Woke up to the sound of my own tail smacking the wall again.

Honestly, if you’d told me a year ago I’d be living in a glowing mansion full of latex, laughter, and mildly cursed mirrors, I’d have asked what you were smoking and where I could get some. But here we are — another morning in the Cave of Wonders, where nothing stays where you left it, everything is slightly sticky in a good way, and the coffee tastes faintly of lust and Libation.

I’m Jaz. Demonette. Dress collector. Occasional chaos architect. Somewhere between a pin-up and a fever dream.

People always want to know what I do. I don’t “do” — I am. I exist in the sacred space between fabulous and feral. I pose through space. I descend staircases like I’m declaring war. And I live for moments that confuse, seduce, or transform you — ideally all three at once.

The Cave of Wonders (yes, it’s real) is my home. It’s where the walls glow, the heels are higher than your standards, time is optional and yes, its warm in there. It’s not just a place — it’s a frequency. A vibe. A slightly sentient wardrobe you could get lost in, and maybe want to. It’s where we make things. Mugs that wink. Tees that bite. Stickers that raise eyebrows. If you’re into PVC prophecy, glamour with horns, and the kind of sass that could melt a bishop — we’ve probably got a cup for that. Or five.

This week I’m putting the final touches on The Vault — a little slice of unreality where the glam gets archived, the secrets get whispered, and the erotica gets… well, let’s just say it gets developed. I’ve started journaling the adventures — the non-explicit kind, mostly. The in-between moments. The shenanigans that come with being a six-foot-something demon in a world of beige cardigans and subtle glances.

And let me tell you: the girlfriends are watching.

Every time I sneak something new into the Vault, there’s a message:

“Omg, can I voice a character?”
“You didn’t say you were doing THAT with her.”
“If that plushie isn’t available in black glitter, I swear…”

Apparently when you start building your own glam-hell multiverse, people want in. And honestly? Good. It was never just for me. It was always meant to spill — off the page, off the screen, into your morning mug and under your skin.

So, why am I here?

Because I think we all need a little more magic that misbehaves.
Because transformation should feel ridiculous and radiant.
Because if no one’s told you lately — you’re allowed to be a masterpiece and the mess that made it.

If you’re curious, I’ll be around. Not always loudly (I lie), but always watching. I’ve got horns, but I listen. I’ve got a tail, but it curls up when I’m comfy. And I’ve got some very sharp ideas about what makes this place worth playing in.

You’ll find links in the usual places. But follow the scent of vinyl and violet light, and you’ll know you’re close. The Vault opens soon. The stories are almost ready. The next mug is already brewing.

Until then —
Keep your heels high and your standards optional.
💜 Jaz