Mr. Squiggles

Mr. Squiggles was no ordinary plush. A one-of-a-kind owlbear cub, soft yet well-loved, he had been a gift from Veil’s mother—a companion stitched with care to keep him company in the cold, winding tunnels of the Hollowdeep. To young Veil, his mother had been his entire world, her warmth the only light in the endless dark.

Then, one day, she was gone.

Veil never understood how or why. One moment, she was there, her hands weaving comfort into the fabric of his life. The next, she had vanished, leaving him alone with his father—a man who had once been strong but now crumbled, slipping further into shadows Veil couldn’t name.

And then, something impossible happened.

Mr. Squiggles moved.

At first, just the twitch of a paw. Then a stretch, a shift—until, impossibly, he stood. His glassy black eyes glowed faintly in the dim lantern light, and when he spoke, his voice was small yet certain, like the whisper of a memory.

"Veil, you gotta be wary of Soothsayers."

Veil startled, nearly knocking over his chair.

“What in the Moon Goddess’s name is a Soothsayer?” he asked, watching as Mr. Squiggles marched across the bed, his tiny stuffed limbs making determined little plopping sounds on the blankets.

The plush owlbear lifted a paw to his mouth, wiggling his stubby claws in front of his face, then blew out a wet, slurping noise.

"Soooooossyyyayers."

A chill crawled down Veil’s spine.

He knew what Mr. Squiggles meant. He knew what lurked in the Hollowdeep. Things that whispered in the dark, that reached into minds not their own. Creatures who enslaved and devoured, who left only emptiness behind.

His breath caught. His hands clenched the blankets.

“Where’s my mother?” Veil asked, his voice no louder than a threadbare whisper.

Mr. Squiggles turned toward him, his little stuffed body straightening, his button eyes unreadable.

"Father," he said.

Then he hopped onto the pillow beside Veil and sat, still and solemn, like a guardian taking up watch.

History

Stitched with love, crafted by the gentle hands of Veil’s mother, he was more than just a plush owlbear cub—he was a guardian, a comfort, and, some whispered, something more. It is said that the magic woven into him, born of a mother’s boundless love, still lingers.

Legends speak of a small, well-worn owlbear plush appearing in the night, watching over children who are lost, afraid, or alone. No one knows how he moves, how he vanishes between realms, but those who wake to find him nestled at their side speak of warm dreams and whispers of courage.

Though he once belonged only to Veil, Mr. Squiggles now walks the unseen paths of the world, a silent protector of those who need him most.