Curate, connect, and discover
Mariana
Intro (optional but vibey):
Lights. Velvet. Blood on the boards.
The show begins with a whisper, a rabbit, and a secret too old for the spotlight.
Here’s the first look into Mariana, my original supernatural noir/fantasy series.
body : (TL;DR)
“Magic is misdirection. Glamour. Illusion.
But Mariana Agostinho doesn’t just wave a wand—she wields words that wound.”
In the shadow of stage lights and velvet curtains, Mariana Agostinho performs miracles for the price of applause. But what her audience doesn’t know is that every show is a spell, and every spell carries a cost.
Before the ghosts, the gods, and the grief, there was only her:
A girl with backwards spells on her tongue, and fire in her fingertips.
This is how it begins.
Welcome to the world of blood-soaked magic, cursed rabbit tricks, and backstage horror. The Mistress of All Magic takes the stage…
And someone always bleeds.
OUTRO
Read more in “Mariana” — an original occult-noir fantasy series.
Urban fantasy, supernatural mystery, and ✨problematic stage sorcery✨.
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Chapter 1: Prologue — "Meet Magician Stage, Who's Woman Speaking Backwards Spells"
It starts with velvet curtains and a lie.
A single spotlight slices through the dark like a magician’s blade through a volunteer’s torso. Dust dances in the beam, glittering like crushed diamonds. The crowd waits—silent, hungry, enchanted before the show even begins.
Then the music starts. A slow, jazzy swing with just a hint of menace. And from the fogged-up edge of the stage, she steps forward—heels clicking, hat tilted low, tux tailored to kill.
Mariana Agostinho.
Quarter Homo Magi. Stage illusionist. Occult hunter. Mistress of All Magic. Also, your host for the evening.
She smiles wide enough to hide secrets in.
“Welcome to the show,” she purrs into the mic, voice like red wine and sharp glass. “But first, a little trick. Repeat after me—"
She flips her wrist, conjuring a single tarot card between her fingers: The Magician.
“eromyna tsuj ton s’ti.”
The crowd laughs nervously. The lights flicker. Somewhere in the cheap seats, a man seizes up and falls from his chair, eyes rolled back white. The ushers drag him out before anyone screams. Mariana barely blinks.
This is the cost of her magic—backwards spells laced with real power. Every show, someone bleeds. Every night, something stirs.
This is the stage.
But when the curtain drops and the applause fades, Mariana steps out of the limelight and into something darker: alleyways with broken sigils, cursed motel rooms, and creatures that do not clap.
The audience never sees the real show. Not the demons. Not the cults. Not the twisted gods with vendettas older than America. But Mariana does. And she faces them down in thigh-high boots and a damn good choker.
Because when the show ends, the hunt begins.
And tonight?
There’s something in the front row that shouldn’t be breathing.
She tips her hat, and grins.
“Curtain up, darling.”