📚 Short Stories From The Immortal Quill – Issue #32
Another Day at The Immortal Quill
“In Your Face and Fae-tastically Furious”
Tink had come in prepared.
Like, magically caffeinated, wing-sparkling, documents-in-a-slingbag, vengeance-powered glitter storm prepared. She wasn’t playing today.
The girls barely made it through their first round of enchanted espresso shots before she flounced up to the story circle’s pedestal, cleared her throat very pointedly, and declared:
“Today’s tale will be brought to you by me, the magnificent, misunderstood, and multi-talented keeper of chaos and fae facts, Tinkerbelinda.”
Snow groaned into her cup. “Oh no. She’s using her full name again. That’s never a good sign.”
Goldi smirked. “Buckle up.”
But Tink was already mid-flourish, pacing like a fae queen addressing her court, her wings shimmering like an angry disco ball.
“Today, I bring you a tragic tale from the once-great House of Glimmerthorn, a high fae court fallen from grace. Regal. Ruthless. Ridiculously sparkly.”
Rapunzel whispered, “Did she just say ‘ridiculously sparkly’ like it was a war crime?”
“Shhh,” said Dorothy, leaning in, clearly living for the drama.
“The Glimmerthorn court,” Tink continued, her voice low and dramatic, “was once the heart of the Moonlit Vale. A land woven with silver winds and eternal twilight. Their magic was music. Their justice was - well - also music, but, like, ominous.”
Snow tried not to laugh.
Cinderella raised a brow. “Wait. How does music enforce justice?”
“It shushes you into submission,” Tink snapped. “Now let me finish before you all ruin everything again.”
Red leaned back. “Wasn’t Glimmerthorn that court with the glitter armor and the emotional poetry duels?”
“YES,” Tink barked. “And that was peak culture, thank you.”
But then Rapunzel tilted her head. “I thought we were only doing original stories now? You know, stories about ourselves? That’s what Goldi said the other day.”
Tink’s jaw actually dropped. “EXCUSE YOU?”
Snow nodded innocently. “She did say that.”
Tink narrowed her eyes, rummaged into her bag—and oh no. Oh no, no.
She pulled out a STACK of Papers.
“I KNEW you would try this nonsense again,” she hissed.
Then she hurled the pile into the air - twenty-nine identical magical scrolls fluttered down like angry doves, some of them glowing, some flapping, all of them full of Tink’s righteous fury.
Then continued with a final, victorious shriek of:
“IN! YOUR! FACE!”
“LOOK AT PAGE FOUR, PARAGRAPH THREE, LINE SEVEN!” she screeched. “'All story circle contributors may share either original tales, collaborative mythcraft, or retellings of existing magical lore at their discretion, provided said tales don’t break realm-level confidentiality clauses.'”
Cinderella squinted. “Huh. She’s not wrong.”
Goldi caught one and fanned herself with it. “She came receipts-in-hand. Respect.”
Tink stomped her glitter-booted foot. “There are no rules that say we have to only tell our own stories! I like lore, I respect the traditions, and I will NOT be censored by an anti-glamour conspiracy!”
She stood there fuming, wings flared like a furious butterfly.
She stormed out, scrolls still drifting from the ceiling like angry snowflakes.
Everyone stared at the door she’d just exploded through.
Silence.
Then Red snorted. “She definitely rehearsed that.”
Snow sipped her tea. “Honestly? Ten outta ten.”
Dorothy whistled. “I’d watch her courtroom drama spin-off, she's giving me that - I wanna be the main character vibes.”
Goldi grinned, picking up a glittery scroll. “Guess we’re doing fae tragedy today.”
Rapunzel smiled. “Let’s finish her story then, in her honor. House Glimmerthorn deserves closure.”
Just when the scrolls finally stopped fluttering and everyone had begun to settle back into their seats - still picking sparkles out of their hair - the door whooshed open in a dramatic gust of enchanted wind.
In strutted Tink.
She had a smug little latte in one hand (extra foam, of course), a stack of freshly reorganized and aggressively color-coded story notes in the other, and on her arm?
Rumplestiltskin.
The modern gothic chaos gremlin himself, tall and tattooed, with his green-streaked hair and that look on his face like he already knew someone was about to dramatically fail and he was here for it.
He strolled in behind Tink, eyes scanning the room like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs -delightedly suspicious.
Rapunzel’s eyes narrowed. “You brought backup?”
Cinderella leaned over to Snow. “Was that planned or did she just summon him with glitter rage?”
Snow didn’t answer. She was too busy mentally calculating escape routes.
Goldi just whispered, “Well played, sparkle queen. Well played.”
Tink settled herself at the storytelling circle with the air of a victorious diva reclaiming her throne. She took a dainty sip of her latte, flashed the fakest sweet smile anyone had ever seen, and said in a syrupy voice:
“Thank you all sooooo much for your patience. I went and had a well-deserved break - self-care, y’know - and now I’m feeling utterly refreshed and sparkly anew. So, if everyone’s ready, I’ll be telling my full Glimmerthorn legend now.”
Rumple folded his arms and stared around the room.
Grinning.
Menacingly.
As if he had a "You’re Fired" scroll in his pocket.
Every. Single. Lady.
Plastered on the fakest, most overly cheery smiles imaginable.
“Of course!” Rapunzel chirped.
“We love fae legends!” Snow nodded way too hard.
Red snorted but coughed it into a smile. “Glimmerthorn’s got pizzazz.”
Tink gave them all a glittery, triumphant smirk and launched into her tale.
TINK’S LEGEND: “The Fall of Glimmerthorn”
(As told by Tinkerbelinda, Keeper of Sparkly Secrets)Once upon a twilight long lost in the folds of forgotten realms, there stood a court of such impossible beauty, it was said the stars themselves dimmed out of respect.
Glimmerthorn.
The fae of Glimmerthorn were born of moonlight and melody, their power woven through harpstrings and midnight winds. Their queen, Lady Virellian, ruled with grace and the coldest cheekbones this side of any realm. Her court was famed for their elegance, their wit, and their sheer overwhelming extra-ness.
It was said they didn’t walk - they glided. They didn’t speak - they sang in riddles. They didn’t cry - they summoned thunderstorms. You get the idea.
But power, as we know, has a nasty habit of rotting.
Virellian’s brother, Prince Thaylen the Silver-Tongued, wanted more. More praise, more control, more eyeliner. He conspired with outsiders - shadowbound beings from the Rifted Realm - to claim Glimmerthorn’s ancient relic: the Lacrimae Lyre, a harp strung with threads of moonlight and used to command tides, dreams, and fate itself.
Thaylen’s betrayal struck like a silent chord—the moment the lyre was stolen, the Court fractured. Glamours shattered. Music twisted. Moonlight turned red.
What followed was the Twilight Sundering—a battle fought not with blades, but with spells that tore stars from the skies. Queen Virellian faced her brother on the highest balcony of the Moonveil Spire and sang her final spell - one last lament that shattered her own heart to seal the lyre away in a hidden realm.
Glimmerthorn fell that day.
Their lands crumbled into mist. The court dissolved, its members scattering across realms, stripped of title, mourning their pride.
Some say Glimmerthorn’s remnants walk among mortals now, masked in glamour, forever humming lost songs to remember who they were.
Others say the Lyre still exists, guarded in the Gates of the Inkbound Library, locked behind the words of a story not yet written.
And some believe Glimmerthorn never fell at all - that it exists in a mirrored world, waiting for the right tale to unlock its doors once more.
But as for Thaylen? Legend says he still wanders, cursed to speak only in dissonant notes, no longer able to charm, only to warn...
That power stolen through treachery always returns in echoes.
And echoes, darlings, never whisper kindly.
The circle was dead silent.
For one glorious moment, no one dared to interrupt.
Goldi blinked. “Okay, that was... actually amazing.”
Red, impressed despite herself, muttered, “Alright Tink. You win this one.”
Tink closed her notes with a smug snap, stood up, and linked her arm with Rumple - who hadn’t stopped staring at everyone like a shark in a teacup.
“Well,” she said breezily. “That concludes today’s tale. I’m off now - with my chaperone, thank you.”
As they walked out, you could feel the tension snap back into the room.
The door clicked shut behind Rumple and Tink.
And just beyond it, the sound of angry, aggressive whispering filled the air.
“Do you think she actually wrote that?” Cinderella whispered.
“Oh, she absolutely did,” said Rapunzel. “She’s been waiting to one-up everyone since Dorothy showed up.”
Snow blinked. “Wait, did she say the lyre’s in the Inkbound Library?”
Red smirked. “Maybe she’s planting seeds. Or maybe she is Glimmerthorn.”
“She told it too well - now I have to upstage that?!” Red hissed.
“Inside, the rest of the crew sighed in collective exhaustion.
Another wild, sparkly day in the books.
Tomorrow? A new tale awaits.
🔥 🖋 📚
The Immortal Quill Short Stories
🩸✨ A Bloodthorn Publishing™ Original
From the twistedly magical minds of the Immortal Quill™ Storytellers, welcome to the World of 4EverMore™ - where fractured fairytales wear combat boots, myths misbehave, tea spills itself, and chaos is couture. ☕️
Featuring your immortally iconic favorites:
• Goldilocks (paranoid and perfect)
• CindaSpy™ (that’s Cinderella with a security clearance)
• Red (badass in boots)
• Snow (soft goth apple queen)
• Dorothy (click it and rip it)
• Beauty (rose-stem sharp)
• Wendy (shadow-slick rebel)
• Alice – Queen of Ink & Lore™ herself
• Loki (divine trickster snack, taken 😘)
• Ivy (Rumple’s sister, lethal in Louboutins)
• and Rumplestiltskin (unhinged, unmatched, unstoppable)
✨ Guest appearances may include sentient teacups, tragic ballgowns, questionable prophecy scrolls, and one flirty, possibly dangerous Elven stranger...
🪄 Storytime just got a whole lot more immortal.
Bloodthorn Publishing™ • The Immortal Quill™ • World of 4EverMore™ Universe 💋🔥
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