The Entrance of the Hate-Legged Scribble

(Filed under: Court Incidents – Performances Gone Wrong)

The Court had gathered for yet another of Sir Reginald Fluffsworth’s midnight performances.
He had demanded candlelight, velvet drapes, and a fog machine no one remembers authorizing.

Bunny slouched against a pillar, muttering,

“If this raccoon pulls out a disco ball again, I swear I’ll—”
but was silenced by the sudden roar of the crowd.

For down the aisle, strutting between torches, came Sir Reginald himself:
cape ablaze with sequins, monocle glinting,
flanked by dancers in glittered V-formation.

And then—
it came.

From beneath the velvet hem of Reginald’s cape skittered a thing.
All angles. All ink.
A nightmare drawn by a distracted hand.

The Hate-Legged Scribble.

Its many limbs slapped the marble, leaving streaks of smudged ink in its path.
It hissed at Archivarius, who immediately declared,

“This creature is not registered.”
Then it bit his quill in half.

Emma leapt upon the throne, spoon raised high.

“It is MINE!
I drew it with berry juice and defiance.
Reginald STOLE IT.”

Sir Reginald, unbothered, spun a pirouette.

“Darling, I elevated it.
Your monstrosity is now part of my entourage.
Look how it catches the light!”

Jack of Knives reached for his blade,
but before steel could flash,
a crimson line marked the Queen’s palm —
not accident, but inevitability.
As if chaos itself had signed her into the record.

Velin inked the moment into permanence.
Bunny muttered,

“I refuse to acknowledge something with that kind of penmanship.”

The Court argued until dawn,
but the record stands clear:
The Hate-Legged Scribble made its debut not in Emma’s chamber,
but in full procession,
a companion to disco, danger, and a Princess with a spoon.