Velvet Paw, A Velvet Noose

Bunny, Court Familiar of Velinwood (Assuming You Deserve the Honor)

“A legend? No. Legends die. I simply got promoted.”

Allow me to introduce myself, since clearly no one here has the necessary style, poise, or functioning sarcasm gland to do it properly.

I’m Bunny.
Not a bunny.
The Bunny.

The one with claws tucked neatly beneath custom velvet, an eye-roll that predates modern civilization, and a court title so long it requires a scroll and a throat lozenge. You’re welcome to attempt recitation, but I assure you—I’ll be unimpressed, and I’ll let you know with a look so withering it qualifies as a minor injury.

I didn’t choose Velinwood. The Queen summoned me—half out of grief, half out of vengeance, and fully out of patience. It was either me or a therapy llama. And between us, I shed less, bite more elegantly, and no one has to clean up my emotional droppings with a shovel. I wear trauma like couture. The llama? Not so much.

Technically, I’m her familiar.
But don’t get whimsical—I don’t twinkle, scamper, or tolerate mediocrity.

I am the embodiment of closure with teeth. The court’s shadow archivist.
The Prince of Petty.
I do not fetch. I do not purr. I document and judge, often simultaneously.

You think you’ve known loyalty? Try me. I’ve followed the Queen through fire, exile, three regrettable flirtations, one spectacular rebound, and a custody battle over the good pillows. I’ve lit ceremonial candles with her rage and carved sigils of justice into her eyeliner. Or the goat. (Don’t ask. You’ll meet him later. He ate half my handbook and now insists that ceremonial bone carving is a sacred rite of passage. It was a baguette. He doesn’t care.)

You'll know him when you see him: sideways eyes, holy contempt, and a faint whiff of sulfur and sage. Calls himself Archivarius. No one taught him Latin. He just… knows things.

I was there for the exile.
I was there for the return.
And I will be there when the Court inevitably runs out of patience and begins launching glitter bombs from the tower. (Check the store soon)

I’ve also been known to remind Her Majesty—often, audibly, and with exquisite contempt—that forgetting her worth is a form of treason.

(He reads at a second-grade level, Your Majesty. You’re not too much—he just needed a dictionary. And possibly a job.)

And now, here we are.
Velinwood.

A place that should not exist. And yet, like that drawer in your kitchen that leads to your unresolved childhood trauma—it absolutely does.

I’ll be in the margins.
Scrawling notes in my grudge journal.
Sipping something lavender-infused.
Judging you, quietly. And on rare occasion—if you impress me—I may clap once. But do not count on it.

If you hear the distant sound of disdain or feel like someone just muttered “Oh, please” inside your skull—it’s probably me. You're welcome.

This document has been approved by Her Majesty the Queen, observed in silence by Velin, and partially chewed by the goat. As is tradition.

🖤
Filed under: Court Documents & Manuals – Familiar Affairs
Subsection: Emotional Threats in Velvet