Disclaimer: Hello everyone, I'm AngelPines! So, I already have these two stories in the work right now, but I somehow got pulled into this interesting fandom. Which is odd, since it's still fairly new and the game is pretty small at the moment with only two chapters.

UPDATED: Hey! With Dark Revival on the way, and the release of the book Dreams Come to Life, I've come back to do edits on the chapters. Tidy things up, and add some new material to make things a little more canon with the game, but still keep my take on it.

Kate is my property, everything else isn't.

"Speaking"

Thinking

"Reading"

Edited: Sept. 14/19

Life was complicated.

It didn't matter where you're from, how you've been brought up; everyone has had a complicated upbringing at one point or another. For me though, my story would likely top most. But I should probably start at the beginning.

My dad used to work at an animation studio long before I was born. Joey Drew Studios, and it was a story I had always loved to listen to. After all, a little kid and cartoons went together, right? He was employed right out of high school, due to his impressive skills in sketching. He always did have an eye for details, and a talent with a pen. Simple doodles carried such vibrant life, just like the person creating them. He worked there alongside the other animators and workers like Mr. Lawrence who directed the music department, or Mr. Polk the projectionist. Then, there was his boss.

Joey Drew.

It would make sense the man named his workshop after himself. Dad always spoke of him with a certain… distaste in his voice. Annoyed, and slightly angry. I would keep pressuring him as to why he had hated his old boss, the man who was once like a brother to him. Heck, Joey even showed up to my parents wedding as their best man all those years ago. Not that they told me that themselves. I had found their wedding album, and checked the backsides of the old photographs for names.

But then, everything changed. Joey started… rambling, and talking about 'appeasing the gods' and other weird stuff like that. He had his staff loan him random items from their offices, and started enlisting a company to create a machine to disperse more ink for the studio. Dad never saw it in person, as he had left before it could be completed, but he did remember those large pipes being fitted into the walls in every part of the studio. Things had… changed, and for some reason, I always imagined the tales as either a magnificent childhood fantasy… or a terrible nightmare brought upon by a madman.

And Mr. Drew certainly appeared to fit the bill on that one.

Anyway, back onto the subject at hand. Life was weird, and if the stories my father, Henry Bowens, had told me, was that something was not right where he once worked. Still… things did get better for him. After all, if he hadn't left, then where would I be?

Kate Bowens' the name; twenty years old, and an amateur artist. I sketched for a living, doing requests for people here and there. It's pretty nice, I guess. What could you expect when you're the daughter of a retired cartoon artist? Mom was never as understanding in the job choice, as she thought it wouldn't make enough money to help sustain myself. Dad though, he supported me all the way, and would give me pointers whenever I ran into a block in one of my commissions.

Long story short; my dad had a possibly psycho boss, my mom didn't fully support my dreams, and my dad also was my unofficial life coach.

Yeah… I told you I had a weird upbringing. But just because my relationship with both parents was slightly off-putting, that didn't mean I didn't love them both. I would do anything for them. That promise, my invisible audience, was what had led me to an abandoned building in the middle of freakin' nowhere.

My car screeched to a halt along the side of the roughly paved road, and I leaned out my open window to get a good look. The two story building, Joey Drew Studios itself, somehow still stood after 30 years. A miracle, when you considered the dozens of overgrown plants on the once perfect lawn, and the vines that started climbing the cracked walls.

There were no windows visible on the front of the condemned business, which was a little strange. Perhaps they boarded them up as a safety hazard. My dark brown eyes trailed down to the front door, a cobblestone walkway leading up to it. Grass sprouted up from within the cracks, and I raised an eyebrow. "So, this is Joey Drew Studios. Yeesh, dad. I can understand why you left."

I fished into the pocket of my black and white checkered vest, and pulled out a worn piece of parchment stained in ink. Oddly enough, the liquid was still damp, and cool to the touch. Even after being left outside on the doorstep for who knows how long, and after sitting in my pocket all crumbled up. I had no business going to his old workplace, I really didn't. But… I felt like I had to for him. For my dad.

I lived at home, which my mom was strictly against from the beginning. The only reason why I wasn't booted out yet was because I kept paying this 'rent' she made up. It was cheap, thank goodness, but I hated it with my entire being. What kind of parent charged their own child? I wasn't able to afford a place of my own just yet, and it annoyed me to no end that she only focused on that fact, instead of how much I was trying to pull my own weight around the house and keep things going too.

I had just come home from another successful selling. The commissioner gave me 100 bucks for it, which had me skipping up my driveway with a stupid goofy smile on my face and a wad of cash in my pocket. That is, until I saw a letter stuck under the mat in front of the door.

"What the…" I knelt down, and picked it up. Immediately, I felt a cold stickiness on the palms of my fingers, and peeled one hand away from the ragged paper. "Ink?" I stared blankly at the black liquid on my hand, and wiped it off on my black jeans. Hey, I'm an artist. Black clothing helps hide any spills. Ironic though, since I wear a white t-shirt under my black and white vest. I tend to lean towards the monochrome style, which probably had to do with my dad as well. Drawing 1930's character's in a later time period tends to do stuff.

Once my hands were relatively clean, I sat down on the front step and opened it. There was no return address on the front, which raised a few warnings. How could one send a letter without addressing it first? Is that even possible? Sighing, I dug my nails under the envelope flap. "Let's just see who the heck is writing to us?" I grumbled. Once the paper was open, I read through it. And boy, did I not like what it read.

"Dear Henry.

It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn't it?

If you're back in town, come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you.

Your best pal,

Joey Drew."

Joey Drew, my mind repeated in confusion. My dad's messed up old boss? What could he want? And who the heck just randomly decides to write to someone after 30 years? "There's… something really off about this." I glanced up at the door behind me, hearing my parents in the living room argue about how I should be 'acting my age' and 'getting a life'. Frowning, I looked at the paper. I should really give this to dad. After all, it was his letter. But, then again…

I ran a hand over the messy braid I had done with my long waist length black hair in order to keep it out of my view when I drew. There was obviously something wrong with this. I could feel deep down that whatever Mr. Drew wanted to show him, it was not something my dad would enjoy. The letter, everything about the situation, was not right.

The stories he told me about his job, and the few mentions of Joey descending into madness confirmed to me that I could not let my dad go there again. He wasn't in his prime, and while he could hold his own, I… I was worried. But I couldn't just leave this be, and forget I had ever received the letter. No, no. If Joey never heard from Henry, he might try to contact him again. And he… might not use such a simple method to convince my dad to come.

And that, was what led me on an hour long drive to the edge of the city to where the abandoned studio once stood.

Closing the silver car's door behind me and locking it, I walked up the uneven path, feeling the cracked stone walkway shift under my feet. My gaze never once strayed from the uninhabited building, and I could feel a chill run down my spine. "I swear, this Drew guy better have a good reason for that letter." Because if he wasn't my dad's old friend, I wouldn't be doing this. Remember Kate; you're doing this for him.

I halted in front of the door, and looked down at the door knob. The once shiny silver texture was worn, and shad started to rust from age. The simple object seemed to taunt me, silently begging for someone to finally enter this building of who knows how many secrets. My breath hitched, and I was half-tempted to turn around and walk the other way. But I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted to split, I had to do this.

Sighing, I gripped the knob, and let it turn in my palm. "Honestly, the things I do for family," I muttered. The door creaked open on rusty hinges, and the darkness from inside leaked out into the cloudy fall outside. No going back. With one last look out at the real world, I slipped inside, and the door closed loudly behind me with an echoing bang.

"Here we go."

And that's the prologue! So, while I really wanna write this, any updates will be far and few in between. I have two stories that always get updated on the weekends, so be patient.

Until next time!

Angel