Threads

Part One

The demon D is miserable. He lost both his dream job and title when priceless, powerful relics called bloodstones were stolen on his watch—and worse, stolen by those he thought were his friends. His teacher slash parental figure C's wife, Susu, has gone missing, his older brother Asmodeus is distant and difficult to connect with, and his little brother Beezles is just plain annoying. Worst of all, he has been demoted to the lowliest position possible Below: that of Granter, answering first time human summons to form contracts and fulfill their boring, repetitive wishes.

It seems like things will never get better when an ordinary young woman who calls herself Holly appears with an unusual wish: to break someone else's contract. And as payment, she has a truly unexpected item: one of the missing bloodstones!

Bound to Holly in an Accompaniment Contract, D is sent to Above, the human world, to find the rest of the missing treasure as well as any hints to Susu's whereabouts. As he and Holly begin to slowly understand each other, he learns that the bloodstone wasn't just a lucky find, and Holly's family secrets are much darker than he could have imagined.

Part Two

Chronically ill Evelyn is in the process of dying—literally—when a shadowy stranger appears to offer her a second chance at life. There's a catch, however, and Evelyn finds herself not enjoying a fresh start as a healthy, average human, but living Below, a mysterious world of interconnected rooms populated by fantastical creatures—some with a taste for human flesh. The stranger who brought her there is a fashionable yet stoic demon librarian who calls himself Asmodeus, and it's not clear what exactly he wants with her.

While Az, as she quickly nicknames him, works hard as a translator, he sends her to spend time learning with his estranged and unpredictable teacher, C, and her sweet and strong wife Susu. As she learns to work her new body, Evelyn begins a plot to get back to the human world of Above.

Currently, I am working on a large image to show off the spookier elements that appear in my webnovel. The background features several paintings that are pastiche of a few famous ones. This is the first completed redraw, a tribute to Henry Fuseli's 1781 piece, The Nightmare.

I can't seem to add alt text to the animation, so allow me to describe it for you. The original painting features a woman reclining and half falling off of a bed while asleep. On her chest sets a gargoyle-like sleep paralysis demon, and looking at her through curtains is a terrifying, pupilless mare.

The webnovel begins with Evelyn in the process of dying after a lifetime of hospitalizations for various chronic illnesses. Once established Below in a new, healthy body, she begins to process the trauma of her life as a human and develops a deep terror of the same things happening to her again. Sometimes these fears are reflected in her nightmares, so I added a few elements to represent them, as well as changing the woman to Evelyn.

The other major change is that the sleep paralysis demon is now Deciduous, a monster that doesn't truly appear until the second part but is certainly haunting them throughout the first. It currently lacks a physical form, and so gathers the teeth of its many victims (human, fae, and demon alike) to form itself a shape. It enjoys torturing its victims through nightmares, so this really is the perfect position for it!

The last thing I changed was just giving the titular night mare creepy sharp teeth. Why not?

I'm extremely inexperienced at animating, but I'm working hard to learn more! This was done in Procreate, which I don't think has a tweening tool for smoothness, but I think something about the stilted glowing and blinking makes it a little extra spooky.

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“We don’t need to pay an entrance fee or anything?” Evelyn asked as the folding brass gates of the elevator slid open. The previously muffled clop of her heels became sharp, echoing clacks as they stepped out onto the smooth marble floor of a massive lobby. Dozens of meters away on either side were open hallways with flowing, intertwined iron balustrades stacked seven stories tall between fluted ivory columns. Before them was a set of wide stairs gracefully curved from wall to wall that led up to six sets of massive wooden doors.

“Ah, no. Is that common practice Above?” Az asked as they began to walk up the steps. The crisp sound of his dress shoes was half the beat of her own, but somehow they were in rhythm, and his long strides weren't leaving her behind. She bit back a pleased smile.

“Um, yes, definitely—I mean, at least that's what I've seen in the videos I've watched. I've never actually been to one. But it costs money to run museums, to maintain the building, and things like that. But I guess you don’t really have to worry about cleaning or security or even things like climate control for weather, here…” Evelyn’s voice trailed off as her eyes wandered to the ceiling. Looking up at the large, domed skylight crowning the room far above them, she was unsurprised to see that it, like most other windows Below, was only emanating simple white light with no hint of a sky beyond it.

She hurried to prevent disappointment from showing on her face by expressing a different thought. “Are there any workers here?”

“I suppose they could be defined as such, yes, but we are unlikely to encounter them,” Az replied vaguely, but didn’t elaborate further as they reached the top of the stairs.

He casually pushed open one of the doors with a single hand and held it for her. It was at least twice his height, but there wasn't a hint of strain in his always-pristine posture. Evelyn debated trying to push the other door herself just to see if she could move it at all, but decided to avoid that embarrassment and walked past Az into the Library proper.

Although the reception area they had entered was clearly designed to process hundreds of visitors, it, like most rooms Below, was completely devoid of any living presences. The chairs behind the long counter felt almost chilling for a moment, as if they had been abandoned by fleeing occupants rather than simply begun to exist, without creator or context, the way all things Below had.

"So, um, where should we begin?" Evelyn walked up to a large map on the opposite wall. It displayed sets of rooms divided into three sections. She squinted up at the runic title of the first one. "Let's see… P... en… chin… ge? 'Penching'?"

"'Paintings,'" Az corrected, without sounding condescending. "It is a borrowed word from Above's English using the runes for 'pe' 'n', 'ge,' and 'ti' or 'chi'. In this case, it refers to all flat image-based artwork, not strictly ones created using pigments and brushes."

Evelyn nodded, feeling pleased at the real world application of her studies. She pointed to the middle section. "And this word?"

He read it out loud in Below. The growling syllables sounded so different from any noises Evelyn could make with her own voice, but seemed so natural when made with Az's deep one. "You would not be familiar with that word as of yet—it means, directly, 'dimensional items,' but the correct translation in this context would be 'sculptures.'"

He politely gestured towards the next section with an elegant movement of his wrist. His cuff slid slightly down, exposing an unusual, minuscule area of inky skin, and for a moment Evelyn wondered what it would feel like to glide her fingertips over the firm muscles of his arm the way the unknowingly privileged fabric did.

She yanked her eyes back to the runes and focused on Az's words. "The final sign means 'written materials,' but I do not believe English has a precise word that covers all that area contains—as well as books, it also considers maps, signage, and even certain instances of graffiti as 'writing.' Anything where the main focus is the direct symbols of written language, rather than the implications of artistry, would be located in this area."

“Hmm, that's interesting. I think Above we usually consider maps more historical, or maybe even artistic rather than writing? I don’t think I can read well enough for that area to be too terribly interesting for me just yet. Um, but let’s do paintings first,” Evelyn hastily suggested to cut off her nervous rambling. “I mean, it's the first section on the map, s-so why not?”

Az inclined his head briefly, then held his hand out behind her. She almost choked on a heartbeat—for a split second she thought he was going to touch her back, but the wishful thinking was washed away by the memory of how he had guided her around the Feast. She began to walk in the direction indicated, and he accompanied her with one long stride to two of her own in an easy syncopation of clicking heels on the polished floors.

“There are about four hundred rooms of paintings,” Az said as they walked. “Is there any particular style you would prefer to visit first?”

“Four—I’m sorry, you said four hundred rooms?” Evelyn nearly stumbled as she stared up at him in shock. “H-how much art do you fae make to need that many for just one Library?!”

“Our displays are not limited to fae art. We have many human pieces as well.” Az tilted his head slightly as he looked down at her. “I believe you might be misunderstanding something. This is one of only a handful of public Libraries Below. Most art is in private homes or galleries.”

“S-so that’s not even all of it?”

“Certainly not.” Az seemed a little perplexed as he looked at her, as if trying to define where their current misunderstanding was. “Evelyn… how large do you believe Below to be?”

She wrinkled her nose, shrugging as she looked up at him. “Well, I don’t know, I guess I figured it was the size of like, I don't know, Tokyo, or some other major city? Something like that?”

“Ah, no.” He shook his head. He didn’t sound remotely scornful even though Evelyn was pretty sure her comment was ignorant enough to deserve at least a little scorn. “As we have discussed before, one theory is that for every room created Above, an identical one appears Below. However, unlike when rooms are destroyed Above, they remain here, unchanging, for eternity. If that is true, then Below must be many times the size of Above, as a room Above may be destroyed and rebuilt hundreds of times.”

“Wow… that’s… that would be really cool,” Evelyn said as she tried to picture the enormity of the concept.

“‘Cool’?” Az asked, raising a brow as they turned into the first room of paintings.

Evelyn smiled at his usual confusion at the expression. “I mean, there’s so many places and things that don’t exist anymore Above, the idea that they still could, here… it’s really interesting to think about, you know?"

"Like, we have tons of museums kind of like this Above, but only for housing artifacts of the past." She looked around the room as she spoke, wondering where to begin. There were huge paintings on each wall, and even more on a divider splitting the room in half. "There’s whole professions Above dedicated to studying history, and guessing at what things would have looked like, how they were made, what daily life would have been like… to think that they could just come Below to see things as they truly were, that would be really fascinating, I think.”

Az nodded thoughtfully. Her smile grew as she recognized the expression.

Once again, he’s absorbing what I’ve said and really thinking it over. I like it when it’s something we’re conversing about, but it’s a little problematic when he’s just as intent on my one-off, thoughtless comments as my genuine, heartfelt ones!

"It seems Above could learn much from Below, as I have learned much from you," Az finally said. There was an unusual look in his white eyes as he added, softly, "I do not know that they would be as grateful for the opportunity as I am."

Evelyn's face flushed, and she spun on her heel to stop in front of the first painting on her left as she hurried to change the subject. "A-Anyways—I'm not sure where to start, so why not just start… uh, right here!"

She began to examine it intently as she waited for her face to cool and her pounding heart to slow. It was an abstract piece even taller than Az that stretched out for a few meters on each side. It had bright, tangled lines flying across a grey to black gradient background. Despite the bold colors, it gave a somber, unsettling feeling, which quickly quieted her flustered emotions.

She carefully stepped to view it from the center point, where she realized the sides were slightly curved. It made her feel surrounded by it, as if the entire world were only bursts of color fading into black.

There didn't seem to be a plaque or label, even written in Below, so she looked over her shoulder to Az. He was standing back and looking at her quietly, as if observing her reaction to the painting rather than admiring it himself.

“This is a demonic painting,” he explained before she could ask, finally stepping to join her in the center. “Since you are unable to perceive Threads, it likely has no clear meaning for you.”

She shook her head, tracing her eyes over the painted lines and trying not to feel his presence beside her—achingly close, but forever out of reach. “Um, I guess those strands of color kind of remind me of thread… is that what Threads look like?”

Az made a small grumbling noise, his eyes narrowing at the painting for a moment. Evelyn almost wondered if she’d offended him, before she remembered their conversation in the elevator and realized that annoyance was certainly directed at C. The moment quickly passed, and he looked back at her with his usual stoic expression. “Yes, Threads do… look like strings, I suppose, if you were able to regard them visually. It is difficult to explain a sense to someone that does not have it, but the artist has attempted to replicate the feeling of Threads in this piece.”

“I see,” Evelyn said, looking at the painting closely again. “So they’re like a bunch of strings woven together.”

“Yes. Threads are connected to everything, and everyone. Every individual has their own.” Az slowly swept his hand over the artwork, pausing at two spots. “These purple lines, on either side of the center, represent the Thread of a certain person. See how it is broken?”

Evelyn nodded, peering thoughtfully at the painting instead of his wrist. “It looks like it was cut, almost, and those are either end of the string, although this side seems to vanish almost immediately after the break… If that represents a person, that can't be good… Right?”

Az nodded. “Correct. This painting is depicting a murder."

“Wh-what?!” Evelyn felt her eyes widening even further. She looked back at the dark canvas with a new appreciation for the sharp lines running from light through to darkness. “Wow. I guess… it does kind of feel that way.”

Az shook his head. “There is no need to guess. The artist specifically stated such."

She looked at Az as he continued. His white eyes seemed to stare through the painting, as if he were looking into the Threads it represented. "He had become infatuated with a human, and so struggled his way Above without a contract in order to be closer to him. Because of the barrier between our worlds, he was unable to maintain a physical form, and barely able to retain brief periods of consciousness."

Evelyn shivered. "That sounds like the year they put me on this one sedating medication. I just kept slipping in and out of sleep, barely able to form thoughts for months. It was awful."

Az seemed to take a very tiny breath as he glanced down at her, but he was looking back at the painting before she could read his expression. "When the human he desired was in danger, he was only able to watch. This painting is his impression of the moment the man was killed in front of him.”

“How tragic,” Evelyn murmured, subconsciously raising her hand as if she could run it over the line cut short in the center. “To be unable to help the one you love… I can’t even imagine how painful that must have been.”

She looked back at up at Az, continuing, “but now that I know the story, I think they’ve really done a good job expressing the feeling, you know? Like how one side is all these lovely colors, but right where it snaps, everything becomes so dull and gray, before fading away into the darkness. Oh—and that green line—that’s the artist, right?”

He raised his brows. “Well spotted. How did you know?”

“Unlike the other lines that seem to fade into black equally—like a black veil has been pulled on top of them, this line itself actually changes. It's like it was desaturated first, becoming mostly grey, almost immediately after the break, and then it seems to vanish into the darkness far sooner than the others." Evelyn traced her index finger backwards. "But what really made me think that is the way it runs parallel to the purple here—and even circles around it, sometimes, but it seems like it never actually touches it, not the way the others do—these intersections look almost like knots.”

She paused, biting her lip. “I think I can guess, but… what happened to the artist?”

“Suicide,” Az replied, resting his hands behind his back as he regarded the painting. His tail was gently swishing as usual. “I suppose he did not feel able to wait to see if the object of his obsession would reincarnate.”

“You’ve been saying obsessed or desired, but isn’t it just unrequited love?” Evelyn asked, tilting her head up at him. He seemed to be gazing deeply through the painting again. “I mean, even if you look at all these other Threads that touch the purple one, the green one isn’t trying to stop that, or anything. I don’t really get a possessive vibe, more… admiration? I don’t think that’s quite the right word… Even though they never met, it kind of… it gives the feeling that he really loved that person.”

“It is impossible to call something love when one party is unaware of the very existence of the other,” Az replied, sounding a bit more cynical than usual. “They never were able to interact, and so the demon was only infatuated with what he assumed the human was like.”

“Like a parasocial relationship,” Evelyn murmured to herself, almost hoping Az hadn’t heard her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to explain influencer or idol culture to him. Louder, she continued, “Hmm… I don’t know. I mean, it’s not… I agree with you that it wasn’t really a romance, since they weren’t ever together, but I think… I think you can still love someone, even if they don’t return those feelings, or even know you exist. Like, the kind of love where you want to see them flourish, even though you don’t really get anything out of it, you know? Maybe it’s delusional, but it’s also selfless, in a way.”

She tapped two fingers on her chin as she thought, looking at all the intersected tangles of color. “Even if you don’t really know them, or are just making assumptions about who they are, I think it's still a kind of love in that same sense of wanting to see them happy, even though that happiness will never be shared with you. And even if the person you want to be happy isn’t the person that’s really there or… I think the feelings are real, even if what they're based on isn't. Ah, sorry, I’m just rambling again and probably not making much sense.”

She gave a dismissive, self deprecating half-giggle and pushed her hair away from her face, avoiding his eyes as he looked down at her again.

“I am always interested in what you have to say, Evelyn, although I agree your thoughts are a bit disorganized. Perhaps we can return to this topic at a later time?” He looked down at her with a strange expression in his pale eyes.

Well, I said something really weird, and he didn’t make me feel like I’m an idiot even though it really was bizarrely unclear. I think we really are learning to communicate better!

She smiled, shyly looking to the side and brushing out her skirt with her fingertips. “Yes. Let’s go see the next painting, then!”

Az nodded, and held out his hand to guide her to the next canvas.

As they walked, Evelyn glanced up at Az. His profile was sharp against the gallery's bright white walls, and the iridescent sheen of his black horns was breathtaking. As always, his posture was perfect, his steps as price and elegant as a dancer's, and his tail's movements were as calm and even as a pendulum. The velvet jacket that matched her dress looked soft, and she clenched her fist to avoid reaching out to take his arm, remembering how it had felt when she had clenched it under both of her hands at the Market.

She pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder, hoping her cheeks weren’t too obviously pink again. Az always seemed concerned that blushing was painful for her, although he didn't often comment on it anymore. But this time, she didn’t fully chase her embarrassing thoughts away.

I hope that I look beautiful to you, too.