utmostprudence

[utmostprudence]

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surely Oleander's day can't get any worse than THIS.... right?????

this officially brings us to the HALFWAY POINT of chapter 1!!! all the real stuff happens in the second half I can't wait. except I can because I need to take a break or I'll die <3

[utmostprudence]

If one were to stuff a pumpkin or perhaps human shaped sack with meat and blood and guts and give it to Prudence for enrichment, zoo tiger style, do you think she'd vibe with that

that is basically exactly what the angel has been doing for her each full moon since she summoned it. unfortunately animal meat does not taste as good to her and has much less nutritional value for her than human meat does. so no, she does not vibe with that at all. she's miserable and malnourished and needs free range to hunt properly 💔

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just another quick check in with Prudence :)

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I think Glad might have his homophobic slurs mixed up......

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first update weeeeee!!!!! you know her you love her now see her fabulous in a silly little hat. cant stand her broke ass !!!

[utmostprudence]

A vicious man-eating monster plagues the city of Dorsey Hill. No one is safe from the Butcher-Beast's hunger, not even the son of the wealthiest man in the city— but the well-to-do Oleander d'Fleur is given a second lease on life when he is magically resurrected by an eccentric young woman named Prudence. The problem is, she's hiding a crucial secret from him: the Butcher-Beast that did him in is none other than Prudence herself.

Read Utmost Prudence by @theygotlost here or on ComicFury!

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Chapter I... PART 1 of 8!!! lots more to come. update: now we're cookin with fire

In case you were wondering (you weren't), Oleander's poem was actually written by my late grandmother. she wrote literally hundreds of poems during her lifetime, and earlier this year my grandfather published them in a book in light of her passing. I did all the typesetting and cover design for him. here's the full text of the poem, which had a rather on the nose thematic relevance:

Neighborhood Deer

They do not know that they will die, these deer, peaceful in this little glen behind our home. They see us unafraid, and we are blessed by their beauty and grace as they walk toward their place in the pines, leaving us to wonder: in primeval genes, do they recall Adam as their friend — how they came to him in the garden as he gave them names and blessings? But man— no longer their friend, even though they do not know that they will die. They startle at a sudden sound as if they sense a danger, but know not why — as if it is an alien thing not meant to be, yet is, warning them that they must flee. They do not know that they will die, and sometimes seeing their own kind unmoving on the ground, they must think it strange and do not understand. And man, is he less fortunate in this: he knows that someday he will die but lives denying it is so— for him.