And his smile... Not sad or full of scorn, not that of a madman either, and not just another polite mask. A normal smile. Merry. Dazzling. Terrifying. She has never seen him before. She knows him. She has never seen him, but he was beside her bed last night. Or was it last week? (Player meets the Merry Gentleman.)

"You are so lucky, my dear," your not-mother, whose name you can never quite recall, says, patting you on the shoulder with her gnarled, blackened fingers. "So lucky. You could have ended in the well, you know."

A dramatization of my progress in the game. Will be updated irregularly until I don't know when. It will probably not be terribly linear. Note: I wrote in a style that mimics the game writing, but it's not meant to be a reader-insert fic and "You" refers to my own character. But by all means embellish.

Just where does Mr. Veils think he's going so late at night! We worry, you know.

A short introductory tale in a storylet for Fallen London.

There are a lot of things about the Neath that you do not know yet. Best to learn them quickly. Or: What do the Tomb Colonists like better than Halloween?

To whom will you give your soul? Written for the Yuletide 2012 fanfiction challenge. Quiet Deviless/Player/Affectionate Devil.

A relatively peaceful conversation on souls, poetry and, of course, hats.

After waking up to find herself rather inconvenienced on the night of the Feast of the Exceptional Rose, Hildegard must make other arrangements if she is to enjoy herself on her favourite night of the year.