cursed_frenzy
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Summary
With her sense of self-worth at an all-time low, Rumi embarks on a solo mission to slay an art-loving demon terrorizing a local museum.
But when the demon discovers Rumi’s patterns, she decides to turn the huntress into her ultimate masterpiece.
As Rumi finds solace in another woman, a despairing Mira and Zoey struggle to keep Rumi from falling into the abyss.
Bookmarked by cursed_frenzy
23 Feb 2026
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Rumi once heard that if the alpha was the beginning, the beta the middle, then the omega was the end.
She doesn't remember where, maybe some half-remembered scripture or idiom Celine had quoted, maybe somewhere in a book she had read. It was the kind of ancient wisdom that sounded profound the first time but never really stuck, not until you lived it.
Alpha, the first note.
Beta, the bridge.
Omega, the silence, the final note.
It wasn't until she met them that the words stopped being abstract, that the saying suddenly had faces, had meaning beyond theory.
OR
Secrets kept for protection become the thing that destroys. When Rumi's truth comes out during the mission to seal the Honmoon, the three of them are left standing in the wreckage with every wall down and every lie exposed. Now they have to figure out how to be a pack when isolation, control, and self-erasure are the only blueprints they have.
Bookmarked by cursed_frenzy
22 Feb 2026
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In the back of Rumi’s closet, there is a box. It’s old, the corners worn and the color faded. Inside, there are letters. Dozens of them. Each one is small, with a name written on the front in careful letters.
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Rumi always thought the Golden Honmoon would kill her. Sometimes she still wishes it had.Bookmarked by cursed_frenzy
22 Feb 2026
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Her nightmares did not come in the form of screams or shuddering fits. They arrived on silent nights. The only remnant they left behind was the emptiness that lingered in her chest when she awoke. But that emptiness carried no memories—at least, none that truly mattered. Each time, a headache would arrive in its stead—sharp, unrelenting, intrusive. Perhaps a manifestation of what her subconscious fought to suppress yet could never release.
A woman she had once loved had torn her world apart without warning. Ironic, if she allowed herself to think about it. After the first three years, she no longer did. She had stopped trying to understand it. Such things were, after all, a labyrinth without an exit. And in her new life, there was no place for the chaos that memory carried.
Chaos—like Cruz Manuelos—was something Aaliyah no longer wanted in her life.
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Eight years have passed since that fateful night in Mallorca.
Bookmarked by cursed_frenzy
16 Feb 2026
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Here is it, I promised angst, please please please read the tags, if you are uncomfortable with ANY of them DO NOT READ THIS. HEAVY trauma and trigger warning for suicidal tendencies.
Bookmarked by cursed_frenzy
09 Feb 2026