Monster Girl Maker

Me follow u :D

Hola

nO

e

I- rood

oki doki who will u use?

AH! YES!

okokokokok-d'you want me to start?

I said I'm not naming all of them, doesn't mean they don't exist.

you...

THIEF

why do you call me honey lavender hm

lmao

OMG I JUST GOT THE CRAZIEST IDEA THANK YOU NATALIA

it's mlb is that ok?

just watching mlb.

okay

We just gotta get a time machine 

YEET-

Logan’s lips pursed as he muttered over his work, mind completely focused on the unfinished sketch before him. 

“Abdomen, 13 millimeters…the fur on its thorax has the appearance of spikes-perhaps an evolutionary trait to dissuade predators…?” 

He glanced up at the butterfly before him, frantically beating its wings against the glass lid he had trapped it under. He could relate to it in some ways. He sighed, lifting the lid off the butterfly and releasing it from its fragile prison. There was no point in keeping the poor creature now that he had finished observing it. 

Logan pushed his glasses up his nose and watched as the butterfly flew up, up, into the cloudy gray sky, wings a brilliant speck of color in the sea of monotony. He felt his soul fly with it, away from this dreadful place and his cruel fate. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d never met the young lord Everglot, there was no reason to assume he was malicious in any way. But how could he form a connection with a complete stranger, let alone marry them? It was unfair to him and unfair to his betrothed. 

Logan’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw the time on the wall. He jumped up, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and nearly knocking it over in the process as he sprinted down the stairs. He fumbled with his jacket, struggling to slip his arm into the left sleeve in his haste. It was only half on when he met his parents at the front gate, their disapproving glares only deepening at his state of disarray. 

“It’s a quarter past,” His father said, staring nervously down at his pocket watch. 

“Where on Earth have you been?” 

His mother huffed in annoyance, “We’re going to be late.” 

The furious waving of her lacy black fan did little to disguise the sweat on the woman’s broad face, despite the cool weather. Logan’s parents were dressed to the nines, in coat tails and bustles. His mother’s coiffed hair was stiffly held in place, not moving an inch despite the small breeze she was creating, although the feathers on her little hat bobbed up and down. Logan had always found his parent's taste a bit garish, a farcical imitation of the wealth they aspired to. Today, however, his simple olive-green waistcoat made him feel inadequate, the sleeves a bit too short on his lanky arms. 

“Come, come, there’s no time for talk, we must get to the Everglot Manor at once!” 

Logan’s mother ushered him into the carriage, silks rustling as she practically shoved him inside. She was quick to follow, although her large bustle made it difficult to fit through the carriage’s small door. Her voluminous skirts took up most of the interior and Logan found he had to sit with his knees uncomfortably tucked into him just to fit inside the tiny space. 

The carriage ride felt short, far too short, and the imposing stone walls of the Everglot Manor loomed over Logan before he knew it. The estate seemed to rise up for eternity, capped with black shingled rooftops that blotted out the weak sun. Velvet drapes were hung over nearly window, as if the Everglots didn’t want any light to shine into their rooms. No smoke rose from the chimneys despite the chill in the air. This horrid place was to be Logan’s new home. 

Logan’s father rang the doorbell and a snooty looking man dressed in a fine three-piece suit opened the door, head raised to the air as he peered down his nose at the commonfolk. 

“Hello, we’re the Van Dort's, here for the wedding rehearsal.” His mother said shakily. 

“Ah, yes come in…” The butler shut the door behind them, the loud sound making Logan startle a bit. 

“Oh my, what a lovely home!” His mother fawned over the house, gaping at the grandeur despite its drab appearance. “Oh, I love this!” She remarked over a large portrait of a man in a powdered wig, captured in a permanent frown as he stared sternly down at the viewer. How anyone could find this remotely interesting or tasteful, Logan had no idea.

“I dunno, it’s a bit shabby to me-” Logan’s mother whacked his arm with her fan, making him shut up. 

“Lord and Lady Everglot, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort.” The butler scurried off with one final sniff at the interlopers. 

Sharp heels clacked against marble as Lord and Lady Everglot descended the stairs. Lord Everglot was a balding old man, half his wife’s height. A cruel sneer graced his lips as he studied the Van Dort's. Lady Everglot was tall and slender, an imposing figure. She might’ve once been beautiful, but age had clearly hardened her and made her bitter. She carried herself stiffly, swiping at an imperceptible speck of dust on the banister. 

“My Lady Everglot may I just say, you don’t look a day over 20!” Logan’s father stepped forward with a tip of his hat, spectacles slipping down his nose. The woman did not respond, right eye twitching slightly as her frown deepened. Lord Everglot forced a smile that looked much more like the bearing of teeth. 

“Well, hello it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort. Welcome to our home.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Logan’s mother simpered, fluttering her fan.  

“Do follow us to the drawing room for tea.” Lady Everglot commanded, already gliding off into the halls with her husband waddling along beside her. The much shorter woman minced behind them, scrambling to catch up as her own husband trailed behind, struggling between his limp and his cane.   

“Oh, I just love what you’ve done with the place! So inspired, who is your decorator?”   

“Interior designer.” Lady Everglot corrected, and Mrs. Van Dort flushed at her mistake. Her lack of proper etiquette was apparent in the face of real nobility, despite her posturing. 

Logan found himself wandering off, bored with the polite chit-chat. A grand piano caught his eye in another room, gleaming in the dim light as though it was perfectly polished. It probably was, Logan realized, considering how meticulously well kept the rest of the manor was. 

He found himself drawn to it, stepping into the small study and taking a seat on the bench. Slowly, hesitantly, he gently rested his right hand on the keys. He quickly played a C-major scale, finding that the instrument was perfectly in tune. This was unsurprising once again, but it sent a thrill of excitement up his spine. The small piano in his own home was always a bit off key, his parents unable to afford hiring a tuner. 

Reverently, he placed his other hand on the keys, softly playing the opening notes to Moonlight Sonata. As his right hand joined in, he began to improvise, making an entirely new melody, soft and bittersweet, filled with longing. His eyes slowly slipped closed as he poured himself into his music, knowing the keys by heart, despite the song being yet unwritten. It was like it had been there all along, building inside of him. His hands flew, chest aching as his music filled the air. 

The sound of someone clapping enthusiastically from behind snapped him out of his reverie, causing him to miss his next notes.