leonavolpe

[leonavolpe]

[leonavolpe]

Vernal and Nergal, sons of Oberon with a Trooper Fairy, one choose his wild life, without the rules of the gentry. The other choose his life at the Court, among his father.

[leonavolpe]

Goblin Market by Frank Craig, 1911.

[leonavolpe]

Marina Tsvetaeva, from The Selected Poems of M. T.; “Poem of the End,”

[leonavolpe]

[leonavolpe]

“Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.

Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels.

Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.

Elves are glamorous. They project glamour.

Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.

Elves are terrific. They beget terror.

The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning.

No one ever said elves are nice.

Elves are bad.”

― Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies

[leonavolpe]

‘Tales of Lost Bethmoora - Spring Court’ by VOLPE

[leonavolpe]

‘Tales of Lost Bethmoora’ by VOLPE

[leonavolpe]

When I look out my window Many sights to see And when I look in my window So many different people to be That it's strange, so strange

Season Of The Witch - Lana Del Rey

[leonavolpe]

PART I:

Ace of Diamonds

  I

 “Good night my little bats, in this spooky October 29th, are you already hearing ghosts knocking at your door?” Echoed an old radio inside the even older building. “I have a weird ghost story for you... but first, a little bit of halloween music!”

A lightning lashed across the sky and brightened the dark mantle of night. Its light beamed over an ancient building that had its illumination off, and reflected on the tall glass windows to then drawn it in darkness once again, as heavy raindrops started swallowing it, flooding the streets with an oily water that spattered back on the sidewalk as the cars rushed by.  

The street lamps flickered and then flashed a few times as they slowly became stronger, enlightening the golden plate that decorated the front of the building darkened by time: Oriana Bank, said the slim letters, before they were dazzled by the sudden explosion of the lamps, which spread burning shards of glass all over the floor.

“When I look out my window, Many sights to see... And when I look in my window, So many different people to beThey're strange, so strange... It's very strange to me...” the radio hummed to the darkness. On the other side of the street, a shadow stretched like a supernatural thing, followed by smaller shadows with claws and sharp teeth, that sparkled at the thunderbolts that burst among the clouds. 

The rain dripped over their physical forms as the wind caught on their clothes and hair when they crossed the street, carefree.

The five goblins hurried forward, whispering among themselves, a hushed gossip that made them look even more like animals, with their long noses and pitch-black eyes. They ran and with their long odd fingers, they manipulated the intricate lock on the front door, and trickily released it with a click that was lost among the rumbles of the thunders above.

“You've got to pick up every stitch... You've got to pick up every stitch...”

They dragged the doors and opened the passage for the sixth being that accompanied them elegantly. When he entered the wide golden room, the lights turned on, as if glorified by his presence, until his soft steps were interrupted by a lonely snap to his side, and he turned to face the night guard who pointed a taser in his direction.

“What are you?” the guard asked, as he shakily held his only defense against the creature, as much as something inside him screamed at the top of its lungs that it wouldn’t have any effect on that.

“Oh no, must be the season of the witch...”

The being in question simply looked at him, tilting his face forward as if he observed some kind of animal that he considered infinitely beneath him. He was fully dressed in a type of Victorian fashion, with a long coat decorated by golden brocades and black arabesques, an ocher scarf perfectly laced around his neck, and black leather trousers hugged by black leathered boots that went up to his knees.

Golden locks cascaded in long waves over his shoulders, shining as the purest of golds, reflecting as if all the lights of that place sought to illuminate him, as if he had been attracting them. Deer horns sprouted from his head towards the ceiling, towering over a foot and a half tall, like dry branches made of alabaster.

“You have horns…” the guard whispered, as he felt his lips tremble and his fingers grow cold against the taser. The man never believed in the supernatural, angels, demons, ghosts, but he was pretty sure that he was looking at something of the sort, something that came out directly from human nightmares.

The creature wore a mask made of a golden-copper colored oak leaf that fitted the sharp lines of his face perfectly and revealed his feral gaze through the thin slits. The guard noticed that his eyes were slightly more inclined than a human’s eyes, with an unnatural gleam, like a huge feline.

The lamps in that hallway exploded, and hot glass spread over the lustrous floor, the flavor of fear radiated inside the guard’s mouth as the place submerged into darkness, which made him choke despite his attempt to control his own terror, and he took a step back.

The thing had lion eyes, made entirely of gold, completely feral, and they sparkled among the darkness just like the eyes of the guard’s own cat. There was nothing human about him, not even the way his eyebrows arched over those eyes.

“I’m the Ace of Diamonds from the Folk of The Air, whose name your race dares not pronounce.” He smiled, revealing pearl-white fangs that shone to the lightning. They made the guard tremble, and he felt his legs strain with the effort of holding his body. “But it looks like your kind still remembers that you should fear us…”

The Ace pointed with a gloved hand to the hysterical and hateful creatures that awaited near the vault’s room, his movement had been so soft that the guard had difficulty in believing that it had been real. He blinked a few times to try and clear his head, while he held up that taser he knew to be useless.

“Bring me the gold” The Ace ordered, and the creatures laughed with a sound that sent goosebumps down the human’s spine and made the hair on his neck bristle.

The goblins looked like many animals combined, as if some bored god had decided to sow together pieces of dogs, rats, cats, frogs and monkeys onto the same creature and that became the goblins, with their bestial eyes, their snouts that were either oddly long or completely flat. The only characteristics that were common to them all were their smell of rotten wood and leaves, their sharp and dark teeth, and their long tongues playing like a whip inside their eager mouths as they hissed among themselves. The guard looked away in agony with the vision and when he turned to the being in front of him, he screamed and jumped back when he noticed how close the other was.

The man triggered the taser and crammed it against the intruder’s chest, over the golden coat with the two brooches in the shape of bees pinned to each lapel. Another thunderbolt enlightened the glass windows, its pale light reflected a moment over the Ace. The current sizzled against the material, and the blonde being touched it indifferent. Without feeling any discomfort, he tore out the burnt threads and threw them on the ground.

“Well, that was very indelicate of you…” He said slowly “Let’s see if I can teach you some manners.”

Before the guard could try another attack or scream, he heard the sound of a saber being unsheathed and his ears were filled by the smooth song of the blade.

The blade fell over him faster than a heartbeat and opened his throat. He raised his hands to the cut, leaving the taser to fall on the ground while he choked with his own blood and felt the warm liquid soak his hands.

The man’s body crumbled on the ground, strengthless, and with a last tremor he hit the floor, his gaze fixed on the Ace, who cleaned his blade and put it away back into its golden sheath.

The radio still hummed the song for the emptiness around it. When a new lightning flashed the darkness, the front doors were sealed with a metallic click and the milky brightness slid across the clean floor, enlightening the empty space where just was the red blood and the still warm corpse of the dead guard.

“Must be the season of the witch”

Hosts of The Air - Leona Volpe (2019) 

Music: Lana Del Rey - Season Of The Witch from Guillermo Del Toro's 'Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark'

[leonavolpe]

“What memories, what fancies throng one's mind! A night but just now gathered out of London by the horrific hand of Time. A million common artificial things all cloaked for a while in mystery, like beggars robed in purple, and seated on dread thrones. Four million people asleep, dreaming perhaps. What worlds have they gone into? Whom have they met? But my thoughts are far off with Bethmoora in her loneliness, whose gates swing to and fro. To and fro they swing, and creak and creak in the wind, but no one hears them. They are of green copper, very lovely, but no one sees them now. The desert wind pours sand into their hinges, no watchman comes to ease them. No guard goes round Bethmoora's battlements, no enemy assails them. There are no lights in her houses, no footfall on her streets, she stands there dead and lonely beyond the Hills of Hap, and I would see Bethmoora once again, but dare not.

It is many a year, they tell me, since Bethmoora became desolate.

Her desolation is spoken of in taverns where sailors meet, and certain travellers have told me of it.

I had hoped to see Bethmoora once again.”

BETHMOORA - A Dreamer's Tales, by Lord Dunsany, [1910]

[leonavolpe]

You can find mentions of the Lost City of Bethmoora in the tale ‘Bethmoora’ by Lord Dunsany (in his book ´A Dreamers Tale´) as well you can find mentions of aklo language at Machen´s ‘White People’ and ‘Great God Pan’. 

Aklo exists in both universes of Machen and Lovecraft, at some point, its declared that the aklo is also the language of the Deep Ones. There is a lot of analogies between fairies and Lovecrafts universe, since the fairy underground holds so much mysterie as the cosmic horror tales.

[leonavolpe]

A GUIDE FOR YOUNG LADIES ENTERING THE SERVICE OF THE FAIRIES, by Rosamund Hodge

I.

This is the lie they will use to break you: no one else has ever loved this way before.

II.

Choose wisely which court you serve. Light or Dark, Summer or Winter, Seelie or Unseelie: they have many names, but the pith of the choice is this: a poisoned flower or a knife in the dark?

(The difference is less and more than you might think.)

Of course, this is only if you go to them for the granting of a wish: to save your father, sister, lover, dearest friend. If you go to get someone back from them, or—most foolish of all—because you fell in love with one of them, you will have no choice at all. You must go to the ones that chose you.

III.

Be kind to the creature that guards your door. Do not mock its broken, bleeding face.

It will never help you in return. But I assure you, someday you will be glad to know that you were kind to something once.

IV.

Do not be surprised how many other mortal girls are there within the halls. The world is full of wishing and of wanting, and the fairies love to play with human hearts.

You will meet all kinds: the terrified ones, who used all their courage just getting there. The hopeful ones, who think that love or cleverness is enough to get them home. The angry ones, who see only one way out. The cold ones, who are already half-fairy.

I would tell you, Do not try to make friends with any of them, but you will anyway.

V.

Sooner or later (if you serve well, if you do not open the forbidden door and let the monster eat you), they will tell you about the game.

Summer battles Winter, Light battles Dark. This is the law of the world. And on the chessboard of the fairies, White battles Black.

In the glory of this battle, the pieces that are brave and strong may win their heart’s desire.

VI.

You already have forgotten how the mortal sun felt upon your face. You already know the bargain that brought you here was a lie.

If you came to save your sick mother, you fear she is dead already. If you came to free your captive sister, your fear she will be sent to Hell for the next tithe. If you came for love of an elf-knight, you are broken with wanting him, and yet he does not seem to know you.

Say yes.

Continuar lendo

[leonavolpe]

Items For Sale In The Enkanto’s Market

by Roshani Chokshi

I.                

Ah, the sea glass pendant.

It belonged to the daughter of a Mindanao sultan. It’s true, anak. I would not lie. She fell in love with a Spaniard. He left her in the family way. Put it around your neck, and it will pull you to the sea. You want to wear it? Then give me the tears of twelve lifetimes.

But don’t say I did not warn you.

You saw the sirenas first.

Remember?

Their tails knifed the seawater. Their bodies were the color of roots. Pale and flat. Not beautiful the way you wanted them to be. The way you thought they would be. Not at all like the illustrations in the books that your Lola read you.

You hear them next.

Their voice throws a lure around your heart, propping magic beneath your ribcage so that you can still breathe even when you step too far into the waves. You remembered when you couldn’t go back. You remember cold water pressing against your spine, fish bones scratching your neck, seawater kissing your teeth.

II.

Don’t touch that! Those arrhae coins are cursed, little one. One was held in the pocket of José Rizal. Yes! It’s true! Another belonged to Ferdinand Marcos. He kept it beneath his pillow. You want one? Ah, anak, that will cost you all your eloquence for seven years.

But you are not an orator, so why do you care?

Part with it.

One song later, and you cannot remember the house you shared in Ambrosia Village. Or the jeepney where you met him. The first time you met, you told me that he had spilled soda on your skirt. He told you it was an accident and offered to buy you halo-halo in apology.

Later, after you kissed, he whispered:

“I did it on purpose.”

The sirena song ended. You no longer remember that bite of halo-halo. But you remember the crushed ice in the tall glass. How it looked bloodstained from the red bean paste.

III.

Mangosteens grown in the garden of a mannangal. You will never find a fruit like this. The rind so fat and lush that it sweats crystals. The flesh so sweet and yielding — white as snow and just as pure. It is where the mannangal puts the stolen souls, you know. And the taste! Ah! It tastes like the beginning of a dream and the edge of a star.

But that will cost you.

How about the length of your hair to start?

And sweeten it with your first kiss?

I’ll throw in roasted jackfruit from the garden of a duwende.

A tikbilang flashed a grin and flourished a bow. He held back a curtain of pearls and you sighed. Here was the beauty you wanted. Your childhood memories draped over every sight:

A grove of palm trees tangled with stars. Sky maidens diving into obsidian pools. Their cobweb dresses hang from trees and you want to warn them not to be too carefree, or someone will steal their gowns and force them into marriage. A great eagle scores the earth, a glowing bulge at his throat hums and wheedles. And you know that he has swallowed the moon.

IV.

These are unhatched nightmares, anak. Stick them beneath the pillow of the one who left you. They will grow upon him, onyx vines and burnt flowers. He will smell you everywhere. Hear you constantly.

Don’t blush. You don’t think I can tell you have been left behind?

I can smell his absence on you.

No, anak, you could not have changed his mind.

The chicken adobo you made was not too dry. The beer was not too warm. The halo-halo icecream was not too watery. She could have burnt the roast, forgotten the beer and let the dessert go to rot.

He still would have wanted her.

You stopped by the first table.

My table.

I used your Lola’s voice, pulled my wings into my spine. I took your best friend’s hands and stroked your palms with borrowed callouses.

“What are you selling, ma’am?” you asked.

V.

I could sell you the feathers of an angel, and the bezoar found in the stomach of a giant who fed only upon sweet milk from a moon cow. I could sell you the desires of every heart, a harp that would string together shadows. I could sell you ghostly attendants and a dress of thorns.

I knew the moment I saw you that you would buy whatever I placed in your palms. There were so many other tables. Didn’t you see them? A ghost stalked the grounds, carrying tamarind paste that would numb any hurt. A sirena with sewn up lips had bottled her enchanting voice and auctioned it off to a tik-tik who hated the sound he made when he crawled into his lover’s bed. A mourning dove would have laid eggs of rice for every day you smiled.

But you were so impulsive.

You did not get very far. You were always so eager to take the first thing you saw, as if you were poor and starved and couldn’t imagine more options. That impulsiveness brought you here, didn’t it? He was the first one you loved. And so you assumed that it was for forever.

VI.

I could sell you.

I wanted to spare you.

You who could not be trusted with your purchase.

I wanted to spare you of buyers’ remorse.

And am I not kind? Am I not a thoughtful being?

I don’t place much stock in the making of wishes. But it is up to you. You have a pendant, a fruit, a snarl of nightmares, and even a cursed coin. You could drown him, bewitch him, kill him and haunt him.

But I am mad that you want him.

****

Step into the Enkanto’s Market…

Ah you! You there, with the glazed look in your eye and the hole in your heart! Oh, I have a thing for you. Yes. Yes.

VII.

A cautionary tale.

Here she is, a doll of bone and seaweed and roots.

She is magic and sea and earth. She will keep away false promises and impulsive dealings. Be gentle with her, for she is still a broken thing.

Kiss her on the lips.

She still tastes like jackfruit and cursed coins, of dry adobo and a reluctant kiss.

The cost?

Oh, I am glad you asked, shrewd buyer.

I will give her to you for a fair price.

Give me your last breath and your middle name.

Give me the memory of your favorite flavor and you can have her — bones and all.