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Artwork becomes story
Original fantasy artwork with whimsical, funny and occasionally grown-up stories built around it.
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There are rules for gnomes. You don’t speak loudly in public unless you’re selling onions. You don’t drink before noon unless it’s mead (in which case it doesn’t count). And above all else, you don’t—under any circumstances—go around tam...
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Of Blossoms, Boredom, and Blunt Claws Snuggle Scales was not her given name. No self-respecting dragon would hatch with a name that sounded like it belonged ...
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The Hatchling in the Meadow In the world’s forgotten folds—where maps grew skittish and cartographers quietly pretended certain regions didn’t exist—there li...
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A Dragonling with Too Much Juice Long before kingdoms rose and fell, and even before humanity figured out how to weaponize wine into bad karaoke, there exist...
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In a garden that didn’t technically exist on any map, but still insisted on blooming anyway, there stood a single rosebush of impossible beauty. Its petals w...
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The Day the Twins Discovered Trouble (and Each Other) On the morning the mountain sneezed, two baby dragons blinked awake beneath a quilt of warm moss and qu...
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The Morning I Accidentally Adopted a Myth I woke to the sound of something humming on my windowsill, a note so small and bright it could have been a sliver o...
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A Hatchling’s Complaint The rain had been falling for hours, and if you asked the little dragon about it (which no one did, since no one else was brave—or fo...
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Moss, Mirth, and Misinformation “You know it’s rude to drool on royalty.” The voice was lilting and sharp, like laughter carried by a cold stream. The dragon...
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The Temper of Twigsnap Hollow It was the first crisp day of autumn in Twigsnap Hollow, and that meant three things: the leaves were aflame with color, the sq...
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In the deepest corner of the Mistwillow Woods — somewhere between the Glade of Passive-Aggressive Mushrooms and the Barking Fern Grove — sat a dragon. Not ju...
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The Fire-Bird and the Fang-Fool Deep in the Whisperwood, where trees mutter rumors about squirrels and moss throws shade like a drag queen at brunch, lived a...
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The World’s Most Inconvenient Miracle The dragon was not supposed to exist. At least, that’s what they told Elira back in the Overgrown Library, between must...
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Of Smoke Rings and Sass-Fueled Friendships Once upon a high-ass noon in the middle of a nowhere-meadow that smelled suspiciously of toasted daisies and regre...
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In Which the Dragon Crashes Brunch Maggie had three rules when it came to dating: no musicians, no cultists, and absolutely no summoning spells before coffee...
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