerizing, transforming Madame’s face into a masterpiece of gothic beauty.

Why does she keep acting like she's the queen of darkness? It's so cliché. Yet, she does it so well, with her long, flowing black dress adorned with intricate lace patterns, bell sleeves that flared dramatically at the wrists, and a high collar that added an air of mystery. Around her neck hung a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon, catching the light as she moved. The ensemble was completed with a wide-brimmed black hat, tilted just so, casting a shadow over her heavily made-up eyes.

Annie would have continued her ogling staring noticing if Madame hadn't said the next words.

“The plot of this book ,” Madame said, shifting seamlessly between makeup bottles, “is as shallow as this eyeliner’s pigmentation. Disappointing, to say the least.” The scene shifted to a book cover of The Oracle’s Prophecy . Annie was more than familiar with that book. It was Yelena’s debut novel into the young adult/fantasy genre, plastered all over social media with its stereotypical cover: a mysterious hooded figure standing against a stormy backdrop, glowing runes swirling in the air, and a mythical beast shadowed in the background. 

It quickly became a YA favorite, capturing the hearts of millions of teens whose attention spans were already fried to oblivion thanks to digital crack cocaine cartels, otherwise known as social media. The Oracle’s Prophecy became a trending topic on platforms like TikTok and Twitter, with readers eagerly sharing their favorite quotes and fan art. It topped Paradis Times bestseller charts within weeks, spawned over 2,500 fanfics shipping the titular protagonists, Helena Ravenswood and Chad Hunter, and became the talk of whatever morning show old people liked to tune into. 

This success was good enough for Yelena that she extended Annie’s contract with her, and thus, a trilogy series was born, cementing Yelena’s status as YA royalty enough that Annie was commissioned to write more books to uphold her status. Tasked with bringing Yelena’s vision (or lack thereof, let’s be honest) to life, Annie found herself buried in manuscripts, story outlines, and world buildings, painstakingly yet quietly pouring her creativity and talent under Yelena’s name.

Not that Annie minded. She liked her place in the shadows, her name unknown, as Yelena basked in the spotlight. While the power of the internet has provided society with an almost encyclopedic knowledge of whatever topic that interested them, it’s also emboldened a certain subsection of them (a large portion, Annie estimates) to act like complete assholes behind the veil of anonymity.

It’s not like Annie can’t handle criticism but there is a marked difference between someone bringing up plot inconsistencies and continuity errors versus someone leaving a “I can’t believe people actually read this shit.” or “prime example why females should stick to romance.” So Annie was content to write underneath the rock she’s gotten comfortable under.

Until Madame Melancholia entered the picture.

At first glance, Madame likes to project an image of some kind of budding makeup artist slash gothic queen of the night. Her long, black hair flows like a midnight river, perfectly styled to frame her heart-shaped face, which somehow manages to glow with an otherworldly luminescence even in the dark. Her pale skin seems to continuously shimmer with an almost supernatural radiance. Her grey eyes, plucked from a stormy sky, are set off by ruby red lips that Madame liked to smack together when deep in thought.

Annie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the theatrics of it all. It was a classic case of “look at me, I’m so filled with angst! I’m so unique! ” a facade so stupidly crafted it almost seemed too good to be true. Someone needs to tell Madame that look expired in the early 2000s

The worst part was that her followers gobbled it up.

tatakae69: Yaaaassss, secure the bag sis

99revolver_colt: You know it’s a good day when Madame reacts to Yelena’s works.

madame.ms.bigfan761: That lip colour is everything😘 Would be better if I was putting it on you 💋💄 With my mouth 🫦🫦

leviackerman1: @madame.ms.bigfan761 Nice, now go say that to your family. Do they know what you're doing online?

lara_ty11: Thank god someone finally said it. The oracle series reads too much like some teenager’s poorly written self-insert fanfic but instead of being kidnapped by 1D it’s about Yelena’s male best friend

historias_secret: mother is mothering

onyan.undercover: and chad hunter is written as ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ when we know he’s just some white man.

kingstallion0407: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

bitesofbraus: SLAY MADAME SLAY

heyitsminaaaa: Are they even together in real life?? Or is just Yelena being weird?

tatakae69: @heyitsminaaaa they're both fukn weirdos if you ask me

armin_in_action: Don’t forget the incest part.

toothp1eck85 : @armin_in_action 🤨I must have missed the incest part because I do NOT remember reading that

marcelgallop : @toothp1eck85 it’s part of the love triangle between Chad, Helena, and Freya. Freya comes from the Rissa family that exiled one side of their family for treason over 50 years ago. That family branch became known as the Hunter family. So in a way, they are kinda related…

springer_nanigans : @marcelgallop wow way to spoil the book

brzzzrico: 😍😍😍😍 come to Brasil kkkk

fuuelner___: I never thuoght that investing with @coachzekeyeagerfx could earn me 50000 per day!!!! FOLLOW for more --> @coachzekeyeagerfx

What irked Annie the most was that Oracle had been on the market for close to seven years now, yet, Madame acted as if it were still the freshest, most relevant thing to discuss. Despite the multitude of other books dominating the YA landscape, despite the millions of reviews from brain dead half-wits (Yelena’s words) ridiculing Oracle , and despite the presence of other reputable mediums where readers can share their insights in a respectful and constructive manner, Madame decided to air out her thoughts via the soul-sucking dopamine-overdosing tar pit known as Tiktok.

It was simple psychology really. Whenever something gets popular, people are bound to hate it for the flimsiest of reasons. Case in point: boy bands, anime, frozen yoghurt, veganism, boy bands again or anything that teen girls like, and now you have the Oracle series by Yelena.

Madame had over 50k followers so it was a sad state of affairs to watch someone as respectable and with as much influence as Madame zero in on Oracle as a ploy to maintain relevance and spark engagement. It was almost as if Madame were deliberately clinging to the past, milking its residual popularity for every last drop of attention, trying to maintain her gothic image and brand while resting on the laurels of Annie’s works. 

Maybe Annie should be honoured.

Madame flipped to a dog-eared page and read aloud, her voice dripping with disdain, “ 'Helena's heart raced like a thousand galloping horses as she stood at the edge of the enchanted forest.' Honestly, could this metaphor be any more trite? ”

Annie clenched her teeth. Sure, it wasn’t the most original line, but it conveyed Helena’s anxiety well enough. Yelena chose that line because she felt that it would match the fantasy setting. Why was Madame so fixated on tearing down something so benign? 

“And then there's this gem: 'Chad's eyes were the color of the deepest ocean, filled with secrets and unspoken promises.' I mean, really? Could Chad be any more of a walking cliché? ”

Chad's character, while not groundbreaking, had layers that Madame seemed willfully ignorant of. It was infuriating how she reduced everything to surface-level observations, ignoring the nuances that made the story resonate with so many readers. And if Chad being a tall blonde blue-eyed dreamboat was what made readers into him then what’s the problem? And so what if Yelena’s male best friend was also, coincidentally, tall blonde and blue-eyed? Annie was two of those things as well but she sure as hell wasn’t a walking cliche.

“ 'The prophecy hung over them like a dark cloud, a constant reminder of their intertwined fates.' My, such heavy-handed symbolism,” Madame sneered. “It’s like the author didn’t trust her readers to grasp anything subtle.”

Annie rolled her eyes. The prophecy was central to the story, a driving force for the characters’ actions and development. It wasn’t meant to be subtle—it was meant to loom, to be a tangible threat that shaped their world.

“And, of course, the infamous: 'She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.' ” She gave a dramatic pause, then snorted. “How can you not even not know when you are breathing? I bet I’ll see something like ‘Their tongues battled for dominance.’ in the next few pages.”

Oh c’mon! It’s not like Annie wanted to write any of those lines but when you’re a ghostwriter, you’re at the mercy of your client’s whims. She remembered Yelena’s instructions of producing a novel that’s “relatable” and “dramatic” enough for the masses to fall over their chairs and fork out their wallets.

“These overused lines are just a testament to lazy writing. It’s as if the author thinks readers can’t handle anything original.”

Lazy writing? Annie clenched her fists under the blanket. If only Madame knew the countless hours spent crafting and refining, all while balancing the fine line between art and the client’s vision. But no, that side of the industry was invisible to critics like Madame, who thrived on tearing down rather than building up.

“And let’s not forget the love triangle—because, of course, no young adult fantasy is complete without one. Helena Ravenswood finds herself vying for the affections of Chad Hunter against Freya Rissa, Chad’s close confidante – and sort of cousin. It’s like the author threw in every trope just to see what would stick.”

Annie bit her lip. The love triangle had been Yelena's idea, a plot device meant to draw in the widest possible audience. It was formulaic, sure, but it worked. Readers loved the drama, the tension, the emotional stakes. Madame’s disdain for these elements felt like a personal attack, a dismissal of everything Annie had worked so hard to bring to life

The sheer devotion and lack of critical thinking in these responses made her wonder how anyone could see through the façade. Yet Madame’s carefully crafted image was working overtime to ensnare admiration and loyalty from those unsuspecting fools she calls followers. Whatever. Madame and all her devout followers can insult Oracle all they want while Annie will be wiping her non-existent tears with her royalties.

“ ‘He grunted. He spat. He roared. He rumbled. He growled.’ Jesus, somebody get Chad a glass of water so he can speak properly. And of course, this guy smells like wood.”

---

The smell of paper and ink filled the air, a comforting, familiar scent that settled her nerves. Here, in the hushed, reverent atmosphere, the tension from Madame's critique began to dissipate. The feeling of the textured covers and embossed titles, the soft rustle of pages turning, the scent of freshly printed books and brewed coffee, the creak of the floorboards under her feet—all these sensations wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. Back when Annie was still an angsty emotional wreck trapped in a middle schooler’s body, back when the ridiculous hours she put in at her father’s gym couldn’t quell her rapidly evolving hormones, it was Liberio Books with its quiet cubby corners, towering floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with forgotten paperbacks and dusty hardcovers, and multicoloured book spines branching around her head like rainforest vines that she could grab onto and be lifted from the stressors from her life.

This was her sanctuary, a place where stories were respected, where writers poured their hearts and souls into their work without fear of mockery. Here, she could find inspiration and peace, a reminder of why she loved writing in the first place. Like all brick and mortar stores, Liberio Books was under threat of shutting down but Annie’s reputation and persistence as a loyal customer and voracious bookworm paid off when the elderly owner offered her the proverbial key to the store. Was he being robbed of a tasteful retirement when he had the chance to sell his space to corporate giants instead of a random girl who liked to read? Perhaps. But if there was anything Annie could do aside from books, it was a challenge.

“Ey Annie! What’s the count on the new arrivals?”

Of course, she couldn’t take all the credit. In the age of online shopping and digital downloads, Liberio Books had fallen behind and relied on the typical trickle of loyal customers and the occasional walk-ins to keep its doors open. The store’s charming but outdated setup—handwritten price tags, a clunky old register, and dusty displays—didn’t exactly draw the modern crowd. Annie focused on creating a space where the charm of physical books could coexist with the conveniences of the digital world, hoping to draw in a new generation of readers without alienating the old. Enter Hitch.

If there was anyone who could bring the store up to the 21st century, it was Hitch. If Annie had to describe Hitch it would be chronically online. Hitch existed in a world where memes and rap lyrics were a second language, trends were tracked with a sixth sense, and possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of even the most obscure Twitter threads but were still relevant in the online world. While Annie still preferred the smell of ink and paper to the glow of a screen, she couldn’t deny that Hitch’s influence was exactly what the store needed. And she did not disappoint. She introduced a swanky new website for online orders, started a newsletter for local book lovers, and even dipped her toes into social media—though their online presence remained minimal at best, much to Hitch’s dismay.

The two of them functioned like oil and water. Where Annie was methodical, reserved, and fiercely protective, Hitch was loud, blasé, and flashy. So flashy that it was a miracle that Annie wasn’t burnt to a crisp by Hitch relentlessly steamrolling her five senses about internet lore. 

Yet, somehow, they balanced each other out.

“We’ve got about twenty new titles this week. I just finished cataloguing them,” Annie turned to the voice concealed behind a stuffed book cart. “Anything caught your eye lately?”

Hitch emerged from behind the book cart, a knowing smile on her face. “A lot of things have caught my eye but in this day and age, someone else has already pre-ordered it. Makes me wish for the good old days where you had people camping out of stores before launch days. At least us workers could get first dibs on the merch.”

Annie nodded, palming a small stack of books. “Yeah, there’s a new fantasy series that looks promising, and a couple of thrillers that might be worth checking out. I’m curious about this one,” she said, holding up a book with a cloudy blue cover and a giant eye in the middle.

“Nice. I’ll make sure they get prime spots on the shelves. We want to make sure everyone knows what’s new.” Hitch took the books from her, glancing at the titles before abruptly pulling back. “Oh! I forgot to tell you but even after we trashed all our copies of Willy and the Warhammer, I caught a couple of them stuffed in between the comic book section.”

Annie is incredulous. “Don’t tell me that guy is still up our ass after everything that happened?”

Another side-effect of the internet is the explosion of AI. In theory, AI could revolutionize fields like medicine and engineering by streamlining the countless mundane tasks under them, but much like the internet, AI has birthed a different kind of monster. A monster that cut corners, fast-forwarded the creative process, produced shortcuts, and diluted the essence of what it means to create. If Annie wanted to hide away from the internet minefield of clickbait headlines, thirst traps, goofy viral trends, and predatory YouTubers, she needed to hole down in her bunker just to avoid the insanity that was AI generated art.

That is if you can even call those twelve-fingered, neon-coloured, bug-eyed effigies art.

But these days, people prioritize quantity over quality. Case in point: Wilhelm Tybur. Sorry, Willy Tybur. Willy was just another snake oil charlatan who capitalized on the AI boom to ‘write’ and ‘illustrate’ his own children’s book about a boy (also named Willy, how non-narcissistic of him) and his magical hammer saving the world. The book was packaged as a “fusion of technology and storytelling” and a “bold new step into the future of literature” instead of the jejune cash grab it really was with its flat generic run-on sentences and barely cobbled together clippy drawings, no doubt stolen from actual artists. Luckily, Annie’s hope for humanity was pleasantly restored when Willy’s book faced the backlash it rightfully deserved. Critics slammed it for lacking any real moral or educational value, questioning how something so hollow could even be marketed as a children’s book. Parents complained that their children quickly lost interest in the story. Artists raised the alarm of their works being stolen and fed into algorithms to spawn these monstrosities.

Willy, of course, tried to spin the criticism as “jealousy” and “resistance to innovation, which only worsened the backlash. Sales plummeted as word spread, and soon enough, Willy’s so-called masterpiece was removed from online retailers—unlike his head, which could not be removed from his ass because Willy had taken to harassing smaller independent bookstores, attempting to strong-arm them into stocking his unsold inventory. He showed up unannounced, his overinflated ego in tow, insisting that his book was a “modern classic” that deserved a place on their shelves. Hitch had already chased him off with a stick but much like his ilk, he didn’t take no for an answer and would sneak in and hide his contraband in between the shelves.

“Doesn’t he have a job or something? He’s getting so ridiculous now that it’s sad.”

“Nope,” Hitch replied, drawing out the ‘p’ with a pop. “The Tyburs are billionaires so he doesn’t have to work like us plebs.”

“Just what we need. More rich assholes.” Annie rolls her eyes. “This guy has a wife and five kids. Five! Instead of churning out shitty books, he needs to spend time with them.”

“You’re acting as if he’s doing the actual parenting. He likely has an army of nannies and maids to do it for him.”

“But still!”

“Hey, if I had that kind of money, I’d also be doing useless shit like he does.”

“But you don’t have a wife and kids do you?”

“Don’t remind me,” Hitch said, pretending to whack Annie’s head with a book. “In the event that I do die alone, is our marriage pact still on?”

Annie snorted. “Marrying you right before you die means I get the tax benefits of marriage while also not spending the rest of my life being annoyed by you. Sounds like a dream.”

“Aw Annie, you wound me!” Hitch dramatically clutches her heart in faux pain. “How could you say that to your best friend?”

Annie snorted, rolling her eyes as she returned to her task. “Don’t overdo it. I’ve got enough melodrama to last a lifetime.”

“What did Yelena do this time?”

“How’d you know it was Yelena?”

Hitch chuckled, straightening up and adjusting the book cart. “ ’Cause we’ve been best friends since the dawn of time so I know you better than anyone else. In fact, I even have a dictionary of Annie faces that correspond to specific moods and reactions. It’s an ongoing project.”

“A dictionary of Annie faces?”

Hitch grinned mischievously. “I’ve been cataloguing your reactions and what they mean for years. Like that one you just gave me when I mentioned Yelena’s name—that’s the ‘I’m trying to pretend this is no big deal but really, it’s kind of a big deal’ face. Oh, you just changed your face right now to the ‘Why do I even bother?’ face. Perfect for moments when you’re questioning your life choices, especially involving me.”

“I think you’re giving yourself way too much credit. This is how I normally look.”

“Maybe,” Hitch conceded with a shrug, “but that’s what makes me so fun to be around.”

“Again, giving yourself too much credit.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” Annie sighed, setting aside the book she had been holding. For all her flaws, Hitch was the only person Annie could confide in about her life. She was the one who respected Annie’s dream of running Liberio Books when everyone else dismissed it as a silly fantasy. Hitch supported Annie’s choice to work as a ghostwriter, without the fanfare of being a public author. In fact, Hitch even proofread Annie’s work from time to time.

“I just started on Oracle’s fourth novel,” Annie said.

“Yelena knows a trilogy is only supposed to have three books, right?”

“Indeed. She’s taking a page from Hollywood, where they pull the same stunt with their movie franchises.”

“Oh god, I hate that! Why does the ‘last’ movie always have two parts? It’s not really the last one if you split it up! And it could’ve been one movie if they didn’t stretch the plot out for no reason. It’s like they’re purposely trying to milk more money from us common folk.”

“You’ve just summarized Yelena’s entire thought process behind this fourth book.”

“What’s it about?”

“Chad’s backstory. It’s called Underneath the Heavy Secrets —”

“Of course Yelena would pick a title like that,” Hitch cackled. “Honestly, I thought ghostwriting meant the actual writer did most of the work because, ya know, they’re good at writing. But Yelena’s making your job harder on purpose. It’s a total insult to your skills.”

“About that…” Annie pursed her lips, debating whether or not she should say the next words that came to mind. “She wants me to meet up with her and a ‘friend’ to go over Chad’s backstory. For research purposes.”

“Is this friend of hers a tall blonde guy by any chance? Starts with ‘Zeke’ and ends with ‘Yeager’? Best buds with Willy Tybur?”

Annie blinked, surprised. “Zeke and Willy are friends?” Yelena had never mentioned it. Neither had Willy.

“Oh yeah. Both of them are rich, and rich people love to congregate for all kinds of reasons—whether it’s arranging marriages to strengthen alliances or funneling money through fake charities for tax evasion.”

“I think you’ve been watching too much Bridgerton.”

“Bridgerton doesn’t have any of that! You would know if you actually watch the show like I’ve been telling you too.”

“I’ll pass,” Annie said before realizing something. “Wait, if Zeke and Willy are that close, does that mean he’s going to spend half the time shilling Willy’s book instead of discussing Chad’s backstory?”

Hitch laughed. “Oh shit, I didn’t even think of that! So now you’ll have to deal with Yelena’s ridiculous ideas and Zeke’s drivel about his friend’s ‘literary masterpiece’ ”

“Fantastic.” Annie groaned, her shoulders slumping.

“When you think about it, this whole thing is kinda ironic. ” Hitch leaned forward, a smirk playing on her lips. “On one side, you’ve got Yelena hiring you, a human, to write her book, and on the other side, Willy’s using AI to write his.”

“Yeah, about that…” Annie trailed off.

Hitch raised an eyebrow. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re thinking of bailing on Yelena?”

“I don’t know,” Annie said, turning away from her friend’s confused expression. Moments like these reminded her how much Hitch was a true friend, but that didn’t make the conversation any easier. “I’ve always had this problem. Things can be going well, but all it takes is something small—something so minor that it shouldn’t even matter—and my brain latches onto it as a reason to mess things up or just walk away. Writing is my passion, and I actually get paid to do it. How many people can say that? But here I am, feeling like an ungrateful shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling the way you do,” Hitch said gently. “You can still do what you love and complain about it. That doesn’t make you ungrateful—it makes you human.”

Annie huffed a quiet laugh. “But sometimes it feels like I’m just sabotaging myself. Like, I should be happy, right? Instead I find these tiny flaws, these cracks, and I blow them up into reasons to quit. It’s like I’m looking for a way out, even when I don’t want one.”

“It’s ‘cause you have high standards, Annie. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it pushes you to be better at everything you do and it shows in your work. That's why Liberio Books is running so smoothly—because of you. That’s why Yelena chose you. She can see the love and effort you put in your work, which is why she comes scurrying back to you.”

Annie couldn’t help but sneer at that last sentence.

“Okay, fine! Maybe she doesn’t really think that way,” Hitch threw her hands up in mock defeat, her smirk returning back. “But I do! And that’s worth more than whatever Yelena tosses at you and whatever those reviews say!”

Annie’s defences immediately shot up at Hitch’s last words. Her thoughts drifted back to that duplicitous gothic wannabe queen bee and her legions of followers salivating at her every move. Madame’s voice, husky and excruciating, dripped with disdain as a long, manicured finger traced the Oracle’s pages. Her eyes, a hypnotizing mosaic of blue and silver, glowed and drew in her viewers, under the shadow of her flowing lustrous black hair draping her body in velvet and lace.

All of it echoed in her mind, still grating on her nerves.

Annie would sooner stock her shelves with Willy’s book than let someone like Madame get to her.

Chapter 2

Notes:

I'm feeling strangely good about this chapter even tho it took me 346847764 edits and rewrites to get to where it is now.

“Greetings, fellow creatures of the…” Madame meaningfully pauses, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Daylight.”

“Forgive my impertinence,” she continued, her tone dubious, “as you have just witnessed, Madame has strayed from her usual introduction. But desperate times call, my loves, call for desperate measures.” Her voice grew sharper, almost shrill. “For my hand has been forced by none other than the news of Yelena’s latest literary crime against humanity!”

She gave a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her heart. “Yes, my darlings, you heard that correctly. Our beloved author, Yelena, has bestowed upon us the grand announcement of yet another groundbreaking contribution to the young adult fantasy genre—a fourth installment in the Oracle series. ” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “A continuation that absolutely no one saw coming... I’m sure.”

Madame picked up a copy of the first book, holding it delicately between her fingers, as if it might detonate at any moment. "For those of you unfamiliar with Yelena's magnum opus, let me summarize: it's a magical world where all the characters are as deep as Luxe Lash Beauty’s eyeliner I just applied—surface-level and prone to smudging at the slightest critique."

She placed the book down with a heavy sigh, her cupid lips curving into a smirk. "But now, a fourth book? Centred around the elusive male character? Truly, what else could possibly be left to say? I’m sure we are positively dying to know what groundbreaking revelations this new book will bring to the series. Will Helena Ravenswood continue her journey of dramatic sighs and confused stares? Will Chad Hunter still brood in a corner like the handsome yet emotionally unavailable thumb he is? Or maybe Helena has finally discovered a new emotion besides desperation and longing?"

Madame let out a fake gasp, bringing a hand to her chest. "Oh wait, I’ve got it! Perhaps the prophecy itself will be revealed to have been a poorly disguised metaphor for... I don’t know, the inevitable decline of quality in young adult fiction?"

Madame clasped her hands together, her eyes and tone suddenly shifting to feigned excitement. "I, for one, cannot wait to see how Yelena manages to stretch the already paper-thin plotline into yet another riveting 400 pages of angst-ridden dialogue and overly descriptive scenery that has no relevance the situation or useless plotlines that will vanish as quick as they pop up. Will the love triangle finally be resolved? Will the characters finally grow a third dimension? Will the prose be anything less than a thesaurus’s worst nightmare? We can only hope. The possibilities are... as endless as my patience for bad writing."

She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But let’s not fool ourselves. This announcement is nothing more than a sad pathetic attempt to squeeze every last drop of relevance from a series that should have stayed in its grave. But alas, like a certain medical tv drama, Yelena just can’t let it rest.”

Madame’s smirk widened. "So, my fellow creatures of the night, grab your black lace bookmarks and prepare yourselves for the inevitable wave of overhyped mediocrity that will soon be descending upon us, led by the self-proclaimed queen of YA fantasy herself. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, this one will finally be the book that breaks the curse." She winked at the camera, her mascara-enhanced lashes fluttering with a practiced charm. "But I wouldn’t hold your breath."

“I, for one, will be watching closely with a bottle of wine and all the disdain this series deserves. After all, we must endure these trials together, mustn't we?” She gave a final, knowing smirk to the camera. “Stay tuned, my fellow creatures. I’m sure we’re in for quite the... ride.”

onyan.undercover: not madame insulting her own sponsors 💀💀💀

mzfreckles: Yelena rlly said “If it’s broke, keep breaking it.”

historias_secret: “literary crime against humanity” is a whole mood

madame.ms.bigfan761: SIT ON MY FACE

leviackerman1: @madame.ms.bigfan761SIT ON YOU DAMN FACE!! MADAME IS BUSY!

reinervlogs: It’s giving cash grab but go off Yelena! Give us nothing 💅

reinervlogs: Where's the preorder link tho 👀

tatakae69: QUEEN, I LIVE for your reviews

witwaves22: Madame really went “daylight,” and we all felt the betrayal. Iconique.

bertotheburrito: Just when I thought the waters were clear, Yelena hits us with this. WHY

toothp1eck85: Who even ASKED for more Oracle?? Wasn’t the trilogy bad enough on its own??

springer_nanigans: The only thing more predictable than Yelena’s plot twists is the fact that there’s ANOTHER book in this series 😩

real.marco.hamill: Somebody take Yelena’s writing privileges away 🙄

kingstallion0407: Can’t wait for Madame to roast this dumpster fire of a plot when it drops🔥I live for the shade

yeagerist0115___: I lost everything last year, but after working with Coach Zeke’s crypto strategies, I’m now living the dream! 💸💰 DM him to change your life too!! @coachzekeyeagerfx #blessed #cryptoqueen #successstory

 

---

 

How dare she?

How fucking dare she?

How dare Madame act like her opinion is the end-all when she’s just a part of the problem? Contributing to the endless cycle of negativity in the bottomless pit that makes up the internet?

What does she even know about real writing? About pouring heart and soul into something only to have it ridiculed by brain-dead halfwits who lack even a fraction of the skill and creativity you bring to the table, yet are emboldened by the anonymity provided by the internet to spew stupid bullshit?

It was clear as fucking day to anyone with a shred of brain matter and functioning neurons that Madame could slather herself in all the lead-filled makeup she wanted, drape herself in the richest child-labour-produced witch gowns, and anoint herself in cheap, tacky plastic jewelry all day long, but she was no different than any other basement-dwelling troll. The kind who sat behind a screen in their dingy, unventilated rooms, surrounded by crusty Doritos packets and empty energy drink cans, convinced that their smug superiority and half-baked critiques made them special. The ones who rotted away in their dark corners, churning out snide, uninspired comments, thinking they were the gatekeepers of taste and intelligence when all they did was ooze self-importance and bad hygiene. Madame was just another version of them–dolled up in gothic pretension, feeding her mindless horde the same tired cynicism repackaged under makeup tutorials, all while pretending she was better than the rest.

None of them would last a day doing what they claimed to hate. Madame especially wouldn’t last a single damn minute in Annie’s shoes. Those long, slim, manicured fingers of hers wouldn’t survive the ache from typing for hours on end. Her silver, storm-swirling eyes would crumble under the constant glare of a computer screen. And her tiny brain, bloated by ego and her legion of followers, wouldn’t withstand the weight of deadlines—the crushing pressure to deliver something that could meet Yelena’s absurd expectations, knowing full well Yelena would slap her own name on it and take all the credit. And then, to add insult to injury, to have it all torn apart. Not by someone who understands the craft but by some self-proclaimed messiah with a camera and a rabid cult following.

She could see it now. Madame lounging on her overstuffed, throne-like chair in her dim, candle-lit lair, surrounded by her pretentious little shrines. There she would be, preening and winking, those spider-leg lashes fluttering in front of the camera like a beady-eyed arachnid luring her prey with a web of shitty critiques, garish and grotesque with no substance. Acting like the queen of the damned while failing to string together a coherent sentence if her short, pampered life depended on it. Annie bet her classical knowledge came entirely from reading Death of a Salesman once in high school and thinking she’d achieved some kind of intellectual enlightenment.

Annie would have continued her murderous reverie had it not been for the soft and squishy object colliding with her face.

“What the hell?” The sensation was oddly gentle, and for a moment, Annie was disoriented. The fiery haze in her mind cleared just enough for her to process what had happened. Oh right, she was in the backroom of the store, packing orders when the object had smacked her in the face and landed right in the middle of the box she was filling.

“That’s a stress ball!” Hitch’s voice called out from the doorway.

“Gotcha,” Annie replied back, picking up the stress ball and giving it a thoughtful squeeze. “Mind explaining why you decided to launch it at my face?”

Hitch leaned against the doorframe. “You looked like you needed it. You were seconds away from exploding.”

“Which Annie face did I have this time?”

“I didn’t need to see it. Just you going ham on the box was enough for me. Is it from the meeting with Yelena and Zeke, or are you just fed up with the books you’re packing?” She leaned forward to glance at their titles. “Hm, let’s see… Where the Crayfish Holler, The Midday Library, The Lust Hypothesis, and A Palace of Spikes and Lilies. How old do you wanna bet the customer is?”

“Honestly, I don’t have a clue. I just pack ‘em up and send ‘em out.”

Hitch tilted her head, studying the titles with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “I’d wager somewhere between sixteen and thirty.”

Annie raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that? Is this another one of your Hitch powers?”

“Because they’re all over BookTok. If someone’s ordering these, they’re part of TikTok’s user demographic. I see these same books promoted by every reader out there.”

“BookTok?” Was this another TikTok thing? Her familiarity with TikTok was limited to obsessively stalking hate-watching keeping tabs on Madame Melancholia. But if knowing about BookTok could potentially boost orders for Liberio Books, maybe she should learn more.

On second thought, that’s something she should leave to Hitch.

“Yeah, BookTok,” Hitch confirmed. “It’s a whole community on TikTok dedicated to books. People share their favourite reads, do reviews, and hype up all the latest book trends. The books you’re packing are all the rage right now. It’s like a bookish version of the latest trend, but for literature.”

“So like… Youtubers that do book reviews?”

“The most popular ones are called BookTokers,” Hitch nodded. “They’re the ones who really drive the trends. “They’ve turned book reviewing into an art form. Sometimes, it’s not just about the books themselves but how they present them. Their style and personality are a huge part of their appeal and…”

The more Hitch talked, the more Annie’s thoughts swirled and tangled before crystallizing into the startling realization that Madame Melancholia, her nemesis, was none other than a booktoker. Of course. It all made sense. Annie’s initial suspicions were right all along. Nothing about Madame’s heavy makeup, dolled-up appearance, condescending reviews, and pompous attitude was natural; they were part of a carefully curated persona aimed at boosting her popularity and influence. A game of likes, followers, and aesthetic shots, where critiques weren’t about genuine analysis but were about maintaining an image, feeding her sheep bite-sized chunks of superiority while she basked in their adoration.

“Oh Madame Melancholia? Yeah, she’s one of them too.”

Damn it, Annie must have been thinking out loud again. Curse her overactive brain.

“Don’t tell me you actually listen to her?” Annie shot back, her tone sharper than intended. Did Madame sink her claws into someone as unsuspecting as Hitch?

Hitch shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, she’s one of the more popular ones out there and I do find her eyeliner tips useful so yeah,” She tilted her head, a curious glint in her eyes. “If anything, I’m curious how you know who she is. Last I checked, you were anti-social media.” 

Annie stiffened, suddenly regretting that she’d let anything slip. “I, uh... just heard about her through the grapevine.” She waved her hand dismissively, trying to play it off. "Not like I care or anything."

But when she saw that sly smile creep on Hitch’s face, Annie knew she was a goner. “Ookay, whatever you say. It’s not like Madame’s been trashing The Oracle lately or anything…”

Annie flinched, her fingers twitching ever so slightly. She could feel the heat rising to her face as she tried to hold her composure. Don’t react, don’t react, she chanted to herself, but her body betrayed her as her lips pressed together too tightly.

“A-HA!” Hitch’s finger shot up, pointing directly at her. “So you do know who she is!”

Annie’s expression cracked. “I—” she stammered, “It’s not what you think!”

“Oh, sure it isn’t. Never thought I’d see the day where the great Annie Leonhart sacrifices her morals and ideals for a Tiktok siren.”

Annie huffed, choosing to ignore Hitch’s ‘Tiktok siren’ comment, though she begrudgingly admitted it was an accurate description of Madame. The way Madame commanded attention, with her biting sarcasm and effortless sway over her followers—it made Annie's skin crawl.

“Look,” Annie said, voice sharp, “I don’t care what she has to say about the books. She doesn’t know the first thing about real writing. She's just a glorified critic with a gimmick.”

Hitch’s smirk didn’t waver. “Uh-huh, sure. I believe you. But hey, if you ever wanna vent about her, I’m all ears. Or, you know, you could try actually ignoring her.”

Annie’s jaw tightened. Ignore her? As if she hadn’t tried. But every time she pushed Madame out of her mind, the woman’s mocking voice would echo in her ears, like the grating squawk of a crow during mating season, tearing apart Annie’s pride and joy. Well, it wasn’t really Annie’s pride and joy, considering Yelena had full creative control and her name was plastered on the covers, but it was Annie's words that Madame was shredding.

"You’re really letting her get under your skin, huh Annie?"

“It’s not just Madame’s words but it’s a symptom of a greater problem,” Annie tried. She really tried but it was like a drip, then a trickle, then a floodgate’s worth of her feelings came spilling out of her mouth.

“The point is… media literacy is dying. Standards are falling. And it’s because of this culture’s obsession with consumerism, where people don’t care about quality. They just want something fast, easy, and popular enough for everyone to trip over themselves and fork out their cash, without caring if it has any real substance. Take young adult fantasy, for example. When a book does get popular, agents and publishers rush to mass-produce more of the same, thinking that's the solution. They don't stop to consider what made that specific book popular in the first place. All this does is push young writers away—people who actually want to break into the industry with something original. Instead, their options are to either find a different career or churn out the same formulaic drivel just to get noticed. Like what message does that send?”

“And then you’ve got people like Madame Melancholia, feeding into it. She’s not offering real critique; she’s just performing for the masses, spouting the same surface-level commentary that anyone with a half-formed opinion could say. She doesn't get it. None of them do. They think that just because she throws in a few big words and makes everything look dark and fancy, she’s some kind of intellectual and eagerly swallow everything she says because again, it’s the popular thing to do.”

She stopped, realizing how breathless she’d become, her chest rising and falling. There was a pause, thick in the air, bouncing off the heat from her skin. She wasn’t even sure when she’d started monologuing, but now she stood still, staring at her close friend, waiting for a reaction.

To her credit, Hitch didn’t outright challenge Annie’s sanity, almost like she didn’t deliver a manifesto bemoaning the fall of modern literature. Must come with the territory of being friends with Annie—you get used to hearing the occasional (or frequent) ramblings of a reclusive, anxious writer without batting an eye.

Instead, Hitch stood there, nodding like she was genuinely listening, not judging. “Okay, you’ve got a point. And, you know, if you ever want to rant about it more, I’m here.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for caring.”

“I care, I do care! I just... never expected you to rant about BookTok of all things."

“It’s a symptom. Not the cause. Ignoring it may be the only solution but all that does is let them keep getting away with it,” Annie muttered, pacing in the back room. “The only way to get close to people like that is to speak in their flowery language. Like fighting fire with fire…”

Hitch raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care about the internet, you sure seem to know a lot about it.”

Annie flushed. “That’s not the point.”

“Right. So, the point is... we need a hero that saves us all from shitty books and pretentious influencers?”

Annie's mind raced, spiraling into territory she hadn't expected. "The point is," she continued, now pacing in the backroom, "that people don't understand what they're consuming anymore. They take everything at face value. They don't even bother to look deeper, to see the craftsmanship behind the words. It’s like they need to be force-fed the meaning behind passages that should come easy!" She threw her hands up in frustration, the thought of it making her chest tighten.

"Uh-huh, and? What are you gonna do about it? Launch a crusade against BookTok?"

Annie stopped pacing. That was a ridiculous idea. Or was it?

The thought lingered for a second too long. What could she do about it? Ignoring it wasn’t working—if anything, it was making her angrier, and the idea of Madame Melancholia continuing to gain more influence, more followers, more praise for tearing down books she’d never understand, made Annie's blood boil.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She wasn’t one for confrontation. Hell, she could barely make it through a week of work without a meltdown. But if there was one thing she knew better than anyone, it was writing. She’d spent years perfecting her craft, working behind the scenes as Yelena’s ghostwriter.

Maybe she didn’t have Yelena’s fame. Maybe she didn’t have Madame Melancholia’s influence. But if she could just... show people. Show them what real writing was, and what those so-called critics were doing to it.

An idea — crazy, terrifying, and stupid — began to form in the back of her mind.

"What if," she hesitated, biting her lip, "I created my own BookTok account?"

Hitch nearly choked. "What?"

Annie swallowed, feeling the weight of her own words. “I mean… not like, to be another booktoker. But to fight back. To push back against all this garbage. Maybe... maybe I could be the one to show people what real writing looks like, to call out all this fake nonsense."

Hitch stared at her, wide-eyed. “You? On TikTok of all things? You hate social media.”

“I know,” Annie slowly nodded, the absurdity of the situation dawning on her. “But... what if it’s the only way to fix this? To expose people like Madame Melancholia for what they really are? To actually... educate people?”

Hitch blinked once. Then twice. Then slowly grinned. "Annie, if you're seriously considering this, it’s either going to be the most epic thing you’ve ever done... or an absolute dumpster fire."

Could she really do this? She pictured herself setting, recording, speaking into the camera. The idea made her stomach churn. But then the thought of Madame’s smug, condescending tone slicing through another one of her books, belittling it to her legion of followers, lit a fire in her chest again.

Maybe now was time to stop hiding in the shadows.

"Yeah," she muttered, "probably a dumpster fire. But maybe... maybe it's a necessary one." She looked back at Hitch. "I wouldn’t even know where to start."

Hitch’s eyes gleamed. "Lucky for you, I do."

Annie had a bad feeling about this. To be fair, she’s gets a bad feeling regardless of whatever she does so she might as well say “Fuck it” and do it.

 

---

 

“Listen up, maggot!” Hitch commanded with all the energy of a drill sergeant. “Becoming an influencer shouldn’t require a lot, it’s not rocket science but there’s a method to the madness!”

Step One: HAVE A CATCHY USERNAME

“Now I’m assuming you already have a Tiktok account for stalking purposes–”

“I do not use it for stalking purposes,” Annie interrupted, scowling and handing her phone. “But yes, I do.”

“Jeez, a_lionheart6408 is your username? Annie, the cardinal rule of stalking — which you totally don’t do, of course — is to never use your real name. ‘Lionheart’ is so close ‘Leonhart’ that you might as well slap your home address on there. Plus, what the hell is with those numbers? Are you trying to blend in with all the bots?”

“Those numbers were randomly generated!”

“Regardless,” Hitch cut her off, pinching the bridge of her nose in mock exasperation. “Since you plan on being an influencer, you need something memorable, easy to spell, and that’ll stick in people’s heads. No numbers, no underscores, and definitely no obvious names! Hit me with your best shot!”

Annie shifted uncomfortably.

"Alright, how about this: Mystique Mistress? It’s perfect! It’s mysterious, it’s bold, and it’s got a real bite to it. I mean, just imagine it: Mystique Mistress, the one who tells it like it is and doesn’t bow down to anyone.’ It’s got everything!"

Annie’s frowned. “But isn’t that a little too close to Madame’s username? I mean, they both start with M, and—”

Hitch waved her off immediately, brushing aside Annie’s concern with a flick of her wrist. “Please. Madame didn’t invent alliteration. Besides, hers is more… I don’t know, melodramatic? Mystique Mistress is powerful, like you’re shrouded in mystery but not afraid to come out swinging. You’re the one calling the shots.”

Annie tilted her head, still unsure. “It won’t seem like I’m copying her?”

Hitch scoffed. “Annie, no one’s gonna confuse the two of you. Madame’s all about tearing people down. You’re gonna be about truth, someone with depth, someone who’s not afraid to critique but also appreciates real craft.” She smirked, leaning in slightly. “And besides, with that username, you can give Madame a taste of her own medicine. She’s not the only one who can be all mysterious and dark. You’ll just do it better.”

Step Two: BUILD YOUR ACCOUNT

“Now, you can’t just drop a killer username and expect people to flock to you. You’ve gotta look legit.”

“And how exactly do I do that?”

Hitch stopped pacing and turned to her, smirking as if the answer was obvious. “First, follow some accounts. Start with the big names in BookTok. Yeah, you’re gonna be competing with them, but you need to get in the loop. That way, you know what’s trending, what people are talking about. Plus, it’ll keep you from looking like a bot. You know, those accounts with no profile pic, no followers, no posts?”

“So, follow people just to fit in?”

“Not just to fit in,” Hitch clarified, “but to show people you’re not a random account made five seconds ago to lurk. You need to look like you’re engaged, that you’re part of the conversation. Also, start liking videos, comment here and there. You don’t want to seem desperate, just natural.”

“Also, hashtags are key,” Hitch said, wagging her finger. “You need to find and use the right ones. Hashtags like #BookTok, #TBR, #Bookshelf, stuff that’ll connect you to your audience. Use them in every post, especially the ones that are trending. But don’t go hashtagging random shit either.”

Annie’s expression didn’t change, but she couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed by how… strategic this whole thing seemed. 

Hitch clapped her hands together. “And the first account you should follow? Mine, obviously. I’m trying to hit 25k followers, and you can be part of that monumental climb.”

Annie gave her a deadpan stare. “This is about you now, isn’t it?”

“Hey, I’m just helping you and me,” Hitch said with a grin, fishing her phone from her pocket. “Here, follow me: @witwaves22. Get it? ‘Cause I have wavy hair?”

Annie sighed and pulled out her phone, typing in the handle. As Hitch’s profile popped up on the screen, Annie’s eyes scanned the feed: shopping hauls, fashion videos, exercise routines, and… “G-R-W-M?”

Hitch lit up, leaning over Annie’s shoulder. “Get Ready With Me . It’s where I show my daily routine or prep for going out. Super popular. People love seeing that stuff—picking outfits, makeup, accessories. It’s like giving them a backstage pass to your life. Plus, it makes you feel relatable, which is what you need to aim for.”

Annie scrolled a bit more, mildly horrified by how polished and put-together Hitch always looked. “This feels like the opposite of what I’m trying to do.”

Hitch winked. “That’s because you’re going for the dark academia vibe. I’m over here vibing.”

Annie sighed as Hitch kept nudging her. Ever since she had agreed to go forward with this hare-brained scheme, sighing had become a constant part of her day. Nevertheless, she got to work. She started off by following a few sports teams: boxing, hockey, basketball, and UFC — nothing too controversial, just the basics. Then, almost out of nostalgia, she followed a couple of indie bands she used to listen to many moons ago. These days, most of her playlist was made up of her dad’s oldies and a few pop songs from her school days, Next, she followed a few local restaurants she liked to eat at, especially her favourite artisan bakery with their impossibly soft donuts that Annie loved to treat herself after a strenuous workout. 

As she scrolled further, her screen became flooded with suggestions—most of it trash she had no interest in. But one account caught her eye. The profile picture was of a brunette woman in workout gear holding a plate of perfectly seared steak. The username was @bitesofbraus. She liked steak, so the obvious choice was to click on the profile. The account was filled with short, snappy cooking videos—each one under a minute but packed with mouthwatering meals. Annie quickly scrolled through a few posts. There was one with sizzling steak bites, another where the woman whipped up a simple pasta dish that somehow looked like it belonged in a restaurant, and yet another where she meal-prepped an entire week’s worth of dinners.

"🤤🤤🤤🤤" read the thumbnail featuring a pan-seared salmon drizzled with sauce.

Annie didn’t need to be told twice to follow that account.

It looked like @bitesofbraus had attracted a lot of gym bros as followers, because after clicking on her profile, Annie's recommendations became flooded with videos of sweaty, 'roided out dudes flexing in front of the camera.

She grimaced, “I'm just here for the food.”

“Hey Annie, you should also follow some places like the botanical gardens, the aquarium, and ooh, the Paradis Science Centre! I follow them because it’s a great way to stay informed and engaged with scientific discoveries, and it deepens my understanding of various educational topics, thereby fostering a greater appreciation for the world around me.”

That didn’t sound like Hitch.

“Plus, the curator is hot.”

Now that sounds like Hitch.

Still, Annie typed it in the search bar anyway. Sure enough, the account popped up under the username @scienceparadis, featuring a profile picture of the planetarium. The feed was filled with sleek images of exhibits, galaxy models, and interactive displays. Their pinned post bore the label “LATEST EXHIBIT” and boasted over 25 million views. Annie hadn’t realized science was so popular on tiktok, but her curiosity was piqued. She tapped on it to see what all the fuss was about and—

Fucking hell.

She finally understood what Hitch was talking about.

The video started off with an enclosed fist slowly opening to reveal a delicate butterfly with large blue wings. "Morpho butterflies," a voice, deep, rich, and husky, narrated, “are known for their iridescent colours and can be found primarily in Central and South America. Their vibrant colour comes from microscopic scales that reflect light, rather than pigments.”

“They spend most of their lives as caterpillars, hidden away, unnoticed,” The butterfly flapped its wings once more before flying off into the distance. The camera shifted to the curator, finally revealing their face. “Only in the final stages do they become the magnificent creatures we know. They’re fleeting. Rare. But worth every moment of wonder.” 

Their lab coat hung loosely over their frame, and the name badge pinned to their chest read simply 'HANGE' Beneath that, a rainbow badge with the words 'THEY/THEM' gleamed. The curator was obviously not a man but to call them a woman felt like restricting them–they were clearly meant for something beyond the binary labels of male and female, a presence that defied simple categories, something that didn’t quite fit in a box, and that only added to the strange magnetic pull they had over Annie. Their brown hair, carelessly pulled into a messy ponytail, only added to their effortless charm. It was as if they had no time for appearances, too consumed by the knowledge they shared, and yet the dishevelled look worked, making them seem approachable and enigmatic all at once. Annie found herself lingering on the deep brown of their eyes, emphasized by their glasses resting on the tip of their aquiline nose, giving their face a regal, almost statuesque quality.

And the comments agreed with her.

historias_secret: Do you like girls? Have you liked girls? When will you like girls? And what type of girls?

leviackerman1: @historias_secret Do you have any shame? Have you no shame? When will you learn shame?

bitesofbraus: I don’t know their pronouns but Im gay for them

leviackerman1: @bitesofbraus Can you not see the fucking badge?

witwaves22: As the self-appointed representative of the sapphic world federation, my clients and I humbly ask all men to leave this one for the girlies. All in favour say I

mzfreckles: I

historias_secret: I

reinervlogs: I

bitesofbraus: I

ma_loves0210: I

leviackerman1: No

toothp1eck85: I

onyan.undercover: Happy Pride to this person

springer_nanigans: your honour, i must confess im so in love

armin_in_action: Something LGBTQ just happened to me

leviackerman1: @armin_in_action Well, aren't you a late bloomer?

tatakae69: My pronouns are she/them tiddies

leviackerman1: @tatakae69 How about you see my fist in your face?

tatakae69: @leviackerman1 kinky

mzfreckles: I’m 5’8, play volleyball and rugby, can cook, clean, and take care of the kids when needed

leviackerman1: @mzfreckles And yet, you’re here thirsting over them on a public forum. Do something better with your time

real.marco.hamill: @sciencesparadis you can never make me hate you

reinervlogs: can yall like my comment so I can return back to this vid?

leviackerman1: @reinervlogs This isn’t YouTube

springer_nanigans: I don’t care what gender they are cuz Im proposing

leviackerman1: @springer_nanigans You don’t have to comment twice. We already know

kingstallion0407: They look like if a man and woman had a baby

leviackerman1: @kingstallion0407 You’re not gonna believe this…

winsmiith: That’s my Hange 🥳

michenotmike: Ive never wanted to study science as much as I have now

moblit_psycho100: Congrats on going viral Hans!

toothp1eck85: Um? Weird way to propose but I accept 🥰

leviackerman1: @toothp1eck85 Keep dreaming brat

bertotheburrito: When someone asks me what gender is, I’ll show them this

_alphaawakening_: sick of this degeneracy shoved down my throat. If your a male, your are he/him. If your a female, your a she/her

leviackerman1: @_alphaawakening_ And if you use roids, you’re a she/it

_alphaawakening_: @leviackerman1 How does it feel knowing that your defending a mental illness?

winsmiith: @_alphaawakening_ How does it feel crying over your reflection every morning knowing you have a face only a mother could love?

leviackerman1: @winsmiith At this point, the mirror probably calls in sick.

michenotmike: @_alphaawakening_ Jimmy De Santa lookin ass mf wants to lecture us on degeneracy

moblit_psycho100: @_alphaawakening_ All those roids and you still don't have any friends.

nana4real: @_alphaawakening_ Bros mad cuz no one invited him to the butterfly exhibit.

_alphaawakening_: Truth hurts, doesn't it?

kingstallion0407: @_alphaawakening_ Not as much as your barber charging full price for that fade 💀

tatakae69: @_alphaawakening_ lmao, floch got ratio'd on a post about bugs

armin_in_action: @_alphaawakening_ Sir, this is a video about butterflies.

_alphaawakening_: @armin_in_action At least I stand for something. You all have been brainwashed by the woke agenda.

onyan.undercover: @_alphaawakening_ Standing for being a professional clown? Got it.

Step Three: WORK ON YOUR NICHE

Rows upon rows of perfectly organized shelves lined the store, displaying makeup brands she’d barely heard of. Perfectly curated ads played on nearby screens. The air smelled faintly of perfume and powdered makeup. Bustling customers floated in between displays. Black and white stripes stretched out endlessly, from the architecture to the packaging, as the store gleamed with an almost clinical sharpness.

And Annie could feel herself getting further swallowed into the belly of the beast that was Sephora.

“Uh, Hitch?" Annie murmured, keeping her voice low. "Is this all really necessary?"

Hitch just waved her off. "You’re about to be a booktoker who does makeup. This is your homeland now. Don’t worry. Stick with me!"

Annie grimaced. The crowd was thicker than she expected, people elbowing their way through aisles like bees in a hive. Hitch, naturally, navigated it all with ease, but Annie lagged behind, trying not to bump into anyone. She cast a wary eye at the sparkly displays, every product blurring into one another in the corner of her eye.

“Here we are!” Hitch announced, stopping in front of a shelf of makeup testers, many of them smudged with product on the labels. “So which one of these is your shade? Which matches your skin colour the closest?”

Shade? Annie squinted at the chart of tones Hitch gestured at. There were close to fifty of them in total. She knew she was pale-skinned but this chart had names like “Ivory Frost”, “Winter Wonderland”, and “Bright Light”. And they all looked the same to her. How was anyone supposed to know which one matched? And why were there so few dark shades? Annie felt bad for those people.

“May I help you ladies with anything?” An associate materialized out of nowhere. Somehow, she made her simple uniform of black pants, shirt, and silver name tag reading ‘Historia’ look glamorous, making Annie self-conscious about her three-day-old jeans and rumpled hoodie. Her long blonde hair, tied back in a sleek low ponytail, was glossy and frizz-free, even in the store’s chaos. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup aside from jet black eyeliner that made her baby blue eyes pop. Phenotypically, she looked like Annie but like a Barbie version of her.

“Yes!” Hitch struck first before Annie could react. “My friend here is looking for a pick me up. Extreme Makeover style!”

“I – um – actually…”

“You’ve come to the right place then!” The associate, Historia, smiled wide, showing off her perfectly straight white teeth. “Right this way,”

Annie hesitated, her anxiety bubbling up again, but before she could protest, Hitch elbowed her back, urging her to play along. They walked over to a vanity counter, where Annie’s butt was planted on the round seat and delicate eyes were assaulted by the bright lights of the mirror.

“Don’t worry, sweetie! I’ll make sure you’re absolutely flawless,” She leaned in closer, prodding around Annie's face with her manicured fingers, inspecting her complexion as if she were a wall ready for graffiti. Up close, Historia’s skin was silky smooth and seemed to glow per cubic centimeter. Meanwhile, every imperfection on Annie’s face was magnified by a thousand percent under the vanity. When did her face get so red? Was her nose always that pointy? Were her forehead lines always that prominent? And when did that pimple get there?

“What’s your undertone?” Historia asked.

Annie blinked, struggling to process the question. “My what?”

“Your undertone,” Historia repeated. “Your skin’s natural colour below the surface.”

“Um,” She peered down at the skin of her hand. “It’s… white?”

“It’s cool!” Hitch interrupted, shoving Annie’s hoodie sleeve past her elbow, exposing her arm. “See? Her veins are more bluish than green.”

How would her veins tell her that?

“Got it! Let’s find a foundation that works with that. It’ll help balance out your complexion.”

“Ooh, I know something else that can work like…”

Annie shifted uncomfortably on the seat, feeling more like a lizard trapped under a microscope as Hitch and Historia conversed in a language foreign to her. Occasionally, her ears caught random terms like “fuschia,” “dusty rose,” “matte,” “rosebud,” and “marina”—words she barely recognized, let alone understood.

“I’m thinking we start with a hydrating primer,” Historia said, grabbing a sleek tube from the counter. “Something with hyaluronic acid. It’ll help her makeup stay fresh longer since she’s got dry skin.”

Hydra-what now? Annie’s hands instinctively flew to her face. Did she really have dry skin? It didn’t feel dry, but Historia was a professional, so maybe?

“And we can use Tarte’s CC cream instead of their BB cream. It’ll even out her skin tone without looking cakey before adding a creamy concealer,” Historia continued.

“Would a cream concealer help?” Hitch chimed in. “I always thought a dewy finish would suit Annie.”

“It’s Givenchy’s concealer, Definitely nothing too matte or drying—very lightweight.” Historia said, pinching Annie’s cheeks lightly. “Plus, she has a natural flush, so I highly recommend Fenty Beauty’s Cream Blush.”

“For eyes,” Hitch said, snatching Annie’s face to the side with over-eager hands, “We should definitely go with something from Natasha Denona. Super pigmented, blendable, and it won’t completely take over her face.”

Historia reclaimed control, maneuvering Annie’s face back toward her. “And to top it off, let’s add a dash of Charlotte Tilbury to keep everything in place.”

It started innocently enough — a bottle here, a pencil there — but soon it spiralled into a small mountain of makeup items. Each shiny box or palette added to the growing sense of dread in Annie’s chest. Her brain buzzed, trying to keep up, but none of it made sense. Was she even allowed to say no? They were so deep into this, she was afraid she'd offend someone if she tried.

Suddenly, Hitch’s hands came to rest on Annie’s shoulders, the warmth of her touch cutting through the rising tide of panic that had crept up on her. Annie hadn’t realized just how tense she was until that moment, the muscles in her shoulders stiff and knotted like coiled springs

“Hey, Annie,” Hitch said gently, giving her shoulders a light squeeze. “you’re looking like you’re about two seconds from sprinting out of here. You need some air?”

Annie’s gaze darted to the makeup counter, which had somehow become even more crowded with products. Each time a new tube or compact landed, she felt more like a cornered mouse, and Hitch and Historia were the cats, playful but overwhelming.

“Just relax, okay?” Hitch continued, leaning in closer. “Close your eyes if you need to. Think about something else, anything. Pretend you’re not here but somewhere else.”

Annie swallowed hard, her pulse still racing but slowing as Hitch’s hands remained steady on her shoulders. "Like what?"

“I dunno, you should be a master at this, right?” Hitch teased lightly, then softened again. “I know this isn’t what you like to do so I’m actually very proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone. I will make this pass as fast as possible but I just need you to be still for a bit. Think about your punching bag, or those donuts you like to eat or just remember Liberio Books, right? Can you do that?”

Yeah, books. Her absolute favourite in the world.

Annie nodded, slowly. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good,” Hitch said. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Annie closed her eyes, tuning out the noise around her before centralizing her thoughts on the familiar place she called home. It was a small, cozy place, tucked away from the noisy streets and chaos of everyday life. Every time she stepped inside, the world felt different—quieter, softer. There was comfort in the way the bookshelves towered around her, each one bursting with stories waiting to be discovered. The spines were like old friends, some worn from countless reads, others new and untouched, promising fresh adventures. Fiction, non-fiction, classic, contemporary, it didn’t matter which was which. The moment she cracked open a book, she was free—free from the noise of the outside world, free from the expectations and pressures that weighed her down. Here, she found peace, and more than that—she found herself.

Something poked her eyelid (“Oops, sorry Annie!), nearly disrupting her flow but she tried to ignore it, focusing on the warmth of the brush against her skin. She felt the coolness of the makeup settling in, the soft padding of a sponge blending it seamlessly. The sheer technique of the makeup application had her remembering why she was here…

That’s right. 

She was here to finally put a stop to the trail of destruction that Madame Melancholia left in her wake, spreading discontent among aspiring writers like her. Every pointed critique, every condescending review, felt like a stab at her very soul. And here she was, clawing her way to the top, fighting back in her own way, to step out of the shadow the booktoker had cast over Annie's self-worth.

In another life, Annie could almost admire the confidence with which Madame spoke, every word dripping with a mix of charisma and disdain that made her a magnetic force online. But it was Madame's tendency to tear down works—Annie's works—that stung the most. The thought of finally confronting Madame, perhaps reclaiming her voice and asserting her presence in a world that felt overwhelming filled with an unexpected thrill. 

“Just a little bit more,” Hitch’s voice rang out.

Annie could see it clearly now: the shock on Madame's face, the way her perfectly painted brows would furrow in confusion as if Annie had just pulled the rug out from under her. She imagined the flicker of admiration in Madame's stormy grey eyes as she recognized Annie's newfound confidence, the glint of challenge as Madame leaned closer, her dark lipstick accentuating the sly smile creeping across her lips. But Annie wouldn’t back down. She had learned from the best—her favorite stories taught her that true strength lay in vulnerability and authenticity.

"Alright, Annie! You’re all done! You can open your eyes now!” Historia announced.

For the first time in her life, Annie felt like she was stepping into her own narrative, ready to write the next chapter of her life—one where she could finally stand up for herself and embrace the story she was meant to tell.

Notes:

NEXT CHAPTER: Annie steps into the whimsical world of the internet where all the nice things exist. AND HOPEFULLY I'll finally include the Mikasa/Annie parts Ive been wanting to put.

P.S. the 'SIT ON MY FACE' convo was from Cher's Twitter page and it's lived in my head rent-free since then.

Chapter 3

Notes:

This chapter was long overdue but after 5 midterms, 4 essays, and 3 presentations, I was finally ready to get back to writing. This chapter's a bit longer than the previous ones but I hope the length makes up for the long gap.

Back when Oracle was still in its embryonic stages, Annie had sat with Yelena many times to dig into themes, flesh out characters, and brainstorm plot twists. At that time, Annie was a burnt-out, twenty-something-year-old caffeine-addicted graduate struggling to navigate the bleak landscape of opportunities available to English degree holders like herself. Amidst job applications for barista positions and the contemplation of a master’s degree meant for hopeless graduates like her, Yelena had swooped in with her enticing proposition and Annie didn’t look back.

Although, that was beginning to change.

"I’m telling you, this is the future! We're on the cusp of something revolutionary! You put in a little, and I guarantee you’ll be swimming in billions before you know it!"

Normally, meetings like these would involve the ghost writer and the ‘author’ but for some reason, Zeke had tagged along like the village idiot crashing the medieval pub – buzzing around, completely oblivious to the fact that no one invited him and everyone just wanted to enjoy their drinks in peace.

"It sounds exciting, Zeke," Yelena said, curling up at Zeke’s side, as if he held all the secrets to the universe.

“Bitcoin started as a niche project, and look where it is now! But you know what? There are still untapped gems out there, just waiting for savvy investors like you to discover them…”

“Wow, Zeke,” Hitch interrupted. “This latest scheme of yours is just… something else. I mean, who else could turn an ambiguous crypto idea into a full-time job? It’s impressive how you keep finding new ways to redefine ‘failing upwards.’”

Annie bit her lip to suppress her laughter. If Zeke was tagging along then it was only fair for Annie to drag Hitch with her. The blonde would never admit it out loud but she secretly loved her best friend’s commentary. 

Zeke's face lit up. “Thanks, Hitch! I really appreciate you seeing the potential in it. Most people just don’t get the vision. In fact, just for you, if you sign up now, you’ll get access to our VIP group, where you’ll receive insider tips, exclusive news, and direct access to our business development maps!” 

Of course, Zeke’s head was far too up his ass to realize that Hitch was mocking him. Or maybe Hitch was gifted with the ability to insult someone under the cloak of positivity.

“That sounds so interesting and worth the money I’ll be investing,”

It was clear the man did not get enough attention from his parents as a child because Zeke only grew more excited as Hitch egged him on. Annie would have felt bad for him if he chose to go to therapy instead of becoming a snake-oil salesman. “And it’s only going to get better from here! We’re launching a new token next week, and I’m confident it’ll be a game-changer.”

“Right, because nothing screams success like a token nobody’s heard of!” Hitch crossed her arms. “What’s next? A ‘How to Become a Millionaire’ seminar? I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Exactly!” Zeke replied, taking her words at face value. “That’s actually a great idea! I should totally think about that.”

Annie couldn’t hold it in any longer; she let out a full-blown giggle, earning a confused look from Zeke, a scowl from Yelena, and a conspiratorial grin from Hitch.

Uh-oh.

“Annie, this is serious,” Yelena clipped. “As I was saying, this meeting is important because we’re here to discuss Chad’s backstory, specifically his motivations, the trauma that shapes him, and how that plays into the larger narrative. This is critical for the readers to connect with him.”

Annie stifled the retort that bubbled up inside her, ready to explode. They would have been already done with this meeting if Zeke hadn’t hijacked it to shill his latest scam, “You’re right, Yelena. Let us focus.”

“I want his backstory to resonate with anyone and everyone. The readers should feel the weight of his burdens and understand the motivations behind his actions, especially in regards to Helena.”

Zeke nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! And if you think about it, Chad’s struggles are just like investing in crypto! You have to navigate the highs and lows, find the hidden profits…”

Annie exchanged a glance with Hitch. “Wow, Zeke, that’s… insightful,” Hitch said, trying to redirect the conversation back. “But let’s keep it to Oracle for now, okay?”

“Annie,” Yelena thundered, glaring at Hitch. “Why is your assistant even here? What does she even do? Whenever I see her, she’s always hanging around the store or giggling on her phone. And now she’s… just here, with nothing of value to add.”

Yelena’s words landed like a slap, and Annie reeled as if she were the one being targeted. The dismissal felt intensely personal, and her fists clenched around her pen under the table, as if that physical pain could somehow alleviate the frustration swelling within her. If only Yelena understood the kind of work Hitch put in every day. If only she recognized the late nights spent toiling, the emotional labour poured into every project, and the way Hitch effortlessly infused life and laughter into Liberio Books. Even the tiniest contributions from Hitch felt infinitely more meaningful than whatever scam Zeke was peddling.

Just as she was about to give Yelena a piece of her mind, she felt a gentle but firm grip on her knee beneath the table, grounding her back to reality.

“Oh Yelena,” Hitch said, casually, as if she hadn’t just been insulted. “I handle all the marketing, promotions, and advertising for Liberio Books.” She twirled her hair. “Without me, many of the amazing events we host wouldn’t even happen. I’m the one crafting the social media campaigns, reaching out to our suppliers and coordinating book launches. Both online and in-person.”

“So yeah,” Hitch continued with a playful lilt, although there was an undertone of firmness that Annie appreciated. “Every time you see a new release trending or an event packed with customers, just know it’s because of the hard work I put in. You may not always see me in the limelight, but I’m right there behind the scenes making things happen. Just thought I’d clear that up.”

That’s my girl.

Yelena huffed, crossing her arms as if to dismiss Hitch's words entirely.

Meanwhile, Zeke had to toss in his worthless input. “Well, it sounds like Hitch must be putting her degree to good use if she’s managing all that stuff. I mean, what else do you do with an arts degree, right?”

Hitch laughed. “Actually, Zeke, I studied chemistry.”

Both Zeke and Yelena’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, you studied chemistry?” Zeke exclaimed, almost incredulously.

Hitch shrugged, checking her fingernails. “Yep, Honours Chemistry with a minor in Business. I used to work as an analytical chemist for Reiss Skincare.”

“Why the hell did you give that up to do... this ?” Zeke gestured around the table strewn with notes about Chad’s character and a couple of copies of Oracle.

Yelena scoffed. “And it’s not like you’re making six figures at your current job, are you?”

Both Zeke and Yelena turned their accusatory gazes towards Annie, and she felt her cheeks burn. It was as if they were silently blaming her for Hitch’s choice, and she shrank back in her seat, wishing she could disappear into the fabric of the chair.

Did they really think she had forced Hitch to join her at Liberio? The idea felt absurd, yet…

And yet… a small, nagging part of Annie couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was dimming Hitch’s light, holding her back from reaching her full potential. Hitch could have been doing anything, anywhere – maybe even climbing her way to the top of corporate R&D. Instead, she was here, forced to accompany her grown-ass best friend to a meeting because said best friend is such an anxious wreck to deal with social situations and listen to the diatribes of an oofy scammer.

Hitch had always reassured her (countless times, in fact) that she had no regrets, that this work was more meaningful than her lab days ever had been. But the looks from Zeke and Yelena felt sharper with each passing second. She could almost feel them saying, Why’d you let her give all that up?

Maybe, Annie thought, she should have pushed Hitch harder to chase those opportunities. Maybe Hitch’s potential was brighter than the world she’d chosen to share with her.

For a moment, Annie’s gaze flicked over to Hitch, relaxing at her side, as if the comments from Zeke and Yelena meant nothing at all. Hitch met her eyes with a slight, almost imperceptible smile, as if she already knew what Annie was thinking.

But then Hitch turned her focus back to Zeke, waving a dismissive hand. “As much as I enjoyed working in a sterile lab, I wanted to do something more fulfilling with my time. I wanted to work in a place where my efforts had a tangible effect on the world around me instead of being another cog in the machine. Liberio gave me the choice to do that and I love doing what I do!” She aimed the last words at Annie, pointedly nudging her side and Annie felt her anxiety ease.

“Besides,” Hitch said, “I have the opportunity to put my Business minor to good use. Marketing, brand management, handling the numbers—it’s all in my wheelhouse.”

"Anyway, we’re going off topic now," Yelena cut in. "Let’s get back to the matter at hand. Chad’s backstory should—"

But Zeke was already leaning forward, eyes now fixed on Hitch with a gleam of interest. “You know, Hitch, if you’re so good at marketing, we could really use someone like you on my team. Just imagine reaching millions, maybe even billions, through your work. Since we’re still in the ideation stage now, I can’t offer much but think of the exposure you’d get—”

Hitch arched a brow, glancing sideways at Annie.

This was going to be a long meeting.

---

After that disastrous meeting, Annie was possessed by the urge to hit something non-sentient. And hard. So the two of them made a quick stop at Lionhart’s Gym. One of the perks of having a dad who owns a gym was being able to drop by whenever she wanted and having unlimited access to private washrooms with no worries about catching a staph infection.

While Hitch hopped onto the elliptical, Annie went straight for the punching bag, pummelling it like it was the source of all her troubles, her fists flying in furious succession, each blow harder than the last. The gym was quiet save for the rhythmic thuds from each jab, hook, and uppercut that loosened the tension in Annie’s shoulders.

"Geez, Annie," Hitch called out, barely breaking a sweat herself. "You’d think the bag owed you money"

Annie didn’t respond. Not when she was so close. Her focus was laser-sharp, her eyes dark and intense as she let out another flurry of punches, until, finally, she wound up for a roundhouse kick that sent her opponent swinging back with a violent jolt.

“You feeling better now?”

Annie stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, her chest heaving as she steadied herself. Sweat streaked down her face, dripping from her chin and shoulders, darkening the fabric of her tank top. She was panting, eyes glazed but finally calm as she caught her breath, hands on her knees.

“Maybe,” She looked up to see Hitch still leisurely pacing on the elliptical. “Or not. But I think the bag’s had enough for now.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

“Good! Because I need you to record my deadlifts.”

"Oh, so that’s why you came along," Annie replied, grabbing her thermos and taking a long, refreshing gulp.

“Obviously!” Hitch grinned, hopping off the elliptical. “You’re the only one I trust to capture my good side ."

"Fine, but only if I get to provide commentary."

"Oh, please," Hitch challenged. "You’re too nice to say anything mean about me."

Annie snorted, crossing her arms as she followed Hitch to the weight rack. "Don’t be so sure. I can be a bitch when I want to."

“Even when it comes to me?”

“Especially so.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Hitch hummed, adjusting the weights on the barbell.

“Careful what you wish for, Dreyse. I’ve got a laundry list of moments I could roast you on,” Annie said. “Your love life, for starters.”

“Oh yeah? It’s not like you’re swimming in first dates either. Need I remind you how you blew your chances with that goth waitress—”

“Shut up, shut up!” Annie clamped her hands over her ears, cheeks already beet red. Curse her pale skin for showing every bit of embarrassment. And curse herself for thinking she could blackmail Hitch when she has a goldmine of Annie’s embarrassing moments locked in her brain’s hard drive. “That was one time, and I didn’t—”

“How could you not know?” Hitch cackled. “She always gave you a discount on donuts and memorized your drink order. Not to mention those love letters —”

“Those weren’t love letters!”

“Right,” Hitch snickered. “Just motivational words on napkins.”

“Yes! Because she knew I was coming back from the gym and wanted to encourage me to keep it up!”

Support local businesses. That’s the excuse Annie had in mind when she would return to Scouts’ Tea & Bakery. It was definitely not because of the tall hostess with the ebony pixie haircut and violet nose piercing. To the average person, she looked intimidating as hell with her heavy eye makeup and spiked choker. It didn’t help that she wore a face mask with pointy studs on that seemed to make her voice deeper than usual.

But to Annie, she was just the person to see after a workout.

Their interactions started innocently enough—Annie would stop by after the gym for her usual iced coffee and a donut, and She would take her order with a smile, always remembering her “usual” without needing to ask. (Yes, Annie conveniently forgot to ask her name in the convenient haze of… admiration, let’s call it.)

But, somewhere along the way, She started adding her own personal touches. She’d jot little notes on Annie’s napkins, things like “Arm game going strong ;)” and “Legs for days 💪” Annie took them at face value, assuming She was just being friendly. It didn’t even cross her mind that discounted donuts weren’t standard customer service, or that Her extra care might mean something more. Still, that didn’t stop her from showing up in her shortest gym shorts or letting her hair loose from its usual ponytail whenever she dropped by. Not that they played this game for long. It was brief, casual, and, she thought, all in good fun.

“It went on for six months!”

“LAH LAH LAH! I’m not listening!”

Alright, fine. It did go on longer than Annie would ever admit. They’d chat casually, letting the minutes stretch a little longer each time. They’d talk about the weather, their favourite desserts, the gym, nutrition tips—all things Annie convinced herself were just friendly conversation. She’d linger, her gaze drifting to Her cloudy grey eyes, or the way her nose piercing caught the light. Until her boss, a short, grumpy dude with a permanent scowl on his face, would tch or grumble at Her to get back to work. She’d murmur a quick apology, flashing Annie a faint smile as she backed away, only to throw in a casual, “See you next time.”

And of course, Annie would be back.

Until one day, she just… wasn’t there. 

Annie figured maybe she was taking a day off. But the days without her stretched into weeks, then into a month. Each time Annie stopped by, she felt her heart twist a little tighter.

Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. Summoning whatever faint wisps of courage she could find, she approached the counter on a slow afternoon, cleared her throat, and asked the boss – casually, of course – about “the usual waitress.” Because she hadn’t been around, and Annie hoped she was doing alright.

The boss rolled his eyes, like this had been a sore topic for him too. “She found a different job,” he spat, as if her moving on was a personal attack. “Guess this place wasn’t good enough for her.” Annie tried to nod, keeping her expression neutral but the knots in her heart continued to tighten until it dislocated into a millions of pieces, each carrying the strange, hollow ache of a goodbye that hadn’t even been hers to say.

After that, Scouts’ Tea & Bakery didn’t feel the same anymore. It felt empty and hollow with Her there. The shop had lost its spark, the familiar comfort replaced by an emptiness she couldn’t shake. Each time she thought about swinging by, she’d change her mind at the last minute, feeling an odd weight in her chest she couldn’t quite explain.

Hitch bent her knees, hands wrapped around the barbell, and gave Annie a sideways smirk before hoisting the weight up with a grunt. “If I didn’t know any better,” she started, pausing to breathe through the lift, “I’d say you have a type.”

Annie, holding her phone to record, narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Hitch set the weight back down, flashed a cheeky grin, and lifted again, “Tall, ravenette goth mommies.”

Annie's mouth fell open, scandalized. "I—what?"

“You heard me,” Hitch grunted.

"Well—I… First of all, I'm only five feet tall. Practically everyone is a giant around me!" She angrily reminded at Hitch. "And what the hell does 'ravenette' even mean?"

“It describes someone with raven-black hair," Hitch explained. "usually a woman.”

"That word does not exist in the English language."

Hitch gave her an amused look, or at least what resembled it when deadlifting. "And what makes you the expert on it?"

“I'm an author, duh!”

Hitch only laughed, setting herself up for another lift. “Whatever you say. So when are you going back for more 'supporting the local business,' anyway?”

Annie groaned, dragging her free hand down her face. “I’m never telling you anything again.”

"Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt," Hitch smirked as she set the barbell back down, catching her breath before looking up at Annie. “Besides, you got all that footage?"

Annie nodded, tossing the phone back to Hitch. “Yep, it’s all yours.”

“Great,” Hitch said, taking the phone and immediately starting to scroll through it. “I need that for my page.”

That surprised Annie. “What, are you trying to court the gym bro crowd on TikTok now?”

Hitch’s eyes shot up, offended. “No! Of course not. If anything, I’m trying to shut the gym bros up. One of them has been all over my comments, leaving hate every time I post a gym vlog.”

“Oh. Those types of guys.” Being a woman in the MMA space, Annie’s dealt with more than her fair share of sexist comments. Some of those men weren’t even professionals by any means but just your ordinary run-of-the-mill neighbourhood guy who’s either never lifted in his entire life or who showed up to a couple of MMA classes and calls himself an expert. But the common denominator in all of them was the same: they believed that their biological sex automatically made them superior to anyone else. It didn’t matter how much she’d trained or how many fights she’d won – if she was a woman, they thought that made her inferior.

Hitch scoffed, swiping through her phone. “Take a look at these gems I’ve gotten.”

_alphaawakening_: Why you dressed like that?

_alphaawakening_: In the real world, you would get demolished

_alphaawakening_: Women ☕

_alphaawakening_: Fatherless behaviour

_alphaawakening_: All that lifting just to make me a sandwich

_alphaawakening_: I can squat 200+

“What a bunch of idiots.” Annie scorned.

“Actually, it’s just one idiot who’s doing this,” Hitch corrected. “The rest are all supportive. But all it takes is one douchebag to ruin everything. If he wants my attention so badly, I’ll give it to him.”

“That’ll just embolden his assholery more.”

“True, but it’s also a way for me to send my followers to him. This is how I’m doing it.” Hitch replied, showing her screen. It was the video Annie took of her deadlifting with a screenshot of @_alphaawakening_ ’s comment of “ I can squat 200+ ” hovering on top. Hitch’s caption read: " Bro, I hope so. You have 20x more testosterone than I do. "

“You’ve got more patience than I ever would.”

“Sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” Hitch shrugged. “Speaking of Tiktok, how’s your page going?”

“You mean the makeup videos? Those are going…”

(What is wrong with her? Why can’t she do anything right? Throughout her life, Annie has dealt with significant challenges whether it be powering through martial arts with multiple injuries, juggling two part-time jobs as a full-time student, and reconstructing Liberio Books brick by brick until it became the contemporary salable establishment it is today.

So why couldn’t she overcome this?

She’d watched hours of YouTube tutorials, replayed them until she could recite the steps by heart. She’d carefully read Sephora’s website instructions, studied application diagrams, and committed Hitch’s every word of advice to memory. But no matter what she did, her attempts always seemed to go south.

Her skin was cakey, patchy, and far from the soft, smooth finish she’d seen influencers create with just a few sweeps of a brush. She could see every brush stroke, every single pore magnified and emphasized under the layer of foundation that somehow looked too heavy and too thin in all the wrong places. 

She moved on to her eyeliner. She’d seen Hitch apply it in one effortless sweep, making it look like second nature. But the second Annie raised the pencil to her lash line, her eyeball twitched, throwing off her line. Her attempt to correct it turned into an unsteady, wobbly mess that squiggled across her lid like a snake. Each time she tried to even it out, the line just got thicker and more smudged until she looked like she’d been in a fight. 

Annie tossed the eyeliner aside and stared down at her palette of eyeshadows, trying to recall the blending techniques she’d seen the pros use. She swiped her brush into a soft brown shade and dabbed it onto her eyelid, only for it to immediately settle in a thick, unblended semicircle across her lid. She tried to blend it out, but it only smeared, refusing to fade the way she’d imagined.

She’d told herself that anyone could learn makeup. It’s just practice, she’d thought, something she could pick up with time, like everything else she’s done in her life. But it didn’t seem to matter how many tutorials she watched, or how many times she tried and failed. The makeup wouldn’t cooperate, or her body would jerk out of place, and every attempt left her feeling like she was stumbling through something that should have come naturally.

This is why she stuck to the gym or to books. Traditionally feminine domains like makeup and self-care just reminded her of her own inadequacies as a woman. Did she avoid those areas because she wasn’t interested in them or was it because they highlighted her flaws that she struggled so hard to conceal? It left her feeling exposed, even ashamed, like she’d missed some universal memo on womanhood, leaving her to wonder if she was missing something fundamental within herself.

When her reflection stared back at her, she didn’t see someone glamorous, feminine, or powerful.

She saw a fraud.)

“Oh you know, they’re going fiiine.” Annie forced out.

Hitch is no truth seer and Annie is no beginner to lying but they’d been friends long enough to pick up on the little tells—a too-bright smile, an overly breezy tone, or in Annie’s case, the way her face migrated just slightly to the left, hinting at some underlying subterfuge.

"Fine, huh?" Hitch shot her a sideways glance, stepping off the mat to grab her pink water bottle. "If you ask me, you doing makeup videos was a doomed idea from the start."

“You could have told me that before spending half my paycheck at Sephora!” Hitch loves spending money, especially money that isn’t hers.

“Oh, c’mon. It was your idea to declare war on your arch-nemesis on the same online battleground as her.”

Great. Just when she was about to give herself an internal high-five for being able to spend an entire morning not thinking about that washed out Shein-branded eldritch clown and her legion of harpies squawking at her feet in worship, Hitch had to bring her up. She could just picture her right now maniacally laughing at Annie’s sorry attempts. 

“Yeah, well, it’s a skill I seem to lack," Annie spat, kicking at the mat with her sneaker. "Shouldn’t this be… I don’t know, easy for me? But I just... I can’t do it. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it.”

"Hey, don’t give me that!" Hitch reprimanded. "So what if it’s not ‘natural’ for you? You’re amazing at a hundred other things. Maybe you can parlay that into your content?”

Annie shot her a skeptical look, her fingers tugging at the hem of her tank top as she stared at the floor. “Content? I’m not exactly killing it with the whole makeup scene.”

Hitch unscrewed the cap, taking a long sip before answering. “Look, forget the makeup thing. It’s clearly not your thing, and that’s fine. You’re a force in the gym, you know your stuff about books—why not turn that into something? Start posting workout videos. I’m sure you have an entire drive filled with that.”

“Yeah, but…” Now Annie was confused. “How does that relate to books? The whole reason I started this was to share my thoughts on modern literature, not build a fitness brand or something.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hitch said with a shrug, tossing her water bottle back into her bag. “You don’t have to immediately start talking about books. Build up a following first, get people interested in what you’re doing. People love watching fitness content, especially when you’ve got the muscles for it – which you totally do . Once you’ve got the audience, then you can sneak in the book stuff. Maybe you post a workout video one day, and then the next day you throw in a video singing praise about Oracle.”

“There’s this guy I follow, right? He’s seriously ripped—like, the gym must be his second home. But his whole TikTok is about cooking recipes, with a few workout videos here and there. People eat it up, because he makes the whole thing fun. It’s not just about flexing or looking good, it’s about sharing something cool, you know?”

Annie didn’t know what was more surprising: Hitch fangirling over a guy or the fact she was seriously considering this idea. She couldn’t deny the appeal of combining her two interests, even if she was still unsure of how it would all come together. But she wasn’t blind to see what kind of people she would be opening herself up to.

“You sure that guy’s page is filled with people who genuinely like cooking? And not because of something else?”

Hitch gave a sheepish smile in response. “I’m not denying that sex sells or that it works in his case. But listen, workout videos don’t have to be the focal point. It can be part of it but if you somehow relate that to books and be authentic about it, people will love that shit.”

Annie chewed on that, her mind running through all the possible ways she could do that before relenting. “I’m not sure how to get to that point but I can start now by posting my workouts.”

“There you go! That’s the spirit!”

Annie let out a deep sigh, her shoulders finally relaxing as the weight of her uncertainty began to vanish. “Thanks, Hitch. Really.”

“No problem, happy to help.” Then, Hitch's face shifted. “Oh, and Annie?”

“Yeah?”

Hitch leaned forward, her eyes wide like a puppy, fingers twiddling. “You’re not... thinking about going back to the makeup stuff, are you?”

“No, never. I’m done with that.”

“Then... can I have all of it?”

She had the gall to look innocent.

---

Her last video: a simple boxing workout. Nothing too fancy, just her landing jabs. She’d uploaded a handful of these by now: some lifting, some core work, a few drills. Nothing fancy but suited her just fine. Notoriety was not in her game plan. Checking her analytics, her views hovered between 5,000 and 10,000 per video – not massive, but far more than she’d expected. Her follower count had started to grow, too, though it wasn’t anything dramatic, just in the single digits. She didn’t mind. The empty comment sections were oddly comforting; it was like performing with no hecklers, no overly critical eyes judging every move. The plan was slow but once her followers reached a certain threshold, she could finally pivot toward the content she really cared about.

Annie’s finger hovered over the “post” button, a hint of giddiness bubbling up as she thought about the video she’d crafted. It wasn’t just another workout clip; this one felt special. She’d designed it as a character-inspired routine, centering on Helena Ravenswood. It had started as a fun little experiment, imagining what kind of training her beloved heroine would do, and before she knew it, she’d mapped out an entire workout that would fit Helena’s style.

She opened with a short intro, quickly summing up Helena’s strengths. Then she walked her followers through a series of moves she’d imagined Helena herself might do. There were agility-focused footwork drills, to dodge spells and enemies, shadowboxing, where she mimicked spell-like movements used in battle scenes. Then came strength work: lunges, kettlebell swings, and bicep curls. For the finishing touch, she’d edited in a few quotes from Oracle . The hardest part of editing was making sure she wasn’t giving away her secret connection to the book series – but even so, there was a sense of pride in the way it had turned out. Her own love of the character and the world she’d created seemed to shine through, making it extra personal to her.

Hitch had suggested holding off on posting it for a bit, explaining that building a routine with her videos was key and to avoid burnout. But a small part of her wanted to put it out there now.

For now, though, she resisted the urge by browsing Tiktok.

She became the one thing she swore she’d never be: a doom scroller.

The usual suspects filled her feed: cringy dance challenges, quick recipes she’d save but never actually try, the occasional thirst trap, and, to her dismay, an onslaught of vlogs from gym bros.

The latest suspect was filmed in black and white, featuring a sweaty, roided out douche canoe mid-lift. His exaggerated facial expressions could have been mistaken for a silent porno film. He finished his lift, let the bar slam to the ground, and then turned to the camera.

In a poor attempt at seduction, he flexed his biceps and ruffled his sweaty hair, eyes fixed on the camera the whole time. The background music – a deep, gravelly voice pushed the cringe factor to maximum.

"My mother raised me as the kindest and sweetest person you’ll ever meet," the voice growled. "But if you mess with me, then I’ll show you why I have my father’s last name."

What the hell does that even mean? God, she needs to stop doomscrolling. And she’ll do that after she checks out the dude’s profile because Annie refuses to believe that such a guy wasn’t an elaborate troll.

@_alphaawakening_

👑 KING FLOCH 👑

💪 Hustle & Motivation

🔥 Rise Up

“Lions don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep” - Aristotle

🏋️ 25/8 Grind

DM for Coaching (Serious Inquiries Only)

His profile picture? Yet another black-and-white shot of him shirtless, his veins looked ready to burst, and his jaw clenched in what could only be described as a grimace.

Yeah, no thanks.

And back to the algorithm Annie went, hoping for something more tolerable.

Instead, she was greeted by a woman with aggressively bottle-blonde hair, seated at a cluttered desk, a massive microphone angled in front of her. Behind her, a wall-mounted cork board covered in strings and sticky notes framed the shot.

The text overlay read: “BREAKING: Hidden Truths About Global Power Structures.”

"Good evening, and welcome to the Karina Braun News Network," the woman announced. "Tonight, we delve into the hidden connections between our world leaders and the reptilian elite."

Annie really should have turned off her phone.

Karina leaned forward, her expression grave, as if she were revealing state secrets. "Now, I want you to think about this. Why do the elite have ties to obscure, ancient societies? The answer lies in their bloodlines."

On cue, the video cut to a series of dramatic slides: low-res photos of the Tybur family mid-blink, their eyes pixelated to resemble reptilian slits. One particularly absurd clip zoomed in on Willy Tybur’s “forked tongue” during a late-night talk show appearance.

"That’s right, folks," Karina continued. "The lizard people are real, and they’re closer than you think. I’ve spent the last five months compiling evidence from credible sources," the screen briefly flashed a DuckDuckGo search result for “Are lizard people real?” before cutting back to Karina.

"Take this image, for instance," she said, holding up a blurry printed photo of a political summit. "Notice how none of these so-called leaders are standing in the sunlight. Coincidence? I think not."

"Tomorrow, we’ll discuss the moon landing and why it was clearly staged," Karina added, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "But for now, stay safe. Wake up people!"

Her tagline appeared: “@karinabraunnews: Reporting what MSM don’t want you to know.”

This app was a mistake.

Then, in a moment of pure irony, Madame Melancholia popped up in her feed. Annie paused, thumb hovering over the screen, momentarily paralyzed by the sight of her most feared booktoker. It was as though the algorithm itself had betrayed her. There, in bold, dramatic lettering across the top of the video, read: "HELENA RAVENSWOOD-INSPIRED MAKEUP TUTORIAL."

She couldn’t help herself.

The screen cut to a dimly lit room, candles flickering in the background, casting dramatic shadows on Madame’s porcelain-like skin. She leaned into the camera, her face framed by a black lace veil. A deep, sultry voice – almost a purr – slipped through her lips as she began.

"To truly embody Helena Ravenswood, one must embrace the shadows within. Shall we begin? "

The video cut to a close-up of Madame unscrewing a pot of silver-white foundation. The creamy product glinted under the light. The scene shifted to her gently applying it to her face, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she were painting on porcelain. The silver-white sheen transformed her complexion, giving her an almost ethereal appearance.

Annie leaned closer, transfixed.

The camera then shifted to a close-up of a jar of cobalt-blue eyeshadow. A soft, ambient hum played in the background as she dipped a fine brush into the powder. The next shot captured her half-lidded eyes as she began sweeping the pigment across her eyelids in slow, deliberate arcs, blending the shadow into a smoky gradient.

The next shot focused on a tube of blood-red lipstick being twisted upward. Madame brought it to her lips, parting them slightly as if inviting the viewer. The camera lingered as she slowly traced the lipstick over her mouth, the crimson colour vivid and flawless. Annie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched, utterly mesmerized, when her lips curved into a faint, mysterious smile as she pressed them together.

Another transition. This time, a kabuki brush dipped in soft red blush was lifted to her cheeks. Madame swirled the colour on with gentle circular motions, the blush blooming like roses against a backdrop of snowfall. The screen faded momentarily, and Annie’s anticipation hit its peak.

Then, the camera zoomed out, and Annie’s intrigue turned to stunned disbelief.

The finished look was a clown.

The silver-white foundation now looked garish, the cobalt blue eyeshadow stretched to her temples in wild, unblended swirls. The blood-red blush had been exaggerated into perfect circles, sitting comically high on her cheekbones. Her lips, once so striking, had been extended into a joker-like grin, with eyebrows arched comically high, giving her an expression of manic glee.

"Helena Ravenswood," Madame tilted her head and smiled eerily, "as the misunderstood fool of her own tragic play."

Was this a joke?

Was this all a fucking joke to her?

Her gaze darted from Madame Melancholia’s chillingly serene expression to the grotesque parody painted across her face. Helena Ravenswood, her prized magnum opus, reduced to… this. 

A fucking clown.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, and despite herself, she hit replay, hoping praying she’d somehow misinterpreted the entire thing.

But no. The sequence repeated. The same envious artistry, the same meticulous execution, the same tantalizing movements luring her into a false sense of security. And then, once more, the camera pulled back to reveal the nightmare that was Madame.

"Helena Ravenswood as the misunderstood fool of her own tragic play."

“Fool? Fool? ” Annie’s voice rose higher, startling even herself. How could Madame take a character like Helena – a symbol of resilience, complexity, and ambition – and turn her into some cheap punchline?

“Unbelievable,” Annie growled. Her mind raced through all the hours she’d spent poring over the trilogy, analyzing Helena’s every choice, every moment of defiance and despair. And this is what Madame does? This is how she honours her?

The sting of humiliation crept in, twisting the knife further. For a minute, she’d been intrigued by Madame’s skill, her presence, her appeal – just like always. And just like always, Madame had sucker-punched her with the unexpected.

“That’s it,” Annie snapped, sitting upright. Her face burned, her pulse racing. She was tempted to write a rebuttal, to stand up for the heroine she knew and loved.

But she stopped herself, biting her lip. What would even be the point? Madame would only brush it off with her usual snarky aplomb, and her fans would swarm like locusts.

Annie threw her phone onto the couch with a huff and buried her face in her hands. For a moment, she let herself stew in her frustration, feeling stupid for ever falling into Madame’s carefully laid trap.

But beneath the anger, something else stirred – something harder to pin down. A flicker of determination, faint but insistent.

Maybe it’s time someone reminded the world who Helena Ravenswood really is.

With a few quick taps, she pulled out her earlier workout video and typed:

"Helena Ravenswood – not a clown but a fighter 🔥🔥🔥Here’s how she’d train to survive her next battle 💪🏋️ #theoraclesprophecy #helenaravenswood #gymspo #booktok"

She read it over once, then hit “Post” without another second of hesitation.

This wasn’t just about the views. This was Annie reclaiming Helena Ravenswood from the chaos. From Madame.

And it felt damn good.

---

Annie was savouring one of those rare, blissful nights of uninterrupted deep sleep, the kind that felt like sinking into a cloud and floating away from all her problems. It was the kind of rest she hadn’t had in weeks.

Until her phone started ringing.

The shrill tone shattered the peaceful cocoon of her dreams. Annie groaned, her face scrunching up as the noise pulled her halfway into consciousness. She rolled over sluggishly, her arm flopping out to grope around her rumpled bed for the offending device.

Her hand brushed against something solid—her hot water bottle. Then her book. Then her teddy bear. Then her stuffed snake draft stopper that she treats like a plushie. Then another book. Then a bunch of scrunchies. Then her other pillow.

And then—thunk!

Her phone slipped off the edge of the bed and landed on the floor with a thud.

“Ugh,” she groaned, burying her face in her pillow for a moment before reluctantly dragging herself closer to the edge of the bed. With her eyes still squeezed shut, Annie stretched her arm downward, blindly patting around on the floor. Her fingers bumped against something smooth and rectangular, and she grasped it with the determination of a starving zombie.

She managed to pull the phone up without tumbling off the bed – a miracle in itself – and squinted at the glowing screen. The caller ID was blurry but the ringing was relentless.

She swiped to answer, pressing the phone to her ear as she slumped back into her pillow. “Hello?” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

Whoever was on the other end better have a damn good reason for interrupting her rare moment of tranquility.

"ANNIE!" Hitch's voice exploded from the phone, shattering whatever sleepy haze Annie had left. The sheer force of it startled her so badly that her eyes flew open as if pried apart.

“Were you sleeping?”

Annie groaned, rolling onto her back. “No, I was freakin’ skydiving,” she replied sarcastically, rubbing her face. “What do you want?”

“Did you follow my advice?”

“When was the last time you gave me useful advice?” Annie shot back, only half-joking.

“Ha ha, very funny. I meant about your Helena Ravenswood Workout video.”

Oh. That video.

Shortly after posting it in a fit of rage, the video hadn’t gained much traction. Disappointed but not surprised, she’d tossed her phone aside, opting to disconnect from the cyber world by curling up with a protein shake and some Rebecca Roanhorse. Somewhere between flipping pages, she’d fallen asleep, allowing the stress to melt away for a while.

“Yeah,” Annie muttered, trying to stifle a yawn. “What about it?”

“I can’t believe you actually posted it!”

“I know, I know,” Annie sighed, already bracing herself for Hitch’s critique. “I should’ve done it later, like you suggested, but I couldn’t wait—”

“That’s not what I mean!” Hitch cut her off. “Annie, you’ve gone viral! ”

Annie sat bolt upright in bed, nearly dropping the phone. “Wait, what?”

“You’re. Viral.” Hitch repeated, emphasizing each word like Annie might’ve forgotten what they meant.

“Are you sure?” Annie asked, her voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“Check it if you don’t believe me!” Hitch urged. “Girl, you’re blowing up!”

Still groggy, Annie hesitated before reluctantly unlocking her phone to open TikTok, her heart racing at the thought of what Hitch could possibly mean.

Annie's hand trembled as she stared at her TikTok notifications. The number of views on her Helena Ravenswood workout video almost blinded her: 27 million. Not thousand. Million. 

Her jaw slackened as she scrolled, heart pounding in her chest. This wasn’t real. There was no way.

“I—there’s no way. I can’t believe it,” she stammered into the phone. “This has to be some kind of glitch. Or—or—something!”

“It’s not a glitch,” Hitch replied, her voice brimming with glee. “You better believe it, Annie. You’re viral!”

“But—but—” Annie stammered, her mind racing. She hadn’t planned for this. Viral was for people who knew what they were doing, for—

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“This calls for an emergency meeting,” Hitch announced, as if Annie hadn’t spoken. “We need to figure out your next move before you spiral. Meet me at Liberio in an hour? Right, see ya!”

And the line went dead.

How had this happened? She hadn’t expected much from it—some views, maybe a couple of likes if she was lucky. But this? Viral? It didn’t compute. Annie chewed the inside of her cheek. Sure, the views were exciting, but with numbers like that came something else: comments. And over 5000 of them. Some of which were comment threads with replies numbering in the double-digits.

historias_secret: Why is this video 10+ hours long 🥵

reinervlogs: @bertotheburrito ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

tatakae69: We got a muscle mommy booktoker before GTA VI

tatakae69: Not that I’m complaining

bertotheburrito: 🔥mommy fr 🔥

mzfreckles: hey my gf & i saw you on our fyp and we totally dig your vibe. Can we buy you a drink soon ;)

luxlashbeautyltd: Hey hun! We’re looking for new reps and you look like a perfect fit ♥️ Send us a DM and we’ll send you a pick-me-up 💫

armin_in_action: Perfection ♥️

madame.ms.bigfan761: El amor de mi vida 😍

ma_loves0210: @madame.ms.bigfan761 does madame know you’re cheating on her?

madame.ms.bigfan761: @ma_loves0210 Both. Both is good.

springer_nanigans: I’m scared of women and people

reinervlogs: @bertotheburrito I don’t see a ring so 🤷🏼‍♂️

ma_loves0210: MA’AM 🥵💦

onyan.undercover: I can smell the comments

kingstallion0407: I should call her…

springer_nanigans: @kingstallion0407 call who? u have nobody😂 u gonna die alone

kingstallion0407: @springer_nanigans that isn’t what your mom told me last night btw its call WHOM

springer_nanigans: @kingstallion0407 Wow, my momma would never cheat on my dad. Thats fked up for you to inseminate that

bitesofbraus: @springer_nanigans INSEMINATE? LOOOOOL

springer_nanigans: @bitesofbraus I MEANT INSINUATE FUCKING AUTOCORRECT

kingstallion0407: @springer_nanigans why tf would i inseminate your ma?? what is wrong w you????

springer_nanigans: @kingstallion0407 u saying my momma ugly as fuck? she’d be disappointed to hear that

tatakae69: @kingstallion0407 you need to make sweet love to connie’s momma as an apology

kingstallion0407: @tatakae69 get tf outta here w ur mommy issues

tatakae69: @kingstallion0407 dont be so homophobic JEAN BOY

kingstallion0407: @tatakae69 HOW THE FUK DID YOU BRING HOMPHOBIA HERE

historias_secret: @kingstallion0407 i’m here. Did someone call my name?

mz.freckles: @historias_secret lmao no babe. They said homophobia, not historia

historias_secret: @mz.freckles oooops

mz.freckles: @historias_secret nah you good babe. See you tonight 👉👈

historias_secret: @mz.freckles I’ll be waiting😘

bitesofbraus: @historias_secret @mz.freckles dont you guys live in the same apartment?

kingstallion0407: @mz.freckles @historias_secret YALL NEED TO STFU

mz.freckles: @kingstallion0407 now thats homophobia fr

tatakae69: @mz.freckles told yall 🤷🏻

onyan.undercover: @tatakae69 Me genuinely tweaking cuz I have no idea wtf you all are on

The disbelief hadn’t worn off—it clung to her like static. She stared at her page again, her video now surrounded by an avalanche of notifications. Aside from the likes and comments, something else stood out.

Her feed was flooded with people tagging her in their own videos, inspired by her Helena Ravenswood workout. There were women who were showing off their own workout routines inspired by their favourite literature, some people reenacting her moves, some debating about which fictional characters would have the best workout routines. 

Then she spotted a username that stopped her in her tracks: @bitesofbraus.

No way.

The chef who Annie had first followed? She liked Annie’s video?

“Alright, guys,” she began. “Today we’re doing something a little different. Inspired by @MystiqueMystress and her Helena Ravenswood workout, I’m bringing you... the Helena Circuit Feast.”

The screen cut to a close-up of a cast iron skillet sizzling with veggies. “First up, Helena’s ‘Shadow Step’—a meal prep sprint. Chop, season, and toss in under ten minutes.”

The video transitioned to her deadlifting a kettlebell. “Then we’ve got the ‘Oracle’s Lift.’ Feel the burn, or you’ll never see the prophecy coming.”

Finally, she whipped up a lime green smoothie bowl, topping it with edible silver glitter. “And for the grand finale: ‘Ravenswood Recovery.’ Because even warriors need to refuel.”

The video ended with her striking a playful pose, one hand holding the smoothie and the other flexing her bicep. “Thanks for the inspo, @MystiqueMystress.”

Annie sat back, the phone trembling slightly in her hands. The reception was overwhelmingly positive, a whirlwind of enthusiasm she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the fact that someone as established as @bitesofbraus had noticed her. People were laughing, lifting, and getting creative—all because of her video. It felt... surreal.

For the first time in a long time, Annie felt proud. Truly proud.

Although, something small, primitive, was nagging at her…

Still riding the dopamine high from her video’s success, Annie hesitated, then tapped into TikTok’s search bar and typed in @MadameMelancholia.

Nothing.

Her brows furrowed. She double-checked the spelling. She knew it was right, having burned the name into her brain like a curse. She hit search again.

Still nothing.

Annoyance crept into her triumph. She backed out of the app, reopened it, and repeated the process. The result was the same. @MadameMelancholia might as well have been a ghost.

A quiet panic started to stir as she logged out of her account, logged back in, and tried again. When that failed, she deleted the app, reinstalled it, and started over from scratch.

Still. Absolutely. Nothing.

Confusion replaced frustration. Annie didn’t waste time, Googling her issue with laser-like focus. Her thumb tapped the first search result, and as she read the explanation, her heart sank.

If you fail to find an account after entering the correct username, then you have been blocked.

Notes:

NEXT CHAPTER: Annie is not going to let one measly block stop her from her goal.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Annie is not going to let one measly block stop her.

Notes:

TBH I'm not really happy with this chapter, even after rewriting and editing it several times. Plotwise, it follows everything I planned but something about it make me go hmm. Let me know your thoughts!

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As he spoke, flashy graphics filled the screen. Dollar signs floated around Zeke’s head, and charts showing a skyrocketing red line over a green backdrop appeared, complete with fake applause and triumphant music.

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tatakae69: These comments are diabolical 😭

kingstallion0407: I need your credit card number expiry date CVV password and property papers

coachzekeyeagerfx: @kingstallion0407 Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

tatakae69: @kingstallion0407 send it my way next 🗳️

springer_nanigans: I need one hundred marleyan child labourers by monday 5pm

coachzekeyeagerfx: @springer_nanigans Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

reinervlogs: @springer_nanigans AYOOO Keep my city's name out your mouth 🤣

toothp1eck85: I need the video of you shouting slurs in COD

coachzekeyeagerfx: @toothp1eck85 Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

99revolver_colt: @coachzekeyeagerfx ofc you would have something like that

reinervlogs: I need your fentanyl so i can kill myself

tatakae69: @reinervlogs BRO 💀

armin_in_action: @reinervlogs Nooo, don’t kill yourself you’re so sexy ahaha

coachzekeyeagerfx: @reinervlogs Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

bertotheburrito: @coachzekeyeagerfx bruh

onyan_undercover: I need Yelena’s number and address

coachzekeyeagerfx: @onyan_undercover Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

toothp1eck85: @onyan_undercover Valid

bertotheburrito: I need your mother’s ashes.

coachzekeyeagerfx: @bertotheburrito Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

tatakae69: @bertotheburrito straight to JAIL

wiinsmith: I need to borrow the children in your basement for a week btw

michenotmike: Ariana, what are you doing here??

coachzekeyeagerfx: @wiinsmith Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

_alphaawakening_: NEED

historias_secret: I need proof of you committing mass murder at a children’s hospital

coachzekeyeagerfx: @historias_secret Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

mzfreckles: @ historias_secret jfc unreal

michenotmike: I need your fursona to confirm your attendance to the furry convention ASAP

coachzekeyeagerfx: @michenotmike Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

leviackerman1: @michenotmike FFS now people will think you’re a furry too

wiinsmith: @leviackerman1 Game is game

leviackerman1: @wiinsmith NOT YOU TOO

mzfreckles: I need proof of you funneling money into offshore accounts to evade taxes

coachzekeyeagerfx: @mzfreckles Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

historias_secret: @coachzekeyeagerfx smh, we live in a society

tatakae69: I need that video of you grooming minors in minecraft

coachzekeyeagerfx: @tatakae69 Sent! Please check your DMs, and “accept” my request if you don’t see it 😃

coachzekeyeagerfx: @tatakae69 Eren, why would you say such a thing?

"No wonder this guy was trying to spruik me,” Hitch snorted. “He sucks at this.”

It was still the ass crack of dawn when Annie was bombarded with thousands of messages and what felt like a billion missed calls from Yelena, all screaming about the dire need for an emergency meeting. Meetings like this with Yelena were rare enough to warrant Annie’s utmost attention, but at such an ungodly hour, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Groaning, she dragged her chronically sleep-deprived, breakfast-skipped self to the nearest Tims because it was the only place open at this unforgivable hour.

Bleary-eyed and running on spite, she heaved through the door, the scent of burnt coffee and KiSS 92.5 assaulting her senses. Her vision blurred before being blinked into clarity when she spotted Hitch already seated in a corner booth, her chair adorned with a pastel blanket draped across the back like a throne.

“Fuuuuuuuck ,” Annie muttered, sliding into the seat across from her. Meanwhile, Hitch already had a platter of drinks and paper bags at the ready. “It’s barely 6 a.m.”

“What?” Hitch asked, innocently.

“Why are you here, and how—” Annie tried but words failed at her current state.

“Shhh, relax,” Hitch said, gesturing to the collection of brown paper bags. “I know you skipped breakfast, so I’ve got you covered.”

“Here’s your extra-large skimmed milk French vanilla latte with two sugars and whipped cream. Here’s your blueberry muffin. And here’s your double chocolate brownie.” Hitch said. “While you’re busy eating your way to diabetes, I’ll be enjoying my double-double and everything bagel.”

“And that?” Annie points to the multicoloured box at the edge of the table. “You got Timbits?”

“Hey, I knew this ‘meeting’” – Hitch made air quotes – “was going to be a long one, so I thought I’d treat us. I didn’t get donuts because after Scouts made you a donut connoisseur, complaining about the declining quality of donuts is your favourite activity, so I got Timbits instead.” Hitch finished her spiel with a flourish of jazz hands, but Annie had already stopped listening. She was too busy sinking her teeth into her precious brownie.

“And to answer your question,” Hitch reminded, “I’m here because when Yelena couldn’t get a hold of you, she turned her attention to me so here I am.”

“Because who wants a meeting at this time?” Annie blurts out, crumbs spilling everywhere. “And if it was an emergency, why isn’t she here?”

“Yelena doesn’t like to be kept waiting. She’s the one who keeps others waiting. Hence…” Hitch illustrates her point by popping a Timbit into her mouth.

“Rich people,” Annie rolls her eyes as she dug into her breakfast.

“Anyway,” Hitch said, twiddling her fingers, “with all this time, how about we talk about the elephant in the room?”

Annie paused mid-chew, her mouth full of blueberry muffin, a stray crumb hanging precariously at the edge of her lips.

"You know," Hitch prodded, leaning forward, "Tiktok."

Annie slurped some of her latte before she wiped her mouth with the edge of her sleeve and said, "Why would you bring that up now, of all times?"

“Because,” Hitch begins, “Zeke did such an atrocious job with soft launching his crypto scam that it needs to be a cautionary tale of what not to do when trying to be a content creator. Here, I’ll show you.”

And they spend the next twenty minutes scrolling through the goldmine that is Zeke’s comment section. If she could spend the next hour laughing at him, she’d love to, but now, she was knee-deep in the cesspool of her own creation.

"I get it, Zeke’s a mess," Annie said, pushing the muffin aside, "but I'm not exactly in a position to be throwing stones right now."

Hitch’s eyes sparkled. "No. But you’re still in the beginning stages. If you play your cards right, you won’t end up like Zeke."

Annie glanced at her phone. She still hadn’t forgiven Madame for blocking her but it was just like her to do that instead of accepting the constructive criticism Annie levelled her way. She was going to let her off the hook that easily and a measly block won’t stop her. Not when she was dead set on beating Madame at her own game.

“I actually do have something in mind. This time I wanna do a makeup tutorial.”

“Oof, if this about your Sephora stash then I’m sorry to tell that they–”

“No, not with that, but I’m still mad at you for that stunt,” Annie interrupted as she opened her phone, scrolling with purpose before turning the screen toward her.

“This time, it’s not going to cost me a penny.”

Hitch squinted at the screen. “Lux Lash Beauty?” Her eyes shot up in disbelief. “You’re really going to use them? They’re a dropshipping scam and God knows what diseases are swimming in their production factories. You’ll end up with a chemical burn.”

“That was the only makeup brand that offered to send me free stuff. And my page is filled with people using their products.”

“Yeah, because Lux knows they have a shitty rep, so they toss money at influencers to shill for them.” Hitch sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. I’ll help you. Even if it means you’ll end up with lead poisoning.”

“Girl, we live in Paradis. We got universal healthcare, unlike Marley. I’ll still have a long life expectancy.”

“That’s comforting,” Hitch deadpanned. “Because with your sugar intake, I’m honestly shocked your pancreas hasn’t handed in its resignation yet.”

“Hey, I burn off all that sugar during training.”

Suddenly the doors flung wide open, the muggy morning air rushing in as a pair of figures stormed inside. Annie and Hitch turned their heads toward the commotion. A couple entered, visibly agitated, their voices a furious whisper as they gesticulated wildly at one another. Both carried large Starbucks cups. Why would someone come to Tim’s just to drink a rival’s coffee? Annie wondered, but then as her eyes adjusted to the scene, she froze. The couple wasn’t just any random duo.

It was Zeke and Yelena.

Who were making a beeline towards them.

“Finally,” Hitch murmured under her breath, grabbing another Timbit. “I was gonna order lunch.”

Before they could come up with a game plan, Zeke and Yelena stopped right in front of their table. Zeke’s usual smug grin was nowhere to be seen; his face was twisted with frustration and Yelena had usual poker face on but was holding her cup in such a death grip it might pop off.

“We need to talk,” Both of them announced in unison.

Annie raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“If it’s about Oracle’s latest installment, then you should be happy to know Annie’s made incredible progress on—”

“Not that!” Zeke interrupted. “It’s something far worse.”

“And of greater importance,” Yelena gravely added, as though they were addressing a political crisis.

We’re literally talking about your book, but okay.

“So, what’s the matter, you two?” Hitch still had her customer service smile plastered but Annie could see the murder lurking just behind her eyes.

Zeke started with a dramatic sigh, his hand running through his hair. “It’s... complicated.”

“Deeply complicated,” Yelena echoed.

Get to the point.

“I’m sure it is,” Hitch agreed-but-not-really.

Finally, Zeke, clearly relishing the moment like the bastard he was, thrust his phone onto the table. “It’s about this!”

Annie leaned forward. On the screen was a still from Zeke’s BeastCoin video.

For a crazy second, Annie thought Yelena had secretly bugged her phone and heard the two of them shit talking Zeke earlier. She wouldn’t put it past Yelena – God knew she’d done worse.

But thankfully, Zeke, for once in her life, shattered her paranoia. “BeastCoin’s reception did not go as I planned.” He groaned.

“Oh, for fu—” Annie resisted the urge to smack a hand to her forehead. Whereas Hitch went for a more diplomatic route, “Wow. I had known cryptocurrency was already making the rounds but I didn’t know Annie and I could help you in this matter,” which was professional-speak for What the fuck does this have to do with us?

Zeke ignored her. “And that’s not all.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Zeke wedged himself next to Hitch, crowding her against the wall while Yelena slid into the seat beside Annie, making her instinctively shift away.

“Despite everything I’ve done, all the late nights I spent toiling to cultivate BeastCoin into the success it is,” – Hitch choked when he said that – “Someone took a screenshot of the logo and sold it as an NFT.”

So the reason that Annie and Hitch were dragged out of bed this early in the morning was because someone turned Zeke’s monkey coin scam into another scam?

Her dislike must have been obvious because Yelena glared back at her, almost disintegrating Annie alive. “It’s intellectual property theft! We can’t have some no-name profiteering off Zeke’s hard work!”

Hard work? Like the 30-second Canva job he slapped together for the logo?

Zeke pounded a fist on the table. “This is a serious matter! Whoever did this undermines the credibility of BeastCoin!”

“Or it could be someone playing a practical joke?” Hitch suggested, already reaching for another Timbit.

“You could be right,” Zeke sighed, reaching out for a Timbit as well, seemingly oblivious to Hitch’s now righteously indignant face. “When you’re as influential as I am, you have a lot of enemies.”

Yelena nodded solemnly. “This kind of sabotage happens to visionaries all the time. It reminds me of that one time someone stole your manuscripts.”

Annie nearly choked on her latte. “You’re an author too?” she asked, genuinely caught off guard.

Zeke straightened in his seat, clearly pleased by her reaction. “Indeed I am,” he said proudly, “But my work is more focused on helping people reach their maximum potential. Nothing like the tales you write about fairies and pixies and warlords and whatnot.”

Oh, so he’s that kind of author.  Annie instantly regretted her interest.

“How to Win People and Influence Friends and Rich Kid, Poor Kid,” Zeke continued, clearly basking in his own brilliance. “Both of these draw heavily from my personal experiences – coming from a blended family and the skills that helped me climb to where I am now.”

Annie blinked, her face carefully blank, but Hitch’s lips twitched like she was seconds away from breaking into laughter.

“Wow,” Hitch said, managing to sound halfway sincere. “Two books already? That’s impressive.”

“Exactly,” Zeke said, missing her tone entirely. “You see, the modern world is all about leveraging your mindset. If you can master that, you can master anything. My books are tools for unlocking that mastery.”

“Uh-huh,” Annie murmured, watching Hitch’s hand creep toward her phone under the table, no doubt planning to look them up for a good laugh. “Such a shame they were stolen before you could publish them.”

“Oh no, they were already published. It’s just that...” Zeke grimaced as if the memory was physically painful. “Someone bought them, scanned them into portable document formats, and uploaded them to the Garrison.”

Annie and Hitch exchanged confused glances.

“The Garrison?” Yelena’s tone was urgent like she were explaining some unspeakable atrocity. “You know, the online laundering site? The one that deprives artists of their creative works? Devalues the textbook market and undermines the publishing industry?”

Annie and Hitch stared at her, still lost.

“Its full name is the Garrison Library?” Yelena said, exasperated.

“OOOHHH.”

“You mean G-Library,” Hitch clarified, as if Yelena had called Katy Perry by her government name.

“That website saved me thousands of dollars on textbooks in university,” Annie added.

“You’re part of the problem!” Yelena snapped.

“I mean,” Hitch shrugged, “if your book ended up there, maybe it’s just karma?”

“Absolutely not!” Zeke shot back, his tone scandalized. “That site is a cesspool of piracy, and theft. A pure breeding ground for degenerates who don’t value hard work. Do you know how many hours I poured fine tuning prompts for those books? How much wisdom I packed into those pages? And for what? For some entitled freeloaders to turn my blood, sweat, and tears into free downloads? I have half a mind to file DMCAs and get that site shut down for good—”

“NO!” Annie and Hitch shouted,  their voices loud enough to freeze Zeke mid-rant. Even Yelena blinked back at the force of their reaction.

“What we meant to say,” Annie took a deep breath, rubbing her temples as she tried to regain her composure. “is that you shouldn’t act so brashly. The fact that someone pirated your books and uploaded them to G-Library means they’re very popular.”

Zeke blinked, still processing her words. “But… it’s theft!”

“Technically, yeah,” Hitch interjected, holding up her hands in mock surrender before leaning forward. “But think about it. What if you turned this into an opportunity instead of a disaster?”

Zeke frowned, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly intrigued. “Go on.”

“Alright, hear me out. What if you did a collab between BeastCoin and Oracle? You could run a campaign where, when people preorder the next installment of Oracle’s Prophecy, they also get first dibs on BeastCoin. Like they’re getting into something exclusive.”

Zeke stroked his shaggy beard, visibly mulling it over. Yelena’s expression shifted, her lips curving into a thoughtful smirk.

“You mean... position it like a premium membership kind of thing?” Yelena asked.

“Uh, I mean, exactly,” Hitch said, snapping her fingers. “You could market it as this exclusive bundle—something for the forward-thinkers and go-getters of the world. It’s not just a book or a coin. It’s an investment in your future.”

Yelena nodded slowly. “It’s... not a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” Zeke agreed.

Annie bit back the urge to roll her eyes at how easily they were swayed. “Yeah, great,” she muttered, taking another sip.

Zeke was glowing as if Hitch had handed him the golden ticket to solve all his problems. “This… this is brilliant. Truly, I knew coming to you two was the right choice,” he said, grinning as he clasped his hands together. “You’ve just saved my reputation!”

Yelena nodded in agreement, her face softening into a faint smile. “Thank you both. We knew you’d have some good ideas to help us work through this.”

Annie waved them off with a shrug, barely looking up from her latte. “Yeah, sure. Glad to help or whatever.? While Hitch, ever the picture of charm, gave a beaming smile. “Happy to help!”

“Of course, of course!” Zeke said enthusiastically as he stood up. He adjusted his glasses like a man on a mission. Yelena followed suit, brushing invisible crumbs off her jacket.

Just as Zeke turned to leave, he paused and glanced back at Hitch. “Hitch, I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again. You’d be a valuable asset to my team. Give it some time and think about it, okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” Hitch said in a tone that suggested she was very much not going to think about it.

But nonetheless, Zeke smiled as if she’d just agreed to sign a contract on the spot. “That’s all I ask.”

“Think about it, huh?” Annie watched the two blondes’ retreating figures. “You think he only came to us because he has no friends?” She glanced back to see Hitch peering inside the Timbits box.

“Hitch?”

“Son of a bitch ate all my Timbits!”

 

---

 

Annie’s brain was in overdrive as she scrolled, swiped, swirled, and refreshed her TikTok feed for what had to be the thousandth time. Her fingers were starting to burn, but she couldn't stop herself. Curse her brain for falling victim to these dopamine factories. The reason for her obsession? Her makeup tutorial. The one she’d posted with Hitch’s hands-on assistance so she didn’t look like someone had tried to draw the Terrifier from memory like the first time. And not to be a stan but it had been seventy-two hours since that video went up and there had been no response from Madame.

Not just that but Madame hasn't posted anything in close to a week.

What the hell was going on?

Not that Annie was worried about her. Maybe Madame was just on some kind of TikTok detox. People did that, right? Woke up one morning, decided to be "wholesome" or whatever, and deleted the app so they could touch grass.

Or maybe Madame had woken up with a sudden change of heart, looked at her mountain of gothic makeup and snarky commentary, and thought she’d needed to abandon the ring light and officially retire?

Yeah right, and Mother Theresa was Annie’s long lost mother.

Not that Annie cared. She wasn’t losing sleep over it or anything.

...But seriously, why hadn’t she posted?

As if the universe itself had been eavesdropping on her spiraling thoughts, Annie’s phone chimed with a notification. Madame Melancholia has posted a new video. Like a viper striking its prey, Annie swiped it open.

The video had been posted mere seconds ago, but already there were over a million likes and hundreds of comments pouring in. Apparently, Annie wasn’t the only one desperate for Madame’s return. Her pulse quickened as the video began to play.

Madame appeared on the screen, draped in her signature garb: lace gloves, dark velvet cloak, black choker adorned with a crescent moon, and the ever-present smoky makeup that made her look like she was cosplaying a Victorian chimney sweep.

“Greetings, fellow creatures of the night,” she intoned, her crimson-painted lips curling into a soft smile. “Madame Melancholia here, as always, to guide you through the mysteries of the dark and the beauty hidden within the shadows. Thank you for joining me on this journey of mine.”

Annie’s fingers tightened around her phone, her full attention captured. Even now, Madame had an uncanny way of making every viewer feel as if she were speaking directly to them.

“Recent events,” She continued, her voice dipping into a quieter, more solemn tone, “have given me reason to pause and reconsider many things. I’ve spent much time reflecting, and today, I’ve decided to do things… a bit differently.”

She raised a gloved hand toward the camera and with a slow, fluid motion, she drew her hand back, and the screen transitioned to an outdoor setting. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, dappling the ground with golden light. And there, standing in the middle of the shot, was Madame Melancholia – but not as Annie had ever seen her.

Gone were the gothic adornments. Instead, she wore a plain gray tank top and black leggings, her long, inky black hair pulled into a simple ponytail. Her face was bare, free of makeup, revealing smooth, unblemished skin and sharp, striking features. She looked... normal.

Annie blinked, momentarily stunned. She barely registered the sound of Madame speaking again.

“For today’s video,” Madame said, her voice softer now, devoid of its theatrics, “I want to show you something different. No shadows, no mysteries. Just me going about my day in this beautiful weather. I hope you’ll follow along as I step into this new chapter… and see where the light takes us.”

Madame could have been reciting the entire script of the Bee Movie and Annie wouldn’t have caught a single word. She wasn’t listening. Not to the words, at least. Her focus had been entirely hijacked by the sight in front of her, where Madame Melancholia moved through the world like an Olympian goddess untethered by the world’s consternations.

The sunlight, dappled by the trees, spilled over her pale skin, painting it in golden undertones that softened the sharp edges of her features but it was the colour blooming in her cheeks that arrested Annie the most. A growing rose tint, subtle yet impossible to ignore, spread across Madame’s face as she broke into a steady jog. Annie’s breath hitched as she watched a bead of sweat form along her brow, glistening like a droplet of melted snow, before trailing its way down to her collarbone and disappearing beneath the neckline of her tank top...

FOCUS ANNIE

Annie’s eyes snapped back to Madame’s face, desperate to stay aboveboard. 

Gritting her teeth, she dragged her eyes to linger on the subtle curve of her lips as Madame kept talking though she hadn’t the faintest clue what she was saying. But her brain was starting to act like a fourteen year old boy with how it was constantly shoving her eyeballs downwards. But honestly, how could she not? Not with the way Madame’s arms moved, strong and purposeful, with muscles that seemed to ripple with every step, sent Annie’s thoughts spiralling.

Her tank top clung to her form as she picked up the pace, the fabric hugging every graceful line of her upper torso. Don’t look below the neckline. Don’t you dare. But the devil on Annie’s right shoulder that looked disturbingly similar to a certain raven-haired witch tantalizingly whispered, Come on. Just one peep. For science.

No, she can’t! 

Marleyan elections. Willy Tybur. Sweaty gym bros. BeastCoin. Everything bagels. Two pigeons fighting over a chicken wing. Skin tags. Yaoi fanfics about dictators. Zeke Yeager. Crackheads in the Paradis subway. Paradis subway washrooms. Her dad’s lovelife.

Think about something - anything - just to get a control of her hyperactive imagination and stop her face from heating up.

Back up, she wasn’t blushing, was she? Okay, she did feel warm but it was because her phone was overheating in her hand. Yes, that had to be it. Because there was absolutely no reason that watching Madame Melancholia go for a run should feel like watching the CIA tapes.

Obviously, Annie didn’t expect a goth girl to be so dedicated to fitness so really, she was just admiring her vocation. Yes. That was all. Nothing else. Right?

This was getting out of hand. She needed to put a barrier between the screen herself. Maybe the comment section? Surely the sea of text would be a welcome distraction?

Evidently not.

tatakae69: Suns out guns out 👏

kingstallion0407: I support women’s right to bear arms 💪

historias_secret: Looking like a whole snack 🔥

armin_in_action: Omg the golden hour

mzfreckles: This isn’t a thirst trap; it’s a damn disaster zone.

madame.ms.bigfan761: Imagine being the sidewalk under her shoes 😩

springer_nanigans: Casually ending lives like… save some some for the rest of us?

bitesofbraus: HER MUSCLES BE MUSCLING

madame.ms.bigfan761: pov: You’re the tank top holding on for dear life. 🫠

madame.ms.bigfan761: How do I apply to be one of her shoelaces? Serious inquiries only

madame.ms.bigfan761: Disrespectfully, Madame, I’m gonna need you to step on my neck

madame.ms.bigfan761: I pledge allegiance to Madame Melancholia and the republic which she stands for. One nation. Under Madame. With liberty and justice for all.

madame.ms.bigfan761: ok but Madame’s sweat??? Bottled when??? And sold where???

leviackerman1: @madame.ms.bigfan761 My brother in Christ, are you alright?

mzfreckles: @leviackerman1 As a lesbian, I can sleep peacefully knowing I’ve never simped hard for a woman like this guy has

This app was a blight on humanity and how could these users, who were most likely humans behind the screen with families and respectable careers, be devolved into acting like total idiots?

Her muscles do be muscling though, a primitive voice in her head jeered. She needs to bleach her eyes just to get that sentence out of her vocabulary.

However, one comment did catch her eye.

_alphaawakening_: But-but-but women don’t want us to sexualize them?

Of fucking course, some asshole had to ruin the moment. it was always one of these pathetic, insecure, terminally online morons who just had to ruin everything. The boiling rage in her chest spilled over, hotter than any round in the cage. This single, stupid comment encapsulated every patronizing insult, every leering remark, and every ignorant assumption she’d endured in her training. How the hell was this still a thing? Women couldn’t even breathe without some insecure asshole projecting his own inadequacies and whining like a little baby.

And now here it was again, tainting a space Annie adored.

Before she could second-guess herself, she hit send.

i_am_warrior_number_four: @_alphaawakening_ Cry me a fucking river dude. Since the stick has gone so far up your ass it’s affecting your brain, women do NOT exist to cater to your porn fantasies and sure as hell don’t need your unsolicited opinions about their bodies. If the idea of a living and breathing woman is enough to make you lose your shit, maybe take your hand off your dick for once and stop thinking the world revolves around you.

But the anger still clung to her, like a sticky residue she couldn’t scrub off. She stood up, pacing the room in an effort to work out the restless energy coursing through her. She clenched and unclenched her fists, flexed her shoulders, cracked her knuckles – anything to release the tension. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to do something.

Her eyes landed on her gym bag in the corner, and an idea started to form in her head. She grabbed her phone again, scrolling to her workout folder. She’d just hit a new personal best on leg day this week. She’d been planning to save those clips for a rainy day, but screw it. She opened her main account and started putting a video together.

She made sure to choose the best clips –  the ones that showed her form, her power, and yeah, maybe the ones where her quads looked extra defined. It wasn’t bait… not really. It was a giant middle finger to @_alphaawakening_ and anyone else who thought like him.

The other part of her? Well, she wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted Madame to see it, too. Not that she’d tag her or anything. But if Madame scrolled through her main feed and stumbled across it? That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Satisfied with the final cut, she hit post and tossed her phone onto the couch again, this time with a bit more triumph.

 

---

 

“Oh my god, Annie! I love you but you can’t be this dense.”

“I still have no idea what’s happening!”

“Come on, use that big brain of yours!”

“I tried everything and got nothing. This is why I called you!”

“Annie, I’m begging you. Think. Why do you think people are spamming the peach emoji under your leg day video? What does a peach look like?”

Annie frowned, scrolling through the comments again. Peach emoji after peach emoji filled her screen, sometimes accompanied by flame emojis or heart eyes. It was like a virtual fruit salad had invaded her post. “I don’t know… it’s round? Sweet? Is this some weird fitness slang I’m not in on? Like, ‘no pain, no gain’ or something?”

“Gainz? Oh my god, no.” Hitch groaned loudly, the sound of her forehead smacking against something solid traveling through the line. “Annie. Sweetie. A peach emoji is... about butts.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Your ass, Annie. They’re talking about your ass. You’re out here with quads and glutes carved by the gods, and you’re surprised people noticed?”

Annie’s face went scarlet. “Oh, come on! I wasn’t trying to… to… draw attention to that! I just posted a workout video!”

“Yeah, well, the internet doesn’t care about your intentions. They care about your—”

“Don’t say it!” Annie warned.

“Ass. I’m saying it. Ass. Butt. Booty. Posterior. Gluteus maximus. I’m not letting you live in denial.”

“This is so stupid,” Annie groaned, flopping back onto her couch. “It’s not like I can leave my ass at home.”

Hitch snorted. “Welcome to the internet, babe.”

“But what do I do now?”

“Nothing. You do nothing. You let the peach emoji army live their lives and you keep slaying in the gym. Or…” Hitch paused, a mischievous edge creeping into her tone, “you could lean into it. Call it ‘Helena Ravenswood Ass Tutorial!’ You’d make bank.”

“I’m hanging up and blocking you forever.”

“Okay, but think about it!” Hitch cackled before the call abruptly ended.

She clicked back onto her TikTok. The comments were still rolling in, more peaches and flames than she could keep up with. And okay, yeah, maybe the angle on that one squat clip was a little flattering, but how was she supposed to know it would go viral?

Right now, she needed to scrub the lingering knowledge of peach emojis from her brain. Her thumb hovered over her alt account for a second longer than usual before she sighed, giving in. It was her escape, after all, her guilty pleasure.

When her account loaded, Madame’s profile was at the top of her For You page, as if the algorithm itself knew Annie needed her now more than ever. She tapped on the latest video without hesitation.

The screen lit up with Madame’s elegant visage framed by soft, diffused lighting. “Greetings, creatures of the night,” she purred in her velvety tone, her dark lips curving into a faint smirk. “Tonight, I’ve prepared something… ripe with decadence. A treat plucked straight from the orchards of Persephone.”

Annie’s eyebrows rose. Was Madame holding a basket of… peaches?

Sure enough, Madame gestured to the wicker basket in front of her, overflowing with golden-pink orbs. “I’ve recently returned from the farmer’s market,” she explained. “And I couldn’t resist these… peaches.” She caressed one, her pale fingers trailing over its fuzzy surface.

Annie froze. No.

“These are exquisite,” Madame continued, holding it up to the camera. “ Firm yet yielding, their aroma almost intoxicating. And their shape… ” She tilted her head, giving the fruit a thoughtful glance. “Is simply perfect. I’m sure it reminds us of something we can all agree on, no? ”

Annie blinked rapidly, feeling lava creep up her neck. Surely, Madame didn’t mean – no, she couldn’t mean – 

Madame brought the peach to her lips, inhaling softly as if savoring its scent. “The thing about peaches ,” she murmured, “is their ability to awaken the senses. They’re soft, juicy, and irresistible. You can’t help but want to take a bite.”

And then she did.

The bite was slow, deliberate, her teeth sinking into the fruit’s tender flesh. Juice dripped down her fingers, catching the light as she licked it away with a flick of her tongue. She sighed contentedly, her eyes half-lidded as she whispered, “I do love taking a bite out of a round, luscious peach.”

Annie stared at her screen, her brain short-circuiting.

Just what the fuck was Madame doing? How was this related to her gothic shit? Or did she just get a kick out of trolling people? Or maybe it was just the overwhelming realization that—

PING!

The abrupt chime of a new notification startled her, breaking the spell. Annie fumbled with her phone, nearly dropping it. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away from Madame’s tantalizing video and glanced at the notification banner.

It was another like – on her leg day post.

“Of course,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Probably another unhinged fan. Her thumb moved to dismiss it, but she froze when she saw the username.

sirlionheart073986

Liked you video

The profile picture? A blurry selfie of a middle-aged man in a baseball cap and sunglasses, lounging in a pickup truck.

It wasn’t another gym bro.

It was her dad.

And his content? A goldmine of wobbly videos of nature, selfies with the latest filters and screenshots of cringy ‘I hate my wife’ jokes despite her dad never having a wife.

But the worst was the one reel where her dad just posted a closeup selfie shot of him, intensely staring at the camera with Eye of the Tiger playing in the background. Annie didn’t know what made boomer men want to post a picture of themselves so uncomfortably close to the camera with a not-smiling not-frowning expression on their face.

And then there were the comments…

karinabraunnews: 😍😍😍😍🔑

tatakae69: Smash. Next

kingstallion0407: LET HIM COOK

historias_secret: Whos uncle is this 😂?

springer_nanigans: no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table ta the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponent al, logarithmic, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick thribbing, first clenching, ear rining, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jitterbug. mind blogging, soul snatching.overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering. orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, cant walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening pussy popping, nail stractching. back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming heavenly, awakening, devils tangos riding one could offer

tatakae69: you MADLAD

armin_in_action: This is the type of content I show my grandparents to confuse them more

reinervlogs: Uncle, please. My mom is on the app.

ma_loves0210: Now hold on sec, he makes a good point.

bertomynameo: 10/10 spank bank Thx pops

mzfreckles: How is this getting 4 million likes 😂 ?

mr_fingers420: Nice pic, very good

toothp1eck85: @mr_finger420 When did my dad get Tiktok 🤔?

kingstallion0407: @mr_finger420 I’m begging you with all my heart to please change that username

witwaves22: Excuse me ma’am, not to be disrespectful or rude but could you please take post down. That is my sister who was killed by a metra train. And it this post is very disrespectful. Idk who you are or if you even know her but I need you to take this down please.

onyan_undercover: @witwaves22 Baby, this is Keke Palmer

Wait a minute…

She’s seen that username before.

“Hitch!”

Notes:

The farmers wrap at Tim's always slaps.

Chapter 5

Notes:

crack crack crack crack crack crack this chapter is pure crack crack crack crack crack. Also, Im sorry it took so long, my new job is taking a toll on me.

_alphaawakening_: STEP ON ME MADAME 🫦💦

onyan.undercover: uh floch you forgot to log into your alt

kingstallion0407: lmao floch caught in 4k

tatakae69: AINT NO FUCKING WAY

armin_in_action: It’s always the people you least expect /s

mzfreckles: @historias_secret looooooll

springer_nanigans: don’t be shy floch. In the clerb, we all simps

tatakae69: @springer_nanigans Dude, that’s my bestie you’re talking about

springer_nanigans: @tatakae69 you jealous?

tatakae69: @springer_nanigans a little bit 😞

springer_nanigans: @tatakae69 dw I gotchu bro. No one can ever steal your spot.

tatakae69: @springer_nanigans bro 😭🥺

kingstallion0407: @springer_nanigans @tatakae69 How tf did I get into this crew?

You and me both, kingstallion0407.

Normally, finding out that Madame’s most virulent incel douchebag was also her thirstiest follower would’ve made Annie cackle. Not because she was on Madame’s side, but because the irony was too delicious to ignore. Finding out that his profile was deleted once you clicked on his username was the cherry on top.

But Annie digressed.

What she was really here for was to run a background check on the user who proclaimed himself to be her closest confidante. The user who goes by the handle @tatakae69.

(How mature of him, Annie rolls her eyes. For someone as refined as Madame, why would she associate herself with a guy whose humour never progressed past high school? Actually, he’d be one of those guys who peaked in high school and subsequently never moved on.)

The reason Annie had to sacrifice her free time and sanity looking him up was the fault of that damned witch who had knowingly snuck past Annie’s defenses and made a home in her psyche like a raccoon squeezing through your home and nesting in the walls. And now, that woman had the audacity – the unholy gall – to feature him in her videos. Like he belonged there. Like he deserved to be basking in her dimly-lit, velvet-filtered glory.

It was meant to be some kind of fitness challenge. Annie couldn’t say for sure, because every bit of instructional audio blurred into background noise the second he appeared onscreen. Her vision tunneled, blood pressure spiking for all the wrong reasons. The nerve. The absolute offense of his existence. The sight of this… man (and yes, that was the worst insult Annie could conjure) made her jaw clench so hard her molars ached.

Madame liked to poke fun at Annie’s work, her pride and joy, the result of blood, sweat, and literal bruises while knowingly keeping close company with this… oily, greasy, man-bun-wearing neanderthal. That made her a hypocrite. A charming, ethereal, unbearably gorgeous hypocrite but a hypocrite all the same.

She scrolled through his profile with increasing disgust: almost every video was him shirtless, flexing in mirrors, or balancing absurd amounts of dry chicken on rice. Annie’s guessing he’s never heard of spices before. There were viral dance challenges too. Somehow, infuriatingly, he was actually a good dancer, with pointed footwork that had no right being that polished. And then there was the carousel of thirst traps that made Annie want to chuck her phone into a vat of acid.

…

Huh?

There was another video, not unlike the others but was a noticeable departure from them.

He stood in the middle of a crowded street, surrounded by rainbow flags and strobe-confetti cannons. He wore a neon pink fishnet top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, tight black vinyl shorts that miraculously didn’t split when he moved, aviator sunglasses, and bright red nail polish that gleamed like rubies as he twirled for the camera.

“Haters be damned 💅 Happy Pride 🏳️‍🌈💖✨ #pride2024 #loveislove #queer #bibibitches #pinkponyclub #shrekisloveshrekislife #janellemonae #brasil” boasted the caption.

He laughed. Full-bodied. Loud. Electric.

And dammit, he looked good.

Not in a I’m-a-lesbian-and-think-he’s-hot way. Not in a wow-he-actually-has-style way. No. This was a fully-formed, painfully authentic, startlingly magnetic kind of good.

She didn’t know whether to gag, scream, cheer, or send a cease and desist.

Okay, so he’s an ally? Or maybe an overly flamboyant slash homoerotic straight guy? Either way, supporting queer rights shouldn’t be commendable. It should be expected of any decent human being. Otherwise, the bar has plummeted so low it’s somewhere beneath the seventh circle of hell, where even Dante couldn’t find it.

Annie sighed and closed her laptop. She was supposed to get up in four hours for Liberio’s opening shift but here she was, buried under the mess of her bedsheets, doom scrolling some random guy’s socials. To be fair, her sleep schedule would have been screwed up regardless if she was online or not. Anyone would think Annie was fast tracking her way to eye strain and parasocial relationships.

Speaking of which, her inbox was flooded with requests from people all over the world (Hitch had been aghast after seeing her follower count, “How do you have more followers than I do?!”) declaring their undying love for her. Then there were ones who thought they were friends. People messaging her paragraphs that opened with “I know you probably won’t see this, but I feel like I can talk to you” and spiraled into detailed accounts of breakups, injuries, betrayal, court trials, and the end times. Or worse: people who tagged her in videos of themselves in abominable forms in hopes she’d critique them like some kind of sadistic gym dominatrix.

Against her better judgement (not like she had any in the first place), she flipped her laptop open again. These days, she preferred the secondary account over her main: it was quieter, calmer, less saturated with the noise of digital adoration and trauma dumps and no endless loop of peach emojis.

But what caught her by surprise was the little red dot blinking in the top corner of her screen.

[NEW MESSAGE REQUEST]

Annie squinted at it. The request had come through a few hours ago.

The username was unfamiliar: @ma_loves0210. Generic. One of those random-letter-number mashups that screamed either burner account or someone trying to peddle Shein codes or crypto scams. No profile picture. No bio.

It wasn’t like her to get attention here. So getting a message request here? That was new.

Curiosity (and maybe just a little reckless) got the better of her so she clicked.

She expected something weird or vaguely threatening. Burner accounts didn’t exactly inspire hope. But instead, it was… a screenshot?

i_am_warrior_number_four: Cry me a fucking river dude. Since the stick has gone so far up your ass it’s affecting your brain, women do NOT exist to cater to your porn fantasies and sure as hell don’t need your unsolicited opinions about their bodies. If the idea of a living and breathing woman is enough to make you lose your shit, maybe take your hand off your dick for once and stop thinking the world revolves around you

Oh. It was that comment.

Beneath it, @ma_loves0210 had written:

 

ma_loves0210:

I NEARLY DIED LAUGHING. I think I saw God.

ma_loves0210:

BTW this has been on my mind for days but… is your username a reference to Pittacus Lore?? 👀👀 And Warrior Cats?

 

Annie snorted. 

No one had clocked that before. Not even Hitch. Well, to give her credit, Hitch didn’t even know she had an alt in the first place and she hasn’t confronted Annie about it yet so it couldn’t be her. Besides, Hitch had never gone through the same YA-obsessed phase Annie had back in the day. And Annie’s phase had been brief, anyway. She hadn’t lingered in the YA trenches as long as most kids her age did and quickly migrated to V.C. Andrews while the aforementioned species remained an unfinished footnote in her mental archive

Just who the hell was this person? She needed to know.

So she typed:

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Hi there! Thanks for your kind words! And not many people get that reference so I’m interested to know how you got it.

 

Wait. She can’t send that. It’s too formal. If Hitch were here, she’d smack her up the head for writing “like she was on a university discussion board replying to her classmates’ posts.” If she wanted more information then she needed to get on her level.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

1) ok thank u sm lol

2) who r u and how did u know that

3) wait seriously how did u know that. no one ever gets it

i_am_warrior_number_four:

btw, what’s the reference behind your username 🤔?

 

There. Just the right amount of grammatical errors without sounding too juvenile and one emoji to make her seem chill. Now she could wait until the next morning (or next century) waiting for a reply and in the meantime, draw up a list of suspects on who could be behind this.

Except—

PING!

 

ma_loves0210:

Wouldn’t you like to know 😜 Also, I was more of a Redwall girly

 

Alright, that definitely ruled out half the suspects in Annie’s mind. Though a small part of her begrudgingly agreed with the stranger’s Redwall take, it was sharp enough to distract her from the much more pressing question: how the hell had this person responded so fast, at this hour of the night?

But if this user wasn’t that acquainted with Pittacus lore then why could bring it up? Was this another trick up their sleeve? Annie needs to test out a few theories.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Not Animorphs?

 

ma_loves0210:

Those were fine but the covers used to scare my brother so we had to put them away. Looking back now, it was acc. funny to see him so out of shape over those freaky ahh covers

 

Hm, so the user has great taste in children’s fantasy and has a brother. What else can she learn?

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I loved the covers from Geronimo Stilton.

 

ma_loves0210:

OMG YES!!! Those books were my bread and butter. I am proud to say that I own all 30 books + Thea Stilton’s adventures

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I was a victim of the mouse themed spellings 😭 Like what do you mean famouse, fabumouse, enormouse?

 

ma_loves0210:

Pretty sure my school librarian hated me because I fought with her on the correct spelling of Hercule Poirot

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Hercule Poirat lol

 

ma_loves0210:

Shot in the dark but have you read Jacqueline Wilson?

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Have I been living under a rock? Fuck yeah! I still check them out as an adult. Although, looking back, the plotlines were horrifying. Like Dustbin Baby? I was reading that when I was 8

 

ma_loves0210:

And in Vicky Angel where Jade nearly died the same way as Vicky? I devoured that.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Honestly, I preferred those books because younger me found them realistic. Like not all of us had crazy rich uncles kidnapping us after our parents died and then trying to send us off to magical boarding school.

 

ma_loves0210:

Hey, I consider Violet Baudelaire the blueprint of womanhood. Like I would tie my hair with a shoelace and pretend I was some kind of badass

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

All these young ‘uns talking about the TV show as if I didn’t have Lemony Snicket giving me a masterclass on gaslighting.

 

ma_loves0210:

For real, I’m like “Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch! I was there when it was written.”

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Judy Moody?

 

ma_loves0210:

Judy ran because Ramona Quimby walked

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I used to get so mad when adults were mean to her. Beverly Cleary knew exactly how to write asshole adults

 

ma_loves0210:

She was just doing her best. Also please tell me you have read The Giver

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

“Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch! I was there when it was written.”

i_am_warrior_number_four:

But yes. Thank you Lois Lowry for teaching 9 year old me about society

 

ma_loves0210:

You sound like my brother. The Giver is his favourite book and he’s always quoting it. Even in situations where it doesn't require it.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Switching gears for now: Goosebumps?

 

ma_loves0210:

R. L. Stine is the inspiration behind my aesthetic. They don’t make horror like that anymore.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I think ventriloquist dolls should be illegal. I got nightmares from Night of the Living Dummy

 

ma_loves0210:

Meanwhile I got a Slappy for my birthday once ♥️

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Girl what?

 

ma_loves0210:

Hey, Roald Dahl was worse. I can’t look at chocolate and candy the same way because I thought some mad scientist had cooked some children to make them. Willy Wonka blew up a girl into a blueberry, stretched a kid into an NBA player and his army of squirrels brutalized a family

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I blame the movies for that one. But Matilda will always be elite

 

ma_loves0210:

See, Matilda I can get behind. Found family? Magic kick-ass powers? I’ll take 10 more of them.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Now here’s the mother of all children’s literature

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Judy Blume

 

ma_loves0210:

She should have won a Nobel peace prize. No one did puberty like her

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I grew up with a single dad so her book was a godsend for me.

 

ma_loves0210:

Single dad or no, she taught us everything what our biology textbooks couldn’t

ma_loves0210:

I'm going to start a children’s lit book club for adults

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I’ll bring the Capri-Sun and the thinly sliced pizza

 

---

 

Annie blinked. Once. Twice. But her vision continued to smear around the edges like a Salvador Dali painting.

Colours bled into one another, then melted into grey. Her back ached. Her fingers were slack. Every sense of hers was slowly dulled until the thoughts itself become syrupy and slow. All she had to was–

“Shit!”

Something hard and sharp cracked against her forehead.

Her head jerked back, hitting something else in its trajectory. Her elbow slipped, crashing into an armrest, rattling her ulnar nerves until she could feel it in her skull. Her breath came short and fast. The blur cleared.

The monitor at Liberio Books. Bright. Glaring. Waiting.

The glowing 9:43 AM on the log-in screen stared back at her from the front counter, like a spotlight through her fog. She wasn’t in bed. She wasn’t home.

She was at work. Seventeen minutes before opening.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, pushing herself up with a groan. The chair beneath her creaked sending her tailbone in a frenzy.

She really should have gotten some sleep last night but she had to get distracted from that sidequest she had to stupidly follow when there were more pressing matters at work.

Namely Oracle’s preorders.

At first, she was grateful to Hitch for expertly talking Yelena and Zeke out of reporting G-Library. If those two cared about their reputations as much as they claimed, then going after G-Library would’ve been like pouring gasoline on a wildfire.

But now? She could kill Hitch for this.

In what godforsaken, cursed timeline did books and crypto belong in the same sentence? Evidently, the one Annie was in. Literature and blockchain. Plot twists and pump-and-dumps. Paperbacks and Ponzi schemes.

It was dystopia. And not the cool one with revolutions and prophecies.

She clicks and drags a bunch of files titled ‘BeastCoin’ to the recycle bin. After their last meeting, Zeke had oh-so-generously emailed her a heap of them, each one more nauseating than the last. One particularly vomit-inducing one featured a pixelated monkey in sunglasses with the tagline “Unleash the Beast!” in Comic Sans. Somewhere deep inside her brain, a blood vessel snapped.

She had work to do. Actual work. Something still tethered her to a sliver of sanity: the Oracle preorders. If she could just get the new title up on Goodreads, she might still cling to the illusion that she was a writer and not a crypto scammer. She logged into Goodreads and navigated to the “add a new book” section. She was halfway through typing The Oracle’s Prophecy Book 4: The Hunter’s Call when a suggestion popped up.

Wait. What.

There, blinking up at her from the void of cyberspace: The Oracle’s Prophecy Book 4: The Hunter’s Call already existed. No cover. No summary. Just a skeleton entry.

And one review.

A ball of nausea curled in her throat. It had to be a prank. Some of Madame’s gremlins, maybe, trying to start shit. She could handle that.

She clicked it open and her spine instantly locked.

The username glared at her like a curse: tatakae69.

What the fuck?

The same guy she was stalking researching last night? The same man-bun-wearing, Pride-attending, dance-challenging, suspiciously-endearing gym bro who’d infiltrated Madame’s videos and became the object of Annie’s totally justified, totally rational ire? The same guy whose TikToks she hate-watched until she went blind?

That guy was on Goodreads?!

She clicked the review, stomach in knots. There was no rating. Just a sentence.

Yelena, I can’t keep defending you.

That same guy was crapping on her pride and joy?

Her heart was thundering somewhere between rage and something far, far more dangerous. If she was on her laptop, she would have snapped it shut. No way this was real. It had to be a troll. Or a burner. No way was she going to let some himbo in a fishnet top get away with this.

And she froze.

The profile wasn’t empty. It wasn’t new. It had been active for over a few years now. 

Rows upon rows of reviews lined the page. Actual reviews, not the one-sentence reactions that made her feel like she was on Wattpad. These were coherent, structured, borderline academic in tone, peppered with dry humor and the occasional well-placed joke. And they had decent grammar.

She scrolled faster, disbelieving. His absolute-favourites shelf was stacked with Philip Pullman, Tamora Pierce, Rick Riordan, Malorie Blackman, N.K. Jemisin, and Lois Lowry. The latter of which was featured front and center in his bio with a quote that kicked Annie square in the ovaries: “If everything's the same, then there aren't any choices! I want to wake up in the morning and decide things!”

Finally, she saw… it.

His bio actually had a name.

Eren Yeager.

Annie’s eyes locked on the name like it had grown claws and dug into her skull.

No. No fucking way.

She knows a Yeager. A very specific, very smug, Yeager…

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, unmoving, while her thoughts stampeded through every worst-case scenario imaginable. It couldn’t be a coincidence, right? Yeager wasn’t exactly the John Smith of surnames. Not in Paradis. Not in her life.

Her heart jackhammered against her ribs. Her vision ping-ponged between the glowing Goodreads profile and the Beast Coin promo stack Zeke had dumped on her like a pile of dirty laundry. The same Zeke who claimed to be allergic to fantasy, whose reading comprehension hovered somewhere between “design thinking” and “fiat currency” That Zeke had a relative who quoted The Giver and wrote articulate, almost meaningful reviews on books?

Her mouth felt dry.

There was no mention of Beast Coin on his profile. No shirtless gym selfies. No wannabe alpha posturing. Just... books.

Her brain was sprinting in a dozen directions and none of them ended well.

Because if Eren was connected to Zeke, then what did that spell out for Yelena?

Annie’s stomach flipped. Yelena didn’t move without purpose. She didn’t hire, partner, or even breathe in someone’s direction unless it played into her warped chess game of brand dominance and personal cult-building. If Eren was part of the picture - no, if he had always been part of the picture - then Annie was already a few steps behind. Again.

Had Yelena known about this Goodreads account? Was it all one big experiment? A long con? A social campaign stunt in the making?

She scanned the Eren’s profile again, this time with a suspicious eye. No links. No self-promo. His taste skewed more anti-capitalist than crypto-shill. Between 1984 and The Communist Manifesto, he had a long thread passionately decrying The Lorax as Gen Z’s Bible against overconsumption and populism. If he was working with Yelena, he was doing a hell of a job playing it.

And that might have been the most terrifying part.

What was Annie supposed to do?

 

---

 

“So… Oracle. The preorder button has been summoned. It rises.”

Her latest video opened in her usual fashion: dim candlelight flickering in the background, heavy black eyeliner like wings of vengeance stretched across her lids, and a glittering black veil clipped into her hair with tiny silver safety pins. A tower of annotated paperbacks loomed behind her along with a goblet of cherry cola.

“But, in typical Yelena fashion, it doesn’t come alone. No. It’s shackled to the corporate spawn of Satan: Beast Coin.” She narrowed her eyes at the camera, the glitter in her eyeshadow catching the light like tiny razor blades. “Yes, you heard me. Beast Coin.”

Cue dramatic cut to a glitchy zoom-in of the Beast Coin logo, set to distorted Death Note-style Gregorian chanting.

“Let me get this straight,” she continued, “Months have gone by, waiting for this messiah of dark fantasy to descend upon us, only to have it arrive clutched in the hands of a greasy charlatan with the moral compass of a sea cucumber.”

A screenshot of Zeke appeared, ripped from one of his livestreams. In it, he was mid-sentence, gesturing wildly with a mic clipped to his hoodie, standing in front of a poorly made slide deck that read THE FUTURE IS BEAST in Impact font.

“This… man,” Madame Melancholia said with quiet venom, “has the audacity to shill his crypto scam to a book launch. As if literature wasn’t already being strangled by late-stage capitalism. As if we needed another version of that cursed U2 album shoved into our iTunes library uninvited.”

She leaned in, speaking with a conspiratorial whisper. “Except at least U2 had the decency to release good music. Zeke Yeager wants you to preorder a book and mine a coin. I don’t even know what that means. I don't want to know what that means.”

“I want to support literature. I want to support good literature. But I swear to the moon and every gothic heroine who ever fainted in a cursed manor, if I ever see Beast Coin QR code in a bookstore, I will start hexing people. ”

She took one last sip from her goblet. “Anyway. Link not in bio. You're welcome. ”

This time Annie didn’t even bother reading the comments. Not because she can’t stand criticism but because she agreed with them. Must be a polar night in hell since this is the first time Madame was right about anything.

No one had taken this the hardest than Zeke.

He had spent the entire day blowing up her phone with the urgency of a man whose private jet had been denied takeoff clearance. His SOS ranged from “Annie, are you sure you used the promotional materials I gave you? Are you sure about that?” to “I just feel like maybe you didn’t lean into the BeastCoin angle enough. People don’t realize they’re part of a trickle down economy. Maybe a second post with some of the talking points I gave you? Highlight the benefits of digital wallets? to “I’m still not over how my books were illegally uploaded to Garrison. How has no one reported that website yet?” to “How come Yelena can use you to write her novels but the second I use generative artificial intelligence algorithms, I’m the bad guy? ”

She was going to have to sage the entire store just to remove the stench of this PR disaster. Of all the things she didn’t need today, a Zeke-style mansplanation was at the top of the list. Annie had been ghostwriting for Yelena for three years now and had orchestrated preorder campaigns, cover reveals, and advanced readers copy launches. She had done that. Zeke hadn’t even bothered reading Oracle. And all of it was happening while her book, her writing, the thing she had suffered blood, sweat, tears, and Yelena’s passive aggressive edits for, was being overshadowed by electrical monopoly money with a repurposed Curious George mascot.

She typed out a reply and deleted it. Typed another, then deleted that too. What she wanted to say was “Are you sure you didn’t curse this project with your shitty stunt?” But she settled for a single thumbs-up emoji. Passive-aggression was healthier than prison time.

This whole saga left her in such a bitter, curdled mood that she couldn’t even muster a half-assed response to Madame this time. Instead, she settled on a few grainy highlights from her last BJJ tournament which were mostly footage of her choking out a dude twice her size. She slapped a few Oracle hashtags on it and hit post. Not even a caption. Let the world make of it what it would. Actually, they’d most likely spam her with peach emojis or some other fruit with a double meaning.

She muted her notifications and tossed her phone onto the counter like it had personally offended her. Because if Zeke sent one message about “maximizing consumer outreach” she was going to choke him out too.

But before she did that, she had to double-check one thing.

The screen loaded slowly, as if even the app was warning her not to go down this path.

But there it was.

A new message.

 

ma_loves0210:

Hey, have you read Oracle? Cuz preorders are open for Book 4

ma_loves0210:

Idk if I’ll be preordering it. I’ll wait and buy it like a normal person lol

 

Oh, have I? Annie let herself smile a little bit, the tension in her shoulders loosening. She still didn’t know who this person was but it didn’t feel like someone trying to get something out of her. Of course, she could be wrong but she’s always open for book discussions at any time of the day.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Yeah I have. Been following the series since they were first released. They have a special place in my heart. How about you?

 

ma_loves0210:

I only bought the first one. The rest I downloaded them online 🫣 does that make me a bad person??

 

Yes, Annie’s pride cried out. But in a world of Zeke Yeagers and Yelenas, downloading books online doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. Besides, her paycheque isn’t affected by this. @ma_loves0210 wouldn’t be the first one to do this.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

We a love a girl who promotes intellectual theft

 

ma_loves0210:

Dang, sorry for being so naughty 😉 how can I make it up to you? 

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

You can start by preordering Book 4 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

 

ma_loves0210:

In this economy???

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

You’ll get to fast-track your way to financial independence through BeastCoin

 

ma_loves0210:

😭😭😭😭😭😭

ma_loves0210:

I just wanna know what went through their minds when they thought of this collab. Like it’s so out of this world

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Rich people 🙄

 

ma_loves0210:

I feel bad for their publishers and everyone else who works with them. You can tell Yelena and Zeke have never been told no in their lives

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

EXACTLY

 

ma_loves0210:

Listen, Im not against YA fantasy but it’s pretty obvious that Yelena capitalized on it when it was getting popular. And for a time, it was a golden era because you had society divided into the most nonsensical groups ever but all it took was a 16 y/o girl to fight and topple the govt

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

And the movies had such killer soundtracks! My music taste has been 100% Arcade Fire for 10 years now.

 

ma_loves0210:

Kid Cudi, Ellie Goulding, Lorde, I have all of them

ma_loves0210:

Do you want an Oracle movie to happen? Imagine the soundtrack

 

She reread the message once. Then again.

She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t let herself care. Not when the books weren’t even hers. Not when Yelena’s name was plastered across every cover and she was stuck playing ghost to her own work.

But even so…

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Yes ♥️♥️♥️

 

ma_loves0210:

Hear me out

ma_loves0210:

Kendrick

ma_loves0210:

SZA

ma_loves0210:

And for the grand finale: Paramore.

 

Annie bit her lip, trying to hide her smile.

Maybe someday. Maybe never.

But for now, it was enough that someone else could picture it too.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

And I’d love to see you as the composer

 

ma_loves0210:

🥹🥹🥹

ma_loves0210:

But I wouldn’t want to get attached to a project with Yelena’s name all over it 😒

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Oh? You’re not an Oracle fan after all?

 

She instantly regretted the defensive edge it carried. She should’ve added a “lol” or an emoji. But the moment had already passed.

The typing bubble appeared.

Vanished.

Came back again.

Annie’s heart tugged at the pause, stupidly.

She shouldn’t care what some rando thought. She knew that. But after everything she’s been through, this conversation was one of the few bright spots in her life. It had been going nice, which felt rarer than it should’ve.

So why did it already feel like it was slipping?

Finally, the reply came through.

 

ma_loves0210:

Omg no that came out wrong

ma_loves0210:

My gripes are with Yelena as a person and the company she keeps. Writing-wise, Oracle is fine and it’s not like a divine punishment that some booktokers are acting like.

ma_loves0210:

People can be so dramatic these days

 

It was here where Annie truly understood the significance of the following sentence: she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

She leaned back, letting her shoulders drop as the tension bled out of her spine. Stupid. She was being so stupid. But her smile returned all the same, small and involuntary.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

You’re officially in my good books!

 

ma_loves0210:

I wasn’t, before?

ma_loves0210:

JK but srsly, Oracle is the reason I got myself out of a reading slump and why I started expanding my bookshelf. People are so hard to please these days.

 

She tucked her phone a little closer to her chest, heat spreading across her cheeks despite herself.

She still didn’t know who this person was.

But suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to stop talking to them anytime soon.

 

---

 

“Annie, I’m not one to usually say this but can you please get off your phone and work?”

Annie flinched as if Hitch had caught her smoking, quickly locking her phone and sliding it into the pocket of her hoodie.

“I was working,” she snapped, reaching for the stack of textbooks she was supposed to pack and ship. There were twenty-two of them – thick, glossy McGraw-Hill bricks that needed to be out by tomorrow at the latest. Someone had paid extra for expedited shipping, which meant no excuses, no delays, and definitely no texting.

“Is that so?” Hitch raised a brow as reaching for the pink minifridge of snacks. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked like you were caught looking at porn.”

Annie scoffed, maybe too loudly. “Gross. I’m not twelve.”

“Mhm,” Hitch pulled out a strawberry oat bar. “So you’re not chatting with an e-girl?”

Annie’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Just kidding,” Hitch said breezily, already halfway through her snack. “Anyway, it’s your turn to be on the floor. I’m taking my break now.”

Annie grumbled under her breath but hauled the stack of textbooks onto the cart with a satisfying thud before wheeling it to the back. Once they were out of sight, she smoothed her hair, grabbed her name tag, and made her way to the front register. The floor was quiet at this time of the day but was bound to get busy in the evening, after everyone was done with work and school. Hitch was in the back, likely snoozing, so it wouldn’t hurt to sneak a quick look at her phone.

She pulled it out and refreshed the thread with @ma_loves0210. They’d been discussing their favorite horror picks, and @ma_loves0210 had just confessed they were ready to read something beyond Stephen King. Annie took that as an open invitation to wax poetic about her current obsession: domestic horror, specifically, the unsettling, surreal kind like from Mona Awad. She was halfway through Rachel Yoder’s Nightbitch and had been sharing her most unhinged and non-spoiler thoughts along the way.

She was ready to type a passage from the latest chapter when the bell above the door jingled, snapping her back to reality. A customer stepped in.

Annie straightened, tucked her phone under the counter, and plastered her best customer service smile and said, “Hello.”

The customer, a tall, lanky guy with sandy hair and the kind of awkward energy that screamed computer science major, scratched the back of his neck and said, “Uh, hey, do you guys sell textbooks here?”

“Sure we do,” Annie said, already mentally flipping through their inventory list. “What are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for Intermediate Business Analysis. From McGraw-Hill.”

“Sorry,” she said, remembering she had just moved twenty-two identical glossy bricks that morning. “We just ran out of that stock.”

The guy groaned. “No way. My midterms are in two weeks and the textbook has all the practice problems.”

Annie tried to summon a sliver of sympathy, but it was halfway through the semester and now he was panicking? “I’m sure your university bookstore has it,” she offered flatly. Or, you know, download it like every half-functioning student did back in the day.

“Yeah, but with 100% markup rates,” he said with a bitter laugh. “They buy the textbooks cheap and flip them to us at triple the price. I even tried G-Library, but they shut down.”

Annie blinked. “Hold on, G-Library shut down?”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” The guy shrugged. “Even when it was up, they only offered the textbook in pieces. Like, a few chapters at a time? I managed to get, like, chapters one through six but when I went back for the rest... poof. Gone.”

That didn’t sound right. There were times when G-Library’s link wasn’t working but more often than not, another link or two popped up. “Hold on. I’ll check it right now on the store computer. Just to see.”

She turned back to the register, clicked out of the sales screen, and opened the browser. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed in the G-Library URL she knew by heart. The site usually took a second or two to load, depending on the domain it had migrated to. But this time…

Blocked.

A big, corporate-style warning page glared back at her:

THIS WEBSITE IS NOT AVAILABLE

She refreshed.

Same thing.

She tried a mirror URL. Another.

This can’t be happening. It wasn’t even a re-direct. It was just gone. Blocked from existence.

“Well,” she said tightly, “if it’s gone, it’s probably just temporary. I’m sure someone’s already working on a mirror site.”

“I hope so,” the guy muttered, backing away toward the door. “Guess I’ll just have to wing it until then.”

Something cold and slimy crept its way up Annie’s spine. She pulled out her phone and typed in the G-Library URL.

Blocked. Same warning.

Weird.

Okay, maybe the network was flagged.

She ducked behind the counter and reached for the dusty, half-charged tablet that still ran on some prehistoric OS under the drawer where they kept old tech. She powered it on, waited through the sluggish boot-up, and typed in the link again.

Blocked.

Alright, what the actual hell?

She tried toggling between the store’s Wi-Fi and her own mobile data, even attempted to run it through a VPN.

Still blocked.

No redirect, no domain error. Just a full, sanitized lockout.

Like someone had pulled the plug and scraped the mirrors clean.

Maybe she needed someone else or something else like another IP, another pair of eyes. Her thumb hovered over her contacts. She was about to type out a message to Hitch when her phone buzzed.

 

ma_loves0210: 

oh my fucking god you will not believe what just happened

 

If Annie’s heart pounded any faster, it would rip out of her chest, Alien -style. The message was followed by a link to an Instagram post.

The screen loaded to an Apple Notes screenshot from @coachzekeyeagerfx. Zeke’s personal account, the one he used for finance content and motivational reels.

Question for the culture:

Now that literally every pop star, athlete, and business is allowed to automate captions, write emails, streamline their content, mechanize their workflows, and profit off it - can I please go back to using AI in my own projects (yes, including BeastCoin) without being crucified or called the downfall of creativity?????

I’m fed up with every e-girl and alt influencer saying that I’m glamorizing environmental destruction (how???) and putting artists out of business when in reality I’m just a glamorous forward-thinking entrepreneur who happens to know how to build smart systems. Sue me.

With the advent of technological advancement that has led to people finally being allowed to push past their boundaries, I just want to say that over the last three years I think it’s pathetic that my creations have been ripped, repackaged, and uploaded to sites like G-Library without my explicit consent. These bad faith actors aren't just undermining my business - they're disrespecting creators as a whole but somehow I’m setting authors pack hundreds of years.

Let this be clear, I’m not not an ethicist - but there has to be a place in ethics for creators like me who can protect the integrity of their work the same way you’d protect your manuscript, album, or thesis. The kind of people who get their own stories and voices taken away from them by stronger people who hate technology.

So yes, I’ve filed DMCA claims. And yes, I will continue to do so.

I’ve been honest and optimistic about the challenges I’ve had when it comes to generative AI.

News flash! That’s just how it is for many of your ‘faves’

Yes, I’m talking about Yelena. Yes, she’s a friend. And she uses a ghostwriter (Sorry about this Annie but you'll understand where I'm coming from) for her Oracle series. Always has. Always will. But instead of outrage, people call it “visionary.” Or worse, “Paradis Times bestseller.” How is it okay for her to pay some bookstore owner to write about faeries and warlords but I’m the devil in a Lacoste polo for optimizing storytelling workflows through machine learning.

There’s got to be room in this conversation for people like me: the kind of guy who genuinely wants to democratize access to publishing tools, who says things too bluntly sometimes, who’s easy to scapegoat because I don’t dress my ideas up in twee metaphors or wear lacey dresses and light candles calling it an ‘aesthetic’.

Just like how Jesus was flamed for speaking the truth, people like me get slammed for being too ahead. I’m not anti-human. I’m not anti-art. I just believe art evolves. It always has. It always will.

Anyways none of this has anything to do about much but I’ll be dealing with some of my feelings in my next two books that are an introduction to crypto mining with Schuster and Simon. Yes I’m still making personal reparations with the proceeds of the books to my choice of Subject of Ymir foundations which I’m very happy about. And I’m sure there will be tinges of what I’ve been pondering in my new project that comes out in the near future. You can hear more about it by trading in BeastCoin’s latest launch. Link in bio to learn more.

Thanks for reading

Happy trading.

Comments have been disabled for this post.

No.

No, no.

No no no no no—

Annie’s lungs shriveled. Her vision tunneled. Her skin - her skin was being flayed alive. That was the only way to describe it. Each word Zeke wrote was a needle piercing into her flesh, dragging down slow and cruel, peeling her open inch by inch.

Ghostwriter.

He actually said.

And he had the absolute nerve to apologize for using her name.

She was being eaten alive from the inside out.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to vomit. She wanted cry.

She wanted to claw through the screen and drag him into the black pit she was falling into.

And just like that, it wasn’t her skin anymore, it was rubber. Stretched wide. Exposed. Every secret. Every hour she poured into that cursed Oracle series, every sleepless night cradling Yelena’s impossible plot holes and weaving them into something divine and now reduced. Public. Flung to the wolves by a man who didn’t even understand the story.

She didn’t know if she was still breathing. Her heart thudded like it was trying to break out of her ribcage. The walls were closing in. The room was collapsing.

Until everything went black.

Notes:

Can you tell I went to a british school growing up?

Chapter 6

Summary:

Things go worse before they get better.

Notes:

Guess who worked 60+ hours a week on minimum wage this entire summer and was rewarded with a promotion? Not me. I was laid off...

But without further ado, here's the FINAL CHAPTER!

For the longest time, Annie despised the cold weather. It was hard to explain why. Maybe it was the steadily climbing hydro bills, or the annoying reality of having to tack on an extra twenty minutes just to layer up in thermals and wrestle into her winter boots. Or maybe it was the sight of the grey skyline at five or six o’clock and the flicker of streetlights signalling the end of the day that sent a ripple of unease in her gut.

It made no sense. Annie was a grown adult so it shouldn’t bother her anymore but for a younger Annie, the shorter days and early streetlights meant kids everywhere packed up before darkness fell and headed home to warm kitchens and home cooked dinners. Meanwhile, she was still stuck in the cold gym with her old man as company. Dinner was usually a crumpled brown bag of greasy beef patties tossed her way and a lukewarm bottle of Gatorade. There were no seconds. No warmth. Just the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead and the echo of her own ragged breathing as her father pounded his life lessons into her.

But now, the sky is no longer the dreary slab of grey that brought about long, lonely nights, but a canvas painted in soft ribbons of purple, pink, and gold. It looked almost unreal, like the final brushstrokes of a dream she didn’t want to wake from. The sun hadn’t quite dipped below the horizon yet, casting everything in a kind of warm, forgiving glow.

For the first time in a long time, the sky didn’t feel like a countdown. It wasn’t a warning or a reminder of what she was missing. It was just… beautiful. And hers.

If she had the heart of an artist, she would have painted the sprawling art laid at her feet. But the only thing she was good at with her hands was punching stuff.

And destroying lives.

The picturesque sky vanished, eclipsed by the blur of a rose printed on a fleece blanket. Its deep red bled into her vision, a shade that reminded her too much of blood. It had to be a thousand degrees and Annie always ran hotter than most, but the stifling weight was the only thing that kept the outside world at bay. The longer she stared at the sky, the happier she would feel. And it was that fragile, jarring optimism that had led her straight to her current predicament.

Why did she ever think she could do this? She was good at a few things. A few things she should have been grateful for but no, she had to go and ruin it by thinking she could reach for more, that she actually deserved better. She should’ve stuck with books and martial arts, within the safe, familiar confines they offered. They were the bedrock of her youth, the scaffolding that shaped her into the woman she was now. If she had only listened to herself, today would’ve been just another ordinary day at Liberio Books with ringing up books, boxing shipments, then slipping off for a quick gym sesh before heading home to her quiet apartment, where a dog-eared paperback and an overly sweet protein shake would’ve been waiting for her.

Instead, here she was, locked underneath a woolly prison of her own making.

“Don’t sweat it too much! I can handle the fort just fine. And unlike me, you haven’t taken a single vacation day since you took over Liberio so you shouldn’t feel guilty for taking time off.”

Taking time off was a flowery way of saying hide until the media circus dies down .

Annie pinched the corner of the fleece tighter under her chin, the rose pattern blurring into a smear of red and cream. Almost like the aftermath of a murder scene. She’d always claim that she’ll take a vacation when she’s dead, appalled at the idea of leaving Liberio Books all on its own like a mother abandoning her infant. It’s not like she didn’t trust Hitch’s work but in retrospect, there was no one else she would entrust her baby to.

A faint tremor rattled beneath her. Annie froze, her heart stopping cold, blood icing in her veins. She jammed her palms against her ears and forced herself to focus on her breath, even as her mind screamed.

Inhale.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Hold,

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Exhale.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Her pulse steadied by degrees, though the exercise left her body sagging, drained. She finally dared a glance over the bed. Not a phone vibrating. Just a groaning pipe. Lionheart’s Gym must be overdue for a plumbing replacement.

She wondered if Liberio Books was also overdue for a replacement co-owner…

What happened between Zeke’s post and now was a blur, smeared together like watercolours blending onto paper. Annie remembered fragments: the sound of Hitch’s panicked voice, the press of her hands shaking her shoulders, the way the world shrank and cracked into pieces until she was pulled back into it in the back room of the shop and the sight of Hitch tripping over herself to the phone. Then her head snapped around at the sight of Annie stirring, and she was at her side in an instant, eyes wide, barking out questions as if they were lifelines.

“Is your chest hurting? Are you dizzy? What’s your name? Tell me where you are?”

Annie wavered, sluggish, her tongue heavy, her brain scraping itself back into place.

“Answer me, Annie!”

When she managed to croak out enough words to satisfy Hitch, the woman thrust a crumpled paper bag into her hands and ordered her to breathe. In. Out. The thin paper crackled with every desperate inhale, every shaky exhale, the sound loud enough to drown the chaos still thumping in her skull.

By the time Annie’s breathing had steadied and the paper bag lay crumpled in her lap, Hitch was already flying with purpose, storming out front and returning with the clatter of locks and the rattle of the store’s gate being dragged down.

Annie had protested that she was fine and there was truly no need for the store to go down with her but one sharp look from her friend was enough to silence any sort of opposition.

Since her father had long since moved away to work as a personal trainer at Marley University, the upper floor of Lionheart’s Gym lay empty, Hitch unilaterally decided it was the perfect place for Annie to be nursed back to health.

But that barely scratched the surface of what was to come.

After Zeke had outed her as Yelena’s ghostwriter, the world fell off its axis. He had only mentioned her first name. Just Annie. That should’ve been nothing. But it was enough for everyone to piece together her identity. They found her apartment. They found her alma mater. They found her bank. Hell, they even located her local grocery store. All the places she thought untouchable, her small, private worlds where no one ever looked twice, were suddenly contaminated with strangers circling around like vultures. Her phone was a graveyard of missed calls, the notifications bar swelling until it froze the screen. News outlets, podcast hosts, publishing blogs—everyone wanted a piece of the meat before it was gobbled up. Her inbox bled red, every subject line some variation of “Request for Comment ” or “EXCLUSIVE Interview Opportunity!”

What was meant to be a temporary accommodation for Annie to recuperate from her spell of panic turned into a semi-permanent stay because Lionheart’s was the only place they hadn’t zeroed in on. Days bled into one another in the cramped apartment, the space slowly enveloping around her like a second skin. When the mere buzz of a phone was enough to send her spiralling, she stopped answering and let it scream itself hoarse on the nightstand. She stopped checking her inbox, deleting the mail app altogether when the unread count reached numbers that made her stomach churn.

Her walks to the bathroom, to the fridge, to the shower were rehearsed with military precision, her ears straining for footsteps or voices outside. As if the silence might make her invisible again. And when Hitch knocked - to wordlessly drop off food and other care packages - Annie would curl deeper beneath her fortress, thinking maybe if she could make herself small enough, still enough, the world would forget she ever existed.

Liberio Books might as well have been another planet now. The store had become a circus ground. Hordes of people loitered outside and inside, not to browse the shelves but to point their phones at the counters, snap flash photos against Hitch’s protests, and outright demand to see Annie. Customers came less for novels and more for spectacle, pressing questions across the register, trying to coax Hitch into slipping them details. The online presence of the store fared no better. They were review-bombed so viciously that Hitch finally disabled their location on Maps altogether. One-star ratings flooded in, accusing Annie of everything from dishonesty to exploitation, most of it from people who had never set foot inside.

Even the website suffered. Under the ‘Our History’ tab, there used to be a short profile on Annie alongside Hitch, describing their beginnings. Now, when Annie scrolled the page in the dead of night, it was only Hitch. No trace of her remained, like she had never been there in the first place.

So she didn’t ask about sales, about the customers, about the routine she once clung to. The thought of stepping foot outside, of exposing herself to more cameras, more whispers, more strangers who knew her name without permission made her soul keel over and heave.

And throughout this ordeal, Hitch never once complained, didn’t roll her eyes at Annie's theatrics, stocked her care packages with her favourite food, and made sure to leave handwritten store updates with them. She never said otherwise but Annie could feel her eyes on her every time she lingered too long in silence, waiting for her to say something, a sign of consciousness, or proof that she hasn’t suffocated. But they have been friends long enough for Hitch to know that this was the most she was going to get and she should be content with whatever scraps of attention Annie spills her way.

Still, that didn’t make her feel better. None of this did.

Her life had fallen into stasis; work, friendships, the faint outlines of a future she had once let herself dream about, were all frozen, untouched, waiting in a kind of limbo. Annie herself was paused, a mannequin wrapped in wool and inertia. The only moving thing in this whole tableau was Hitch. Hitch who answered the phones, who replied to customers’ furious emails, who shut the curtains and stocked up on groceries, who carried the weight of living for both of them, orbiting around Annie’s stillness with a patience that made Annie feel more like a burden than she could bear to admit.

Surely Hitch deserved better than that. Surely there was something Annie could do to show how appreciative she has been of Hitch’s efforts. She didn’t know what brought this on. Maybe to hear her own voice outside the muffled cocoon of shame. Maybe because her silence was calcifying into something permanent, and she needed proof she could still reach beyond it.

So one day (or afternoon, night, she lost track a long time ago), she pulled out her old Nokia (a burner phone because she obviously couldn’t use her normal one), and pressed in Hitch’s number, fingers trembling.

When Hitch picked up, her voice was short and guarded, challenging whoever was calling her to identify themselves before she hung up.

“Hello?”

Annie closed her eyes, pressing the brick against her ear, forcing the word out before she could smother it.

“Hey…”

“Annie?” Hitch immediately grew concerned. “Are you okay? Did you eat anything? I’m coming over–”

“I’m fine,” She interrupted. “Just wanted to call you… and ask how your day’s been.”

“Oh,” Hitch noticeably exhaled, a sound halfway between relief and exhaustion. “Well, it’s good. My day’s been good. I found this new sushi place nearby. It looks nice.”

“Yeah, you should definitely try it out.”

Silence grows between them.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Sorry for… scaring you earlier,” Annie gripped the phone tighter, curling into herself. “Because I, you know, called from a burner phone and I just now realized–”

“Annie,” Hitch interrupted. “It’s okay. As long as I get to hear from you then it’s all fine.”

“Oh.” That earned them another silence but softer this time. Annie could almost picture Hitch leaning against the counter, phone cradled between her shoulder and ear, as she tapped away on the store computer.

“You can always come visit Liberio after closing time,” Hitch said eventually.

“No,” Annie said too quickly. “I can’t.”

Hitch didn’t argue. “Alright. Then this works too.”

Annie picked at the blanket with her free hand, heart hammering like she was on some kind of stage. “I feel like I’m disappearing,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “Like… if I stay in here long enough, there won’t be anything left of me when I come out.”

“You’re not disappearing.” Hitch’s reply was firm, like she could will the truth into Annie by sheer force. “Life’s been a shitshow for you so you're putting a pause on things. That’s all. Doesn’t mean you’re gone.”

Annie pressed her forehead into her knees. “It doesn’t feel like a pause. It feels like…” She searched for the word, lips dry. “Like a rot.”

A beat passed. Then Hitch said, softer: “Then let me keep you from rotting. Let me hold you together until you’re ready.”

The line went quiet again. Annie’s throat burned. She hated how much that promise made her want to cry.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked finally, voice small. “Why are you still here?”

Hitch gave a humourless chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, girl. You’ve been stuck with me since forever, you should know by now you’re not shaking me off that easy. Besides, who else is gonna beta my caitvi smut fics?”

Despite herself, the corners of Annie's mouth twitched upwards. “You know, there are billions of repressed gays willing to do that for free. You don’t have to chain me to it.”

“Oh, please, like I’d trust some rando on the internet with my magnum opus,” Hitch scoffed. “And that reminds me, have you finished Arcane yet?”

Annie groaned into the receiver. “You’ve been on my ass about that for two years.”

“Two years since you’ve denied yourself the holy grail of sapphic art bestowed upon us mere mortals?”

“You only care about the sex scene.”

“And you don’t?”

“You only care about that because you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Ouch.” Hitch said, faux wounded. “Guess you’re back to normal now after insulting me.”

And just like that, like Annie’s life hadn’t taken a nosedive, a faint candlelight flickered in the fog. It wasn’t deep, it wasn’t heavy, but it was comforting at how easily she and Hitch slipped back into their usual rhythm, from arguing over fictional ships to trading barbs about each other’s questionable personal lives. The flame giving rise to the faintest certainty taking root that maybe, just maybe, she could find her way forward.

 

---

 

Annie started small. This time, she didn't lay in bed all day but swung her legs over the side and stood up. She washed her face, the cool water grounding her in a way that blankets never could. The next day she found herself sweeping the apartment. Soon after, she Instacarted actual groceries, instead of takeout. Each small victory slowly piled up and the fog thinned, making Annie feel a steadier confidence in the shape of what she was going to do next.

But she’s not confident enough in opening her phone just yet so she opts for her laptop and logs on to her alt account, @i_am_warrior_number_four, half-expecting the notoriety to follow her there but to her pleasant surprise, it was mostly barebones save for a few bots tagging her in Amazon giveaways.

Among the trash, there was a hidden treasure gleaming at her in the corner.

 

ma_loves0210

oh my fucking god you will not believe what just happened

 

Annie remembers that message like it happened this morning. She didn’t need to click it to know where it led: Zeke’s infamous post, the one that had unraveled her life.

Scrolling further, more messages followed.

 

ma_loves0210

Can’t believe this fucking asshole actually posted it like whaaa

ma_loves0210

Who does he think he is? An ethicist? lmao

ma_loves0210

Gonna start saying “question for the culture” before every question I ask in the gc

ma_loves0210

He disabled the comments. Guess it didnt go as he planned lol

ma_loves0210

I’d pay money to see Yelena’s crashout. Like her whole empire crumbled all because some guy who's not even official with her

ma_loves0210

But I feel it kinda makes sense that someone else wrote the books. Yelena doesnt give off the author vibe AT ALL

ma_loves0210

The ghostwriter is the only loser in this scenario

ma_loves0210

Hey, you there?

ma_loves0210

How’s life treating you? Hope it’s better than Yelena and Zeke lol

ma_loves0210

I swear if anyones bothering you I’ll fight them myself, just say the word

ma_loves0210

Please tell me you’re alright. I’m kinda freaking out here.

ma_loves0210

You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to

ma_loves0210

Sorry, my imagination runs wild but I hope you are okay

ma_loves0210

Plus I need to discuss All’s Well with someone. THANK YOU FOR OPENING MY EYES TO MONA AWAD

 

Cracking her knuckles, Annie formulated her response.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Hi. It goes without saying that after spending an innumerable amount of time buried under the weight of my life, I am feeling better enough to finally enter the land of the living. I want to start by apologizing for falling off the face of the earth, and I don’t blame you if you’re pissed at me for ghosting you. Things got really bad for a while, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer anyone. But I’ve been trying to pull myself back together. I just wanted you to know I’m still here, and I’ve missed you and our conversations.

i_am_warrior_number_four:

And I am looking forward to hearing your thoughts about Mona Awad ;)

 

Annie sat back after hitting send, her fingers still hovering above the keyboard. For once, the heaviness in her chest felt lighter, like something had finally shifted. It wasn’t some grand declaration or a flawless apology, but it was hers, honest and unfiltered. Seeing the words there, out in the open instead of festering inside her, steadied her in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt the faintest spark of relief, as if speaking up in this small way meant she was no longer being devoured by her catastrophic thinking.

 

---

 

ma_loves0210

Hey. I was being dramatic earlier but you don’t need to explain yourself. The world is a cruel place and it likes to chew good people like you up and knowing that you are getting back on track makes me so proud because it isn’t an easy thing to do when everything is closing down on you. The journey is a tough one which not many people can do but I am glad that you shared this with me because it shows that you CAN do it and I’ll be in your corner cheering you on 💜🖤

ma_loves0210

Ahhhh I am being dramatic again 🙄🤦‍♀️

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

For what it’s worth, you are not being dramatic at all. Plus, your speech is much better than the speeches I hear for ‘mental health awareness’

 

ma_loves0210:

For real, like instead of hearing “It’s okay to not be okay”, I want money. Give me all the paid days off, the fancy health insurance, and personal spending accounts.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was wrong

 

ma_loves0210:

SO TRUE

ma_loves0210:

I understand the core message behind it but money will buy me the things that improve my mental health.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Like books?

 

ma_loves0210:

Yes 💜🖤💜🖤

ma_loves0210:

Speaking of which, did you get around to finishing Nightbitch? I checked the summary and it looked interested but I wanna know your thoughts

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Yeah, I did manage to finish it.

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Generally, I’m not a fan of motherhood in literature but this was an interesting take on the involuntary evolution of a woman to a mom a la Nightbitch’s manifestation. It was hard reading past her absent husband and bratty son but the dark humour bits made it sufferable. However, there were some instances that dragged too long or were repetitive and I felt that Nightbitch could have functioned better as a short story or maybe as an anthology of women transforming into animals in response to societal and cultural expectations.  

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Also, there’s blood. A lot of it. Especially against animals.

 

ma_loves0210:

Hm, gore doesn’t bother me but violence against animals… or maybe the author was trying to make a point by using animals?

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Would violence against humans work?

 

ma_loves0210:

Hell yeah. Humans suck

ma_loves0210:

I just finished Victorian Psycho by Virginia Feito. Gore. Blood. Horror. Gothic. It has everything. I couldn’t put it down and finished it within an hour. Usually, gory novels often have edgy dialogue that gets boring very quickly but the protag’s snarky thoughts and violent actions made this HILARIOUS for me to read

ma_loves0210:

My favourite quote: “It fascinates me, the fact that humans have the capacity to mortally wound one another at will, but, for the most part, choose not to.”

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Right, I’m adding that to my TBR

 

ma_loves0210:

Feminine rage 🕷️🔪🩸

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Amy Dunne’s speech 🔪

 

ma_loves0210:

A cautionary tale for women falling in love.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

*Falling in love with men

 

ma_loves0210:

LOL

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I mean, not changing yourself to satisfy anyone is a good rule of thumb to follow, regardless of gender. But in a way, I understood where Amy was coming. She changed herself so fast and so easy for Nick because she didn’t truly know herself either. To her parents, she was Amazing Amy. To her ‘friend’, she was Amy, the victimized wife of Nick Dunne. To Nick, she was Cool Girl. That’s why she planned to kill herself. It's easy to kill someone who never existed in the first place. It makes me wonder, just who am I honest with? Is this who I truly am? Am I satisfied with the choices that have led me to this current life? Will it hard or easy to kill myself and my hopes and dreams or lack thereof?

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I feel like I can have this conversation with you because you wouldn’t call 911 on me, right?

 

ma_loves0210:

Ofc, I’m no narc

ma_loves0210:

This brings me to another point: can women actually discuss their mental health without someone dropping the suicide hotline or going “It’s going to be alright! You’ll be fine!” Most of the time, that doesn’t come off as genuine. Almost like they don’t want to hear about what you’re going through and just want to shut you up.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

They recite that script so they can feel better about themselves so if things go south, they can wash themselves of guilt by saying “I’m a good person because I tried to help them!”

 

ma_loves0210:

Exactly. It’s hard to be a good person to everyone because you can’t be good to everyone. If someone says they are a good person, it means they are a bad person.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

So you might as well be who you are instead of fighting a losing battle of trying to be a good person. If you are who you claim to be, people will naturally gravitate to you.

 

ma_loves0210:

✨ Finding someone who knows and accepts you for who you are ✨

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Speaking from experience? 👀

 

ma_loves0210:

👉👈

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

👂👂👂

 

ma_loves0210:

So in my last job, I was a server and there was this customer who I’m 1000% was mma fighter or a boxer or something like that but she was ripped af

ma_loves0210:

She used to come over after the gym like almost every day or maybe memory is embellishing things because I liked her lol

ma_loves0210:

But the point is, I’m a goth and some people still have their preconceived notions about goths and I coincidentally also like spiky things and even wore a vial of blood for a time. There were a lot of customers who’d hate me and keep their kids away from me like I was the antichrist.

ma_loves0210:

But this girl didn’t care.

ma_loves0210:

And I know that’s the bare minimum. But like she actually acknowledged me and in a “Strangle me goth mommy” way or a “Liberalism is a mental disorder” way. Like I could tell she was checking me out in the way women do. And I get excited because I’m in my natural habitat and so is she and I feel we can get along really nicely.

ma_loves0210:

And we did! She wasn’t scared of me and didn’t act like I was a bomb waiting to explode (most normal people do). We had lots of fun conversations and even exchanged napkin art! It was going so well that my cousin (who was also my boss) gave me a lot of shit over it.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

And it ended with both of you riding off into the sunset in a Subaru?

 

ma_loves0210:

😮‍💨

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Nooooo

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Please don’t tell me

 

ma_loves0210:

One day, she walked in with another girl who was prettier and softer than I ever will be and the rest was history

ma_loves0210:

I know they could have been friends but they way they acted around each other, how they acted in sync, and were so comfortable in each other’s presence I just knew they had to be more than friends.

ma_loves0210:

She had already found her person. Meanwhile, I was still looking for mine.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

God that’s brutal

 

ma_loves0210:

It’s fine. Looking back, it was kind of ridiculous of me thinking about our future when someone like her obviously couldn’t be single. She had to have a girlfriend.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

But it still hurts to think that you must have been gathering all that courage to ask her out but it led to nowhere. And to see her so happy with someone else when you could have been that person for her and seen her like that.

 

ma_loves0210:

Stop, you’re making me 👿

ma_loves0210:

But it did hurt to come back to the same place that I just couldn’t work there anymore.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Sorry 🫂

 

ma_loves0210:

I’m not unemployed tho. I’m now doing something else that makes me more money and it lets me put my makeup skills to the test.

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

When you work on your passion, it feels less like a job. I work in a bookstore 📚

 

ma_loves0210:

That sounds so fun 🦇 

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

And it’s an indie bookstore. Not a corporate one so we know our shit

 

ma_loves0210:

Hope you are not working with family. I do not recommend that. Or maybe it’s just my cousin

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I bet it runs in the family

 

ma_loves0210:

Girl whaa

ma_loves0210:

Are you secretly my cousin? Did you set up another account to stalk me again?

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Relax, I’m joking 🃏

 

ma_loves0210:

You better be cuz you’re on thin ice now 🔥

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Good thing people say I’m cold as ice ❄️

 

ma_loves0210:

If you’re a snowflake then I’d love to catch you on my tongue 😈

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

Hope you have a big tongue then

i_am_warrior_number_four:

WAIT NO

 

ma_loves0210:

?

 

i_am_warrior_number_four:

I just suck at flirting. The line sounded good in my head but it came off weird.

i_am_warrior_number_four:

You’re doing a much better job

i_am_warrior_number_four:

That is, if you are actually flirting

i_am_warrior_number_four:

But if you’re not then I completely understand that you only want to be friends. However if you want to be more than friends then I accept. If not, I humbly aplogize.

i_am_warrior_number_four:

*Apologize

 

ma_loves0210:

You’re so funny 💜🖤

 

---

 

The store was quiet, humming softly like it was on standby. The only noise had been the cheerful clink of the door bell earlier when Hitch slipped out for a snack break from that sushi place she was talking about. Annie waved her off, repeatedly insisting that she could hold down the fort–at least until she got back. There wasn’t much to do because Hitch had done a fantastic job of managing things while Annie went AWOL. The counters were spotless, the register balanced, the displays refreshed. The only thing left neglected, and understandably so, were the Oracle preorders.

The Zeke fiasco had triggered a mass exodus. Hundreds of customers demanded their money back once Annie’s identity was dragged into the light. She hadn’t been there to witness it, but she could picture the chaos clearly: Hitch bracing herself behind the counter as angry faces pressed forward, voices raised, accusations flung. Annie felt a pang of guilt just imagining it, cursing both Zeke and Yelena under her breath for ever making them go through with such a reckless plan.

Still, Hitch had handled it. Somehow. She’d processed refund after refund in a single day, her patience stretched thin but unbroken, until the storm finally abated. Now all that remained were the crates. Stacks and stacks of them in the backroom, each one filled with The Oracle’s Prophecy, Book 4: The Hunter’s Call .

Annie crouched beside one crate and pried open the lid. She pulled a copy free, the glossy cover catching in the weak morning light. Her fingers lingered over it, stroking the embossed title. Something so small, a thing meant for joy, for escape, for stories, had managed to unravel her entire life.

And now, they were destined for the pulp mill.

She was reaching for another copy when the door bell cut through the silence again. Annie stiffened, a crease forming between her brows and spine. That was too soon. Hitch couldn’t have been back already, not unless she sprinted across three blocks and bullied the chef.

Annie stepped out of the back, rubbing the faint dust from her hands, half-preparing to tease Hitch for being overeager. But her words died in her throat.

It wasn’t Hitch.

A customer stood near the counter, their back half-turned, scanning the fiction displays.

Annie froze mid-step, pulse catching in her chest. Her stomach flipped with a cold, sharp dread. What if they recognized her? What if they were here to sneer, to gloat, to throw Zeke’s words back at her face? She cursed herself for insisting Hitch go grab sushi. Hitch had always been better at the customer service part of Liberio Books, smooth-tongued and unflappable where Annie felt brittle and raw.

Annie’s throat went dry. Her fingers twitched uselessly at her sides. She should go back into the stockroom, pretend she didn’t hear, pretend she wasn’t here at all—

“Hi,” the customer called out suddenly, their voice breaking her spiral. “Do you have Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder in stock?”

The words landed in Annie’s chest like a misfired dart, absurdly mundane compared to the catastrophe she was braced for. She blinked, disoriented, her body still tense with fight-or-flight while her brain scrambled to catch up to the fact that this was just... a regular question.

Maybe it was a regular customer?

“Yeah sure,” Annie stammered out. “If it’s not on the display then I’ll go grab it from the back.”

The customer nodded and smiled. Or at least it looked like a smile because they were wearing a black mask studded with gold spikes. They even wore gold rimmed aviator sunglasses. If Annie didn’t know better, it looked like the customer was trying to hide from Annie than the other way around.

When she returned, book in hand, Annie finally caught a clear look at the elusive customer. She wore dark corduroy jeans beneath a black sleeveless pinafore dress, the waist cinched with a gold chain that gleamed faintly under the store lights. Fingerless lace gloves climbed delicately up her forearms, equal parts gothic and divine.

Annie knew she was in trouble. And not because of Zeke and Yelena.

“Here you go.” She slid the book across the counter, trying to keep her voice steady. “Anything else I can help you with?”

The customer cradled the book like it was a newborn baby. Then she lifted her gaze, grey eyes locking on Annie’s with an impish gleam, as though she were wordlessly passing on a message Annie was somehow expected to decipher.

“Well, there is something” they began, Annie’s ears strained to hear what they said next. “Do you have The Hunter’s Call ?” Whatever expression flickered across her face must’ve been telling, because the woman quickly backpedaled. “Sorry, that was wrong of me. I never preordered it and was hoping I could grab one after their release but now…” She trailed off.

As much as Annie wanted to bury the whole mess and never hear another syllable about Zeke or Yelena, this customer didn’t sound cruel or entitled. Just a genuine fan caught in the crossfire. And Annie, no matter how badly she wanted to disappear, couldn’t stomach turning away someone like that.

“You know what?” Annie said, finally. “Give me one second.”

She returned with a copy, its cover gleaming like gold treasure. Sliding it across the counter, Annie added, “It’s yours. Don’t worry about paying.”

“I’d still like to. I mean, I want to.”

Annie shook her head. “These were meant to be shipped back to the publisher anyway. You don’t have to pay.”

The woman hesitated, then smiled - wry, but warm. “In that case, consider my payment a donation. For supporting indie bookstores like yours.”

“Again, you don’t have to. Buying something from us is enough support as is.”

“It's the least I could do after everything Zeke Yeager put you through.”

So she did know who Annie was. Annie’s pulse raced again, her gaze frantically flicked around the shop, half-expecting a hidden camera crew to leap out from behind the shelves, ready to plaster her face online all over again. The thought of reliving that nightmare torpedoed through her body. She wasn’t ready. Not after clawing her way forward, not after she fought so hard to get back to—

“And the fact that there’s an arrest warrant on him.”

Annie's train of thought crash landed at those words.

“Hold on, what the hell?” Annie blurted. Nowhere in her wildest imagination could she have cooked up something like this.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” the woman replied casually, like she was commenting on the weather. “He fled to Marley because there’s no extradition treaty with Paradis. Plus, Marley’s basically a safe haven for scammers like him.”

“How? Is this about BeastCoin?” Annie asked.

“Funny enough, no. Though it did play a part. All the noise around BeastCoin’s launch got him flagged to the Better Business Bureau. BeastCoin itself wasn’t technically a scam, but the investigation uncovered he’s been dodging taxes for years, funneling income through offshore Hizuru companies. So… he ran.”

Annie didn’t know what else to say. All those times she spent laughing at Zeke with Hitch, she never once realized it would be this serious. Scammy? Yes. But illegal? No way.

“And Yelena? She’s standing by him. Publicly defending him, in fact.” The customer added.

In spite of herself, Annie laughed. “That tracks.”

“Rumor has it…” She leaned in across the counter, her voice dipping low. “His brother’s the one who ratted him out.”

Annie’s heart skipped. “His brother?”

“Yes. He even made a video about it.” She slipped her phone from her bag and tapped quickly, then turned the screen toward Annie.

A YouTube thumbnail popped up: BYE BROTHER in blocky letters beside the image of a sharp-faced young man with dark, disheveled hair in a man-bun and a glare that looked almost familiar. Below the title, the channel name read: EREN YEAGER.

“That’s tatakae69!”

The news that Eren Yeager, the guy behind @tatakae69 on Tiktok and Goodreads, was actually related to Zeke meaning that Annie was correct in her earlier hypothesis paled in comparison to the fact she just said his fucking username out loud in front this hot girl. Couldn't her brother choose a normal username? Well, it’s a good thing Annie lost her dignity before meeting her because she was sure she couldn't lose any more of it.

The customer visibly beams at her. “Oh you know him? He and I are best friends. Practically siblings.”

Fuck, now she thinks Annie’s a fan. Or a bisexual disaster with terrible taste in men. Or worse, a straight. There goes her chance of impressing her. Although, if this woman and Eren were “practically siblings” then that would mean she was in close proximity to Zeke Yeager and Annie’s had enough of Zeke to last a geological period of time.

And if that’s true, something else nagged at her…

“If you and him are close then you must also have an intimate knowledge of what went down with Zeke.”

The customer tilted her head. “Depends on what you mean by intimate knowledge,” she said, dragging the words just enough to make Annie’s stomach flip. “But you could say I know more than what the newsfeeds are saying.”

Annie opened her mouth, ready to demand clarification, but the woman cut her off smoothly, like she’d been steering the conversation there all along.

“Tell you what,” she said, straightening and slipping the book into her tote. “Why don’t I tell you everything? Over dinner?”

The words hit Annie like a ton of bricks. Her brain stuttered, looping between Dinner? and Is she serious? and Marry me? until all she could manage was a startled blink. Heat crept up her neck, the kind she usually reserved for Hitch making fun of her.

“C’mon, this is the least you deserve after everything that asshole put you through. Consider it karma.” The woman’s smile softened, her tone gentler now. “But I know this is all too fast for you so how about we exchange numbers? Let me know when you are free.”

Say no. Say you’re busy. Don’t just stand there with your arms out. Say literally anything that doesn’t make you sound like an idiot.  

Instead, she just stood there, red-faced, caught between this woman’s aura and the undeniable temptation of getting fresh dirt on Zeke.

And really, Annie never missed an opportunity to gather more ammunition. Knowing Zeke, he was bound to show his sleazy face again sooner or later.

“I… sure,” she finally said, her voice coming out squeakier than intended. “That sounds… fascinating.”

The woman’s eyes glittered like she’d just won a bet. “Perfect. I’ll add myself to your contacts.”

Without asking for permission, she extended her hand expectantly. Annie - whose brain had apparently disconnected from the rest of her body - wordlessly placed her phone into that waiting palm, like she was under some kind of spell.

A few swipes later, the woman handed it back, a mischievous spark dancing in her eyes. Annie glanced at the new contact.

The new contact saved as ma_loves0210.

Annie froze. Her phone nearly dropping straight to the floor. That name wasn’t random. It was the name. The one that had been pinging her phone for days, lighting up her DMs, keeping her company during sleepless nights.

She looked up at the woman, heart in her throat.

“You…” Annie’s voice cracked. “You’re her?”

The woman’s face crinkled at the sides from trying not to laugh. “Actually, there’s more to it.” She reached behind her ears and whipped her mask off like she was a soldier taking off her helmet from war, letting her inky black waves frame her face.

Her face that Annie’s seen plenty of times on her phone.

Because standing there was none other than Madame Melancholia.

 

---

 

Annie’s breath snagged. Her thumb hovered over the screen, as though maybe if she blinked hard enough, her surroundings would dissolve into the walls of her bedroom because clearly this was all a dream and could not be happening?

But no. It was her. Madame Melancholia. The gothic booktoker who had haunted Annie’s dreams and thoughts for the better half of her life. The very reason she’d downloaded TikTok in the first place. She stood less than two feet away, smiling after Annie had willingly jumped into her trap.

“…”

Her chest went cold, then hot, then both at once. Madame was also the late-night voice that had coaxed her into saying more than she’d ever told anyone. The stranger who somehow understood her rants without needing context. The person who equally matched her humour and energy with —dare she admit it—affection. That was her. The woman standing right in front of her.

Somehow, she looked even more exquisite in daylight than beneath the pale glow of her videos. Her eyes were a startling, unpainted grey up close, no makeup trickery needed. Those cheekbones, still criminally sharp in person, caught the light, and Annie noticed a faint scar beneath her right eye, something the camera had never revealed. But what truly struck her was her height. Even without heels, Madame towered over Annie’s small frame. If she wanted, she could probably scoop Annie up and slip her into her pocket.

(Annie’s skin burned at the thought of being carried off so effortlessly by someone so graceful)

“You…” Annie croaked, her voice barely audible, like her vocal cords had mutinied at the worst possible time. She forced herself to swallow, tried again before the lump returned. “You’re… you’re her?”

“I was wondering when you’d finally put it all together,” Madame Melancholia finally said, voice richer, deeper, without the muffling mask. “Because it didn’t take me long.”

“This whole time? How? Why?”

“I keep a separate account for close friends and family. And then I saw your comment—that one that started it all. One thing led to another and…” She gestured vaguely around them, as if their meeting had been inevitable. “Honestly, you were terrible at being anonymous. I connected it to your main account pretty quickly. Isn’t that right, Mystique Mistress ?”

Now, Annie is indignant. “Yeah, the one that you blocked!”

“That—” For once, Madame didn’t look smug but sheepish. “That was an accident.”

“Accident?” Annie snapped.

“Okay, fine,” she sighed. “I got jealous and blocked you. For my own self-esteem, really.”

And what about Annie's self esteem? “And you couldn’t just unblock me?”

“I could have, but…”

“But?”

Her lips quirked faintly, not quite a smile. “I liked what we had. It was nice, talking to someone not as Madame Melancholia, but as… Mikasa.”

Annie blinked. “Mi-ka-sa?”

“Mikasa Ackerman,” she explained, simply.

Mikasa Ackerman.

That was her name?

Mikasa Ackerman.

Mikasa Ackerman.

ma_loves0210.

So her username included her initials and going off the digits, Annie guessed that was her birthday. 02/10. February 10th.

In less than five minutes, Annie had learned Madame Melancholia’s real name, identity, birthday, and occupation. What else was she supposed to do with this much power?

Before Annie could even begin to process, Mikasa adjusted her tote higher on her shoulder, like she’d just dropped something casual instead of detonating Annie’s entire existence.

“Anyway, text me when you’re free. Tomorrow night works.” A pause, deliberate. “Unless you’re the type to play hard to get.”

Annie’s throat bobbed painfully. “I am—uh—I’m… not. I mean…”

Mikasa didn’t wait for Annie to recover. She turned on her heel and walked away, the daylight parting for her, bending around her presence, leaving Annie rooted to the spot like a forgotten corpse.

Her brain was still buffering when her legs finally remembered how to move. She stumbled back inside, hoping the familiar walls of the backroom might steady her.

“ANNIE!”

Her soul nearly jumped out of her skin. Hitch was leaning against the wall like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

“I thought you went to get sushi,” Annie muttered weakly.

“I did. Then I realized I forgot to ask what you wanted. But forget about the sushi because when I came back and I saw—” Hitch gestured wildly toward the door. “—you’ve just been asked out.”

Annie wanted to sink straight through the floor.

Hitch, of course, wasn’t letting her. “What are you still doing here? You need to text her STAT! Then you’re going home, we’re tearing apart your closet, and I’m doing your makeup. You are not wearing your hoodie and sweatpants to your first ever date with–”

“Whoa there, Satan. Pump the brakes.” Annie raised both hands like she was fending off an exorcism. “That’s where you’re wrong, because this is not a date.”

Now it was Hitch’s turn to be a babbling mess. Of course, she looked more put together than Annie.

“Wha – am I – Annie, what?” She pinched her own arm, as if reality needed checking. “What are you talking about? If this isn’t a date then what the hell is it?”

“Madame - Mikasa—” Annie started, heat prickling her ears. “She has insider knowledge on Zeke. Did you know he’s a wanted criminal now? If I have coffee with her, then I can learn—”

“Annie, I swear to god, I’m gonna kill you.”

Notes:

Whoop there it is! Thank you all for following along on this crack story of mine and for sticking through my inactive posting schedule. I wanted to get it done earlier but work got in the way and when that was gone, I resolved to pour all those feelings of getting laid off into this final chapter (The comments, kudos, and bookmarks were a huge boost to my motivation!). If there's anyone who felt disappointed in the ending, I would like to apologize for that because I had planned this all since the beginning, back in October. It did take a while to wrap everything up but I have no regrets on how this ended.

Once again, THANK YOU ALL❣️

Notes:

NEXT CHAPTER: Yelena's next book is announced and it goes as well as you'd think. How will Annie react?