#a countess below stairs

[jamietukpahwriting]

But Anna had now had enough. Disengaging her wrist, holding with both hands on to her basket, she drew breath. “Very well. You have, of course, ruined this dinner party in which I wished to wait perfectly at table so as to help with the giving of more responsibility to women. So I will tell you, first, that I think you are mad, and second, that I am not going to marry Sergei because that is not how I love him and in any case I do not wish to have children who will have breast blisters—only, I must say chest blisters, I think, because this is a country of hypocrisy and coldness where breasts are not respectable. And also Sergei has proposed to the Baroness Rakov, although I have told him it is not necessary because we ar enow rich and will of course share everything, but he says she is tranquille and will keep away from him the other women. And last, if I had not been assured,” she said, glaring at Sid and James, “That you were already in the Kush where you absolutely belong because it is full of stones and ice, I would never have come back,” she finished—and burst into tears. “Don’t, Anna! Ah, don’t, my darling,” said Rupert. He pushed back his chair, removed, with ineffable tenderness, her basket of rolls and, quite impervious to the assembled company, gathered her into his arms. “Only, you see, I saw you in the garden with the prince. You were hanging from his arms like…” He broke off, even now racked by the memory.  “A dishcloth?” suggested Anna. “What?” Anna, her career [as a maid] abandoned, was now ready to converse. “In La Fille Mal Gardee which is a most beautiful ballet, she hangs exactly in this way from the shoulder of the hero, very soft and… limp, you know, like a cloth and at the same time she does little battements with her feet. It is in act three and very moving; you will like it very much.” “Shall I, my love?” said Rupert, dabbing gently at her eyes and nose.

—A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[litandlifequotes]

When you're sad, my Little Star, go out of doors. It's always better underneath the open sky.

A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[astreiants]

“(...) And last, if I had not been assured,” she said, glaring at Sid and James, “that you were already in the Kush where you absolutely belong because it is full of stones and ice, I would never have come back,” she finished — and burst into tears.

“Don’t, Anna! Ah, don’t, my darling,” said Rupert. He pushed back his chair, removed, with ineffable tenderness, her basket of rolls and, quite impervious to the assembled company, gathered her into his arms.

The Secret Countess Eva Ibbotson

[beautifulscreaminglady]

I am most impressed, I think, with the absolute evil of the villain in A Countess Below Stairs. Because in the hands of a different writer, the villain might come off as cartoonish or overexaggerated but the way the nastiness slowly oozes out of the villain over the course of the book and other characters gradually get exposed to more of the villain and watch in very English horror ... It's brilliant.

[rayless-reblogs]

20 Book Challenge

I saw this challenge on a post by @theresebelivett. The idea is you pick 20 of your books to take with you to a desert island, but you can only pick one book per author and series. Here are two further guidelines I set myself: They have to be books I actually own, as if I really am gathering them up under my arms and heading to the island; and I'm defining "book" as a single volume -- so if I just so happen to have 100 novellas squashed between two covers, it still counts as one book.

We'll go alphabetically by author.

Charlotte Bronte: Jane Eyre. An old standby, a classic, I can jump into it at any point.

Daphne du Maurier: Rebecca. Have only read it once, but loved it and I suspect I'll get more from it each time.

Clare B Dunkle: The Hollow Kingdom. If I can only take one book from this excellent and unusual goblin series that captivated me in the mid-2000s, it'd better be the first one.

William Goldman: The Princess Bride. This book had an outsize influence on my own writing. I can quote a lot of it, but I wouldn't want to be without it.

Shannon Hale: Book of a Thousand Days. I love the warmth and humility of its heroine Dashti. Plus, Shannon Hale very kindly wrote a personal response to a fan letter I sent her years and years ago, so her work always has a special place in my heart.

Georgette Heyer: Cotillion. I don't actually own my favorite Georgette novel, but the funny, awkward, and ultimately romantic Cotillion is definitely not a pitiful second-stringer.

Eva Ibbotson: A Countess Below Stairs. Countess was my introduction to Eva's adult romances, and she is the past master of warm, hardworking heroines who should really be annoying because they're way too good to be true, but somehow you just end up falling in love with them.

Norton Juster: The Phantom Tollbooth. I first read this when I was like eight, and even for an adult, its quirky humor and zingy wordplay hold up, no problem.

Gaston Leroux: The Phantom of the Opera. Can't leave without Erik, nope, the French potboiler has got to come. Perhaps I will spend my time on the island writing the inevitable crossover fanfic, The Phantom of the Tollbooth.

CS Lewis: Till We Have Faces. Faces is my current answer for what my favorite book is, so I'm taking that, though it feels criminal to leave The Silver Chair behind.

LM Montgomery: The Blue Castle. As much as I love Anne and Emily, it came down to Blue Castle and A Tangled Web, and I'm a sucker for Valancy's romantic journey.

E Nesbit: Five Children and It. Probably the most classic Edwardian children's fantasy, though still a hard choice to make. Nesbit is another author who had a huge influence on me as a writer.

Robert C O'Brien: Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. A childhood book I'm really sentimental about. I should re-read it.

Meredith Ann Pierce: The Darkangel. The first in the archaic lunar vampire trilogy. This will always be frustrating, only having the first in the series, but if I can only read the first, maybe I'll forget about how angry the third novel left me.

Sherwood Smith: Crown Duel. At one time, this swords-and-manners fantasy duet was one of my absolute favorite fandoms, and clever me has both books in one volume, so I don't have to choose.

Anne Elisabeth Stengl: Starflower. My favorite of the Tales of Goldstone Wood series. We'll have to test whether I can actually get sick of Eanrin.

JRR Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings. I've never actually read it through as an adult and, look at that, I have a three-in-one volume. Cheating!

Vivian Vande Velde: Spellbound. I've read much of VVV's YA fantasy and liked a lot of it, but none more so than The Conjurer Princess and its fast-paced tale of revenge. The Spellbound edition includes the prequel and a bonus short story, so I'm good to go.

PG Wodehouse: The World of Mr Mulliner. There are some hilarious novels I'm leaving behind here, including all the Bertie Wooster stuff. But there are some absurdly fun Mulliner stories and this edition is like three hundred pages. That'll keep me happy for a long while on my island.

Jack Zipes (editor): Spells of Enchantment. This is an enormous compilation of western fairy tales. I've owned it since 2004 or so, and I've still never finished it. Now, on my island, I'll no longer have the excuse.

Tagging anyone else who feels like doing this!

[dotsayers]

i forgot rupert was in the rfc. even when i'm doing a comfort reread i cannot escape james bigglesworth

[releasing-my-insanity]

Images post for my Purimgifts 2023 stories.

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Cheering Up A Depressed Andy

(Slight) Andy X FemReader

Ratings: T+

Warnings: Drinking, insults, mentions of death, slight spoilers

Word Count: 1.7k

(A/N:) I am obsessed with Undead Unluck right now and I had to write a self indulgent Andy fic! I do ship him and Fuuko really hard but Andy is too perfect not to crush on. So while I have a ship I still want to enjoy some reader inserts with this handsome and unhinged dude! So this happened as I was so excited about a little of Andy's past getting animated! I had a little too much fun with the dialog too but I hope you all enjoy it! Until next time happy reading!

~Countess

Being a bounty hunter had it's perks though it was one of the toughest jobs offered in the growing country you live in. You had met your fair share of folks and about took out as many as well. The types of people you hunted, weren't like the upstanding citizens in normal towns you passed through. So they really weren't missed and kept their would be victims safe another day. You had just gotten finished with a particularly large bounty, so after collecting your reward you made the decision that you deserved a much needed break. Heading over to the next town, you carved yourself a place for the next two weeks or more.

After a week into your relaxation a stranger blew into town you never met before. He was a quiet character and it seemed like trouble drew to him like flies to a carcass. He was aloof and refused to speak much. Questions were answered with simple answers and he never gave more information than necessary. Even renting a room in the tavern/inn you were occupying had become awkward as he refused to answer the majority of the owner's questions. Only made worse when he was a coin short of the payment to stay. Without a word you dug into the pockets of your well worn pants before flipping it to the owner with amazing accuracy. He pocketed the man's payment quickly and the stranger turned around taking in your feminine form as you downed the rest of your glass and tipped your hat. Standing from the chair you made your way up the stairs, ignoring the jeers from the men below, your curiosity piquing the more you stayed close to the gray haired man.

A few more days passed by and still the gray haired stranger occupied the same space as you. He kept his distance, though he acted indifferent you could tell he watched his surroundings with an attentive gaze. The card in his forehead was a mystery that was driving you crazy. And even though the numerous tavern girls seemed to flock to him, he had no interest. The only thing he seemed to enjoy was the brawls that would break out, the majority of the time it was men starting arguments with him. The fights didn't last long and he always came out on top. He didn't joke. He didn't laugh. He rarely said a word. And despite yourself you found yourself sitting closer and closer to him every night. He was a mystery and you could feel the sad loneliness rolling off of him in waves. You should have ended your reprieve then and there. Left town and went back to what you were good at. But something deep inside nagged at you. You couldn't leave this man alone and part of you dreaded that you were going to pay a steep price for your curiosity.

The next night after finishing your meal, you went to the bar ordering two drinks and paying for them. The heavy glasses not the only weight as your heavy heart pounded in your chest. The enigma of the man sitting in his normal spot, pushing around the scraps on his plate. He didn't even jump or look up as you thudded the glass before him. After a few seconds, you cleared your throat, loudly. You didn't take kindly to being ignored, especially when you were doing a good deed. Those were rare and if this man had any sense he would be grateful.

He looked up, blue eyes dull and full of caution. It made you suck in a breath as he looked handsome far away, but up close he was stunning.

"Drink," you asked and he grunted in reply. Knocking the chair at his side back with your boot, you parked yourself right next to him throwing your slender legs up and crossing your ankles on the table top. Knocking your glass against his hard, you took a loud long guzzle. You sighed before gazing at him, waiting for the same.

"Not very ladylike are you," he asked simply.

You shrugged, "Not particularly. Can't afford to be in my line of work. Are you going to drink that or not? I paid for it and I won't let it go to waste."

He chuckled, though the mirth didn't make it to his eyes. He finally picked up the glass giving it a healthy swig.

"Good boy," you cooed and he glared.

"You buy drinks for men often?"

"Nope," you picked at your nails. "Even sad puppy dog eyed men get ignored by me. So you should feel very special. You tugged on my dried up heartstrings."

"They're not that dry then," he scoffed.

"Keep talking and that beer will disappear."

"Yeah," he took another drink. "Down my throat anyway."

You glared harder taking your feet off the table to lean in closer, "I may just shove that glass down your throat too while I'm at it."

He bared his teeth, "I'd like to see you try."

You shot upwards, snarling at him before quicker than a flash, he hooked his foot on your chair leg tugging it forward. The sturdy wood hit the back of your knees, crashing you back down into the seat. You sat stunned for a moment, unused to people gaining the upper hand on you.

"Simmer down I was joking," he rolled his eyes. "Whatever you do for a living sure did take your sense of humor."

"And here I thought the sad washed up sap no longer had one," you retorted quickly.

"I may be lost in thought but I can keep up with the best of them," his gaze darted back to you. "Just remember that."

A few tense moments passed by and the patrons that had watched the exchange between you both, started to relax. Even the owner had been tense as he didn't want his establishment wrecked by a fight between the two of you. With your glass empty, you stood to go get another one, when his hand wrapped around your wrist. Pouring the rest of the liquid that remained in his glass into yours. You sat there stunned at the kindness.

"I've had enough," he shrugged.

Your finger circled around the smudged rim as you now didn't know how to act around him. Many people didn't treat you nicely and if they did they always wanted something or take advantage of you.

"Got a name," you finally asked the curiosity not leaving you alone.

"No."

"Where you from?"

"Don't know."

"Well you're just a well of knowledge. Good chat," you rolled your eyes. "Guess I'll just call you bigmouth."

"Please. Don't."

"What," you grinned deviously, "do you prefer idiot? Maybe moron? Boring?"

"I get it," he waved a large hand.

You pouted thinking that would have gotten a rise out of him.

"Just call me Vic," he replied confused where he pulled that name from his mind.

"I think I rather call you bigmouth," you stated.

"Don't care."

Crossing your arms while slumping in the seat, you were starting to get annoyed for the lack of progress. The longer you spoke to Vic, the more your curiosity grew instead of shrinking.

"Soooo wanna share why you got such a long face over here," you asked.

"I rather not," he seemed to shrink further into his shell.

"Fine. I'll tell you something about myself first and then you have to at least give me something."

Vic shook his head but waved for you to continue. He remained quiet letting you have a moment of victory as you wouldn't let up until you got some bit of information from him.

"I'm a bounty hunter," you showed him the badge that normally hung between your breasts under your shirt. "Been all over this country and taken out many criminals. Been needing a break so I've been staying here."

Vic nodded, "I've been travelling myself. Taking out my own class of criminals with my team."

"Where is your team," you asked and immediately regretted it as he stiffened.

He looked away, emotion clogging up his throat a little bit, "They're dead. They were killed thanks to a barmaid who saved herself. I was the only one who survived."

That was one of the main reasons you refused to recruit on your missions. You didn't want to lose anyone and it was hard for you to get along with others very often."

"Sorry to hear that."

He shrugged again, "So I rather travel alone. It hurts less."

"That's the main reason I travel alone. Nobody to mourn and if I get turned into bird food. Then nobody is around to mourn me either."

"That's a sad existence," he replied.

"You chose the same existence as me," you pointed out, laughing into your mug.

He chuckled and this time the amusement made it's way to his eyes, "I guess I did. But it doesn't mean I don't make friends along the way."

"Are you calling me a friend there Vic?"

"We're drinking together aren't we," he pointed to the two mugs.

"I think I'm doing the majority of the drinking here," you said matter-of-factly.

Without another word Vic gave the owner the sign for two more drinks. He nodded getting to work filling two more glasses.

"My hero," you cooed kissing his cheek quickly. Vic sat there stunned for a few moments. You grinned smugly as you felt like you got some revenge for the seat ordeal he just pulled moments ago. Despite never trusting easily, you found yourself comfortable around Vic. He still had so many things left to uncover and you knew as soon as your time was up in town, you both would go your separate ways. But for this night and the last moments you and him would enjoy each other's company. Vic watched you closely and despite telling himself not to get close, he couldn't keep that promise to himself. You were too fascinating to him and he felt himself falling. Needing to know more, needing to get closer. He knew that it would end and that would be that, but for these quiet and blissful moments he would allow himself a chance to enjoy something good and fun. Until he was finally able to find his purpose or he found the death he craved. He hoped to find more people like you through his long journey, but this was your chance and you both wouldn't squander it.

[chrysoliteandlightning]

To Palamedes Sextus, Scholar of the Library

I won't deny being surprised to receive your letter. It was very kind of you to send me the essay you wrote on the unique type of blood cancer that is prevalent on Rhodes. Since you're interested in the curative sciences, I've included with my reply a selection of texts on the matter that you may not have come across in your studies. I had not seen the text you referenced on the particular dangers of recycled air to those with chronic lung conditions. I personally have not developed that particular symptom since my diagnosis, but I will be certain to keep your notes in mind if it becomes a concern.

Rhodes is a beautiful city, and I personally find the incredibly views from the city itself to be quite worth the inconveniences afforded by living in the orbital installation rather than on the surface itself. If you would like I can send along some lithographs both from Rhodes and from the planet below. Another advantage of the city is that it makes it easy for me to get around on my own despite my limited stamina. Floors are level, there's a robust shuttle service, and there's no need for stairs, my absolute NEMESIS from what time I've spent visiting the planet.

All that being said, it does seem a shame that you don't have access to surface to visit on the Sixth. If you're afforded an opportunity to visit the us here on the Seventh, or one of the terraformed moons of the Third or Fifth houses, I would certainly recommend the trip. There is something unique about the experience that I do not fully know how to put into words. Fully natural gravity takes more than a little getting used to, but the motion sickness wears off after just a few hours in my experience.

I've never had a regular pen pal before, and I think it would be a lot of fun to continue writing if you don't think my reply is too dry for your taste. I look forward to hearing from you again dear, so please write again soon.

From Dulcinea Septimus, Countess of Rhodes.

[notbecauseofvictories]

Books of 2022

In 2022, I read fewer books overall (143, down from last year’s ridiculous 303) but I did manage to cut down on my romance novel reading---a respectable 52% instead of last year’s 78%. The consequence of this is that I did actually read more good books this year, books I could talk about with other people and inspired feelings and thoughts that rattled around my head afterwards. Plus some actual nonfiction!

Going through all of them, what I liked about them, why they made such an impression, would take a while---plus I’ve already talked about most of these in my books tag. So I’m just going to invite everyone to ask about anything that catches their eye!

BEST FICTION (IN THE ORDER I READ THEM) ** indicates a particular favorite

The House of Small Shadows, Adam Nevill

**The Cipher, Kathe Koja

Eartheater, Dolores Reyes

Hadriana in All My Dreams, René Depestre

**Tender is the Flesh, Agustina Bazterrica 

You've Lost a Lot of Blood, Eric LaRocca

The Beautiful Ones, Silvia Moreno-Garcia

The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

War for the Oaks, Emma Bull

Girl A, Abigail Dean

This Might Hurt, Stephanie Wrobel

**Burning Girls and Other Stories, Veronica Schanoes

Eva Ibbotson’s A Countess Below Stairs, A Company of Swans, & Magic Flutes

Deerskin, Robin McKinley

BEST NONFICTION

An Iliad, Lisa Peterson and Denis O’Hare

**Capitalist Realism, Mark Fisher

Urban Folklore in the Paperwork Empire, Alan Dundes & Carl R. Pagter

**Fun Home, Alison Bechdel

**Men, Women & Chainsaws, Carol J. Clover

[romance novels and most disliked books under the cut---I did give these a bit of an explanation, because being asked about romance novels makes me itchy. We shall never speak of these again.]

ROMANCE NOVEL READING

Vivienne Lorret (How to Forget a Duke, Ten Kisses to Scandal, The Rogue to Ruin, When a Marquess Loves a Woman, How to Steal a Scoundrel's Hear) Admittedly, nothing particularly unique about these---however, they are more traditional romance and a pretty decent attempt at actual regency-style manners, so I enjoyed myself reading them.

Olivia Atwater (Half a Soul, Ten Thousand Stitches, Longshadow) I actually sincerely loved these! Supernatural historical romance from a solid writer. Plus, the series has angrier, more class-conscious sensibilities than all the romance novels I've read---and is less hypocritical about it too, since the characters are largely not nobility, and there's no marrying dukes involved.

Alice Coldwater (His Forsaken Bride, An Ill-Made Match, The Unlovely Bride, Wed By Proxy) So admittedly, I don’t recommend reading all four of these together---it becomes increasingly clear that Coldwater can only write one and a half heroines, and both of them are excessively weepy. Nevertheless, I took a total leap of faith on this (historical fantasy romance isn't typically my genre) and was rewarded by a lot of delightful pining, some court politics, and the 1.5 heroines she can write are fun to follow around.

C.L. Wilson (The Winter King, The Sea King) If last year was about reading every romance novel about dukes I could find, this year was about finding all the fantasy romance novels. (Shout out to Stephanie Garber who also helped feed this inexplicable urge!) Anyway, this series was fun, similar to the above in that it’s fake fantasy politics and some romance, and that’s a combination that works for me.

MOST DISLIKED BOOKS

Redshirts, John Scalzi I have never despised a book quite like this one! I still can't tell if it's the smirkingly obvious Star Trek meta of it all, or the hat on a hat that is the last chapter/coda 1. I did like coda 3, but only because it felt like the only quietly, emotionally sincere part of the whole stupid book.

High Times in the Low Parliament, Kelly Robinson Novellas must be tricky to write---I’ve read a fistful or so, and find them to be wildly variable in quality and effectiveness. That said....the author’s attempt to resolve entrenched political problems via dance made me roll my eyes so hard I strained a muscle. It ruined what might have otherwise been a fun time, since I did like the narrator's charmingly disaffected perspective

Always Be My Duchess, Amalie Howard Emotional honesty and vulnerability has no place in romance novels. I read historical romance specifically so people won’t talk about their feelings, and the fact that romancelandia keeps shoehorning therapy-speak into my regency may in fact be my villain origin story. However, even worse than that is this book’s use of “totally” and "patriarchy" in a completely ahistorical way, betraying a nauseating disinterest in the time period being written about. Worse than even that: the total fucking coward's move it is to write a Pretty Woman fic but then have the heroine be a virgin and not a sex worker at all. God knows we can't be interesting.

Death, Laura Thelassa This one is my own fault. I did think "hey isn't that the romance series with the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse? I read one of those a long time ago; I should give it another shot." (I promise, I regretted it instantly.) However, it is another excellent entry in the long list of cowardly books that refuse to actually lean into enemies to lovers as a trope. Also, if you have undying protagonists? they should kill each other more.

[jamietukpahwriting]

It begins slowly, this well-loved, well-remembered waltz. The prelude is gentle, the phrases soft and pleading, the dancers have time to smile in each other’s arms, to catch their breath. But not for long. Soon the familiar phrases try out their plumes, begin to preen, to gather themselves up until reality is swept away in an intoxicating, irresistible swirl of sound.   To this waltz, born in a distant, snowbound country out of longing for just such a flower-scented summer night as this, Rupert and Anna danced. They were under no illusions. The glittering chandeliers, the gold mirrors with their draped acanthus leaves, the plangent violins, might be the stuff of romance but this was no romance. It was a moment in a lifeboat before it sank beneath the waves; a walk across the sunlit courtyard toward the firing squad. This waltz was all they had. So they danced and neither of them spoke. As the music began and his arms closed around her, he had felt her shiver. Then the melody caught her and she moved with him, so light, so completely one with him that he could guide her with a finger. Yet as he held her he had no thought of thistledown or snowflake. Here, beneath his hands, was tempered steel, was flame… He checked, reversed, and she followed him perfectly. It seemed to him that she could fold her very bones to lie against his own. And tightening his arms, drinking in the smell of green soap, of cleanliness personified, which emanated from this changeling countess, he allowed his mind, soaring with the music, to encompass their imagined life together. He had not wanted Mersham—had returned to it reluctantly as to a burden he must face. In the few weeks she had been there, Anna had changed all this. Her feeling for his home was unerring, as inborn as perfect pitch in music. Bending to arrange a bowl of roses, standing rapt, with her feather duster, before the Titian in the morning room, bringing in the mare at daybreak, each time she seemed to be making him a gift of his inheritance. Like those dark Madonnas on the icons whose patient hands curve up toward their infants’ heads, Anna’s every gesture said: “Behold!” Anna, in his arms, was without thoughts, without dreams. Rupert had imagined her folding her bones to shape them against his. She had done more. She had folded her very soul, given it into his keeping—and danced.

—A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[filmnoirsbian]

A series 6 of pages from the graphic novel My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris

Page one: Karen (stylized as a werewolf girl) and Missy are two young girls watching a horror movie. Karen's narration says "Horror Theater played this movie 'Dracula's Daughter' and there was this one part where Countess Dracula kidnaps this woman named Janet..." Missy says "I think that the countess almost..." Karen finishes "...kissed her..."

Karen's narration says "That was the night we cut our fingers and became...blood sisters" and then "As I hung up my detective coat in the cloak room I remembered how I'd waited till Missy was asleep. I'd said, "You are beautiful" and then..."

A sleeping Missy says "...I love you Kare...I love you so much..." as Karen kisses her hand. Countess Dracula looks on and says "Oh Karen, you are far braver than I ever was!" Karen's narration says "I think she meant it because she said it from her asleep self not her awake self..."

Page two: The Next Morning. Missy and Karen are eating cereal. Missy says "Karen, do you think that a girl could become the bride of dracula's daughter?" Karen says "If they love each other then why not?"

Karen's narration says "I think Missy went home and asked her mom the same question because later Missy's mom called and demanded to know what we'd seen on TV..."

Karen's mom on the telephone says "Just some old Creepshow is all..." Missy's mom from the telephone says "That junk! I really should not be surprised as people of your class never protect their kids from bad influences!" She hangs up.

Karen's narration says "As I sat in school (getting my daily doses of paper airplanes) I thought about how that had been the last sleepover we ever had. Over the next few weeks I heard that all of Missy's monster magazines got replaced by hair and beauty mags. Her boardgames, like 'Haunted House' got replaced with, 'The Mystery Date Game'..."

Page 3: Karen's narration says "But we are still blood sisters, so no matter how mean Missy is, I can't be mean back. Her blood is inside of me. Sometimes I think if you were to put one of those x-ray machines up to me, you would see the old Missy, the Missy from when we used to love monsters together and I have to protect that part of her..." Karen gives a thumbs up to this x-ray picture of old Missy.

Page 4: Karen's narration says "...Because inside of Missy that part is in a coffin, in a crypt, staked, and hungry and all alone..." Missy gives a thumbs down to her x-ray self. Missy says "Only 3 things matter! What you wear how you do your hair and...the boy that you date!"

Page 5: Werewolf Karen and Vampire Missy embrace in a stairwell. Karen thinks "I don't care if it turns out that this was all a mean prank...for right now I get to hold her in my arms and stroke her hair." Missy says "The times when I'm with you are the only ones when I'm...myself."

Page 6: Missy's mother calls down the stairwell and says "Missy! What are you doing in the stairwell? Come back to your guests!" Missy tells her "So the neighbors don't see Karen getting on at our floor, she's taking the elevator at the floor below ours." Missy's mother says "Finally you're being sensible about that...girl!"

Still embracing, Karen says "Missy, you sure your mom won't come down here and catch us?" Missy says "She never walks down the stairs in high heels when she's been drinking. She'll be passed out by ten tonight. Horror Feature is playing 'Carnival of Souls' tonight...um...wanna call me and we can watch it over the phone together?"

Karen says "Sure."

[freddiegene]

Strong female leads and a bit of Russian history on Natasha Romanoff’s TBR pile 📚

Books recommended:

Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas

Circe by Madeline Miller

A Countess below Stairs by Eva Ibboston

Notes of a Russian Sniper by Vassili Zaitsev

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

[beautifulscreaminglady]

"Rupert, none of your servants are socialists, I hope?"

"Good heavens no, I shouldn't think so. I mean, I haven't asked. Surely you don't have to be socialist to want to have a bath?"

A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[primordialsoundmeditation]

“When you're sad, my Little Star, go out of doors. It's always better underneath the open sky.”

― Eva Ibbotson

(Book: A Countess Below Stairs https://amzn.to/47N0RKZ)

[Art: Starry Night by Alex Ruiz]

#ad #motivation #literature #englishliterature #booklovers

English Literature

[townsenddecades]

1308 – Day 4 – Praaven Castle

Robert has been Sir Silas’ page for a year now, and at this point, he has managed to settle in. He even likes some of the work and lessons. Even the fighting is more fun than he anticipated. Working on the farm has given him strength enough, if not exactly finesse.

Which does not mean that he doesn’t feel stupid when the men-at-arms shake their heads at his difficulty with reading and writing or lack of expertise in etiquette. Part of him wants to fail, just to spite them, but his mother is hoping for so much for him. He can’t bear to disappoint her.

One day, towards the end of the year, Sir Silas tells him that he will be accompanying him to meet the Lady of the castle. He stares at him in bewilderment.

“But you said it would be uncourteous to the Countess to take me there!”

“So I did, and so I believed. But Lady Petersmarch has asked me to take you along.”

“She wants to see me?”

Sir Silas lifts a brow. “Do I need to repeat myself, lad? Make yourself ready.”

And so he does, fear and confusion quickly turning into annoyance at the feelings. He has no desire to be belittled by some high-and-mighty noble lady, as he has been by so many of the servants who know, of course, that he is the bastard of their former employer. He follows Sir Silas up the tall stone stairs to the entrance of the castle and comes upon one of the loveliest women he has ever laid eyes on. He had seen the Countess before, but never this close.

She is dressed in a silk gown of darkest blue – blue and gold being the Dudley family’s colours – and a long veil that covers most of her strawberry-blond hair. Her big, amber eyes seek him out immediately, or at least that is his impression before he bows deeply, as Sir Silas has instructed him.

“My lady.”

“You may rise, young page. So, Sir Silas, this is the boy that's been serving you?”

“It is, my lady. Robert Townsend.”

“You do look remarkably alike to my late husband, Robert. But I’m sure enough people have told you that already. You come from one of the farms outside the city, is that so?”

He struggles to keep his composure but manages to nod. “Yes, my lady. We live near Tovar.”

“We?”

“My parents, my siblings and I.”

“Ah. Well, I hope you’ve settled in well. Now then, Sir Silas, about your report.”

Unbeknownst to the all of them, they are being watched. Three curious heads peak over the railing of an upstairs gallery, the high, echoing walls making it easy to catch what is being said below. Two of the children have the same red-gold hair as the Countess, while the eldest’s hair is pitch black.

Ralph Dudley Jr., eleventh Earl of Petersmarch, turns to his siblings and motions them to follow him into a nearby bedroom, so their conversation won’t be overheard.

“So that’s our brother”, Elizabeth says.

“He’s not our brother, stupid”, Clement interjects immediately. “He’s just father’s bastard.”

Elizabeth raises a brow, in a manner very similar to her mother. “I believe a sibling is customarily someone with whom one shares at least one parent, brother.”

“Yes, but bastards don’t count.”

Ralph clears his throat. “He is a bastard that is currently training to be a knight, though, so we can’t exactly ignore that he’s here. Although mother has done a good job of doing so in the past year. I wonder what’s changed.”

“Doesn’t Your Lordship have all the information he could ever want?”, Clement teases, but his elder brother only rolls his eyes.

“I’ll take the reins soon enough, you’ll see.”

“We should introduce herself, now that he’s here”, Elizabeth puts in, to end the quarrel before it can start. She doesn’t have time for her brothers’ useless squabbles. “I at least am curious to meet him. A peasant brother, can you imagine!”

“Yes, let’s”, Ralph agrees. “Who knows, maybe he’ll prove useful to have around.”

So down the stairs they go. They don’t sneak – Ralph doesn’t feel he has to sneak, he is the Earl and this is his castle, after all – and peer around the corner. Their mother and Sir Silas have moved on into the banquet room to have their discussion, but their half-brother is standing near the door, trying to be subtle in gawking at the rich interior. Ralph assumes he has never been in a place like this. He has grown up in some peasant hut, after all, and the guard hall is rather sparse.

“Pssst”, he hisses, and motions the boy over when that catches his attention. Robert looks towards the Countess and Sir Silas briefly, sees that they are deep in conversation, and sneaks over into the side room the three noble children retreat into.

And then they stare at each other, before the peasant boy bows stiffly.

“Lord Petersmarch, I presume?”

“You presume correctly”, Ralph answers, with just as much dignity. “And these are my sister Lady Elizabeth and my brother Clement.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you”, Elizabeth says kindly. Clement just nods, though more in greeting than to echo his sister’s sentiment. “We were so curious to meet you! It seemed strange to have another child of our father’s living so close yet never to interact with them.”

“We would have sooner, but our duties have kept us away”, Ralph, who doesn’t want to admit that he has bowed to his mother’s wishes on the matter, adds a little pompously. “But we couldn’t let the opportunity pass by now that you’re here.”

“Is it true that you grew up on a farm?”, Elizabeth asks immediately, not especially tactfully, but she is only nine years old.

Robert stiffens, but nods. “It is. I’ve lived there with my parents until Sir Silas kindly took me on as his page.”

“With you parents?”, Ralph asks, with his emphasise on the s.

“My mother and her husband. The man that raised me.”

Clement scoffs, but Elizabeth smiles kindly. “I’m sure it would be hard not to see your mother’s husband as a father. I’m sure it must be nice to…to still have one. I at least miss our father a lot.”

They talk some more, but it remains awkward, and gets more so when the Countess and Sir Silas walk into their hideout, having obviously noticed that Robert has gone missing. Both look disapproving, so Ralph quickly puffs out his chest and looks square at them.

“We were curious to talk to Sir Silas’ protegee, Mother, and it didn’t seem like he was involved in your conversation, so we didn’t think it would do any harm to steal him away.”

“Did you, now?” She studies all of them. “As an Earl you should know that it isn’t right to interrupt other peoples talks by ferreting away participants, Ralph. And any good page stays until he is dismissed.”

Robert swallows with an effort. “I beg your pardon, Lady Petersmarch, Sir Silas. I fear I wasn’t certain whether a summons from my liege overrides my duty to my knight.”

Sir Silas chuckles, and quickly hides it in a cough when the Countess shoots him a disapproving glance. She then turns to Robert. “A valid point, I confess. Still, stealing away is never a sign of a good conscience, is it?”

He just lowers his head at that, although, it must be said, mostly to hide his face.

“But it was interesting to get to know him, Mother”, Lady Elizabeth interjects.

“I’m sure it was, my dear. And I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities, seeing as he’ll stay on here for the time being.”

Robert doesn’t know whether to take this as an invitation or a challenge. 

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