Season One: Core Keeper | Episode 01 – The Empress Has Entered the Mine (Hide Your Loot)

I logged on with tea in hand, half alive, fully chaotic. A new face, a new overlay, and a whole lot of attitude. If Core Keeper thought it was going to behave, it clearly hasn't met me.

Everything was new: my voice, my visuals, my vibe. I'd been reborn in pixels and spider limbs. I was serving digital femme fatale realness, barely holding my internet together with hope and eyeliner. The lights flickered, the mic held its breath, and the cult began to gather.

You arrived. You stayed. And somehow, through tech tantrums and tangled overlays, we made it through the night.

Welcome to the stream. Welcome to the cult. Mind your loot, I bite.

It was supposed to be a low-key test stream, just me, my tea, and a few innocent button presses to check if my overlays would cooperate. But Twitch? Twitch had other plans.

The moment I hit “Go Live,” everything that could go wrong did. Alerts vanished. The stream title glitched. Chat froze like a guilty ex. I stared at my screen, channeling chaotic Empress energy while sipping lukewarm tea and wondering if I had just cast a curse on my own stream.

Still, I kept going. Wi-Fi dropped and came back like a bad situationship. Streamlabs gaslit me into thinking things were working when they clearly weren’t. But I was committed to the bit: spider legs, cursed overlays, and all.

And honestly? Despite everything, I looked amazing.

Somehow, despite the tech gods cackling in the background, we survived. The mic didn’t betray me. My cult showed up like loyal gremlins of darkness. And so began my steamy, loot-hungry love affair with Core Keeper.

Let’s get one thing straight: I had no idea what I was doing.

I dropped into Core Keeper like a sleep-deprived goddess stumbling into the wrong dungeon party. I didn’t know the controls, the enemies, or where to stick my torches, but I made it fashion.

It was dark, damp, and crawling with weird mushrooms that gave me more attitude than my exes. I smacked glowing fungi with my pickaxe, screamed when a slime squished too close, and forgot the map existed. Twice.

At first glance, the game looked like Stardew and Minecraft had a baby in a haunted cave. But something about it pulled me in, the glow, the crafting, the chaos. And like any unhinged romance, I gave it another chance.

I crafted copper with my bare (virtual) hands. Planted seeds like I knew what I was doing. Wandered aimlessly until I learned that dying isn’t forever, if you crawl back to your gravestone fast enough, you get your loot back. (No one tells you that. That’s not in the manual. That’s in the trauma.)

In short? I was lost, unprepared, underdressed, and absolutely thriving.

The chaos didn’t end with Core Keeper. Oh no. StreamLabs decided to host its own horror show.

My overlays crumbled like cursed scrolls. Twitch glitched so hard it forgot I existed. Chat vanished mid-flirt, leaving me monologuing like a delusional villainess. And somehow, I was still giving main character energy, with lipstick intact.

I tried to reveal my shoulder spider. Accidentally debuted my entire V model in all her glitchy, seductive glory. It was less of a showcase and more of a striptease the algorithm didn’t consent to.

Meanwhile, the Wi-Fi did its usual dance: dip, reconnect, ghost me for five minutes, and return just in time to catch me screaming. Was it sabotage? Was it fate? Probably both.

But chaos is my love language. And babe, I was fluent.

Then came the slimes. And oh, were they rude.

Armed with nothing but a slingshot and misplaced confidence, I ran face-first into mini bosses with zero patience and even less mercy. I tried to act tough, swinging my torch like it was a legendary weapon. Spoiler: it wasn’t. I died. Loudly. Repeatedly. And dramatically.

And then I came back, sexier. Because nothing says resilience like respawning in style.

Thankfully, some brave co-op souls wandered into chat. Not the backseat-driving kind, but the soft angels who drop one perfect tip and vanish like lore ghosts. I was handed wisdom: avoid the slime soil, reclaim your body from your gravestone, and never trust anything glowing in the dark.

Did I listen? Yes. Did I also still plant the cursed soil? Absolutely.

It’s not poor judgment, it’s content.

Everyone who dares enter the stream, whether lurking in silence or screaming in chat, is more than a viewer. You’re potential lore. A cursed character waiting to be written into my twisted little universe.

Chapter One? Done. Fifteen souls already trapped, documented, and honored in our digital scripture. But Chapter Two? It unlocks at 30. And trust me, you want in.

Say something. Anything. Lurk mysteriously. Or simply survive the chaos long enough to earn your place in the book.

Because here, I don’t just stream. I conjure cursed storylines, collect digital attachments like love notes, and turn emotional damage into drama. It’s soft-core chaos meets cozy cult energy, and every scroll is soaked in thirst.

More mushrooms. More screaming. A musical slime door that won’t open without emotional blackmail. I might flirt with a boss. I might die trying. Or maybe... the slime flirts back.

Expect trouble. Expect noise. Expect... me.

Join me live, whisper your name into the void (chat), and who knows?

You might get immortalized in lore. Or at least see me accidentally hit myself with my own trap.

Lurkers become legends. Viewers become villains. And once you're written in... there's no way out.

(Just don’t forget to hide your loot. I’m coming for it. And I don’t knock.)