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If Disneyland is the happiest place on Earth, then Maeve Fly is the reason they keep the lights on at night. C.J. Leede’s Maeve Fly is a twisted, deliciously deranged descent into the mind of a woman who isn’t afraid to carve out her own story, literally. This is American Psycho with a tiara, a slasher with a songbook, and a grotesque, glitter-drenched love letter to horror’s most iconic villains.

Maeve’s double life is something straight out of a demented fairy tale. By day, she’s the perfect princess, making dreams come true for adoring children. But once the sun sets over Los Angeles, she trades her glass slippers for something sharper, prowling the city with the cold detachment of her literary idols. When Gideon Green enters the picture, he doesn’t just shake up her routine, he gives her permission to be exactly what she was always meant to be: unapologetically monstrous.

Leede doesn’t just flirt with the dark side, she grabs it by the throat and drags it into a feverish, blood-soaked waltz. The prose slices through like a well-honed blade, alternating between gorgeous, poetic reflections and stomach-churning brutality.The violence? Unrelenting. The humor? As black as Maeve’s soul. The ride? A nightmarish delight, like a haunted carousel spinning out of control.

This book is not for the faint of heart, nor for those who prefer their horror with a safety net. Maeve Fly embraces the extreme, revels in the grotesque, and never once asks for forgiveness. It’s a symphony of violence, a requiem for restraint, and a gleeful reminder that the darkest stories are sometimes the most intoxicating.

If you like your fairy tales grim, your villains victorious, and your horror served raw and unfiltered, then step aside, Patrick Bateman, Maeve Fly is here to reign.

Final Verdict:🪰🪰🪰🪰🪰 five out of five flys! A demented masterpiece with a crown of entrails.