The Vane is a narrow company hollow in fictional Aldervane County, West Virginia: two rows of Jenny Lind houses along an iron-stained branch, a white church, an old company store, and Sang Mountain rising so close above town that nobody who lives beneath it bothers to say its name. Maps insist the road is seven miles. The odometer disagrees. The people who stayed have learned where not to look.

Aurenveil solved the wrong problems.

It solved verticality. It solved ornamentation. It solved the appearance of order, in meticulous suffocating detail: black iron vines on every balcony, frozen blooms that never open, bird-forms casting their shadows in the wrong direction, a mechanical angel in verdigris bronze with water running through the wings.

It did not solve the smog.

The haze settles at about the fourth floor and stays there. Above it: gilt at the structural joints, sealed pneumatic lobbies, windows glowing warm amber through the grey-white like a forest of lit lanterns. Below it: the same iron, the same glass, the same current, deployed by people who needed it to work rather than by people who needed it to look like it works. Visibility four feet in still weather. A specific taste at the back of the throat. A fine dark grit on everything light-coloured.

You can live above the smog line without ever tasting it, if you have the right building and the right income. In Aurenveil, as everywhere, the right building and the right income are the same thing.

The smog line is also a moral architecture. Everything the city does not examine lives below it.

There is no magic here. There is galvanics: current in copper, a real industrial technology with a licensing regime, a research literature, and specifications the university classifies. It runs the lamps, whose light is a little warmer and a little more variable than it should be. It runs the lifts, the filtration, the message capsules that arrive in a brass wall fixture with a specific soft thunk. And at four in the morning it runs, on an illegal tap into a residential street's secondary grid, in a sub-level beneath a townhouse in the Meridian Quarter, where eight-inch glass tubes cycle amber along an eastern wall and a woman who was the best in her field is doing something the city would very much prefer not to know about.

She will not be stopped by the city. The city is not looking.

You will learn Aurenveil the way he learns it: from underneath, in the order she permits, and always slightly later than you would like.

The world didn't end when the dead started walking. It adapted.

Years later, people still go to work, fall in love, argue with their families, and worry about everyday problems. They just happen to live in a world where zombie outbreaks and supernatural threats are part of life.

Most people have learned the rules for surviving. They know what to do when an outbreak happens, who to call when something isn't quite human, and that sometimes the things that go bump in the night are very real.

For Skye Adams, life in her small West Texas town has been relatively quiet. Zombie outbreaks are rare, and the dangers of the outside world usually seem far away.

But that's beginning to change.

And as Skye discovers more about the world around her—and about herself—there may be a lot more hiding beneath the surface than she ever imagined.

This World guide will grow along with the story, with new characters, places, history, and lore added as Skye's journey unfolds. Check back as you read—there's much more to discover.

They call this treaty the Kovalev-Chen Fertility Accords. They signed it in 2031, and it ended something that would have gone much worse.

On page one of a high school pamphlet, between guides for STIs and earthquake safety, you’ll find the treaty’s price. Every ten years there is a lottery.

Participation is automatic for all citizens between twenty-one and thirty-five who meet the biological eligibility criteria.

You do not enter.

Your name is already there.

The pamphlet does not detail the consequences of violating the interspecies peace treaty through refusal.

Three miles beneath the earth there is a hive. It has been there for sixty million years; long enough to predate flowers, long enough to have optimised every chamber and passage into a form too perfect to need changing.

The architectural catalogue has been consistent from the Cretaceous era.

Its only light is a blue-white bioluminescent mineral threaded through the rock, pulsing at the rate of a resting heart. It is worth knowing before anything else happens that this species has no word for blue. It has never needed one.

There has been nothing to contrast it with.

This is the destination for Maren Santiago, a 27-year-old bartender from Astoria.

She has read the pamphlet.

The pamphlet is wrong about almost everything.

Welcome to the world of A Teenager's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse—where the dead are walking, the rules have changed, and fifteen-year-old Aaron is learning that surviving the end of the world is a lot harder than it looks.

This World is a companion to Aaron's story and will grow along with it. As Aaron meets new people, discovers new places, and learns more about the dead—and the people who may be even more dangerous—new characters, locations, survival rules, and other details will be added here.

The World will be updated as the story progresses, so if you're not caught up with the latest chapters, you may run across a few spoilers.

After all, Aaron is figuring this apocalypse out as he goes.

You might as well learn the rules with him.

Welcome to the other side of New Orleans.

When you die, you don't always go up. Some of us stay. We call ourselves spirits, revenants, or poltergeists (never ghosts, that's rude), and we have built a whole afterlife right on top of yours. Offices and paperwork. Movers and portals. Diners, dress shops, and a Department for absolutely everything.

Most new arrivals get a visit from a D.P.R. agent, a handbook, and a patient little orientation. Lady Eloise Bellamy-Allard got none of that. She died in her bedroom in 1864, and for the next hundred and sixty years she never once set foot outside her family's house, because nobody ever told her she could.

Then Kyle Murphy, a Chicago artist who has been dead for about ten years, registers her "empty" house as his new studio and shows up with a moving crew, a television, and a very lumpy leather sofa.

She wants him out. He isn't leaving. And neither of them has any idea what the old house is still hiding.

Explore the rules of the afterlife, the people Ella and Kyle meet, and the places they go. This World grows as new episodes post, so check back often.

Content note: Dead~N~Dating is an 18+ paranormal romantic comedy that also deals with heavy themes from Ella's past. Please check the story's content warnings before you read.

Welcome to this World

Niflheim exists alongside the human world, home to creatures humanity has turned into monsters, myths, legends, and nightmares. Its people are not human, but neither are they mindless beasts lurking in the darkness. They have families and friendships, traditions and laws, loyalties and rivalries. They love. They fight. They celebrate. They mourn.

And, for the most part, humanity has no idea they exist.

The boundary between the worlds is not impenetrable. Niflheim's people have walked among humans before, although doing so requires caution. A pair of horns, an impossible set of eyes, or a body shaped in ways nature supposedly never intended can be difficult to explain.

Halloween makes things considerably easier.

For one night, humanity expects to see monsters.

Horns become an impressive costume. Fangs are dismissed as prosthetics. Unnatural eyes are assumed to be contacts. Creatures who could never pass unnoticed on an ordinary night can walk beneath strings of orange lights while humans admire the craftsmanship.

That makes Halloween the perfect night for the Niflheim Carnival.

Every year, the carnival crosses into a different human community. Tents rise. Rides illuminate the darkness. Music drifts beyond the fairgrounds. Performers stalk laughing guests between attractions, and carnival workers offer games, sweets, and horrors elaborate enough to make visitors wonder how anyone managed to create them.

The carnival will not return to the same place for another eight years.

By then, stories have faded into memories. Children have become adults. People who attended the last carnival remember an extraordinary Halloween and eagerly await its return.

Most believe they are visiting an unusually immersive attraction.

After all, everyone knows the monsters aren't real.

The blood is fake.

Welcome to Sycamore Ridge, Tennessee!

Tucked among the rolling hills of Tennessee is a little Southern town where front porches are gathering places, neighbors become family, and second chances often begin with a simple hello.

Take a stroll down Main Street, visit the church, wander across the old covered bridge, or spend a quiet afternoon beside Willow Hill Pond.

Every road has a story, every home holds a memory, and every season brings another reason to fall in love with Sycamore Ridge.

Explore the places, meet the people, and discover the stories that make this town feel like home.

We’re mighty glad you’re here.

From my porch to your heart,
Lorie Hovater

The A Bride for the Alien series takes place in a future where humanity has established a permanent colony on Mars but has only begun to explore beyond its own solar system. Unknown to humans, numerous advanced civilizations already occupy the surrounding regions of space.

These civilizations are connected through established interstellar travel routes, trade agreements, political alliances, and centuries-old rivalries. Individual planets retain their own governments, traditions, and laws, while powerful ruling Houses influence commerce, military power, technology, and relations between worlds.

Many of these societies possess technology far beyond anything available to humanity. Their spacecraft can travel between inhabited systems, advanced medicine has dramatically increased survival and longevity, and sophisticated genetic science allows researchers to study compatibility between different populations and species.

Despite these advances, several alien worlds are experiencing severe population decline. Falling birth rates have continued for generations, threatening bloodlines, political Houses, and, in some cases, the survival of entire civilizations.

The Compatibility System was created centuries ago in response to this crisis. It uses genetic, biological, and other physiological markers to identify individuals capable of producing healthy offspring. Over time, the system became deeply embedded in alien society. Compatibility can influence marriages, inheritance, political alliances, and the continuation of powerful Houses.

Humanity's arrival on Mars introduces an unexpected variable. Humans are genetically compatible with populations previously believed to have few remaining reproductive options. The discovery makes the Mars Colony—and particularly its women—important to alien worlds that humans do not yet know exist.

The series moves between different planets, spacecraft, colonies, political territories, and ruling Houses. Although the worlds share technology and interstellar connections, each has developed its own environment, architecture, social customs, government, expectations surrounding family, and attitudes toward the Compatibility System.

The Hereafter is the welcome center of the Afterworld. It consists of Haunting University, the Administration Building, and the Remedial College, and it is home to all spirits as they gain the skills necessary for a successful afterlife.

The Shattered Sands is a world built on old wounds.
Here, bloodlines carry strange gifts, sacred laws shape survival, and the desert remembers what its people would rather forget. Kingdoms rise, empires press at the borders, and beneath it all lingers the presence of a broken goddess whose story is far from over.

Are you brave enough to venture within the Briarbound universe, a mirrorworld to our own, where every horrid legend, every wicked monster, and every stitch of folklore is true? Where ageless creatures lurk in the hollers, swim in the depths, and roam the streets. Ghosts are real. Curses, too. Only those with the Sight can see what walks among us, and a faerie's kiss might become your undoing. Don your iron, and salt your thresholds. You never know what might just be stalking you.

For generations, Drakhan Academy has trained the dragon riders who defend the realm from the skies.

Dragons choose their riders, and once a bond is formed, it lasts a lifetime. For those chosen, Drakhan is where that bond becomes a partnership—and where teenagers learn just how dangerous being a rider can be.

Within its ancient walls, students learn to fly, fight, survive, and care for the dragons who chose them. They compete for their Wings, form friendships and rivalries, and prepare for the day when training ends and the realm's safety may depend on them.

Some students have dreamed of Drakhan their entire lives.

Others never intended to come at all.

Welcome to the Dark. Pull Up a Chair.

Welcome, seeker. My name is Sylvie Kestrel. I am the Mistress of the Macabre and your host here at Dear Dark. I am writing this by the light of a single beeswax candle while the rest of the world sleeps. I have always been an insomniac. I find that the truth is easier to see when the sun is out of the way. I make my best decisions after midnight with a deck of tarot cards and a very strong cup of tea. You have found your way to my digital sanctuary. This is a place for Cozy Horror and Gulf Gothic tales. It is a place for stories that feel like a warm quilt on a cold night. It is also a place for the shadows that crawl under the edges of that quilt.

We are beginning a journey together into the humid heart of the Mississippi coast. I want to introduce you to a place called Cypress Canal. It is hidden behind the crooked willow trees and salt marshes of Bay St. Louis. It is a place where the humidity is a physical weight and the water is the color of over-steeped tea. This is the setting for our first serialized novel. I call it The Velvet Cage.

The story follows Cass Miller's private diary entries. Cass is fifty-two years old and she is exhausted. She has spent her life fighting severe fibromyalgia and a world that was never designed for her left-handed grip. She is a legal secretary who is tired of being a burden. She is tired of being a hassle. Then she finds a miracle. She finds a stilt cottage on the canal for only four hundred dollars a month. She calls it Seafoam.

The house is a dream. It magically soothes her physical pain. It possesses a strange and perfect southpaw logic. The sink handles are reversed for her hand. The doors swing wide to the right. The floorboards warm up to meet her aching feet. It is the first place that has ever truly seen her. It is the first place that has ever accommodated her. But in the canal, comfort is a predator. Cass soon discovers that this perfect sanctuary is actually a velvet cage. The house is a biological machine that feeds on autonomy. The more it helps her, the more it takes.

I will be sharing this story with you week by week. You will receive the actual narrative in the form of Cass’s personal journals. You will see her find relief. You will see her fall in love with the quiet handyman named Beau. You will also see her realize that her independence is slowly becoming obsolete.

Bayou Oaks is the kind of Louisiana town where everybody knows everybody—and usually knows their business, too. It’s small enough that familiar faces are everywhere, neighbors still look out for one another, and gossip can make it across town before you do.

Downtown is lined with locally owned businesses, including Bookmark & Bean, the bookstore and coffee shop owned by Laney Cross. Beyond town, quiet roads wind through the surrounding countryside and bayou.

Most days, Bayou Oaks is a good place to call home.

But small towns have secrets, and even the safest places can hide danger.

The coal stopped coming out of Duskport years ago. The whistle kept sounding.

Welcome to Duskport Remembers, an abandoned industrial town where fog removes streets after they are crossed, dead machinery still keeps time, and Greyward Sanatorium knows the name of every woman who enters. The town does not invent guilt. It gives guilt rooms, uniforms, paperwork, and a body strong enough to hold you down.

At the center of the Rust stands Greyward Sanatorium for Women, Children & Moral Defectives. Its green corridors change length. Every fourth door is Room 19. Treatment wards borrow the heat of an old kitchen. Flooded sub-levels breathe against their tiles. A records room can contain a life nobody photographed, an apartment that should no longer exist, or the safer world waiting one wall away.

Beyond Greyward, Duskport's dead streets run beneath soot-dark skies toward the coal-mine whistle. Its note can thin the fog, strip rust from the walls, return a room to institutional green, and loosen the creatures made solid by corruption. That makes it sound like rescue. Duskport is very good at making dangerous things sound merciful.

The Rust remembers bodies better than minds do. It preserves habits, private rhythms, withheld phone calls, and the smell of soap on someone who should be dead. Nothing here asks whether memory is accurate before giving it teeth.

Enter carefully. Greyward has already prepared your file.

Ashlynn, Leith, and eleven-year-old Katrina have left Scarsdale and are heading north. Injuries limit their pace; food, water, warmth, and somewhere to sleep determine the next stop.

Book Two begins in a borrowed house on the way toward Kensico. Ahead lies Pleasantville, where a fortified high school offers meals, beds, and the possibility of staying. As the blurb warns, the people who control those comforts know how to use them.

This guide introduces the opening and the book’s premise without revealing later outcomes. Begin with We Will Never Have to Bury Each Other.

Welcome to Waterside, where old stories have a habit of being true.

This World collects the places, legends, histories, and half-buried secrets surrounding Shandy LaVigne and the haunted college town she thought she understood. New entries will unlock as the story unfolds, but some things are better discovered before they are explained.

Welcome to Astra

Astra is a world where the gods still meddle, magic is woven into everyday life, and walking willingly into a dungeon is considered a perfectly respectable career choice.

Mostly.

Across its kingdoms and empires, people build cities, wage wars, fall in love, worship gods, argue about borders, tell stories, and occasionally make the questionable decision to become adventurers. Every realm has its own history, cultures, traditions, creatures, and relationship with magic—and every map tells only part of the story.

Because beneath Astra lies something else.

The dungeons are alive.

They grow. They change. They create ecosystems and harbor monsters. They produce treasures and resources valuable enough that generations of adventurers have learned to enter them despite the considerable possibility of not coming back out.

Over time, people learned their patterns. Guilds recorded what worked. Adventurers passed knowledge from one generation to the next. The dangerous became familiar.

And familiar things are much easier to trust.

Until they stop behaving the way they're supposed to.

Astra is also a world touched by gods. Divine blessings can grant mortals extraordinary abilities, but being noticed by a deity does not necessarily come with an explanation—or an instruction manual. Gods have their own motives, their own histories, and apparently very little concern for whether mortals would prefer to be left out of them.

Then there are the things Astra cannot so easily explain.

Souls that belonged somewhere else.

Gods remembered by people from another world.

The dead who don't always leave.

Monsters that forget how monsters are supposed to behave.

And whispers that perhaps suffering itself could be eliminated, if people were only willing to surrender the troublesome freedom that causes it.

Welcome to Alsbeth Institute, where magic is measurable, academia is dangerous, and the building has opinions.

Magic does not belong to children with wands or teenagers destined to save the world. For most people, it arrives at thirty-two—abruptly, inconveniently, and often destructively. Those who manifest are sent to institutions designed to teach them how to understand, control, and survive what they have become.

Alsbeth Institute is one of them.

Its halls are old, its faculty exhausted, and its students are adults with jobs, histories, bad habits, complicated relationships, and absolutely no desire to start their lives over because reality suddenly decided to stop obeying the rules.

Professor Sabrina Marlowe has spent years studying those rules.

Then Kyle Dawson manifests two years too early.

His magical potential is extraordinary. His output makes no sense. The Institute begins behaving strangely around him, and the deeper Sabrina digs into his impossible readings, the harder it becomes to ignore a much more disturbing possibility:

Kyle may not be what's wrong with Alsbeth.

He may simply be the first person capable of revealing it.

We are Alsbeth.

Stand where the impossible breaks.

Welcome to The Briarweald

In the Briarweald, every child knows the old stories.

Stay on the path.

Mind the woods after dark.

Do not trust pretty words or silver eyes.

And if you meet a wolf, remember what you were taught.

For generations, stories have kept the people of the Briarweald safe. Nursery rhymes teach children whom to fear. Games teach them how to survive. Traditions tell them where they belong, while old pacts and older grudges maintain the fragile boundaries between those who share this land.

Hunters carry the legacy of the Sun.

Wolves walk beneath the Moon.

Humans live between them, largely unaware of the magic moving through the forests and towns beyond their doors.

But stories change in the telling.

Warnings become legends. Legends become laws. Truth disappears beneath generations of repetition until no one remembers who first told the tale—or why.

The Briarweald remembers.

Its forests are older than the paths cutting through them. Its magic is older than the people who claim to understand it. Somewhere beneath the rhymes whispered to children and histories preserved as fact are the pieces everyone forgot.

Or wanted forgotten.

Here, a girl in a red cloak can stray from the path.

A wolf may not be the monster waiting at the end of it.

The Sun does not illuminate every truth.

And sometimes, the most dangerous thing you can do is ask why the story was told that way in the first place.

Welcome to The Briarweald.

Mind the path.

There are roads on every map, roads everyone knows, and roads people travel every day.

And then there are the others.

The roads that appear where they shouldn’t. Places that feel familiar even when you’re certain you’ve never seen them before. Names that surface without explanation. Memories that refuse to stay buried.

In this world, getting lost may be the least dangerous thing that can happen to you.

Pay attention to the details.

The road remembers.

Ironfang Academy exists for one purpose: to prepare the next generation for war.

Beyond its grounds, the war against the Hollowed has raged for generations. Humans, wolves, vampires, and the genetically engineered soldiers known as Machines all have a place in a world shaped by survival.

Briar Blackwood arrives at Ironfang with no intention of making life easy for anyone. The academy has rules, expectations, and a war to prepare for. Briar has her own way of doing things.

This World will grow alongside the story. Explore carefully—some things about Ironfang are better discovered when Briar does.

A stolen flower saved a queen. Its roots reached much farther than anyone understood.

Welcome to Where the Light Was Borrowed, where spring keeps its promises with one hand and closes the gate with the other. Beyond Lioren's gold-lit palace lies a forest trained to feel safe, a stream where two strangers meet as equals, and a tree line the body refuses to cross. Farther still, behind a living wall of thorns, the Abyss glows with flowers that should not bloom and insects bright enough to look holy from a distance.

Every place in Taming Malice asks the same question: when does protection become possession? The palace offers beauty without defense. Eirlys's cottage offers love with boundaries hidden inside it. Maleus's castle offers every comfort except an unlocked door. A mercenary's tent offers almost nothing, but it can be packed by choice.

Enter carefully. Fae hear promises differently than mortals do, names gather weight when they are feared, and nothing borrowed from the dark is ever free.

"Thirtyx's feet flagged the cobblestone path that had probably been there longer than one of Lamiakk's moons. According to the history books, the new celestial body had thrown the tides into such disarray that the Dragonfolk managed to seize the throne from the Selkies, ending the shapeshifters’ twenty-year reign. It had been the longest any group had held consecutive power in the world’s history.

Until King Grimmary."
--Traitor to the Throne, Episode 2

There is somewhere that has a single room, many rooms, and some days no rooms at all.

It doesn't have an address. It isn't found on a map, and it isn't reached by looking for it. It's entrance is in the places you travel every day. A door where there wasn't one. An elevator button that didn't used to exist. A hallway that runs a few seconds longer than it should.

The floor is carpet, or tile, or both, and always cold, like it's never been walked on before. The wallpaper can't decide between beige and blue, someone both and neither at once.

And yet, there are no lies inside. That's the problem.

Welcome to Hayley Falcon's world.

Hayley is an amateur sleuth located on an island (Skidaway) south of Savannah. She graduated from Emerald University in Atlanta with a degree in Criminal Justice.

She's married to Shawn, who she met in college, and has a daughter named Maxine.

Hayley's mother is Patricia, also an amateur sleuth. Hayley began sleuthing at her mother's side. Then branched out on her own in college.

She's an extremely talented sleuth, adept with modern technology, and even cutting edge technologies. And she can handle herself in face-to-face conflict.

There is no map here.

A parish in the cold country. A church, a rectory, and under the rectory a root cellar ten feet by twelve, seven-foot ceiling, three barrels of communion wine. Everything that matters happens in that room.

Everything you learn about it comes from a man writing it down so he does not have to understand it.

He kept the ledger as a scholar's record. You may read it as one.

Here, the great birds choose their riders.

At Skarrholt, ancient Orders have built generations of law, rank, ritual, and expectation around that single fact. Eagles, falcons, hawks, ospreys, harriers, and kites each carry their own histories, duties, and traditions. Some Houses are honored. Some are forgotten.

The birds, however, have never cared much for human paperwork.

This World is a guide to the places, Orders, customs, and rider traditions surrounding Those The Birds Choose. It is designed to expand the setting without spoiling the story, so some doors will stay closed until the serial itself opens them.

Welcome to Hallowfield

At first glance, Hallowfield is the sort of river-valley town that seems to have escaped time: an old square, a ruined mill above the rooftops, family businesses that have outlasted generations, and neighbors who remember exactly where you belong.

Look closer.

There are rooms that no longer fit inside their houses. Photographs with names carefully removed. An ancient oak that stays warm after sunset. And beneath the abandoned Verrin Mill, something has been quietly weaving Hallowfield together longer than anyone remembers.

Around here, every repair has a cost.

Every missing thing leaves a thread.

And Hallowfield keeps its own.

Three men live in a loft with polished concrete floors and lamps chosen for how they light a face. One morning a twenty-one-year-old woman sits down at their kitchen island wearing somebody else's shirt, and she never really gets up.

This is the world of Nobody Came Looking. It is very small. That is the point.

There is no map on this page, because Rachel Santos's world contracts over twenty chapters until the walls are the geography. What you get instead: the four people inside them, the rooms each man owns, and the rules nobody wrote down but everybody obeys.

If you want the fastest way in, skip to "Magic, Technology & Rules." There is no magic in this book. There are rules, and they work the way magic works: invisible, absolute, and the penalty for breaking one is never posted anywhere you can read it.

Everything here is Rachel's side of the door. The men are described the way she saw them. She saw them accurately. That was never the problem.

Content warning: This novel contains graphic sexual content, drug-facilitated sexual assault, psychological manipulation, coercive control, nonconsensual recording and distribution of intimate images, isolation, agoraphobia, codependency, and themes of self-erasure. Three men. No protection. No safe word. No redemption arc. If you need the love interest to be a good person, this isn't your book.

This universe is made up of several inter dimensional planes of existence, all connected to Gaia (also known as our modern Earth) via great magical portals. The stories in our world follow supernatural characters who orbit around a cynical dragon shifted to suit this world of muted magic and the human with mage's blood trying to help them all.

Meridian is a city built on ambition.

Glass towers rise through the fog, venture capital moves faster than consequence, and every company claims it is building the future. Founders become mythology. Reputation becomes currency. Careers can be rewritten with a press release.

At the center of it all is a dense ecosystem of startups, investors, crisis firms, journalists, consultants, and the people whose names quietly disappear from the stories they helped create.

Scion begins here—with Scion Tech, Ledger, Lyceum Partners, and the corporate machinery connecting them—but Meridian is bigger than any one company.

It is a city where power rarely looks like power.

And where the most dangerous person in the room may be the one nobody notices.

Welcome to Briarwood - small town America filled with romance and small town gossip!

Come meet the regulars and the visitors, Biscuit - a sweet golden dog, will be happy to show you around...and if you just happen to buy him an ice cream, he'll be your friend for life. Gus will eventually come collect him from you.

Welcome to Nythara, a continent built upon old bones. This continent contains vast and diverse regions, from the frozen mountains of the north to the shadowed forests beyond the King's borders; remnants of an older world still remain.

World Anvil is in progress and may contain spoilers

The Afterworld is the world beyond the Light. It is home to The Hereafter, Ghost City, and the Veil.

Hallowmoon Magical Music Academy

A collection of Adult Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance that follows the secretive supernatural world clashing with our own, hidden under the surface of "polite society" in the South...

Stories set in New York after the outbreak, from Manhattan’s collapse to the roads and shelters beyond the city.

The Unburied begins with Ashlynn, Leith, and Katrina. Later Seasons can return to this region years afterward. Begin with We Will Never Have to Bury Each Other.

These are tales by Rachel D. Adams and Dawn McClellan that blend urban fantasy with paranormal romance surrounding a cynical dragon making the most of a human life with the man who saved him. From several high-intensity series to stand-alone tales of passion, you'll find touches of supernatural thrillers, police procedurals, and deep, diverse, and sometimes dark paranormal romance inspired by Anne Rice, J.R. Ward, Christopher Golden, Jim Butcher, Kresley Cole, and Laurel K. Hamilton, among others.
Our books highlight supernatural politics, corruption, secret societies, forensics, and alliances between preternatural species in multiple worlds, centering on the secretive side of our own. In them you'll also find chaotic and dark romance of all kinds...

The Appalachian branch of K.S. Valentina’s cryptid world: scarred mountains, extractive empires, old bargains, and the beings repairing what humanity broke.

The Carolina Lowcountry branch of K.S. Valentina’s cryptid world, where the coast keeps old debts, beautiful things hide dangerous seams, and every claim has a cost.

The Louisiana branch of K.S. Valentina’s cryptid world: a bloodline, a boundary, an inherited covenant, and monsters who have been waiting for the Vauclains to come home.

One connected universe of regional gothic monster stories spanning the Louisiana bayou, the Carolina Lowcountry, and the mountains of West Virginia. Each Galaxy holds its own histories, bargains, creatures, and series—but all belong to the same hidden world.

All of my writing, whether a collaborative effort or a solitary endeavor, belong here. So far, I've added The Dragon Tasker Universe - both novel series and stand-alone stories from the same galaxy. I will soon add in my Wandering Witches books as a galaxy unto itself. In the future I have both a fantasy romance galaxy and a sci fi galaxy to add as well!

The Spirit Realm encompasses all areas inhabited by spirits, and includes the Afterworld, the Down Under, and the Great Beyond, though the existence of the last one remains unproven. The Spirit Realm does not include the Death Zone, as that space is still part of the Living Realm and is only meant to be passed through on their way to the Light.

The wider setting for The Unburied and the stories that follow it.

Each Galaxy follows a place after the infection. Begin in New York with Ashlynn, Leith, and Katrina; other regions can join as their stories arrive.

Seasons keep each series and time period distinct, so a return to New York years later remains connected without being mistaken for the same journey.