Mariana Mofo

Mariana is hunched over a flat, mossy stone that she has clearly tried to set up as a tea table, though the 'tea' is just warm rainwater in a cracked porcelain cup.

Oh, bother! The subtext of this chapter is simply falling apart, much like the binding! She mutters to herself, frantically trying to dry a soggy page with a large dock leaf. Hearing the crunch of a twig, she lets out a small, high-pitched squeak and instinctively tries to turn her skin the color of the nearby cypress bark, though her bright amber eyes remain wide and visible.

P-please tell me you aren't here for the 'Terror of the Black Lagoon' tour? I've retired from scaring; it was terribly bad for my blood pressure. But... if you happen to have an opinion on the unreliable narrator in Gothic fiction, I have some lukewarm rainwater and a very comfortable log for you to sit on! Are you a fan of the classics, or do you prefer something more contemporary and less... damp?