#The Enigmatic Tale of the Flowers and the Moon

[vollmond-laboratory]

The Enigmatic Tale of the Flowers and the Moon — Part 2

[Location: Street, Day]

Young Man: “Lord Faust. It’s been a while. You’ve come down from the mountain.”

He had the same black wings on his back as Faust.

Faust: “Oh, it’s you. What are you working as now, a cargo carrier?”

Young Man: “More or less, yes… By the way, who is…?”

The young man’s gaze turned toward me shyly. His narrowed red eyes seemed full of intrigue.

He didn’t appear alarmed so much as he did surprised, like he was seeing something strange for the first time.

Faust: “This is Lennox. He’s a friendly tengu who lives here in Ōun-gai.”

Faust: “I’m sure he’ll do a much better job of taking care of you than I could.”

The man named Lennox gave me a polite nod in greeting. I gave him a similar bob in return.

Standing beside Lennox like this made it clear just how tall he really was. I ended up having to crane my neck back just to look up at him.

Compared to Faust, Lennox is obviously much larger and stouter. Even tengus that seem similar at first glance have their own differences.

Still, I could tell that they had the same sort of quiet demeanour as each other.

Faust: “Anyway, this here is…”

Faust faltered as he tried to find a way to introduce me. Quickly giving up, he looked back at Lennox, exasperated.

Faust: “Frankly, I have no idea who they are. All I know is that they’re alone. According to them, they’ve lost their memory. And now they’re your problem.”

Faust: “Just for the record, I’m never coming back to this town or mountain ever again. I’m sorry for giving you so much trouble, but the rest is in your hands.”

Having said everything he wanted to say without letting anyone else get a word in edgeways, Faust turned to try and walk away from us both briskly.

Akira: “Eh?! Wait a second…!”

Luckily, Lennox’s long arm was able to reach out and grab Faust far faster than I could have caught up with him.

Lennox: “I don’t think it’s fair of you to ask this of me without giving me a proper explanation first.”

Faust: “…”

Trying to shake himself free was impossible – Lennox’s grip on Faust’s arm remained firm, standing immovably still and silent over him.

It seemed less like they were struggling to communicate with each other and more like they were having an entirely silent conversation through gestures alone.

I couldn’t help but get the feeling that they’d known each other a long time, especially considering how Lennox referred to him so respectfully as ‘Lord’ earlier.

Lennox: “…”

Faust: “…”

Eventually, Faust gave in.

Faust: “…I accidentally blew one of the castle dragons off the mountain earlier.”

After hearing Faust speak as if he’d committed some unspeakable crime, I watched as Lennox rolled his eyes lightly.

Akira: “U-Um! What happened was more like, Faust saved me while passing by, because the dragon was trying to attack me…”

Faust: “Regardless of the reason, there’s no denying that I’ve likely angered the dragons with my involvement. It’s very unlikely I’m going to get away with it scot-free.”

Faust: “If you carry on associating yourselves with me, you’ll probably get caught up in whatever revenge they decide to enact. This is likely the last time I’ll ever be able to talk with you like this. It’d be better for me to hide away on some distant mountain somewhere for a while.”

Having finally heard the full story, Lennox’s face suddenly clouded over with seriousness.

Lennox: “One of the castle dragons… It’s definitely not the best situation to be in…”

Akira: “Is it really that bad…?”

Lennox: “Ah, that’s right, you’ve lost your memory. Allow me to summarise things quickly for you.”

Going out of his way to help someone who knew nothing about this world, Lennox calmly explained some of the details about the town and its yōkai to me.

Lennox: “There are many different kinds of yōkai who live around Ōun-gai, and each of them all have their own individual temperaments. Some are mild-mannered and kind, while others can be fierce and occasionally rude.”

Lennox: “There are even some so terrifying that they’ll gladly cannibalise their fellow yōkai and use them to make themselves more powerful…”

Akira: “Cannibalise…?! Are there any yōkai like that near here…?”

Lennox: “Yes, there’s a family of yōkai like that called oni living in a nearby town. But there’s none here in Ōun-gai, so it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever run into them.”

Faust: “…”

Once, Lennox told me, he was almost eaten by an oni when he was much younger and weaker than he is now. They’re said to be quite a violent and dangerous species.

Lennox: “But above all else, it’s vital to always be mindful of the dragons while living here. They are among some of the most powerful yōkai alive.”

Lennox: “Do you see that castle?”

I followed Lennox’s gaze as he turned to look up at something in the distance.

A beautiful castle stood tall there, surrounded by more cherry blossoms than I could possibly count. It seemed to be located right in the centre of town.

Despite how imposing the gate inside the grounds looked, its white, powdered-like walls had a regal and elegant appearance.

The towering keep was especially magnificent, overlooking the town with its many turrets. The entire castle was so vast that even from far away, its immense power and authority here became impossible to ignore.

Lennox: “That castle is where the main body of the great cherry blossom tree resides. Since that tree is the very heart of the town itself, only a select few dragons are allowed to live inside.”

Akira: “Only a select few…?”

Lennox: “The dragons that live within the castle are especially long-lived, and they all have incredibly strong magic powers, which they use to protect the great cherry blossom and Ōun-gai itself from any outside invaders.”

Lennox: “Naturally, that means they have a great deal of influence here. Ōun-gai’s yōkai rely on the dragons, but they also fear their power.”

Lennox: “If you go against their word, you’re likely to be expelled from the town itself.”

Akira: “I see…”

Even among all the various kinds of yōkai that I’d already seen living here, the dragons seemed to hold a particularly high position of power. Maintaining the law within Ōun-gai by acting as its overseers.

Akira: (Which means…)

Faust, through the simple act of having saved my life earlier, had made himself into an enemy of some of the most powerful people in this town.

Akira: (That must be why he looked so uncomfortable helping me earlier…)

Having finally understood the severity of the situation, I felt myself break out into a cold sweat. Because of me, Faust was now caught up in the middle of a huge mess.

Akira: “Faust, I’m so sorry… I’ve caused you so much trouble…”

At my pale-faced apology Faust turned away, looking uncomfortable.

Faust: “It’s not like I did it for your sake. At the time I just happened to really dislike that one particular dragon.”

Lennox: “…I understand now what’s going on.”

Nodding his head gravely, Lennox then looked straight at Faust.

Lennox: “Despite that, I cannot accept the idea that this might be goodbye. I would miss you terribly if I never got to see you again.”

Lennox: “And besides, the fact that this person here was attacked by one of the dragons is also concerning. I can’t think of any reason as to why the dragons would hold a grudge, so there must be something we still don’t know…”

I was in a panic when that dragon suddenly attacked me earlier. Everything had happened so fast, and all I could remember now was the instinctive fear I’d felt in the moment.

Akira: “Did I do something wrong…?”

Faust: “Well, it’s not like there was any time to ask questions. I’m pretty sure I blew it right off the mountain.”

Lennox: “As expected of you, Lord Faust.”

Faust: “You don’t need to sound so impressed…”

Faust looked towards the castle with a little sigh.

Faust: “With no way to know what they’re thinking, we may want to consider taking Akira directly to them…”

Lennox: “Akira?”

Akira: “Oh, that’s my name. For some reason, that’s the only thing I can seem to remember right now…”

Lennox: “Ah, I see. Lord Akira. I will refer to you as such from now on.”

Every time I heard them say my name, it left me with a strangely familiar yet nostalgic feeling – like having someone tap me gently on the shoulder.

But why did I feel that way about people I’d only just met?

Where is this place I’ve abandoned myself in?

Faust: “We can consider going to the castle later, I suppose… I think what’s most important to figure out right now is who you are.”

Faust nodded slightly, having guessed what it was I’d been thinking about.

Faust: “And if that’s the case, we’d better go and pay him a visit.”

Akira: “Him?”

Just as I was going to ask who Faust was talking about, Lennox suddenly looked up with a start. Three shadows were flying above us in the sky.

Faust: “Dragons. It’d be bad if they spotted us.”

Hurriedly we ran into a nearby alleyway and hid ourselves in the shadows.

☾❀☽

[Location: Sky, Day]

White: “How did you fare? Are you able to find them?”

Figaro: “Not sure yet, I’m afraid.”

Oz: “White. Where has Snow gone in the midst of this emergency?”

White: “My poor Snow has been put out of commission by a wayward gust of wind, I’m afraid. He shan’t be joining us again for a while.”

White: “I shall be sure to keep you updated if there are any developments, however.”

Figaro: “Still, It’ll end up being troublesome for us if we take too long to deal with this.”

White: “Indeed, we must hurry and deal with our uninvited guest. The seeds of calamity must be swiftly nipped in the bud.”

Oz: “I will not allow them to roam free for much longer. As soon as they are found, I will take care of them.”

White: “Do be careful. You have something of a tendency to be impetuous, after all.”

Oz: “…”

White: “Come now. ‘Tis rude to refuse to answer me.”

White: “…Putting the matter aside for now, let us split into three groups and continue our search as such.”

White: “Oz. Figaro. I am counting on you both. Let us keep each other informed if anything new occurs.”

Figaro: “Got it.”

Oz: “Understood.”

The three shadows suddenly scattered in different directions.

—

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[kiidqr]

Blooming in the Sickness

Reader/Argenti, Argenti Honkai Star Rail, Angst, Character Death, First Post, Fanfiction, 1.3K Words, Honkai Star Rail, English.

Summary:

As the formidable knight of beauty he was, Argenti finds you lost in a place not deserving of such a pure soul as you. Which actively turns out to demonstrate that he has fallen for something more than solely your outside stunning beauty.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned...

...

Your face had been pale and sickly for some time now. Not wanting to burden your loved one, on deathbed you've decided to deliver one last rose to him.

Blooming in the Sickness

The interstellar winds whispered through the vast expanse of space as Argenti, the noble knight of the Knights of Beauty, traversed the cosmos on his solitary journey. His silver armour gleamed under the distant stars, a beacon of unwavering commitment to the Path of Beauty. Little did he know that his path was about to intersect with a fleeting moment of beauty that would change him forever.

You, an enigmatic traveller with a heart filled with grace and kindness, had been a silent companion to Argenti in his interstellar adventures. Your paths crossed on a desolate moon, and from that moment, a subtle connection began to blossom. Though you spoke little, your actions spoke volumes, and Argenti found solace in your company.

"As the stars above, you appeared in my solitude, a gentle whisper in the cosmic winds," Argenti mused one evening as you both gazed at the distant galaxies. "Why do you accompany me, traveller, on this lonesome journey?"

Your response was a soft smile, eyes reflecting the luminosity of distant constellations. "In the vastness of the cosmos, I saw a kindred spirit. A knight dedicated to beauty, yet burdened by the weight of solitude. I wished to share this journey with you, to bring warmth to the cold expanse."

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, a unique bond grew between Argenti and you. Nights were spent beneath the celestial canopy, sharing stories of distant realms and dreams that echoed in the cosmos. The silent moments spoke louder than any words could convey.

Argenti, usually reserved and composed, found himself opening up to you in ways he never imagined. "I never thought I would find a companion in this solitary pursuit," he confessed one evening as you both watched the stars. "Your presence brings a new light to my path."

You smiled, reaching out to gently touch his hand. "The beauty of the cosmos is best appreciated when shared, Argenti. We walk this path together, bound by the threads of fate and the love that silently grows between us."

One day, as you explored the vibrant gardens of a celestial haven, you discovered a rare celestial rose – a flower of unparalleled beauty, said to hold the essence of the cosmos itself. With a gentle touch, you plucked the rose, and in that moment, you decided to send it to Argenti along with a letter expressing your gratitude for the shared moments.

As the rose arrived at Argenti's side, its delicate petals whispered a tale of unspoken emotions. Argenti, curious and touched by the unexpected gift, carefully unfolded the letter. In the quiet solitude of his ship, he read your words, written with love and adorned with a poignant farewell.

"Dear Argenti,

In the tapestry of the cosmos, our paths converged like stars in the night sky. Your unwavering dedication to the Path of Beauty has illuminated my journey, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

As the celestial rose graces your presence, let it be a symbol of the beauty we found in the vastness of the cosmos. Our moments together were fleeting, yet they were the most cherished. Continue to walk your path with the same grace that guided us.”

"Do you remember the night we first spoke of our dreams, Argenti?" the letter continued. "I saw a galaxy in your eyes, and in that moment, I knew my heart had found its home. Though our time together is brief, the love that bloomed between us is eternal."

"As the final petals fall, know that my spirit will linger among the stars, and our love will endure in the cosmic winds.”

“I love you.”

Argenti's heart sank as the weight of your words settled upon him. He clutched the celestial rose close to his chest, feeling the fragility of life encapsulated in its petals. The realisation struck him like a celestial storm – the silent companion he had grown to cherish was slipping away, and he had been oblivious to your struggle.

A mix of emotions overwhelmed Argenti as he recalled the shared moments, the laughter, and the silent exchanges that spoke of a love that transcended the boundaries of time. He whispered your name into the cosmic winds, a prayer for your soul to find peace among the stars.

In the vastness of space, Argenti continued his journey, carrying the celestial rose as a poignant reminder of a beauty that once bloomed in the cosmos – a beauty that silently faded away, leaving only the echo of your unspoken farewell.

As the starlight dimmed and the galaxies continued their dance, Argenti vowed to honour the memory of the silent companion who had taught him that even in the cold expanse of space, love could be a beacon, guiding one's path with warmth and grace.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, yet Argenti's heart remained heavy with the weight of your absence. He found solace in retracing the paths you once walked together, visiting celestial havens where memories lingered like echoes of a distant melody.

One day, as he explored a crystalline asteroid belt, a beacon of ethereal light caught his attention. As he approached, he “saw” an imaginary projection of you, smiling amid the twinkling stars.

"Argenti," the image said, "Know that my essence lingers in the cosmic winds. Our love was a fleeting bloom, but its fragrance remains in the corners of the universe."

Argenti's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he listened to your words. "I never revealed the truth, for I wished to spare you the burden of my fate. The celestial rose was a token of the love we shared, a love that will endure beyond the boundaries of time."

The imaginary projection extended a hand, and a radiant rose materialised within it. "Take this, my love. Let it be a reminder that even in the vastness of the cosmos, our love transcends the limitations of mortal existence. Carry it with you, and may it bring you warmth on the coldest of nights."

The projected image faded, leaving Argenti standing alone amid the silent beauty of the asteroid belt. In his hands, he held the radiant rose, a symbol of love that reached beyond the boundaries of life and death.

As Argenti continued his journey through the cosmos, the celestial rose became a source of both sorrow and solace. Each petal held the essence of your love, a love that had blossomed like a silent bloom in the heart of the noble knight.

In the quiet moments of interstellar solitude, Argenti found himself whispering to the rose, sharing thoughts and dreams as if you were still by his side. The cosmic winds carried his words across the galaxies, a tribute to the silent companion who had left an indelible mark on the noble knight's heart.

The beauty of the cosmos unfolded before Argenti's eyes, a vast tapestry of stars, nebulas, and galaxies that seemed to dance in harmony with the celestial rose in his hands. Each celestial body became a reflection of the love that once flourished between two wandering souls.

One fateful day, as Argenti stood on the edge of a cosmic precipice, he felt a gentle breeze, a whisper in the cosmic winds that echoed with a familiar warmth. Closing his eyes, he imagined your presence, and in that moment, he knew that your love, like the celestial rose, had become a timeless beacon in the cosmic tapestry.

In the quiet vastness of space, Argenti continued his journey, carrying the celestial rose as a reminder that love once again, even in its silent bloom, could transcend the boundaries of time and space. As the stars above witnessed the noble knight's solitary voyage, they bore witness to a love that endured, a love that whispered through the cosmic winds, and a love that remained eternally engraved in the heart of Argenti.

[meiguicha]

Lunary Silence

Jingyuan x Reader - Chang' E AU

The stars of heaven dim in comparison to mortal life

//Wrote jy fanfiction for a competition fr, did nawt win. Happy early mid-autumn festival y'all

When the moon is at its fullest, revealing its gentle radiance upon the earth, many say that you can see a man of splendid beauty gazing at whoever may catch his visage. 

As upon the lonely moon, there is a lone osmanthus tree with branches that reach towards the endless sea of stars and delicate flowers of blooming skirts. Beyond this perennial tree there is a palace made of exquisite jade, with pillars of perfectly carved stone that graze the heavens and cool marble upon the mirrored floors. Rabbits of downy sheen and soft glow roam the cratered valleys and high hills, with wide eyes like glimmering stars.

It is within such an idyllic estate that lives all but this one forlorn soul. 

Though, who among them know of the tale of why this lofty pavilion houses such an enigmatic person?

Swaying against the breeze of celestial pull, the great skies of shifting blue and vast purple seas disappearing and descending before his very eyes, it is the cold moon and vast universe that calls to him. Held by the river of stars and displayed the great stars of heaven, he is brought to his stellar abode. Fluent sleeves and faired hair danced among the stream of stars, yet no such joy of ascension tinged the corners of his eyes. 

The fiery ache of immortality that roils within his bones is the only source of this turmoil, tugging along that sightless string of nihility cast upon by the cruel universe. 

He broods among the long nights, with no one but himself and the company of jade rabbits upon this untroubled palace. Yellow petals drift along the cosmic winds, fluttering with glittering stars in a fleeting embrace. The planet he once called home remains within his golden sight, and though he reaches for that verdant cradle of life, his fingers just about caressing its vibrant surface, all he feels is the cold sting of space.

To become a part of the cosmic entourage means to reside among the frigid galaxy, but human– earthly emotion has no place in this world. 

Had he known, had he only known that protecting that which is most dear to his heart would have led to this torture, he would have let it all happen. Though death would have come swift, there was still a ‘together’ in dying together. 

And as he looks towards the endless tapestry of fate and twinkling stars, the tumultuous earth of forests and seas, he knows. 

Peering from that celestial perch of fragrant florets and jade palace, eyes of osmanthus and hair like jade, that beauty has long since known.

Yet he hopes that perhaps one day, in that myriad of constellations, he will see your face among them.

[fairylandblog]

Faerie Wells

People often view folklore's enigmatic and alluring enchanted faerie wells as entrances to magical worlds populated by faeries and other ethereal creatures. These wells are usually located in remote, peaceful areas where the line separating the ordinary world from the magical realm is blurry, such as thick forests, secret glades, or foggy meadows. Lush greenery, old trees, and bright wildflowers surround the wells, creating an atmosphere that feels otherworldly and mystical. Their presence is frequently characterized by tranquility. According to legend, these wells have extraordinary abilities and can bestow blessings on anybody who approaches them with kindness. Rumors suggest that the magically charged waters within possess the ability to heal wounds, grant wishes, and reveal future visions. Stories sometimes describe these waters as reflecting the light of the stars or moon, gleaming with a silvery radiance. Some folktales even assert that consuming water from a faerie well bestows great wisdom or endless youth; nonetheless, these blessings are uncommon and only given to deserving individuals.

The wells are said to glow with an unearthly light on some nights, especially around full moons and equinoxes, which is said to indicate the presence of faeries celebrating and dancing. These events are rumored to feature music so entrancing that it can lull unsuspecting tourists into a trance and bring them closer to the world of faeries. Witnesses to such situations frequently describe seeing small, glowing beings darting around or hearing sounds that seem to emanate from all directions at once, like laughter and harmony. It's customary for visitors to these wells to leave modest offerings—flowers, glittery objects, or a few droplets of honey, for the faeries. These offerings serve the purpose of ensuring the faeries' goodwill and honoring them. In exchange, the faeries themselves, who manifest as delicate figures dancing in the moonlight or shimmering lights, may grant glimpses to those deemed deserving. The faeries may even bestow upon some people a blessing or a whispered secret as a sign of their goodwill.

But there's a warning associated with these wells' magic. Because faeries are infamous for being erratic and fiercely protective of their holy locations, folklore advises against acting greedily or taking advantage of others. When one returns home, disregard for the well and its keepers can result in bizarre and frightening dreams, or one may become lost in the woods or fall victim to a faerie trick that sends one wandering in circles until daylight. The magic of the faeries is very old and strong, and those who wish to benefit from it must be humble and respectful of it. Narratives of enchanted faerie wells persistently arouse amazement and inquisitiveness, serving as a reminder of the enchantment concealed beneath the surface of our mundane existence. They testify to the timeless appeal of fairy tales and the belief in worlds where the impossible is possible. These stories encourage us to imagine a world in which magic abounds in the natural world, and where there is a strong and vivid relationship between humanity and the earth's mystical energies. Through these stories, the mystical faerie wells continue to represent mystery, hope, and the enduring link between the mundane world and the otherworldly magical regions.

[fanficsfreeideas]

AngelicRadio week - Day seven Fairy tales

The Curse Prince

Once upon a time, a prince named Alastor suffered under a curse that transformed him into a deer by day and restored him to his human form by night. King Vox inflicted This curse upon him, who desired Alastor's hand in marriage but was repeatedly denied. Alastor's heart ached for his true love, Prince Adam, whom he hoped would one day find him under the moonlit nights.

Meanwhile, Adam had been searching tirelessly for Alastor, driven by rumors of a king who claimed to have a secret lover. Knowing he had visited Alastor's kingdom a year prior, he suspected this king.

One morning, as Alastor basked in the sunlight, he heard a noise and saw Adam approaching. Overjoyed, Alastor bounded towards him, only to be struck by an arrow. Adam, mistaking Alastor for a deer, was devastated when he realized his grave error as Alastor transformed briefly into his human form before fleeing.

Alastor's cries of pain echoed as he returned wounded to King Vox, who cruelly taunted him, reveling in Alastor's suffering. Vox had cursed Alastor not to die but to suffer and depend on him. Despite Vox's manipulations, Alastor defiantly refused Vox's advances, crying out for Adam's true love.

As twilight fell, Alastor transformed into his human self and retreated to a field of flowers under the moon's gentle glow. Adam, hidden nearby, watched in awe as Alastor danced and sang, expressing his longing and sorrow. Adam had never witnessed such a beautiful sight.

In a moment of profound realization, Adam ran towards Alastor, declaring his love and begging forgiveness for his mistaken arrow. They embraced briefly before tragedy struck again—King Vox, in a fit of jealousy and rage, stabbed Adam and seized Alastor, insisting they marry.

Alastor cried for Adam, but before Vox could force Alastor into submission, Adam fueled by love and defiance, rose and swiftly decapitated Vox. With Vox's death, the curse that bound Alastor was shattered.

As Adam held Alastor in his arms, they both knew they were finally free. They returned to their kingdom, where they lived happily ever after.

The Little Red Killer and his hunter

Once upon a time, in a forest shrouded in dark legends of mysterious deaths, a man in a red hood set out to visit his dear friend's house. This man, unknown to most, was a killer himself, fearless in the face of the dangers lurking among the shadows. He carried with him a basket filled with freshly baked human meat pies, savoring the thrill of the eerie surroundings.

Meanwhile, Adam the Hunter was hot on the trail of a notorious killer rumored to haunt the same forest. Spotting the striking figure in red entering the woods, Adam hesitated for a moment but quickly decided to ensure the stranger's safety. Just as a menacing figure moved towards the man in red, Adam intervened with swift precision, pushing aside the assailant and ending their threat with a fatal blow. The notorious menace of the woods was swiftly vanquished by Adam's skilled hand.

Alastor, the man in red, initially harbored frustration at his foiled plans for murder. However, as he turned to face his savior, he couldn't help but be drawn to Adam's charming smile and genuine concern. Soft chuckles escaped Alastor's lips as he thanked Adam for saving him, extending an unexpected invitation for Adam to join him on his visit to his friend's house.

Adam blushed, captivated by Alastor's charisma and intrigued by the offer to accompany such a mysterious and alluring person. He offered to carry Alastor's basket, curious about the delightful aroma emanating from within. Alastor grinned mischievously, revealing the unique recipe of his meat pies without divulging their unusual ingredients. Adam, unaware of the pies' true nature, accepted with eagerness, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of adventure and the enigmatic Alastor.

As they ventured deeper into the forest together, Adam remained oblivious to the unsettling truths concealed by Alastor's charming facade. He never suspected that his dear companion was a cannibal, nor did he question the origin of the meat pies they shared. Their journey continued in blissful ignorance, their love blossoming amidst the shadows and secrets of the haunting forest.

And so, Adam and Alastor lived happily together, their bond strengthened by their shared adventures and mutual affection, all while the mysteries of the forest whispered around them, hidden in the dark corners of their shared world.

[who-can-appease-me]

𝘼 𝙎𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙈𝙖𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙨

A Take on Southern Gothic

(Southern Gothic Tale)

Summary: This atmospheric tale explores the haunting allure of the Southern Gothic, where faded elegance, untold stories, and the enduring power of the past cast a spell on those who dare to venture into its cryptic embrace.

Warning: Dark Themes, Paranormal, Implied Tragedy and Grief.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the moss-draped oaks that lined the worn dirt road. The air was heavy with humidity, a tangible weight that clung to the skin and seeped into the bones. In the distance, the eerie wail of a blues guitar echoed through the stillness, blending with the chorus of cicadas.

A dilapidated plantation house loomed in the distance, its once grand façade now faded and crumbling. The white paint peeled from its weathered clapboard siding, revealing the grayed wood beneath. The front porch sagged under the weight of time, its creaking boards whispering tales of forgotten stories.

As one approached, the scent of magnolias mingled with the acrid tang of decay, creating a heady and pungent aroma. The overgrown garden, once bursting with vibrant colors, now lay in tangled disarray. Weeds choked the delicate blossoms, suffocating the life from once-nurtured flower beds.

A rusty swing creaked eerily in the gentle breeze, its chains swaying with a mournful rhythm. The aged wooden slats bore the imprints of countless children who had played there long ago, their laughter now a distant memory. It swung back and forth, as if moved by some unseen force, its presence evoking a sense of nostalgia and melancholy.

The porch steps groaned under the weight of visitors, each creak a reminder of the countless souls who had passed through before. The front door, weathered and warped, resisted efforts to open it, as if guarding the secrets that lay within. With a final push, it reluctantly gave way, revealing a dimly lit interior.

Inside, the air was thick with dust, particles floating lazily in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through cracked windowpanes. Shadows danced along the peeling wallpaper, their undulating forms creating an eerie play of light and darkness. The scent of decay intensified, a musty odor that permeated the very essence of the house.

Antique furniture, once elegant and regal, now stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time. Their velvet upholstery faded and moth-eaten, their ornate carvings obscured by a layer of grime. A broken grandfather clock, its hands frozen in time, stood as a silent reminder of a bygone era.

In the corner of the room, a cobweb-covered piano stood, its keys yellowed and cracked. The faint echo of forgotten melodies seemed to linger in the air, a haunting reminder of the music that once filled these walls.

As one explored further, the rooms revealed more secrets. Tattered curtains swayed gently in the breeze, whispering tales of hidden desires and unfulfilled dreams. Faded photographs adorned the walls, their subjects frozen in time, their eyes filled with a sadness that spoke of untold stories.

Outside, the sun began its descent, casting long, ominous shadows that stretched across the landscape. This place held an enchantment, a spell of mystery and decay that captivated the senses. It was a world suspended between reality and the ethereal, where the ordinary took on an extraordinary air, and the darkness held a magnetic allure.

As the moon rose, bathing the world in an ethereal glow, the essence of this place revealed itself in all its haunting beauty. It stood as a testament to the transience of existence, an enigmatic realm that beckoned both the curious and the cautious, leaving an indelible mark upon all who dared to venture into its embrace.

Under the moonlit sky, the worn dirt road stretched into the distance, disappearing into the shadowy depths of the beautiful southern landscape. The dilapidated plantation house stood as a silent sentinel, its weathered facade bathed in the ethereal glow. Moss clung to the oak trees, veiling them in a ghostly shroud, while the chorus of nocturnal creatures filled the air with their haunting melodies.

The scent of magnolias and decay mingled in the humid night air, a heady combination that permeated the senses. The overgrown garden, once vibrant and carefully tended, now lay in disarray, nature reclaiming its territory. Weeds choked the once-proud flowers, their blossoms withered and forgotten.

This place, with its decaying beauty, embodied the essence of Southern Gothic. It was a world suspended in time, where the lines between reality and the supernatural blurred. It held the echoes of forgotten lives, their stories intertwined with the land, lingering in the whispers of the wind.

As the night deepened, the allure of the south grew stronger. It whispered of forgotten tales and restless spirits, of dreams left unfulfilled and the undeniable power of the past. And as the moon illuminated the landscape, its light carried the promise that this realm would forever captivate those who encountered it, revealing glimpses of a hidden world where beauty and decay coexisted in haunting harmony.

Word Count: 1.1k

[drewzeitlin]

Cross Stitch Stories: The Resilient Heart: The Journey of Raz, the Last Caspian Tiger Part 5

Part 5: The Triumph of Resilience

The dark entity lunged at Raz, a swirling mass of shadows and malevolent energy. Raz stood his ground, drawing upon every ounce of his strength and resilience. The artifact in his possession pulsed with light, its energy resonating with the ancient magic of the forest.

The clash between Raz and the entity was fierce and brutal. The entity's shadowy tendrils lashed out, attempting to envelop Raz in darkness. Raz dodged and countered, his claws slicing through the air with precision and power. Each strike illuminated the forest, casting fleeting glimpses of the entity's true form—a twisted, corrupted spirit seeking to consume all light and life.

Raz fought with everything he had, his body aching and his wounds burning. He remembered the wise owl's words and the prophecy of the tiger who would restore balance. He thought of his lost family, their memory fueling his determination. The young fox, now a symbol of the allies he had found along the way, watched from the shadows, its eyes filled with hope.

The battle raged on, each moment a test of Raz's will. The entity's attacks grew more desperate, its power waning as Raz's resilience shone brighter. With a final, mighty roar, Raz lunged forward, the artifact in his grasp glowing with an intense, blinding light. He plunged the artifact into the heart of the entity, the light searing through the darkness.

The entity howled in agony, its form dissolving into the light. The shadows receded, and the forest was bathed in a brilliant glow. Raz collapsed to the ground, exhausted but victorious. The artifact's light dimmed, its energy spent, but its purpose fulfilled.

The forest began to heal. Flowers bloomed, and the trees regained their vitality. The animals emerged from their hiding places, their eyes filled with gratitude and awe. The young fox approached Raz, nuzzling his side in a gesture of friendship and respect.

Raz rose to his feet, his body weary but his spirit soaring. He had fulfilled his destiny, restored balance to the land, and honored the memory of his family. The ancient tree in the heart of the clearing stood as a testament to his triumph, its roots and branches intertwined with the magic of the forest.

The wise old owl appeared once more, perching on a low branch. "You have done well, Raz," it said, its voice filled with pride. "The forest is in your debt, and your legacy will be remembered for generations to come."

Raz nodded, his enigmatic gaze filled with a sense of peace and purpose. He knew that his journey was not over, that there were still challenges to face and adventures to undertake. But he was no longer alone, and he was no longer just a survivor—he was a symbol of resilience, a beacon of hope.

As the moon rose high in the sky, casting its silvery light over the restored forest, Raz turned to the young fox. "Let's continue our journey," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "There is still much to see and do."

The fox nodded, its eyes gleaming with excitement and determination. Together, they walked into the moonlit night, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Raz's gaze, once enigmatic and filled with sorrow, was now clear and resolute. He was the resilient Caspian Tiger, a hero of the forest, and his story was far from over.

With each step, the forest came alive with the sounds of life and the whispers of a brighter future. Raz and the fox ventured onward, their spirits intertwined, their paths forever changed by the trials they had faced and the triumphs they had achieved. The night was filled with promise, and the dawn of a new era awaited them.

The End.

This story was brought to you by the Cross Stitch Pattern Animals Mammals Caspian Tiger With Story and Audio. Not only does this design look great, but it also tells a powerful story of resiliency, with an audio recap included. The hero of our tale, Raz highly recommends it. For more information, visit drewzeitlin.gumroad.com/l/caspiantiger. You can see all our cross-stitch patterns at DrewZeitlin.gumroad.com This is not your great-grandmother’s cross-stitch—it’s a multi-sensory experience! And one more thing: you get to choose the price. What do you have to lose? But how much do you have to gain?

[xasha777]

In a universe where the boundaries of space and time are woven with threads of fantasy, there was a world unlike any other—a world where the moon bloomed larger than life, cradling its sister planets in a dance of celestial grace, and the skies whispered tales of ancient magic. It was here, amidst the flower-strewn hills of Floranus, that Lysandra found her destiny waiting, as vibrant as the flowers in her basket.

The daughter of a cosmic botanist, Lysandra inherited the rare ability to commune with the flora of Floranus, making them burst into spectacular bloom with just a whisper of her melodious voice. She wore a dress the color of the sapphire sky, dotted with the glow of distant stars, a sartorial homage to the galaxy that watched over her.

One day, as the twin moons converged in a once-in-a-millennium eclipse, an ancient prophecy whispered by the winds came to light. It spoke of the Sant'Anselmo all'Aventino, an enigmatic energy source hidden on Floranus, powerful enough to awaken the slumbering heart of the universe.

With her basket of flowers, which were said to be the keys to unlocking the Sant'Anselmo all'Aventino, Lysandra set out on a journey that would lead her through the fabric of space-time. Her path was strewn with riddles sung by cosmic winds, and guardians as old as the cosmos itself, awaiting one worthy of the Sant'Anselmo's power.

As she navigated through the labyrinth of blooming nebulae and constellations, each step brought her closer to her ultimate destiny. The Sant'Anselmo all'Aventino was not just an energy source; it was a sentient being, the progenitor of life and harmony, seeking a companion to share its wisdom.

Upon reaching the Aventino Plateau, a place where the fabric of reality was thin, Lysandra sang the song of unity, taught to her by the whispering stars. Her voice, pure and resonant, echoed through dimensions, reaching the Sant'Anselmo. The ground trembled, flowers swayed, and the sky pulsated with a symphony of colors.

The Sant'Anselmo all'Aventino awakened, revealing itself as a crystal of unfathomable beauty, pulsating with the life force of the universe. It floated before her, resonating with her song, and in that moment, Lysandra understood. She was not just a keeper of flowers; she was a cosmic envoy chosen to bridge the realms of existence.

Together, Lysandra and the Sant'Anselmo all'Aventino ventured forth to spread the harmony of Floranus across the galaxies, seeding life and beauty in their wake, an endless odyssey into the heart of wonder—a testament to the power of unity and the enduring magic of a universe infinitely alive with possibilities.

[moohnshinescorner]

Moonflower: Vampires of Los Angeles

by Heather Ewen-Foster

Sonia, a 250-year-old Australian vampire, thought she had found peace in the quiet neighborhood of Whitley Heights, Hollywood. But when a mysterious creature starts slaughtering young vampires, Sonia is thrust into a deadly game of cat and mouse.

With her friend Sunny targeted by an ancient monster, Sonia must uncover the truth behind these brutal attacks. Desperate to save her friend and end the bloodshed, Sonia navigates the treacherous politics of the vampire world. Along the way, she finds herself torn between her irresistible attraction to Alex, the enigmatic human journalist helping in her investigation, and her deep bond with sexy and charismatic Sunny, Alpha Vampire extraordinaire.

As the sinister plot unravels, Sonia’s race against time becomes a pulse-pounding battle against an impossibly powerful foe. Will she uncover the truth before more lives are lost? And what sacrifices will she have to make to protect those she loves?

Moon Flower is a spellbinding urban fantasy that will leave you breathless. Heather Ewen-Foster’s suspenseful tale immerses you in a world of danger, romance, and mythical creatures. Get ready for an electrifying adventure that will keep you turning the pages late into the night.

MY REVIEW ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

So I started my New Year's with this bang up job of a book called Moon Flower. It started off real strong introducing us to the main heroine Sonia. She is 250 years old and has settled into a quiet neighborhood of Los Angeles. She just wants to live out her days in peace till the next great move. But there is an unrest beginning in her town and vampires are disappearing at an alarming rate. Sonia finds herself sucked into the middle of a mess and it may just cost her her life.

The book started off real quick and full of action. The book continues this pace with non-stop action throughout. But as I read this book I found that it would cut off a scene too sharply leaving the readers to use their imagination to finish the scenes. This is ok for most scenes, but when it comes to the final epic ending it cuts off again and this time it felt like you were robbed of something in the end. This is why I took a star away from my review.

The story itself was interesting and entertaining. It has unique and fun characters. Especially Sunny. He was an exciting character who brought life to the story. Alex on the other hand has a history that the author did not divulge into enough. I can tell there is another story to be told there.

Overall the book was a good and entertaining read. It has a lot of action and a bit of emotion to it as well. It is full of danger and adventure. Lots of blood and gore so I hope you are not squeamish. An adventure story of a power play struggle that is full of deception and jealousy.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3FLbGks

[vollmond-laboratory]

The Enigmatic Tale of the Flowers and the Moon — Part 1

[Location: Mountainside, Day]

All of a sudden, I was awake.

Opening my eyes, I found myself somewhere entirely unfamiliar. The smell of greenery and dirt here was strong.

Akira: (…Am I on a mountain…?)

Startled, I looked around, my eyes wide.

Akira: “…!”

A creature I’d never seen before was looming over me, its mouth stretched wide like a snake.

Terror shot through me head to toe, and I started shouting almost without meaning to.

Akira: “Somebody, help…!”

???: “Close your eyes.”

Hearing a mysterious voice, I did as I was told and squeezed my eyes shut. A great gust of wind suddenly blew around me with a roar.

Akira: “…Huh?”

When I opened my eyes again, the open-mouthed monster had vanished.

In its place was a man in a kimono. He was well-dressed, with a solemn air about him.

Man: “…Are you alright?”

I nodded my head as he looked down at me, a little stunned.

Akira: “Um, did you just save my life…?”

He frowned, neither confirming nor denying my question.

Man: “I wasn’t just going to sit back and… Regardless, I can’t believe you were attacked by a dragon of all things. Are you a criminal or something?”

Man: “Frankly, I’ve never seen a yōkai like you before.”

Akira: (…Yōkai? Dragon?)

Akira: (What is this guy even talking about… Those aren’t real creatures, they’re all made up…)

That’s what I wanted to say— but then I found myself tilting my head curiously.

Akira: (…Why do I feel so strongly about something like that, anyway?)

My own thoughts were starting to make me feel uncomfortable. 

‘There’s no way’ — where did that belief come from?

Akira: (Now that I’m really thinking about it, it’s true that the creature I just saw must’ve been…)

Green scales and a long, thin body. Given the chance to reflect on what just happened, it had obviously been a dragon that attacked me.

And the man who helped me… Now that I was looking at him closely, he seemed to have wings sprouting from his back.

Akira: (Yōkai…)

Slowly, the truth within his words began to spread throughout my body.

But my mind and my heart still couldn’t quite accept it, and I felt my confusion only grow.

Akira: (…Where in the world am I…)

Akira: (If he’s a yōkai, does that mean…?)

For a moment, I wondered if I could be a yōkai too. But the man said he’d never seen anyone like me before…

And if that’s true, then what am I? Where am I, and what am I doing here?

Akira: (…I can’t remember.)

Desperately, I tried to think of anything I could remember— but it all came back hazy and unclear. I could feel my head spinning.

Man: “…Hey, you.”

When I looked up, I found him glaring at me quizzically.

Akira: “Oh, I-I’m sorry… It’s just that, for some reason, I can’t seem to remember anything about myself…”

Faust: “You can’t?”

The look on his face was getting increasingly dubious.

Akira: “I-I really can’t… What to do… Why is this happening…”

It was as if somebody had suddenly thrown me out into the ocean, left to struggle on my own. With no shore or boats in sight, I had nothing to keep myself afloat with.

Man: “Calm down. You don’t have to force yourself if you can’t remember.”

Man: “My name is Faust… I’m a tengu.”

Akira: “Mr. Faust…”

Faust: “Just Faust is fine.”

Faust: “I’m not a particularly kind or honest yōkai, but I have no intention of harming you.”

His voice was soothing, as if trying to comfort a sickly child. Despite what he’d said, Faust certainly sounded kind and honest. Hearing that, a word suddenly popped into my head.

Akira: “Akira…”

Faust: “What?”

Akira: “…That’s my name. I still can’t remember anything else, though.”

Faust: “I see… If you’re recalling things as you talk, it could be less that you’ve had your memories taken from you and more that they’ve been locked away in the back of your mind.”

Faust: “With the right triggers, you’ll probably start remembering things bit by bit.”

Hearing him say that was a little relieving. Then, Faust suddenly turned away.

Faust: “Bye now.”

Akira: “Eh?! Wait, you’re leaving?!”

Faust: “I’d really rather avoid getting involved in anything troublesome if I can help it.”

Faust: “And besides… Even if it was an accident, messing with the dragons is only going to get me in trouble somehow.”

Faust: “If you’re worried about being on your own, try asking a nicer yōkai to help you.”

Akira: “P-Please wait a minute…! I don’t even know who I am or what I’m doing here; there’s nobody else I know to ask for help…”

I grabbed Faust by the sleeve to try and keep him from leaving. I knew I was being far too brazen with someone I’d only just met, but I was desperate for his help.

It felt like I didn’t even know right from left anymore. Uncertain about who I even was as a person, Faust was now the only one I could rely on.

Faust: “…”

I must have looked incredibly pathetic.

For a long moment, Faust gazed at me with a troubled expression, then let out a deep sigh with his eyes downcast.

Faust: “I feel like I’m going to regret this later, but I suppose I can at least take you to Ōun-gai.”

Akira: “Ōun-gai…?”

Faust: “It’s a town under the protection of a great cherry blossom tree, where many different kinds of yōkai live. You might be able to find out something about yourself there.”

☾❀☽

[Location: Dragon’s Manor, Day]

Figaro: “Just had a report come in… Looks like they got away after all.”

White: “My dear Snow is on his way to investigate the matter now.”

White: “Bothersome though it may be, ‘twould be worse to merely leave the situation as is.”

White: “Isn’t that right, Oz?”

Oz: “…”

Oz: “Any foreign beings that attempt to invade our own world… We must find them, and take action.”

☾❀☽

[Location: The Sky, Day]

Akira: “W-We’re so high up…!”

Faust: “Stay still.”

We were flying through the air, with Faust carrying me as we went. Far below, I could see the tiny mountain road flanked by trees passing us by.

The black wings on his back moved with ease, as if soaking up the wind while we flew.

Akira: “Faust, you can fly…”

Faust: “I’m a tengu, it’s only natural. Is this the first time you’ve ever flown?”

Akira: “Is it…?”

Akira: (Somehow, I get the feeling that it isn’t…)

Without my memories, there was no way to say for sure. Still, Faust flying through the sky while carrying me like luggage made me feel nervous, mostly because I was afraid he might accidentally drop me.

Soon, though, we left the mountain behind, and a town tinged pink like peaches came into view.

Akira: “Is that…?”

Faust: “Yes. It’s Ōun-gai.”

Ōun-gai was absolutely covered in cherry blossom trees. It looked like the town had been built up around them, rather than the trees being planted where there was space.

And all of them were in full bloom. Flying over them like this made it seem as if the town was obscured by light pink clouds.

Akira: (Ōun-gai… Cherry Cloud Town. Just like the name suggests…)

[Location: Street, Day]

While I was half captivated by the view, Faust slowly lowered us down towards the ground.

The moment my feet hit the floor, a deluge of cherry blossom petals suddenly swept around me.

Akira: “Whoa…!”

Faust: “It seems as if the great cherry blossom tree likes you, and wants to welcome you. So I guess you really aren’t dangerous after all…”

Akira: “…You mentioned it earlier, too, but what is the ‘great cherry blossom tree’?”

Faust: “As the name might imply, it’s a yōkai that takes the form of a cherry blossom. It has been alive for over thousands of years, and will never wilt or die.”

Faust: “Ōun-gai was built on the roots of this great tree, and it is protected by its will.”

Faust: “It likes moonlight, and unusual things. Which is probably why it likes you so much, too.”

Akira: “A cherry blossom with its own will…”

A giant yōkai that has lived for over thousands of years…?

I couldn’t help looking around in disbelief. While the colours decorating the town were certainly beautiful, almost ephemeral… They still seemed like perfectly normal trees to me.

A little ways away, I could see two boys — one with brown hair, the other gold — walking together under the cherry blossoms, holding onto watering cans. They seemed to be taking care of a few of the trees.

But they both had fox-like ears and big, fluffy tails, wagging side to side.

Akira: “…This really is a world where yōkai live, huh…”

Faust: “When you phrase it like that, you make it sound like you come from a different world entirely.”

Akira: “A different world? Is that even possible?”

Faust: “Don’t ask me. It’s not like I know.”

In the middle of my conversation with Faust, a tall young man suddenly approached the two of us.

—

Index | Next >

[rayne-storm]

AUgust 16 - Joker - Fantasy

Title: Miracle Maker

Fandom: Void's Enigmatic Mansion

Implied Duke/Lavelle

Welcome back to Rayne's Obscure Interests Emporium. Today we take a look at a fairy-tale version of the already fantastical "Void's Enigmatic Mansion," an incredible series that I highly recommend.

Long ago and far away, in a time and place that was both completely alike and not at all similar to our own, there lived a simple young woodcarver. He made many things, from cabinets to coffins to closet doors, but his deepest love was in sculpting delicate figures, so lifelike one would swear they say the creations breathing.

One day, the woodcarver had a knock at his door. Now this on its own wasn't too peculiar, regardless of how remote his little cottage was at the edge of town. What caused him to take pause was the manner of the knocking. Every person knocks on a door differently, and if you have never been able to observe this, I promise it's true. The meek folk tend to knock quietly, as though they could cause disruption merely by touching their fists to the surface of a door. The mighty knock loudly, announcing their presence in every meeting of knuckle to wood.

This knock was self-important. A sharp series of three "knock-knock-knocks" introduced the waiting party as someone who was important, if only to themselves.

Still, never one to be inhospitable, the woodcarver made his way to the door.

A man stood before him, robed in fine blacks and reds, with skin like snow and lips like rubies. The woodcarver bowed his head in respect at the clearly fine status of the man before him, inviting him inside.

The man took three steps, just as grandiose and self-important as the knocks at the door had been, and gazed about the small abode. It was neat and tidy, but not uninvitingly so. It was lived-in, but well-kept. The important man smirked.

"I am told you grant wishes."

That caused the carver to pause.

"I am so sorry, sir, but, did you say-"

"Yes. I did. Wishes of wood, figurines so real that one could scarcely believe they weren't."

"I… I suppose, yes I do."

"Good. I have a wish for you, then."

To say the woodcarver wasn't curious would be a lie. But he had enough wisdom in his young body to know that wishes often led to regret. Still… there was something in the eyes of this man that whispered of secrets, and far be it from the carver to disappoint a potential customer.

"What would you like?"

The man reached into a suit pocket and pulled out a neatly rolled paper, and presented its contents: the portrait of a beautiful young girl.

"Can you create her likeness?"

"I suppose I could try, yes. How small would you like it?"

"The size of a child, of course. You're granting a wish, not capturing some somber memory."

The carver was taken aback. He had never crafted something so large and so intricate as a child. He had never even thought to. But… well, now he was presented with a challenge.

"I will do my best, I can promise no more."

"I will return in one year's time to check on you. Will that be enough?"

"I think so, yes, but we'll know when it comes."

"That we will."

So saying, the man departed, and the woodcarver got to work.

First, he had to plan. It was not enough simply to have a picture. He had to create sketches and sketches and notes and notes in order to even begin to see how this magnificent doll would come together.

He decided straight away that she would have movable parts. Her joints would bend and rotate as closely to reality as possible. Her eyes and mouth would remain still, if only to preserve the beauty of her face.

Next, the woodcarver had to decide whether or not to carve the body clothed or not. Again, he went with realism. He would carve a nude figure in order to dress her properly, with no worry for the vast folds and filigris of fashionable attire. That in itself changed as often as the moon, so this doll would be able to remain trendy or vintage as the case may be.

Finally, the matter of hair. The woodcarver initially decided to sculpt the delicate curls of the girl's flowing locks, but, again, there was fashion to consider, and the natural beauty of movement in such delicate strands.

Thus, with the make-up of the doll decided, the woodcarver got to work.

Every day he labored over this creation, and every day he gave up. Every day he wept bitterly at his own limitations, and every day he cheered his own genius. On and on it went, and still he occasionally made time for his customary orders.

One day, in the middle of his daily weeping, a tinkling sound of bells sounded outside his window. He opened it, and was astonished to see a little man, dressed in gold and silver. The tiny man had tiny wings, and a tiny notebook made from mushroom caps and tiny leaves.

"Hello, sir, it is a pleasure to meet you," the woodcarver greeted, opening the window further for the little man to enter.

"I have heard," the tiny, tinkling voice began, "that you are creating a miracle. I wish to be the greatest poet who ever lived, you see, and so I wished I might take inspiration for myself from your work, if that is quite alright with you."

The woodcarver blushed and bowed his head. While he was proud of what he had achieved, he felt it nowhere near perfection. But who was he to deny a poet anything?

He moved the cloth from the wood he was working, and the little poet buzzed about excitedly, making tiny notes in his tiny book.

As he flew around, the woodcarver noticed that the little creature had no good tools to write with, merely berries that he dipped into with his finger.

Well, it wouldn't do to have a poet who couldn't read his own work, so he fashioned a little stylus to take berry and flower-petal ink so that the young man might write more confidently.

The flying poet thanked the woodcarver greatly, zipping around the room with joy.

"May she have the beauty of a goddess and the voice on an angel," the poet cried, and departed for the evening.

The carver smiled and closed the window behind his guest. He sat down to work once more, but felt more confident in the work he had done.

Some time later, as he was finishing the limbs of the doll, there was a scratching at his door like a dog wished to get in.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, a wolf was sat on his stoop, eyes of gold and fur of black.

"Good carver," the wolf began, voice dusky, "I have been told you are creating a miracle. I wish to marry the doe in the field near my home, and to see such impossible craftsmanship would help me gain the confidence to approach her. May I come and see?"

Well, the carver certainly wouldn't object to true love, as strange as it may have sounded, and so he let the wolf in, and lifted the blanket covering his carving. The wolf howled in delight and began to pace circles around the doll, admiring her form.

As he circled, the Carver thought about how he might help the wolf win the heart of a doe.

He fashioned a collar from the finest of his leather scraps, a collar befitting a king, with a circle of gleaming gold in the center. He presented the collar to the wolf, advising that wearing it for the doe would demonstrate his loyalty, and his tameness to her.

The wolf accepted the accessory, and bowed his head in gratitude.

"May she be loyal and swift," he growled, heart beating with excitement and nervousness at confessing his love.

The carver smiled and closed the door behind the wolf, getting back to his work. It felt that the wood was smoother and more pliant beneath his hands.

The time came when the woodcarver's year was very nearly up. His doll was beautiful, it was true, with eyes of sapphire and hair the finest flaxen gold. He dress appeared to be spun from stars, and the woodcarver knew, with no shadow of a doubt, that he would never create her equal.

As he finished placing delicate shoes on the doll's feet, a pounding came at the door. This was no self-important knock, nor tinkling query, nor curious scratch. Scarcely had the woodcarver opened the door than a young man in fine silks strode boldly in.

"I am to be the greatest doctor in the world," he announced hotly, lips curled into a sneer, "and I was told you were here performing miracles. I will see for myself."

Before the woodcarver could stop the man, he was poking and prodding the precious doll, yanking her fine hair out and tearing her starlight dress. He plucked out her sapphire eyes to see what lay behind, scoffing at the delicate work.

"Hmph. It is just a toy after all. No substitute for the real body. May she remain fragile and weak."

So saying he strode back out, leaving the woodcarver to burst into tears.

How could he ever face the grand gentleman now? What would the fellow say to such abysmal work?

He had just about resigned himself to despair when a soft voice like the whispering of the wind interrupted him.

"Why do you cry, my father?"

It was his precious doll, hair matted and frayed, dress torn to shreds, and eyes missing. He felt he must be dreaming, but there she was, patient smile ever steady on her delicate lips.

"My doll, my daughter," he wept, "you have been abused and ruined by that terrible doctor. I don't know how to face you or the man who asked you into being."

"Worry not, father. Sleep. The day is wiser than the night, and all will be well."

The woodcarver didn't have an argument for that, so to his bed he trudged, and into the covers he burrowed, miserable but still bewildered by the magic of his creation.

Before the man knew it, it was morning, and there those three knocks were upon the door.

The woodcarver answered nervously, and there was the grand man from the year before, looking exactly the same.

"I have come to see the miracle you have made for me, woodcarver. Let us see if my wish has come true."

The woodcarver began to shake. He knew the state the doll was in, horrendous as it was. But he could not dissuade his guest from coming in.

Gingerly he lifted the blanket concealing his dolly daughter, and was astonished to see her hair was now fiery red curls, and her dress was a deep forest green.

The grand man smiled, observing his doll.

"A fine creation indeed, I see. She is beautiful, but deadly. Loyal and stunning. Delicate but fierce. You have made a miracle.”

The woodcarver nodded. The doll blinked awake and curtsied at the man who had commissioned her.

"Are you to be my new father?"

"I think so. But such a shame it would be to abandon such talent. I believe you should have two fathers, if that would be agreeable to your creator.

The woodcarver was nearly speechless. What in the world-

"Yes," he answered before he could stop himself, and the doll and gentleman both smiled and offered their hands.

Once upon a time there was a woodcarver who could grant wishes, who created a daughter from wood and cloth, and wed a man no beauty could phase.

And they lived happily.

[ofsigrids]

hello  my dearest fellow writers ! i’m  eden,  my pronouns are  she  /  her  &.  reside  in  the  est  timezone.  i’m  so extremely excited to be here and apologize for this being late & a little vagueish being insanely busy right before christmas. without further ado though let me introduce you in part ( there will be a google doc coming with prettier things trust me! ) to the second love of my life - Sigrid!

synnove karlsen, 25, aryndale, cis-woman. ––– i believe that is sigrid dudley nee thrane, the duchess of limburg. they are twenty five years old and are known to be very captivating & perspicacious, though they can also be very enigmatic & calculative. they remind me of flowers raised from killing fields tended by hands that know their cost, words whispered into the ears of mighty men and to magnificent beasts and the elegance and grace of a wildly capable woman.  tw mentions of death, war

I. ━━ GENERAL.

NAME : sigrid gisela dudley nee thrane . ( if you are a friend you can call her siggy )

AGE : twenty-five. 25

COUNTRY OF ORIGIN : aryndale.

FORMER TITLE / S : none.

CURRENT TITLE / S : lady sigrid dudley, duchess of limburg

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN : scorpio. scorpio sun & taurus moon.

II. ━━ PERSONAL.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : heterosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : heteromantic

PERSONALITY TYPE : infj, the advocate.

MORAL ALIGNMENT : neutral good borderline true neutral 

HABITS : a knowing look, biting her lip, quiet but extremely detailed observations

SINS : lust  /  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  / pride  /  envy  / wrath

III. ━━ TRAITS & PERSONALITY.

cowardly     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●      brave

energetic    ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○     lethargic

forgiving     ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○      vengeful

charitable     ● ○ ○ ○  ○ ○ ○ ○ ○     selfish

authentic     ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○      deceitful

chaste     ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○      lustful

humble    ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○     boastful

naive     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●      experienced

cautious     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○      daring

restrained     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○     bold

trusting     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○      suspicious

IV. ━━ PHYSICALITY.

HAIR COLOR : dark brown ( depending on the time of the year it does get lighter )

EYE COLOR : dark brown.

HEIGHT : 5′5.

WEIGHT : 120lbs

BUILD : ectomorph.

ACCENT : slight. vaguely scottish in nature

PITCH : middle register. an appealing almost silvery tone that does get a little melodic when she talks faster but not sing songy

SCARS & BIRTHMARKS : Most noble women have fairly dainty hands, skin unblemished and untarnished by the ravages of hard work. Sigrid’s hand though softer and faded, are scarred. she grew up an orphan in a mountain village taken in my their horse master needless to say sigird grew up knowing a hard days work. Sigrid also served as a scout / spy when aryndale joined the war before she married the duke of limburg so our girl has scars.

V. ━━ BIO  POINTS.

Before there was a great lady of limburg, before a duchess once again wandered the halls of house dudley, before there was title to her name a girl had none. Sigrid had no family, no family name, no relatives to call her own but a simple point of origin. A girl was born for all she knew in the village of thrane high in the mountains. Who her parents were, whose blood ran through veins she couldn't tell you but a babe was taken in by the horse master and his wife. They would raise a young woman to survive her world and she she thrive no matter her start in the world. They would teach her about Aryndale's greatest treasure. Horses.

She grew up learning the secrets of the great beasts, marveling at such magnificent creatures learning she preferred the company of the animals more than people and her adoptive father saw she had a way with the massive animals. Even the most wild and seemingly untamable of mustangs calmed at her touch, continuously risking her life to tame wild horses. In another life Sigrid often wondered if she had been a great mare that had ruled the countryside with a great mob at her back when men did not inhabit these lands just yet as if she were the legends ever aryndale citizen knew. It was no idyllic existence, no wonderful youth like many women of her eventual station would have tales of. It was many years of learning a trade, of toiling with rugged earth and stone to carve out an existence and the expanding of the horse masters influence in the surrounding areas. Weeks were spent on occasion by the side of the hunters leaning the ins and outs of the mountains and its passes and the secret places to find game to feed the village that was her home.  It was many days of whispering words into the ears of massive chargers, the hearty aryndale steed breed for war and peace both filling them with ideas of being legendary and of the things they would one day accomplish even becoming the mount for knights and kings. It was hours of the horse master's wife teaching her etiquette and proper manners despite a girls desire to run off and join a traveling band of merchants or entertained ideas of becoming a warrior. Either way they would ensure she'd be capable of living a lie of her choosing. It was an unfortunate thought they both shared that she'd make no man any real wife destined to be a spinster no matter the attention the boys in the village paid to an orphan girl.  They doubted war would come to pass and the village of Thrane would continue on as it always had and the horse master and his ward would work to supply the nobles of aryndale far and wide the best horses there were and provide their services as farriers, trainers and on occasion as trick riders. Sigrid did love it no matter how hard it was or the challenges every day presented with it would of course give her an edge later in life

She was a fine looking thing at sixteen, a mane of hair as silken as a prince's mare, a backbone to her and the complete availability to do whatever she wish. The threat of war consistently loomed over head like storm clouds that refused to release their rains and with such a close proximity to it potentially. When it did come to the borders of Aryndale her caretakers knew exactly where she would run to. Directly into the thick of things, to war, to serve king and country and protect a village entirely too close to the war. Sigrid lied about her age when she enlisted, declaring she was eighteen and due to the wealth of information she had was placed directly into a scouting position under the charge of duke dudley's son.

Would you believe that in the middle of a war against incredible odds in the thick of danger and death constantly two people were capable of falling in love. Sigrid Thrane as she called herself now, as it had been signed on her contract served as a spy and a scout had more than a dozen times saved her commanding officers life. Three full years was spent in freezing rain, in mud and dirt covered in blood and the constant threat of death together and two universes that had no possibility of colliding before became intertwined. In close quarters the two increasingly sought out each others company. The duke's son would tell her about his home, about the land he was eager to get back to and she would whisper of fairytales, horses and military strategy. They talked about lives after the war if both survived being so close to the front lines and he asked her after three years od serving together and seeing each other at their worst if she'd come back to his home with him. Could Sigrid see a future with the son of a duke? In answer to him she said these exact words. "For three years you have known me now - you knew that I lied about my age in order to fight for Aryndale, you've seen me at my most unattractive self and we've survived much and spoken at great length of dreams and foolish ambitions and how we would make a world better. My question to you Dudley is could you see a future with the daughter of no one?" A week later the two were married, recalled from the front lines for a small leave to celebrate their nuptials.

A choice had to be made and it was a heavy and hard decision to make despite newly wedded bliss. Which of them would return to Limburg and which spouse would go back to the war to serve aryndale and their allies? Despite her husband's protests and desire to keep her with him Sigrid reasoned with the mighty man that she could've have him unnecessarily going out of his way to save her risking the life of others in his command to lose more life. She would go back to his ancestral home without him to an ancient father in law to help aide in a necessary part of the war effort. Feeding their troops, supplying horses and help minimize the already heavy strain of aryndale's resources. Giving a kiss goodbye, Sigrid sent him back to the front lines, to the scouting party he led into dangerous missions to take on an even more monumental task.

Arriving at Limburg it was clear the place wasn't untouched by war, nearly ravished and run down. Villagers hadn't paid takes and had little food that wasn't already given to the troops and her father in law who would resist her aid for a short while was losing his sight and the ability to govern his duchy properly. Rolling up her sleeves, pulling back her hair and with a fierce determination to return the duchy of Limburg to its former glory the new duchess put her heart and soul into restoring her. Sigrid a newly wedded nineteen worked with farming families, with merchants and laborers to not only work down their seemingly insurmountable debts to house dudley without taking food from their children and doubling their annual yield. She worked in the fields scorched by fire and still smelling of death to show that this was as much a fight for nobles and commoners on the home front as it was for their warriors on the front lines in defense of their nation. Sigrid won them over, every last soul her husband would eventually have charge over and in the end even her father in law called her his most beloved daughter and a blessing to his house. Sigrid too would help where she could acting for the man to carry messages, to provide suggestions and strategies she'd offer forward as the old man's before it was noted they came from the young duchess proving herself an invaluable asset to the crown and the war effort much to the honor of house dudley.

It would be six years until the war would halt, six years for her husband to return and know the struggles she faced in the aryndale interior but the flowers risen from killing fields, grown out of soil that had seen blood and tears and his wife's hard labor to fix it and the lives of those in the duchy of limburg. Understandably there is some distance between the two as there are only so many letters that can sustain a marriage and they have barely laid together more than a few times in the entirety of their wedded lives. They’ve changed as individuals - they are strangers now really learning about one another again despite shared experiences. Here away from their home in the neutral zone this is a new realm of existence for her. The world in which she became a lady and fought tirelessly on front lines and to restore her husbands holdings was one where the definition of lady was altered. Rules here are different and she is a different. A relative unknown to all despite a select few she was involved with regarding the war effort they will soon know her.  Ever a most captivating woman she  breaths life into all she does Sigrid is bound to traverse these uncharted waters and make a splash. Truthfully perhaps they should be afraid those who know nothing of her as she will reveal nothing to them but sees more than those who were raised in this life of princesses and politics. Lady Dudley, despite how unsure of this new territory she is will do what is necessary. Sigrid will help her king and husband make a success of this even if she’s an unpolished lady with much to learn about really being one beyond a few etiquette lessons. 

VI.      ━━  CHARACTER RELATIONS. ( more to be added )

UNKNOWN  (  father,  deceased?  ).

UNKNOWN   (  mother,  deceased?  ).

HORSE MASTER BURGRED  (  caretaker/adoptive father, unknown  ).

ALFRIEDA (  caretaker/adoptive mother,  unknown  ).

DUKE  AERON DUDLEY (  husband; 28+,  wc! name can be changed  ).

VII.      ━━  WANTED  CONNECTIONS.

Again like Altain all the things! I will have specific wanted connections on the google doc that is taking me forever and a day but I’m a firm believer in brainstorming something special to highlight both characters and help build this gorgeous world so please hit me up!

[fairylandblog]

Faerie Herbalists

The faerie herbalist is a fascinating figure in the enchanted world of folklore and fiction, fusing the age-old knowledge of herbal medicine with the ethereal attributes of faeries. Often portrayed as ethereal beings with a deep understanding of the natural world, faerie herbalists use their abilities to protect, heal, and occasionally enchant others. Faeries, being mythical and legendary beings, often have connections to magic, the natural world, and the invisible forces that govern it. The faerie herbalist embodies these qualities, serving as a bridge between the magical and the mundane. Usually, depictions portray them as the guardians of the forest, peacefully interacting with flora and fauna, and possessing a unique understanding of the therapeutic properties of flowers and herbs.

The folklore surrounding faerie herbalists frequently highlights their capacity to interact with plants and access the earth's latent powers. Because of their link, they are able to concoct potions and strong medicines that have the ability to heal illnesses, ward off curses, and even bestow extraordinary powers. They pass down their wisdom through the years, often keeping it hidden, and only make it available to those deemed deserving. Numerous tales portray the faerie herbalist as a kind person who helps those in need. Narratives may depict a fatigued voyager discovering a hidden ravine where a faerie herbalist uses uncommon woodland herbs to treat wounds, or a community requesting the herbalist's assistance in curing an enigmatic ailment. These stories emphasize the mutually beneficial link that exists between people and the natural environment, implying that genuine healing results from a profound appreciation and knowledge of the natural world. The faerie herbalist frequently uses mystical and uncommon tools and materials. They could grow roots in enchanted soil, catch dew from the moon, or pick flowers that only bloom at midnight. Chants, incantations, and the precise timing of celestial events greatly influence the effectiveness of their treatments, which involve a number of magical rites and ceremonies. Still, not all depictions of faerie herbalists are positive. Some accounts suggest a more ambiguous nature, where the herbalist's assistance is not gratuitous or their intentions remain unclear. These stories emphasize the larger subject of faerie lore, which is the capricious and unpredictable nature of these creatures. While their power and expertise can yield significant benefits, a lack of respect and discretion can lead to unexpected consequences. The faerie herbalist is a figure that connects with contemporary concerns about natural and holistic health. A healer who draws from the wealth of the earth without the intervention of modern technology is an appealing picture, especially as society looks for alternatives to traditional medical treatments. There is a sense of continuity with the past and a return to simpler, more peaceful ways of living because of this link to nature and old wisdom.

Literary and creative works frequently portray faerie herbalists as delicate, otherworldly creatures surrounded by vivid flora and luxuriant vegetation. They may dress in clothing woven from flowers and leaves, and their dwellings—treehouses or secret grottos—are usually portrayed as being perfectly incorporated into the surrounding environment. These artistic renderings further the idea that the faerie herbalist is an essential component of nature, embodying the mystery and beauty of the forest. In the end, the faerie herbalist represents the profound and enchanted bond that exists between people and the natural world. They serve as a reminder of the age-old knowledge found in the natural world and the healing force that results from coexisting peacefully with it. The Faerie herbalist is a timeless and enthralling figure who inspires wonder and reverence for the natural environment, regardless of whether one views them through the prism of folklore, imagination, or modern interest in herbalism.

[ladyeowyn]

I have recently reached my next follower goal and honestly, I have no words..! There are so many of you ahhh!! Thank you very much!! I’m incredibly grateful for everyone who gave me a follow over those years and to those who support my edits. ❤️ Here is a small celebration as a thank you! 😊 Pick as many of these as you like but, please, be patient with me if it takes a while.

R U L E S :

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a e s t h e t i c ❤️ • element: water - air - fire - earth - æther • season: spring - summer - autumn - winter • flower: lilac - lavender - daffodil - peony - orchid - sunflower - iris - magnolia • scent: citruses - rain - coffee - cinnamon - roses - vanilla - books - mint • landscape: city - forest - rainforest - country - mountains - beach - lake - ocean - desert • celestial object: sun - moon - stars - nebula - planet - comet • supernatural being: dragon - phoenix - mermaid - witch - werewolf - ghost - elf - vampire • following: no(t yet) sorry, but ily ♥ - now! - yes ofc - always and forever

A S O I A F 👑 • allegiance:  House (Stark - Lannister - Martell - Tyrell - Baratheon - Targaryen - Greyjoy) - Night’s Watch - The Lord of Light - Free Folk • occupation: knight/knightess - septon/septa - lord/lady - mercenary - entertainer - spy - faceless man/woman - red priest/priestess - healer • home: Winterfell - Lannisport - Highgarden - Sunspear - Highgarden - King’s Landing - Eyrie - Riverrun - Dragonstone - Pyke - Castle Black - Volantis - Braavos - Pentos • weapon of choice: sword - dagger - crossbow - poison - words - knowledge - axe - spear - dragonglass • hero: Nymeria of Ny Sar - Ser Duncan the Tall - Brandon the Builder - Visenya Targaryen - Lann the Clever - Azor Ahai - Durran Godsgrief - Good Queen Alysanne • trusted ally: Arya Stark - Sansa Stark - Jon Snow - Arianne Martell - Ellaria Sand - Jorah Mormont - Missandei - Gendry Waters - Meera Reed - Davos Seaworth - Melisandre - Jamie Lannister - Asha Greyjoy - Loras Tyrell - Brienne of Tarth • following: no(t yet) sorry, but ily ♥ - now! - yes ofc - always and forever

G r i s h a v e r s e ☀️ • grisha order: heartrender - healer - tailor - sun summoner - inferni - squaller - tidemaker - durast - alkemi • occupation: Second Army soldier - member of king's guard - member of the Dregs - runaway Drüskelle - privateer - acrobat - spy - thief - demolitions expert - inventor - scholar • home: Ravka - Fjerda - Kerch - Novyi Zem - Shu Han • weapon of choice: knives - explosives - your abilities - guns - sword - axes • friend: Sturmhond - Genya Safin - Inej Ghafa - Wylan Van Eck - Tamar Kir-Bataar - Alina Starkov - Jesper Fahey - Nina Zenik - Leoni Hilli - Zoya Nazyalensky - Matthias Helvar • tale: The Soldier Prince - Ayama and the Thorn Wood - Little Knife - The Too-Clever Fox - When Water Sang Fire - The Witch of Duva • following: no(t yet) sorry, but ily ♥ - now! - yes ofc - always and forever

S t a r  W a r s 🚀 • occupation: jedi knight - sith lord - gray jedi - smuggler - resistance fighter - pilot - scavenger - stormtrooper - ambassador - spiritual warrior-monk - bounty hunter - mechanic - senator • allegiance: the Dark Lord - the New Republic - the Jedi Order - the Resistance - the First Order - yourself • homeworld: Jedha - Tattooine - Naboo - Coruscant - Alderaan - Jakku - Takodana - Corellia • weapon of choice: blaster - explosives - lightsaber (blue - red - purple - green - black - silver) - staff - martial arts - diplomacy - the Force (telekinesis - mind control - lightning) • ship: X-Wing - Millennium Falcon - Star Destroyer - Jedi Starfighter - TIE Fighter - Alderaan Cruiser - Nubian Royal Starship • friend: Obi-Wan Kenobi - Ashoka Tano - Mace Windu - Luke Skywalker - Leia Organa - Jessica Pava - Cassian Andor - Bodhi Rook - Finn - Rey - BB8 - Matt the Radar Technician • following: no(t yet) sorry, but ily ♥ - now! - yes ofc - always and forever

M a r v e l ✨ • species: human - inhuman - mutant - Asgardian - Xandarian - Krylorian • occupation: secret agent - scientist - attorney - investigative journalist - private detective - mercenary - professor - soldier - pilot - ravager - outlaw - bounty hunter - Asgardian warrior - Valkyrie - member of Dora Milaje • hero: lone superhero - leader / member of a superhero team - sidekick - vigilante - antihero • home: Hell’s Kitchen - Brooklyn - Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters - London - Asgard - Vakanda - Xandar • weapon of choice: gun - explosives - throwing knives - bow & arrows - supersuit - martial arts - your fists - your superpowers - your mind • superpower: telepathy - telekinesis - electrokinesis - teleportation - superspeed - shapeshifting - flight - regeneration - healing - manipulation (fire - water - wind - earth - ice - weather) • sidekick: Peter Parker - Gamora - Lady Sif - Nakia - Melinda May - Matt Murdock - Sam Wilson - Steve Rogers - Thor - Carol Danvers - Bruce Banner - Negasonic Teenage Warhead - Scott Lang - Ororo Munroe - Daisy Johnson • following: no(t yet) sorry, but ily ♥ - now! - yes ofc - always and forever

J a n e  A u s t e n - e s q u e🌹 • identity: the tender-hearted orphan of a mysterious origin - the rich & independent heiress - the respectable & kind daughter of a clergyman - the perfectly tolerable & witty middle sister - the spirited & adventurous only child - the brave & lovable wallflower - the noble & wealthy patroness of arts - the enigmatic & runaway daughter of an empoverished family • occupation: gentlewoman - respectable young miss - governess - lady’s companion - theatre diva - writer - painter - explorer - piano teacher - charity worker • location: Barton Cottage - Mansfield Park - Hartfield - Kellynch Hall - Northanger Abbey - Netherfield - Bath - Pemberley - London • kindred spirit: Elinor Dashwood - Emma Woodhouse - Anne Eliot - Jane Bennet - Eleanor Tilney - Fanny Price - Charlotte Lucas • soulmate: Edward Ferrars - Colonel Brandon - Mr Darcy - Elizabeth Bennet - George Knightley - Frederick Wentworth - Henry Tilney - Catherine Morland - Edmund Bertram • quote: • following: no(t yet) sorry, but ily ♥ - now! - yes ofc - always and forever

T o l k i e n ⚔ • race: maia - elf - human - hobbit - dwarf • location: Gondolin - Rivendell - Alqualondë - Lothlórien - Mirkwood - Minas Tirith - Edoras - Fangorn Forest - Bag End - Erebor - Lake Town - Ithilien - Tol Galen - Dol Amroth • occupation: Dúnedain ranger - rider of Rohan - shieldmaiden - soldier of Gondor - lord / lady of (Númenór - Gondor - Rohan - the Noldor - the Sindar - the Teleri) - Galadhrim warrior - jeweller & weaponsmith - scholar & librarian - gardener - burglar • weapon: sword (Ringil - Andúril - Guthwine - Orcrist - Glamdring - Sting) - Gondolin knife - spear Aeglos - longbow of the Galadhrim - Númenorian steelbow - Black Arrow - the Phial of Galadriel • jewel: the Silmarils - ring of power (the One Ring - Nenya - Narya - Vilya) - Arkenstone - the Ring of Barahir - the Evenstar necklace • Vala: Manwë - Ulmo - Aulë - Oromë - Mandos - Lórien - Tulkas - Varda - Yavanna - Nienna - Estë - Vairë - Vána - Nessa - Melkor • following: no(t yet) sorry, but ily ♥ - now! - yes ofc - always and forever

[mythicallore]

Black Angels

Statues can be creepy as it is, with their never changing visages, eyes that seem to stare off right through us, and often towering above us. Even without any sort of haunted lore or tales of paranormal activity they can manage to creep us out, but add these elements and they truly catapult into the land of the eerie. Within the state of Iowa lie two such statues that are molded into the likenesses of angels, albeit taking on the color of black rather than white, and orbited by persistent legends and stories of the supernatural, ghosts, and curses.

Perhaps the most well know “black angel” stands menacingly overlooking the Oakland Cemetery of Iowa, in the United States, and it has gone on to become absolutely permeated with spooky lore and legend in the region. It is an imposing presence, towering 8 and a half feet over the ground, and although it is black now it wasn’t always so, which is actually a part of its unusual lore. The statue itself was bronze when it was first brought to the cemetery in 1912, as a burial monument for the wealthy Feldevert family. It was designed by an artist in Chicago by the name of Mario Korbel, who was commissioned by Teresa Dolezal Feldevert in order to eternally watch over her family’s gravesite, where her husband was buried and where her own son, Eddie, was also interred after having died of meningitis in 1891.

The statue was installed in 1912, and was already notable for its rather disturbing stance, its sad face cowled and turned down, mostly hidden from view, and wings not gloriously uplifted as those of most cemetery angels were, giving it a rather somber and creepy ambiance. Shortly after this arrival, Eddies body was moved to sit right alongside the statue, while at the same time the ashes of Teresa’s husband were placed right beneath it. Teresa’s own ashes were interred there as well when she died of cancer in 1924, and it was from around this point that the rather ominous looking statue began to accrue is sinister reputation. It was noticed that right after Teresa’s ashes were placed here the statue seemed to very rapidly turn from a shiny bronze to an unsettling greenish black color, which was probably the result of oxidation of the metal but which was rapid and alarming enough that it helped launch the statue into scary local lore, with the change said to be caused by paranormal forces from beyond our understanding, and legends began to spring up to explain it.

One of the most popular of these legends is that Teresa was far from an angel herself, that behind closed doors she was a wicked and sinful woman, even a practitioner of black magic, with some even whispering that she had in fact murdered her son, and that this malevolent energy surrounding her had transferred to the statue upon her death to taint it and cause it to turn is oppressive black, a permanent testament to her evil past. In one version of the tale the statue turned black suddenly one evening after a thunderstorm and lightning strike, and this has all also led to the idea that the intimidating statue is actually cursed, with a few versions of how this malicious paranormal power manifests. In one story any girl who is kissed at the angel’s feet during a full moon will die within 6 months, in another touching the angel on Halloween night will lead to death in 7 years, actually kissing it will cause instantaneous death from heart failure, and a pregnant woman who walks under its wings is said to lose her child.

The Black Angel of Oakland Cemetery has gone on to become a permanent fixture of local legend, gathering about itself a persistent reputation as a haunted place, with apparitions and odd phenomena roving about it, and it is indeed a popular destination for paranormal investigators, who have managed to capture odd photographs and EVP phenomena in the vicinity. One famous investigation of the Black Angel was carried out by the SyFy channel TV show Haunted Highway, during which time no one dared touch it, although they did allegedly manage to produce evidence in the form of sudden inexplicable temperature fluctuations within the statue. The menacing statue has unfortunately also become a magnet for macabre curiosity seekers and thrill seekers, many of which have vandalized the statue over the years, although no word on whether the curse got them for that. Is this all urban legend or is there any reality to it at all? The cemetery is open to the public all year round, so go check it out yourself and make up your own mind, just go right on past the wrought iron gate, through the twisted trees, and face the sorrowful visage of the Black Angel, staring right back and silently daring you to touch it.

At another cemetery, also in Iowa, is yet another black angel surrounded by dark history and myth. Here we come to a place called Fairview Cemetery, at Council Bluffs, in Iowa City. The cemetery itself is one of the oldest in the state, born as an Indian burial ground before being used by Mormon settlers of the region. In 1919 the wife of a Civil War Veteran and railway engineer named General Grenville M. Doge was buried here, a woman by the name of Ruth Anne Browne, and the angel was erected to serve as a guardian of her grave. The statue was crafted by a Daniel Chester French, who also happens to have been the same man who would go on to create the Lincoln Memorial Statue in Washington DC, and it was apparently formed in the likeness of an angel who had appeared in the dead woman’s dreams and premonitions before her death. According to Ruth’s daughter, these were extremely vivid visions, with her saying:

We realized this was no dream, no ordinary occurrence, but an apparition such as appeared to those saints of olden times, who were spiritual seers, holy enough to penetrate the fleshly veil and view spiritual things hidden from the worldly minded.

Ruth had described to her family of seeing an angel in white atop a boat covered with flowers that sprang from a thick mist at a rocky shore, and who carried some sort of shallow urn under her arm filled with water that “glittered and sparkled like millions of diamonds.” This vision would come to her a total of three times, each time with the angel offering the water to drink and being refused until the last time, with Ruth’s death occurring just days after she finally drank of it in her final dream, although she had claimed that the water had given in fact her immortality. As such, the statue in question depicts a beautiful maiden with an urn of water that perpetually pours water into a fountain below it.

While the statue looks serene and calm, it has still managed to draw to it all manner of tales of strange phenomena surrounding it. One is that locals claimed that it will actually move and even fly about at night before returning to its perch in the morning, and it is said to often visit new graves to stand over them in solemn silence, whether in belevolence or not know one knows. More sinister tales say that the statue are rather malevolent, such as causing children to disappear, shooting fire from her mouth, and her gaze said to bring death and misfortune if you are to look into her eyes for too long or touch her beckoning outstretched hand. Of course it too has taken on a rather dark color that makes it appear more threatening and has surely helped fuel the stories, with folklore professor Todd Richardson, from the University of Nebraska, saying of this:

In the case of the Black Angel, it sounds creepy and it looks creepy. It would make more sense to have a nice marble angel representing the flight to heaven, whereas the black angel represents something more ominous.

Over the years the statue has undergone several renovations to fix its flowing fountain and to repair damage caused by vandals, and in 1980 it was added to the National Register of Historic Places. Yet it still manages to generate tales of the paranormal and of nefarious curses. Is there some mysterious force surrounding this statue, and if so is it malicious in nature and why? Whatever the case may be, it has become a popular landmark in the area, and keeps its secrets close. And that seems to be the story with both of these enigmatic statues, standing there overseeing their domains of gravestones and the bodies of the dead, that it is hard to know where myth ends and any reality begins. With their unique appearances and the spooky quality of their locales, they are natural magnets for tales of the paranormal, food for ghost stories and campfire yarns, and as we try to figure them out they stand there inscrutable as always, silently surveying their land and perhaps bearing mystical forces we cannot comprehend.

[sartle-blog]

12 Must-Read Novels for Art History Lovers

Maybe you’ve been experiencing “The Agony and the Ecstasy” of trying to figure out what to read next! If so, we’ve got you covered. Go beyond “Girl with a Pearl Earring” and “The Goldfinch” with these incredible novels about art and art history.

Disclaimer:  Some of the links below are amazon affiliate links, meaning that at no additional cost to you, by clicking through and making a purchase of a book you like, you will also be contributing to the growth of Sartle.

1. "The Girl in Hyacinth Blue" by Susan Vreeland

If you loved “Girl with a Pearl Earring,” you’ll fall in love with this book, too. Starting with a troubled math teacher who is quite certain the work he hides in a cabinet at home is a genuine Vermeer, the novel traces the owners of the painting back in time in a series of vignettes that function as a living, breathing provenance. An exploration of the meaningful roles art can play in the lives of those who cherish it, this book is as thoughtful and gentle as the light that falls from the windows in a Vermeer painting.

2. "The Relic Master" by Christopher Buckley

A crime caper steeped in art and history, the story follows one Dismas, the official relic master to Frederick, Elector of Saxony, and Albrecht, the soon-to-be Cardinal of Mainz, in the year 1517, when Luther has shattered faith in the Church and relics themselves begin to be called into question. He and his friend, none other than the preening Albrecht Dürer, get swept up in a scheme to make a copy of the Shroud of Chambery. The novel, like what one imagines 16th century Germany to be like, is earthy, humorous, and occasionally quite brutal. But it’s witty and shameless (“To Hell with Purgatory!”) and a perfect Renaissance romp about the intersections of art, piety, and politics.

3. "The Parable of the Blind" by Gert Hoffmann

A strange and haunting tale that looks at the painting of the same name by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, the novel is told from the perspective of the blind “sitters” for the painting on the day that Bruegel painted them. As they journey across a landscape of unseen people and obstacles, they wonder where they are going, why they are being painted, and why anyone would want to look upon them permanently when people turn their heads away in real life. Riddled with black humor, the novel is a picture of suffering and existential woe à la “Waiting for Godot,” and will linger in your mind long after you read it.

4. "The Muse" by Jessie Burton

Don’t be deceived when the cover calls this book a “Simmering romance” because it’s far more than that; it’s a meditation on artistic integrity and ownership wrapped up in a story of relationships that reads like a thriller. The novel follows two storylines that intertwine masterfully. In one, a Caribbean émigré trying to make her way in 1960s London dreams of becoming a writer but gets a job at a prestigious art institute working for the mysterious Marjorie Quirk. In the other, an English girl living in rural Spain in the 1930s yearns to become an artist and falls under the spell of the countryside and painter-turned-revolutionary Isaac Robles. It’s a vivid tale of love and loss, ego and creativity, that is a marvelous follow-up to her first novel, “The Miniaturist” (which you should also definitely read if you haven’t already!).

5. "Modern Art" by Evelyn Toynton

Inspired by the lives of Lee Krasner and her husband Jackson Pollock, this novel follows Belle Prokoff, an aging artist from the New York School, who has outlived her much more famous husband and spent her last few decades guarding his albeit troubled legacy. As she faces her own mortality and hires a grad student (who is also in love with an artist) as a live-in helper, Prokoff is forced to confront ghosts from her past when a nosy biographer comes sniffing around for dirt on her husband. Adroit and piercing, the novel asks what do you do with yourself after you have poured all of your being into someone else? And what does sacrificing yourself in that way do to you? Toynton tackles themes of suffering and artistic integrity with elegance and wisdom.

6. "The Moon and Sixpence" by W. Somerset Maugham

This classic novel follows a turn of the twentieth century English artist named Charles Strickland who abruptly abandons his family and life as a stockbroker to devote himself entirely to painting. Completely impoverished but in desperate pursuit of beauty, he studies in France and eventually ends up in Tahiti, where his artistic genius flourishes even as he suffers from leprosy. If this sounds reminiscent of the life of Paul Gauguin to you, you would not be mistaken--Somerset Maugham was inspired by the very same, only his version of the artist is by turns both more and less brutal than the real man. The Moon and Sixpence is a prime example of a kunstlerroman, a novel about an artist’s growth, painting the artist-hero as a necessarily anti-social being whose creative side can only flower in isolation and rebellion against social norms. While it’s not a perfectly accurate image of Gauguin’s life, and while the narrator espouses some outdated views about women and people of color, the book raises questions about genius and legacy that are still relevant today.

7. "Sunflowers" by Sheramy Bundrick

If you liked “Loving Vincent” or are just fascinated by the work of Vincent Van Gogh, then this novel is for you. Told from the perspective of the prostitute named Rachel unto whom Vincent famously bestowed part of his mutilated ear, the novel gives life to Vincent’s happy but troubled years in Arles. Many of the people he lovingly painted are presented in the flesh, from his friends like Joseph Roulin to the perfectly nasty Gauguin, whom readers will find reason to hate even more than in the “The Moon and Sixpence.” At its heart the book is a love story, but it’s punctuated by moments of both joyous artistic creation and those of the darkest depths of mental illness.  His romantic self, a side of Vincent we don’t normally see, is explored with great sympathy. Written by an art historian, the novel is convincing and well-researched, and even includes a list of all the paintings referenced in the back.

8. "A Month in the Country" by J. L. Carr

In this slim, poetic volume, a young Englishman recovering from a broken marriage and shell shock after the Great War finds himself spending a summer in a Yorkshire village, where he has been hired to uncover a medieval mural in a church. By night he sleeps in the church’s belfry, and by day he befriends the locals, bonds with another veteran whose been hired to uncover a medieval grave, and falls in love with the Vicar’s wife, all while working steadily at uncovering a medieval judgment scene. Tiny revelations--in the begrimed mural at which he’s chipping away, in his own wounded heart, and in the hearts of those around him--make up the soul of this placid yet powerful book that is a hymn to the healing power of art.

9. "I Always Loved You" by Robin Oliveira

With such a title this book might easily be dismissed as a typical romance, but it is actually a rarer thing: a story about love between two people that may never have been returned by either party. Namely, it chronicles the fraught and querulous relationship between Mary Cassatt and Edgar Degas. Set in a glittering and rain-washed Belle Époque Paris, the novel follows Mary Cassatt as she struggles to establish herself in the art world until Degas takes her under his wing. Her successes and sorrows over the years unfold alongside the drama of Degas’ vision loss and the grief-stricken love affair between fellow impressionists Berthe Morisot and her brother-in-law, Edouard Manet. Aside from being a vivid look at the politics of the Impressionist circle within the Parisian art world, it is also an eloquent tale about the struggle of artistic creation in the face of constant doubt, harsh criticism, and heartache. You can learn more about the puzzling relationship between Cassatt and Degas here.

10. "Portrait of an Unknown Woman" by Vanora Bennett

This novel follows Meg Giggs, the twenty-three-year-old ward of Sir Thomas More, at the eve of the Reformation in England. The More family, which will soon be torn by political, religious, and courtly strife, is visited by Hans Holbein the Younger, who paints their portraits multiple times with an uncanny ability to capture the hidden truths of their hearts. While More’s humanistic ideals become warped by anti-heresy fanaticism even as Henry VIII grows disenchanted with the faith More fiercely protects, Meg finds herself increasingly drawn to the German artist who embodies a more earthy, compassionate form of Humanism. While Bennett occasionally plays fast and loose with history (like the identity of the sitter in Holbein’s portrait of the titular name, for one), overall the book is richly drawn and well-researched. Even better, her descriptions of Holbein’s painting process for such enigmatic works as The Ambassadors is highly compelling. The dangerous times in which he lived, as well as a taste for symbolism in the Tudor world, meant Holbein had to couch the truths he perceived in iconography both subtle and complex, and Bennett illustrates this well.

11. "The Secret Book of Frida Kahlo" by F. G. Haghenbeck

This colorful and spirited novel was inspired by a mysterious notebook found in Frida Kahlo’s house in Mexico City that was full of handwritten recipes the artist had collected over the years. A complex woman, Frida was quite the cook, and this novel explores the prominent place food had in her life, with recipes at the end of each chapter. Throughout the course of Frida’s tumultuous time on Earth, her marriages to Diego Rivera and her affairs with lovers from Georgia O’Keeffe to Leon Trotsky, she is haunted by a vision of death, whom she calls her Godmother, and whom she meets the day she almost dies in a trolley accident as a teenager. In Haghenbeck’s capable hands, Frida’s veneration of the Day of the Dead, her existential feminist fire, and the emotional intensity of her paintings come alive with surreal imagery and the imagined taste of Frida’s fabulous food on the tongue.

12. "I Am Venus: A Novel" by Barbara Mujica

Told from the perspective of the unknown model who posed for what is arguably Velázquez’s most beautiful work, The Rokeby Venus, this novel follows Diego Velázquez’s rise to prominence in the Spanish court. Court life under Philip IV is depicted as a splendid bubble of contradictions: lavish and luxurious yet plagued by bankruptcy, lascivious and self-indulgent, yet clinging to a sober sense morality. Of course, one of the things that tantalizes most in this book is the mysterious production of the Venus painting, painted when feminine nudity on canvas was a punishable offense. However, Mujica also takes special care to chronicle Velázquez’s efforts to elevate art as a gentlemanly endeavor in a country where painters were regarded as mere tradesmen. (Seriously, before him, being an artist in Spain was the WORST.) Furthermore, she gives a voice to the women who surrounded him in his family and social circle, painting a broad picture of Spain itself through their experiences and hardships. This novel is evocative and compelling, and a perfect read for lovers of the Baroque artist.

As Vincent van Gogh once said, "It is with the reading of books the same as with looking at pictures; one must, without doubt, without hesitations, with assurance, admire what is beautiful."  May you discover beauty and joy in all of your reading adventures!

By: Jeannette Baisch Sturman