The Balad Of Jason And Grace

I'm Jason Stone, and I've spent most of my life invisible—totally blind, socially awkward, utterly convinced I'm destined to watch the world from the sidelines. Everyone sees what's wrong with me first: the blindness, the social fumbling, the way I don't quite fit anywhere. Then I literally stumble over Grace on my porch during a Toronto winter storm. She's dying from the cold, so I bring her inside because I have some fucking human decency left. When she wakes up, she fixes my sight with magic—and for the first time in my life, someone looks at me and doesn't see broken. She also punches me in the face and breaks my jaw, but we don't talk about that, and I kind of caused that. Also fixed that alongside my, you know, broken eyes and broken hand when I broke my fist on her face. Which is why she punched me in the face, as it so happens. See how I caused that?

I am Grace. A weapon. A broken thing whose status window lists psychopath as a primary character trait. I fixed Jason's eyes—the only other option was to take him into his backyard and kill him, and that would not be tactical when I could insure he not be consumed instead. He is, strange. He does not see me as a weapon, even before I fixed him. He continues to not see me as such, even with restored sight.
This is strange. This is not something I can hunt. Not something I can track through snowbound woods, trap, kill. Bring back to the clan for meat and hides though they know what I am. This is, pleasant, but not like meat after a hunt. Not like a well-crafted campfire. I cannot, as I understand it, return to my world. I am unsure if I would, even if I could, now. As jason would say, 'killing the one guy who thought of you as a person does tend to have that affect'

I am in unfamiliar territory, and when in unfamiliar territory, you trust the one who knows it well. I will, then, trust this Jason, even if he wields absolute power over me via the death oath, and yet refuses to use it. The man who looks at me as something other than a tool, a means to an end. He requests, not commands. Asks, not dictates. He is, strange. But. I do not believe I dislike this strangeness.

She doesn't see me as something that needs fixing, and that intrigues me more than I want to admit. When she asks directly if I find her attractive—no games, no social dancing—it's like breathing clean air after a lifetime of suffocation. When people look at Grace, they see a killer with a status window that lists "psychopath." When she looks at me, she sees someone worth her honesty. Worth her time. Worth putting effort in even if I'll probably fuck it up like everything else.

The death oath that binds Grace to me should make everything simple: she serves, I command, end of story. But fuck that with a wrench, cause I don't want the oath, not when it gives me that much power. I'm not perfect, but I'm just smart enough to know I can,, well. She's an attractive woman. I'm a man with his priorities in order. So, I won't put myself in a situation where I would be tempted. End of story.

In a world where everyone expects you to be what they need you to be, sometimes the most radical act is letting someone see who you actually are. Sometimes love isn't about finding someone perfect—it's about finding someone who thinks your particular brand of broken fits perfectly with theirs. or just doesn't see you as broken at all.

A story about connection in all its messy, complicated glory. About learning to be human with someone who might not be entirely human themselves. And about discovering that the most powerful magic isn't the kind that changes the world or heals things that people say can't be healed—it's the kind that changes how you see yourself.

Release schedule is 3 chapters per week.