The Fourth wall breaking of DEADPOOL meets JANE AUSTEN meets MAGICAL WEIRDNESS
When a mysterious new boy comes to town, seventeen-year-old odd ball, Peneloper Auttsley, must confront the secrets of her past in order to save her present.
...
We've clawed, climbed, tripped up, lost our footing, stumbled through the dark, have taken three steps backward for every step forward and finally we arrive. Sweating and panting, we stand on the peak of the story - all the buildup for this very moment.
Plant a flag, scream your name—though don't. No one wants buried under an avalanche of simile, metaphor, and self-referential quips. But seriously, look how far we've come and it's only downhill from here.
Things could go one of two ways. See that path leading down the side of the mountain? Clear of debris and shoveled for snow, it is smooth, easy, a nice reward from all the hard, backbreaking labor it took to get here.
Now, see that jutting rock? The one that literally steals your breath away as the oxygen up here is thin and the view it provides, one of complete oblivion, rivals the horrors waiting for any who walk beyond the Exit. If you dare door.
It leads to destruction, death, and an unhappy, unsatisfying conclusion. Like a PB and Sardine sandwich, it will leave a bad, fishy taste in your mouth. Diving off its edge, promises pain, horrible, end-to-everything pain.
Peneloper will take one of these ways back to the bottom of the mountain. We hope for the nice, relaxing path, where every arc is wrapped up neatly, characters get their just rewards, and those we love and have grown fond of meet death and come out the other side just as lively as ever, refusing to be the sacrificial lambs of the writer's insatiable appetite for real, weighty consequences.
With three of Peneloper's friends AWOL currently, the scale tips in favor of the path off the cliff. The one that promises to be messy and chaotic, and where, I'm told, the lambs all go to the slaughter.
But I'm a betting entity and there have been several times in my existence where I place all my chips on the underdog. This is another of those times.
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• Purple People Eater •
Captain Ire Stormholden there one second, gone another. Had this been part of Peneloper's story, the captain's intervention with Gideon would have meant the defeat of the big bad, the securing of a victory. His sword would have cut the villain down, the villain would have obliged everyone's' wishes and stayed down, and everyone would have erupted into cheers.
Instead, Peneloper Auttsley erupted into horror, as the last of his pages floated to the ground. A few landed on the half-eaten remains of the Auttsley family couch, where the fire was quick to nibble on their edges. Two hundred pages turned to flesh.
A person who'd experienced the world beyond what Peneloper had dictated for them, who had walked his own path, devoid of her insistence where he go, what he said or did, gone. Stormholden, a person, as much flesh and blood as she, reverted. His story, erased one page at a time as flames devoured what remained.
