Tales from the Labyrinth

The Lover and the Vampire

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Wed, 02 Sep 2026 21:30:18 GMT

A Note on This Collaboration

When I spoke to Stefan about a collaboration a few months ago, we both immediately reached the same conclusion: we absolutely had to do a gothic ballad collaboration. It is a style we are both quite passionate about.

We discussed various ideas involving folklore and folk horror before finally settling on an exploration of vampires. Stefan chose to write from the perspective of the victim, while I chose to write from the perspective of the centuries-old vampire.

Needless to say, they see things very differently.

You may read and listen to both ballads below.

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Forever Alone

Disclosure: Sung by the author with instrumental accompaniment. Some post processing effects were used—such as reverb—but the voice is his own.

### Verse 1

From the midnight mist,
Eyes like winter,
Lips for a kiss.
A gentle mask,
A shadowed soul,
He took my hand,
He took control.

### Chorus

Oh, drink from my pulse,
Let the velvet night fall,
I’m bound to your shadow,
Your helpless thrall.
With a chill at my neck,
A sigh on my breath,
I surrender my soul
I succumb to this beautiful death.

### Verse 2

A bite like a blossom,
So sudden, so deep,
It awakens the darkness
It lulls me to sleep.
As crimson runs
Under pallid skin
The dark drinks deeply—
It draws me in.

### Chorus

Oh, drink from my pulse,
Let the velvet night fall,
I’m bound to your shadow,
Your helpless thrall.
With a chill at my neck,
A sigh on my breath,
I surrender my soul
I succumb to this beautiful death.

### Bridge

My life is your goblet,
My spirit is thine;
My blood turns to shadow,
My water to wine.
The person I was
Slips off with the light,
And something immortal
Wakes up tonight.

### Outro

Drink deeper, my love,
Till my heartbeat dies;
I’d rather be yours
Than witness blue skies.
In the crypt’s dark mouth,
Where the cold wind moans,
I am yours in the dark—
Your flesh—your bone.

Forever your shadow,
Forever your own...
Forever in darkness.
Forever alone.

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The Beautiful Death

Press play below. Audio experience created using Suno. 🎧

She lay there in finery

Corset of bone

Her neck bared towards me

As though to atone

❈

Her eyes drunk on hunger

More hungry than mine

She offered her blood

And desire to be mine

❈

I reared, my fangs glinted

Her pulse, oh it beat

There's blood in my mouth and

There's blood on the sheet

❈

The surge it coursed through me

Her warmth in my death

She begged me to claim her

By taking her breath

❈

Oh feed me your hunger, your lust, your desire

Oh sweet living human, your veins filled with fire

I'll take life from you as you give it to me

For when one lives forever they'll never be free

❈

Oh come now my beauty

And give me your wrist

Your blood will be drained

By the end of our tryst

❈

I nibbled her thigh

As her breathing got slower

It was rather poor form

I had not got to know her

❈

But she thought me her love

I suppose that I was

How could I deny her?

She asked for no pause.

❈

When death came upon her

Surrendered with grace

Her skin it got colder

And lightened her face

❈

Oh feed me your hunger, your lust, your desire

Oh sweet living human, your veins filled with fire

I'll take life from you as you give it to me

For when one lives forever they'll never be free

❈

Oh farewell sweet lover

I envy you so

You've gone and crossed over

I wish I could go

❈

You wanted this curse

But I couldn't be bothered

Mortality's sweet

You should really be honored

❈

As you lie in your coffin

I hope you're not cross

We weren't meant for forever

Sleep under the moss

❈

I gave you the gift

That I've dreamt of so long

The Beautiful Death

That you spoke of in song

❈

Oh feed me your hunger, your lust, your desire

Oh sweet living human, your veins filled with fire

I'll take life from you as you give it to me

For when one lives forever they'll never be free

❈

I gave you the gift

That I've dreamt of so long

❈

The Beautiful Death

That you spoke of in song

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Interdimensional Kevin

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Tue, 01 Sep 2026 20:17:09 GMT

The day I found Kevin was just like any other ordinary day.

Until it wasn't.

My life had been going rather spectacularly to shit. Lost my job. Broke up with my boyfriend.

I was spending a lot of time browsing Facebook and picking fights with strangers. I kept expecting it would provide some catharsis. Make me feel better.

It didn't.

Anyway, back to Kevin. I had taken to bed-rotting dramatically all day long and finally my best friend Eric told me, “Abby, get your shit together. Go for a walk.”

He said this firmly enough that I stood up.

Then sank back down onto the bed like a wet towel.

He heard the bed creak over the phone.

“Get off your ass, Abby.”

I groaned. Fine.

I didn't bother getting dressed. Or brushing my hair. I looked like a lunatic in my oversized anime t-shirt and pajama shorts. I threw on some Crocs. They were pink and had Hello Kitty charms on them.

I was a hot mess. But damn it, I was going for a walk. I grabbed my keys and headed out into the night.

It was dark, and chillier than I expected. But then again, it was October. I shivered and swore at Eric for making me do this.

He laughed and said he had to go. Had a hot date. But to keep walking.

I hated him in that moment. He hung up the phone.

Abandoned. Alone. Again.

I sulked as I walked down the sidewalk, resisting the urge to doomscroll as I walked. I might trip. Didn't need to add a cracked tooth and bruises to my already spectacular life.

I came to a big open field. The starlight shone bright above me, and for a moment I felt okay. The cold breeze invigorated me.

I ran into the field and danced and spun around with my arms outstretched like an idiot. I fell to the ground and stared up at the sky. In the darkness the constellations glowed and I felt a momentary sense of peace.

Then I noticed it. An electric purple glow. It lit the grass beside me. How odd.

I sat up and turned around.

There was a door.

Just a door. All by itself in the field. A perfectly normal door, but for the neon purple mist emanating from the place where it was slightly ajar. The air smelled faintly of ozone and blue raspberry.

What on earth…?

It creaked, and opened a bit further. A cat emerged, rubbing itself slowly against the door frame.

It seemed like a perfectly normal cat. It sat down and stared at me.

It was gray, with startling green eyes. A Russian Blue, I thought. Not that I was an expert on cat breeds or anything.

What was it doing here? For that matter, what was the door doing here? It didn't make any sense.

As I pondered this, he strode towards me and crawled into my lap.

He had a collar on. Black, with a tag in a strange silver-green metal I had never seen before. On it was a language I didn't understand. I blinked. It changed, but was still incomprehensible. I blinked again, and I could read it. It was a name.

Kevin.

He headbutted my hand as if to demand that I fuss over him.

So of course I did. He was soft. His fur had a strange glittery sheen to it. He was very demanding.

“Where did you come from, Kevin?”

He didn't answer.

Then, as swiftly as it appeared, the strange door shut itself, and vanished. The field became suddenly, oppressively dark. I shivered.

Kevin did not look concerned.

But the reality of what I had just seen was slowly sinking in. I gave Kevin a final pat and stood up.

“Umm… gotta be going now. Nice to meet you, strange door kitty.”

I turned to walk away.

Kevin followed a few paces behind.

I jogged forward.

Kevin cantered to catch up.

“Look, I'm not a cat person. I'm sorry your door closed. But you need to go home now.”

He followed me for several blocks. I turned back to look at him. He walked up to me and put his front paws up on my legs, as though asking for uppies.

I sighed.

It seemed he was coming with me.

“Are you hungry?”

He meowed in a way that felt affirmative.

I stopped in the convenience store and grabbed a few cans of wet cat food and a bag of kitty litter. Kevin waited outside, tail swishing impatiently. A passerby stooped down to pet him, but Kevin gave a hiss.

When I returned, Kevin mewed in appreciation, and we walked together back to my apartment.

When I reached the door I looked down at him sternly.

“You can stay for the night, but tomorrow I'm going to figure out who you belong to.”

Kevin ignored this, and walked into my apartment as if he owned the place. He immediately went to my bedroom and curled up on my bed.

And fell asleep.

I crawled in and fell asleep with him. It had been a crazy hour and a half.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt something heavy on my chest, and something wet on my nose.

Kevin.

His sandpapery little tongue flicked the tip of my nose again. And then his teeth gently bit down.

“Damn it, Kevin!”

I pushed him off me. I had thought maybe it was all a weird dream.

But no, apparently not.

Kevin looked offended. He walked to the kitchen, leapt onto the counter, and knocked a can of wet food to the floor.

Ah. He was hungry.

I didn't have any pet dishes so I just put it in one of my cereal bowls. He seemed fine with that.

I found a shoebox and poured some litter in it. Not ideal, but it would have to do. He wouldn't be here long.

Then I went online. I scoured the local missing pet ads. I posted on Facebook.

FOUND CAT

Gray/Russian Blue. Black collar. Very friendly.*

*Apparently only to me.

Possibly from another dimension.

I tried to take a picture of his collar and name tag, but it was incomprehensible gibberish again, and changed every time I looked at it.

Eventually I gave up.

By the end of the day, I'd had no responses. And Kevin was already asleep in bed. So I joined him.

The next day, I decided to take him to the vet. Maybe he was microchipped.

“I found this cat in a field and he followed me home.”

“He?”

“His name is Kevin.”

The vet looked at the tag.

“What language is this?”

“I don't know. But it used to say Kevin.”

There was a long silence.

The vet examined Kevin and took him to run some tests.

“Well, the good news is, he's perfectly healthy. Male, just as you thought. Strange thing though…”

He trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Well… he has two hearts.”

I stared at him.

“I'm sorry?”

“Two hearts. Both fully formed. Both beating. I've never seen anything like it.”

“Is that bad?”

He looked back at the results.

“Apparently not.”

The vet looked a bit dazed but declined to elaborate.

Kevin yawned.

“Sadly, no microchip.”

Shit.

As I carried Kevin out of the vet’s office, he purred loudly and pressed his forehead against mine.

It was time, I supposed.

I stopped into the pet store and bought him bowls, a litter box, litter, food, treats, a cat tree, a scratching post, a cat bed, toys, and a feather on a string.

Kevin seemed pleased with this development.

I also got him a harness and a leash. Since he seemed to enjoy going for walks.

When we got home, Eric was waiting.

“Hey Abby, I just wanted to check on you…”

He noticed my very full bags.

“Let me get the door.”

We stepped inside.

“I thought you weren't keeping him.”

“I'm not.”

“You bought him a cat tree.”

“He has two hearts, Eric.”

“What does that have to do with the cat tree?”

“I don't know.”

And that was how Kevin came to stay, temporarily of course, at my place.

Three weeks passed. We had settled into something of a routine. He woke me for breakfast. We watched out the window while I had coffee. We went for walks with him in his little harness.

Eric pointed out that I was showering again.

I realized I hadn't picked a fight on Facebook in weeks.

Then, one night, I heard a familiar creak. Kevin wasn't on my bed. Electric purple light poured through the crack between my bedroom door and the frame.

I shook my head, shut my eyes again, and it was gone.

But in the morning Kevin was back on my chest mewing for breakfast.

And in the living room I found he’d left me a present.

A dead mouse.

A dead blue mouse with eight legs and six eyes.

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Codename: Orpheus

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Mon, 31 Aug 2026 21:40:35 GMT

Her mission is simple:

Hack Death.
Find Eurydice.
Don’t look back.

What could possibly go wrong? 💾

Press play. Audio experience created using Suno. 🎧

Verse 1

Codename: Orpheus
Her hacking skills are glorious

She’s a net-runner, she’s a real gunner
Lost her girl, she was a real stunner

Codename: Eurydice
A digital ghost with no body

Her consciousness in cyberspace
Now lost to all the human race

Pre-Chorus

The mission is simple

Hack Death

Bring her back to the surface
From the depths

Chorus

The Underworld is deep and electric
Circuits, wires, and memories eclectic
Find her ghost in the machine
Don’t look back to where you’ve been

Verse 2

Firewall: Cerberus
Security here is murderous

We’ve got three heads. One server.
Orpheus keeps digging further

Password: Persephone
Eight six seven nine six five four three

She cracked it with impunity
Said Eurydice, come with me

Pre-Chorus

The mission is simple

Find her

Don’t look back while you bring her
Be sure

Chorus

The Underworld is deep and electric
Circuits, wires, and memories eclectic
Find her ghost in the machine
Don’t look back to where you’ve been

Bridge

Static whispers from the black:

Orpheus

Whatever you do

Don’t

Look

Back

But she had to check

She turned her neck

And she fell

Down

Pre-Chorus

The mission was simple

Hack Death

You’ll regret this as long as you
Draw breath

Final Chorus

The Underworld is deep and electric
Circuits, wires, and memories eclectic
Found her ghost in the machine
But you looked back to where you’d been

Eurydice…

Connection lost.

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Camouflage Entourage

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Sat, 29 Aug 2026 01:10:20 GMT

Author’s Note:

Karma Chameleon has always been one of my favorite songs.

It is bright, ridiculous, relentlessly catchy, and almost impossible to hear without wanting to sing along.

Naturally, I spent an unreasonable amount of time analyzing it.

The idea of the social chameleon has always fascinated me: someone who changes their personality, presentation, opinions, interests, even values depending on the people around them. Where does adaptation end and identity begin? If you become a different person for everyone you meet, who are you when no one else is there?

These are apparently the questions I was pondering while everyone else was going:

Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon…

So, obviously, I needed to make my own.

Camouflage Entourage takes that fascination and pushes it somewhere a little more shameless. My narrator doesn't merely change her colors. She makes herself into whatever you want, whatever you need, whatever will get her what she wants.

Does she know who she really is?

Not remotely.

You don’t even know me
In fact neither do I
All I know is how to change
All I know is how to lie

Final Chorus

Camouflage Entourage
Camouflage Entourage
I’m anyone you want
I’m anyone you need

Camouflage Entourage
Camouflage Entourage
I will make you cry
And I will make you bleed

Camouflage Entourage

Oh-oh-oh

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Slay for Pay

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Wed, 26 Aug 2026 21:17:11 GMT

🎧 Press play, and do try not to take it personally.

Audio experience produced with Suno. 🔪👠

Verse I

Paris on a Monday
London on a dime
Amsterdam on Tuesday
I’m always on time

I see you on the dance floor
Hot enough to kill
Let me touch you, baby
I’ll give you a thrill

Take you in the bathroom
Make your eyes roll back
Do a line and face me
God I love this track

Close the stall and leave you
Lying on the floor
Fix my dress and lipstick
And head out the door

Chorus

Mmmmmm… it’s not personal
P-personal, p-p-personal

Mmmmmm… I’m not merciful
M-merciful, m-m-merciful

I’m cold as ice
You won’t see me twice

Black dress, so sleek
And effortlessly chic

I slay, for pay
It’s when I get to play

I’m cold as ice

Never said I was nice

Verse II

Dublin on a Sunday
Friday in Milan
When I come to see you
Soon you will be gone

Envelopes and secrets
Victim on a page
Can’t say I feel guilty
Can’t say I feel rage

Gucci and Manolos
Head out in the Rolls
Minidress and thigh highs
Like I’m Sally Bowles

Get up to the penthouse
Offer you a dance
Slip my knife inside you
I don’t do romance

Chorus

Mmmmmm… it’s not personal
P-personal, p-p-personal

Mmmmmm… I’m not merciful
M-merciful, m-m-merciful

I’m cold as ice
You won’t see me twice

Black dress, so sleek
And effortlessly chic

I slay, for pay
It’s when I get to play

I’m cold as ice

Never said I was nice

Bridge

You wanna know what makes me tick?
What makes me pull the trigger?
You seem to think you’re slick
So whatcha figure?

Mommy not love me enough?
Just born with heart of stone?
Daddy’s love a bit too rough?
Spent too much time alone?

Final Chorus

Mmmmmm… it’s not personal
P-personal, p-p-personal

Mmmmmm… I’m not merciful
M-merciful, m-m-merciful

I’m cold as ice
You won’t see me twice

Black dress, so sleek
And effortlessly chic

I slay, for pay
It’s when I get to play

I’m cold as ice

Never said I was nice

Outro

I slay…

For pay…

It’s when…

I get…

To play…

Author’s Note:

I’ve been watching Killing Eve.

This was probably inevitable.

I wanted to make something that sounded like it had escaped from a very expensive European nightclub circa 2002: sultry R&B, dark trip-hop, throbbing bass, spy-film strings, and the faint suggestion that someone in the bathroom is having a significantly worse evening than everyone else.

Enter our heroine.

She travels. She dresses well. She enjoys dancing, luxury hotels, recreational substances, and gainful employment.

She also kills people for money.

There is, of course, a longstanding temptation to explain women like her. Surely there must be a tragic origin story lurking somewhere. An unloving mother? A cruel father? Loneliness? Some formative wound that explains the whole inconvenient murder thing?

She considers the question.

Then the chorus starts again.

Some women contain multitudes.

Some contain knives.

This one has excellent shoes. 🔪👠

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Cordelia Tavisham, Interior Designer

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Tue, 25 Aug 2026 20:15:48 GMT

Tavisham Manor was haunted.

Richard had been aware of this when he purchased the property. The thing was… he didn't believe in ghosts.

At the time.

Cordelia Tavisham was a poltergeist. A rather petulant, opinionated poltergeist.

When she finally revealed herself to him in all her deceased, ethereal glory, Richard was remarkably unfazed. Perhaps a bit irritated. But he was a practical man.

He would make it work.

There were, however, conditions.

Cordelia had strong feelings.

Richard had a list.

They were not the same thing.

The list in question:

Repair wiring.

Replace damaged floorboards.

Fix plumbing.

Strip wallpaper.

Replace window treatments.

Replace fixtures.

Update furniture.

By the time they reached number four, Cordelia had an opinion:

“No.”

Richard: “It's moldy.”

“I don't care.”

“It's peeling.”

“It has character.”

“Cordelia, part of it is growing mushrooms.”

“Then don't disturb them.”

Richard put his hands on his hips.

“It has to be done.”

Cordelia sulked, arms crossed, and floated towards the ceiling. Perhaps she'd go to the roof.

“Stop that,” Richard scolded.

She hovered and didn't say anything.

He left the room.

A few minutes later, he returned with a large book of wallpaper samples.

She pretended to ignore him as she subtly floated closer.

He set it on the table and opened it. As he slowly flipped through, he heard a squeal from behind him.

“Oooooh, Richard, that one has BIRDS on it!”

“It comes in several color palettes with that design.”

“The blue one is lovely. Perhaps we could add other bird-themed accents to the room. Can you get me a book of lamps?”

Richard set out to find further samples for Cordelia while she committed fully to the idea of the Bird Room. She floated through the house pondering other potential design themes.

A bathroom with a mermaid motif. Her bedroom could be floral. She was practically buzzing with ideas.

When Richard returned with a catalogue of lamps, Cordelia descended and began to fire off the themes she had given to each room.

“The morning room should have butterflies.”

“What? We don't have a morning room.”

“We do, and it needs butterflies.”

“Where?”

She pointed to the dining room.

“There.”

She informed him of her plans for a floral bedroom, and that the bathroom should feel like Poseidon himself would be welcome there.

For once, Richard looked truly taken aback.

Then he had an idea.

He brought out his laptop and placed it before Cordelia.

He showed her the wonders of the internet. And word processing.

“Go nuts. Plan it out. I'll work on the house while you do, and then we will regroup.”

Cordelia was elated and dove into her project with a passion.

Richard patted himself on the back for getting her out of his hair for a while.

Cordelia was entirely silent for several days. During this time, Richard accomplished a great deal. The wallpaper was stripped. The floors were sanded. The wiring was repaired. The plumbing no longer leaked.

He was very pleased.

When she finally came to him, he was ready to hear her proposal.

And then she produced something monstrous. Tavisham Manor: A Comprehensive Guide to Proper and Correct Redecoration.

It was forty-seven pages long. She had used every font available in Microsoft Word. She had attached images and color swatches. Room-by-room specifications. Lamps. Furniture. Fabrics. Recommended clocks.

There was a page called: The Do’s and Don’ts of Drapery.

Another called: The Garden in My Mind: A Guide to Capturing the Essence of Cordelia Tavisham in Bedroom Decor.

And finally, a small manifesto entitled The Bird Room: Avian Considerations.

Richard slowly turned the final page.

He was silent for a long time.

Cordelia hovered expectantly beside him.

“Well?”

Richard looked back at the cover.

Then at Cordelia.

“Forty-seven pages.”

“I was thorough.”

“It's… a lot.”

“Of course. I couldn't possibly leave you doing all the work. Now everything is planned. I even did a cost estimate.”

“But… Cordelia… some of these… well. You've mixed eras. And styles. This lamp is Art Deco in a room that is otherwise Art Nouveau.”

“I'm eclectic.”

“Apparently.”

Richard sat down and began to read it more thoroughly.

What surprised him was… for all the strange fonts and eclectic tastes… the plan was actually quite good. She was far more competent than he expected.

Her arithmetic was sound. She had price-checked and linked to all the best deals.

“Where did you learn to make a spreadsheet?”

“The internet.”

“You've had the internet for four days.”

“Yes.”

Richard decided not to pursue the matter further, but instead said, “This was genuinely helpful, thank you, Cordelia.”

Cordelia blushed.

As much as a Victorian ghost can blush. She was delighted.

“I can be useful! I was trained to run a household. I just died before I…”

She trailed off.

Richard nodded.

“That makes sense. And it is very useful.”

And so Richard set to work on making his poltergeist’s interior design dreams come true.

When the Bird Room was complete, Cordelia was practically waltzing about the house, singing some little old ditty about a nightingale.

No tools were hidden. No books were thrown. There was peace in the house.

Richard was surprised at how at home he felt. Cordelia had meant it when she offered to help with the work. She balanced his books for him. Helped with correspondence (once she mastered appropriate professional font-use).

Finally, the house was nearly complete.

He had saved her room for last.

The Garden in Her Mind.

He had made sure to get everything on her list, plus a few extra flourishes. Flowering vines draped the canopy bed. Not that she slept there.

Well, he didn't think she slept. Maybe she did.

He had chosen several glass roses and placed in a vase on her vanity. They were transparent, and cold, and beautiful, just like her. A gift. A thank you.

For her cooperation, he told himself.

He told her to cover her eyes for the reveal.

She did, and pretended her hands weren't transparent.

He opened the door.

“Okay, you can look.”

And for once, Cordelia said nothing.

Her mouth hung open as her eyes drank in the room. No longer her musty childhood hideaway. No longer the place they locked her away. But a beautiful garden, forever in bloom. Just the way she wanted it.

She floated around, investigating every detail.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet.

“These roses weren't in my guide.”

“No.”

“You chose them?”

“Yes.”

Cordelia touched one carefully.

“They're beautiful.”

“I thought you'd like them.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him.

“Thank you, Richard. For everything.”

Richard smiled.

“You're welcome.”

Cordelia looked around the room again.

“Although…”

Richard's smile disappeared.

“What?”

She pointed.

“I think the curtains need tassels.”

Richard sighed.

Tavisham Manor was haunted.

And Richard was beginning to think he rather liked it.

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Labyrinth: The Game

Mon, 24 Aug 2026 23:01:25 GMT

I set out to make a silly video parody of my own newsletter as an anime psychological horror game. Instead, it accidentally turned into a 4-minute thesis on shadow work. (Press play with sound on—Laby is waiting.) 🎧

Lyrics

Spoken, cheerful

Do not fret you’ll go insane
Getting lost is half the game
I’ll be waiting close behind
Let this place into your mind

Chorus

Welcome to the Labyrinth!
Each path and turn is yours to choose
Take my hand, we’ll find the way
There’s nothing here to lose!

Every monster has a story
Every shadow has a name
If you lose yourself completely
You can just re-start the game!

Labyrinth-inth-inth-inth-inth

Labyrinth!

Verse 3

Check your stats, they’ve all been altered
Strong and weak no longer show
Don’t complain, the game has taught you
Everything you need to know

Every piece must leave together
You don’t get to pick and choose
Take your monsters, take your shadows
The game was never win or lose

Pre-Chorus

Do not fret you’ll go insane
Getting lost is half the game
I’ll be waiting close behind
Let this place into your mind

Chorus

Welcome to the Labyrinth!
Each path and turn is yours to choose
Take my hand, we’ll find the way
There’s nothing here to lose!

Every monster has a story
Every shadow has a name
If you lose yourself completely
You can just re-start the game!

Labyrinth-inth-inth-inth-inth

Labyrinth!

Author’s Note:

This may be the most aggressively Tales from the Labyrinth thing I have ever made.

I started with a very simple idea: what if Tales from the Labyrinth were a psychological horror game?

Naturally, I made Labyrinthia the suspiciously cheerful anime guide.

Somehow, my joke video game developed a thesis. And then, rather inconveniently, it became startlingly sincere.

The Labyrinth has always been a metaphor for the mind in my writing. Its monsters aren’t really things to defeat. They’re the strange, frightened, angry, inconvenient pieces of ourselves we would rather label, lock behind a door, and leave somewhere in the dark.

So the game begins by asking you to divide yourself neatly into strengths and weaknesses.

By the end, it no longer lets you.

They’re just traits.

You don’t win the Labyrinth by destroying the monsters. You learn why they’re there.

And then you bring them home.

There’s always room for one more. 🦋

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Cordelia Tavisham, Poltergeist

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Fri, 21 Aug 2026 21:34:30 GMT

Prefer to be read to? Cordelia Tavisham made it to Storytime in the Labyrinth. Press play below! 🎧🎥

Tavisham Manor was haunted.

Everyone knew that.

Richard did not believe in ghosts. Or spirits. Or anything remotely mystical.

He considered it all absolute hogwash.

So, of course, he had no qualms about purchasing Tavisham Manor, despite the documented poltergeist activity. As a matter of fact, he thought he was getting a great deal. He had recently come into some money (and was rather handy at building and fixing), so he fancied himself a house flipper and got to work on the dilapidated old place.

Cordelia Tavisham was a poltergeist.

She had died, rather stupidly, mind you, back in 1888.

She remembered it like it was yesterday. She was only freshly nineteen, and had been confined to her room. Again. For poor manners.

Now, she could have simply stayed there for a few hours until the maid came to fetch her.

But no. Cordelia pouted. Cordelia sulked. Cordelia threw her hairbrush out the window. Cordelia climbed up the drainpipe and up to the very peak of the roof where she sat with her arms crossed indignantly and stared down at the garden.

And then she fell.

She didn't remember landing. Or dying. She only knew that when she woke up she was confined to the house, transparent, and no one paid her any attention.

So really, it was no different than any other day.

Cordelia had terrorized owner after owner of the house. It was hers, after all. By right.

Few of them lasted more than a few days.

Tavisham Manor was still largely in the same state it was in when she died.

Cordelia didn't like change.

Richard lived for it.

The first night he slept in Tavisham Manor, the lights went out.

“Damn fuse box,” Richard grunted.

The windows rattled.

He heard furniture move.

“The floors must be uneven. Perhaps there's a draft.”

Cordelia floated straight up through the floor and sulked at him, arms crossed.

How dare he ignore her.

She picked up his hammer from the bench and threw it. It put a dent in the wall.

“Where on earth is my hammer? Oh, I must have left it over there…”

A pause.

“I'll need to patch that.”

Another pause.

“Might as well tear down that wallpaper anyway while I'm at it.”

He ripped down the sheet of floral wallpaper damaged by the flying hammer.

Cordelia was apoplectic.

The next morning Richard awoke, fresh and ready to work, despite all the strange noises in the night.

And discovered his tools had vanished.

All of them.

So the first part of the day was spent searching.

He found the screwdriver in the chandelier. The tape measure in the fireplace. The hammer inexplicably back on the bench where he'd originally left it.

He could have sworn he moved it.

He cursed, audibly, and began removing more wallpaper.

Cordelia was incandescent. She floated up to the peak of the roof to pout about it.

It was her special place, really. A comfort in these trying times.

As she sat there, bemoaning her fate, a thought occurred to her.

This man who had intruded into her home seemed to genuinely believe she didn't exist.

That simply wouldn't do.

She would have to show him.

For several days, Richard was able to work in peace while Cordelia worked hard on appearing as an apparition.

At first she only managed a shadow. Then a spectral hand.

Progress.

Finally, she stood before the full-length mirror and gasped in horror.

No, this simply wouldn't do.

Not at all.

She looked ghastly. Her neck was bent all wrong. Her hair was tangled. Her dress was tattered and stained.

And so, she spent the next week and a half manifesting herself attractively.

Her hair gleamed, brushed smooth. Her high-necked white nightgown was pristine. Her skin glowed milky fair.

That was much more like it.

Now there was the matter of presentation. This was a big moment for her. She hadn't been seen in over a hundred years.

She took a few more days trying out different places to manifest. In the end, she settled on his bedroom.

It was nearly bedtime. He had climbed into bed and turned off the light. He shut his eyes.

She manifested, sitting atop his dresser, looking pristine. Presentation mattered.

Hair floating. Nightgown billowing. Pale spectral glow.

She waited.

Nothing.

She knocked a book off the end table, then swiftly perched herself back on the dresser.

His eyes snapped open.

He rolled to the side, reached down, and fumbled about for the offending book, placing it back on the end table.

And shut his eyes again.

Cordelia could have spit, if spirits had saliva.

How dare he!

She cleared her throat.

He opened his eyes again.

And sat up.

His eyes locked with hers.

She glowed as brightly as possible, making her hair and gown billow even more ethereally.

This was her moment.

He did not scream.

He did not shout.

He stood and steadily walked towards her, brow furrowed.

He reached out—

and his hand passed right through her shoulder.

“Do you mind?!” she shrieked indignantly.

He withdrew his hand and cocked his head.

“Curious.”

He considered her, looking her up and down.

She was glad she had invested time into looking just right, given his scrutiny.

“How are you producing light?” he asked.

“What?”

“You appear to be luminous.”

“I am haunting you!”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

“I am Cordelia Tavisham!”

“Tavisham?”

“Tavisham.”

“As in the house?”

She stared at him.

“As in my house.”

“Ah. Well. You must be the ghost they were all going on about. I've bought this place, you see. Paperwork is all signed. Shall I show you?”

He turned and began to walk out of the room, presumably to present her with the deed.

“No! Stop. That will not be necessary.”

He turned back to her.

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

“I need you to stop changing things.”

“What?”

“The wallpaper. The light fixtures. The floors. They're mine. They've been mine for well over a hundred years. I don't like seeing them destroyed.”

“This house desperately needs updating.”

“Who will you sell it to? Most people run the moment I close a door or throw things on the floor.”

He considered for a moment.

“Should I get you a priest?”

“What?”

“For your… soul. To… umm… move on?”

Her mouth hung open, horrified.

He at least had the decency to look chagrined.

“You think people haven't tried to…” She took a deep breath, then whispered, “Exorcise me before? It doesn't work. And it is, frankly, offensive.”

“Oh, um. Sorry about that.”

He considered again, then spoke.

“You make a fair point. You're a fixture of the house. And now I'm invested.”

She nodded. She was glad he understood.

He went on.

“I suppose I will be keeping it. No one will buy it if you harass them. But it still needs updating…”

She frowned and gave a little huff.

“What if…” He paused for a long moment. “Would you like to help me redecorate?”

Cordelia blinked.

No one had ever asked for her opinions before.

She considered him carefully.

She did have a lot of opinions.

“I choose the wallpaper.”

Richard sighed.

He was beginning to understand the terms of his haunting.

“Fine. But no more hiding my tools.”

She scowled and stuck out her tongue at him, but then thought better of it.

“Fine. I will consider it.”

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Leviathan

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Thu, 20 Aug 2026 19:12:47 GMT

Leviathan is a giant sea serpent found in both mythology and theology, an embodiment of chaos often identified in Christian tradition with the demon of the deadly sin of envy.

In this song, I explore the idea of a Leviathan that feeds on its own lore. Attention feeds the legend, and the legend makes the monster larger. No human can defeat its chaos.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do is starve it.

Leviathan

A Song of Chaos and the Sea

Audio experience created using Suno.

There’s a monster in the deep
Leviathan his name
He leaves destruction in his wake
And fingers point with blame

His rage has countless tentacles
That reach across the tide
He seeks to sink a fleet of ships
That simply passed him by

Do not feed Leviathan
Do not ever call his name
Every time we tell the tale
It just adds kindling to his flame

Do not feed Leviathan
Leave him to the deep alone
Monsters seldom make themselves
They grow from all that we have thrown

Leviathan… Leviathan…

Leviathan
Leviathan

Leviathan sleeps in the deep
Until the world takes note
A monster made of pent-up rage
And words caught in his throat

Leviathan’s a tidal wave
A whirlpool dark and deep
Once you are caught, he’ll pull you down
Until he falls asleep

Do not feed Leviathan
Do not ever call his name
Every time we tell the tale
It just adds kindling to his flame

Do not feed Leviathan
Leave him to the deep alone
Monsters seldom make themselves
They grow from all that we have thrown

Leviathan… Leviathan…

Leviathan
Leviathan

If someone seeks to take him down
Or tries to shrink his size
Leviathan will only grow
His legend fed by lies

Leviathan cannot be slain
Each harpoon builds a stage
The monster starves when silence
Leaves him all alone to rage

Do not feed Leviathan
Do not ever call his name
Every hand that points towards him
Feeds the creature just the same

Do not feed Leviathan
Leave him to the deep alone
Monsters seldom make themselves
They grow from all that we have thrown

Leviathan… Leviathan…

Leviathan
Leviathan

We thought it didn’t matter
That all monsters were the same

But Leviathan remembered

Every morsel. Every name.

Every curious little hand
That thought itself too small to blame

We all fed Leviathan

And Leviathan became.

Do not feed Leviathan
Do not ever call his name
Every hand that points towards him
Feeds the creature just the same

Do not feed Leviathan
Leave him to the deep alone
Monsters seldom make themselves
They grow from all that we have thrown

Leviathan… Leviathan…

Leviathan

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The Ghost King and the White Fox

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Wed, 19 Aug 2026 23:46:32 GMT

New to Jade Moon City? Start here.

The Ghost King and the White Fox

Kurogane, Ghost King of Tsukimori, brooded on his electric violet throne. The neon shuddered overhead, gleaming on the curve of his horns.

Damn that Kitsune.

Hikari had slipped from his grasp, and even had the audacity to mock him. She was a white fox, but only five-tailed. She should be no match for an oni sovereign.

Clever. Too damn clever.

He ached to claim her. To break that smug smirk.

And of course she belonged to Inari.

Best not to tamper with a god’s possessions.

Which only made the game sweeter.

He never had been terribly good at following the rules.

An agonized scream from a young man across the table drew him from his daydreams.

The dice had spoken.

The boy’s soul was forfeit.

Foolish mortals.

Kurogane ignored the man as he was dragged away.

Perhaps he could entice the fox to play.

He pulled a pair of dice from thin air. Vibrant pale blue glowed like swirling fog within them.

Foxfire.

A remnant of another fox he had bested.

That one fought him to the end.

But he kept their fire.

His lucky dice.

He rolled them between his fingers.

Pen and paper appeared in his other hand.

Hikari,

I have something that might interest you.

Meet me in the gambling district at midnight tonight.

Kurogane

He debated using their respective titles. But he preferred the intimacy of first names.

Hikari would hate it.

He smirked.

Good.

Hikari stared down at the letter, scrawled in violet ink.

Kurogane.

Of course.

She lit it with foxfire.

The paper curled, then dissolved into lavender smoke.

How predictable.

She padded softly through the lobby. The Jade Moon Inn for Wandering Spirits was under her care. A young man with a grayish pallor and a large hole in his chest sipped tea at a table.

She noticed some new spirits playing Mahjong at another table nearby. A few looked like they had drowned—dripping water onto the floor.

She was a bit annoyed by the mess, but it couldn’t be helped.

She motioned to a bellhop to grab a mop, then headed out into the night.

The sky glowed a rich magenta and the jade moon glowed pale green overhead.

She was hungry.

She made her way to the Night Market of a Thousand Spirits, and sidled up to her favorite ramen stand.

KAPPA RAMEN—BEST IN THREE REALMS.

The same pink kappa sold ramen there every night in shades of bioluminescent blue and green. But tonight there were specials—lavender and pink.

“Ahh, Kitsune-san. The usual?” he croaked.

“Yes, please. How is your evening, Kappa-san?”

“Oh, you know. The air is electric. The noodles are fresh. This old turtle is happy enough. Though… there is something you should know about.”

“Oh?”

Her curiosity was piqued.

“There are… rumors. Of a wandering horror. Mortals are being found cut in half at the waist, dead. The stranger thing… spirits are as well. So warn your patrons, Hikari-san.”

“Spirits? Dead? They’re already dead.”

“Aye, Hikari-san. That is the strangest bit.”

Hikari thanked the kappa for the ramen and the news, and headed towards the gambling district.

She had not intended to see Kurogane.

Now, however, she realized that she needed to speak to him.

Kurogane was delighted to see the flash of white fur and blue foxfire in his humble gambling establishment.

He almost couldn’t believe his luck.

He excused himself from his throne, leaving the souls to wait in his absence.

She looked… solemn.

Odd.

He expected annoyed.

Or maybe playful… playful would be fun.

He’d have liked that.

“Hikari-chan. You came.”

He grinned, flashing white fangs in the neon glow.

Hikari’s lips thinned at the diminutive familiarity, but she held her tongue.

“I’m not here about the note.”

He frowned.

“What are you here for then?”

“We need to talk. Alone, preferably.”

He raised an eyebrow, but gestured for her to follow him into his private chambers.

They were far darker than the colorful neon club outside. Plum-colored velvet drapes, black walls, and candlelight. They sat at a small table.

“Now tell me, fox. What is so important that we need to speak privately? Or did you simply wish to… be alone with me?”

His eyes glittered suggestively.

Hikari rolled her eyes.

“There’s a problem.”

A pause.

“Go on.”

“There is a disturbance. Some sort of new spirit. Mortals are being found bisected…”

Kurogane yawned.

“What else is new? More ghosts for the gambling pit.”

“Don’t interrupt. That wasn’t the troubling part. You see… spirits are being found that way as well.”

Kurogane immediately sat up.

She had his full attention.

“What?”

“They’re found… in two pieces. Unresponsive. Dead.”

“But they’re already dead.”

“Yes, you can see why this is the troubling part.”

His eyes narrowed and his expression turned stern.

“Where?”

“Mostly the eastern quarter. Three near the Night Market. Two more beyond the shrine district.”

“How many?”

“Spirits? Seven that I know of.”

His expression darkened.

“There are twelve spirits currently unaccounted for. I had thought perhaps they had wandered over to your quaint little Inn for homeless ghosts. But now, I wonder…”

“So do I.”

Just then, a tanuki entered.

The raccoon dog stood on its hind legs and wore a conical straw hat.

It shifted, then, into human form but for its bushy tail.

“Master.”

He bowed to Kurogane.

“I bring strange tidings.”

The tanuki looked at Hikari, unsure.

“You may speak in her presence, Ponta.”

An oni with a tanuki on retainer. Unusual, Hikari thought. They didn’t typically align themselves with sovereign power—too independent, too slippery.

This one seemed to be a sentinel.

“Your Grace, a train station has appeared on the eastern border of Tsukimori.”

Kurogane stared at him.

“There are no trains in Tsukimori.”

“Yes, Master. I am aware…”

“Then why is there a train station?”

Ponta shifted uncomfortably.

“That is why I thought you might wish to know.”

Hikari covered her mouth with one hand.

Kurogane’s eyes snapped toward her.

“Are you laughing?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“A little.”

“There are twelve missing spirits and an impossible train station has appeared in my kingdom.”

“I know. It’s terrible.”

Her tails twitched.

“But Ponta-san has a point.”

Ponta swallowed.

“There is one other matter, Master.”

Kurogane glanced back at him.

“Speak.”

“There are tracks.”

Hikari frowned.

“Where do they lead?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere?”

“They end perhaps fifty paces beyond the station in either direction.”

Silence.

“And yet,” Ponta continued, “we can hear a train.”

Silence.

Then Kurogane spoke.

“Thank you, Ponta. We will look into this mysterious train station. You may go.”

Ponta bowed and disappeared through plum velvet curtains.

Hikari turned to Kurogane, placing her hands on her hips.

“We?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t recall volunteering.”

“You brought the matter of strange new spirits to my attention.”

“That was a courtesy.”

“And now I am returning the courtesy by allowing you to accompany me.”

Hikari stared at him.

“Allowing me?”

Kurogane smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I could.”

“But you don’t.”

She narrowed her golden eyes and gave an irritated chuff.

His smile widened.

This was much more like it.

The train station stood strangely against the pink sky. Jade Moon City had neon, yes, but it had no cars. No televisions.

It was an ancient place wearing a modern mask.

The train station was jarringly new. White fluorescent lights buzzed beneath a metal awning. A row of machines lined one wall, their screens glowing expectantly. Yellow tiles ran along the edge of a platform that served no conceivable purpose.

Hikari stared.

“It is ugly.”

Kurogane glanced at her.

“That is your assessment?”

“It is dreary and gray. And I hate that buzzing sound.”

He considered the building.

“It is.”

They stood together beneath the glowing green moon, staring at the distasteful intrusion. The tracks stretched perhaps fifty paces in either direction. Then stopped.

They caught sight of a couple of spirits in masks wandering and talking nearby. They, too, stopped and stared at the strange station.

They looked to the Ghost King and bowed respectfully.

“Your Grace, is this yours?”

“Absolutely not. This is an intrusion. The White Fox and I are investigating. Please be cautious. I recommend you leave the area.”

The spirits bowed and began to retreat.

Just then, Hikari’s ears pricked.

In the distance, she heard the roar of a train engine.

The clattering of the wheels.

The blare of the horn.

A bright light shone from the nothingness at the end of the tracks.

Her ears flattened.

“I don’t like this.”

Kurogane smiled.

“Finally, something we agree upon.”

Then a woman’s voice crackled from somewhere overhead. Neither of them understood the announcement.

The horn blared and the train burst onto the tracks, clearly with no intention to stop. Hikari and Kurogane leapt backwards away from the rails.

“What the…”

Just as suddenly, the train reached the opposite end of the tracks.

And it was gone.

No fading lights.

No distant rumble.

Nothing.

As though it had never been there at all.

Hikari’s tails swished in agitation for a time, before slowly settling.

For several moments, neither spoke.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

“Did you know trains could do that?” Hikari asked.

Kurogane stared at the empty tracks.

“There are no trains in Tsukimori.”

“Yes. You mentioned that.”

“I felt it bore repeating.”

Hikari’s ear twitched.

Something lay near the far end of the platform.

“Kurogane.”

He followed her gaze.

A tattered school bag rested beside the yellow line.

It had not been there before.

Then, a sound.

From beneath the tracks, Hikari thought.

Teke.

Hikari froze.

Teke.

Kurogane’s hand moved toward his sword.

Teke. Teke.

A clicking.

A scraping.

The sound was getting faster.

Nearer.

Kurogane turned and saw that the masked spirits were still there, staring at the tracks as though mesmerized.

Then something burst from the tracks.

It was low to the ground, crawling, and unnaturally fast.

Not just crawling.

Dragging.

Teke. Teke. Teke. Teke.

But at unfathomable speed.

It headed towards the masked spirits who appeared frozen in place.

“Run, you fools!” Kurogane shouted, drawing his blade.

But the words had barely escaped his lips as there was a ferocious flash of steel and the creature reared up and sliced the ghosts in half with an enormous scythe.

They lay there on the ground, motionless.

Hikari turned to Kurogane, placing a hand on his blade arm.

“Don’t be stupid. We need to go. Now.”

Kurogane hesitated, then seemed to think better of it.

“Run,” Hikari said, as blue-white foxfire burned behind her eyes and then burst from her hands towards the creature.

Shadowed duplicates of Hikari and Kurogane scattered in all directions.

Blinded, the creature rose up, shrieking.

Kurogane watched, impressed despite himself.

Oh. Five tails. Right.

Leaving a trail of foxfire behind her, Hikari grabbed Kurogane’s arm and they fled.

When they had gone far enough away that they could no longer hear the fluorescent buzzing, Hikari let go of his arm.

He stood and looked at her.

Really looked at her. For a long time.

“What?” She bristled.

“Nothing. Just, reconsidering.”

“Reconsidering what?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

Her ears twitched.

“What have you decided?”

“That I underestimated you.”

“You did.”

Kurogane snickered.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know. So are you.”

“Now. About that scythe-wielding train ghost…”

Hikari brightened.

“I know just the guy to ask.”

Hiroshi was mortal.

He did his best to blend into the background.

He wore an oversized black sweatshirt and headphones.

He always had his laptop with him.

He kept a tent right near the rip in the fence that separated Tsukimori from the Waking World beyond.

When Hikari and Kurogane arrived he didn’t notice them. He was so absorbed in his laptop that he didn’t even look up.

“Ahem.” Hikari coughed. “Greetings, Hiroshi.”

“Hikari-sama!”

He leapt up with delight and bowed deeply.

Then his eyes wandered over to the massive purple oni she had with her.

“Umm…”

He looked to her anxiously.

“He’s the Ghost King of Tsukimori.”

Hiroshi blanched.

“Don’t worry. He’ll behave.”

Kurogane shot her a look.

Her lips curved ever so slightly.

“How can I help you, Hikari-sama?”

“There is something strange happening in Jade Moon City. A spirit… a creature of some sort.”

“Describe it to me.”

Kurogane interrupted.

“Do you know of anything that makes train stations appear out of nowhere, with ghost trains? Or killer creatures with scythes?”

Hiroshi considered a moment, and began typing furiously.

“Did it make a noise? The creature?”

“Yes… like a scraping. Or clicking,” Hikari responded.

“More like a teke… teke…” Kurogane added.

More frantic typing.

“Anything else?”

“There was a child’s backpack next to the tracks.”

Hiroshi looked up.

“I think I wrote about this on my blog.”

Kurogane’s forehead creased.

“Your what?”

“My blog. Haunted Japan: Fact or Fiction. It’s like an online journal.”

Kurogane continued to look confused. Hikari nodded.

Hiroshi continued.

“Yes, here she is. Teke Teke.”

“I said that already,” Kurogane grumbled.

“No, that’s what they call her. She’s an urban legend. A schoolgirl fell—or maybe was pushed—onto the tracks. A train cut her in half. And now she crawls around on her hands searching for her missing legs.”

He paused, then smiled excitedly.

“Creepy, right?”

Kurogane snorted.

“Quite.”

“And you actually saw her? That’s wild! And a train station? Was it solid, or transparent? Did she kill anyone?”

Hikari nodded.

“She killed two spirits in front of us. Sliced them in half.”

“Wait… what? Spirits?”

“Yes.”

“I never heard she could do that before.”

“She’s never been in Tsukimori before either.”

“Okay. That’s bad.”

Kurogane folded his arms.

“Your powers of observation astound me.”

Hiroshi ignored him.

“Urban legends change. People tell them differently, details get added, details disappear. But they usually stay tied to the Waking World.”

Hikari’s ears tilted forward.

“Usually?”

“Usually.”

Kurogane’s expression darkened.

“And this one brought a train station with her.”

Hiroshi nodded slowly.

“That’s what worries me.”

Hiroshi turned towards the rip in the fence. Beyond, the Waking World lay filled with city lights and the sounds of traffic.

Hiroshi turned to Hikari.

“Does it look larger to you?”

“What?”

“The rip. The tear in reality.”

She considered.

“Maybe.”

“I mean, you spirits can go in and out, if you’re powerful enough. I can go in and out, and I’m just a human. What if…”

A pause.

“What if urban legends are able to get in?”

Kurogane stared at the tear.

“How long has that been widening?”

Hiroshi swallowed.

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

“How?”

“You’re the one with the blog. Figure it out.”

Hikari spoke then.

“So, what do we do about this… legend?”

Hiroshi considered.

“Urban legends are stories. Built from fear. Anxiety. Strong human emotions. Perhaps it’s enough… enough to manifest a new kind of spirit. One that can harm…”

He trailed off.

“If Teke Teke crossed over…”

Hiroshi looked grim.

“She might not be the only story trying.”

Kurogane scowled.

“We should shut the cursed thing.”

Hikari put a hand on his arm.

“It doesn’t work that way, Kurogane.”

He grunted.

“Thank you for your assistance, Hiroshi. For your trouble.”

She handed him currency he could use within Tsukimori.

“Ahh heck yeah, I’m gonna get some of that Kappa Ramen!”

“He has specials right now. Lavender and pink.”

“Ooooh.”

Kurogane interrupted.

“If you two are finished going on about noodles, we have a ghost-killing schoolgirl to deal with.”

Hikari nodded, and she and Kurogane walked back towards the Night Market.

They were quiet for a time, walking slowly.

Then Kurogane spoke.

“What do we do?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Think faster.”

“Okay… look. She’s a vengeful spirit, right? She has a grudge. Sure her origins are… different. I’m not even certain she was ever a real girl. But the emotions are real. The grudge is real. And I know how to deal with grudges. It isn’t safe to take her to the Inn though.”

“You want to offer her room and board?”

“No, I want to bring her peace.”

“Some spirits never find peace. I’m not sure this one can.”

Hikari looked at him, considering.

“Then what?”

“This is why I exist. Why there is a Ghost King. I give them order. Purpose. A place in the world. Even if it isn’t always pleasant.”

“Teke Teke already has a place. She has a whole train station.”

“But perhaps… perhaps she needs a purpose.”

They found themselves back at the train station. Kurogane kept his hand on his sword. Hikari looked composed, but he could tell she was anxious underneath.

Again, the buzzing fluorescence.

Again, the train.

The backpack.

Hikari stepped forward and picked it up.

Like lightning, the spirit arose from beneath the tracks.

She was gruesome.

Half of a young girl in a school uniform trailing entrails behind her.

Teke Teke hesitated, looking at the kitsune.

Foxfire crackled beneath Hikari’s white fur, but she did not attack.

Instead, she reached out and placed the bag before her.

“I believe this is yours.”

Silence.

“What is your name?”

A long pause.

When she spoke her voice rasped as if from years of disuse.

“I don’t know.”

“What happened to you?”

“I don’t know.”

Hikari considered.

“Then… what do you want?”

“Legs.”

Kurogane stepped forward.

Teke Teke appeared to recognize the oni’s power and cringed backwards, slightly.

“There are no legs for you here. You are not even in the world where you lost them.”

Teke Teke wailed, a horrible, gut-wrenching scream.

“You are in my realm. You may stay, if you wish. There are things that cross these borders that do not belong. Let those be your prey. Protect Tsukimori. Protect your new home.”

“Kurogane, are you insane?” Hikari cried.

“She needs direction. She needs purpose. You want to change her nature… but this is her nature. Let her be useful.”

“No,” Hikari said sharply. “Not anyone who crosses.”

Kurogane looked at her, exasperated.

“Only those who mean harm.”

“Fox—”

“No. You said purpose, not slaughter.”

Teke Teke watched them both.

Kurogane exhaled through his nose.

“Fine.”

He turned back to the spirit.

“You will guard the boundary. You will hunt only those who cross with violent intent, or those who threaten the people of Tsukimori.”

Hikari folded her arms.

“And no residents.”

“Obviously.”

“You were about to forget that part.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

Kurogane turned to Teke Teke.

“If you accept my terms, you will be one of my subjects. You may come to me when you are in need. Do you accept?”

The child nodded, then darted away from them at incredible speed.

Teke teke teke teke…

She vanished.

They were alone.

Hikari looked at him.

“What?”

“I… I think I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“You.”

She smiled.

He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start thinking I’m a soft goody-goody like you and Inari.”

“Perish the thought.”

The following evening, the train station was still there.

Kurogane was displeased.

Hikari was delighted.

A map and timetable had appeared above the platform.

The tracks had expanded impossibly, connecting the different areas of Jade Moon City.

Spirits had already begun lining up curiously beneath the fluorescent lights.

“Absolutely not,” Kurogane said.

Hikari glanced at him.

“You wanted her to have a purpose.”

“Guarding the border.”

“Perhaps the train wanted a purpose too.”

A bell chimed.

Somewhere beyond the impossible tracks, a horn sounded.

Kurogane stared at the station.

“Tsukimori does not need public transportation.”

Hikari’s tails swished happily behind her.

“Apparently Tsukimori disagrees.”

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Don't Deny the Butterfly

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Tue, 18 Aug 2026 23:21:44 GMT

🦋 Press play, and follow Psyche into the myth. 🦋

Audio experience produced with Suno.

In Greece there dwelled a maiden fair

Her heart was kind and true

But ere her beauty blossomed bright

Magnificent to view

Each mortal bathed in her visage

As though a worshipper

And mighty Aphrodite raged

At what was meant for her

The goddess sent for Eros then

His arrow meant to pierce

He'd make her love a monstrous beast

A horror, foul and fierce

But when he cast his eyes upon

Fair Psyche, he was stricken

The arrow pricked Eros himself

His heart began to quicken

Don't deny the butterfly

Don't discount her patient grace

Don't decry the butterfly

She'll succeed at her own pace

Wings of beauty, wings of fate

Psyche seeks to find her mate

Wings of triumph, wings of truth

Eros, she'll return to you

Though mortal men adored her face

No suitor sought her hand

An oracle then bade that she

Obey the gods' command

She waited up upon the mount

For fated mate with grace

Then Zephyr bore her to love's home

Where Eros hid his face

Her sisters whispered seeds of doubt

She feared a monstrous mate

And so she formed a plan to learn

The truth about her fate

But when she cast her eyes upon

The god that shared her bed

A drop of burning oil fell

And Eros woke and fled

Don't deny the butterfly

Don't discount her patient grace

Don't decry the butterfly

She'll succeed at her own pace

Wings of beauty, wings of fate

Psyche seeks to find her mate

Wings of triumph, wings of truth

Eros, she'll return to you

Distressed, poor Psyche sought the aid

Of Aphrodite fair

Who gave the poor girl hopeless tasks

Designed to keep her there

She'd sort the grain, shear golden sheep,

The Styx would be her well

Persistent, patient Psyche

Would conquer every hell

The goddess gave one final task

She thought she'd ne'er return

The Underworld is deep and vast

But Psyche's soul did yearn

Polite, she sought Persephone

Her beauty in a box

But Psyche's curiosity

Undid the little locks

Don't deny the butterfly

Don't discount her patient grace

Don't decry the butterfly

She'll succeed at her own pace

Wings of beauty, wings of fate

Psyche seeks to find her mate

Wings of triumph, wings of truth

Eros, she'll return to you

In deathlike sleep she waited

Until Eros found her there

He woke her and returned her

To their palace in the air

Then Eros did appeal to Zeus

For immortality

Fair Psyche drank ambrosia to

Unite eternally

Don't deny the butterfly

Don't discount her patient grace

Don't decry the butterfly

She succeeded at her own pace

Wings of beauty, wings of fate

Psyche finally found her mate

Wings of triumph, wings of truth

Eros, she returned to you

A note on Psyche 🦋

Psyche has always been one of my favorite women in mythology. Her name means soul, and she is often depicted with butterfly wings, a symbol of the human soul. She isn't a warrior or a queen. Her strength is quieter. She is curious, imperfect, patient, persistent, and willing to journey all the way to the Underworld for love.

So, naturally, I wrote her a ballad.

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Maybe I Just Remember It That Way

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Mon, 17 Aug 2026 16:30:56 GMT

In the hazy heat of late summer

memories bake like chalk drawings

in the sun, doodled on the sidewalk

outside your childhood home.

School is starting.

Air is cooling.

But I no longer smell pencil shavings

or wipe away

the discarded shards

of a stubby pink eraser,

well-used.

Nights are cooler.

Crickets chirp loudly.

Too loudly.

Enough to keep me lying awake

with my window open.

They must be lonely.

Sunflowers open—

a maze

taller than me,

a thousand round brown eyes

encircled by golden rays.

Harvest is coming.

Back home, it was time for corn.

But here, in New England,

it is time for apples.

Time for cider.

Cool sand at night

slipping between your toes.

Beaches and bonfires.

Dandelion fluff flutters away on the breeze.

The smell of grass clippings dampens the air.

Summer holds its breath.

The air takes on an umber cast,

a world of bronze-gold before the autumn,

when colors play freely.

Or maybe it doesn't.

Maybe I just remember it that way.

If you have enjoyed my work here in the Labyrinth, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. If you prefer a one-time offering, you may “buy me a rose” and I would be most grateful. 🥀

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Isinglass Manor

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Sun, 16 Aug 2026 13:02:34 GMT

Author’s Note:

I wanted to present these two songs together because, in many ways, they are mirrors of one another.

“Master of the House” is Edmund at perhaps his most Edmund.

He has been pushed out of Harvard, dismissed as eccentric, and sent away from the academic world he desperately wanted to belong to. And yet, rather than admit how deeply that hurts him, he turns the whole thing into a victory lap.

He has a house.

He has books.

He has privacy.

He has plans to get emerald drapes.

What more could a man possibly need?

The song is intentionally theatrical, frivolous, and a little absurd. Edmund is convincing himself that exile is freedom, that loneliness is independence, and that being left entirely alone with a mysterious inherited library full of forbidden books is an absolutely wonderful development.

This is, of course, an eldritch horror musical.

So we know better.

Then comes “I Didn’t Get to Tell You.”

By the time Mercy sings it, everything Edmund was so delighted to possess has become the instrument of his disappearance.

The books mattered.

The secrets mattered.

And the solitude he celebrated has left Mercy standing in Isinglass Manor with nothing but The King in Yellow and all the things she never managed to say to him.

I especially love putting these songs beside one another because they reveal something important about both characters.

Edmund responds to pain by intellectualizing it, joking about it, and charging ahead.

Mercy feels everything.

But she hesitates.

She waits.

She assumes there will be more time.

And then there isn’t.

“Master of the House” ends with Edmund triumphantly declaring that the house belongs to him.

“I Didn’t Get to Tell You” ends with Mercy deciding to read the play that took him away.

One character walks willingly toward the mystery because he believes knowledge will save him.

The other follows because she loves him.

Neither understands yet what waits on the other side.

But Carcosa does.

Master of the House

Audio experience created using Suno. Press Play to listen below. 🎧

Spoken Intro

Ahh...

Home at last.

Verse I

There are shadows
In the house,

Likely cobwebs
Or a mouse.

There are corridors
Just yawning evermore.

There are books
And tomes and spells,

And some really
Steep stairwells.

But at least it’s mine...

From the ceiling
To the floor!

Chorus

Harvard can think
I’m slightly batty.

And yes, my methods are...

Unorthodox.

They may not want me
Down in Boston,

But baby...

No one puts Edmund
In a box!

And yes,
Maybe some of the time...

I’ll sit,
I’ll miss it,

And I’ll pine...

Then I’ll remember
The flame they tried to douse!

And remember...

Now I’m

Master of the House!

Verse II

I’ve got so much
On my plate.

Maybe I’ll...

Redecorate?

I can see it now...

Plush drapes
Of emerald green!

I can study
As I like.

I might even
Buy a bike.

And maybe hire someone
To keep this old place clean!

Chorus

Harvard can think
I’m slightly batty.

And yes, my methods are...

Unorthodox.

They may not want me
Down in Boston,

But baby...

No one puts Edmund
In a box!

And yes,
Maybe some of the time...

I’ll sit,
I’ll miss it,

And I’ll pine...

Then I’ll remember
The flame they tried to douse!

And remember...

Now I’m

Master of the House!

Verse III

There are tomes
And books aplenty.

My work is...

Magni momenti!

There are secrets here,

And mysteries galore.

I can read
The books I ought.

There were so many
That I sought.

And there’ll be no professors
Knocking at my door!

Chorus

Harvard can think
I’m slightly batty.

And yes, my methods are...

Unorthodox.

They may not want me
Down in Boston,

But baby...

No one puts Edmund
In a box!

And yes,
Maybe some of the time...

I’ll sit,
I’ll miss it,

And I’ll pine...

Then I’ll remember
The flame they tried to douse!

And remember...

Now I’m

Master of the House!

Outro

Have no doubt...

Now I’m out...

I’ll have clout...

And I’ll shout!

Yes, I’ll shout!

That I am...

The Master...

Of the

House!

I Didn’t Get to Tell You

Audio experience created using Suno. Press Play to listen below. 🎧

Verse I

Oh, Edmund...

What have you done?

My love...

The King in Yellow...

I didn’t get to tell you...

I just thought
You’d understand...

And now you’ve gone
Away from me

When you should have
Held my hand...

Verse II

I didn’t get to tell you...

That my heart
Beats just for you...

And now you’ve done
Something so foolish

The kind of thing
That I would do...

Not you...

No, not you...

Pre-Chorus

Edmund...

Where have you gone?

I’ve been waiting
Right along.

I’ve lost track
Of the day,

Even tried
To pray.

Maybe I should
Read the play...

(whisper)

No...

That’s what it wants...

Verse III

I didn’t get to tell you...

I thought we’d
Work out in the end...

We fit like
Pieces of a puzzle...

At least I got
To be your friend...

Final Pre-Chorus

Edmund...

Where have you gone?

I’ve been waiting
Right along.

I’ve lost track
Of the day,

Even tried
To pray.

Maybe I should
Read the play...

Maybe I should...

Read the play...

Outro

I didn’t get
To tell you...

No...

I didn’t get
To tell you...

Get to tell you...

That I love you...

(whisper)

I should read...

The play...

Labyrinthia Mythweaver

🎙️Storytime: Basil Chooses a Human

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Sat, 15 Aug 2026 23:17:25 GMT

Come sit for a while.

Welcome to Storytime in the Labyrinth, a new little corner where I’ll be reading my stories aloud for you.

For our very first tale, we’re starting somewhere soft, cozy, and just a little magical.

Meet Basil: six pounds of fluffy black cat, quiet magic, and absolute certainty that humans do not adopt cats.

Cats adopt humans. 🐈‍⬛

So make yourself comfortable, and let me tell you a story.

The original written post of the tale can be found here:

These videos are also available on my YouTube channel.

Watch on YouTube

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Storytime is Coming to the Labyrinth

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Thu, 13 Aug 2026 23:02:09 GMT

For the last year, Tales from the Labyrinth has mostly lived in words.

Stories. Poems. Fairy tales. Folklore.

And, increasingly, a truly unreasonable number of songs.

But somewhere along the way, I started wondering what it would be like if the Labyrinth became a place you could actually visit.

So I built one.

Well...

Sort of.

Meet Labyrinthia Mythweaver: Anime Edition.

She's my little animated storyteller, and this is the beginning of something I've been wanting to experiment with for a while.

Video.

I want to start bringing more of my stories and songs to life: reading fiction aloud, sharing the mythology and folklore behind my work, making playlists for the ridiculous number of songs I keep writing, and occasionally just inviting you to curl up somewhere comfortable and listen.

And I wanted it to feel like Tales from the Labyrinth.

Not a studio.

Not me talking at a camera.

A cozy little library somewhere inside the Labyrinth, full of books and lantern light, where stories are told and songs are sung…

By me in fairy-form. 🧚‍♀️

Naturally, I needed a familiar.

So there is also a mothcat.

Because of course there is.

Her name is Pippa.

So... YouTube?

Yes!

Subscribe to my YouTube! 📹

Subscribe now

I've created a YouTube channel for Tales from the Labyrinth, where I'll collect the videos and experiment with longer Storytimes, songs, folklore, and whatever other strange things wander out of my imagination.

But I don't want the Labyrinth's new video side to live somewhere else entirely.

I'll also be bringing video here.

Some videos may accompany stories. Some might be little introductions or behind-the-scenes rambles. Some might be performances of songs you've first encountered as lyrics here. And some may simply be an excuse for us to spend a little time together in the library.

I may do live readings or musical jam sessions.

I'm not entirely sure what this will become yet.

And honestly?

That's part of why I'm excited.

Tales from the Labyrinth began as a place for me to tell stories.

Then somehow it became stories and poems and folklore and music and community and challenges and collaborations and cats...

So perhaps this is simply the next corridor.

I'm going to see where it leads.

You are, as always, invited to wander with me.

Bring a cup of tea.

I'll bring the stories.

And the songs.

…And the mothcat.

🕯️📖🦋

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View Video on YouTube

Subscribe to my YouTube Channel

The Curious Case of W.B. Cole, Gentleman Crow

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Thu, 13 Aug 2026 20:01:23 GMT

Winthrop Bartholomew Cole was a crow.

Well… technically, a crow who had once been a human.

But that was a very long time ago.

He had taken to crow-ness with trepidation at first, and then with profound joy. He admired his gleaming, inky feathers. He adored the feeling of the wind beneath his wings. He could even talk—well, it was more of a squawk. But it got his point across.

Yes, being a crow had its advantages.

When he was human, W.B. Cole had been… something of a fop. He had a vast collection of colorful silk waistcoats. He had bejeweled stickpins for his cravat, and gold cufflinks.

He had a different walking stick for every outfit and (it's been said) the largest collection of top hats in all of London.

It was, in fact, this very love of frippery that led him to Madame Oiseau.

He didn't know she was a witch. Not at first, anyway. She sold hats. Haberdashers are known for being a bit batty, but not generally known for witchcraft.

He bid her make him the most fabulous hat in all of London. And so she did.

He took the hat on credit, promising her payment. He had it, of course. He was good for it.

He went out that night dressed to the nines.

But, you see, our Cole… well, he also had a bit of a gambling problem.

Before the night was through, he was short the money for her payment, two cufflinks, one stickpin for his cravat, one silk vest, and his new fabulous hat.

He returned to Madame Oiseau, sullen and shame-faced, informing her that he needed more time to gather payment.

He tried charm. He tried persuasion. He tried every trick he could think of.

But nothing worked.

Madame Oiseau wanted her payment now.

“You foolish dandy! Vain! Extravagant! Why, I highly suspect if I let you slip out that door I'll never hear from your oily little self again! No, that won't do… it simply won't do.”

Then, she smiled. An idea had clearly popped into her head.

Cole pleaded. He would work in the shop. Make hats. Work off his debt.

She shook her head.

“Oh no, my bird-brained friend. I have a different payment in mind…”

And with that, she snapped her fingers.

Cole was on the floor. Had he fainted?

Wait, no. He was standing. On bird legs.

He looked up at her.

“I think a few hundred years as a crow will teach you to mind your manners and pay your debts. Now, off with you! Before you stain the carpet!”

She pushed him out a window.

He panicked, and fell. He was going to die!

Oh wait. Wings.

He had wings. So he spread his wings, and flew.

It was a rough first few weeks, as Cole learned to fend for himself and survive as a crow. He was not keen on insects. He tried berries. Those were nice.

Eventually, he started frequenting the old cafes he used to visit as a human. He'd swoop down and take leftovers off plates before they were cleared.

A few times he was so bold (and so in the mood for treacle tart) that he stole it right out of a patron’s hands, and flew off, cawing with laughter.

He realized his desire for frippery had not abated. He could not wear it now, but he decorated his nest with stolen jewelry and scraps of fine cloth.

You are right, dear reader, if you find yourself thinking, “Did he learn nothing?”

But the truth is, he did learn something.

He learned how much he enjoyed being a crow.

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Looking for more cozy, humorous fantasy? Check out the tales below.

An Audience with the Old Ones

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 20:46:29 GMT

Setting the Scene:

Edmund is now court page to the King in Yellow, and Mercy has followed him to Carcosa and joined him at the palace. A meeting of the Great Old Ones is about to commence.

With Hastur temporarily absent, Edmund and Mercy find themselves summoned before Nyarlathotep, the enigmatic messenger of the Old Ones. Charming, calculating, and certain of his superiority, he toys with the two humans, probing their fears and their relationship with Hastur. He introduces himself and attempts to persuade them to leave Carcosa with him.

Shortly after, their audience is interrupted by the arrival of Shub-Niggurath, whose presence could hardly be more different. Where Nyarlathotep is cold, cerebral, and manipulative, Shub-Niggurath is exuberant, sensual, and overflowing with life. Surrounded by mist and her strange little goats, she cheerfully rejects humanity’s image of her as a monster and introduces herself on her own terms.

Caught between two ancient gods debating, teasing, and occasionally addressing them as though their presence in Carcosa were perfectly ordinary, Edmund and Mercy begin to realize that Hastur may not even be the strangest thing they have to worry about.

Nyarlathotep

Audio experience created using Suno. Press Play to listen below. 🎧

Verse I

Greetings, you two little mortals.

Seeing you here, it gives me a chortle.

Since my plans have unfurled
In your old mortal world...

Yet somehow you managed to find this portal.

I’ve got plans,
You see...

And they always
Come to be.

So go ahead now...

Take a seat.

And watch as empires
Fall at my feet.

Chorus

You know Hastur?

He’s a disaster!

And Cthulhu...

He’s got a screw loose!

Shub-Niggurath
Is lost on some
Fairytale path.

But me...

I am the best
Of the best!

You better forget the rest!

I’m scheming
While others are dreaming.

And now hordes
Of my minions are teeming.

I’ve got pep
In my step.

And everything’s
Prepped.

Because I am...

Nyarlathotep!

Verse II

Azathoth is
Always sleeping.

Yog-Sothoth
Knowledge is keeping.

Dagon just spends
His time just sinking.

I don’t know
What these guys are thinking.

Honestly...

Without all my plotting...

The whole cosmos
Would end up rotting.

Chorus

You know Hastur?

He’s a disaster!

And Cthulhu...

He’s got a screw loose!

Shub-Niggurath
Is lost on some
Fairytale path.

But me...

I am the best
Of the best!

You better forget the rest!

I’m scheming
While others are dreaming.

And now hordes
Of my minions are teeming.

I’ve got pep
In my step.

And everything’s
Prepped.

Because I am...

Nyarlathotep!

Bridge

So come, little mortals,
And join me.

Let’s leave
Carcosa behind.

That old
King in Yellow
Is certain
To bellow.

But soon...

Out of sight...

Out of mind!

I will keep you
To watch and to wonder.

As my plots
And my schemes
Come to pass.

You’ll say,

“Nyarlathotep!

You’re ahead
By one step!

You outwit them
With oh so much class!”

Final Chorus

You know Hastur?

He’s a disaster!

And Cthulhu...

He’s got a screw loose!

Shub-Niggurath
Is lost on some
Fairytale path.

But me...

I am the best
Of the best!

You better forget the rest!

I’m scheming
While others are dreaming.

And now hordes
Of my minions are teeming.

I’ve got pep
In my step.

And everything’s
Prepped.

Because I am...

Nyarlathotep!

Outro

Nyarlathotep...

The Crawling Chaos...

Always...

One step ahead...

I’m scheming
While others are dreaming.

And now hordes
Of my minions are teeming.

I’ve got pep
In my step.

And everything’s
Prepped.

Because I am...

Nyarlathotep!

Shub-Niggurath: In Life We Trust

Audio experience created using Suno. Press Play to listen below. 🎧

Verse I

I am the Black Goat
Of the Woods
With a Thousand Young.

I’m Life Incarnate,

Growing,
Laughing,
Living…

Having fun.

When you dance
And you play
And you love another day,

We are there
Round the bonfire.

We are desire.

Chorus

Call me an eldritch horror or a monster...

If you must…

But every flower,
Every forest,
Every child…

Began with us.

We are

Shub-Niggurath…

In life we trust!

Verse II

I am a proud
And noble Daughter
Of the Nameless Mist.

I came from naught.

’Twas life I sought
In an endless tryst.

I am both mother
And the sire.

We are…

Oh, we are…

Desire.

Chorus

Call me an eldritch horror or a monster...

If you must…

But every flower,
Every forest,
Every child…

Began with us.

We are

Shub-Niggurath…

In life we trust!

Bridge

Mortals gasp and clutch their throats,
Looking at our mist and goats.

They don’t see the truest beauty
Lies within.

We don’t care about your crimes,
Or the ways you spend your time,

And we know making life
Can never be a sin.

Final Chorus

Call me an eldritch horror or a monster...

If you must…

But every flower,
Every forest,
Every child…

Began with us.

We are

Shub-Niggurath…

In life we trust!

Shub-Niggurath…

In life we trust!

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Want more of Eldritch: An Original Musical? The story continues in the posts below.

Basil the Bookshop Cat

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 21:55:18 GMT

Basil was a bookshop cat.

And it suited him quite well.

He was small, and black, and fluffy, with large round eyes the color of seafoam.

He had recently adopted a human woman after a spate of homelessness.

Though truly, he believed, the larger issue had been the woman’s catless-ness.

But he had solved that problem for her and found himself comfortably settled in the Myth and Tome Bookshop and its attached apartment.

After some convincing (she was still learning to speak cat), the woman had given him the run of the place.

His human was named Alice. She was small, and gentle, and loved books and quiet.

Alice suited him quite well.

Alice ran her little bookshop with care. This pleased him. She planted flowers in the window boxes.

With a bit of persuasion, she had planted cat grass and catnip as well.

He was fed on time every morning.

He was properly fussed over in the evenings when she made her pot of tea, lit the fireplace, and sat down to read.

He was small, so he only took up one thigh.

There he would nestle against her warmth, basking in the toasty firelight. He would close his eyes and sleep peacefully as she read her books.

At night, he had pride of place on the pillow next to hers in bed.

As it should be.

Now, Basil was magic. Of course. All cats are.

But he saw potential in Alice.

She could become a magnificent healer. Or herbalist.

White magic, of course. He had no interest in the other kind.

So, in the way of all cats since time immemorial, Basil began to teach her.

His method was tried-and-true cat science.

He nonchalantly knocked the necessary tomes from the bookshelves onto the floor.

Then he stared at her haughtily until she picked them up.

It was the way of things.

He was a firm but loving teacher to his apprentice.

Alice would roll her eyes and attempt to scold him but he paid her no mind.

Then, naturally, the book would pique her interest.

And a new white witch was born.

People underestimated cats.

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Want more of Basil? Read his introduction here:

Eldritch

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 16:18:53 GMT

Things aren't going well in Carcosa.

Edmund has lost most of his memories. Mercy has read The King in Yellow in order to follow him. And now Hastur has found his favorite little human.

You're Mine

Hastur welcomes Edmund to Carcosa.

🎧 Audio experience created using Suno. Press play and listen below.

Verse 1

Well, well, well...

If it isn't

My favorite little scholar...

Wondered when

You'd give me a holler...

How do you like it here?

Did you find your answers...

Or did you just find fear?

Now that everything

Has become clear...

Welcome, my boy,

To Carcosa.

Do you enjoy

My black stars?

Do you miss

Your little scars...

Out there

Beyond Mars?

My knowledge

Is now ours...

This archive

Has no bars...

Each answer

Opens one more door...

Tell me...

Are you still

Hungry for more?

Chorus

Don't sulk.

Don't pout.

Don't you dare try

To find a way out.

You read

The King in Yellow,

And now you've met him...

What a lucky fellow!

Don't cry.

You're mine.

I've given you

Something sublime.

Don't forget

That I'm Hastur—

Your marvelous master,

All-powerful,

Cosmic,

Divine!

You're mine!

Verse 2

Well, well, well...

If it isn't

My favorite little mortal...

I knew that you'd find

My little portal...

You couldn't help it.

You were so curious...

Oh, don't pout...

It's so laborious!

So welcome, my boy,

To Carcosa.

I hope you like

Towers that gleam.

You're on my team.

That's what I deem.

I won't be mean.

Just keep your nose clean.

And tell me...

Have you enjoyed

All that you've seen?

Chorus

Don't sulk.

Don't pout.

Don't you dare try

To find a way out.

You read

The King in Yellow,

And now you've met him...

What a lucky fellow!

Don't cry.

You're mine.

I've given you

Something sublime.

Don't forget

That I'm Hastur—

Your marvelous master,

All-powerful,

Cosmic,

Divine!

You're mine!

Bridge

Now come with me

Before you age.

I think I'm gonna

Make you my page.

You'll keep my court.

It'll be such sport.

Human pets

Will become all the rage!

Now come along.

Don't prove me wrong.

I think, in truth,

You've been enjoying my song.

You'll meet the Old Ones.

It'll be such fun.

We'll be together forever,

Just like the twin suns.

Final Chorus

Don't sulk.

Don't pout.

Don't you dare try

To find a way out.

You read

The King in Yellow,

And now you've met him...

What a lucky fellow!

Don't cry.

You're mine.

I've given you

Something sublime.

Don't forget

That I'm Hastur—

Your marvelous master,

All-powerful,

Cosmic,

Divine!

You're mine!

Outro

Never forget...

For all of time...

You're mine...

The stars are old, the seas are deep. And none know where the Old Ones sleep.

Edmund and Mercy have found each other as the Old Ones converge on Carcosa. With memories partially restored by Mercy’s magic, they reflect on their journey and wonder if they will ever make it home.

Eldritch

Edmund and Mercy contemplate what they've discovered.

🎧 Audio experience created using Suno. Press play and listen below.

Edmund

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Why did we open up that door?

I thought I had to know the truth.

I’d give it all up for a booth

Where we’d sit and talk about

Our boring days....

Chorus

Eldritch...

The stars are old.

The seas are deep.

And none know where

The Old Ones sleep...

Eldritch...

The cosmos spins endlessly vast.

And there's no future.

There's no past...

Eldritch...

Some things are better left unknown...

Eldritch...

Will we ever...

Make it home?

Mercy

I should have listened when you said

Impulsive people end up dead.

I thought I knew enough to know better.

Wish I'd left someone a letter,

So they'd know where I had gone...

And maybe they would care?

Chorus

Eldritch...

The stars are old.

The seas are deep.

And none know where

The Old Ones sleep...

Eldritch...

The cosmos spins endlessly vast.

And there's no future.

There's no past...

Eldritch...

Some things are better left unknown...

Eldritch...

Will we ever...

Make it home?

Edmund, Mercy & the Lost Ones

We are lost... in a dream within a dream.

We are lost... where nothing's as it seems.

We are lost... in Carcosa.

Yellow signs...

His designs...

We are lost...

Ohhhh-oh, we are lost...

Final Chorus

Eldritch...

The stars are old.

The seas are deep.

And none know where

The Old Ones sleep...

Eldritch...

The cosmos spins endlessly vast.

And there's no future.

There's no past...

Eldritch...

Some things are better left unknown...

Eldritch...

Will we ever...

Make it home?

Outro

Eldritch...

Ohhhhh-oh-oh...

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In the Deep!

Labyrinthia Mythweaver — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 20:20:17 GMT

Author's Note:

Every seaside town sings shanties.

Most are about storms, hard work, and bringing home a good catch…

The fishermen of Isinglass have... slightly different priorities.

Edmund and Mercy have reservations about their fishy nocturnal visitors...

But the townsfolk insist the Deep Ones aren't nearly as frightening as outsiders claim. Certainly not when they keep the sails full, the ships afloat, and the catch plentiful.

Perhaps it's best not to ask too many questions about where the fish comes from.

Or why so many of the townsfolk wear hooded robes after sunset…

In the Deep!

The Official Sea Shanty of the Order of Dagon

^{🎧 Audio experience created using Suno. Press play and listen below.}

Verse 1

They are blasphemous fish-frogs

Of nameless design.

Stay away

From the Deep Ones!

Run

If you smell brine!

They are dangerous beings,

That much is quite true...

But they always bring fish,

Maybe a squid or two!

Chorus

But the thing

You should know is...

We get along well!

In the Order

Of Dagon,

We know

Where they dwell!

In the Deep!

Down where

The Old Dreamer sleeps!

So we pull up our hood,

And He always makes good—

Great Cthulhu,

The God of the Deep!

In the Deep!

Verse 2

We all take

Midnight swims...

They're good

For aching knees!

But if you hear

Some chanting...

It's only the breeze!

They may look

A bit odd...

Don't you judge

By the scales!

They fill up our nets,

And they fill up our sails!

Chorus

But the thing

You should know is...

We get along well!

In the Order

Of Dagon,

We know

Where they dwell!

In the Deep!

Down where

The Old Dreamer sleeps!

So we pull up our hood,

And He always makes good—

Great Cthulhu,

The God of the Deep!

In the Deep!

Bridge

So if you two

Are ready...

To join

Our Lord here.

Don a cloak,

And give fealty.

There's nothing

To fear.

Then the Deep Ones

Will know...

That you're one

Of our flock.

And then at your door they

Will no longer knock.

Join us!

Final Chorus

But the thing

You should know is...

We get along well!

In the Order

Of Dagon,

We know

Where they dwell!

In the Deep!

Down where

The Old Dreamer sleeps!

So we pull up our hood,

And He always makes good—

Great Cthulhu,

The God of the Deep!

In the Deep!

Down where

The Old Dreamer sleeps!

So we pull up our hood,

And He always makes good—

Great Cthulhu,

The God of the Deep!

In the Deep!

In the Deep!!

Welcome to Isinglass.

The seafood is excellent.

Please don't ask why.

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