#//this looks like somewhere in Countess' house

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

hi big brother ! so i had an idea. what about headcanons for when mc has to go somewhere for some time, how would the m6 deal with it ? maybe spraying mc's perfume on a pillow and hugging it or writing every thought they have about mc. (this is totally not a self-indulgent idea (◔◡◔✿) )

The Arcana HCs: M6 when MC goes on a trip

~ hi little sister! oh my, what a completely not self-indulgent prompt. I'll be sure to stay extra uninspired while I write it (joking) @elysian-chaos I hope you like these! - brainrot ~

Julian

You're going on a trip? Without him? Why?!

Oh. Are you sure you don't need him to go with you?

Doesn't try to convince you otherwise, but will tell you that he'll miss you. To avoid falling into old habits, he decides that everything he does is "for MC."

He leaves the clinic on time without overworking himself "for MC." He only has one drink at the Rowdy Raven "for MC." He eats three times a day and drinks water at least twice "for MC."

He brushes his teeth "for MC." He puts on his coat "for MC." He washes his dishes "for MC." He clips his toenails "for MC."

Portia and Mazelinka start to give him grief for the amount of times a day he murmurs "for MC" before doing something mundane with a heroic air, but he lets them in return for crashing at their places

Because going through the day is busy and distracting enough, but when he gets home and it's exactly the way it was when he left? When he can't hear anyone else breathing in the house?

He hasn't spent one night at home since the first one after you left, choosing instead to show up at Mazelinka's or Portia's right before dinner with the biggest puppy dog eyes they've ever seen

He sporadically writes you long, poetry filled love letters, and sleeps with your replies tucked against his heart

When you get back his ginger chest hair is stained blue in splotches from where the ink rubbed off

Asra

Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of poetic justice

Asra's delightfully humble when you rub it in their face - they're the first to point out the irony and suggest they run the shop for you

He makes sure you have everything you need before you leave, puts you in touch with several trustworthy friends, encourages you through any travel anxiety, and waves happily at you as you walk out

And then they mope

The shop starts opening later and later, customers walk in to find a sleepy and depressed Asra behind the counter, and even Aisha and Salim have a tricky time cheering him up

Until two days in when they look up to the sound of the shop bell, and there's Muriel, grumpily following through on your request to check up on Asra while you're gone

Which results in the mountain man standing stoically in front of the counter, trying not to give in to his oldest friend's infectious laughter at how the tables have turned

Seeing how much his visits perk him up has Muriel dropping by almost every afternoon until you return, and the two have a great time catching up on life

Muriel even gets the chance to repay years of teasing when he goes upstairs and sees that Asra has dragged your entire wardrobe onto the bed so they can snooze buried in your smell

You have a lot of laundry to do when you get back

Nadia

Almost smothers you with everything you need

Transportation? Clothes? Funds? Useful tools to not get lost? Enough paper and ink to write her a ten page letter every day?

She admires your determination to do this on your own merit and decides that she is going to follow suit. She is going to spend the extra time being the best Countess she can for Vesuvia (and you)

Two days in she can't stand the loneliness any more. Where is her MC when she just wants to sit back and relax after a long day? Where can she find someone who'll just treat her like a person?

She quickly finds that most of your mutual friends are unfortunately busy

Desperate times call for desperate measures

She writes to her sisters

Over the next few days, the Satrinava siblings descend on the Palace in hordes. The workload has never been so light, which leads to unexpectedly empty afternoons

And oh, those afternoons are so much more fun than she could have ever expected. Exploring the Heart and Temple districts, riding through the fields, even sparring and dance matches

She would almost feel guilty for how much fun she's having in your absence if she wasn't purchasing everything she saw that reminded her of you

You get home to a pile of presents and lots of sisterly teasing

Muriel

He's sad to see you go, but he's not hugely bothered

He knows you're a competent traveler, and to be honest, he could use a little alone time. He loves you, but he also likes his introvert recharging time and he's used to being a little more isolated

Starts to get frustrated because for someone who likes being alone, it's a lot harder to enjoy than he remembers

Until he opens the door to his hut after a walk with Inanna to see Asra snoozing in front of the fire

It seems you saw fit to have them return all the favors Muriel did when they were the ones going off on a trip (they were more than happy to humor you) and make sure he didn't get too lonely

Between Asra's love for shaking things up and his own restlessness without you, Muriel suggests renovating the hut to surprise you

The two of them first built it when they were kids, so they know they can do better. It ends up being more fun than either of them expect and they get to really talk for the first time since the plague

The hut itself turns out beautifully - the beams are reinforced, it's given a new floor, any rickety furniture is repaired and replaced, and Asra takes it upon themself to paint the entire interior in beautiful detail

You get home to a yard full of chickens wearing mini bow ties (don't ask) and a Muriel who is very happy to have you back

Portia

Oh dear, you lowkey triggered her a little bit when you told her you were going on a trip by yourself

This is exactly how it always goes! The cool person she loves and admires takes off on an adventure and forgets all about her!

Until you remind her that the reason she can't join you is because she's also scheduled for a very cool trip to a different country as a representative of Vesuvia

The first half of your trip goes well with both of you on the road. She tracks your itinerary on one of her many maps and writes you letters with updates on Pepi and the crew every day

Until her trip ends halfway through yours and she's stuck waiting in Vesuvia until you get back

The only moment she stops to breathe is when she writes your daily letter and cooks herself dinner (all of them your favorites)

Other than that, she's too busy working to stay distracted. When she runs out of things to do at the Palace, she deep cleans her cottage, and then Julian's house, and tries to clean Mazelinka's

It's when Mazelinka looks over mid-afternoon to see Portia bustling in the door with a cutlass she "borrowed" from the Palace armory, begging for a distraction, that she intervenes

You get back to an empty cottage, only to find out that Portia's been challenging the Palace guards to sparring matches and sleeping at Mazelinka's every night

Lucio

You're going on a trip? Without him? Why?! (pt. 2)

He knows that the job you've accepted will work better with only one person, and he knows that of the two of you you're the one who practices magic, but still!

Alternates between grumbling about you leaving and cheering you on because you're so cool, you don't need help, you've got this!

Thankfully, the town he stays in waiting for you knows and loves both of you and is happy to host one of their regular journeymen for the two days you'll be gone

This is fortunate, because Lucio's response to missing you is deciding to learn magic, regardless of his natural ability (or lack thereof) and ignoring the fact that he has nobody to teach him

After you leave that morning, he spends the rest of the day out in some poor farmer's field practicing magical attacks on their hay bales while Mercedes and Melchior terrorize all the local wildlife

He stops by the tavern for dinner early that evening, and after several drinks, decides to camp out in the town's square belting out tone-deaf ballads of your virtues

The townspeople love him for all he's done on different jobs for their sake, so the next morning they take turns asking for his assistance with different tasks to keep him out of trouble

You get back that evening to half the town telling you how much he missed you and a very tired (but satisfied) Lucio

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Becoming Friends With Tsugaru And Taking Care Of Him After He Protects You From A Group Of Monsters

Tsugaru Shinuchi X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Scary images, blood, Tsugaru teases reader, drunk Tsugaru, steamy, angst

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/N:) I just started watching Undead Murder Farce on Crunchyroll (trying to break up a little bit of my One Piece catch up) and I immediately fell in love with this series. While I'm still in the process of watching all the episodes I had to write something for Tsugaru as he is my absolute favorite character! I love him and I'm in shock at the lack of fanfics of him. I decided to remedy that as I got this idea and had to write it! I hope this helps my fellow fangirls out with this unhinged psycho we adore! Also started watching this at a perfect time as well! Happy spooky season may your season be creepy and full of sweet horrors. 😉 Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The blackened streets swallowed you whole, enough where even the moonlight couldn't penetrate the shadows. Your feet hit against the ground as growls followed right behind you. Your fingertips bleeding as you tried to feel your way through the obstacles before you. Snarls and howls made your hair stand up, but your escape seemed futile. No matter how far you ran or how fast you went, you couldn't leave the creatures behind. You knew death was nipping at your heels and you felt the clawed grasp. Whirling around to see the gaping maw filled with blood drenched fangs.

You screamed, your blankets going flying across the room as you sat in your futon drenched with sweat. A knock came from the front door again before it slammed open. Tsugaru raced into your room, dark eyes looking for any signs of danger. When he saw everything clear and that you sat there trembling, he relaxed.

"Sorry," you muttered fixing your clothing, "just another bad dream."

He nodded in understanding. "About that night?"

Your silence was all the answer the oni slayer needed. That fateful horrific night was the night you met Tsugaru Shinuchi. He had been out trying to find somewhere still open to buy booze when he heard your screams. As a proclaimed oni slayer he had made quick work of the monsters before he gracefully laughed in your terrified face. First it had made you mad before you realized just how unhinged the man was. Though you were grateful, you offered him a meal and before you knew it he was a regular at your house. Despite that first encounter you both became fast friends. But even if you wanted to, Tsugaru was one you couldn't get rid of, if he found a reliable source of food (that didn't cost him anything) he stuck around. And you couldn't say no to the man who saved you that night. You found yourself fond of him and the more you got to know him, the more you started to like him.

"I guess you're here because you're hungry Tsugaru," you asked waltzing right past the tall and lanky man.

"Why else would I be here," he grinned wildly; following behind you with his normal hunched over walk, hands in his sleeves.

"Well it's not for my charming personality and you aren't the most pleasant company when you come around."

He chuckled slamming his hand on the sliding door, keeping you from opening it. He wasn't allowed in the kitchen and he wasn't going to let you leave until he made you blush.

"You weren't saying that the other night when I kissed you," Tsugaru teased, rejoicing in the red marring your ears. He knew about your feelings and he couldn't deny that deep down somewhere he cared for you as well. The night he was referring to was, he had earned enough money and found a seller willing to part with more booze than the normal vendors. So Tsugaru did what any insane man would do, drunk himself stupid and passed out in front of your door. The only reason you knew he was out there was he was snoring so loud that he would wake himself up and then sing some obnoxious songs before falling into a giggling fit when he would hiccup and ruin the chorus. You wound up dragging him inside, with a lot of difficulty. You had been in the process of giving him a pillow and a light blanket when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down giving you a sloppy drunken kiss. Despite his glazed eyes they held a sort of mirth that had you reeling back and slapping him hard on the cheek. He woke up the next morning with a horrible hangover and a throbbing red cheek. When he asked (like he didn't remember) you would blush deeply and snarl at him to shut up.

"Do you want to eat or not," you spoke calmly though you could swear your heart was about to beat from your chest.

"Of course. Whether it's food or you I have no preference," he whispered. Hot breath stirring the hair that had slipped from your braid last night. "As a half oni I prefer the flesh of beautiful young women."

You elbowed him in the gut, hard. Tsugaru hunched over his aching stomach, wheezing out a laugh while you hurriedly opened the sliding door then slammed it in his face. You leaned against the wall trying to catch your breath and stop the burning in your cheeks. He's an idiot and you couldn't come up with an excuse of why you couldn't adore him. After he recovered from your blow he took a seat close to where you worked. He couldn't see you but just knowing you were close by, eased him. He rubbed at the blue lining his arm before taking a deep breath.

"I'm leaving," he spoke bluntly.

You sucked in a breath, your knife cutting up vegetables freezing. Tears suddenly pricked at your eyes.

"I've been hired by a woman to assist her," Tsugaru continued, picking at a splinter in the floor. "I won't have to fight in the freak show anymore. But I'm leaving and I may never see you again."

The door to the kitchen slammed open with a violent thud. You stood in the doorway but refused to move as tears streamed down your cheeks. Yes he's embarrassing and crazy to boot, but you couldn't imagine life without Tsugaru Shinuchi.

"Why," you croaked staring at him with barely contained emotions.

"I won't live long," he sighed before standing up. Rubbing at his neck at the awkwardness he felt as he watched you cry. "My oni side is consuming my humanity and while I thought I had made peace with that, apparently I haven't. She's promising me a longer life and I'm taking it."

"Idiot," you hiccupped. But you understood. You really truly could understand. If it hadn't been for him you wouldn't be alive and that night you had prayed desperately to live. You couldn't stand in the way of him living a much longer life, to spit in the face of his creator.

"You're the idiot becoming friends with me," Tsugaru retorted.

"That's your fault. I fed you once and you keep coming right back," you laughed bitterly. "Like a stray dog."

You teasing him was a good sign so he stepped forward taking you in his strong arms.

"I'm your stray dog," Tsugaru replied before licking up the side of your face causing you to screech at his wet tongue against your skin. You rubbed at the warm sticky saliva on your face, when Tsugaru captured your wrist. He backed you up, pressing you against the wall of the room. His eyes blazing brightly before kissing you deeply. You struggled at first before melting into his warmth. Gripping his thick blue locks in your fingers.

Breaking the kiss he kept his nose pressed to your cheek breathing against your ear, "Woof."

You shivered, finally shoving him away.

"When do you leave?"

"Tonight," he replied taking back his seat like he hadn't just given you an Earth shattering kiss.

"Guess I better make you a meal to remember," you said. "Maybe my stray dog will make his way back to me one of these days if I feed him well enough one more time."

Tsugaru laughed, barking loudly as you closed the door to him. You never realized how much you needed Tsugaru in your life, until he was being taken from you. While you didn't need his protection like you had, just his presence alone was enough to show you that you weren't alone. While you knew that one day you wouldn't have him, you didn't think it would happen this soon. But you couldn't keep him from doing the things that he needed to do, to make his life better. Taking a deep breath, steeling yourself, you got to work. You wouldn't leave him with bad memories of you. And one day when he came back the reunion would be sweet and maybe he could take you away from this place. Until then you would hold onto the memories you made with him and remember Tsugaru Shinuchi how he wanted to be remembered.

[anodeorain]

Secretly in love. Part 2.

Lady Dimitrescu x Y/N

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI :)

Tags: fluff, slow burn, bruises, smoking

Notes: finally i can post again! no smut just yet, hope you enjoy anyways :)

Dear Diary,

Recently, I made a mistake a horrendous mistake by getting so close. By letting myself unwind a bit. I got extremely close to the edge and almost fell to the bottomless abyss. In that case, I came to conclusion to alienate myself from that… absolutely gorgeous young lady.

However, I am not completely assured about that decision. I find myself rather fallen in love than I am not. I could even say that I… miss her. I do my best to not let myself come around her any closer. It might be very hazardous for Y/N though. I should see how it will work out.

Sincerely,

A.D.

Lady Dimitrescu closes her diary. She shuts her eyes as a deeply sorrowful look comes upon her face. She lights up a cigarette, not using her elegant holder this time and takes a deep drag. Feels like her lungs start to burn. So does her heart.

Alcina exhales the smoke toward the closed window, letting herself to get a bit emotional alone with herself. The tears run down her pale porcelain cheeks, dropping on her arm. She takes another drag. Her quiet sobs echoes through the chamber.

“Mother?”

Lady Dimitrescu wipes off her tears, turning around to face her daughter. Cassandra stays in the middle of the room, tugs her clothes as she looks at her Mother. Alcina puts on an emotionless mask on yet deep inside she breaks down. She wants to pour her soul out so bad that she is about to burst into tears again. Alcina hides her trembling lips behind her hand, taking another long drag.

“Yes, sugarplum?”

She asks and Cassandra frowns.

“Sugarplum? The fuck is that?”

“Language. You know that I do not accept any vulgarities in the House Dimitrescu.”

“Sorry, Mother. Is… everything alright? You’ve distanced yourself lately and I’ve… we’ve been worried about you.”

Alcina sighs and nods, a fake smile appears upon her lips.

“I am alright, dear. You may leave now. I have some unfinished business to do. I will see you around at dinner.”

*****

It’s been a month since Lady Dimitrescu invited you in her chambers. It was sweet of her and she did it on propose so you wouldn’t have to leave the castle and go deep in the woods. As the countess said, it wasn’t necessary to join Elena. Elena worked here for about a year now so she was capable to do it on her own. The meeting was short yet you were glad to spend some time with your countess.

Unfortunately, Lady Dimitrescu hasn’t talked to you since then. The fact that she isn’t around you anymore like she used to be makes you feel down. You loved watching her sneaking here and there to get a look on you which you heartbeat faster. You… missed her smile. And probably her too. The saddest part that you did nothing wrong and yet she decided to ignore you after your private meeting.

Wherever you were Alcina appeared there. But now you barely get to see her. You would be lucky enough if you notice her somewhere far from you once per week. Apparently, Lady Dimitrescu is a busy woman. Yet still something about her sudden disappear made your heart break into million tiny pieces.

You surely continued your job to avoid any problems with other maids. They acted suspiciously toward you after your visit to Lady Dimitrescu’s chamber. They gazed at you with hate and evil flames danced behind their eyes. You tried your best to prevent any further conflicts and escaped maids’ room as soon as possible. Luckily, you got a chance.

Today is your turn to clean the mess in the library. Gladly, the library is located further than other rooms where other maids clean. You put the books back on their places, sighing. Daniela is the one who spends most of her time here in the library and the room turns into an absolute chaos after her visits. Seems like Daniela loves romantic stories. You chuckle to yourself.

“Whoops!”

You hear the book drops on the floor with a loud noise and turn your head toward the sound to see Cassandra. She stands besides the bookshelf with a devilish grin upon her lips.

“I’ll put it back.”

You immediately head off to the dropped book, picking it up as you hear another book smashes against the floor right before you.

“Oh, of course you will. Or Mother will punish you you and make the… mmmm… divine wine out of you! Ha-ha-ha!”

Cassandra laughs. You frown and kneel to pick up another book. Cassandra laughs maniacally, making another book fall from the shelf. You stay quiet, not being able to say anything to the best hunter in this damn castle.

“Keep it up, sucker!”

Cassandra keeps laughing, holding her stomach as she grabs a huge book and drops it on the floor with all of her force.

“Aw, was it too loud for such a wuss like you? Here, take this! Ha-ha-ha!”

The girl slides her arm inside the bookshelf and swipes all the books down, making them smash right on your back. You cover your head with your arms as you whine in pain, shutting your eyes. Few books were quite heavy and hit your back with the corners of book covers.

“Cassandra! You little brat.”

You hear Lady Dimitrescu’s sternly tone which sends shivers down your spine. You feel sweat on your forehead from stress and slowly open your eyes to look up. Indeed it is her. Your lips curl into a soft smile that fades away as soon as you catch Alcina’s gaze on you.

“Sorry, Mother.”

Cassandra apologizes and looks down at her feet.

“I’ll see you later, daughter. We have some things to discuss.”

Lady Dimitrescu says, pointing at the door.

“Yes, Mother.”

“You’re dismissed.”

You watch Cassandra nods, turning into a swarm of flies before vanishing away from the library. You sigh, quickly picking up a huge amount of books that certainly fall from your arms.

“Let me help you, Draga.”

Alcina says softly as she kneels in front of you, picking up few books and placing them on their places. You look up at her and gasp. Lady Dimitrescu smiles at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She chuckles, helping you with books.

“Sorry, My Lady. I’ll handle it.”

Lady Dimitrescu nods and gets on her feet. She gently moves one of the books closer to you with the tip of her glossy black shoe. Your eyes trail her leg from her slim ankle to her face and you blush. Alcina stands before you with her gloved hands gracefully placed on her hips. You can’t see her face under the shadow from her huge hat but you notice her sparkling golden eyes.

The countess takes a seat on the armchair, crossing her legs as she watches you gently placing every book on it’s place. She patiently waits until you finish your job. Lady Dimitrescu sighs, leaning a bit closer as she places her crossed arms on her own knee.

“Did it hurt?”

She asks, keeping her eyes on you.

“What do you mea-“

“I repeat… Did it hurt, Y/N? I saw books falling down on your back.”

She was here all the time?

Alcina asks and takes a deep breath as she starts to run out of patience. She hates repeating the same thing over and over again. You shake your head, slowly getting up to put the last book on it’s place and turn around to face Lady Dimitrescu. You feel dizzy now and put your hand on the shelf for some stability.

“Lies.”

The countess says and pats her laps, inviting you. You blush and walks closer, making yourself comfortable on Alcina’s meaty thighs. She takes off her glove, running her bare hand through your hair, soothing you. Lady Dimitrescu frowns as she feels warm sticky liquid under her fingers.

“Ah, dear. You’re bleeding.”

She says and looks down at you. You quickly place your hand on the back of your head and pull it away to see the blood on your fingers.

“I… I feel fine! I promise, My Lady.”

You say, trying to reassure Lady Dimitrescu and she raises her thin eyebrow at you. She gently takes your wrist, moving your hand closer to her face. You watch her without blinking as your cheeks turn bright red. The countess slightly sticks out her tongue, licking the blood off your fingers. She closes her eyes, humming.

“My my, you taste so divine, Draga.”

She purrs, looking directly into your frightened eyes.

“Oh…”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckles at you and then licks her own finger which are covered in your blood. She keeps her eyes on you, making your heart skip a beat.

“Come. I will take care of your wound. I do not want my best maid to be sick.”

Best maid?

You frown.

“It’s fine. Francis will take care of it, My Lady.”

“Francis? The main maid? You are such a fool, Y/N. She does not even know how to stitch!”

Lady Dimitrescu snaps at you. She sighs.

“My apologies. She will not be able to stick you, Y/N. If it is needed of course.”

Lady Dimitrescu shakes her head and gets on her feet, gently taking your hand. You pull away and wrap your arms around yourself as you look at the countess.

“How dar-“

“My Lady, I’ll be okay! E-everything heals really quick on me.”

You try to resist and Alcina looks at you with anger in her eyes. You absolutely don’t want other maids to see you with Lady Dimitrescu by your side while you both head to her chamber. You know they’ll tease you. They’ll make fun of you. Or even worse. The countess hisses, grabbing your wrist as she drags you across the hall to her chamber. She stays quiet with you trotting by her side.

Lady Dimitrescu opens the door, throwing you inside the familiar room and you almost collapse on the carpet. She looks down at you and her eyes soften within a second. She kneels before you, placing her hand on your pinkish cheek, gently caressing your skin with her gloved thumb.

“I’m sorry, Draga.”

Alcina whispers.

“It’s… okay, My Lady. Um… Where’s the first aid kit? I can do it myself.”

You look around and she reaches for the first aid kit under her bed.

“Sit.”

She commands and you nod, sitting on the edge of her bed, placing your hands on your knees as you stay steady. Lady Dimitrescu takes some amount of cotton and small bottle of rubbing alcohol and sits behind you. She takes off her gloves, sterilizing her hands first. You wince at the strong smell that saluted your nose.

“Be patient, Draga. I’ll be quick and gentle. I promise.”

Lady Dimitrescu whispers against your ear and you shiver. She giggles, adding some of rubbing alcohol on the cotton and places it against your wounded head. You hiss, pulling away from the countess but she wraps her arm around your shoulders, pressing you against her large breasts. You blush, drowning in them. Alcina smirks to herself and blows at your wound, making it easier.

She runs her finger tips down your spine and you whine.

“We should take a look at your back, Y/N. Seems like it did hurt a lot. Although, if you decide to resist this time… you will be punished. Understand?”

Alcina asks coldly, rubbing your shoulder and you nod. She slowly unbuttons your dress, making sure not to push too hard on your back. The countess makes herself more comfortable, placing her legs on both sides of your hips so you sit between her thighs now. You blush once even more, your cheeks burn with crimson red so you bow your head down and close your eyes.

“There we are.”

“How is my back, My Lady?”

You ask nervously.

“Bruised. But you will survive. We are a little bit late but I’ll press ice against your skin. Stay here, Draga.”

Alcina says and gets up, walking over the tiny old fridge to grab some ice cubes. She places them in the napkin and returns to you, sitting by your side. She gently presses ice cubes against your bruised skin and you whine because of suddenly coldness. Lady Dimitrescu places her hand on your chest, not letting you move any further from the ice cubes.

«It’s cold.”

You mumble and shiver. Alcina can notice goosebumps all over your spine and smiles. She kisses the top of your head, moving ice cubes to another bruise, making you whine again.

“Hush. There’s only one left.”

Lady Dimitrescu says softly.

“May I ask you a question, My Lady?”

You look up at her and she gives you a nod.

“You may, Draga.”

“That. What does that mean?”

You keep watching her, noticing her lips curl into a smile again.

“It means Dear in Romanian.”

You gasp quietly and immediately look away, making Alcina chuckle. She presses ice cubes on your last bruise. She pulls away her hand from your chest and starts gently caressing your bare back with her forefinger.

“You did a good job, Y/N. All done. And… I would like to apologize for cutting off our tiny private wine party last time. Mind joining me now?”

She gives you a charming smile and you blush, nodding.

“Sure, My Lady.”

[psalm22-6]

June 1907 Century Magazine published a letter said to be addressed to an Italian Count Victor A. Pepe, written by Victor Hugo, and translated into Italian "probably" by Hugo's secretary. The Count's daughter, Countess Rozwadowska, came into possession of the letter, believed to be unpublished, and shared it with the Century Magazine. However, I haven't been able to find out any more about Pepe or Rozwadowska. You will probably recognize the letter in question (which I will put below the cut) as the one Hugo wrote to the publisher of the Italian translation of Les Miserables, M. Daelli of Milan. Perhaps it was first published in English in 1907 but it had definitely been published in French as early as 1890, at the end of the edition of Les Mis published by Émile Testard and I believe it was included in the original 1862/3 edition of the Italian translation, based on a google translate of this auction listing. The last mystery for me is the signature, which doesn't look to me like Victor Hugo's signature at all. The letter was apparently quite interesting to English-speaking readers and I found several newspaper articles discussing its publication. If you know anything else about this letter please share!! I'm sure I've read something else about it...somewhere....

HAUTEVILLE-HOUSE, October 18, 1862.

You are right, sir, when you tell me that Les Misérables is written for all nations. I do not know whether it will be read by all, but I wrote it for all. It is addressed to England as well as to Spain, to Italy as well as to France, to Germany as well as to Ireland, to Republics which have slaves as well as to Empires which have serfs. Social problems overstep frontiers. The sores of the human race, those great sores which cover the globe, do not halt at the red or blue lines traced upon the map. In every place where man is ignorant and despairing, in every place where woman is sold for bread, wherever the child suffers for lack of the book which should instruct him and of the hearth which should warm him, the book of Les Misérables knocks at the door and says: "Open to me, I come for you."

At the hour of civilization through which we are now passing, and which is still so sombre, the miserable's name is Man; he is agonizing in all climes, and he is groaning in all languages.

Your Italy is no more exempt from the evil than is our France. Your admirable Italy has all miseries on the face of it. Does not banditism, that raging form of pauperism, inhabit your mountains? Few nations are more deeply eaten by that ulcer of convents which I have endeavored to fathom. In spite of your possessing Rome, Milan, Naples, Palermo, Turin, Florence, Sienna, Pisa, Mantua, Bologna, Ferrara, Genoa, Venice, a heroic history, sublime ruins, magnificent ruins, and superb cities, you are, like ourselves, poor. You are covered with marvels and vermin. Assuredly, the sun of Italy is splendid, but, alas, azure in the sky does not prevent rags on man.

Like us, you have prejudices, superstitions, tyrannies, fanaticisms, blind laws lending assistance to ignorant customs. You taste nothing of the present nor of the future without a flavor of the past being mingled with it. You have a barbarian, the monk, and a savage, the lazzarone. The social question is the same for you as for us. There are a few less deaths from hunger with you, and a few more from fever; your social hygiene is not much better than ours; shadows, which are Protestant in England, are Catholic in Italy; but, under different names, the vescovo is identical with the bishop, and it always means night, and of pretty nearly the same quality. To explain the Bible badly amounts to the same thing as to understand the Gospel badly.

Is it necessary to emphasize this? Must this melancholy parallelism be yet more completely verified? Have you not indigent persons? Glance below. Have you not parasites? Glance up. Does not that hideous balance, whose two scales, pauperism and parasitism, so mournfully preserve their mutual equilibrium, oscillate before you as it does before us? Where is your army of schoolmasters, the only army which civilization acknowledges?

Where are your free and compulsory schools? Does every one know how to read in the land of Dante and of Michael Angelo? Have you made public schools of your barracks? Have you not, like ourselves, an opulent war-budget and a paltry budget of education? Have not you also that passive obedience which is so easily converted into soldierly obedience? military establishment which pushes the regulations to the extreme of firing upon Garibaldi; that is to say, upon the living honor of Italy? Let us subject your social order to examination, let us take it where it stands and as it stands, let us view its flagrant offences, show me the woman and the child. It is by the amount of protection with which these two feeble creatures are surrounded that the degree of civilization is to be measured. Is prostitution less heartrending in Naples than in Paris? What is the amount of truth that springs from your laws, and what amount of justice springs from your tribunals? Do you chance to be so fortunate as to be ignorant of the meaning of those gloomy words: public prosecution, legal infamy, prison, the scaffold, the executioner, the death penalty? Italians, with you as with us, Beccaria is dead and Farinace is alive. And then, let us scrutinize your state reasons. Have you a government which comprehends the identity of morality and politics? You have reached the point where you grant amnesty to heroes! Something very similar has been done in France. Stay, let us pass miseries in review, let each one contribute his pile, you are as rich as we. Have you not, like ourselves, two condemnations, religious condemnation pronounced by the priest, and social condemnation decreed by the judge? Oh, great nation of Italy, thou resemblest the great nation of France! Alas! our brothers, you are, like ourselves, Miserables.

From the depths of the gloom wherein you dwell, you do not see much more distinctly than we the radiant and distant portals of Eden. Only, the priests are mistaken. These holy portals are before and not behind us.

I resume. This book, Les Misérables, is no less your mirror than ours. Certain men, certain castes, rise in revolt against this book,—I understand that. Mirrors, those revealers of the truth, are hated; that does not prevent them from being of use.

As for myself, I have written for all, with a profound love for my own country, but without being engrossed by France more than by any other nation. In proportion as I advance in life, I grow more simple, and I become more and more patriotic for humanity.

This is, moreover, the tendency of our age, and the law of radiance of the French Revolution; books must cease to be exclusively French, Italian, German, Spanish, or English, and become European, I say more, human, if they are to correspond to the enlargement of civilization.

Hence a new logic of art, and of certain requirements of composition which modify everything, even the conditions, formerly narrow, of taste and language, which must grow broader like all the rest.

In France, certain critics have reproached me, to my great delight, with having transgressed the bounds of what they call "French taste"; I should be glad if this eulogium were merited.

In short, I am doing what I can, I suffer with the same universal suffering, and I try to assuage it, I possess only the puny forces of a man, and I cry to all: "Help me!"

This, sir, is what your letter prompts me to say; I say it for you and for your country. If I have insisted so strongly, it is because of one phrase in your letter. You write:—

"There are Italians, and they are numerous, who say: 'This book, Les Misérables, is a French book. It does not concern us. Let the French read it as a history, we read it as a romance.'"—Alas! I repeat, whether we be Italians or Frenchmen, misery concerns us all. Ever since history has been written, ever since philosophy has meditated, misery has been the garment of the human race; the moment has at length arrived for tearing off that rag, and for replacing, upon the naked limbs of the Man-People, the sinister fragment of the past with the grand purple robe of the dawn.

If this letter seems to you of service in enlightening some minds and in dissipating some prejudices, you are at liberty to publish it, sir. Accept, I pray you, a renewed assurance of my very distinguished sentiments.

VICTOR HUGO.

[gladdyator18]

Fooled by a Snore - TickleTober2023 Day 29 (Wake Up!)

This is for the lovely and amazing @giggly-squiggily for helping me throughout my Fire Emblem OC phase! Hope you like it!

Summary: When Henry sees Ashton napping in a nearby flower field, he decides to give him a little wake-up call. However, it doesn't go as planned when Ashton turns the tables.

Word Count: 1578

"Welcome, Lady Allison," said Countess Melody with a bow, "And welcome to your sons. It is an honor to have House Leiado visit us."

It was early autumn, and House Leiado decided to visit House Galileus. Lady Allison Leiado and Countess Melody Galileus have been best friends since childhood, and they rarely ever get to see each other, so when Lady Allison found a window of time to visit her friend, she didn't hesitate to see her, and the Countess couldn't be happier. Lady Allison knew Hunter and Henry were good friends with Ashton, so she brought them along to catch up.

"Oh, Melly, no need to be so formal," Lady Allison said, waving a lazy hand, "We're childhood friends, are we not?"

The Countess looked up from her bow and grinned.

"That we are, Ally," she said, "Ashton is… somewhere around the castle. Your sons are more than welcome to search for him."

The Leiado Twins thanked the noblewoman before leaving their mother's side, the chipper voices of the two women fading as they walked away.

"So, where do you think ol' Ash is hiding?" Henry asked.

"Some place to not be disturbed by you." Hunter said, a smug grin growing.

Henry scoffed before flipping off his brother. As the brothers continued their mini search for the nobleman, Hunter yawned before leaning against a nearby pillar.

"This is getting boring," Hunter said as he straightened his posture, "You can go look for Ashton; I'm gonna go take a nap in the living room,"

"Aw, c'mon, bro," Henry whined, "Just a few more minutes?"

"Nope. Tell Ash I said hi when you find him."

The blue-haired nobleman turned on his heel and gave a lazy salute to his twin as he walked away. Henry sighed as he smoothed his hair back.

"Well, if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself." Henry muttered.

The orange-hair nobleman straightened his posture before continuing his search for the heir of House Galileus. When Henry took an unfamiliar turn, he stood before a beautiful garden, flowers of every rainbow's hue dancing in the delicate breeze, large hedges in the shape of pegasi, and a fountain in the middle. Henry smiled as he strolled through the castle garden, lightly caressing the cluster of flowers.

"Hunter is so missing out." Henry chuckled.

As Henry roamed the garden, he saw a small flower field with rolling hills and small yellow and pink flowers a few meters away. Lying in the flowers was House Galileus's heir, staring up at the clear blue sky. Henry grinned before jogging over to the other nobleman.

"Hey! Ash!" Henry called out.

The young heir glanced over at the sound of his name. When he saw Henry jogging over, he sighed.

"Well, there goes my peace and quiet…" he mumbled.

As Henry drew near, Ashton grinned as a devious idea came to mind. Shifting slightly, Ashton closed his eyes and remained still. When Henry was next to him, he saw that he was "sleeping."

"Ash?" Henry asked, lightly tapping the other's shoulder, "Ashton?"

Henry poked his cheek; no response.

"Ashton Cromwell Galileus!" Henry shouted.

Ashton bit the inside of his cheek, trying his hardest not to smile. Henry groaned before sitting beside the "sleeping" nobleman.

"Is he really out cold?" Henry asked aloud.

When Ashton heard that, he let out a few soft snores as he shifted in his "sleep." Henry chuckled as he glanced down at the "sleeping" nobleman, smirking when an idea came to mind. When Henry scooted closer to Ashton, he poked it. Giving what the orange-haired noble wanted, Ashton flinched a little. Henry grinned before poking his side again, trailing it over his belly. Ashton shifted in his "sleep" with a smile growing on his face.

"Wake up, Ash." Henry said in a sing-song voice.

Ashton chuckled before turning on his side, feeling his devious grin grow. Feeling impish, Henry chuckled as he straddled Ashton. Henry raised his hands and positioned them to the other noble's sides.

"Time for a little wake-up call." Henry said.

"I agree." Ashton said.

Henry's stomach flipped when he saw Ashton's piercing teal-green eyes staring at him.

"Hey, Hen." Ashton said.

Before Henry could react, Ashton grabbed the other's wrists and flipped them over. With little to no effort, Ashton was now straddling a very shocked and confused Henry.

"A-Ash!? You were awake this whole time?" Henry asked.

"Obviously," Ashton said, "What kind of fool do you take me for?"

When Henry tried to free his wrists, Ashton's grip tightened.

"So, what were you trying to do to wake me up?" Ashton asked, smirking at the fear in the other's ruby eyes.

"N-Nothing, I-I swear," Henry stammered, "W-Well, granted, you weren't asleep to begin with, so…"

"Really? Is that your excuse?"

Holding the other's wrist with one hand, Ashton placed his free hand on Henry's side, chuckling when the other jerked hard.

"You know retribution needs to happen, right, Leiado?" Ashton questioned.

"It really doesn't." Henry chuckled.

Ashton grinned before tweaking the other's side, making the orange-haired nobleman yelp.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun." Ashton chuckled.

Before Henry could protest, the younger nobleman was thrown into a fit of giggles as the other tickled his sides.

"Ahahahahash, nahahahaa!" Henry giggled, "Not fahahahair!"

"Oh, but it was fair when you did this to me, huh?" Ashton asked.

"I wahahahas only poking yohohohou! Not tihihihihickling yohohou!"

"But when you straddled me, is this not what you were going to do to me?"

Henry couldn't object to that, for it was true. Ashton hummed in satisfaction as he released the other's wrists to use both hands on Henry's sides. Henry squealed

"Hahahahahehehe! You're such a jeheheheheherk!" Henry giggled, "Stohohohohohop!"

"Oh, I'm the jerk? Is that right, Leiado?" Ashton asked.

When Ashton moved his hands to the other's hips, Henry gave a small buck as he tried to push away the other's hands.

"Nahahahaha! Ashtohohohohohon, plehehehease!" Henry cried.

"You know, this is sort of a wake-up call, for you, that is," Ashton said, "A wake-up call to remind you that you will never gain the upper hand against me,"

"Ohohohoho, you suhuhuhuhuck!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Ashton stilled his hands from squeezing the other's hips, watching with patient eyes as Henry panted slightly.

"I… Ihihi said… you suhuhuck…" Henry said, giggling slightly.

Ashton gave the orange-haired noble a playfully dangerous look as he leaned closer, their noses almost touching.

"You're dead, Leiado…" Ashton growled in the other's ear.

Before the other could protest, Henry let out a scream-like laugh as he kicked out his legs. Henry squirmed as he tried to push Ashton's hands out of his armpits.

"AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAA! AAAHAHAHAHASH!" Henry cried, "STAAHAHAHAP! NOT THEHEHEHERE!"

"Oh, not here?" Ashton asked, using two fingers to massage into the sensitive spot.

Henry let out a snort before dissolving into hysterical laughter.

"ASH, PLEHEHEHEHASE! STAAAAHAHAP!" Henry laughed.

"Take back what you said, and I will." Ashton said calmly.

"OKAY, OKAHAHAHAY! YOU DON'T SUHUHUHUHUCK! YOU DOHOHOHON'T SUHUHUHUHUCK!"

Ashton grinned and nodded before dropping his hands down to Henry's ribs, eliciting a snort and a wheeze from the orange-haired noble.

"YOU SAID YOU'D STAHAAAAAHAHAHAP! HEHEHEHAAHAHA!" Henry cried.

"Yeah, I'd stop tickling your armpits if you'd take back what you said," Ashton said, "Now, I'll stop if you apologize for bothering me."

Henry felt tears of mirth dotting the corners of his eyes as his laughter rang throughout the rolling fields.

"ASH, PLEHEHEHEEEEE!" Henry wheezed.

"Apologize, Leiado." Ashton said.

Henry snorted as he tried to grab the other's wrists, but Ashton's hands easily escaped his grip.

"If and when you apologize, I'll stop." Ashton said.

Ashton growled through his laughter as his legs drummed against the shamrock-colored grass, not wanting to give in to the heir's demands, but when Ashton hit a sensitive spot near the top rib, Henry lost it.

"OKAY, OKAHAHAHAHAHAY! I'M SAHAHAAAAA!" Henry cried, "I'M SOHOHORRYHYHYHY! SO VEHEHEHEHERY SOHOHOHORRHYHYHY!"

Ashton nodded before pulling his hands away, leaving a breathless Henry beneath him.

"Now you know better than to mess with me." Ashton said.

"Now I know… not to trust you… when you're sleeping." Henry panted.

The heir chuckled before climbing off the nobleman and helping him sit up.

"I will say that was pretty fun," Henry said, "I didn't know you could be so ruthless."

"Oh, believe me, I could be a lot worse," Ashton commented, "Just be lucky I didn't use my magic against you; I could've had you in tears in seconds."

The thought of Ashton's magic doing the tickling made Henry shudder and giggle.

"T-Thahat'd be interehehesting." Henry said.

Ashton chuckled before laying back on the grass and staring at the sky.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Henry said suddenly, "Hunter says hi,"

"Is he not here?" Ashton asked.

"He's here; he just got bored looking for you."

"Is that so?"

The heir sat up and gave the nobleman a knowing look.

"Well, why don't we pay him a visit and show him the error of his ways for not being as persistent as you," Ashton suggested.

"Now we're talking!" Henry said, a devious grin growing on his face, "He said he was gonna take a nap, so it looks like another wake-up call is needed."

"Indeed."

The two noblemen stood up before jogging back to the castle in search of Hunter. That boy has no idea what he's in for. Let's say when Henry and Ashton found him, Hunter had a very rude awakening.

[curseofthebloodcountess]

And Weapons Do Not Love

Summary: After the Barovian Uprising, after Cordy asks Rahadin if he murdered him, Rahadin spends the morning trying to have tea and peace. Game: The Real Housewives of Ravenloft Ships: Rahadin von Roeyen/Cordy Ceps

---

In the quiet of the morning, Ravenloft sits still. The faintest echo of sobs punctuates the chill air; human voices rise from the bowels of the castle. Above, somewhere, a young man curses The Devil Strahd for having turned him into a creature of darkness. Some feed on his despair, others whisper about it and the rumors that Doru Donavich might be someone important to the Blood Countess. Rahadin despairs with much more quiet dignity. Trance eludes him. Whenever he shuts his eyes this morning, all he hears are the dying screams of men and women and children, damned by his hand. He doesn’t hear them often anymore. It wasn’t the battle that conducted his deathly choir to sing.

Cordy makes specially brewed tea to relieve his headaches. The dried leaves of… of something. Rahadin doesn’t know much about plants. He does know where Cordy keeps the dried leaves: a ceramic jar on his workbench with Rahadin’s name on it. It isn’t trespassing to enter the greenhouse. Rahadin is second only to Strahd in authority here. It isn’t theft to take what has your name written on it. Even if it was a crime, Cordy is in Huldefolk: too far away to stop him, too far away to know. Rahadin still looks over his shoulder. 

If Cordy asked him whether Rahadin had murdered him when first he arrived to Ravenloft, Rahadin would have told him the truth with relish. He had killed Cordy (and a thousand more) easily and well. Not well enough because Cordy had come back- 

No. Not exactly.

The man Rahadin had cut down was Mars, a childhood friend, who had eventually denounced the von Roeyens; a man who had betrayed Rahadin and who must have forgotten (or stopped caring) that he’d only been a child the first time he raised a blade… Mars, the disloyal dog, had been killed a long, long time ago. The man who had come to Ravenloft, made of mushrooms and warmth, was no longer Mars. He is Cordy. Rahadin had not killed Cordy and Cordy had not betrayed him. Sometimes, Rahadin almost thinks Cordy could never betray him. Other times, he thinks that he could never kill Cordy. 

His hand shakes as he measures out dried tea leaves. Their mossy green-brown color belie their strong, earthy smell and just a whiff of them quiets the screams. They sound miles away.

Why hadn’t he told Cordy exactly that?

Rahadin is not Strahd. He does not inspire the loyalty of armies. He inspires fear, never devotion. He always has. Unsettling thing, strange boy… His father had never loved him and his mother’s love was a thing to crave and to earn, not to have. He was fashioned for service, a blunt instrument, and a trained guard dog. He knew it. He knows it. By all the gods, he had known it since he plunged his father’s scimitar into him at his mother’s behest. If not then, then as he cut down the Dusk Elves, one by one. 

How dare Cordy remain kind to him, even in accusation.

The measuring spoon clatters back onto the workbench. Rahadin has enough leaves to steep into a tea. The choir howls again. Plants shrink away from him as he stalks back to the house. Servants give him space. No one looks him in the eyes, no one says hello. He is not a person: he is a weapon. Even in his remorse, he is a weapon. 

How dare Cordy make him feel like he was still a man, like he was worthy of- or maybe that he wanted to be worthy of-

How dare he think he could inspire something other than fear in anyone, especially Cordy. He doesn’t dare to name the feeling. He is a systematic tool and he cannot afford to be wrong. 

He brews his tea and drinks it slowly, bracingly, and the screams subside. He wonders (not for the first time) if Cordy could hear them. How does he excuse them?

“Sir?”

One of the vampire spawn in uniform lingers nervously on the edge of the kitchen.

“Report,” Rahadin says. 

“Someone has pointed out that the dungeons are still flooded. We signed a petition and the union agrees that we shouldn’t have to feed the humans down there in such unsanitary-”

Work: a welcome distraction. The choir falls silent. 

[sosa-royals]

Isabella: Robyn, any news on Liliana yet?

Robyn (over the phone): Not yet your highness

Isabella: What about the person she was working with?

Robyn: We have a trail and we're following it now

Robyn: We're also in the process of locating Simon ma'am. We last heard that he was going to Aila on what was supposed to be a trip with Princess Maria but he seems to have run off somewhere. Aila is a mess of islands so we're just trying to figure out exactly which one he's on.

Robyn: But just leave that to us ma'am. In the meantime there are more pressing issues you need to address

Isabella: Such as?

Robyn: First of all, eliminating any possibility of further collateral damage. And I mean Princess Maria Aisha...

Isabella: My dear, I think it's best for you and Eddison to head back to Pierreland. I'd hate for you both to be caught up in all this mess

Maria Aisha: I wish I could stay and help but I don't think there's anything I could do

Isabella: You can help by going home and being nicer to your mother

Maria Aisha: I can't make any promises

Isabella: I'll try and see you off before you leave

Maria Aisha: Don't worry about it, I'll be back one day

Isabella: Take care of yourself my dear

Maria Aisha: You too aunt Bells. And give Liliana hell for me.

Isabella: And then?

Robyn: Princess Maxime can continue to stay with your highnesses where you can keep an eye on her, but we think it would be best if Raphael was sent to the Vitali estate

Isabella: Excuse me? Don't you realise that they are just as much at the centre of this scandal as we are? He would be safest with me

Robyn: I disagree ma'am...

Robyn: There is still a Vitali who is an innocent victim in all of this, yet still holds as much wisdom and power to be of use to him

Isabella: ...You want him to move in with the Countess?

Robyn: Yes, She is the sanest member of that family. She can protect Raphael and educate him as a successor at the same time. As someone who, at one point, was to become the Duchess of Vitali, and also as a woman the late Duke considered his own granddaughter, she would be perfect.

Isabella: And, what about the girls?

Robyn: We... think it would be best if they were separated ma'am

Isabella: Excuse me?

Robyn: Their school residence has been exposed and they have press and paparazzi camping outside their house as we speak.

Isabella: Then increase security and move them to a different house!

Robyn: And what about when they go for their classes? The press will get them then.

Isabella: They can come back to Marseille and stay with me then

Robyn: It will just look like you're building a fortress and trying to run away.

Isabella: And yet your solution is to split them up for...

Robyn: Three months ma'am, at most.

Isabella: Are you insane?

Robyn: Your royal highness. We have a plan which will protect and save the royal family in the longer term, and for this to work, we need you to trust us.

Next | Previous

[gingerlee-holds]

March 4th, 1745.

Here is part two to the Fernsby Journals! there isn't anything very twordy, aside from a few scribbled-out hints, but I'm really liking where this is going heehee! This is mostly to establish the character of Mr. Fernsby, so I can "mess about with him" later on! I hope you all are enjoying these so far - it's very fun to write in his voice, all Victorian-like (even though technically he precedes the Victorian era by a century). I've also retconned a few details to make what I have planned make more sense! And oh, I have so much planned. Stay tuned!

Word Count: 605 Reading Time: ~4 minutes Warnings: Again, un-proofread- also mention of death, but its brief

I have made remarkable progress, indeed! Over the course of the past year, I have devoted myself to the mystery of what I have aptly named “featherflakes.” No historical record exists of them in the past eight centuries, and prior to that, there was hardly anyone literate enough in the whole isle of Great Britain to record such an event. However, there is one (albeit unreliable) manuscript from a monk in Talley Abbey, yet he ascribed the featherflake phenomena to angels from heaven. I believe there is a more… worldly explanation. 

Nevertheless, it must lead somewhere, and I’ve been yearning for a trip to the countryside. During most of the year, I reside in a modest apartment in Newcastle-under-Lyme, fervently researching whatever subject may garner me income to know about. Until last year, it was Scottish tax law, and I was looking into an advisory role in Northumbria; then, featherflakes abruptly disrupted these plans, compelling me to entirely realign my focus. What were these vexatious little things, I wondered. 

Fortunately, I am now on my way to discovering the truth of this strange featherflake phenomenon. I have hired a carriage, and I am traveling to the estate of a cousin of mine. It will take a week until we arrive, and when I do, my cousin is more than willing to lend me his guest house to research in. This trip shall give me ample opportunity to write in this new journal, so I’ve packed an abundant supply of inkwells and quills. They tickle my palms terribly whenever I pull one out of my luggage.

I would be remiss to not introduce myself. My name is Eren Thomas Fernsby, and I hail from a staunch intellectual family in the world of philistines. Lord Philip Fernsby, my father, has acquired vast wealth in his Parliamentary position, allowing for my family to live comfortably. Consequently, though, he rarely visited the manor where I was raised. My mother was a countess from Cornwall, yet she tragically passed away three years ago to consumption. Before her death, she had given my lord father nine sons and four daughters. I am the youngest son, and aside from my little sister, Alice, I am the youngest child. Unfortunately, this led to many times where my older siblings would tickle mess about with me. I am the smallest boy, and I was told all my life that my diminutive stature and weak physical abilities would lead to an unimpressive man. 

I shall prove them wrong. 

Now, to describe myself. I have pale skin sprinkled with freckles, and a messy head of curly black hair. I am particularly prone to blushing, casting my entire face in a bright pink. I have a pair of brass reading spectacles gifted to me by a professor when I graduated with honors from my university. These small reading spectacles are never far from my face, as I ensure I have a book with me at all times in which to bury my nose. I am particularly partial to tweed - however, I know that is beginning to fall out of fashion, so I wear mostly corduroy now. I dress warmly, with a forest-green scarf and dinner jacket, but I never forget my tie. 

It has been a long while since I’ve seen my cousin. In fact, it has been a long while since I’ve been out of town. I think this outing will be good for me! I’ve spent far too much time in my cramped study bent over dusty tomes; a holiday to the country with some fresh air will do me well. 

It appears we’ve stopped to rest the horses. I believe I’m going to ask the driver if I may feed them! I’ve always loved horses. I’ll be sure to write in my journal about the following day’s proceedings!

(The horses ended up licking his face, but he didn't write that down)

Read the previous entry in The Fernsby Journals! Read the following entry in The Fernsby Journals!

[lobotomydaughter]

also, uno reverse, book rec ask game questions 9, 22, 25, 48, 85, 89, 124, 131! feel free to pick and choose <3

<3333

9. your favorite book of 2020

i can't remember what year i read most of my books, let alone years back, but upon some googling my dark vanessa by kate elizabeth russell was originally published that year and since i love that book, let's just say it was that one.

will say though for anyone considering reading it that as a warning, the ending isn't what most would find satisfying but it did make sense to me.

22. your favorite thriller

i don't read thriller as often as i would like to, to be honest. i usually get distracted by books from different genres (namely historical fiction). always open for recs though!

in the future for this genre i am looking forward to reading the paris apartment by lucy foley. i've been told that it's good.

25. a book by your favorite author

perhaps the easiest question i've ever been asked in my 20+ years of life. without a doubt this would be in the dream house by carmen maria machado. i've recommended this book + author countless times on my blog and irl for good reason; carmen is a master of her craft, and this was such a raw and intensely honest memoir.

there's a long list of content warnings as it dives deep into domestic abuse in a sapphic relationship so for anyone who would like to read it, please take care to check that ahead of time.

i think it's the most important thing i have ever, and will ever, read.

48. your favorite sci-fi novel

without a doubt this would be into the drowning deep by mira grant. this is about terrifying mermaids and sisterhood and is soooo atmospheric. it's a follow-up to the author's novella rolling in the deep, and i do think it needs to be read in order. lots of horror elements too. overall it's just a really enjoyable book.

i think i actually have a pdf of into the drowning deep saved somewhere on my laptop and can send it to anyone who would be interested.

85. your favorite book about magical realism

it's been a while but i want to say that the gilded wolves by roshani chokshi was magical realism??? possibly??? it was found family + heist + paris, 1889 + magic with a beautiful and diverse set of characters and touched on issues like ableism, anti-semitism and racism.

honestly just talking about it makes me want to reread it. i still need to get the sequel dkfj

really upped my standards for ya.

89. a book that disappointed you

...i don't like holly black's the cruel prince at all. i wanted to, but i couldn't get into it. i think she's a talented author though! this one was just a miss for me.

124. the book you're currently reading

house of hunger by alexis henderson.

this is a sapphic retelling of the blood countess; it's been described as kinda vampires, but not really and... yeah that's really what it is. it has the vampire aesthetic; one of the main characters has her teeth fashioned into a vampires' fangs and she drinks blood. but she's not a vampire. you know how in the past some ppl thought drinking or washing yourself with someone's blood was thought to be a cure for ailments or like. a fountain of youth type of situation?? that's what's happening here. very gothic and atmospheric and i am already planning on buying henderson's other book, the year of the witching.

131. tag somebody with whom you would want to buddy read a book

apologies in advance if any of you don't like being tagged! feel free to just lmk and i can remove your @. but oh my so many people on here would be fun to read with! i know @hexgh0ul and i seem to have very similar tastes in media (yellowjackets, interview with the vampire, dracula to name a few) so i feel like we could definitely find smth we'd both enjoy and have a good discussion on.

@waffleinator-inator is another one!!! maya has great taste and i already do really enjoy talking literature with her so buddy reading smth new to both of us would be fun <3

@ladytauria is someone i have exchanged recs with as well and another one with excellent taste in fiction so hmu sometime /hj

and ofc you as well, it turns out, since i'm learning today that we both really enjoy some of the same books, at least for ya which you're never too old for imo

i'd be happy with buddy reading with anyone though tbh i read a pretty wide variety and each mutual could be matched with something different :)

bookish asks

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: The Green Lady

fandom5k 2023 has revealed the authors, and here's what I wrote! Greenygal was an excellent beta, and helped both with canon details which I had mixed up with fanon and also helped me to articulate and bring out the thematic elements. My original thought with the ghost story idea was something at least mildly spooky, but it didn't turn out that way, alas. But I do like the way it did! My one regret is that I don't think anybody has picked up the dual reference in the title. Alas. Title: The Green Lady Author: Beatrice_Otter Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga Characters: Delia/Duv Written For: desertvixen in Fandom 5k 2023 Rating: G Length: 11,879 words Betaed by: Greenygal, who was deeply helpful with both canon and thematic elements. Thank you so much! Summary: The first time Delia saw the woman, it was after a party at the Residence and she assumed that the woman had gotten lost. But then it turned out nobody else had seen her and she did not appear on the Residence security logs ....             On AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Pillowfort. On tumblr. On Dreamwidth..

The first time Delia saw the woman, it was after a party at the Residence and she assumed that the woman had gotten lost.

The woman was at the other end of the hall, so Delia didn't get a good look at her face, but she was either one of those elderly women who refused to adapt to changing fashion, or playing dress-up. And she was wearing a day dress, not a gown suitable for a Residence event. All this Delia took in at a glance, years of experience with Tante Alys having trained her eye.

Regardless, she shouldn't be here, in the North Wing, which was mostly offices and infrastructure, and not somewhere party guests should wander freely. "Can I help you?" Delia called.

The woman glanced back at Delia and glided silently around a corner. Delia followed quickly, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. She'd probably stepped into one of the offices that lined the hall; some of them were still open, as this was the hall that housed the Social Secretary's office (which in the off-season was Delia's domain; since Gregor's wedding, Tante Alys was no longer needed as hostess, and that meant she could take extended vacations, leaving the day-to-day work to Delia to manage). On nights when there was a ball or formal dinner or other event at the Residence, it was all hands on deck for the Secretaries. Most such work took place at the event, of course, but there were frequently details that were easier to handle in the quiet of their offices.

Sure enough, Dowager Countess Vorlakial's office door was open, and the lights were on; as the Secretary with the highest social rank, she had a suite instead of a single office. Delia peeked inside, but the mystery lady wasn't there.

Delia glanced around. Madam Stasia Vorreedi, Dowager Countess Vorlakial's eldest granddaughter, was coming down the hall, presumably to collect her grandmother.

"Madam Vorreedi, what a pleasure to see you," Delia said. "I hope you enjoyed this evening?" It had been a dinner and concert put on as a benefit for the Lady Vorbohn's Children's Hospital, and the only issues Delia's team had had to deal with had been minor and (hopefully) invisible to the Imperial Family and their guests.

"Of course," Madam Vorreedi said, reserved as always. "I congratulate you on your entertainment; that soprano gave the best performance of the Lady of the Lake's aria I've heard in a long time. Where did you find her?" Madam Vorreedi was a snob, and Delia didn't much care for her, but even when Delia had been a young prole just starting to attend Residence events on the strength of her parents' careers and the other woman had been a Count's daughter hoping to become Empress, Madam Vorreedi had been perfectly polite. It was better than a lot of her peers and friends had been.

"Thank you," Delia said. "One of my husband's men heard her performing in the Kithera Regional Opera, in Vorbretten's District. He passed the recommendation along." She glanced around. "Did you see a woman in the hall just now, in a day dress thirty years out of date? She was wearing an olive green dress made of structured and pleated silks in the Ezarian style, with leg-of-mutton sleeves on the bolero jacket; it was very fine, though I only caught a glimpse of it. She had dark hair styled in a tall, elaborate bouffant."

Madam Vorreedi shook her head. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen anyone of that description tonight."

"Thank you anyway," Delia said, and took her leave with a curtsey that was much shallower than it had been back when Delia was a girl. Madam Vorreedi still out-ranked her, technically, but Delia's post as Lady Alys' right-hand woman gave her a prestige and power that even a Count's daughter could not equal.

As she walked away, Delia pulled out a commlink and reported the encounter to Colonel Vingradov, who was in charge of security this evening. It was probably nothing; this floor of the North Wing had relatively low security, because the social secretary did business with a wide variety of people, and the Imperial family seldom came here. When Gregor or Laisa needed to be involved in planning an event, Alys and Delia went to them, not the other way around. (Gregor's office was in this wing, but on a different floor and just off the main block of the Palace, and there was much tighter security there.) It wasn't uncommon for people related to the staff to drop by for a visit, either.

Still. It was the Residence, and it was better safe than sorry.

That done, Delia collected the items from her office that she'd come to get, and headed out to the side entrance where Duv was waiting for her. The event was over, the servants were handling the cleanup, and anything else could wait until the next day.

***

Delia was woken up the next morning by her husband kissing her cheek. "What time is it?" she said sleepily.

"Still early," Duv said, "but not all of us get time off work because we attended a party last night." He smiled and straightened his collar in the mirror.

"The party was work, not play, for me," Delia said. "Excellent soprano notwithstanding. So I get time off to compensate. Thank Lieutenant Galnis for me." That was the nice thing about working at the Residence. Tante Cordelia had long since insisted on sensible and fair rules on pay and time off for everyone from the lowest scullery maid to the top staff. Even now, thirty years later, you still got Vor complaining that it gave proles 'ideas,' to have such a standard in the Palace, but few of them did it where Delia could hear.

"I'll pass on your compliments," Duv said. He gave her another kiss and headed off to work.

***

When she got to the office that afternoon, after a luxurious lie-in, there was a note from ImpSec on her comconsole. No woman matching that description had entered or exited the Residence that night, or appeared in any of the public areas that had security cameras, and they assumed she had changed into the dress once here. They were doing an extra-thorough post-event sweep of the whole Residence, just in case, but didn't expect to find anything. Things were quiet, at the moment. The Council of Counts was in its summer recess, and neither the dissident Komarrans nor the anarchist proles were stirring up more trouble than usual.

Delia sat back. Changing the dress was certainly possible, and they did get people wanting to play out fantasies in the Residence every so often; usually, such people tried to break into the older section of the Palace, which had a more romantic history and also rooms more interesting than the offices of the North Wing. Maybe this had merely been a thrill-seeker smart enough to figure out she was less likely to get caught (and the penalties would be less severe) in a part of the Palace the Imperial Family spent little time in.

But that hair—that hair couldn't go unnoticed, and it took a long time to style. There was a reason it had mostly been confined to High Vor ladies before it went out of fashion. (Tante Cordelia liked to take credit for its demise, as she had refused to wear it, given how hard it was to maintain and how long it took to style every morning. Delia thought it was more likely the seasonal change of fashions combined with the growing use of galactic hair products among the common proles to achieve the same look in less time.) Still, it could have been a wig; but that plus the dress would make a very large suitcase or bag to carry, and ImpSec allowed few people to bring such things in, and searched them when they did.

Delia sent a note of her own pointing that out; competent as ImpSec was, they probably wouldn't know how long it would have taken to produce the woman's hairstyle, or how large the wig would have to have been if it were a wig.

Then she turned back to all the myriad details that had been neglected over the last few days in favor of finalizing plans for the concert.

***

Delia had mostly forgotten about the mystery lady in the three-decade-old fashions when she saw her again. It was an ordinary day in the Residence; it was the summer, which was traditionally a slow season for social events in Vorbarr Sultana. Now that few Counts were involved directly in the agricultural workings of their districts, that was changing; but it was an excellent excuse to lighten the schedule. And, given that Empress Laisa was only slightly more enthusiastic about entertaining than Emperor Gregor was, it was one the social staff took full advantage of. Tante Alys, for example, was currently at a resort on the South Continent.

“I’m wondering if we shouldn’t add a garden party to the schedule,” Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. “We haven’t done one in a few years, and it would add a nice variety.” They'd worked together for a few years, now, and had a good working relationship, but the Dowager Countess was not one to offer her first name to a prole woman so many decades her junior.

“The schedule for the remainder of the season is fairly set,” Delia said. Dowager Countess Vorlakial was very good at her job, and Delia had learned almost as much from her as from Lady Alys. But she did have a tendency to suggest changes at the last minute that were usually more disruptive than helpful. “You never mentioned it during our planning sessions, is there any particular reason you bring it up now?”

“Stasia asked why we haven’t done any lately,” she said. “The gardens at the palace are exquisite, and they’re only open to the public when there’s an event in them.”

“True,” Delia said. “We do get school tours through sometimes, but that’s not the same thing. We could look into opening up part of them when the Imperial Family is not in residence.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” the Dowager Countess said. “Of course the first step is asking ImpSec if it’s possible without compromising security, but it would be nice to bring my grandchildren here to see Empress Dimya’s roses. Stasia, in particular, has always loved them. She's noted for her roses, Stasia, I mean. And opening up the gardens would give access without needing to rearrange the schedule at this late date.”

“Probably,” Delia said. And also, most of the work would be done by ImpSec and the Visitor’s Office, not by the social secretaries. Tante Alys was not the only key member of the social staff on vacation. They had sufficient people for the few, small events on the schedule already. They did not have enough to whip up a new event at short notice. "You could talk to Lady Alys about putting a garden party on next summer's schedule."

“Provided I don't forget in the meantime," the Dowager Countess said. She looked up and brightened. "Ah, Stasia!” she said as her granddaughter entered. “What excellent timing! We were just discussing your suggestion of a garden party. Perhaps we’ll have one next year, but for this year, we shall see if we can open up the gardens a bit more for people to enjoy.”

“I do hope the omission of such an event is mere oversight,” Madam Vorreedi said, “and not a reflection of any … preferences or fears on the part of the Empress.”

Laisa did have a touch of the agoraphobia that Komarrans were prone to, but not very strongly. “Not at all,” Delia said with a smile. “She finds outdoor events quite charming. Which is part of the reason she and the Emperor will be attending the whole week of events around the Lorimel Derby Races. If there’s any one reason why there isn’t a garden party at the Residence this year, it’s that—between the Races and the Emperor’s personal retreat and the partial tour of the Vorbarra District he’s doing, there won’t be much time where the Emperor and Empress are actually in residence.”

“So she’s travelling with him, then?” Madam Vorreedi said. “Very devoted of her, of course; quite admirable. But if she’d stayed home, well, I’ve noticed she doesn’t really host many of her own events, does she? I’d hoped that having an Empress again would mean a return to the scale of entertaining Princess Kareen was known for.”

Madam Vorreedi had lost some of her subtlety since her marriage, Delia noted. She’d never have been that direct before. On the other hand, once she’d lost her chance at marrying the Emperor—or a Count, or Count’s heir, or into one of the handful of titled non-Count families—there was less reason to be circumspect.

“You were three years old when Princess Kareen died, Stasia,” said Dowager Countess Vorlakial with a laugh.

“But I’ve heard the stories,” Madam Vorreedi said. “And if Empress Laisa isn’t careful, Countess Vormorin will be known as the greatest hostess in Vorbarr Sultana, when it should rightfully be the Empress.”

“Hm,” said Delia. She wasn’t wrong, but Empress Laisa had far more projects in the works than Princess Kareen had been permitted. Hosting parties and soirees and balls and the like—and choosing who to honor, who to snub, and who to introduce to whom—had been the only sort of power or influence Kareen had been permitted. Laisa was free to work more directly, and often chose to do so.

“But I suppose you are here to tell me that I am running late,” the Dowager Countess said. “As usual.”

“Not yet, Grandmama,” Madam Vorreedi said with a smile. “But coming to collect you myself will save both of us no end of aggravation—and the children the disappointment of missing the first bit of the concert. Besides, you know I don't mind coming to visit you.”

And also, Delia noted silently, it was a good excuse for Madam Vorreedi to come to the Residence. She might not have the true prize—nor any title beyond Madam—but she had access to the Residence through her grandmother, and that was almost as good. There were Countesses who didn't have as much access as Madam Vorreedi did, and she used it.

“We’re going to a Children’s Theater event this evening,” the Dowager Countess told Delia. She gathered up her work items, realized something was missing, and began looking around for it.

“Don’t let me keep you from it,” Delia said. She picked up the stylus the Dowager Countess was probably looking for and handed it to her. “I hope you all have a lovely evening.”

“Thank you,” Madam Vorreedi said with a nod.

Delia stood to give them a proper curtsey, which they returned, before walking out of her office, arm-in-arm.

As they turned down the hall, the woman in unfashionable silk and an enormous bouffant hairstyle glided into view through the door, watching in the direction they had gone.

Delia sat frozen. This close, she could recognize the woman from her portrait.

The woman glanced at her, frowned, and turned back to follow the Dowager Countess and Madam Vorreedi.

This time, Delia didn’t bother reporting her.

What, after all, could ImpSec possibly do about a ghost?

***

“Not going to work this morning?" Duv asked when Delia joined him for toast and a piece of fruit the next morning.

“I’m taking a few hours off to go to the doctor,” Delia said. She was still in her bathrobe, and usually by this point in the morning she’d be out the door without eating. (She liked to breakfast in the Residence; they always had good food available for the staff, and it was much easier than preparing something herself this early in the morning.)

“Nothing serious, I hope?” Duv said, doing up his collar.

“It’s probably nothing,” Delia said. “But I thought I saw a ghost, yesterday, and I want to make sure there’s nothing neurological going on.”

“A ghost?” Duv frowned. “Here?”

They lived in a three-hundred-year-old building that had been converted into luxury flats a decade ago, so it was a logical assumption. “No,” Delia said. “At the Residence.”

“But you work in the wing that Cordelia burnt down,” Duv said. “And the Imperial Family aren’t in residence this week—why would you be in the old part of the Residence?”

“I was in my own office,” Delia said.

“Nobody’s died there since it was rebuilt, how would it get a ghost?” Duv asked.

“It was someone who died before it burned,” Delia said. “Just before.” In the very moments before it was set aflame, to hear Mama tell the story. “You believe in ghosts, Duv?”

“Of course I do,” Duv said. “They’re fairly common on Komarr. And I know Barrayarans believe in ghosts. That’s why you have so many ancestor veneration rituals.” He nodded to the shrine in the corner of the living room which you could just see from the dining room.

“Well, yes,” Delia said, feeling vaguely embarrassed. “And I do, sort of; at least, I don’t dis-believe. But I have very vivid memories of the time Tante Cordelia caught us girls telling ghost stories and gave us a talking-to about how there was no empirical evidence for the supernatural despite centuries of people trying to get it, and also, never to tell those stories where Gregor could hear. Or any galactic, if we didn’t want them to think we were stupid and provincial.”

Duv shrugged. “Betans. But of course, if science could analyze something, it wouldn’t be super-natural in the first place. Not all galactics are so relentlessly dismissive of anything that can’t be proved, you know.” He frowned. “Why was she worried about Gregor in particular?”

“The stories were about his mother, Princess Kareen,” Delia said. “Kareen—my sister—claimed she’d seen her a couple of times, mostly in the new wing. Olivia did, too, and we told ourselves she was looking for Vordarian to kill him, not realizing he was already dead. But we stopped telling those stories after that lecture.”

“I can see why she wouldn’t want you telling those stories around Gregor,” Duv said. “The last thing he needed was to worry about his mother being an unquiet spirit, or feel uncomfortable in his own home. It’s not like they could move him out of the Residence if he got scared.”

“No, not really,” Delia said. “Though that didn’t occur to us at the time; he was just enough older—and more serious—that I don’t think I would have believed he could be scared. I was only about nine or ten when we were telling those stories, you know.”

Duv nodded and hummed understanding through the bite he was chewing on. “So, do you know who the ghost is? Or at least what era? If they’re willing or able to talk, I’ve got a whole shipload of questions.”

“I know who it is,” Delia said, smiling. She could always tell he was relaxed and in a good mood when his passion for history came to the fore.

“Who?” Duv asked.

“Princess Kareen.”

***

As Delia had expected, the doctor found nothing; she was in perfect physical health. And the Residence's filtration systems were second only to ImpSec's filters in their thoroughness. The chances of environmental contamination causing hallucinations were practically non-existent.

So. The ghost of Princess Kareen probably was wandering around the Palace, or at least the wing she'd died in. Delia wondered if Gregor had ever seen her.

She found herself thinking back to the childhood ghost stories she and her sisters had told, and keeping an eye out for the Princess. But there was nothing. A few flickers in the corner of her eye that might have been something or just her imagination.

***

That night, she burned a lock of hair for Princess Kareen in the family shrine. Her mother had always included the Princess in the Koudelka family ancestor shrine, and Delia had continued that when she made one of her own. She had nothing to say to the older woman, no assurances to give or requests to make, so she simply watched the lock of hair burn and cleaned everything up.

***

"Any more ghost sightings?" Duv asked as they folded laundry together.

"No," Delia said. Duv was doing the folding; Delia was doing the fiddly bits of starching and ironing her dresses. If she didn't work in the Residence, she wouldn't bother with this level of precision, but given her job she had to look perfectly put together and correct any time she was out in public. "I've been keeping an eye out for her, but the only things I've seen have been things I might have imagined. You know how it is."

"When you're looking for something so hard that you're half convinced anything vaguely close might be it?" Duv said. "I do indeed."

"I've been remembering the stories we used to tell about her," Delia said. "We made up some pretty gruesome ones. Olivia was the best at it—not just with the ghost of Princess Kareen, but in general. One time she made the neighbor boy cry. I remember we told one of the stories to our parents, and Da was pretty shocked that his pretty, sweet girls were telling stories about beheadings and mutilations and unquiet ghosts dragging the unwary down to hell. Mama thought it was all in good fun."

"Do you remember any of the details of those stories?"

"No, not really, just the feeling of being scared and shocked in the fun way," Delia said. "Olivia might. Perhaps we should see if she remembers any of those old stories, and would share them at a family gathering."

Duv grinned. "I confess, I'm curious about the differences between Komarran ghost stories and Barrayaran ones."

"Maybe you should tell a few," Delia said.

"Maybe," Duv said. They worked in a companionable silence for a while. "I wonder two things, mainly. Well," he tilted his head, "three. But the two big ones are, why did she stop appearing to you when you were children, and why is she appearing again to you now?"

Delia shrugged. "I don't know. It might be that after Tante Cordelia told us off, we stopped looking."

"That doesn't sound like any of you," Duv said. "After hearing the stories your mother tells about you all, I'd expect being forbidden would be more an encouragement than discouragement."

Delia snorted. "We weren't half as bad as Miles was."

"That's not saying much," Duv said dryly.

"True. On the other hand, it might simply be that we started spending less time at the Residence. Gregor was getting older, and people were starting to notice us hanging around—I think there was a bit of gossip about our parents trying to 'ensnare' Gregor so he'd marry one of us instead of a Vor. And anyway, we were too much younger to be good playmates for him."

"And if you weren't around much, you couldn't see the ghost."

Delia didn't respond, dealing with a fiddly bit on a collar. She could take her laundry to a shop to be professionally handled, and then she wouldn't have to worry about things like this, and occasionally she was tempted. But then she and Duv wouldn't have the quiet time to talk, as they did now when doing the laundry.

"It might also be that I just decided it couldn't be real if Tante Cordelia didn't believe in it," Delia said once she was done with the collar. "I idolized her at that age."

"Did you ever see the Princess's ghost?"

"I don't remember, for sure," Delia said thoughtfully. "It was so long ago. I know Kareen saw her; we spooked her for a while, telling her that Princess Kareen was going to try to steal the body of her namesake so she could live again."

Duv snickered.

"I have vivid memories of some of the stories Olivia told," Delia said. "I don't know. I might have seen her? But I might also simply have been imagining things from the stories."

Duv hummed an understanding sound. As an ImpSec officer, he knew better than most how unreliable memory and eyewitness accounts could be, especially of things from a person's childhood. "It still doesn't answer why she's appearing to you now; you've been working in the Residence for a few years, and I would have thought you'd have seen any ghosts long before this."

"I wonder if anyone else has seen her," Delia said. "Or if I'm the only one. And I wonder if I have seen her before, and just didn't recognize her? But the hairstyle and the dress are so distinctive, surely I'd remember."

"I'd expect so," Duv said. "Given your sharp eye for fashion, and how observant you are in general." He finished the last of the folding and stood up to put the piles of clothes away.

"What was your third question?" Delia asked.

"Hm?"

"Your third question," Delia said. "You wanted to know why she stopped appearing to us kids, and why she's appearing to me now. What was the third one?"

"If there's any way to interview her," Duv said. "I'd bet her perspective on Ezar and Serg and Vordarian and the general socio-political milieu she lived in would be fascinating."

Delia laughed and turned back to her work as Duv started putting clothes away.

***

The third time Delia saw the ghost of Princess Kareen was at a party. It was at the Residence, but it was a small affair—a reception in honor of some minor accomplishment on the part of some Vorbarr Sultana civic group that was mainly an excuse for those High Vor who remained in the capital over the summer to gather and glitter to each other. The Imperial Family was still in the District, so Lady Alys was presiding, which made things much easier on Delia and her staff. The lowered security alone was a boon.

There wasn't any dancing this evening—that would be too large an event to be held in the Emperor's absence—merely dinner and speeches followed by chamber music and conversation in an interconnected set of salon rooms on the east side of the main block of the Residence. It was a little-used set of rooms gaudily decorated in the extravagant style of the first few years after the end of the Time of Isolation, when galactic materials had started coming in and the price of gemstones had fallen and people had gone a little wild with possibility. They'd chosen it mainly because they liked to rotate events through the public spaces of the Residence and neither Gregor nor Laisa particularly cared for it, which made it perfect for use in their absence.

Delia hadn't been looking for the ghost, that night; so far, Kareen had only appeared in the wing that she had died in, and that was on the other side of the main bulk of the building, with a few small courtyards in between here and there to boot.

But Delia placed her wine glass on a passing servant's tray, turned around, and there she was—the Princess. Not three feet away, staring at Delia, eyes wide, mouth open as if she were screaming.

The sound of the chamber quartet felt like it was coming from a long ways away.

Kareen reached out to her. Delia lifted a hand in response, but fell short.

She glanced around to see if anyone else was reacting to the ghost. Nothing. The people she could barely hear were talking and drinking as usual.

When she glanced back, the Princess was gone, and the sounds of the party came rushing back.

Delia looked around, to see if Kareen was still there. This was different than the other appearances. Then, she had been tranquil; now, something was wrong. She caught a flash of green out of the corner of her eye and turned to follow it.

And crashed straight into Madam Vorreedi.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry, madam," Delia said as she stepped back and disentangled herself, glad at least that neither had been holding wine glasses.

"You should be, Madam Galeni," Madam Vorreedi said crossly, adjusting her dress. It was new, and slightly more formal than Delia would have worn to an event like this; not quite a ballgown, but verging on it, with voluminous skirts that would sweep the floor gloriously in a waltz but mostly just got in the way of standing around talking. She stalked off to talk to someone else, and Delia scanned the room again for any sign of the ghost.

Nothing.

***

"I saw the ghost again, today," Delia told Duv as they got ready for bed. She stripped off her stockings and tossed them in the hamper, wriggling her toes on the carpet. "At the party. It was a lot more dramatic, this time. She was upset, and for just a moment it felt like the world fell away and it was only the two of us. Then she was gone."

"Did anyone else see her?" Duv asked, watching as she hung up her gown in the bag that would go to the cleaners.

"Not that I know of," Delia said. "Nobody else seemed to be looking at her. But then, I haven't told anyone at the Residence about her, either, so someone else may have and I don't know about it. Perhaps I'll ask around."

Duv nodded. "At the party—that means she's not confined to the North Wing where she died."

"She was wearing the same outfit, though," Delia said. "Same hairstyle. Which is not the outfit and style she died in—she'd come from Vordarian's bed."

"I didn't know that," Duv said, intrigued.

"What, Mama's never told you the story of rescuing baby Miles and killing the Pretender?" Delia asked, surprised. "Ask her—or Da—next time we see them. They both tell their parts of the story well. They were both on that raid, you know, though Da had to escort Lady Alys and baby Ivan to safety and wasn't there for the end parts."

"I will definitely do that," Duv said, and Delia smiled. She always appreciated when Duv-the-historian poked out from the focused ImpSec analyst; he was cute, and a little softer than normal. "Back to the ghost, though, I wonder what she wants. If this were a Komarran ghost story, she'd be looking for someone to possess, to try and regain her life."

"If this were a Barrayaran ghost story, she'd be looking for some way to take her revenge on the traitor who wronged her," Delia said.

"She's too late for that," Duv pointed out. "Vordarian and his top men either died fighting or were executed. Nobody left to take vengeance on."

"In Mama's stories, she doesn't seem to me the type of person who'd lay in wait for bloody revenge, either," Delia said. "Too practical. Too focused on surviving and protecting Gregor."

Duv hummed and nodded, still halfway in his history professor mindset. "Have you noticed any similarities between the encounters?"

"I've been thinking about that," Delia said. "Other than her clothing and the first two happening in the North Wing where she died, the only commonality is the presence of Madam Vorreedi."

"Vorreedi?" Duv said. "I don't know her."

"She's Dowager Countess Vorlakial's favorite granddaughter," Delia said, "and the only one who lives in the capital, so she's in our offices fairly regularly—her grandmother is an excellent hostess, but not always as organized or timely as one might wish. Stasia Vorlakial was one of the top candidates for Gregor's hand, when Lady Alys first started seriously pushing him to marry; her father's District is wealthy and populous, she's pretty, and marrying her would have given Gregor a bit more influence to keep her father in line. He never gave her any serious attention, though, and eventually she turned her attention to other potential husbands. She was ambitious, but not terribly so; she turned down Lord Vormorin when he asked her to marry him."

"Smart woman," Duv said.

"It doesn't matter how large and glittering your parties are if you're miserable and mistreated whenever you're not in public," Delia agreed. Lord—now Count—Vormorin's temper and vices were well known. "Anyway, he responded by spreading rumors about her that caused at least two prospective suitors to back off. She eventually married slightly beneath her—an untitled high Vor who'd used his allowance and the family influence to go into business, and done quite well for himself. From what her grandmother tells me, it's a stable relationship, and she's already plotting her oldest daughter's entrance to the social scene in a few years. Her bloodline plus her husband's money should make for quite a splash on the marriage market."

"What's Madam Vorreedi like as a person?" Duv asked.

Delia shrugged. "I don't know her well; we've been at a lot of the same parties, and she comes to visit her grandmother any excuse she gets, but we were never part of the same set and she's a few years older than I am. Her friends are all snobs; she probably is too, because these days even a High Vor can't maintain a Vor-only social circle by accident. But she never made any of the cutting remarks or open snubs that her friends did."

"All in all, she sounds like a fairly ordinary Vor lady," Duv said.

"She is," Delia said. "If she is a common factor, I've no idea what would draw Princess Kareen's ghost to her." If Madam Vorreedi were being abused, or harassed, or was having to trade on her looks and body to survive, that might be one thing; Delia knew enough of the truth about Princess Kareen's life to know the woman her mother had served would probably want to look out for someone suffering the same way she had. But as far as Delia knew, Madam Vorreedi had a perfectly ordinary and satisfying life, albeit a rung or two down the social ladder from where she might have expected to end up. And Delia was quite certain that if there was abuse or other serious problems in Madam Vorreedi's marriage, Dowager Countess Vorlakial would have at least hinted at it.

"Does she look like anyone Princess Kareen might have known or cared about?"

"Not that I know," Delia said. "I don't think the Princess had many friends, by the end; no sisters, not close with her brothers, and Serg's jealousy kept her from getting close to people after she married him." Delia considered, and remembered her earlier comment about revenge. "Madam Vorreedi is the Pretender's cousin once removed, and she does have the Vordarian profile."

Duv waived a hand. "That could also describe at least ten percent of the people at the party tonight, given Vor inbreeding."

"True," Delia said.

"On the subject of looking like people, you look a lot like your mother did at your age," Duv pointed out. "Maybe that's why the ghost is showing up to you now. Your mother rarely attends events at the Residence these days … but you do."

"Why would a ghost need a bodyguard?" Delia asked. She turned back the covers and climbed into bed.

"I have no idea," Duv said, climbing in the other side of the bed.

Delia settled in and closed her eyes. She was drifting off to sleep when she realized. "What if it's not the ghost that needs a bodyguard?" she asked. "What if there's some danger to Gregor? Mama was his bodyguard, too."

"He wasn't even in the same town as the ghost tonight, though," Duv said. "But I'll ask them to bump up the alert level on his security, temporarily."

***

The next day, Delia called her mother.

"Princess Kareen's ghost?" Mama said, in some surprise. "I know you girls used to try to scare yourselves with stories about her, but nobody else ever saw her." There was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"Did you want to see her?" Delia asked.

"I'd prefer her rest was undisturbed of course," Mama said. "But I wouldn't mind seeing her one last time, to say good-bye. Everything was so frantic, the morning she died. It was so sudden."

"You're welcome to come visit me at the Residence, of course," Delia said. Mama had a better right to be there, as the Emperor's former bodyguard, than any of the guests the rest of the social secretaries invited in. "I can't guarantee she'll show up while you're there, but you can try."

"I may do that," Mama said.

"What do you think she wants?" Delia asked. "There's nobody left to take revenge on."

"No," Mama said. "Between Emperor Ezar and your Tante Cordelia and her own actions, nobody who did her serious wrong outlived her. As to any other motivation to leave her grave …" Mama sighed. "It's hard to say. By the time I knew her, she had pared herself down to the essentials. Of the things she wanted and needed, she was permitted so little. Her entire focus, when I knew her, was to protect Gregor and herself, in that order, as much as she was able to. Everything else was … only on the surface."

What a sad life it must have been. Mama had been careful, when they were little, not to say too much about Kareen's life that didn't fit with what was publicly known. In particular, Delia didn't know that she'd ever heard her mother mention the late Prince Serg more than in passing. Which, when you added that to all the little hints Delia had put together as an adult, was telling.

"I'll let you know if I think of anything," Mama said.

"Thank you," Delia said.

***

Delia started asking discreetly around, and found that while other people had, on occasion, seen something out of the corner of their eye that might have been the ghost of Princess Kareen, she was the only one who had seen her fully and recognized her for who she was.

"Hardly surprising that she'd haunt this wing, new though it is," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. "Poor dear. Though at least she's not in the private portions where the Emperor might have to deal with the unquiet ghost of his mother roaming the halls when he's trying to sleep."

"We should probably burn an offering," Delia said. "And I'll have to tell the Emperor," she realized. "He'll probably want to burn an offering, too." Gregor had been raised by Tante Cordelia, and her cool Betan logic had been even more of an influence on him than on Delia and her sisters; she didn't know if he believed in ghosts or not. Still, he should know and have the chance to make the decision to burn an offering himself. For the first time, she realized she should have asked him what he wanted before mentioning his mother's ghost to others. Now that a few people knew, it would spread; and if he didn't burn an offering, there would be talk.

"Your mother was quite close to her," the Dowager Countess said. "So was Lady Alys. They should know, so that they can burn an offering; and either would know if there is anyone else who should be notified." She sighed. "It's been so long, and I was never of the Princess's set; I can't think who else should be notified besides her brother, Count Vorinnis. Lady Alys would probably be best for that, as a friend of the Princess." After the dinner party, Lady Alys had gone to attend a house party given by Count Vorpatril in his District. Several of the leading lights of the Conservative Party were also in attendance, and while Lady Alys would make little headway on political matters, her presence would nevertheless serve as a conduit for unofficial contact between the factions, providing a bit of the social glue that kept the Council of Counts as functional as it ever was.

"I'll ask her," Delia said.

***

"This is news that should be broken in person," Lady Alys said over the comconsole. "He'll be back in a few days—do you want me to come and tell him?"

"No," Delia said. "I'm the one who's seen her, so he'll probably want to talk to me anyways. You should stay with your cousin." For all that Tante Alys liked to talk about stepping back and handing responsibility to Laisa and her staff, she had a hard time actually doing it. Delia knew from experience that if Alys came back now, she would dive back into work beyond just notifying Gregor of the ghost, never mind that she was supposed to be on vacation. On more than one occasion, it had taken Uncle Simon to extract Tante Alys from the Residence when she was supposed to be on vacation.

"Very well," Lady Alys said. "I'll give you a list of Kareen's close friends—though I warn you, it isn't long. Kareen kept most people at arms' length until they had proven themselves trustworthy; she had many allies, and many hangers-on, but few true friends. Nobody she would regret losing if their husbands joined factions opposed to Ezar."

In other words, Delia noted to herself, nobody whose husbands might support Serg. Delia enjoyed the social whirl of the capital, loved the dresses and the music and the parties, and above all she loved the exercise of soft power, influencing Barrayar's upper classes through social levers. But her life didn't depend on it, and if she'd wanted to do something else she could have done almost anything she wanted. Kareen had played the same game with less freedom and higher stakes. "Well," Delia said. "It's just as well—Gregor will probably want something small and intimate."

***

People walked around the North Wing a bit more cautiously as they waited for Gregor to come and burn his offering, though nobody saw Princess Kareen in the meantime, not even Delia.

***

"Usually, when people ask to see me, they don't get an appointment without telling my secretary at least the general gist of what they want," Gregor observed neutrally. He and Laisa were seated on one of the two couches in his office; Delia was sitting in the other, directly across from them. "If this were a matter of social planning, you would not have been this coy with Kevi."

"It's a personal matter, Sire," Delia said. "I've seen a ghost in the North Wing and some salons in the East Block. Nobody else has got a good look at it, but others have seen little bits of it."

"A ghost," Gregor said. He glanced at Laisa, then back to Delia. "Whose ghost?"

"Your mother, Sire," Delia said. "It was unmistakably Princess Kareen."

Gregor turned his head and looked at a landscape painting on the wall, reaching out blindly to grasp Laisa's hand. "Have you burned an offering yet?"

"Not in the Residence," Delia said. "By the time I realized what was going on, you were going to be back soon, and we thought we should wait."

"Very considerate of you," he said, quietly, the way he had when they were children and he was tired or hurting and didn't want to show it. With his face turned away, she couldn't tell any more than that.

"I've read about offerings, of course," Laisa said, and Delia blessed her silently for speaking and allowing her husband time to compose himself, "but I've never seen one. Should I come? Should I burn something, too? In this context, what is it for?"

"It's for a number of things," Delia said, when Gregor didn't answer. "Respect, remembrance, appeasement—a loved one might burn an offering to provide comfort to the spirit; an enemy might burn an offering to try and convince the ghost to leave them alone. You could burn something if you wanted; as her daughter-in-law it's your responsibility to see that a proper offering is made, but not necessarily to do it yourself. And to help your children with it until they're old enough to make an offering themselves."

Laisa nodded.

"Have you plotted out exactly where she died, or as close as we can get to it?" Gregor asked, still looking at the painting.

"Yes, sire," Delia said. "It's a conference room, now."

Gregor nodded.

"Would you like a private ceremony, or will you allow the staff to be present?" Delia turned to Laisa. "None of us knew her, but as people who work in the places where her ghost has been, many of the staff would like to pay our respects."

"I'd like it to be private," Gregor said. "Just the family, and Count Vorinnis and Lady Alys and Drou if they want to come. The staff can make their own offerings at another time."

"Of course, Sire," Delia said.

***

"Is the staff scared of the ghost?" Laisa asked, afterwards, when she and Delia had retreated to Laisa's office.

"Many are," Delia said. "Either about what the ghost might do, or about the bad luck ghosts often bring with them."

"You're not afraid, though," Laisa said, looking her up and down.

"No," Delia said. "My mother was her bodyguard, and probably her closest confidant. She's an ancestor in my family shrine. I doubt she'd do anything to hurt me, and ghosts are only bad luck when they're other peoples' ghosts. Or when you don't light proper offerings."

"Gregor didn't look afraid, to me," Laisa said. "He looked sad."

"She was his mother," Delia said. "Nobody wants to think of someone they loved being driven or called out of their grave."

"Of course," Laisa said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not much besides burning offerings for her," Delia said.

The conversation turned to upcoming social events, where they were in the planning for them, and what Laisa's specific hostessing duties would be at each of them.

"And we might want to have a garden party next summer," Delia said towards the end. "It's too late to get one onto the schedule for this year, but it's been noted that we haven't done one in some time."

"You have a specific type of party for gardens?" Laisa asked, delighted as she often was by some minutia of etiquette that was different from Komarr's. "Of course you do. The idea is charming. Tell me more about what they're like—or, no, we don't have time today," she said, checking her chrono. "And next summer is a ways off, yet."

"Of course," Delia said, gathering her materials.

"I'm sorry to cut this short," Laisa said. "I've only got two hours to read a whole briefing book, before my meeting with the Minister of Galactic Trade. I think I'm finally making some headway with him, but every time I don't have even the smallest fact perfectly to hand in the moment, I can just see him start to doubt."

"Good luck," Delia said.

"Oh, I don't need luck," Laisa said. "Preparation and a solid strategy beat luck every time—especially now that I'm Empress and he can't just dismiss my ideas even when he wants to."

***

Delia wasn't invited to the Emperor's offering, and Lady Alys handled the arrangements; Count Vorinnis and her mother and Lady Alys joined the Emperor the next day in the conference room that was now where the hall Kareen had died in used to be.

Empress Laisa wasn't present; the Crown Prince had been deemed too young to make an offering himself, although a lock of his hair would be burned along with his father's and a gene scan of the younger brother who was currently gestating in a uterine replicator. Laisa would be with him, instead of making an offering herself. Not that she was needed for childcare, but it was an acceptable excuse for her not to be present. Count Vorinnis was currently a vocal opponent of one of Laisa's policy proposals, and nobody wanted politics to intrude.

After they were done, the room was left available for anyone who worked in that wing to make an offering of their own; another brazier was set up in the gardens outside for the rest of the staff.

Delia made another offering, of course; actually, she made two, one in the conference room and one at home.

***

The offering in the conference room was merely the standard lock of hair; perfectly unexceptionable, perfectly correct in etiquette.

The offering in the ancestor shrine at home was different. "You didn't die in vain, Princess Kareen," Delia murmured, watching the flimsies burn. "Your son's rule is stable, he's happy and healthy, and his wife is a wonderful woman who's not trapped as you were."

"Can I ask what you burned?" Duv asked when she was done. "Or is that private?"

"It can be," Delia said. "What the offerings mean is private, but not always the objects themselves. But I don't mind. This time, I burned an ImpSec security bulletin for the Residence with a low threat level, and a copy of the upcoming social schedule, and one of Laisa's policy proposals."

Duv thought about that for a minute. "The security bulletin, to show that her son is safe and his throne secure," he said slowly. "The social schedule, because she was a noted hostess?"

Delia nodded.

"I don't understand the policy proposal, though," Duv admitted.

"Princess Kareen's live was very … circumscribed," Delia said. "I wanted her to see that her daughter-in-law isn't restricted, the way Kareen was. I think she'd like to know things are better now. I would, if I were her."

***

Nobody saw the ghost again for another week or so after that, and people started to relax. Madam Vorreedi had visited a few times and there had been no apparitions following her around. Delia still kept an eye out, but then, it was her job to be observant and alert for anything out of place.

It was good that people were settling down; the fall session of the Council of Counts was starting in less than a month and the High Vor were trickling back into the capital. And of course Tante Alys was back, and she would never permit superstition to interfere in the running of their office, especially not at such a crucial time. The number and variety of social events at the Residence was beginning to pick back up, although they wouldn't be into the full whirl of things until the Council Opening Ball marked the opening of the social calendar. Which meant things were very busy in the offices of the social secretaries.

Not only with the official business of organizing everything, but with the social lives of the staff. Most of them had a daughter or sister or niece or cousin or friend or someone who was looking for a husband, and the connections and information that came with their work were definite advantages in the marriage market. As long as it didn't affect their work or the Emperor's political moves, Lady Alys didn't care.

"I've lost track," Delia admitted to Dowager Countess Vorlakial as they chatted before a meeting. "Do you have a granddaughter coming out this year?"

"Yes, my youngest," the Dowager Countess said with a smile. "Lysl. Her first ball will be the Council Opening Ball. Stasia has taken her under her wing, and is being such a help."

Delia almost asked why she wasn't attending the ball that Countess Vormorin had just announced she would be hosting three days before the Council Opening Ball. It had surprised everyone, and there were all sorts of rumors flying about the musicians and the decorations and the refreshments—there was supposed to be some sort of surprise, which Delia was deeply curious about. It was an obvious attempt to undermine the primacy of the Council Opening Ball as the start of the social season, and it seemed to be working; it was currently the most sought-after invitation in Vorbarr Sultana. But of course no Vorlakial had gone to a social event hosted by now-Count Vormorin since the disastrous end to his courtship of Stasia Vorlakial.

"Madam Vorreedi has excellent taste, and I'm sure she'll be quite a help."

"I'm so lucky to have her," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. "I'm getting too old to both work here and chaperone a girl around town during the season; and Lysl's mother … well."

Lysl Vorlakial's mother had been born a prole, the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, and a good match for a younger son who would not be inheriting and had no particular martial aptitudes. But she had never quite mastered the nuances of the High Vor social scene. "If you're thinking about retiring, do let us know ahead of time," Delia said. "You would be difficult to replace." It wasn't just her skills and connections that would be missed; anyone of similar rank they brought in might think that she would be the one to take over from Tante Alys when she retired, with prole Delia stuck as a permanent assistant. Dowager Countess Vorlakial had no such ambitions and was content that, when the time came, she would pass seamlessly from being Lady Alys's deputy to Delia's.

"That's kind of you to say, dear, and I will try not to blind-side you when the time comes," she said. "But I'm not planning on stepping down any time soon."

The meeting started; it was a simple run-down of where they were in the arrangements for the Council Opening Ball. Everything was right on schedule, and the only issues so far were minor ones.

"Should we consider expanding the event in some way?" one of the junior members of the team said hesitantly once the reports were done. "Countess Vormorin is … sort of stealing the Emperor's thunder."

"And that should by all means be avoided, if possible," Tante Alys said briskly. "Does anyone have suggestions?"

"It would have to be something extravagant," Delia said. "There's no point in upending our schedule at this late date for something mediocre."

Unsurprisingly, several people had interesting suggestions; Lady Alys's staff was very good. A list of possibilities was created, and once they'd run out of ideas they evaluated each one. None had the right mix of being both impressive enough and something they could pull off in time, though several got noted down as ideas for future events.

"It's better to save the impressiveness for a future event than risk something going wrong at the Council Opening Ball," Lady Alys said at last. "We shall keep our existing plans for the Ball, and focus on making Winterfair an event that no mere Countess could upstage." The meeting broke up soon after, although a number of people stayed to chat.

Delia didn't leave immediately; it was close to the end of the work day, and everything left in her inbox could wait a day or two, which made it a perfect time for informal chats and touching bases with people. She was in the middle of a conversation with one of the under-secretaries when Princess Kareen appeared in the doorway, eyes wide and full of tears, staring at Delia.

"Madam Galeni?" the under-secretary said.

"Sorry," Delia said, tearing her eyes away from the ghost. She answered the under-secretary's question and the woman thanked her and left.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said, voice filled with foreboding.

"I have," Delia said quietly. "She was just here. In the doorway." And Madam Vorreedi wasn't. Which eliminated that common thread of the encounters.

"And from the look of her, young Velana did as well," Vorlakial said, nodding at someone over Delia's shoulder.

Delia looked, and sure enough, Velana Vorbretten—one of the many junior secretaries—was pale and staring at the doorway. Delia and Vorlakial went over to her.

"You saw her?" Velana said.

"Yes," Delia said. "You needn't be scared. I don't think she's out for revenge; everyone she might have wanted revenge on has been dead for three decades, at this point. And all the times I've seen her, she's never seemed violent."

"It's not that," Velana said. "It's just … she was so sad."

"Well, this is near where she died," Delia pointed out. It was next door to the room they'd done the offerings in.

"One wonders why she appeared now, though," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. "Princess Kareen was a great hostess, but I would expect her to haunt parties, not planning sessions."

"Maybe she's upset that her son's ball is being upstaged?" Velana said.

"I doubt that even such a noted hostess as the Princess would find that a tragedy worth coming out of her grave for," Delia said.

"And Princess Kareen's response to someone challenging her place as head of the social scene was not to grieve, but to demolish the opposition and put them in their place," the Dowager Countess said. "Well! It is something to consider."

As Delia and Vorlakial left the conference room, they found Madam Vorreedi and her cousin Lysl waiting.

"Grandmama!" Lysl said, practically bouncing on her toes. "I do hope we're not intruding—Stasia said it would be fine to visit you here—I couldn't wait to show you what the gowns are going to look like!"

"Of course, dear," the Dowager Countess said indulgently.

So, Delia thought to herself. Kareen is connected to Madam Vorreedi in some way.

***

"I still have no idea what the connection might be," Delia said that night to Duv.

"Neither do I," Duv said. "I pulled her file." ImpSec had files on every girl who'd been considered as a match for Gregor. "Nothing out of the ordinary, no connection to the Princess that I could see, no disaffection or connection to any groups on our watchlist. She serves as her husband's hostess, she has no job of her own but sits on the board of several charities, and her major hobby is gardening—she's a member of the Vorbarr Sultana Horticultural Guild. Her file hasn't been updated in some time, beyond the ordinary sort of biographical detail we keep track of in all High Vor."

Delia shrugged. "I don't see that there's anything to be done besides keep making offerings for Kareen and keep my eyes open."

Duv nodded.

"Any Komarran words of wisdom for dealing with a ghost?"

"Not really," Duv said. "Or, there might be some, but I don't know it. I was too busy as a kid to spend much time listening to ghost stories and folk tales."

Delia knew what he had been doing, and changed the subject.

***

The day of Countess Vormorin's ball was a busy one for Delia; there was a presentation of awards to a selection of students who had done noteworthy projects in the morning, and tea in the afternoon in honor of the Vordrozda Center for the Performing Arts. Since Madam Vorreedi was on the board of Vordrozda Center, Delia was on alert.

Gregor had done the awards in the morning, and Laisa was doing the tea; they sometimes split the minor events up like that, so that both could maximize their time doing more important work.

The tea went smoothly. The food was good, the speeches went well, the conversation flowed easily. Once the programmed aspect of the event was done and all that was left was the socializing, Delia circulated among the ladies, nurturing the connections that her work required.

She was in the middle of a conversation on the latest fashions—gloves seemed to be coming back in style—when a flash of green caught her eye, and she excused herself to look around.

Princess Kareen's ghost was looking in through the windows, face contorted with emotion, mouth working as if she were trying to speak. The hum of conversation and the clink of teacups and saucers faded from Delia's ears, and she turned to follow where the ghost was looking.

She seemed to be looking at Madam Vorreedi and Laisa, who were speaking together. Delia stared, trying to see what was agitating Princess Kareen.

There! Almost without thinking, Delia took three long steps and grabbed Madam Vorreedi's gloved wrist.

"Madam Galeni, what are you doing?" Madam Vorreedi said. "Let go of me."

Laisa, eyes wide, had backed up a few steps, and the crowd was beginning to turn to watch the altercation.

"Of course," Delia said quietly. "After you drop whatever's in your hand. You don't want to make a scene, do you? Your grandmother would be so disappointed."

"I—it's only a leaf," Madam Vorreedi said.

"Then you won't mind if ImpSec scans it," Delia said. "Show it to me."

Madam Vorreedi turned her hand over and opened it. Delia sucked in a breath. That was Rosy Corpseweed. It was a native Barrayaran plant, and it was deadly. It was also rare, and native to the South Continent; if Delia hadn't had to undergo basic security training to work in the Residence, she'd never have known what it was. There was no way for it to have gotten here, to Vorbarr Sultana, by accident.

Delia looked up at the armsman who had come to see what the trouble was, and angled Madam Vorreedi's hand so he could see what was in it.

His eyes went wide and his hand fell to the stunner on his hip. At a hand signal, an ImpSec guard approached. "Madam, you will come with us now."

Delia relinquished Madam Vorreedi's hand and let the two security men take her away. She looked up to see if Kareen was still there. She was; there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. She nodded, and Delia nodded back. Then Princess Kareen turned and vanished. There were a few gasps throughout the room.

That ought to be good for a public-relations boost for Laisa, Delia thought to herself. People seeing Princess Kareen's ghost working to protect her Komarran daughter-in-law. She wondered if she should wash her hands; she couldn't remember how deadly the poison was, or how much contact you needed for an effect. And there was no way to know how much residue might have been on Madam Vorreedi's gloves.

"Thank you, Madam Galeni," Laisa said. "That leaf she had, it was poisonous?"

"Yes," Delia said.

Another Vorbarra armsman was at Laisa's side now. "Ma'am, we should take you to a secure location." ImpSec officers were flooding into the room and Delia sighed at the thought of the hours of paperwork and reports she'd have to make.

"Of course," Laisa said.

***

"I haven't seen the report, yet," Duv said that evening. Being head of Komarran Affairs, a purely home-grown assassination attempt was outside his field. "Have they figured out why she targeted Laisa? Was she jealous that she didn't get to be Empress?"

"Not really," Delia said. She considered. "Sort of. Actually, it mostly seems to be resentment of Countess Vormorin."

"But she turned down the chance to be Countess Vormorin, and she hates Count Vormorin," Duv said, baffled.

"She's not jealous, she just thinks the entire Vormorin family should be humbled and humiliated after the way they spoiled her chances," Delia said. "Apparently, she's been quietly furious that Countess Vormorin is the rising star in the Vorbarr Sultana social scene, and that Laisa hasn't been entertaining on a scale to leave Vormorin in the dust. By killing her, she'd cast a pall over any entertainment Countess Vormorin tried to hold, and also open up the field so that Gregor might marry someone else—someone who might put Countess Vormorin in her place. And Count Vormorin with her."

Duv shook his head. "Why didn't she try to poison Countess Vormorin? Or the Count himself? That would solve the problem more directly."

"Couldn't get close enough," Delia said. "Everyone in town knows about the Vorlakial/Vormorin feud, and what caused it. If Stasia Vorlakial Vorreedi showed up to an event that Count and Countess Vormorin were at, everyone would be watching. Not that anybody would have suspected assassination, but it would be the hottest gossip in town. What I don't understand is why she was willing to hurt her family this way—she has to know what it will do to their standing, and especially her cousin Lysl who is supposed to make her debut this year."

"She probably thought nobody would have connected it with her," Duv said. "Rosy Corpseweed is deadly, but doesn't act quickly, and it's not on the standard tox screens because it's so rare. If she managed to smuggle the leaf out with her the same way she smuggled it in, nobody would have known when and how Laisa was exposed to it, even after we'd figured out she was poisoned."

"It's such a flimsy plan," Delia said. "And even with her explanation I'm not sure why she fixated on the Empress."

"People do crazy things, sometimes," Duv said. "It's what makes security work so difficult—if only everyone committed treason sensibly, my job would be a lot easier."

"I'm glad I don't have your job," she said. "Mine is quite enough for me."

"Oh, I don't know, you did a good enough job today," Duv said. "Your mother will be proud."

"And probably sorry she wasn't there to see the Princess," Delia said. "They were very close." She paused. "I wonder if we'll see the ghost again, or if Princess Kareen will rest easier now her daughter-in-law is out of danger."

"It'll be interesting to see," Duv said. "But I guarantee you that if she does show up again, ImpSec and the Vorbarra armsmen will be on high alert."

"Listened to in death the way she wasn't in life," Delia said with a sigh.

***

The next day came a painful interview with Dowager Countess Vorlakial. Tante Alys hosted the three of them in her apartments, not in the Residence. The Dowager Countess had been cleared with fast-penta and had known nothing about her granddaughter's plans, but if they met in their usual offices in the Residence, there would be gossip.

Dowager Countess Vorlakial looked as if she had aged five years overnight. Her toilette was impeccable as always, but her face was gray and drawn.

"I'm so very sorry, Lady Alys," she said, eyes fixed on the teacup in her hands. "I should have known. We've always been close, and I dine with her family at least once a week."

"She herself said she knew you would not approve her plans, and also that she did not want you to be implicated if she were caught," Tante Alys said.

"I thought I knew her," the Dowager Countess said. "I thought … I knew she was restless, and a bit bored; her husband doesn't entertain on the scale she would like, you know. They could afford more, but he only cares for the sort of parties that will make connections for his company. When their children are of an age to be launched in society that will change, but in the meantime, I encouraged her to be more active in her charity work and come to events at the Residence. All of the fun and none of the work. And I knew she'd never let go of her hatred of Vormorin, and honestly I don't blame her after what he said about her. But I still don't see—none of that was the Emperor's fault, and it certainly wasn't Empress Laisa's!" She shook her head. "I just can't believe she'd do such a thing."

Delia thought that Stasia Vorreedi might have been better off with some occupation other than being a Vor Lady. Something to do with her time besides run a household and work the social scene and coo over her children when the nanny brought them in for inspection. Take classes, get a job, something that would have given her more to do than fret over a decade-old slander and drawn her out into the larger world where nobody cared about it. But Delia didn't say anything; what was the point, at this late date? The Vorlakials were conservative, but even if they'd been willing to support their daughter in some novel endeavor, she doubted Stasia herself would ever have chosen it. She was too much a woman of her class, too conscious of her heritage. Kareen had been trapped by her position and her husband and the time she had lived in. Stasia Vorreedi had been trapped mostly by her own pride.

"The question is, what now?" Tante Alys said, not unkindly.

"My son has already disowned her," the Dowager Countess said. "And Vorreedi has begun divorce proceedings. I may be given custody of her daughters—nobody else in the family wants them, and it's not their fault, poor dears. Lysl will postpone her debut, to give things time to settle down." She drew herself up and met Lady Alys's eyes for the first time since sitting down. "And of course I shall be resigning my post. I am so sorry, Lady Alys, for the scandal I have inadvertently brought to your office."

"We shall miss you, dear Lady Genevie," Tante Alys said.

"It wasn't your fault," Delia said. "Nobody could have predicted that her curdled hate and jealousy of the Vormarins would result in treason against the Empress. And yes, we'll miss you; you'll be very hard to replace."

"That's very kind of you to say," the Dowager Countess said bleakly. "But whether it's true or not won't stop people saying otherwise."

"I wish you well in all your endeavors," Lady Alys said. "If you should need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Your granddaughter's treason does not outweigh your loyal service."

***

Once the Dowager Countess had left, Delia turned to Tante Alys. "How do you think Princess Kareen knew, when no one else did?"

"Princess Kareen was a very astute woman," Tante Alys said. "She always did know better than anybody else what was happening in the Residence; it was how she was as effective as she was, despite everything. And of course she loved her son very much."

"Of course," Delia said. "Let's hope she alerts us again, if there's another threat nobody notices."

"Let's hope that isn't necessary," Tante Alys said tartly.

"I'm not quite that naïve," Delia said. "ImpSec does its best, but nobody—and no intelligence service—is perfect." She changed the subject. "How do you think this will affect the Council Opening Ball tomorrow?"

Tante Alys grimaced. "Besides the gossip and Lady Genevie's departure leaving us shorthanded, it will affect several of the political alliances in the Council of Counts," she said.

Delia grimaced and began thinking through the likely chain of reactions, and she and Tante Alys began working up a plan to mitigate—and take advantage of—the fractures. She wondered if Princess Kareen, the legendary hostess, was watching over this, too, and hoped she was happy with their efforts.

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Extended endnotes for "The Countess, Destruction"

As I said in the Ao3 endnotes, I ran out of characters and had to cut them a bit short. So, here's the very extended version, all with links, citations, and pictures! (Please read the chapter first before reading the endnotes, of course.)

This chapter was also very much created with the help of Google Maps, Ciel's stink eye, and a bag of devil fruit fruit gum <3

Bridges and Walks

In 1846, Cloudia and Milton take a very long, very weird walk through the city. Mapping it was rather fun, though also a bit finicky because I had to check every bridge’s creation date. Blackfriars Bridge existed in 1846, as did Waterloo Bridge. But Hungerford Bridge and the Golden Jubilee Bridges, the bridges that come “next in line”? No! The former opened in 1864, the latter in 2002. Unfortunately (?), all the bridges between Westminster and Putney Bridge just did not exist in 1846, and that’s why their track looks like this:

(This leaves out their starting point somewhere in the Square Mile where the Salisbury Trading HQ is.)

It’s safe to say that they got one hell of a workout XD They stopped right by Hyde Park, and then, Milton surprised Cloudia by going in the direction of Kensington Palace (up; that empty square is where the palace is) and not back to where Holland House is. (Holland Park was constructed between 1860 and 1880, so I couldn’t use it as a pointer. Holland House is there where the park is though.) Cloudia, herself, went right towards Mayfair. Where Milton went? Well… that’s for another day (and year omg).

I picked Blackfriars Bridge as Cloudia’s favourite bridge because of its significance in The Infernal Devices (in which the protagonists fight against automatons, and all instalments are called Clockwork [Something] heh; that series is also set in the Victorian era, but in 1878). I also think the bridge is very pretty! Love that it is red and white; bridges should be more colourful in general.

I was in London in 2016 for a school trip and really wanted to go to that bridge. Sadly, we couldn’t move around on our own, and I didn’t have anyone willing to go with me. So, I only saw it from afar when we took a boat across the Thames.

(Very zoomed.)

The white-and-red metal bridge did not exist in 1846 anyway. Instead, Blackfriars Bridge was made of brownstone and looked like this:

(Painting from around 1800)

The first Blackfriars Bridge was dismantled in 1860 because it became just too wonky. Queen Victoria opened the second one in 1869. I would say that Vincent and Francis went to the opening in their mother’s stead.

(Extra: When I was in London, we walked beneath London Bridge, and I swear that the damn nursery rhyme’s melody started playing from somewhere! It was very weird.)

Additionally, while the first arc is named the “Inner London Murders Arc,” looking back, I’ve never specified where exactly the Salisbury Villa is located! As there were already attacks in Westminster, Camden, and Islington, I picked Kensington as the villa’s location. It was nice to very briefly revisit a location that was so important in the beginning and that doesn’t exist anymore.

Train Station

The Gare du Nord is the busiest train station in Europe and will soon be the largest train station in Europe too! In 1848, the train station was very busy too, but, by far, not large at all. It looked like this back then:

(Copperplate print from 1847)

It’s so tiny, isn’t it? In 1843, construction began, and two different designs for the train station were proposed. Of course, “management opted to construct the less spacious of the two options, despite the occurrence of stations serving capital city becoming overwhelmed already being a known phenomenon in both London and Brussels.” And that’s why the original Gare du Nord only existed from 1846 to 1860 (seriously, what were they thinking?). They partially demolished it to redo and expand it, and its front façade was transferred to the Lille-Flandres Station. Above is the back of the first Gare du Nord, and this was its front:

(Not that I even got to describe the front.)

1848 Paris

We had originally planned to do a trip to Paris next week, but it has been postponed until next year now. My father is still going next week for a business trip though. Unfortunately, I can’t possibly ask him to find some time to take the worst walk ever through the city with the Gare du Nord as the starting point and take some pictures for me. Thankfully, the chapter is told from the POVs of two characters who have never been in Paris before. They don’t know where they are, so I don’t need to either. Their journey through Paris is purposefully confusing and distorted anyway with all the detours they need to take because of the ongoing uprising. Even if the chapter had been from Barrington’s POV, he would have stopped caring about street names and landmarks at some point anyway; there are just too many other things to concentrate on – like side tables. (Milton, on the other hand, would have rattled down every single street name in his narration. And that’s one of the reasons why we don’t spend any time in his head. (Though this chapter from his POV would have certainly been very interesting...))

Nevertheless, I did consult Google Maps yet again for Cloudia, Cedric, and Milton’s chase through Paris and the others’ way to Cecelia’s house, though in much vaguer capacity than for the 1846 walk.

Cecelia lives in the current-day 7th arrondissement. It was the high nobility district from the 17th century until the French Revolution, and then again during the Bourbon Restauration before losing this status yet again in 1830. Unlike last time, it did remain “the centre of the French upper class’ social life” at least despite losing its political influence. That’s how Paris is divided into arrondissements nowadays:

In 1848, however, the division looked like this:

They changed the arrangement in 1859/60 upon expanding the city borders. As such, Cecelia’s house is somewhere in the 10th arrondissement in 1848, not in the 7th.

Google Maps’ recommended way from the Gare du Nord to the 7th arrondissement:

Newman, Aurèle, and Co. went more west first though and then south. (To keep them relatively safe and me sane.)

On Cloudia and Co.’s side, I looked up where the Hôtel de Ville, the Place du Panthéon, and the Place de la Bastille roughly lie in relation to the Gare du Nord (all are south/south-east to the station), as they are important locations in the uprising. While Cloudia and Co. aren’t exactly going anywhere specific, they are heading south in the worst way ever. (So that it’s easier for me to get them to Cecelia’s house later.) That’s about the path they took:

(I’m joking.)

As I said above, the path they’re taking is very, very messy, and neither Cloudia nor Cedric knows Paris anyway. They could make out the Notre-Dame or the Arc de Triomphe and such; that’s it. (That doesn’t help them though as they’re not going anywhere near any famous, well-known sights.) And because Paris most definitely changed a lot since 1848 anyway, I didn’t need to be super specific with anything anyway. Still, I didn’t want to make everything up, so I went searching on Google Maps for some interesting things they could have passed by.

And hello, church close to the station! I loved that it’s named Saint-Vincent-de-Paul and that it existed in 1848 too! (Was completed in 1844) The nearby square didn’t though (1862), and that’s why they pass by the church and nothingness with weeds (I have no idea what was actually in that place in 1848). I wanted to have them pass by the Montholon Square too as I saw that speck of green on the map, but it didn’t exist until 1862 too, so I dropped it. (That made me wonder if there are more squares/parks that were created in 1862? Anyway.) The church is the only actual thing on their way. Beyond it, all is made up.

June Days Uprising

The most difficult part to write. As I said in the Ao3 notes, I wanted to include an actual historical event into WotQ and I ultimately decided on the June Days Uprising. I live in Germany and only went to school here, and all we learn about French history in History class is Louis XIV and Louis XVI and the French Revolution. Because of this, I wasn’t really aware before I began planning this arc in 2018 that there was a lot of back and forth with France being a republic and a monarchy. E.g., the July Monarchy (start 1830) only just ended in February 1848 and France became a republic again. (And that merely lasted until 1852.)

Back in 2018, I went to a public library to look a few things up but couldn’t find much. I’ve been holding onto that note though, and it did give me a nice little timeline at least! The times were super helpful (start: 12 a.m. on the 23rd, end: 11 a.m. on the 26th); with that, I set out to make the first outline of Arc 4. (Unfortunately, I forgot to write down the book’s title then!)

When it became time to write Destruction, I couldn’t find a lot again, but two sites proved helpful.

With them and the Wikipedia article, I wrote Destruction’s first draft and finished the first revision round. Before I started the second, however, I remembered that I could just (mis)use my university library access to get more sources – and so I did! I found two books. A History of Modern France by Jeremy D. Popkin had a good little section on the Uprising, and Revolutionary Republicanism: Participation and Representation in 1848 France by Samuel Hayat is mostly about all that led to the revolution in February and what happened afterwards. I didn’t have time to read the entire book and only read the section that was just about the June Days Uprising (“Defending the Republic”). (And as Cloudia and Co. are thrown very suddenly into that situation and are also outsiders who are focused on many other things/their own problems, they couldn’t have known/didn’t keep up with everything that led to the June Days anyway.)

With that new knowledge, I rewrote a few things during the second revision. That ranged from adding details like women’s participation in the revolt and the distribution of posters to toning down everything a bit.

I read that “Blood ran in the streets, more even than in the 1830 Revolution” and "June 1848 had unleashed the most sanguinary fighting that had yet been seen on the streets of Paris" and assumed the fighting was at 100% basically from the start. But I also wondered how the insurgents could seize the entire eastern half of Paris within about half a day, considering who they were up against:

Even with the fact that Cavaignac “spent a day bringing in 30,000 regular troops from outside the city, while the rebels constructed their barricades,” that seemed odd to me. And then I read the insurgents were allowed to take the city, and it all made sense.

(From A History of Modern France)

(From Revolutionary Republicanism)

I reduced the number of soldiers and bodies the characters encounter as well as the overall destruction and fights a bit, cutting out sentences here and there, without making it too tame. It was still a messy, bloody fight, just not as much as it would become a few days later. I added Cloudia and Oscar’s conversation about the lone guard during the second revision too; I was sure they would notice that something was just off about the situation.

I also treated the June Days as a “rebellion of despair” first and then set out to correct it. I’ll just put pieces of Revolutionary Republicanism here instead of trying to explain it myself.

(Not that any of this is (much) evident in the chapter anyway.)

All in all, I hope I didn't mess up too much writing this aspect of the chapter.

Others

Rowan calls Oscar’s wife “Trudy Livingstone,” but she was only known as such socially. Trudy never legally took Oscar’s last name and kept her own.

The "star in the corner of the envelope" thing Milton tells Cloudia is something my old pen pal and I used to do! We were each other's only pen pals, but we still did this as a little secret "code." (She's the daughter of the person who inspired Milton's "phantom heart pain when it rains" btw!)

The picture I used for the cover is a map of Paris in 1800. (The site’s next-dated map is 1864. I didn’t look at any while writing the chapter as neither of them is close enough to 1848. They also aren’t easy to read…)

This is the final “running/fighting” chapter. The logistics of Nebulous/Mimes, Locomotive Run, Destruction gnawed at my energy a lot. I’m so happy to be done with them, omg. Now, the “Stuck in Paris” chapters begin! (The June Days last until the 26th, and it’s currently the 23rd. Leaving the city and returning to Nanteuil-la-Forêt isn't the easiest right now, especially with injured people!) No more moving around hectically for a while! Hurrah! (Cedric needs to get Cloudia through the city first, of course…)

[ewuzebe-eqnosude]

(b)r(u)ant: maybe Simon Basset had °stutterin'° while Eloise Bridgerton had °stage fright°; (f)rave: bling retinue [👸 wife of CONQUEROR (a.k.a. charlotte of GEORGE wore >< 81 set, edwina of FRIEDRICH & daphne of SIMON wore >< 26, while kathani of ANTHONY wore >< 27)].

https://www.netflix.com/ 》 bridgerton

💅 whist(le) list:

• maybe, Bridger[t]o(w)n 📺 shows new town (ecumenopolis & {confused prop} megalopolis) instead of new government (pure {i.e. mestizo} or representative);

• maybe, Simon Basset's stutters improved @ 🏰 & then @ SCH... reminds me of a tutor who got fired for wakin' me up @ Prep SCH;

• maybe, Simon Basset kisses as if he's slurpin' ice cream 🍧 -> FRA kiss, reminds me of 📚 Kamasutra's fellatio vs. ITA gelato -> ₩o bitin'?;

• maybe, ITA gelato reminds me of Netflix's Love & Gelato... how to ₩ PHL sorbetes?;

• maybe, Cressida Cowper's fashion has its own ^target market^, reminds me of mine 😍 - ri(e)ch;

• maybe, Kathani Sharma's intelligence is 💑 ₩ responsible Anthony Bridgerton, whose duty is to viscount, thus their tutees are 💑;

• maybe, Kathani Sharma's emox'nal struggle reminds me of those days ₩o MR. Kupido's dream guidance 💘;

• maybe, Sky Castle reminds me of another dream, answer to whether i gotta be @ H 🏨 (voice: sumthin' like "we can't find your address."; G: it's not my path.), then maybe 'em 1st or 2nd HPAIR e-ad mos. after;

• maybe, [Pen]elope [Feather]ington's rollo is feng shui of names & became a [pen]ner for a pamphlet as light as feather, while mine's Sulla 🗯 then lolo's Adolf 🗯;

• maybe, Penelope's gentle readers aren't used to the limelight yet + truth's her defense accdg. to PHL law books 📚;

• maybe, Penelope reminds me of mine art therapy called blogging, or she'd rather write ✍ 'em thought than nag;

• maybe, writin' makes rememberin' previous topic by rereadin' 👓 'em while talkin's hard to edit or 'em topic gotta be mentioned again & again;

• maybe, Penelope's reminds me of mine t monickers thinkin' that 'tis useless to hide 🕵 when there are 'em CCTVs now;

• maybe, 💑 "COUNT & COUNTESS" of somewhere -> "MISTER & MISTRESS";

• maybe, their deb's 1/4 split intro reminds me of John Robert Powers SCH, also of DUN Nazarene ☻... 'til mine next Holy Week visit;

• maybe, former SEN. Miriam D.'s orientax'n lecture @ Senate (as: senet) became mine obsesx'n, so i followed 'em instinct 😇... & grad ₩ 2-in-1 degree in megalopolic law + ecumenical law -> 💒 ST. Jude Escariot;

• maybe, former SEN. MD-Santiago's feng shui is Merriam Webster's Dictionary, & infamous for spellin' bees;

• maybe, watchin' 'em 📺 GossipGirl as if 'tis haute couture (as: ot kotoor) but 'em showin' Manhattan or H 🏨 or Y -> 🏦 banco museum;

• maybe, 📺 GossipGirl's Dan Humphrey compl[e]ments Ellen Fein's The Rules 📚, while Chuck Bass slangs jersey girl -> fem varsity 🎽;

• maybe, 📺 GossipGirl's Blair Waldorf inspired Waldorf SCH (nipa hut tent as acad bldg.) vs. Montessori SCH (starts @ 2y.o. called Casa {bldg. as former house} when i was in gr.8) -> same PHL curriculum -> What makes 'em different? (a.k.a. specializax'n);

• maybe, 'em movie blings @ Prime Video's L.O.T.R. The Rings of Power look lovely.

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Scott Lang Cheering You Up After A Bad Breakup

Scott Lang X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: A touch of angst, cheating boyfriends, breakups

Word Count: 940

Requested by anonymous

(A/N:) I was requested to write a Scott Lang imagine by an Anonymous reader and she gave me free reign to decide what to write but it had to be fluffy. I took that as angst first and then sprinkle of fluff. And this is what I got! Hopefully it's everything she wanted and I hope my fellow readers enjoy it as well! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

When you had went to Baskin Robbins you were expecting to get ice cream, what you didn't expect was to meet the man of your dreams working behind the counter. You had had bad luck with men and it was showing as you were trying to forget your recent break up in the form of a delicious frozen treat. After going through several boyfriends and the majority of them cheating on you, belittling you, and seeing you as only a conquest, you decided to stop dating for a long time or for possibly the rest of your life.

The bell above the door jingled happily at the sound of your arrival as you pushed the door open. You were met with an empty store and one man standing behind the counter.

"Welcome to Baskin Robbins," he said as you made your way to the counter.

You waved sheepishly cause you didn't feel like being vocal at the moment. He took your silence in stride as you began to browse the many different flavors. You couldn't help but sneak a few glances at the guy behind the counter as his rugged good looks weren't lost on you. Despite the gaudy eyesore pink uniform with the dark blue apron and hat, your heart picked up a little speed. You shook your head trying to clear the thoughts from your mind as the weight of the breakup that happened today settled back on your shoulders.

Scott Lang hated this job and it had been a long slow day. The amount of customers had slacked off after the lunch rush and now he was doing everything in his being to keep awake. He had stooped to watching the ice cream behind the glass when the front door opened. He perked up quickly at the woman coming in. He couldn't believe that he hadn't seen a woman like you around here until he saw the dark expression on your face. The want to cheer you up in any way possible gripped his heart.

"Having a hard time deciding?"

You flinched, suddenly aware at how long you were taking.

"Sorry I guess my mind is somewhere else right now. I'll take chocolate," you said backing away from the counter to stand awkwardly by the freezer full of ice cream cakes.

"Good choice," he smiled. "Can't go wrong with a classic."

You gave him a smile only for it to waver instantly. He began to scoop ice cream into a cup, eyes sneaking glances towards you, like you had him. You found the freezers suddenly very interesting and Scott breathed deep.

"I hope you don't mind me prying but, are you okay?"

You scribbled into the fog on the glass door of the freezer before biting your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. No matter how strong you were wanting to be, the pain was too fresh and it was hard to fight the tears welling in your eyes.

"Nothing ice cream can't fix," you teased though your heart wasn't in it.

"Break up," he pried and you flinched once more.

"He was a jerk," you swallowed.

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," he continued to work on the scoops in your cup. "I'm Scott by the way."

You gave him your name as he held out your frozen treat. You took the cup noticing the two extra scoops and colorful sprinkles bright against the brown.

"I just ordered two scoops," you stuttered not wanting to pay any extra as you were light on cash after your ex made you pay for the lunch he walked out on.

"On the house," Scott said. "You've had a rough day as it is. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Listen I'm not looking for the next guy," you murmured.

Scott held up his hands in surrender, "That's not my angle here. I've been there on the bad days I just want to try to cheer you up. Nobody deserves to suffer alone."

You thought about it and you could tell he was being sincere. Finally you nodded and he lead you to a table where he could keep an eye on things. Without being asked, Scott scooted out a chair for you like a true gentleman. Before long he had you laughing and forgetting about the horrible day you had while your ice cream began to melt in the paper cup. Not too much longer and his jokes became mediocre magic tricks.

"And for my last trick," Scott announced gaining more laughter from you. He grinned before throwing up cards in your lap. You snorted laughing harder until your sides began to hurt.

"No more," you leaned over. "I can't breathe!"

"I'm happy to see you smile for a change," Scott started to pick up the cards. You helped him, taking care not to hit your head on his. You both reached for the same card, fingers brushing together. You pulled your hand away a blush creeping up on your cheeks.

"Sorry."

Scott shook his head, taking the cards that you had picked up and placing him back with the others and back in the pack.

"Maybe you can come again sometime and I'll treat you to more ice cream," he offered.

You nodded, "I would like that very much."

Rising from the seat you finished off the last little bit of ice cream before waving goodbye to the first decent man you'd met in awhile. Your day had started awful but thanks to a Baskin Robbins' employee you were able to leave with a smile on your face and a heart that had healed just a little bit.

[infernalrevenge]

It would be pleasant to see a fanfiction with a blind reader. Like, they do not get attracted at first by alcina look because, well, the reader can't see. ( it may be fun to have the charavter confused because the voice of alcina is coming from somewhere insanely tall for a "human" ). Maybe, because the reader is blind, they can do a manual job with a lot of hand sensitivity ( like... carving or maybe a maid because it's not impossible )

Ooooh, extremely valid! I'm assuming since you said Reader wouldn't be able to see Alcina and know that she's super tall that they have complete blindness, so I'll work off that.

I've had to do research on this since I don't have firsthand experience on it, so I hope I've done this prompt justice. This got veeeeery long. If there's stuff I might have gotten wrong or you want to send some constructive criticism on how I wrote a blind Reader, you can message me! I'm always willing to learn.

Alcina was surprisingly accommodating of a blind servant working on her staff. You were willing to make yourself useful, right? So why not?

(And if you couldn't, well you might make for a good snack later down the line.)

You heard about how the Lady of the house could be: A perfectionist, stringent, and rarely forgiving. You heard the stories of other servants being dragged down to the dungeons or sliced with a knife for the smallest mistakes.

You typically got around on your own with your cane, though you were much more cautious when using it when you first arrived at Castle Dimitrescu.

You did not want "accidentally knocking a vase over while trying to walk around" to become a cause of death.

However, once you were more comfortable traversing the space, knowing how wide the corridors were, that irrational fear was pushed to the back of your mind.

(Not that fear of getting "sliced to ribbons" though, as she says. That was still very much alive.)

The Lady didn't address the staff directly often, but on the occasion she did, you always remembered the thunder in her voice. The commanding tone mixed with a level of grace and elegance. It was enough to make anyone quake in their shoes, and also make no mistake that she was in charge. You could feel her voice shoot straight through your heart.

You could recognize that she was tall, since every time she did talk to you, the voice was always coming from somewhere above you. It wasn't "far away" necessarily, but it wasn't as direct as it would sound like if the others talked to you, or even the Lady's daughters.

Was she always on another floor for some reason? It kinda seemed like she's always talking to people from a balcony. She can't be that tall, right?

You've heard of high and mighty but come on--

Her footsteps always came by slowly and loudly -- you never thought the clacking of heels could sound this terrifying. It also seemed like she carried a lot of weight, judging from the way she carried herself. You were never one to judge, but... that might tie in with the whole "she might be really tall" theory you have going on in your head.

Your main job was greeting and attending to any guests that came into the premises, and were to inform the Countess right away of their arrival. Sometimes, you would also offer drinks while they waited.

You knew Alcina always wanted wine (a part of you wondered if it was to help her deal with these kinds of meetings.)

Preparing drinks yourself was no big deal. You knew where things were kept around the kitchen, and as long as they were put back in their places, then you knew where to go.

When they weren't though... it got a little frustrating. You weren't afraid to remind your fellow servants about it though, since it helped with organization and cleanliness around the area too.

Sometimes, you could hear the other maids and servants talking about how they pitied you and "what you had to go through". They frequently tried to offer a hand when you were doing work, even though you had done the task many times before. And when you did accomplish it, you'd get praise for doing something so simple. You knew they meant well, but it got annoying very fast.

You're blind, not useless! You weren't helpless either! Come on, you could do things on your own!

(Not even Lady Dimitrescu was this condescending.)

In fact, she often left you to your own devices. She's mentioned how much she trusted you with tasks that she thought others had struggled with. It made you feel more confident in what you could do, with or without help.

Sometimes, you would offhandedly complain about certain accommodations, or lack thereof. Handrails would be nice. Not slipping on loose rugs that you might miss with your cane would be nice too. Tactile stickers on things that feel the same in texture and weight would be great. Just little things.

Then the following week, you hear about changes being made in the estate. Essentially the same ones you talked about with a friend too. They were some bare minimum changes, but it was a good start.

Who knew the lady could listen from so high up?

Her daughters seemed to have taken a liking to you too, and were for some reason wildly amused by how you could tell them apart just by their voices. Alcina would spot you all together and not be sure what to make of it, often telling them to leave you alone so you could get back to work.

Eventually, with enough work, you might find yourself being the Lady's personal servant, to come at her beck and call and address her every need.

You would notice how her tone with soften with you over time, almost similar to how you would hear her talking to her daughters. You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

It made you shiver in a way that you hadn't felt in a while -- not out of fear, but more out of... something. Again, you weren't sure.

(But you knew you liked it.)

Sometimes, you would feel her gently touch your shoulder, and it felt like she could easily hold onto your whole arm in her grasp. Were her hands really that big? How did they get so big???

But you would feel the warmth in her touch and those confusing thoughts would just slip away for the moment.

You listened well for any changes in her mood -- when she was tense, you would offer to fetch some tea. In physical pain? Maybe a massage would help. Feeling down? ...perhaps some company and a listening ear.

She still tried to keep up airs around you, but when she would let her guard down on that rare occasion she was too tired to do so, your heart would break. But after providing comfort, you would feel so honored that she would be willing to be vulnerable anyway.

Before you knew it, Alcina had slipped her way into your heart -- you just wondered if she would take you the same way.

You knew your disability was no problem for her, but what about you? Would she take little ol' you as you were? Insecurities, rashness, imperfections, and all?

Only one way to find out.

[apinchofm]

At Court

Requested by @adelainaasher: The Clermont sisters plus Baldwin's daughter (I do not remember her name, it's very vague in my mind and I'd rather not misspell it) at the English Court during the Wars of the Roses (most specifically when Edward married Elizabeth Woodville). Just imagine Verin gossiping with Isabel Neville and Stasia taunting Anne Neville over her crush on Richard, also Freyja being the only one who actually tries to get the Queen's favour as their father requested.

I love the White Queen (even if I despise PG's books!) so this was so much fun to write!

Freyja curtsied toward Edward IV's new Queen. Elizabeth Woodville. She noticed the King's wandering eye but knew he loved his new queen and wife.

"It is an honour to meet you, your Grace," Freyja smiled.

"As it is to meet you, Lady Madeleine. I am glad that we could be diplomatic with the French upon this occasion." Elizabeth said.

"Do ask your brother to come to speak with me?" Edward asked.

"Of course." Freyja agreed, "He is somewhere with my sisters, I believe."

"Your sisters?" Elizabeth inquired with a small smile.

"They are..." She looked around and saw them with the Neville's and the other two sons of York. Great. She repressed a sigh and turned back to the Queen.

"Enjoying the festivities?" Elizabeth asked, knowing how siblings could be.

"Absolutely, your highness."

"She's a commoner." Verin sneered quietly into her wine. Isabel Neville smiled in agreement, having wanted to marry Edward. Verin had never been one for social mobility.

"Now, Verin, do not be a snob." Stasia chastised playfully, "She looks beautiful, does she not?" The new Queen's gold gown was stunning. Stasia had a mind to commission a few dresses from the new dressmaker for herself.

Verin's ears pricked up on hearing the conversation between the Kingmaker's wife and daughters. A plot to marry the other two to the younger sons of the House of York.

"Is that so?" Verin interrupted. The Nevilles were ambitious and liked power and control. The three looked at her.

"It would be a good alliance." The countess defended.

"I would get Richard!" Anne said enthusiastically.

"Richard?" Stasia asked and Anne looked at her, "He's so serious all the time! But I suppose marriage would get that out of him."

"I only meant-" Anne stuttered, embarrassed and blushed profusely.

Isabel laughed a little bit seeing her sister, "Look at how she blushes!"

"Anastasia." Baldwin approached his sister, holding out his arm and leading her away, "You are not to go near any of the York brothers."

"Brother, I was teasing. But I may have some fun with George," Stasia smirked, looking in that brother's direction, "No matter how treacherous he may be. When do you believe the Kingmaker will strike? I detest the English and their lack of bathing habits. "

"Soon." Baldwin hummed to himself, eyeing Warwick, "Their first child at least. Especially if it's a boy."

"Are they not scared of the women? The She-Wolf is still plotting her vengeance." Stasia pointed out. Margaret of Anjou was one of the most spirited young girls she had met. She was born to be a King, not Queen.

Baldwin gave his sister a small smile, "They should be. Now go and greet the Queen and tell Verin not to fuck the King."

"I will try." Stasia said, "But if you would like the House of York to fall-"

"It needs to be bloody, like all battles, my dear." Baldwin interrupted, "That is the nature of things. Do not insert yourself between the King and Queen."

"My, brother, have you become a romantic?" Stasia teased.

"A realist." Baldwin huffed, "We are here to ensure the safety of the realm. Try not to stab Warwick either."

Stasia pouted, "You have become boring, brother."

[leporellian]

THOUGHTS ON SEEING FIGARO LAST NIGHT BELOW THE CUT goooood morning everybodyyyy

- first off this is i thiiink the first time i’ve ever seen the director get applauded onstage also? but that’s because the director is nathan gunn probably

- really it seems he does everything here. realized somewhere in act 4 that i could call this place the Gunnderdome

- ok that aside. actual opera.

- i really like the character dynamics here.... figaro and susanna were good and in love, figaro was sort of an older brother figure for cherubino (AND NOT MEAN THANK GOD but definitely like... wary in the way one is around 13 y/os LOL), almavivas were having proper divorce moments, hell marcellina and bartolo Definitely felt like exes

- also one thing i thought interesting was that all the characters spoke italian.... except for figaro and susanna, who were bilingual and spoke both english and italian. it really worked honestly i like the idea but it was a little understated at times. something something figaro and susanna only honestly communicate with one another...

- marcellina this time around was played by a male mezzo which i thought was interesting! character herself was still female. i think this production definitely played her rather too buffoony for my taste (definitely like. a crash course in stage chewing LOL) but marcy was also the audience favorite from the vibes i got there so... morally correct in that case

- they put marcellina up in front of the curtain any time they were changing sets also so more blorba from the shows is always a W

- also she and bartolo were dressed like house of gucci for some reason

- actually the costumes in this were just crazy like. the time period was “whenever” so you had figaro and susanna in like, vaguely 17th century wear, but then marcellina and bartolo were done up in house of gucci ass clothing and cherubino was done up like timothee chalamet and count almaviva. god (not negative or positive but just sort of impressed by the sheer... Taste). i’ll get to the count in a separate paragraph

- TIMOTHEE CHALAMET CHERUBINO WAS SO FUNNY bc i read the program compare cherubino to timothee chalamet and i was like getting ready for it to take the character in a weird direction but no. cherubino was as “this is clearly a 13 year old“ as ever. but they just happened to be wearing timothee chalamet clothing. absolutely fucking hilarious direction

- they did the chair double take well also that means i can finally talk about the count bc like... man. in this iteration he was so Character

- like... first off. the outfits. mf literally comes in in like... leather skintight trousers (with a. well. purposely obvious. i mean. it’s skintight. use your imagination) and a leopard fur coat and then in act 2 he’s also wearing a cableknit sweater?? and then in act 3 he’s got a full military general outfit? and then in act 4 he’s running around in a white bedsheet looking thing and khakis. like... i’m genuinely amazed not even negatively this is SUCH a choice

- anyway they made him this spindly little thing that you like... almost felt bad for bc he just looked so pathetic. he looked kinda anemic (not the singer, the character) and just had like a naturally sad face AND HE WAS A TWINK. also he was super light for a baritone, like the sort of “tenor with some low notes” range i’d assign don giovanni. ironically it reminded me less of count almaviva and moreso count di luna from trovatore; idk if a lighter voice would work for a verdi baritone but i would still love to see this guy take on di luna regardless bc this was 100% the sort of way i imagine di luna

- basilio was a beatnik. and heterosexual i think. thaaaaaank god. he was very loud i noticed compared to the other singers but he was good so it’s fine

- love non piu andrais where figaro obviously cares abt cherubino

- act twoooo the countess was sung really well but the characterization didn’t like... stick out to me. i think they made her like too nice to susanna and figaro when i see her as far more reserved

- absolutely loved the way they dress up cherubino here

- when cherubino jumped out the window susanna didn’t run to check on them like she usually does she just went “well. guess they’re dead now” WHICH WAS SO FUNNY????

- also the count comes in to open the closet with a crowbar AND A GUN? the countess then takes the gun and hands it to whoever is in the closet (which she still thought was cherubino), which, HELP WAS THE COUNTESS GENUINELY READY FOR A 13 YEAR OLD TO SHOOT HER HUSBAND???? I LOVE DIVORCE <333333

- then susanna came out and started threatening the count with the gun HELP HELP HELP. (susanna voice) I Want That Twink Obliterated

- i wish they fought more during the final septet they were all just kinda standing there. count was pretty hammy tho

- act 3 opens and the count is just lying on the floor in a heap. genuinely obsessed

- they played the judge as just being, like, absolutely Tired and Done (and not the like... simpering corrupt snake i see from other prods) which was fun

- i wish they made figaro finding his parents warmer and more genuine than they did here but that’s bc i’m a “marcellina is a serious character actually” truther. (she is rather silly. but aren’t we all?) ive read the plays and i‘m writing a novella about her and i know literally everything. they made it more of a comic scene than like... one of the most genuine (if absolutely absurd in theory) moments in the opera

- side note if you can see marriage of figaro with a friend that doesn’t know the plot twist of marcellina being figaro’s mom, and keep it hidden from them, absolutely do this. the SHOCK. the REVELATION. watching this unfold with my friend was genuinely one of the best moments i’ve had in a theatre LMFAOOO

- susanna did not actually slap figaro it was a stage slap :(

- i noticed they trimmed down a lot of stuff in act 3, most notably removing any reference to marcellina and bartolo also getting married (altho it did seem to be implied in the staging) but there were other things. i think part of this was bc there wasn’t an onstage chorus or supers. no music was cut tho it was all recitative etc. mostly it was fine but it did make the latter half of act 3 especially feel clunky

- why was the judge at the wedding

- they made act 4’s set look like... a bit toooo vague and a bit too bright to be understood as an outdoor night garden i think but the other sets were really good

- marcellina fussing over figaro between acts was kinda cute i think (although he didn’t seem to be fully enjoying it LOL)

- they did the bit where cherubino tries to kiss the count and then the count punches figaro. W

- they made figaro and susanna really cute here when they made up i thought. more stage slaps tho

- however i will say. the position figaro and susanna assumed when she was slapping him here. that entire part really. well. it certainly reaffirms my suspicion that susanna tops.

- THEY HAD A TURNTABLE BUT THEY ONLY USED IT TWICE, once when barbarina was searching for the pin and once at the very end. hilarious honestly. very loud turntable however

- on the note of barb though. definitely NOT a fan of how the program described barbarina tho if you insinuate she and lolita are similar you should be in like. bad take jail or smth

- in my mind she and the count were never actually a thing she just sorta just lies and bc the count sees so many women he genuinely can’t tell who she even is Lmfao

- ok anywayyyy back to the end THE COUNT AND FIGARO WERE HUGGING OUT THEIR DIFFERENCES LIKE HELLO??? everyone cornering the count was funny af i think

- everyone was just kinda running tf around. noticed that they seemed to playing it more as the count genuinely changing and not the sorta melancholy implication you get from more prods that he’ll just be quieter about it

- had an absolutely fantastic time with my friend ♥️ so glad she got me tickets here. still obsessed with whatever the count was doing. he might have been wearing eyeliner even, i dunno i couldnt see that clearly. what a show. good times/10