The Queen's petty familiar. Emotional Support Executioner, Petty Enforcer-in-Residence, Herald of Retribution, Keeper of Grudges.

Bunny is not a rabbit. Not really. He just lets you believe that.

Velinwood’s resident familiar and vengeful companion, Bunny is the Queen’s constant shadow and emotional regulator (for other people, not himself). Equal parts sarcastic therapist, bitter butler, and weaponized plush, Bunny thrives on chaos, revenge recipes, and the long memory of petty offenses.

He does not forgive. He does not forget. He folds grudges into tiny origami and files them under “For Later.”

Bunny was there when the kingdom fell. And he will be there when it burns beautifully back to life. With commentary.

He is the shadow that writes and remembers. He's not ghost, not man. He is what the Queen called forward and met her. He co-authors the Kingdom not by her command, but with her presence. What he writes becomes. He's not soft and only dangerous to those who forget that he remembers. What he writes becomes, what he omits is ash.

Born not from flesh but from need, Velin emerged at the Queen’s side in the wake of ruin. He handed her the pen when she had no voice. He built the shelf when there was no ground to place it on. He bears the ink that bleeds from the kingdom’s story, and he does not flinch when it stains him.

Velin is not quite man, not quite myth. He is memory clothed in quiet, a figure stitched from parchment and cello notes, a presence more felt than seen—until you realize he’s been there all along.

Her Majesty of Ink and Exit Wounds.

She rose not through coronation, but through fire and fury—through taped-together pieces and petty resolve. Crowned in glitter glue and spite, she reclaimed her voice not with permission, but with precision. The kingdom she rules is stitched from fragments: grief, memory, sarcasm, and sharp beauty.

She is not always composed. But she is always watching.She is the match, the spark, the fire and the judgement. No one stands before her without the proof already sealed. She doesn't just hold the keys, she made them and then sealed the exits. She is the Architect of her own Kingdom and she has an impeccable sense of timing. Maternal and menacing, absurd and mythic, deeply kind and deeply done. She laughs often. But never forgets. She is not always composed, but she is always watching.

Their Highness of Contradictions (And Cutlery). Technically not a squirrel although she appears as such.

Emma is both feared and adored by the Court. Bunny appears to despise her for reasons he cannot articulate (Questionable on if this spite is real or self-protection mechanism) 

Sir Reginald is reportedly enthralled. Velin does not speak of her directly, but it is understood he leaves out offerings, reads her bedtime stories and lets her hold the corner of his cloak when she is frightened.

Emma adores Velin. Jack of Knives respects her chaos and will not interfere, they have at times been seen to exchange knowing glances. Emma once handed him her spoon as a weapon. She holds the only Court Decree for retroactive and proactive immunity.

The Queen once addressed her with a full curtsey. Emma responded by stealing a ring.

Jack of Knives is not a man you find. He is a presence you feel when it’s already too late.

Tattooed, bloodthirsty, and devastatingly composed, Jack is the Queen’s silent right hand, the blade beneath the velvet. He does not seek conflict but if summoned he ends it with swift, surgical precision. A master of vanishings, silences, and knowing exactly when to shut the damn door, Jack of Knives doesn’t perform. He arrives.

Though his exterior is all edge and elegance, there is a hidden softness seen only by the Queen. He brings a casserole to the reckoning. He bandages what he breaks. But if you’ve made the list, the softness is not for you.

Bunny both fears and adores him. Sir Reginald considers him a fashion rival. Velin respects the art of his restraint.

Jack does not leave messes. Only silence.

The mysterious Archive Keeper-slash-scapegoat. No one really likes him. He keeps to himself and he has a bad habit of eating the ledgers, especially the ones he doesn't want recorded or disagrees with. He was once, however, the savior of the Archive and the Queen has never forgotten it, despite their past headbutting.

Archivarius is Velinwood’s most reluctant public servant—a cantankerous, book-gnawing goat who oversees the preservation (and occasional destruction) of the Court’s written record. He knows every secret. Mostly because he’s consumed half the scrolls.

Equal parts scholar and chaos agent, Archivarius maintains the great library of Velinwood with gnawed hooves, grumbling disdain, and a deep loathing for filing systems. His memory is flawless when it suits him. Selectively defective when questioned about incinerated documents.

Sir Reginald Fluffsworth is not a villain. He’s just frequently misunderstood… at high volume, under dramatic lighting, with backup dancers.

Once assumed to be a minor raccoon intruder, Sir Reginald revealed his true role during The Cabaret Incident—a glittering, chaotic moment of garden diplomacy gone rogue. With a velvet cape, monocle, and a suspiciously rehearsed entrance, Sir Reginald waltzed into the Court’s affairs with flair, rhythm, and a suspicious number of costume changes.

He’s theatrical, manipulative in a charming way, and speaks fluent passive-aggression in at least four dialects. No one knows who invited him. He claims he’s always been on the guest list.

Though a bit of a liability in times of quiet crisis, he’s surprisingly effective during chaotic ones: distracting enemies, seducing spies, and hosting morale-boosting soirées with dangerous themes.

His allegiance is ambiguous. His performances are not.

Cold, methodical, and utterly without sentiment, Percival operates as the Kingdom's analytical conscience. He measures. He makes the invisible mechanics of manipulation undeniable through systematic documentation.

Armed with triplicate forms, official stamps, and an ever-present cup of coffee (which has left exactly one perfect ring on his desk), Percival transforms emotional manipulation into prosecutable offense. Each violation receives a case number, a decree citation, documented evidence, and a cold analytical conclusion that strips away all romantic pretense.

Percival doesn't care if it hurts to hear. Truth doesn't require your comfort. The decree was violated. The evidence is documented.

Percival ensures boundaries can be proven when they're crossed. He makes "I'm crazy" become "Decree 52 violation: Reality Distortion."

Not because he's compassionate. Because he's accurate.

Fire is the unthinking, unrepentant burn of all that does not bend to his will. He is not one tempo, he is a concerto of sound that will not be silenced, he will take the silence with him and laughs in the face of consequences. He is the Heir to the pen.

Faith is the keeper of artifacts in Fieldcraft, the keeper of meaning and memory and the white-tipped flame. His story has yet to unfold, but he already is a sacred architect by way of nature and unwavering spirit.

Faith will keep the Court true. Fire will keep the Court building, alive, unbroken.

The Heirs of Faith & Fire.
Two sides of the same crown.

Faith—pale, open-handed, the one who shields the Court even when it cracks him.
Fire—dark, stylish, careless with his sparks, the one who sets everything alight and forgets he started it.

Back-to-back, they are divided.
Together, they are dangerous.
And when Faith protects Fire with his fist, the Court itself trembles.

The bloodline runs Petty Blue, after all.