Chapter Text
“Greetings, fellow creatures of the night. Madame Melancholia here to guide you through the mysteries of the dark and the beauty hidden within the shadows. Thank you for joining me in this journey of mine.”
The room was shrouded in darkness save for the light emanating from beneath the thick quilt draped over the bed. Underneath the covers, in a makeshift cocoon, fingers were curled tightly around the 5.5” source of light that contained Madame’s face and her surroundings.
“The trip to the apothecary’s was bountiful,” the screen cut from Madame’s face to a table filled to the brim with bottles filled with a sort of red liquid, thin black cases with cursive font, kabuki brushes, and fat curved tubes. “Luxe Lash Beauty was kind enough to send me a care package and so, I’d like to dedicate today’s video to them. If my followers see fit, I would like for them to give their page a visit and unlock their hidden beauty.”
Well, then it’s not really a visit. It’s just a sponsored post. And it’s not even an apothecary, it’s your typical drop shipping scam disguised as a makeup business. Guess Madame must be okay with gifting her followers lead poisoning. And what is up with that voice? If Annie didn’t know any better, Madame was a phone sex operator in another life.
“The foundation is a bit too pale, even for my liking ,” Madame remarked, blending the product into her skin with a kabuki brush. “But it does offer a good base for the darker tones we love. ”
Of course it’s too pale. Everything about her look is exaggerated. But damn, she knows how to use that brush. Annie’s eyes hung onto every word that came out of that puckered mouth, her fascination growing with each precise stroke of makeup. Madame’s hands were as sharp as ever, each one delivered with a careful elegance. The dark lipstick, the heavy eyeliner, and the rich, shadowy hues being applied were mesmerizing, transforming Madame’s face into a masterpiece of gothic beauty.
Why does she keep acting like she's the queen of darkness? It's so cliché. Yet, she does it so well, with her long, flowing black dress adorned with intricate lace patterns, bell sleeves that flared dramatically at the wrists, and a high collar that added an air of mystery. Around her neck hung a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon, catching the light as she moved. The ensemble was completed with a wide-brimmed black hat, tilted just so, casting a shadow over her heavily made-up eyes.
Annie would have continued her ogling staring noticing if Madame hadn't said the next words.
“The plot of this book ,” Madame said, shifting seamlessly between makeup bottles, “is as shallow as this eyeliner’s pigmentation. Disappointing, to say the least.” The scene shifted to a book cover of The Oracle’s Prophecy . Annie was more than familiar with that book. It was Yelena’s debut novel into the young adult/fantasy genre, plastered all over social media with its stereotypical cover: a mysterious hooded figure standing against a stormy backdrop, glowing runes swirling in the air, and a mythical beast shadowed in the background.
It quickly became a YA favorite, capturing the hearts of millions of teens whose attention spans were already fried to oblivion thanks to digital crack cocaine cartels, otherwise known as social media. The Oracle’s Prophecy became a trending topic on platforms like TikTok and Twitter, with readers eagerly sharing their favorite quotes and fan art. It topped Paradis Times bestseller charts within weeks, spawned over 2,500 fanfics shipping the titular protagonists, Helena Ravenswood and Chad Hunter, and became the talk of whatever morning show old people liked to tune into.
This success was good enough for Yelena that she extended Annie’s contract with her, and thus, a trilogy series was born, cementing Yelena’s status as YA royalty enough that Annie was commissioned to write more books to uphold her status. Tasked with bringing Yelena’s vision (or lack thereof, let’s be honest) to life, Annie found herself buried in manuscripts, story outlines, and world buildings, painstakingly yet quietly pouring her creativity and talent under Yelena’s name.
Not that Annie minded. She liked her place in the shadows, her name unknown, as Yelena basked in the spotlight. While the power of the internet has provided society with an almost encyclopedic knowledge of whatever topic that interested them, it’s also emboldened a certain subsection of them (a large portion, Annie estimates) to act like complete assholes behind the veil of anonymity.
It’s not like Annie can’t handle criticism but there is a marked difference between someone bringing up plot inconsistencies and continuity errors versus someone leaving a “I can’t believe people actually read this shit.” or “prime example why females should stick to romance.” So Annie was content to write underneath the rock she’s gotten comfortable under.
Until Madame Melancholia entered the picture.
At first glance, Madame likes to project an image of some kind of budding makeup artist slash gothic queen of the night. Her long, black hair flows like a midnight river, perfectly styled to frame her heart-shaped face, which somehow manages to glow with an otherworldly luminescence even in the dark. Her pale skin seems to continuously shimmer with an almost supernatural radiance. Her grey eyes, plucked from a stormy sky, are set off by ruby red lips that Madame liked to smack together when deep in thought.
Annie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the theatrics of it all. It was a classic case of “look at me, I’m so filled with angst! I’m so unique! ” a facade so stupidly crafted it almost seemed too good to be true. Someone needs to tell Madame that look expired in the early 2000s
The worst part was that her followers gobbled it up.
tatakae69: Yaaaassss, secure the bag sis
99revolver_colt: You know it’s a good day when Madame reacts to Yelena’s works.
madame.ms.bigfan761: That lip colour is everything😘 Would be better if I was putting it on you 💋💄 With my mouth 🫦🫦
leviackerman1: @madame.ms.bigfan761 Nice, now go say that to your family. Do they know what you're doing online?
lara_ty11: Thank god someone finally said it. The oracle series reads too much like some teenager’s poorly written self-insert fanfic but instead of being kidnapped by 1D it’s about Yelena’s male best friend
historias_secret: mother is mothering
onyan.undercover: and chad hunter is written as ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ when we know he’s just some white man.
kingstallion0407: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
bitesofbraus: SLAY MADAME SLAY
heyitsminaaaa: Are they even together in real life?? Or is just Yelena being weird?
tatakae69: @heyitsminaaaa they're both fukn weirdos if you ask me
armin_in_action: Don’t forget the incest part.
toothp1eck85 : @armin_in_action 🤨I must have missed the incest part because I do NOT remember reading that
marcelgallop : @toothp1eck85 it’s part of the love triangle between Chad, Helena, and Freya. Freya comes from the Rissa family that exiled one side of their family for treason over 50 years ago. That family branch became known as the Hunter family. So in a way, they are kinda related…
springer_nanigans : @marcelgallop wow way to spoil the book
brzzzrico: 😍😍😍😍 come to Brasil kkkk
fuuelner___: I never thuoght that investing with @coachzekeyeagerfx could earn me 50000 per day!!!! FOLLOW for more --> @coachzekeyeagerfx
What irked Annie the most was that Oracle had been on the market for close to seven years now, yet, Madame acted as if it were still the freshest, most relevant thing to discuss. Despite the multitude of other books dominating the YA landscape, despite the millions of reviews from brain dead half-wits (Yelena’s words) ridiculing Oracle , and despite the presence of other reputable mediums where readers can share their insights in a respectful and constructive manner, Madame decided to air out her thoughts via the soul-sucking dopamine-overdosing tar pit known as Tiktok.
It was simple psychology really. Whenever something gets popular, people are bound to hate it for the flimsiest of reasons. Case in point: boy bands, anime, frozen yoghurt, veganism, boy bands again or anything that teen girls like, and now you have the Oracle series by Yelena.
Madame had over 50k followers so it was a sad state of affairs to watch someone as respectable and with as much influence as Madame zero in on Oracle as a ploy to maintain relevance and spark engagement. It was almost as if Madame were deliberately clinging to the past, milking its residual popularity for every last drop of attention, trying to maintain her gothic image and brand while resting on the laurels of Annie’s works.
Maybe Annie should be honoured.
Madame flipped to a dog-eared page and read aloud, her voice dripping with disdain, “ 'Helena's heart raced like a thousand galloping horses as she stood at the edge of the enchanted forest.' Honestly, could this metaphor be any more trite? ”
Annie clenched her teeth. Sure, it wasn’t the most original line, but it conveyed Helena’s anxiety well enough. Yelena chose that line because she felt that it would match the fantasy setting. Why was Madame so fixated on tearing down something so benign?
“And then there's this gem: 'Chad's eyes were the color of the deepest ocean, filled with secrets and unspoken promises.' I mean, really? Could Chad be any more of a walking cliché? ”
Chad's character, while not groundbreaking, had layers that Madame seemed willfully ignorant of. It was infuriating how she reduced everything to surface-level observations, ignoring the nuances that made the story resonate with so many readers. And if Chad being a tall blonde blue-eyed dreamboat was what made readers into him then what’s the problem? And so what if Yelena’s male best friend was also, coincidentally, tall blonde and blue-eyed? Annie was two of those things as well but she sure as hell wasn’t a walking cliche.
“ 'The prophecy hung over them like a dark cloud, a constant reminder of their intertwined fates.' My, such heavy-handed symbolism,” Madame sneered. “It’s like the author didn’t trust her readers to grasp anything subtle.”
Annie rolled her eyes. The prophecy was central to the story, a driving force for the characters’ actions and development. It wasn’t meant to be subtle—it was meant to loom, to be a tangible threat that shaped their world.
“And, of course, the infamous: 'She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.' ” She gave a dramatic pause, then snorted. “How can you not even not know when you are breathing? I bet I’ll see something like ‘Their tongues battled for dominance.’ in the next few pages.”
Oh c’mon! It’s not like Annie wanted to write any of those lines but when you’re a ghostwriter, you’re at the mercy of your client’s whims. She remembered Yelena’s instructions of producing a novel that’s “relatable” and “dramatic” enough for the masses to fall over their chairs and fork out their wallets.
“These overused lines are just a testament to lazy writing. It’s as if the author thinks readers can’t handle anything original.”
Lazy writing? Annie clenched her fists under the blanket. If only Madame knew the countless hours spent crafting and refining, all while balancing the fine line between art and the client’s vision. But no, that side of the industry was invisible to critics like Madame, who thrived on tearing down rather than building up.
“And let’s not forget the love triangle—because, of course, no young adult fantasy is complete without one. Helena Ravenswood finds herself vying for the affections of Chad Hunter against Freya Rissa, Chad’s close confidante – and sort of cousin. It’s like the author threw in every trope just to see what would stick.”
Annie bit her lip. The love triangle had been Yelena's idea, a plot device meant to draw in the widest possible audience. It was formulaic, sure, but it worked. Readers loved the drama, the tension, the emotional stakes. Madame’s disdain for these elements felt like a personal attack, a dismissal of everything Annie had worked so hard to bring to life
The sheer devotion and lack of critical thinking in these responses made her wonder how anyone could see through the façade. Yet Madame’s carefully crafted image was working overtime to ensnare admiration and loyalty from those unsuspecting fools she calls followers. Whatever. Madame and all her devout followers can insult Oracle all they want while Annie will be wiping her non-existent tears with her royalties.
“ ‘He grunted. He spat. He roared. He rumbled. He growled.’ Jesus, somebody get Chad a glass of water so he can speak properly. And of course, this guy smells like wood.”
The smell of paper and ink filled the air, a comforting, familiar scent that settled her nerves. Here, in the hushed, reverent atmosphere, the tension from Madame's critique began to dissipate. The feeling of the textured covers and embossed titles, the soft rustle of pages turning, the scent of freshly printed books and brewed coffee, the creak of the floorboards under her feet—all these sensations wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. Back when Annie was still an angsty emotional wreck trapped in a middle schooler’s body, back when the ridiculous hours she put in at her father’s gym couldn’t quell her rapidly evolving hormones, it was Liberio Books with its quiet cubby corners, towering floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with forgotten paperbacks and dusty hardcovers, and multicoloured book spines branching around her head like rainforest vines that she could grab onto and be lifted from the stressors from her life.
This was her sanctuary, a place where stories were respected, where writers poured their hearts and souls into their work without fear of mockery. Here, she could find inspiration and peace, a reminder of why she loved writing in the first place. Like all brick and mortar stores, Liberio Books was under threat of shutting down but Annie’s reputation and persistence as a loyal customer and voracious bookworm paid off when the elderly owner offered her the proverbial key to the store. Was he being robbed of a tasteful retirement when he had the chance to sell his space to corporate giants instead of a random girl who liked to read? Perhaps. But if there was anything Annie could do aside from books, it was a challenge.
“Ey Annie! What’s the count on the new arrivals?”
Of course, she couldn’t take all the credit. In the age of online shopping and digital downloads, Liberio Books had fallen behind and relied on the typical trickle of loyal customers and the occasional walk-ins to keep its doors open. The store’s charming but outdated setup—handwritten price tags, a clunky old register, and dusty displays—didn’t exactly draw the modern crowd. Annie focused on creating a space where the charm of physical books could coexist with the conveniences of the digital world, hoping to draw in a new generation of readers without alienating the old. Enter Hitch.
If there was anyone who could bring the store up to the 21st century, it was Hitch. If Annie had to describe Hitch it would be chronically online. Hitch existed in a world where memes and rap lyrics were a second language, trends were tracked with a sixth sense, and possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of even the most obscure Twitter threads but were still relevant in the online world. While Annie still preferred the smell of ink and paper to the glow of a screen, she couldn’t deny that Hitch’s influence was exactly what the store needed. And she did not disappoint. She introduced a swanky new website for online orders, started a newsletter for local book lovers, and even dipped her toes into social media—though their online presence remained minimal at best, much to Hitch’s dismay.
The two of them functioned like oil and water. Where Annie was methodical, reserved, and fiercely protective, Hitch was loud, blasé, and flashy. So flashy that it was a miracle that Annie wasn’t burnt to a crisp by Hitch relentlessly steamrolling her five senses about internet lore.
Yet, somehow, they balanced each other out.
“We’ve got about twenty new titles this week. I just finished cataloguing them,” Annie turned to the voice concealed behind a stuffed book cart. “Anything caught your eye lately?”
Hitch emerged from behind the book cart, a knowing smile on her face. “A lot of things have caught my eye but in this day and age, someone else has already pre-ordered it. Makes me wish for the good old days where you had people camping out of stores before launch days. At least us workers could get first dibs on the merch.”
Annie nodded, palming a small stack of books. “Yeah, there’s a new fantasy series that looks promising, and a couple of thrillers that might be worth checking out. I’m curious about this one,” she said, holding up a book with a cloudy blue cover and a giant eye in the middle.
“Nice. I’ll make sure they get prime spots on the shelves. We want to make sure everyone knows what’s new.” Hitch took the books from her, glancing at the titles before abruptly pulling back. “Oh! I forgot to tell you but even after we trashed all our copies of Willy and the Warhammer, I caught a couple of them stuffed in between the comic book section.”
Annie is incredulous. “Don’t tell me that guy is still up our ass after everything that happened?”
Another side-effect of the internet is the explosion of AI. In theory, AI could revolutionize fields like medicine and engineering by streamlining the countless mundane tasks under them, but much like the internet, AI has birthed a different kind of monster. A monster that cut corners, fast-forwarded the creative process, produced shortcuts, and diluted the essence of what it means to create. If Annie wanted to hide away from the internet minefield of clickbait headlines, thirst traps, goofy viral trends, and predatory YouTubers, she needed to hole down in her bunker just to avoid the insanity that was AI generated art.
That is if you can even call those twelve-fingered, neon-coloured, bug-eyed effigies art.
But these days, people prioritize quantity over quality. Case in point: Wilhelm Tybur. Sorry, Willy Tybur. Willy was just another snake oil charlatan who capitalized on the AI boom to ‘write’ and ‘illustrate’ his own children’s book about a boy (also named Willy, how non-narcissistic of him) and his magical hammer saving the world. The book was packaged as a “fusion of technology and storytelling” and a “bold new step into the future of literature” instead of the jejune cash grab it really was with its flat generic run-on sentences and barely cobbled together clippy drawings, no doubt stolen from actual artists. Luckily, Annie’s hope for humanity was pleasantly restored when Willy’s book faced the backlash it rightfully deserved. Critics slammed it for lacking any real moral or educational value, questioning how something so hollow could even be marketed as a children’s book. Parents complained that their children quickly lost interest in the story. Artists raised the alarm of their works being stolen and fed into algorithms to spawn these monstrosities.
Willy, of course, tried to spin the criticism as “jealousy” and “resistance to innovation, which only worsened the backlash. Sales plummeted as word spread, and soon enough, Willy’s so-called masterpiece was removed from online retailers—unlike his head, which could not be removed from his ass because Willy had taken to harassing smaller independent bookstores, attempting to strong-arm them into stocking his unsold inventory. He showed up unannounced, his overinflated ego in tow, insisting that his book was a “modern classic” that deserved a place on their shelves. Hitch had already chased him off with a stick but much like his ilk, he didn’t take no for an answer and would sneak in and hide his contraband in between the shelves.
“Doesn’t he have a job or something? He’s getting so ridiculous now that it’s sad.”
“Nope,” Hitch replied, drawing out the ‘p’ with a pop. “The Tyburs are billionaires so he doesn’t have to work like us plebs.”
“Just what we need. More rich assholes.” Annie rolls her eyes. “This guy has a wife and five kids. Five! Instead of churning out shitty books, he needs to spend time with them.”
“You’re acting as if he’s doing the actual parenting. He likely has an army of nannies and maids to do it for him.”
“But still!”
“Hey, if I had that kind of money, I’d also be doing useless shit like he does.”
“But you don’t have a wife and kids do you?”
“Don’t remind me,” Hitch said, pretending to whack Annie’s head with a book. “In the event that I do die alone, is our marriage pact still on?”
Annie snorted. “Marrying you right before you die means I get the tax benefits of marriage while also not spending the rest of my life being annoyed by you. Sounds like a dream.”
“Aw Annie, you wound me!” Hitch dramatically clutches her heart in faux pain. “How could you say that to your best friend?”
Annie snorted, rolling her eyes as she returned to her task. “Don’t overdo it. I’ve got enough melodrama to last a lifetime.”
“What did Yelena do this time?”
“How’d you know it was Yelena?”
Hitch chuckled, straightening up and adjusting the book cart. “ ’Cause we’ve been best friends since the dawn of time so I know you better than anyone else. In fact, I even have a dictionary of Annie faces that correspond to specific moods and reactions. It’s an ongoing project.”
“A dictionary of Annie faces?”
Hitch grinned mischievously. “I’ve been cataloguing your reactions and what they mean for years. Like that one you just gave me when I mentioned Yelena’s name—that’s the ‘I’m trying to pretend this is no big deal but really, it’s kind of a big deal’ face. Oh, you just changed your face right now to the ‘Why do I even bother?’ face. Perfect for moments when you’re questioning your life choices, especially involving me.”
“I think you’re giving yourself way too much credit. This is how I normally look.”
“Maybe,” Hitch conceded with a shrug, “but that’s what makes me so fun to be around.”
“Again, giving yourself too much credit.”
“And that’s why you love me.”
“Unfortunately,” Annie sighed, setting aside the book she had been holding. For all her flaws, Hitch was the only person Annie could confide in about her life. She was the one who respected Annie’s dream of running Liberio Books when everyone else dismissed it as a silly fantasy. Hitch supported Annie’s choice to work as a ghostwriter, without the fanfare of being a public author. In fact, Hitch even proofread Annie’s work from time to time.
“I just started on Oracle’s fourth novel,” Annie said.
“Yelena knows a trilogy is only supposed to have three books, right?”
“Indeed. She’s taking a page from Hollywood, where they pull the same stunt with their movie franchises.”
“Oh god, I hate that! Why does the ‘last’ movie always have two parts? It’s not really the last one if you split it up! And it could’ve been one movie if they didn’t stretch the plot out for no reason. It’s like they’re purposely trying to milk more money from us common folk.”
“You’ve just summarized Yelena’s entire thought process behind this fourth book.”
“What’s it about?”
“Chad’s backstory. It’s called Underneath the Heavy Secrets —”
“Of course Yelena would pick a title like that,” Hitch cackled. “Honestly, I thought ghostwriting meant the actual writer did most of the work because, ya know, they’re good at writing. But Yelena’s making your job harder on purpose. It’s a total insult to your skills.”
“About that…” Annie pursed her lips, debating whether or not she should say the next words that came to mind. “She wants me to meet up with her and a ‘friend’ to go over Chad’s backstory. For research purposes.”
“Is this friend of hers a tall blonde guy by any chance? Starts with ‘Zeke’ and ends with ‘Yeager’? Best buds with Willy Tybur?”
Annie blinked, surprised. “Zeke and Willy are friends?” Yelena had never mentioned it. Neither had Willy.
“Oh yeah. Both of them are rich, and rich people love to congregate for all kinds of reasons—whether it’s arranging marriages to strengthen alliances or funneling money through fake charities for tax evasion.”
“I think you’ve been watching too much Bridgerton.”
“Bridgerton doesn’t have any of that! You would know if you actually watch the show like I’ve been telling you too.”
“I’ll pass,” Annie said before realizing something. “Wait, if Zeke and Willy are that close, does that mean he’s going to spend half the time shilling Willy’s book instead of discussing Chad’s backstory?”
Hitch laughed. “Oh shit, I didn’t even think of that! So now you’ll have to deal with Yelena’s ridiculous ideas and Zeke’s drivel about his friend’s ‘literary masterpiece’ ”
“Fantastic.” Annie groaned, her shoulders slumping.
“When you think about it, this whole thing is kinda ironic. ” Hitch leaned forward, a smirk playing on her lips. “On one side, you’ve got Yelena hiring you, a human, to write her book, and on the other side, Willy’s using AI to write his.”
“Yeah, about that…” Annie trailed off.
Hitch raised an eyebrow. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re thinking of bailing on Yelena?”
“I don’t know,” Annie said, turning away from her friend’s confused expression. Moments like these reminded her how much Hitch was a true friend, but that didn’t make the conversation any easier. “I’ve always had this problem. Things can be going well, but all it takes is something small—something so minor that it shouldn’t even matter—and my brain latches onto it as a reason to mess things up or just walk away. Writing is my passion, and I actually get paid to do it. How many people can say that? But here I am, feeling like an ungrateful shit.”
“There’s nothing wrong with feeling the way you do,” Hitch said gently. “You can still do what you love and complain about it. That doesn’t make you ungrateful—it makes you human.”
Annie huffed a quiet laugh. “But sometimes it feels like I’m just sabotaging myself. Like, I should be happy, right? Instead I find these tiny flaws, these cracks, and I blow them up into reasons to quit. It’s like I’m looking for a way out, even when I don’t want one.”
“It’s ‘cause you have high standards, Annie. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it pushes you to be better at everything you do and it shows in your work. That's why Liberio Books is running so smoothly—because of you. That’s why Yelena chose you. She can see the love and effort you put in your work, which is why she comes scurrying back to you.”
Annie couldn’t help but sneer at that last sentence.
“Okay, fine! Maybe she doesn’t really think that way,” Hitch threw her hands up in mock defeat, her smirk returning back. “But I do! And that’s worth more than whatever Yelena tosses at you and whatever those reviews say!”
Annie’s defences immediately shot up at Hitch’s last words. Her thoughts drifted back to that duplicitous gothic wannabe queen bee and her legions of followers salivating at her every move. Madame’s voice, husky and excruciating, dripped with disdain as a long, manicured finger traced the Oracle’s pages. Her eyes, a hypnotizing mosaic of blue and silver, glowed and drew in her viewers, under the shadow of her flowing lustrous black hair draping her body in velvet and lace.
All of it echoed in her mind, still grating on her nerves.
Annie would sooner stock her shelves with Willy’s book than let someone like Madame get to her.