#and with nines i give him the highest honor i can bestow

[zeiinoviahh]

Thank you so much for teaching Lacroix how to dress properly. In-game Lacroix wishes he dressed as nice as you draw him 😭

What can I say, I'm just a regular guy playing dress up my favorite little guys.

[everlasting-rainfall]

-Yandere Alphabet: Figarland Garling-

What can I say? I’m in love with this evil as fuck moon man… I know that’s really fucked up of me considering his actions and the things that he does but I just can’t help it! Man’s hot

But keep this in mind while reading this or scrolling through my blog…

I HAVE NEVER AND WILL ABSOLUTELY NEVER CONDONE THE ACTIONS OF ANY CELESTIAL DRAGON, THEY ARE ALL DISGUSTING

Garling is a huge piece of shit and I won’t deny that like in all honesty, I would try to end him if he existed in our world if I wasn’t so sure that I would die trying to do so

But in fiction world, I wouldn’t mind him kidnapping me… Does this make sense? Probably but keep in mind that I don’t support his actions in the slightest… Okay?

Anywho…

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Abuse, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Noncon, Forced Pregnancy, Celestial Dragons Bullshit, Violence, Blood, Mind Breaking, Slavery, Stalking, Removal of Rights, Sex as a Punishment, Other Things Typically Associated with Yandere

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Honestly I feel like at home, he would seem fairly normal if you aren’t plotting an escape or anything like the worst thing that he does to you is make you wear a collar with his name on it and cockwarm him while he handles work regarding the Holy Knights

He probably expresses his true affection to you at home by reminding you that you belong to him and no one else as that is the highest honor that he could ever bestow upon you so when he leaves those marks on your body, that’s him genuinely trying to show you affection

As for outside the house? That’s when things get really intense as his affection is dialed up quite a bit like he still has a reputation to uphold but the touching is a lot more often like it’s better to stay home if you don’t want his lips kissing at you every time someone looks your way

Maybe if you’re good as well then Garling will treat you to something romantic like maybe he’ll arrange for a nice meal to be shared between you both somewhere in the properties gardens

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Garling is willing to get incredibly messy when it comes to his darling like I can imagine that when he takes you out if someone comes up to the two of you and they just so happen to be looking at you too much for his liking then he has no qualms about performing an execution right then and there

He doesn’t even care if you see it in all honesty as that’s just a reminder for you to not try to escape as he’ll do that to anyone he thinks has you

Bitchass Celestial Dragons quickly learn also to not gossip about you because there’s no way that you’re one of them as that ended horribly for the person who did it and got caught doing that like so many of them still have nightmares about it as Garling showed no mercy

He doesn’t care about blood as any amount of blood spilled for you is worth it in his book… Plus it’s not like it can’t be cleaned up…

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Without a doubt, you were either a slave or just some poor unfortunate civilian when Garling took you as his partner. I feel like despite either circumstance though, he treats you much of the same and it all depends on how good you’ve been

Have you been good? Garling will give you free roaming of the home, you aren’t allowed to talk to anyone and he expects you to act on his schedule like if he’s getting ready for bed at nine then you’re going to bed too unless you went to bed earlier

Have you been bad? Now he’s being cruel to you as you aren’t allowed out of the bedroom unless he’s with you, he’ll be much rougher with you as well like I’d request some medicine when he deems you as good again for when his fingertips dig into your arms

Also did you try to escape recently? You aren’t leaving the bed unless it’s for the bathroom now… You’re in deep trouble and this is where he’d mock you, he’d mock your plan and how you carried it out as he points out all the flaws and how stupid you were to think you could get away from him

Continue to try to be bad after an escape attempt? You need to be re-educated… He’ll force you back into being good…

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

You think he wouldn’t? This is Figarland Garling… The man with so much power that he can judge Celestial Dragons and get away with it, this man has problem with doing things against your will…

The amount of times that this man has forced kisses onto you is so high that you lost count a long time ago, it’s to the point where just about every single day starts off with a forced kiss from Garling as soon as he sees you

Plus the amount of times that he’s forced your body into all sorts of positions in order to fuck you and satisfy his urges alongside fuck any rebellious thoughts out of your head is incredibly high like you could probably keep track if you really thought about it but still, it would take a while

He’s probably even forced you multiple times to get on your knees in front of him after a long day and pleasure him with your mouth until your mouth is full of his cum or your face is covered in it

If you thought that collar around your neck that he never lets you remove was the only thing he’d force you into? I’m afraid that you’re mistaken…

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

I feel like towards the beginning of your relationship, Garling is very reluctant to be vulnerable to you as he still doesn’t know quite what you might be capable of but later on in the relationship… There might just be that one day every once in a while where he is…

Part of you wants to use the opportunity for this to escape him but you never really do as these moments are the most peaceful with him like this is probably when you feel the most like you’re in an actual relationship with him and not a prisoner

It’s during these moments where you might find out things like if this is Post Gods Valley then he expresses his genuine sadness at having lost Shanks among other things, he tells you about things during moments like these and he doesn’t even get a serious look on his face when you get up to grab something

Don’t get too comfortable though as you’re still his prisoner and if you try to make a break for escape after excusing yourself to use the bathroom or something, he will be absolutely pissed…

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Oh this man would find it endearing if you attempted to fight back against him, he is the leader of the holy knights and champion of Gods Valley but here you are trying to brandish a weapon against him and make demands? It’s honestly cute and he isn’t bothered at all

He might even give you a chance to rethink this and put your weapon down before you get hurt but if you don’t listen and try to attack him then you won’t even know what happened as you’re suddenly disarmed and pinned down to the floor

Honestly you might not even be in too much trouble with this as you’re still going to be punished later but he found this fun, part of him even hopes that you start to learn to fight just a bit better so these moments don’t immediately end upon you trying to strike him

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Towards the beginning of the relationship, he probably thought it was rather fun to watch you try to escape him as it was like some kind of fun fox hunt sort of situation where he would give you a small head start then chase after you as it wasn’t like you could get off the property

Part of him even somewhat enjoyed watching as you formulated plans so he could laugh at them when they inevitably failed later

But honestly later in the relationship, it’s more than likely grown a bit tiring like he still does occasionally enjoy hunting you down but now it’s happened so many times that he simply sighs and shakes his head when he’s noticed that you’ve disappeared somewhere

It’s why he gets so much crueler when you try to escape later in the relationship as he didn’t use to restrain you to his bed and mock you directly to your face at first but now it seems like that’s the only way that you’ll learn to tone it down or stop so he won’t have to cut your achilles tendon…

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Now that depends… There are two worst experiences that you could have with Garling in all honesty and it all depends if it is Pre or Post Gods Valley when he takes you…

If it’s Pre? Then honestly I can imagine that the worst experience you’ll have with him is being impregnated by him with Shanks and it’s not that he doesn’t want to be a father and is horrible to you as he’s elated to be a dad but remember that you’re a prisoner…

Plus as well, you have to eventually experience losing your baby boy when Gods Valley comes around which is hard for you as you just lost your baby and chances are that Garling isn’t sure how to comfort you other than holding you as you beat at his chest and blame him

If it’s Post? Then chances are that your very worst experience with Garling in all honesty is him deciding to take you to one of the executions of a Celestial Dragon who broke the rules especially if it was the one who got caught gossiping about you

In his eyes, this is great for you both as you can see just how much he cares about you if he does this to a bad mouther but for you? You feel like you’re gonna vomit and you might actually once the execution starts getting more and more brutal…

Those screams will never leave your head…

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

The future that Garling has in mind for the two of you is probably something that would feel sweet if you weren’t a prisoner like he wants to simply grow old with you… Live a long life with you until you’re both old and grey

Maybe even have a few kids together that will take over the Holy Knights and take over his position as head of the family when the time comes for them to do so

Garling has expressed this to you on multiple occasions like he’s even gotten quite a bit of baby fever as he’s already prepared a nursery and occasionally comes up and rubs your belly when he’s spooning with you at night

But he knows that he can’t have that until you accept that this is your life now and it will be your life for as long as you live…

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

When Garling gets jealous, people die… It’s as simple as that like if someone so much as dares to speak to you while the two of you are on an outing, not both of you, you specifically

Then chances are that unless it’s for something like someone trying to sell you something like a nice smelling perfume or a new dress then will spill blood but he would have still done that if not for the fact that you pleaded with him not to

So when someone does try to offer you something, Garling simply lets out a huff through his nose and warns them to not address you but instead either him or both of you. If the person who offered wants to stay alive then let’s hope that they’re quick with an apology and either a proper repeat of what they said or a retreat

This man does not cope well with jealousy and commonly lashes out without remorse, if it weren’t for you as well then everyone who spoke to his dearest one would be dead as in his eyes

He’s the only one worthy of doing so…

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Honestly Garling on a good day probably acts somewhat normal around you when in the house like to anyone who didn’t know, you would probably seem like a normal couple like he occasionally seeks you out to have conversations or to try to initiate intimacy but typically he leaves you be

He wouldn’t mind at all if you sought him out to talk about something even if it’s while he’s working on something as he can multi-task when it comes to you

But in public then it would become very clear that he is a Yandere as he doesn’t let you leave his side for even a moment and keeps a hand on you at all times, he keeps up how he is at home verbally but not at all physically

If you should be in the process of doing something in the home and run into Garling then his curiosity might be peaked depending on what it looks like so prepare for a small interrogation almost about what you’re doing when you're only trying to like move some things around to look nicer or something

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

I’m not entirely sure if Garling would have even bothered courting you at all in all honesty like I’m pretty sure that once he saw you and got interested then that was more than likely all that was to it except killing whoever you were with before him or the dragon that had you if you were a slave

Like the day that he approached was definitely also the day that he snatched you like he might have been watching from afar for a while but once he decided you were his, he just walked right up to you or had you brought to him

But let’s pretend for a minute that he did attempt courting you. In all honesty, I feel like if you were a civilian then it resulted in you getting quite a few letters in the mail alongside some really nice gifts that he was sure you would love. One letter might even talk about wanting to bring you to a nice restaurant so you could finally meet and it’s during that meeting when he tries to be all sorts of romantic with you like he brought you flowers, he holds your hand on the table, every word that comes out of your mouth is like music to his ears even as you’re trying to tell him that this is nice but you don’t want to meet again as you aren’t interested

In one ear and out the other with that kind of talk for him! You will be his…

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Oh absolutely not… Garling has absolutely no problem acting the way that he does with you whether it’s in public or it’s in the privacy of your own home like yes, he does have a reputation to uphold but he doesn’t have much issue showing his true colors in public

Almost everybody knows when you’ve been bad in all honesty as well as on the rare occasion that Garling takes you outside when you’ve been bad, no one is allowed to address both of you as it’s only him plus he’s keeping you on an even shorter leash than he normally does

Like you are practically pressed into his side with how close he’s holding you and if he ever does cut your Achilles tendons then he has no issue with pushing you in a wheelchair when he takes you outside but he’s also has no issue with letting people see the bandages wrapped around your ankles

Almost everyone in the “Holy” Land whether they be slave or Bitchass Celestial Dragon knows how Garling is when it comes to you, it is absolutely no secret…

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Honestly I feel like Garling would definitely be into sex as a punishment like he is the kind of guy to toss you onto his bed and watch as you dig your fingers into the sheets or feel as you leave scratches down his back while he fucks all of those rebellious thoughts out of your head and make you submissive to him

It is the most effective punishment that he’s had with you but there is the occasion when if you need further punishment then he’ll simply leave you tied on the bed until you’ve learnt your lesson but there is the occasion leg breaking so you can’t run anymore

But we can’t forget the ultimate punishment if you don’t stop being bad though and it’s that he can and will cut your Achilles tendons if you don’t stop trying to run, he has no issue with permanently taking away your ability to walk

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

The simplest way to put it is that he has absolutely no issue removing any and all rights from you

Walking around the house is something that can be taken away, leaving the house to walk around the property is something that can be taken away, leaving the bedroom is something that can be taken away, the ability to use your legs can be taken away

Garling has no issue taking away anything from you like I’m pretty sure that he’s willingly deprived you of eyesight for an entire day as punishment by blindfolding you and then restraining you so you couldn’t take it off, you had to stay there for an entire day just listening and feeling things as he didn’t even let you know if he was there or not

But don’t panic though as any right that Garling takes you away from you can be earned back by simply being good and submitting to him like a good partner

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Garling strikes me as the type to be rather patient with you as if you have some things that make life just a bit harder like let’s say that you have a speech impediment then he’s willing to wait for as long as you need him to during your conversations for you to say whatever you’re saying

He doesn’t even appear to mind if you take longer than him getting ready in the morning although that’s likely very impossible considering his hair likely takes so long to style in the morning that you could already be dressed and almost finished reading a book by the time he’s done

Plus when it comes to your escape attempts, he hasn’t completely removed your ability to walk just yet so he is being patient but don’t be so confident that his patience for this is just as strong as his patience for everything else

He will get tired eventually and when the breaking point comes… Slice!

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Okay, let’s get one thing straight and it’s that if you somehow manage to escape and leave him then he will stop at absolutely nothing to hunt you down and drag you back home kicking and screaming if he has to

But if you ever die? That is going to absolutely destroy him as he genuinely wanted to grow old with you but now he can’t do that as you’re gone. Garling is not going to move on and if anyone tries to get him to do so like if he gets a love letter in the mail then it’s execution time

You were his and he was yours. You expect him to just forget about you and find someone new to pursue? No, no, no… The only reason that he doesn’t take his own life is because of his duties as the head of the family and leader of the Holy Knights

That is the only reason! And if anyone asks “Well what about heirs?” then he would simply say to leave it to one of his family members to carry on the Figarland Name as the person who was going to produce an heir is gone

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

I don’t think that I need to say anything else other than that if this man can do what he did at Gods Valley among many other things and seemingly not show an ounce of guilt

There is absolutely no way in hell that he would ever feel guilty about taking you…

And if he’s letting you go or even slightly entertaining the idea? Pinch yourself right now… You are most definitely dreaming… Or don’t as this is a really nice dream…

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

What brought about this side of him? In all honesty, I feel like Garling is simply a naturally born Yandere like this is quite normal for the Figarland Family to do this sort of thing with people

They don’t always do it as some of them have entered into normal overly possessive relationships with other Bitchass Dragons but a lot of the time, they wind up simply kidnapping someone and forcing them into the position of being their partner

Garling is a natural born Yandere, he has always been this way. He only started truly showing these tendencies however when he saw you and decided that you were going to be his

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

There would absolutely no chance at all that he would allow you to isolate yourself from him as he does force you to somewhat be on the same schedule as him and share a room with him so if you tried to isolate away from him then he’s going to seek you out and force an interaction if he has to

As for how he feels when you scream? The man honestly probably would just muzzle you in some way if you’re getting on his nerves but if he doesn’t do that then he’ll simply warn you that if you don’t stop then you’ll lose your voice and when your voice eventually does go hoarse then he breathes a sigh of relief

And crying? That would depend on what you’re crying over like if you’re just crying over being with him then he’ll let you cry it out but if you’re crying over something that he agrees is truly causing you pain then he’ll stay by your side and attempt to comfort you in his own Garling way which is probably like holding your hand as you cry or holding you close to him

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Honestly he probably does but unfortunately I’m not the best at coming up with unique stuff so I can’t tell you what it is unfortunately… My apologies…

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Absolutely nothing… Even if you think that you’re managing to manipulate him and that you have the upper hand, that couldn’t be further from the truth as he isn’t a stupid man and he isn’t going to let you get away at all

Granted you could get him to partially let his guard down like by pretending to finally be submissive to him but even that likely doesn’t work as when the day comes that you appear to truly have become submissive to him is when he’s dragging you to the bedroom and trying to impregnate you

In all honesty, that’s probably how you got pregnant with Shanks if this Pre Gods Valley but regardless… There isn’t a thing that you can do in order to manipulate this man as even if you were sobbing and on your knees to at least let you spend five minutes in public away from his side, he’ll say no even if you’re the most hurt that you’ve ever been

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

There is not a single doubt in my mind that he would hurt you someday like the amount of times that this man has threatened to cut your Achilles tendons is telling enough especially as he has actually broken your legs in the past

Garling has muzzled you like a dog if you scream too much, he’s broken your legs, he’s dug his finger tips so deeply into you that it’s left some prominent bruises, he’s probably even smacked you a few times for saying something that offended him a lot

But despite all of that, I can’t see Garling ever punching you or using his sword on you beyond cutting the tendons. Garling is willing to hurt you but not like that…

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Honestly despite how his treatment of you would say otherwise, Garling probably views you as a beautiful goddess to him like something that has more worth than literally anything in the Holy Land

He thinks that you’re something that only deserves to be touched and enjoyed by him, you might not notice when he’s fucking you but he is actually trying to take your pleasure into account when he fucks you

And how far would he go to win you over? Man would probably do quite a bit to win you over like he’s attempting to be quite romantic towards you once he finally has you by dressing you in nice outfits and taking you to nice places (if you’ve been good)

His end goal is to grow old with you after all and he does want to have kids someday but he doesn’t want to do that until you’re fully submissive to him and what’s one of the good ways to do that other than by breaking you?

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Probably not that long in all honesty like if he did attempt to court you at first then I’d give it about sometime between half a month and a full month to actually invite you on that restaurant date where he kidnaps you afterwards

And if that isn’t the case and like you were a slave or something instead of a civilian then it’s more than likely that very same day after meeting you for the first time is when he kills the Bitchass Dragon who claims to own you and take you for himself as you belong to him

Honestly, it doesn’t take Garling really that long in any scenario so it’s probably best that if you see a man with red hair shaped into a crescent moon style staring at you then it’s best to just start packing your bags and saying goodbye to your old life whether it was good or bad

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes. If it truly came down to it and nothing else was working to make you submissive to him as his loving partner and parent to his children then he would have no issue with breaking you

Granted it’s going to take him quite a long time to get to that point but chances are that once that day comes where he finally makes the decision to break you then there’s no going back as he is dead set on this course of action

Unless by some sort of once in a lifetime miracle, you can convince him to stop and that you’ll be perfectly submissive to him now then I’d recommend just letting go now as he won’t stop until you are broken

Don’t worry though as this course of action will only come after he’s gotten so impatient with you that he’s removed your ability to walk

[hartwinorlose]

got inspired by @neyafromfrance95's soulmate posting

COOPER HOWARD - NINE

1 & 2 - Linda and Robert Howard 

Most people’s first threads are their parents. Cooper is no exception. He’s born with two tiny circles of red around his thumbs and an instinctual knowledge: they are there until death; they will remain even if he cuts them. He has eight more. It is far better to have these two than not. 

Like most children, he makes threats in the midst of his tantrums. “I’ll cut it off!” he screams at his mother when she won’t let him have his way. “I’ll cut your thread!”

Of course, he never does. 

Three decades later, in his father’s hospital room, he watches the brilliant crimson fade to a colorless gray. The last bit of red fades away right as the flatline sounds. 

Cooper is sick for a week straight afterwards, can’t so much as get out of bed. When he finally does haul himself back into the real world, the ache in his heart stays. He resents it — there was no love lost between him and his father, but every time he catches a glimpse of that gray thread, it makes him hurt all over again. In the end, it takes more than a year before his heart feels well and truly whole.

It’s the first thread he loses. It won’t be his last.  

3 - Mrs. Abernathy 

He’s only seven when he gives the third one away. He’d developed a lisp, and his parents had immediately put him into speech therapy. He’s grateful for it. The other children have been picking on him incessantly. 

Mrs. Abernathy never does. She works with him, tells him where to put his tongue to get his consonants just right. She’s exceedingly kind and excessively patient, and he wants to show her how much he appreciates what she’s done for him in the best way he can think of. 

On the last day of therapy, when his lisp is well and thoroughly gone – his peers in third grade will never even know he had it – he edges his way shyly to her desk. 

“Mrs. Abernathy,” he says, proud that he can say her title without it sounding like he’s speaking through a spoonful of peanut butter. 

She graces him with a smile. “Yes, Mr. Howard?” She always addresses him like that, like he’s her equal. It makes him feel distinctly grown-up. 

Puffing out his chest, he holds up his hand. “I want you to know that I gave you a thread.” He knows she can’t see it, and he knows she almost certainly won’t give him one back, but it’s the highest honor he’s capable of bestowing. 

“Oh, Cooper.” Mrs. Abernathy places a hand to her heart. “That’s very kind of you, sweetie, but I want you to be careful with who you give those to, okay? Here.” She holds up her own hands and counts out her fingers, then gives them a wiggle. “Ten. It seems like a big number, doesn’t it?” 

He nods solemnly. Double-digits. He’ll be a big kid when he hits double-digits, that’s what everyone keeps telling him. Ten seems a very long way away. 

Mrs. Abernathy places her hands on her knees and leans forward. “I’m going to tell you a secret. It isn’t very big at all. In fact, in a few years, you’ll probably wish you had a lot more than ten fingers for those threads. So you keep them for people who can give them back to you.” 

He gets a similar lecture from his parents when they find out what he’s done. Mrs. Abernathy must have called them because he comes home to find his father in a fine state. 

“Soft-hearted nonsense!” he blusters when Cooper confirms he has, indeed, bestowed Mrs. Abernathy with one of his threads. “This is what comes of going too easy on him. He gets these sort of fool-headed ideas.” This to his mother, who sits with an almost contemplative look on the sofa. 

“I don’t know,” she hums. “I think it’s sweet of him.” 

Robert’s face goes as red as a tomato. “Sweet! It’s permanent, Linda. The boy’s gone and permanently tied himself to a woman four times his age. What’s he going to get out of that?” He yanks loose the knot in his tie and rakes a hand through thinning hair. 

Cooper quails backward as he rounds on him. 

“You listen here, Coop. You do something this stupid again, I’ll cut the damn thread myself. You hear me?” Robert advances a step, goes so far as to make his fingers into scissors and snip the air. 

Tears well in Cooper’s eyes, and he clutches his hand to his chest. He doesn’t want to lose any of his threads. 

Linda jumps up and slaps Robert’s hand down. “Stop it, Bob! He’s going to think you’re serious.” Spinning, she crouches down in front of Cooper and pulls him into a hug. Runs a soothing hand over his hair and murmurs, “Don’t worry, dear, no one can cut it but you. You know that, don’t you?” 

Cooper nods, but his father’s threat stays with him for a long time. 

4 - Grant 

Cooper doesn’t even think about giving away another thread until he’s fourteen. Grant is his best friend, has been for the past six years – practically a lifetime. Grant probably knows him better than he knows himself. 

It feels monumental when they ditch their bikes at the edge of what they think is the woods – in reality, a two-acre patch slated for development that happens to have some dense shrubbery and trees – and hike to a group of rocks. The rocks are famous with the neighborhood kids for being infested with snakes, but they climb fearlessly to the top. 

Grant takes out his pocket-knife and scrapes it against the unyielding stone. It leaves marks behind, white on gray, and he carves out a clumsy “G.” 

“Here.” He hands the knife to Cooper. 

Dutifully, Cooper adds a “C” right next to it. “Now what?” 

“We gotta bleed.” Grant holds the knife over the pad of his index finger and digs the point of it in until a drop of blood wells beneath it. Once again, he hands Cooper the knife. 

His breath hisses through his teeth as the blade punctures his skin, but he lifts his finger to show Grant he’s done it. 

Grant presses their fingers together, their blood mixing and falling combined onto the initials they’d carved. “There,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants and leaving a rusty streak behind. “Now we’re blood brothers.” 

“Blood brothers,” Cooper repeats, wrapping his hand around his finger to stem the bleeding. When he opens his fist, he realizes a thread has wrapped itself around the base of his bloodied finger. His eyes follow it to where it terminates somewhere within Grant’s rib cage. He hadn’t even realized he’d given one away. 

5 - Janet 

Cooper is seventeen and a bit of a romantic. He’s been dating Janet since Grant moved away two years back, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be forever. 

By the time he’s eighteen, he’s sure enough to run a thread between them. Never before has he wished so fervently that she could just see it herself because it is, frankly, a little embarrassing to admit. At first, he’s not sure how to say it. Then: genius strikes. 

He waits until prom night, when they sleep together for the first time. When Cooper sleeps with anyone at all for the first time. They lay in her bed afterward because her parents are out of town and they have all night. 

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to pluck up the courage, but he eventually draws a line from his finger to her heart. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking slightly amused. 

Cooper shrugs a shoulder. “Loose thread. I fixed it.” 

She opens her mouth, starts to ask him what he means, but she seems to figure it out as her face flushes bright pink. “Oh, Cooper. I mean… um. Thank you. But I… I can’t…” 

“You don’t have to do it back,” he rushes to assure her. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. 

“No, no.” Janet cradles his face in her baby-pink-manicured hands. Her prom dress, the same shade, is crumpled on the floor. “It’s so nice of you. Seriously. You’re like the cutest thing ever. It’s just, my parents, if they found out…” 

“Right, no, yeah. It’s fine, Jan.” Cooper cannot get out of there fast enough. He makes some awful excuse about how his own parents will be home soon and he needs to get back before he’s missed. 

Janet watches him get dressed, stops him before he can get out the door. She takes his hand and dusts his knuckles with a kiss. “Someday,” she says, rubbing his thumb. “I promise. I’ll give you one of my mine.” 

Feeling slightly more reassured, he kisses her goodbye. 

They break up three months later. Cooper signs up for the Marines.

6 - Agnes 

“I require all my clients to give me one of their threads.” Agnes has her thin hands folded on her desk, her lipstick a professional shade of red. Not a hair is out of place on her head. Her suit has lines so sharp they look like they could cut him. In other words, she strikes Cooper as a woman who knows what she’s doing. 

She’s still talking. “It’s a cutthroat industry out here, Mr. Howard. I have to be sure you really want this, and that means commitment. So you tell me.” She steeples her fingers, stares at him expectantly. “What are you willing to give?” 

Agnes Powell is not the first agent Cooper has met with. She’s not the third or the fourth or even the fifth. All of them had found something in him lacking – just not meant for the screen is the phrase haunting his nightmares.  

If he doesn’t sign with someone soon, it’s back to readjustment. That hasn’t been going so well for him, being a civilian. War had been bigger than life; he needs something to fill this new space inside him.   

He studies his hands. Five threads left. He’s still young, and he wants a family. Not for the first time, he wishes he’d been a little more discerning over the years. 

Agnes blinks, tilts her head. “Hollywood is the best step you’ll ever take, Mr. Howard, and I’m eager to take it with you. I think you’ve got talent; I really do. It’s just one little thread, right?” 

Cooper rubs the empty space around his left pinkie. One thread not to go back to his job as a bagger at the Super Duper Mart. One thread to potentially leave the mundanity of normal life behind. He’s given them up for less.

He reaches across the desk to shake Agnes’ hand. “Just one little thread,” he agrees.

7 - Sebastian Leslie

In his right mind, Cooper would never hand Sebastian one of his four remaining threads. Three hours of steady drinking and mindless celebration have driven him from his right mind. Agnes had come through – she’s gotten him a role and not just any role. A starring role. 

It’s a Western, which is not a genre he would’ve picked, but Sebastian had clapped him on the shoulder when he first hears. 

“They’re big, Coop. Trust me on this. You’re going to be huge.” Then he’d offered to buy him a drink, and Cooper had said why the hell not. 

Filming starts in a week, and he’s determined to spend most of the time not-sober. Sobriety gives him too much time to think about how he could fuck this up. It’s a lot easier to shed that self-doubt when the room is hot and swirling and Sebastian is in his ear pitching all sorts of storylines. 

The hero. The villain. The heartthrob. 

Cooper snorts. “Neither of us has the face for that.” 

Sebastian makes an obnoxious buzzer sound. “Wrong! Women flock to this face.” He frames his with a flourish. “It’s not about the features, it’s about the confidence. They love that shit.” 

“I’ll leave you to them,” Cooper laughs. He downs the next shot, which has somehow ended up in his hand. 

Slinging his arm over his shoulder, Sebastian clinks his own glass against Cooper’s newly empty one. “You play this right, Coop, you’re going to rule this town. Just do me a favor and take me along with you, yeah?”

“Sure I will.” Agnes had been right about everything – the industry was cutthroat, and he hasn’t managed to make a lot of friends out here. Sebastian is pretty much it. As far as Cooper can tell, he owes it to him to pay back that generosity.

Tequila-addled and high on imagined success, Cooper holds up his hand. “I’ll do you one better than a favor. I’ll make you a promise.” 

Sebastian stares at him dully for a moment before his eyes gleam with unshed tears. “You bastard,” he sniffs. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.” Half-sobbing, he pats Cooper on the chest, right over the heart, as he sticks his own in place. 

When Cooper wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, he squints at the new line of red encircling his finger. Bleary memories of exchanging threads swim to the surface, and he sighs. Well. Shit. Old habits, it seems, die hard.

8 - Barbara 

Barbara laughs when he tells her about Janet. Her teeth and earrings gleam in the soft glow of their candlelit dinner. She holds her wine glass with an elegance he can’t help but admire. 

“Eighteen?” she echoes. “Absurdly young for a lifetime, don’t you think?” 

Cooper shrugs. “Yeah, well. I was an optimist.” He tilts his head toward where her fingers clutch the glass stem. “How about you? I’m almost afraid to ask how many spaces you’ve got left.” 

She takes a measured sip before setting her glass down precisely where it had been when she picked it up. “Six,” she tells him. 

“Wow.” Assuming her relationship with her parents is decent, that means she’s only given two away by her late twenties. “Some people might call that cold-hearted.” 

Barb slices into her steak. “I prefer to think of myself as selective.” She arches an eyebrow, as though challenging him to break through all of those restrictions, to be one of those she selects. 

Somehow, miraculously, he must because when he gets down on one knee, she accepts the ring and the thread he offers. She even gives him one of her own. 

It’s a few years later, and they’re sitting on a ridiculously large couch in the ridiculously large house he can afford. Barb reclines against his chest; he’s reading through the latest script Agnes has sent his way with his elbow propped against the back of the couch. 

Barb breaks the silence. “You know what I’ve been thinking?” 

“Mmm?” he hums, right in the middle of a monologue and only half-paying attention. “What’ve you been thinking?” 

She lifts one hand and examines the back of it. “It might be nice to have a new thread.” 

That gets his attention. “Oh yeah?” It takes a minute for understanding to dawn – then she turns on him with such a pair of bedroom eyes that it clicks into place. “Oh.” 

She runs her fingers over the back of his hand. “If you’ve got room, that is.” 

“Baby, I’ve got room for as many as you want,” Cooper says, already scooping her into his arms. “As long as it’s not more than two.” 

He carries her, laughing, to bed. 

A few more years, and Cooper is not so blinded by the lights of Hollywood anymore. Barb, however, seems to be capable of shielding her own eyes from whatever shit is going on at Vault-Tec. Things get more and more sour between them. The fault line in his heart grows bigger and bigger. 

Until it cracks open completely. 

He drives home in a haze, replaying the staticked voice of his wife as she proposed the end of the world. When he walks into the house, he stands for a minute in the living room, not moving, not thinking, just letting himself breathe in and out while he still can. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker. 

He doesn’t let himself do it immediately. He’s made enough rash decisions – this one deserves time. Two days later, he pulls the kitchen shears out of the knife block. 

Cooper is not entirely certain how one is supposed to do this. Eventually, he decides on clutching the thread between his teeth and stretching his arm as far out as it can get. Places the mouth of the scissors to the edge of the thread. Squeezes his eyes shut. And cuts. 

There’s so much pain, it’s like his other senses give up. His vision goes dark, and he collapses to the ground, the scissors clattering off somewhere. All he can hear is the rush of blood through his ears. For a minute, his heart beats so off-kilter, he worries he’s gone into cardiac arrest. But slowly, surely, it gets back to normal, and his eyesight comes back – blurred and imperfect, but good enough to let him stumble into his bedroom and collapse onto the mattress. Good enough for him to see the string that once shone scarlet is now a bitter, ugly black. 

9 - Janey 

Nobody’s perfect is an age-old adage that Cooper has heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times throughout his life from all sorts of people. Well, those people haven’t met his kid. The connection is instant. The very second she lands in his arms, he feels the ninth thread encircle his finger. 

He counts her fingers and toes, a perfect ten of each. He watches her flawless nose crinkle as she winds up for another round of wailing. 

“Good set of lungs on that one,” a nurse remarks as she bustles around him. 

Not good, Cooper would tell her if he could pay attention to anything other than Janey. Perfect. 

She is the one thread he never, not for one minute, regrets. 

THE GHOUL - ONE

10 - Lucy MacLean

The weeks after the bombs are hell. Cooper can’t tell which he’s sicker from: the radiation or the rapidly graying threads. Mrs. Abernathy goes first, then Janet, then Sebastian. He can’t help but imagine how they all died. The bomb for Mrs. Abernathy. Some desperate fucker guts Janet behind the shell of a grocery store. Sebastian doesn’t make it through the radiation poisoning.  

Grant and his mom are next. He does everything in his power not to think of what might have ended them. 

Agnes makes it a while. He’s become something else by the time her red runs out, something with rough skin and a body running on chemicals. Her survival makes sense to him – she’d always been a remarkably capable woman. 

Every day, he dreads the moment he opens his eyes. There is only one line of red left to him, and if it goes out, he’ll put a bullet in his head. 

The years go on, but he doesn’t change with them. The knowledge terrifies him – how long will he be around? He thought he’d be dead by eighty, but it comes and goes with no effect. He didn’t budget for this much existence. No matter how long he survives, the fact remains: he can make only one more connection. 

So he does a pretty damn good job at not making any. Can’t risk another Grant. Wouldn’t survive another Barb. Much easier to keep to himself and forget he ever even had the option.

Unfortunately, there’s a girl. He fully intends on killing her, but she talks like he hasn’t heard anyone talk for centuries, all sickly corporate. The stain of Vault-Tec is all over her. She’s a good opportunity, so he takes it, and he tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his head whispering that maybe he never has to really let her go. 

He ties her to him with everything he can think of that isn’t one of those damn threads. A cable, a lasso – hell, he even sews part of her onto him. That voice still won’t shut the fuck up. 

The worst part? He can’t even figure out the reason. What is it about her that makes him want to give her the last, shriveled part of him? She gave me the chems, he tells himself, but he knows that’s a lie. He should have shot her dead the second she tried to speak to him, and he hadn’t. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. 

It’s no clearer to him when he sends a bullet ripping through Henry’s cheek. For himself, yes, but also for Lucy. He knows all too well what that kind of betrayal feels like. Wouldn’t be surprised if she cuts that particular thread as soon as she gets the chance. 

He holds out for as long as he can, but he’s never been a strong man. The second she shoots her mother instead of him, he feels the very last of his threads stretch between them. Permanent and maybe a mistake, but he’s hers now. 

He half-turns. Sure enough, a bridge of crimson stretches all the way to her heart. He asks if she’s coming with him. Relief fills him when she does. 

[gojuo]

Do you think Aemond loves his brother Aegon in the show? I feel a little bitter about how the showrunners have portrayed their relationship in the show. In the book I've always seen it as kind of tyrion / Jaime relationship, in fact all of alicent's children love each other there. But in the show its seems that they are trying to turn it into Aegon iv/ naerys/ aemon . Like how can they interpret Aegon II as Aegon IV? And Aemond of all people as Aemon the dragonknight? lmao

They desperately want to make aegon hated by all of his family for some reason. Even joffery wasn't hated by all of the lannisters, his mother loved him even if it's in her own way. Aegon in the other hand is hated by everyone except maybe for sunfyre lol

I don’t think Aegon is necessarily hated by his family members, just that they are disappointed with his debauchery and heedlessness towards duty. Aegon and Aemond present a united front from the “You may cuff him about as you wish at home, but in the world, we must defend our own,” line onwards:

In the Driftmark episode, Aemond lies about who told him about the Strong bastards rumor and Aegon takes the blame without blinking, protecting both Aemond and Alicent by going along with the lie.

This background dialogue insinuates that the brothers’ relationship is pretty normal and amicable, and not at all antagonistic. Aemond confides in Aegon concerning his grievances with Viserys' actions.

When Aegon provoked Jace and Baela and Jace stood up as if to talk back, Aemond stood up as well, essentially shutting the boy up and forcing him to sit back down. Aemond was protecting Aegon here.

When Aemond starts his Strong boys speech, Aegon is the only one to raise his cup when asked, smirking all the while, showing his support of his brother’s antics to the entire room.

When the scuffle between Jace and Aemond broke out, Luke tried to head over to his brother but Aegon stopped him in his tracks and slammed his head into the table, making Luke unable to aid Jace. Aegon shielded Aemond here by physically taking part in a fight that wasn’t really his.

Aemond’s line in the last episode: “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

To the outside world, Aegon II and Aemond make clear that they are loyal to one another, that they are brothers through and through, that they are one family. Such a thing was never present in Aegon IV and Aemon’s dynamic and relationship. For starters, Aegon II orders a statue to be made of Aemond and Daeron after their deaths and also orders that in all chronicles and court records the title of queen is only preserved for his mother and for Helaena, calling them the “true queens.” Let’s compare these small tidbits with the dynamic Aegon IV, Naerys and Aemon had:

TWOIAF, Aegon IV, p. 95:

It was said of Aegon that he never slept alone and did not count a night complete until he had spent himself in a woman. His carnal lusts were satiated by all manner of women, from the highest born of princesses to the meanest whore, and he seemed to make no difference between them. In his last years, Aegon claimed he had slept with at least nine hundred women (the exact number eluded him), but that he only truly loved nine. Queen Naerys, his sister, was not counted among them.

Aegon IV gives his bastard son one of the greatest symbols of Targaryen legitimacy, shocking the entire court by publicly favoring his bastard over his own trueborn son with Naerys. TWOIAF, Aegon IV, p. 95-96:

King Aegon knighted Daemon in his twelfth year when he won a squires’ tourney (thereby making him the youngest knight ever made in the time of the Targaryens, surpassing Maegor I) and shocked his court, kin, and council by bestowing upon him the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, Blackfyre, as well as lands and other honors.

Aegon IV greatly disliked Naerys and all of what she stood for, and made it publicly known he did so as well. He refused her plea to separate after giving him a son and the book insinuates he did it because he wanted her to suffer. TWOIAF, Aegon IV, p. 96:

Queen Naerys—the one woman Aegon IV bedded in whom he took no pleasure—was pious and gentle and frail, and all these things the king misliked. […] Naerys was said to address her brother thus: “I have done my duty by you, and given you an heir. I beg you, let us live henceforth as brother and sister.” We are told that Aegon replied: “That is what we are doing.” Aegon continued to insist his sister perform her wifely duties for the rest of her life.

Aegon IV quite literally tried to murder Aemon when he was 1.5 years old, like, really. Fire and Blood, p. 701:

On the eve of Smith’s Day, Larra of Lys gave Prince Viserys a second son, a large and lusty boy that the prince named Aemon. A feast was held to celebrate, and all rejoiced at the birth of this new prince… save mayhaps for his year-and-a-half-old brother, Aegon, who was discovered hitting the babe with the dragon’s egg that had been placed inside the cradle. No harm was done, for Aemon’s howls soon brought Lady Larra running to disarm and discipline her elder son.

Aegon IV made up false rumors that his son by Naerys was actually Aemon’s, which is a crime punishable by exile/death, and tried to disinherit his own trueborn heir Daeron in favor of his bastard Daemon. TWOIAF, Aegon IV, p. 96:

The king’s quarrels with his close kin became all the worse after his son Daeron grew old enough to voice his opinions. Kaeth’s Lives of Four Kings makes it plain that the false accusations of the queen’s adultery made by Ser Morgil Hastwyck were instigated by the king himself, though at the time Aegon denied it. […] It was also the first (but not the last) time that Aegon threatened to name one of his bastards as his heir instead of Daeron.

After the deaths of his siblings [Aemon and Naerys], the king began to make barely veiled references to his son’s alleged illegitimacy—something he dared only because the Dragonknight was dead.

Then, this is THEEE passage which shows how different the Aegon/Naerys/Aemon-dynamic is to the Aegon/Helaena/Aemond (and Daeron) one. TWOIAF, Aegon IV, p. 96:

Matters between them [Aegon and Naerys] were inflamed further by Prince Aemon, their brother, who had been inseperable from Naerys when they were young. Aegon’s resentment of his noble, celebrated brother was plain to all, for the king delighted in slighting Aemon and Naerys both at every turn. Even after the Dragonknight died in his defense, and Queen Naerys perished in childbed the year after, Aegon IV did little to honor their memory.

Contrast that to this passage. Dangerous Women, The Princess and the Queen, p. 783:

When his grief had passed, King Aegon II summoned his loyalists and made plans for his return to King’s Landing, to reclaim the Iron Throne and be reunited once again with his lady mother, the Queen Dowager, who had at last emerged triumphant over her great rival, if only by outliving her. “Rhaenyra was never a queen,” the king declared, insisting that henceforth, in all chronicles and court records, his half-sister be referred to only as “princess,” the title of queen being reserved only for his mother Alicent and his late wife and sister Helaena, the “true queens.” And so it was decreed.

And this one. Fire and Blood, p. 561:

During this time, Aegon II also commanded that the Dragonpit be restored and rebuilt, commissioned two huge statues of his brothers Aemond and Daeron (he decreed they should be larger than the Titan of Braavos, and covered in gold leaf), […]

Do you think Aegon IV would ever honor Naerys and Aemon in the way Aegon II did with Helaena and Aemond (and Daeron too, my poor forgotten boy...)? The relationship between Aegon II and Aemond is the exact opposite of Aegon IV and Aemon if I say so myself. Both in show and book.

TWOIAF, Aegon II, p. 77:

Aemond took up the mantle of Protector of the Realm and Prince Regent after both Aegon and Sunfyre were gravely injured at Rook’s Rest in the battle with Rhaenys and Meleys. He even donned his brother’s crown—Aegon the Conqueror’s crown of rubies and Valyrian steel—though he did not call himself king.

Fire and Blood, p. 437:

And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror. “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed. Yet Aemond did not assume the style of king, but named himself only Protector of the Realm and Prince Regent.

Can you imagine Aemon doing this with Aegon IV? Aegon IV would literally rather die than having Aemon rule in his stead and he would for sure have his brother’s head if Aemon had said what Aemond said here, lmao. Aegon IV despises Aemon and Aemon doesn’t care about mending the relationship. Aegon II and Aemond, however, are one team. They are BROTHERS. Both in the book and in the show.

About Aegon II and Helaena’s relationship… The one thing that is comparable to Aegon IV and Naerys is the fact that Aegon II also cheated on his wife (and PROBABLY fathered bastards; it isn't exactly confirmed). However even in that they are dissimilar because Aegon IV had public mistresses of high-rank who stayed in court for all to see together with him and Naerys. Aegon IV’s bastards also stayed in court together with Daeron II, his son and heir by Naerys. Aegon IV publicly humiliated his wife by allowing this and openly showed contempt towards his trueborn son Daeron II by favoring his mistresses’ children over him. And I mean… By spreading rumors of Naerys and Aemon having had an affair and that Daeron II was the result of said affair, Aegon IV essentially tried to have his own child exiled/executed since such a thing is high treason (Naerys and Aemon were dead by this point; Aegon IV never had the guts to spread the rumors while they were alive). Aegon II in contrast has never done such a thing.

Aegon II’s affairs were only with servants and prostitutes of King’s Landing, not high-ranking noble ladies who stayed in court together with the entire family. He may or may not have fathered bastards. It is not exactly confirmed to be undoubtedly true. Only Mushroom reported that he had 2 bastards but no other source talks about this and Mushroom never mentions those two bastards ever again outside of 1 line saying they exist somewhere. We can never be sure if they were actually real or not. Anyways, if we pretend they exist, then what is undoubtedly true is that Aegon II has never favored those two bastards over his children with Helaena in the way Aegon IV did. Aegon II never accused Helaena of high treason, Helaena never tried to beg Aegon II to relieve her of her “wifely duties” like Naerys did, Aegon II's affairs weren’t in front of Helaena’s face all the time like with Aegon IV who had all of his lovers live in the same castle with his wife, Aegon II might have bastards (and only 2) vs Aegon IV's canonically confirmed 15 bastards, etc. etc.

An example of Aegon trying to protect Helaena’s honor (to be fair her honor is not being insulted, but oh well). Fire and Blood, p. 387:

Still later, the fool reports, Aegon the Elder took offense when Jacaerys asked his wife, Helaena, for a dance. Angry words were exchanged, and the two princes might have come to blows if not for the intervention of the Kingsguard.

Helaena freely sasses him, hinting at an easy and light relationship between the two. Fire and Blood, p. 398:

Princess Helaena was breaking her fast with her children when the Kingsguard came to her... but when asked the whereabouts of Prince Aegon, her brother and husband, she said only, “He is not in my bed, you may be sure. Feel free to search beneath the blankets.”

He listens to her counsel and advice, meaning that he holds her in high regard concerning politics at the very least. Fire and Blood, p. 409.

Aegon would not hear of it. Septon Eustace tells us that His Grace accused the Grand Maester of disloyalty and spoke of having him thrown into a black cell “with your black friends.” But when the two queens—his mother, Queen Alicent, and his wife, Queen Helaena—spoke in favor of Orwyle’s proposal, the truculent king gave way reluctantly.

Aegon was devastated by Blood and Cheese and cared a great deal for his children. Fire and Blood, p. 425.

In his grief and fury, King Aegon II commanded that all the city’s ratcatchers be taken out and hanged, and this was done. […] Though Blood and Cheese had spared her life, Queen Helaena cannot be said to have survived that fateful dusk. Afterward she would not eat, nor bathe, nor leave her chambers, and she could no longer stand to look upon her son Maelor, knowing that she had named him to die. The king had no recourse but to take the boy from her and give him over to their mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, to raise as if he were her own. Aegon and his wife slept separately thereafter, and Queen Helaena sank deeper and deeper into madness, whilst the king raged, and drank, and raged.

Aegon and Helaena slept in one bed together up until Blood and Cheese tore them apart, in stark contrast to Aegon IV who “never took pleasure” in Naerys.

Aegon II’s reason for accepting the crown was to protect himself, his brothers, his sister and his children. Fire and Blood, p. 398:

Only when Ser Criston convinced him that the princess must surely execute him and his brothers should she don the crown did Aegon waver. “Whilst any trueborn Targaryen yet lives, no Strong can ever hope to sit the Iron Throne,” Cole said. “Rhaenyra has no choice but to take your heads if she wishes her bastards to rule after her.” It was this, and only this, that persuaded Aegon to accept the crown that the small council was offering him.

Aegon II and Helaena had an okay relationship in the book. It was affable enough. Cheating aside, Helaena never went through the torment Naerys did by her husband’s hands. Aegon II & Helaena’s and Aegon IV & Naerys’ relationships are just not comparable to each other. Even in the show, even if there is dissent in the relationship, it’s not implied anywhere that Helaena is afraid of Aegon II or miserable in her marriage in the way that Naerys was. Aegon II mostly ignores her, apparently, except when he is drunk (hinting that he feels the need to be intoxicated in order to “do his duty” AKA have sex with her). In history, Aemon and Naerys are remembered as having loved each other (AGOT, Sansa III & Sansa IV and ACOK, Sansa VI). This is not the case for Helaena and Aemond. Those two have never been suggested as having been lovers within the canon. Those two have also literally never interacted with each other in the show… Like, I’m being serious. They’ve only ever stood next to each other and that’s literally it. This Helaemond crap is being shoved down our throats by the fandom, not the showrunners. And this is happening because Team Black wants some sick type of justification for Blood and Cheese by making Helaena’s children bastards, pretending like the Greens are hypocrites, as if Helaena and Alicent are anything like Rhaenyra. They want Jaehaerys to be Aemond's bastard because they want Daemon to be vindicated for the "a son for a son" line, instead of it being what it actually is: Daemon's senseless brutality and inhumanity. And I know this because I’ve seen it happening in real time.

To conclude, Aemond is disappointed with Aegon II’s immodesty but he is still loyal to T to his brother and his throne, and Aegon II supports and aids and trusts Aemond, and has mended their relationship after the eye incident. Aegon II and Aemond are the exact opposite of Aegon IV and Aemon, that’s just how it is. Their dynamics with each other just have nothing in common. Absolutely not in the book, but also not in the show.

[a-purple-lizard]

Assassinating Death (Part 1)

Noob Saibot X female slave reader

I’m debating wether so make a 10-15 chapter long fanfiction about this. If anybody would like to see a fanficion with this concept, please tell me!

Noob Saibot, the ruler of destiny rules all of existence, turning the worthy into revenant warriors and enslaving the weak. S/o is one of the ‘weak’ that he enslaved. Determined to put a stop to the cruel tyrant, s/o devises a plan to kill him. After all, why would a god suspect a pitiful slave of treason? (GIF by me! Taken from the MK11 arcade ending)

The rattle of her own chains was all s/o could hear inside the hollow castle walls. The air tasted of ash and death, as it always had. The woman was hastily scrubbing the stone floor, the rough sound falling on deaf ears as s/o remained focused on the man behind her. A tall soulless husk that watched her intently, looking for some opportunity to punish her.

S/o wouldn’t allow it. Not again. She already had exactly thirty two scars on her back from her punishment. The slave attire forced all to wear open back leather tops as a way to easily punish slaves as well as provide warning to others. Her hair was clipped so that it did not go past her neck, leaving her scars for the world to see.

A stone collar was wrapped around her throat, a purple stone in the center of it marked her as an obsidian place slave. Cold metal chains connected her hands, allowing them only about a foot of distance apart.

The obsidian palace was a jagged spire that towered over the smoke clouds. Nobody really knew how far up it went. Well, nobody but noob saibot, keeper of time, ruler of existence and bringer of death. He was the cruel shadow whose fowl touch defiled the world, turning it grey and dead.

It was he who controlled the immortal servants, or “blank souls” as the slaves called them. Blank souls were husk, vessels that carried out the dark lords will. They were each hand chosen by the lord at seemingly random. Nobody was really sure WHY he chose who he chose, but he was always very sure about his choices.

One thing was sure however, once you were chosen, there was no argument or revolt. Your soul belonged to HIM. When somebody was chosen, they disappeared for MONTHES and when they returned, they weren’t the same. Milky eyes, pale skin, no emotional connection to their friends and family.

“You! Girl! Come with me.” A cold voice came from behind her.

Turning around, she was met with a blank soul. He wore red and yellow robes, silver armor plated his legs and arms. A black hood shrouded his upper face, his dead milky eyes seemed to glow in the shadows. An armored mask hid whatever expression he had to offer.

S/o bowed her head, as everyone had to do when a blank soul addressed them. She didn’t waste a second, abandoning her cleaning supplies and wordlessy following the blank soul out of the room, leaving behind the other blank soul who just stood there, waiting for the next slave shift to start.

The slave was led down the hall to the center staircase that traveled from the dungeons below, all the way up to the tip of the tower, the throne room.

S/o had never been past the thirty fourth floor in the hundred story tower. Only blank souls were permitted to travel to the top ten floors. A few slaves were permitted to cleanse the rooms in the top ten floors, but the ones who did never returned. Most assumed that the ruler of time forced them to live up there as well.

Cold obsidian tile made her bare feet ache as they climbed the stairs upwards. S/o didn’t dare gaze at the man beside her. His footsteps were silent, undetectable to the ear as he went.

After about twenty minutes of climbing, the blank soul halted. The symbols carved into a metal plate showed the number ninety nine. “Bow when your god addresses you. To disrespect noob saibot is to willingly submit yourself to the worst punishment imaginable.”

S/o nodded her head in the most boot licking of ways. The blank soul observed her for a second before starting to walk up the stairs again. There it was, floor one hundred.

The icy fear that repeatedly stabbed her with each rapid heartbeat was almost debilitating as she stepped into the open space.

It was a plain room, pillars only decorated with the symbol of the shadow empire, and a single long rug running from the stairs to the… throne.

Dark jagged crystals spurred upwards in such unnatural ways, at the end of the highest tip lay a skull with a single thick strip of gold plating at the top. Sitting on the throne was him.

The god of all. Killer of all. Noob Saibot, ruler of the shadow empire. S/o threw herself to her knees as the blank soul led her to the shadow shrouded emperor. “Slave.” His voice shook her to her very core. “Did it offer any resistance during retrieval, Hanzo?”

“None at all. She is ready to fulfill her duties.” The blank soul, ‘Hanzo’ responded. The king nodded, the light seemed to drain from the air around him. Without another word, hanzo exited the throne room, heading down a dark hallway behind the throne. S/o was now at the mercy of a tyrant god.

The atmosphere thickened, s/o felt her body shake in her submissive form. All four limbs touched the ground, her lips almost kissed the carpet below. She didn’t dare look up.

“Slave, you have been bestowed the greatest honor of personally serving me.” Something in his voice held a sort of… interest? S/o couldn’t detect any facial expressions due to his head being covered in a helmet, as well as a dark vail.

The slave couldn’t find words that she deemed usable in his presence. She was too terrified to even think. “Unless my generosity doesn’t interest you?”

The dark edge to his voice made s/o want to burst out in tears and beg for her life. “N-no! Thank you so much for even considering giving somebody such as myself any thought! I swear, I will not disappoint you, my lord!”

“I know.” He said simply. “Kuai Liang! Escort it to its new quarters and explain its new purpose to its empire.”

A figure was suddenly behind her, s/o was pulled to her feet by her elbow. She was met by a blue clad blank soul. ‘Kuai Liang’ didn’t say a word as he took hold of her chains and led her to the spiral staircase. S/o could feel the lords gaze boring into her back as she left.

Kuai Liang led her down the stairs, his rough voice echoed through the quiet environment. “You will be given your own quarters on the ninety first floor. You will wake up everyday at exactly five in the morning, you will clean floors ninety-one through ninety-five. At twelve, you will be permitted to eat.” He explained. “At one, you will resume your cleaning, the ninety sixth floor and the one hundredth floor, as well as every floor in between.”

The two of them stopped at the ninety first floor. It looked to be some sort of dining hall. Blank souls littered the area, some were eating, others simply sat around and… socialized? S/o was dumbfounded, the slaves had always assumed that blank souls were nothing but empty husks yet, here they were, laughing and joking.

She didn’t have time to gawk before she was dragged past the large dining hall to a simply lit hall. There were a multitude of doors lining it, a few were open to reveal blank souls casually in their rooms. S/o and Kuai Liang stopped at the end of the hall.

“This will be your new quarters. Inside you will find everything you will require, as well as your new uniform.” He stated, opening the door.

“A new… uniform?” She asked, confused.

“You are now a personal slave to the king and his warriors, you are expected not to look like a common rat.” He growled. “You are now held to higher standards, failure to complete your duties within the desired time range will result in your immediate termination and replacement.”

She swore she saw his face soften for only a moment when he saw the look of hopeless fear of her face. “As a personal slave you are also entitled to certain privileges. No warrior can take it upon themselves to punish you without express permission from the lord of darkness. No warrior may harass you in any way.” He continued, “after all your daily duties are done, you are free to roam the top ten floors, as long as you do not disturb any warriors.”

He gestured to her room, allowing her to slip past him to inspect it. “You are free to explore for the rest of today. Tomorrow you will be assigned a warrior to make sure that your expectations are met.” Without another word, Kuai Liang was gone.

S/o was left alone. She collapsed into the soft bed, staring up at the ceiling, debating whether to cry or smile. She had been within spitting distance of the man who she despised above all else. The man who had caused so much ruin and heartbreak. The man who she now had the opportunity to kill...

Part 2

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Elijah Taken to Heaven (2 Kings 2:1-11)

Elijah's work was finished. The words of the record are very striking: "It came to pass, when Jehovah would take up Elijah by a whirlwind into heaven." The words show how completely Elijah's life was at the disposal of God. The prophet himself had nothing to say as to when he would go - or how he would go. It would be when and how the Lord would take him.

The unusual manner of Elijah's departure would seem to have been a mark of divine commendation, a reward for his faithfulness. Yet we cannot state with any positiveness, why the prophet was thus lifted over death as he was. All we can say is that it was the divine will concerning his departure. In this way he would best glorify God.

The brief account opens another window, a window into the Father's house: "Jehovah would take up Elijah. .. into heaven." His departure was a promotion, an exaltation, a translation. We know he did not cease to live. We have but to turn the pages over, until we come into the New Testament to see him again, nearly nine hundred years later, living and active still in God's work. This is just as true of the Christians who die in our time - as it was of the old prophet. The Lord takes them up into heaven, and they live on in blessedness and service forever.

One cold autumn day I saw an empty bird's nest on a tree. It looked desolate and forsaken - but I knew that the birds which once sang there were living yet, away in the warm southland, beyond the reach of winter's storms, singing there the same sweet songs they used to sing here. Just so, there is an empty love nest in many a home, in many a heart - but we know that the dear one who has gone is living with God in blessedness.

Elijah's last day on earth was a busy one. He was sent from place to place, first to Bethel, then to Jericho, then to the Jordan. God reveals His plan to His children step by step as they go on. Elijah was faithful also to the very last moment, and went swiftly from task to task. It was to visit the schools of the prophets that he went to Bethel and Jericho. He wished to give his last counsels to these young students whom he had been training and on whom the religious work for the people would depend when he was gone.

We should continue in our work until we come to the end. In fact, when we know that the time is short - we should be all the more diligent and earnest, that nothing may be left undone. Some godly men think they may retire from active service when they get well on in years, living leisurely in the closing days. But the knowledge that we have only a little while to live - should make us eager to do all we can in the world where so much needs to be done. The shortening days - should call us to intenser activity.

Elisha's friendship must have been a great comfort to Elijah. He came into his life that day in the field when the old prophet came upon the young man plowing, and called him. Elijah needed greatly such glad and cheerful companionship. Probably he had not known much of friendship. His life had been that of a recluse. His mission was stern and his work had been severe. Elisha had in him just the qualities that were needed to give comfort to Elijah in his advancing years. Elisha went with him everywhere, a constant help and cheer. He clung to him to the very last. "As Jehovah lives, and as your soul lives - I will not leave you!" he said.

Again and again Elijah begged him to tarry behind. Just why Elijah sought to slip away from him, we are not told. Perhaps he was trying to save him from the pain of parting. But Elisha would not allow Elijah to get out of his sight a moment. He owed everything to Elijah, and it was fitting that he should cling to him to the last and refuse to be separated from him. There are many young people who owe more than they know to older friends - parents, teachers, pastors, or others - and it is fitting and beautiful that they should show their grateful love and interest to the end.

Notice, too, what Elisha would have missed - if he had not clung to his master. He would not have seen the miracle at the Jordan or the glorious translation, nor would he have received the mantle of the ascending prophet. There are always rich rewards at the end of every path of faithfulness ; and the harder and steeper the path - the greater are the rewards. God always pays His servants well, and we do not know what we miss, when we shrink from our duty in any way.

Elisha seems to have been much annoyed by the insistence of the young prophets. They kept asking him if he knew he was to lose his master that day. He said to them, "Do not speak of it!" The words seem harsh and ungentle, especially when spoken at such a time, in the midst of the sacred scenes which this chapter describes - yet the rebuke was merited. These sons of the prophets were impertinent chatterers, breaking in upon the solemn moments of most loving ministry with their thoughtless questionings. They had no conception of the sacredness of what was passing before their eyes. They had no appreciation of the grief of Elisha, before which their hearts should have been awed. They needed to learn just the lesson which Elisha's sharp rebuke gave them.

Many of us need to be taught the same lesson. We like to air our little bits of knowledge and information, letting everybody know what we have heard. Especially is this true when the knowledge we have gained is something we have no right to know, or at least no right to repeat. When we meet one in sorrow - we feel that we must say something about the trouble, and so we begin to chatter or to ask questions, when really we ought not to refer to the matter at all. There is a time to speak even in the presence of sorrow - but there is also a time to be silent. We would better be quiet always in time of grief - than to speak the wrong words or to speak them in a wrong spirit. Impertinence is always a miserable offense - but it is most miserable of all when it flings its crude words upon a breaking heart.

Elijah warmly returned the love of Elisha. The deepest wish in true friendship is not to receive - but to give; not to be ministered unto - but to minister. Elijah desired to bestow upon Elisha all he could bestow upon him. He wished to leave behind for him not merely the memory of his love - but a blessing which should make his successor more ready for his work. So he said, "Ask what I shall do for you, before I am taken from you." He knew he was about to depart, and his heart yearned for the young man who had been so true a friend to him, whom he loved so tenderly. He wanted to give him some parting blessing.

We see illustrations of the same love ofttimes, when parents are about to leave this world. Their affection for their children grows more and more tender as the moment of parting draws near. This incident suggests also that our friends may often do more for us in dying - than they could do even in the midst of life. They are nearer heaven then than they ever were before, and have special power in prayer. Many of us are richer forever, for the last benediction and prayer of some beloved one.

Elisha's choice in answer to the request of Elijah showed the nobleness of his heart. He did not ask for position or health or ease or honor - but for more spiritual power. He had watched his master in his work, in his zeal for God, in his intense earnestness, and he wanted to have a double measure of the same spirit. He desired most of all - to be a better man, a holier man, more active and efficient in the Lord's work. Believers should seek, above all things, the graces and virtues which make a noble Christ like character. The highest desire of a true-hearted man should be that he may be divinely qualified for the work he is called to do. That was the longing of Elisha, as he knew that his master was about to leave him and that the burden of his great ministry was then to fall upon him.

Elijah promised conditionally that Elisha should have the blessing he sought. He told him that if he saw him depart, the favor should be granted to him. Godly men do not die out of the earth when they die. Their influence remains. They leave part of their spirit in other men's lives. Elisha received a double portion of the spirit of Elijah, because the work which the older man had been doing - would pass into the hands of the younger. The true mother leaves much of the power and the beauty of her character, in the hearts of her children. The teacher leaves his words in the minds of those he has taught. All people, good or bad, leave their life behind them in influence, when they go away. How important it is that we shall live well, that our characters be true, holy, pure, so that those upon whom any portion of our influence may fall - shall be blessed by what they get from us.

The last scene of all was very glorious. "As they were walking along and talking together, suddenly a chariot of fire and horses of fire appeared and separated the two of them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind!" So the most devoted friends must sometimes be separated. This parting came very suddenly at the last. We walk on together talking for many days, not dreaming of separation, then suddenly, as the chariot is waiting, the one is taken and the other left! We should not overlook the certainty of ultimate separation in every friendship we form. Some day, one of the two who are now walking together in love - will be taken and the other left to weep by a grave and to walk on thereafter lonely and sorrowing.

The departure of Elisha suggests also - that heaven is not far away. One of the chariots from the King's country came down that day and carried the old prophet home. Another came down to the door of the house when your believing father, mother, brother, or sister passed away. We shall not leave the world as Elijah did, missing death - but we shall have the heavenly chariot for our freed spirits just as truly as he had. Jesus said that Lazarus, when he died, was borne by angels home to glory. We shall have angels to carry us up to heaven!

[the-archlich]

I don't quite understand the 'ranking' system kingdoms would use. Sometimes you will get something like 'General Who Conquers the West', but then other times they'll just invent a title for someone (Jia Xu I believe had one specifically made for him if I'm not mistaken?). Was there like a 'set' hierarchy that all kingdoms followed? If this is too complicated to answer, don't worry about it!

I had an old list of these things sorted by precedence but it had a lot of errors so I can’t offer a full account at this time. What I can say with some certainty is this:

At the top of the hierarchy were certain extraordinary titles, some of which were more about civilian administration than military command. Extraordinary titles included

Dà Dūdū 大都督 Grand Marshal

Dà Sīmă 大司马 Grand Commander

Dà Jiāngjūn 大将军 Grand General (In Han this was usually the father or brother of the Empress)

Below these were what I would describe as prestige titles. Under Han these carried certain connotations. Under Han they were mostly honorary but they came to symbolize high command when everything hit the fan. These included

Biàojì Jiāngjūn 驃騎将军 General of the Agile Cavalry (typically the father or brother of the Dowager)

Jūjì Jiāngjūn 車騎将军 General of the Chariots and Cavalry (typically the highest title someone not connected to the consort clans held)

Wèi Jiāngjūn 衛将军 General of the Guards (Not to be confused with the Wèi Wèi 衛尉 or Minister of the Guards, one of the Nine Ministers and not a military commander)

Slightly below these in prestige were a number of somewhat irregular titles whose history I’m not entirely certain of but context shows that they were positions of substantial command during the Three Kingdoms. These titles sometimes had the character dà 大 (Grand) included as a superlative, but not always.

Fŭjūn Jiāngjūn 撫軍将军 General Who Comforts the Army 

Zhōngjūn Jiāngjūn 中軍将军 General of the Central Army

Shàngjūn Jiāngjūn 上軍将军 General of the First Army (This title appears to have held special significance in Wu)

Zhènjūn Jiāngjūn 鎮軍将军 General Who Guards the Army

Fŭguó Jiāngjūn 輔國将军 General Who Supports the State

Lower in prestige, but more regularly appointed, were the famous “directional generals”:

Qián Jiāngjūn 前将军 General of the Front

Hòu Jiāngjūn 後将军 General of the Rear

Zuŏ Jiāngjūn 左将军 General of the Left

Yòu Jiāngjūn 右将军 General of the Right

Next comes a slew of generals with very similar, formulaic titles. The highest of these appear to have ranked more or less equally with the directional generals but there is a clear order of precedence to them. These titles had a verb and a cardinal direction, i.e. Zhēngdōng Jiāngjūn 征東将军 General Who Conquers the East. These generally corresponded to the area where the general was stationed

So these were:

Dōng 東 East

Nán 南 South

Xī 西 West

Bĕi 北 North

The verbs had a clear order of precedence

Zhēng 征将军 General Who Conquers

Zhèn Jiāngjūn 鎮将军 General Who Guards

Ān Jiāngjūn 安将军 General Who Calms

Píng Jiāngjūn 平将军 General Who Pacifies

This pretty much covers the upper command structure. Below this you had all those generals with seemingly miscellaneous titles. Those are result of Han traditions as well. Generals weren’t intended to hold command for very long. When someone was given control of an army it was for a very specific objective, and that objective was usually spelled out in the title given to them.

For example: Dù Liáo Jiāngjūn 度遼将军 General Who Crosses the Liao. The Liao river was the most significant river in the northeast. It divided the region in half (thus the commanderies of Liaodong and Liaoxi - literally meaning East of the Liao and West of the Liao). If a general was put in command of a campaign in the region, they’d be given this title to make it clear what their mandate was. Titles like this stuck around, especially if those who held them accomplished exceptional deeds. Later generations would recycle such titles to bestow honor on someone of their own generation (i.e. implying they were the equal of the person who made the title famous).

I think this covers the basics. I hope anyone with more knowledge can give me corrections if I’m mistaken.

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Murders in the Rue Morgue

Edgar Allan Poe (1841)

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions are not beyond all conjecture. --SIR THOMAS BROWNE, Urn-Burial.

THE mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talents into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehension preternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition. The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invigorated by mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, has been called, as if par excellence, analysis. Yet to calculate is not in itself to analyze. A chess-player, for example, does the one without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar narrative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts than by all the elaborate frivolity of chess. In this latter, where the pieces have different and bizarre motions, with various and variable values, what is only complex is mistaken (a not unusual error) for what is profound. The attention is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is committed, resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves being not only manifold but involute, the chances of such oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it is the more concentrative rather than the more acute player who conquers. In draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are unique and have but little variation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished, and the mere attention being left comparatively what advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by superior acumen. To be less abstract --Let us suppose a game of draughts where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can be decided (the players being at all equal) only by some recherche movement, the result of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or hurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been noted for its influence upon what is termed the calculating power; and men of the highest order of intellect have been known to take an apparently unaccountable delight in it, while eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in all these more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind. When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the game which includes a comprehension of all the sources whence legitimate advantage may be derived. These are not only manifold but multiform, and lie frequently among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible to the ordinary understanding. To observe attentively is to remember distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative chess-player will do very well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally comprehensible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and to proceed by "the book," are points commonly regarded as the sum total of good playing. But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere rule that the skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host of observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the difference in the extent of the information obtained, lies not so much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of the observation. The necessary knowledge is that of what to observe. Our player confines himself not at all; nor, because the game is the object, does he reject deductions from things external to the game. He examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully with that of each of his opponents. He considers the mode of assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump by trump, and honor by honor, through the glances bestowed by their holders upon each. He notes every variation of face as the play progresses, gathering a fund of thought from the differences in the expression of certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make another in the suit. He recognizes what is played through feint, by the air with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness or trepidation --all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of their own.

The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man often remarkably incapable of analysis. The constructive or combining power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and which the phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as to have attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictly analogous. It will found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the light of a commentary upon the propositions just advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18--, I there became acquainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an excellent --indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty that the energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased to bestir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and, upon the income arising from this, he managed, by means of a rigorous economy, to procure the necessaries of life, without troubling himself about its superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easily obtained. Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre, where the accident of our both being in search of the same very rare and very remarkable volume, brought us into closer communion. We saw each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little family history which he detailed to me with all that candor which a Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is the theme. I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a man would be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged that we should live together during my stay in the city; and as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we should have been regarded as madmen --although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed the locality of our retirement had been carefully kept a secret from my own former associates; and it had been many years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris. We existed within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the Night for her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon. The sable divinity would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the massy shutters of our old building; lighted a couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams --reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets, arm and arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet observation can afford.

At such times I could not help remarking and admiring (although from his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight in its exercise --if not exactly in its display --and did not hesitate to confess the pleasure thus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. His manner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which would have sounded petulantly but for the deliberateness and entire distinctness of the enunciation. Observing him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a double Dupin --the creative and the resolvent.

Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that I am detailing any mystery, or penning any romance. What I have described in the Frenchman, was merely the result of an excited, or perhaps of a diseased intelligence. But of the character of his remarks at the periods in question an example will best convey the idea.

We were strolling one night down a long dirty street, in the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently, occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forth with these words:-

"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would do better for the Theatre des Varietes."

"There can be no doubt of that," I replied unwittingly, and not at first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with my meditations. In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and my astonishment was profound.

"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my comprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. How was it possible you should know I was thinking of --?" Here I paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.

--"of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You were remarking to yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."

This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted the role of Xerxes, in Crebillon's tragedy so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.

"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the method --if method there is --by which you have been enabled to fathom my soul in this matter." In fact I was even more startled than I would have been willing to express.

"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who brought you to the conclusion that the mender of soles was not of sufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne."

"The fruiterer! --you astonish me --I know no fruiterer whomsoever."

"The man who ran up against you as we entered the street --it may have been fifteen minutes ago."

I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we passed from the Rue C-- into the thoroughfare where we stood; but what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.

There was not a particle of charlatanerie about Dupin. "I will explain," he said, "and that you may comprehend all clearly, we will explain," he said, "and that you may comprehend all clearly, we will first retrace the course of your meditations, from the moment in which I spoke to you until that of the rencontre with the fruiterer in question. The larger links of the chain run thus --Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer."

There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives, amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular conclusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupation is often full of interest; and he who attempts it for the first time is astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence between the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been my amazement when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken the truth. He continued:

"We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright, just before leaving the Rue C--. This was the last subject we discussed. As we crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon his head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving-stones collected at a spot where the causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped upon one of the loose fragments) slipped, slightly strained your ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words, turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not particularly attentive to what you did; but observation has become with me, of late, a species of necessity.

"You kept your eyes upon the ground --glancing, with a petulant expression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement, (so that I saw you were still thinking of the stones,) until we reached the little alley called Lamartine, which has been paved, by way of experiment, with the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your countenance brightened up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that you murmured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly applied to this species of pavement. I knew that you could not say to yourself 'stereotomy' without being brought to think of atomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and since, when we discussed this subject not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebula in Orion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I was now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday's 'Musee,' the satirist, making some disgraceful allusions to the cobbler's change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin line about which we have often conversed. I mean the line

Perdidit antiquum litera prima sonum.

I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with this explanation, I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you would not fall to combine the ideas of Orion and Chantilly. That you did combine them I say by the character of the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor cobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your gait; but now I saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this point I interrupted your meditations to remark that as, in fact, he was a very little fellow --that Chantilly --he would do better at the Theatre des Varietes."

Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition of the "Gazette des Tribunaux," when the following paragraphs arrested our attention.

"Extraordinary Murders. --This morning, about three o'clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occupancy of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L'Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered, accompanied by two gendarmes. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices, in angry contention, were distinguished, and seemed to proceed from the upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached, these sounds, also, had ceased, and everything remained perfectly quiet. The party spread themselves, and hurried from room to room. Upon arriving at a large back chamber in the fourth story, (the door of which, being found locked, with the key inside, was forced open,) a spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less with horror than with astonishment.

"The apartment was in the wildest disorder --the furniture broken and thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead; and from this the bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the floor. On a chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two or three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of metal d'Alger, and two bags, containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, which stood in one corner, were open, and had been, apparently, rifled, although many articles still remained in them. A small iron safe was discovered under the bed (not under the bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of little consequence.

"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having been thus forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived, no doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon the throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as if the deceased had been throttled to death.

"After a thorough investigation of every portion of the house, without farther discovery, the party made its way into a small paved yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise her, the head fell off. The body, as well as the head, was fearfully mutilated --the former so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance of humanity.

"To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the slightest clew."

The next day's paper had these additional particulars.

"The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. Many individuals have been examined in relation to this most extraordinary and frightful affair," [The word 'affaire' has not yet, in France, that levity of import which it conveys with us] "but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light upon We give below all the material testimony elicited.

"Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she has known both the deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period. The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms-very affectionate towards each other. They were excellent pay. Could not speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Believed that Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put by. Never met any persons in the house when she called for the clothes or took them home. Was sure that they had no servant in employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of the building except in the fourth story.

"Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L'Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, and has always resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the house in which the corpses were found, for more than six years. It was formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-let the upper rooms to various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life --were reputed to have money. Had heard it said among the neighbors that Madame L. told fortunes --did not believe it. Had never seen any person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.

"Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting the house. It was not known whether there were any living connexions of Madame L. and her daughter. The shutters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear were always closed, with the exception of the large back room, fourth story. The house was a good house --not very old.

"Isidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was called to the house about three o'clock in the morning, and found some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway, endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced it open, at length, with a bayonet --not with a crowbar. Had but little difficulty in getting it open, on account of its being a double or folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks were continued until the gate was forced --and then suddenly ceased. They seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony --were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the way up stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and angry contention-the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller --a very strange voice. Could distinguish some words of the former, which was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that it was not a woman's voice. Could distinguish the words 'sacre' and 'diable.' The shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a man or of a woman. Could not make out what was said, but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room and of the bodies was described by this witness as we described them yesterday.

"Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a silversmith, deposes that he was one of the party who first entered the house. Corroborates the testimony of Muset in general. As soon as they forced an entrance, they reclosed the door, to keep out the crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, the witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not French. Could not be sure that it was a man's voice. It might have been a woman's. Was not acquainted with the Italian language. Could not distinguish the words, but was convinced by the intonation that the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had conversed with both frequently. Was sure that the shrill voice was not that of either of the deceased. "--Odenheimer, restaurateur. This witness volunteered his testimony. Not speaking French, was examined through an interpreter. Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing the house at the time of the shrieks. They lasted for several minutes --probably ten. They were long and loud --very awful and distressing. Was one of those who entered the building. Corroborated the previous evidence in every respect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a man --of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish the words uttered. They were loud and quick --unequal --spoken apparently in fear as well as in anger. The voice was harsh --not so much shrill as harsh. Could not call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly 'sacre,' 'diable' and once 'mon Dieu.'

"Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L'Espanaye had some property. Had opened an account with his baking house in the spring of the year --(eight years previously). Made frequent deposits in small sums. Had checked for nothing until the third day before her death, when she took out in person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum was paid in gold, and a clerk sent home with the money.

"Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes that on the day in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame L'Espanaye to her residence with the 4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took from his hands one of the bags, while the old lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed and departed. Did not see any person in the street at the time. It is a bye-street --very lonely.

William Bird, tailor, deposes that he was one of the party who entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has lived in Paris two years. Was one of the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could make out several words, but cannot now remember all. Heard distinctly 'sacre' and 'mon Dieu.' There was a sound at the moment as if of several persons struggling --a scraping and scuffling sound. The shrill voice was very loud --louder than the gruff one. Is sure that it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that of a German. Might have been a woman's voice. Does not understand German.

"Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, deposed that the door of the chamber in which was found the body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside when the party reached it. Every thing was perfectly silent --no groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the door no person was seen. The windows, both of the back and front room, were down and firmly fastened from within. A door between the two rooms was closed, but not locked. The door leading from the front room into the passage was locked, with the key on the inside. A small room in the front of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of the passage, was open, the door being ajar. This room was crowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were carefully removed and searched. There was not an inch of any portion of the house which was not carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys. The house was a four story one, with garrets (mansardes). A trap-door on the roof was nailed down very securely --did not appear to have been opened for years. The time elapsing between the hearing of the voices in contention and the breaking open of the room door, was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made it as short as three minutes --some as long as five. The door was opened with difficulty.

"Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he resides in the Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the party who entered the house. Did not proceed up stairs. Is nervous, and was apprehensive of the consequences of agitation. Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman --is sure of this. Does not understand the English language, but judges by the intonation.

"Alberto Montani, confectioner, deposes that he was among the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in question. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Distinguished several words. The speaker appeared to be expostulating. Could not make out the words of the shrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never conversed with a native of Russia.

"Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the chimneys of all the rooms on the fourth story were too narrow to admit the passage of a human being. By 'sweeps' were meant cylindrical sweeping-brushes, such as are employed by those who clean chimneys. These brushes were passed up and down every flue in the house. There is no back passage by which any one could have descended while the party proceeded up stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in the chimney that it could not be got down until four or five of the party united their strength.

"Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he was called to view the bodies about day-break. They were both then lying on the sacking of the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The corpse of the young lady was much bruised and excoriated. The fact that it had been thrust up the chimney would sufficiently account for these appearances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were several deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The face was fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls protruded. The tongue had been partially bitten through. A large bruise was discovered upon the pit of the stomach, produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee. In the opinion of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been throttled to death by some person or persons unknown. The corpse of the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right leg and arm were more or less shattered. The left tibia much splintered, as well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised and discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had been inflicted. A heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron --a chair --any large, heavy, and obtuse weapon have produced such results, if wielded by the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could have inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased, when seen by witness, was entirely separated from the body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat had evidently been cut with some very sharp instrument --probably with a razor.

"Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas to view the bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.

"Nothing farther of importance was elicited, although several other persons were examined. A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in all its particulars, was never before committed in Paris --if indeed a murder has been committed at all. The police are entirely at fault --an unusual occurrence in affairs of this nature. There is not, however, the shadow of a clew apparent."

The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excitement continued in the Quartier St. Roch --that the premises in question had been carefully re-searched, and fresh examinations of witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, however mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned --although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyond the facts already detailed. Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this affair --at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. It was only after the announcement that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion respecting the murders.

I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them an insoluble mystery. I saw no means by which it would be possible to trace the murderer.

"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by this shell of an examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled for acumen, are cunning, but no more. There is no method in their proceedings, beyond the method of the moment. They make a vast parade of measures; but, not unfrequently, these are so ill adapted to the objects proposed, as to put us in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his robe-de-chambre --pour mieux entendre la musique. The results attained by them are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the most part, are brought about by simple diligence and activity. When these qualities are unavailing, their schemes fall. Vidocq, for example, was a good guesser, and a persevering man. But, without educated thought, he erred continually by the very intensity of his investigations. He impaired his vision by holding the object too close. He might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily, lost sight of the matter as a whole. Thus there is such a thing as being too profound. Truth is not always in a well. In fact, as regards the more important knowledge, I do believe that she is invariably superficial. The depth lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops where she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of error are well typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To look at a star by glances --to view it in a side-long way, by turning toward it the exterior portions of the retina (more susceptible of feeble impressions of light than the interior), is to behold the star distinctly --is to have the best appreciation of its lustre --a lustre which grows dim just in proportion as we turn our vision fully upon it. A greater number of rays actually fall upon the eye in the latter case, but, in the former, there is the more refined capacity for comprehension. By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeble thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself vanish from the firmament by a scrutiny too sustained, too concentrated, or too direct.

"As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations for ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them. An inquiry will afford us amusement," (I thought this an odd term, so applied, but said nothing) "and, besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service for which I am not ungrateful. We will go and see the premises with our own eyes. I know G--, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission."

The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to the Rue Morgue. This is one of those miserable thoroughfares which intervene between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It was late in the afternoon when we reached it; as this quarter is at a great distance from that in which we resided. The house was readily found; for there were still many persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an objectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was an ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which was a glazed watch-box, with a sliding way, on one si panel in the window, indicating a loge de concierge. Before going in we walked up the street, turned down an alley, and then, again turning, passed in the rear of the building-Dupin, meanwhile, examining the whole neighborhood, as well as the house, with a minuteness of attention for which I could see no possible object. Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling, rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admitted by the agents in charge. We went up stairs --into the chamber where the body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been found, and where both the deceased still lay. The disorders of the room had, as usual, been suffered to exist. I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the "Gazette des Tribunaux." Dupin scrutinized every thing-not excepting the bodies of the victims. We then went into the other rooms, and into the yard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout. The examination occupied us until dark, when we took our departure. On our way home my companion stopped in for a moment at the office of one of the dally papers.

I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold, and that Fe les menageais: --for this phrase there is no English equivalent. It was his humor, now, to decline all conversation on the subject of the murder, until about noon the next day. He then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed any thing peculiar at the scene of the atrocity.

There was something in his manner of emphasizing the word "peculiar," which caused me to shudder, without knowing why.

"No, nothing peculiar," I said; "nothing more, at least, than we both saw stated in the paper."

"The 'Gazette,'" he replied, "has not entered, I fear, into the unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opinions of this print. It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble, for the very reason which should cause it to be regarded as easy of solution --I mean for the outre character of its features. The police are confounded by the seeming absence of motive --not for the murder itself --but for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs but the assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and that there were no means of egress without the notice of the party ascending. The wild disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward, up the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady; these considerations with those just mentioned, and others which I need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting completely at fault the boasted acumen, of the government agents. They have fallen into the gross but common error of confounding the unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these deviations from the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, in its search for the true. In investigations such as we are now pursuing, it should not be so much asked 'what has occurred,' as 'what has occurred that has never occurred before.' In fact, the facility with which I shall arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is in the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of the police."

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward the door of our apartment --"I am now awaiting a person who, although perhaps not the perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been in some measure implicated in their perpetration. Of the worst portion of the crimes committed, it is probable that he is innocent. I hope that I am right in this supposition; for upon it I build my expectation of reading the entire riddle. I look for the man here --in this room --every moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the probability is that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary to detain him. Here are pistols; and we both know how to use them when occasion demands their use."

I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing what I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I have already spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His discourse was addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud, had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking to some one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded only the wall.

"That the voices heard in contention," he said, "by the party upon the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughter, and afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds upon her own person entirely preclude the idea of self-destruction. Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices of this third party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert --not to the whole testimony respecting these voices --but to what was peculiar in that testimony. Did you observe anything peculiar about it?"

I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh voice.

"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was not the peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive. Yet there was something to be observed. The witnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is not that they disagreed --but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it --not to the voice of an individual of any nation with whose language he is conversant --but the converse. The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard, and 'might have distinguished some words had he been acquainted with the Spanish.' The Dutchman maintains it to have been that of a Frenchman; but we find it stated that 'not understanding French this witness was examined through an interpreter.' The Englishman thinks it the voice of a German, and 'does not understand German.' The Spaniard 'is sure' that it was that of an Englishman, but 'judges by the intonation' altogether, 'as he has no knowledge of the English.' The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but 'has never conversed with a native of Russia.' A second Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian; but, not being cognizant of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard, 'convinced by the intonation.' Now, how strangely unusual must that voice have really been, about which such testimony as this could have been elicited! --in whose tones, even, denizens of the five great divisions of Europe could recognise nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of an Asiatic --of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness 'harsh rather than shrill.' It is represented by two others to have been 'quick and unequal' No words --no sounds resembling words --were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.

"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may have made, so far, upon your own understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony --the portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices --are in themselves sufficient to engender a suspicion which should give direction to all farther progress in the investigation of the mystery. I said 'legitimate deductions;' but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I designed to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones, and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as the single result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form --a certain tendency --to my inquiries in the chamber.

"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in praeternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and escaped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definite decision. --Let us examine, each by each, the possible means of egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining, when the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid bare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every direction. No secret issues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or ten feet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers must have passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these apparent 'impossibilities' are, in reality, not such.

"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left, and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head. Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash, failed also. The police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not been in these directions. And, therefore, it was thought a matter of supererogation to withdraw the nails and open the windows.

"My own examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the reason I have just given --because here it was, I knew, that all apparent impossibilities must be proved to be not such in reality.

"I proceeded to think thus --a posteriori. The murderers did escape from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have re-fastened the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened; --the consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must, then, have the power of fastening themselves. There was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructed casement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty, and attempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had anticipated. A concealed spring must, I now knew, exist; and this corroboration of my idea convinced me that my premises, at least, were correct, however mysterious still appeared the circumstances attending the nails. A careful search soon brought to light the hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery, forebore to upraise the sash.

"I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A person passing out through this window might have reclosed it, and the spring would have caught --but the nail could not have been replaced. The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my investigations. The assassins must have escaped through the other window. Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, as was probable, there must be found a difference between the nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Getting upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the headboard minutely at the second casement. Passing my hand down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressed the spring, which was, as I had supposed, identical in character with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same manner --driven in nearly up to the head.

"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you must have misunderstood the nature of the inductions. To use a sporting phrase, I had not been once 'at fault.' The scent had never for an instant been lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced the secret to its ultimate result, --and that result was the nail. It had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive as it might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at this point, terminated the clew. 'There must be something wrong,' I said, 'about the nail.' I touched it; and the head, with about a quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole, where it had been broken off. The fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash, the head portion of the nail. now carefully replaced this head portion in the indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect nail was complete-the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash for a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of the whole nail was again perfect.

"The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped through the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed) it had become fastened by the spring; and it was the retention of this spring which had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail, --farther inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.

"The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon this point I had been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About five feet and a half from the casement in question there runs a lightning-rod. From this rod it would have been impossible for any one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of entering it. I observed, however, that shutters of the fourth story were of the peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters ferrades --a kind rarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary door, (a single, not a folding door) except that the upper half is latticed or worked in open trellis --thus affording an excellent hold for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fully three feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house, they were both about half open --that is to say, they stood off at right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as well as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but, if so, in looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth (as they must have done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having once satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in this quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory examination. It was clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to the window at the head of the bed, would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an entrance into the window, from the rod, might have been thus effected. --By reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time, might have swung himself into the room.

"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a very unusual degree of activity as requisite to success in so hazardous and so difficult a feat. It is my design to show you, first, that the thing might possibly have been accomplished: --but, secondly and chiefly, I wish to impress upon your understanding the very extraordinary --the almost praeternatural character of that agility which could have accomplished it.

"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that 'to make out my case' I should rather undervalue, than insist upon a full estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may be the practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to lead you to place in juxta-position that very unusual activity of which I have just spoken, with that very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, about whose nationality no two persons could be found to agree, and in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected."

At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge of comprehension, without power to comprehend --as men, at times, find themselves upon the brink of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.

"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the question from the mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to suggest that both were effected in the same manner, at the same point. Let us now revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled, although many articles of apparel still remained within them. The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess --a very silly one --and no more. How are we to know that the articles found in the drawers were not all these drawers had originally contained? Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life --saw no company --seldom went out --had little use for numerous changes of habiliment. Those found were at least of as good quality as any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why did he not take the best --why did he not take all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen? The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags, upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts the blundering idea of motive, engendered in the brains of the police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of money delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed within three days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of us every hour of our lives, without attracting even momentary notice. Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities --that theory to which the most glorious objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of illustration. In the present instance, had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three days before would have formed something more than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative of this idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have abandoned his gold and his motive together.

"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawn your attention --that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that startling absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as this --let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murder as this. Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will that there was something excessively outre --something altogether irreconcilable with our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been that strength which could have thrust the body up such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor of several persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!

"Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a vigor most marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses --very thick tresses --of grey human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with fragments of the flesh of the scalp --sure token of the prodigious power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument was a mere razor. I wish you also to look at the brutal ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L'Espanaye I do not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument; and so far thesegentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stone pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea, however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for the same reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them --because, by the affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically sealed against the possibility of the windows have ever been opened at all.

If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of men of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or intelligible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What impression have I made upon your fancy?"

I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. "A madman," I said, "has done this deed --some raving maniac, escaped from a neighboring Maison de Sante."

"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is not irrelevant. But the voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words, has always the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it."

"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is most unusual --this is no human hair."

"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but, before we decide this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have here traced upon this paper. It is a fac-simile drawing of what has been described in one portion of the testimony as 'dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails,' upon the throat of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a 'series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.'

"You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading out the paper upon the table before us, "that this drawing gives the idea of a firm and fixed hold. There is no slipping apparent. Each finger has retained --possibly until the death of the victim --the fearful grasp by which it originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you see them."

I made the attempt in vain.

"We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial," he said. "The paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which is about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the experiment again."

I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before.

"This," I said, "is the mark of no human hand."

"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from Cuvier." It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of the large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensities of these mammalia are sufficiently well known to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.

"The description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of reading, "is in exact accordance with this drawing, I see that no animal but an Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in contention, and one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman."

True; and you will remember an expression attributed almostunanimously, by the evidence, to this voice, --the expression, 'mon Dieu!' This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an expression of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible --indeed it is far more than probable --that he was innocent of all participation in the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitating circumstances which ensued, he could never have re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses-for I have no right to call them more --since the shades of reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend to make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will call them guesses then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this advertisement, which I left last night, upon our return home, at the office of 'Le Monde,' (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and much sought by sailors,) will bring him to our residence." He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

Caught --In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the --inst., (the morning of the murder,) a very large, tawny Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No.--, Rue --, Faubourg St. Germain --au troisieme.

"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should know the man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?" "I do not know it," said Dupin. "I am not sure of it. Here, however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from its greasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in one of those long queues of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased. Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am in error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replying to the advertisement --about demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will reason thus: --'I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of great value --to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself --why should I lose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne --at a vast distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The police are at fault --they have failed to procure the slightest clew. Should they even trace the animal, it would be impossible to prove me cognizant of the murder, or to implicate me in guilt on account of that cognizance. Above all, I am known. The advertiser designates me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so great value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the animal, at least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement, get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown over.

At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.

"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neither use them nor show them until at a signal from myself."

The front door of the house had been left open, and the visitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped up with decision and rapped at the door of our chamber.

"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.

A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, --a tall, stout, and muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression of countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.

Sit down, my friend," said Dupin. "I suppose you have called about the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old do you suppose him to be?"

The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone:

"I have no way of telling --but he can't be more than four or five years old. Have you got him here?"

"Oh no; we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?"

"To be sure I am, sir."

"I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin.

"I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing, sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal --that is to say, any thing in reason."

"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me think! --what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these murders in the Rue Morgue."

Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it, without the least flurry, upon the table.

The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel; but the next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.

"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming yourself unnecessarily --you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some measure implicated in them. From what I have already said, you must know that I have had means of information about this matter --means of which you could never have dreamed. Now the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have avoided --nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."

The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing was all gone.

"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all I know about this affair; --but I do not expect you to believe one half I say --I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I die for it."

What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure. Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang-Outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession. After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it. Returning home from some sailors' frolic on the night, or rather in the morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bed-room, into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered, it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its master through the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a window, unfortunately open, into the street.

The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer, until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off. In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her house. Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning-rod, clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat did not occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it entered the room.

The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand, there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A lightning-rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor; but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled from slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had apparently been arranging some papers in the iron chest already mentioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The victims must have been sitting with their backs toward the window; and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to the wind.

As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame L'Espanaye by the hair, (which was loose, as she had been combing it,) and was flourishing the razor about her face, in imitation of the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motionless; she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath. With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eves, it flew upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was instantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that of the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window headlong.

As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than clambering down it, hurried at once home --dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party upon the staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright, commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.

I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before the breaking of the door. It must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin des Plantes. Le Bon was instantly released, upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comments from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary, however well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person minding his own business.

"Let them talk," said Dupin, who had not thought it necessary to reply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience. I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means that matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna, --or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially for one master stroke of cant, by which he has attained his reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has 'de nier ce qui est, et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas.'"

[kissed-by-aphrodite]

Feast of the Charites

**This is the first part of a series I will be posting on the different Hellenic Pagan observances that occur throughout the year. If people want, I will branch out into other Pagan paths, and possibly take specific requests. All information is based on my own research, so I accept and apologize for any mistakes. Enjoy!**

The Feast of the Charites is a day to honor the Old Greek Goddesses of beneficence, or the “Graces”. The three Graces are Aglaea (”splendor”), Euphrosyne (“joy”), and Thalia (“mirth”). The Charites bestow charm, beauty, and creativity to their worshippers (in this regard, they serve a similar purpose to the nine Muses). 

This year (2018), the Feast of the Charites occurs from the Eve of 7/15 to the Eve of 7/16. 

To Celebrate: Get some friends together and dress up. Arrange each other’s hair. Dance and sing, or perform some sacred theatre. Visit an art gallery or walk through a street fair. Alternatively, do something nice for the less fortunate. Bundle up old clothes you never wear anymore to donate, or hold a food drive and donate the results to a local charity. You could also donate your money or time. Give of yourself, and you shall receive “grace” from the Charites in return. Be kind and giving, and your creativity will overflow.

QUOTES about the Graces:

- Hesiod, Theogony 907 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C8th or 7th B.C.) : "And Eurynome (Broad Pasture), the daughter of Okeanos (Oceanus), beautiful in form, bare him [Zeus] three fair-cheeked Kharites (Charites, Graces), Aglaia (Aglaea, Glory), and Euphrosyne (Merriment), and lovely Thaleia (Thalia, Festivity), from whose eyes as they glanced flowed love that unnerves the limbs: and beautiful is their glance beneath their brows."

- Pindar, Olympian Ode 14. 5 ff (trans. Conway) (Greek lyric C5th B.C.) : "Kharites (Charites, Graces) three . . . Euphrosyne, lover of song, and Aglaia (Aglaea) revered, daughters of Zeus the all-highest . . . with Thalia, darling of harmony."

- Pindar, Olympian Ode 14. 5 ff : "Kharites (Charites, Graces) three. For in your gift are all our mortal joys, and every sweet thing, be it wisdom, beauty, or glory, that makes rich the soul of man. Nor even can the immortal gods order at their behest the dance and festals, lacking the Kharites' aid; who are the steward of all rites of heaven, whose thrones are set at Pytho beside Apollon of the golden bow, and who with everlasting honour praise the Father, lord of great Olympos. Euphrosyne, lover of song, and Aglaia (Aglaea) revered, daughters of Zeus the all-highest, hearken, and with Thalia, darling of harmony, look on our songs of revel."

SOURCES:

http://www.wheeloftheyear.com/2018/pagan.htm

http://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Kharites.html

https://www.llewellyn.com/spell.php?spell_id=2651

http://www.classics.upenn.edu/myth/php/tools/dictionary.php?regexp=CHARITES&method=standard

[alicemccombs]

I Ching for the Day

61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth Changing to 8 Pi / Holding Together (union) 

April 3, 2019 Sunrise Waning Moon

Question: What does Earth need most to be healed at this time?

61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth Changing to 8 Pi / Holding Together (union)

Cast Hexagram

61 Chung Fu / Inner Truth

https://ichingfortune.com/hexagrams/61.php

Above Sun the Gentle, Wind Below Tui the Joyous, Lake

Introduction

The wind blows over the lake and stirs the surface of the water. Thus visible effects of the invisible manifest themselves. The hexagram consists of firm lines above and below, while it is open in the center. This indicates a heart free of prejudices and therefore open to truth. On the other hand, each of the two trigrams has a firm line in the middle; this indicates the force of inner truth in the influences they present. The attributes of the two trigrams are: above, gentleness, forbearance toward inferiors; below, joyousness in obeying superiors. Such conditions create the basis of a mutual confidence that makes achievements possible. The character of fu ('truth') is actually the picture of a bird's foot over a fledgling. It suggests the idea of brooding. An egg is hollow. The light-giving power must work to quicken it from outside, but there must be a germ of life within, if life is to be awakened. Far-reaching speculations can be linked with these ideas.

Judgement

Inner Truth. Pigs and fishes. Good fortune. It furthers one to cross the great water. Perseverance furthers.

Judgement Commentary

Pigs and fishes are the least intelligent of all animals and therefore the most difficult to influence. The force of inner truth must grow great indeed before its influence can extend to such creatures. In dealing with persons as intractable and as difficult to influence as a pig or a fish, the whole secret of success depends on finding the right way of approach. One must first rid oneself of all prejudice and, so to speak, let the psyche of the other person act on one without restraint. Then one will establish contact with him, understand and gain power over him. When a door has thus been opened, the force of one's personality will influence him. If in this way one finds no obstacles insurmountable, one can undertake even the most dangerous things, such as crossing the great water, and succeed. But it is important to understand upon what the force inner truth depends. This force is not identical with simple intimacy or a secret bond. Close ties may exist also among thieves; it is true that such a bond acts as a force but, since it is not invincible, it does not bring good fortune. All association on the basis of common interests holds only up to a certain point. Where the community of interest ceases, the holding together ceases also, and the closest friendship often changes into hate. Only when the bond is based on what is right, on steadfastness, will it remain so firm that it triumphs over everything.

The Image

Wind over lake: the image of Inner Truth. Thus the superior man discusses criminal cases in order to delay executions.

Image Commentary

Wind stirs water by penetrating it. Thus the superior man, when obliged to judge the mistakes of men, tries to penetrate their minds with understanding, in order to gain a sympathetic appreciation of the circumstances. In ancient China, the entire administration of justice was guided by this principle. A deep understanding that knows how to pardon was considered the highest form of justice. This system was not without success, for its aim was to make so strong a moral impression that there was no reason to fear abuse of such mildness. For it sprang not from weakness but from a superior clarity.

Changing Lines (1, 2, 6)

Nine at the beginning means: Being prepared brings good fortune. If there are secret designs, it is disquieting.

The force of inner truth depends chiefly on inner stability and preparedness. From this state of mind springs the correct attitude toward the outer world. But if a man should try to cultivate secret relationships of a special sort, it would deprive him of his inner independence. The more reliance he places on the support of others, the more uneasy and anxious he will become as to whether these secret ties are really tenable. In this way inner peace and the force of inner truth are lost.

Nine in the second place means: A crane calling in the shade, its young answers it. I have a good goblet. I will share it with you.

This refers to the involuntary influence of a man's inner being upon persons of kindred spirit. The crane need not show itself on a high hill. It may be quite hidden when it sounds its call; yet its young will hear its not, will recognize it and give answer. Where there is a joyous mood, there a comrade will appear to share a glass of wine. This is the echo awakened in men through spiritual attraction. Whenever a feeling is voiced with truth and frankness, whenever a deed is the clear expression of sentiment, a mysterious and far-reaching influence is exerted. At first it acts on those who are inwardly receptive. But the circle grows larger and larger. The root of all influence lies in one's own inner being: given true and vigorous expression in word and deed, its effect is great. The effect is but the reflection of something that emanates from one's own heart. Any deliberate intention of an effect would only destroy the possibility of producing it. Confucius says about this line: The superior man abides in his room. If his words are well spoken, he meets with assent at a distance of more than a thousand miles. How much more then from near by! If the superior man abides in his room and his words are not well spoken, he meets with contradiction at a distance of more than a thousand miles. How much more then from near by! Words go forth from one's own person and exert their influence on men. Deeds are born close at hand and become visible far away. Words and deeds are the hinge and bowspring of the superior man. As hinge and bowspring move, they bring honor or disgrace. Through words and deeds the superior man moves heaven and earth . Must one not, then, be cautious?

Nine at the top means: Cockcrow penetrating to heaven. Perseverance brings misfortune.

The cock is dependable. It crows at dawn. But it cannot itself fly to heaven. It just crows. A man may count on mere words to awaken faith. This may succeed now and then, but if persisted in, it will have bad consequences.

Transformed Hexagram

8 Pi / Holding Together (union) https://ichingfortune.com/hexagrams/8.php

Above K'an the abysmal, Water Below K'un the Receptive, Earth

Introduction

The waters on the surface of the earth flow together wherever they can, as for example in the ocean, where all the rivers come together. Symbolically this connotes holding together and the laws that regulate it. The same idea is suggested by the fact that all the lines of the hexagram except the fifth, the place of the ruler, are yielding. The yielding lines hold together because they are influenced by a man of strong will in the leading position, a man who is their center of union. Moreover, this strong and guiding personality in turn holds together with the others, finding in them the complement of his own nature.

Judgement

Holding Together (Union) brings good fortune. Inquire of the oracle once again Whether you possess sublimity, constancy, and perseverance; Then there is no blame. Those who are uncertain gradually join. Whoever come too late Meets with misfortune.

Judgement Commentary

What is required is that we unite with others, in order that all may complement and aid one another through holding together. But such holding together calls for a central figure around whom other persons may unite. To become a center of influence holding people together is a grave matter and fraught with great responsibility. It requires greatness of spirit, consistency, and strength. Therefore let him who wishes to gather others about him ask himself whether he is equal to the undertaking, for anyone attempting the task without a real calling for it only makes confusion worse than if no union at all had taken place. But when there is a real rallying point, those who at first are hesitant or uncertain gradually come in of their own accord. Late-comers must suffer the consequences, for in holding together the question of the right time is also important. Relationships are formed and firmly established according to definite inner laws. Common experiences strengthen these ties, and he who comes too late to share in these basic experiences must suffer for it if, as a straggler, he finds the door locked. If a man has recognized the necessity for union and does not feel strong enough to function as the center, it is his duty to become a member of some other organic fellowship.

The Image

On the earth is water: The image of Holding Together. Thus the kings of antiquity Bestowed the different states as fiefs And cultivated friendly relations With the feudal lords.

Image Commentary

Water fills up all the empty places on the earth and clings fast to it. The social organization of ancient China was based on this principle of the holding together of dependents and rulers. Water flows to unite with water, because all parts of it are subject to the same laws. So too should human society hold together through a community of interests that allows each individual to feel himself a member of a whole. The central power of a social organization must see to it that every member finds that his true interest lies in holding together with it, as was the case in the paternal relationship between king and vassals in ancient China. 

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Rife Technology Destroys Microbes

Rife ignored the debate, preferring to concentrate on refining his method of destroying these tiny killer viruses. He used the same principle to kill them, which made them visible: resonance. By increasing the intensity of a frequency which resonated naturally with these microbes, Rife increased their natural oscillations until they distorted and disintegrated from structural stresses. Rife called this frequency the mortal oscillatory rate, or MOR, and it did no harm whatsoever to the surrounding tissues.

This principle can be illustrated by using an intense musical note to shatter a wine glass: the molecules of the glass are already oscillating at some harmonic (multiple) of that musical note; they are in resonance with it, vibrate, and can no longer remain in configuration. Because everything else has a different resonant frequency, nothing but the glass’s molecular configuration is destroyed. There are literally hundreds of trillions of different resonant frequencies, and every species and molecule has its very own.

Testing Rife’s Treatment

It took Rife many years, working 48 hours at a time, until he discovered the frequencies which specifically destroyed herpes, polio, spinal meningitis, tetanus, influenza, and an immense number of other dangerous disease organisms. In 1934, the University of Southern California appointed a Special Medical Research Committee to bring terminal cancer patients from Pasadena County Hospital to Rife’s San Diego Laboratory and clinic for treatment. The team included doctors and pathologists assigned to examine the patients – if still alive – in 90 days. This was obviously a different age! I don’t believe I’ll be seeing the University of Minnesota bringing any patients my way anytime soon. Remember, 1934 was PRE-big-money-chemo!

After the 90 days of treatment, the Committee concluded that 86.5% of the patients had been completely cured. The treatment was then adjusted and the remaining 13.5% of the patients also responded within the next four weeks. The total recovery rate using Rife’s technology was 100%. On November 20, 1934, forty-four of the nation’s most respected medical authorities honored Royal Rife with a banquet billed as The End To All Diseases at the Pasadena estate of Dr. Milbank Johnson.

But by 1939, almost all of these distinguished doctors and scientists were denying that they had ever met Rife. What happened to make so many brilliant men have complete memory lapses? It seems that news of Rife’s miracles with terminal patients had reached other ears. Remember our hypothetical question at the beginning of this report: What would happen if you discovered a cure for everything? You are now about to find out…

The Beginning of Rife’s Downfall

At first, a token attempt was made to buy-out Rife. Morris Fishbein, who had acquired the entire stock of the American Medical Association by 1934, sent an attorney to Rife with an offer you can’t refuse. Rife refused. We may never know the exact terms of this offer, but we do know the terms of the offer Fishbein made to Harry Hoxsey for control of his herbal cancer remedy. Fishbein’s associates would receive all profits for nine years and Hoxey would receive nothing. Then, if they were satisfied that it worked, Hoxsey would begin to receive 10% of the profits. Hoxsey decided that he would rather continue to make all the profits himself. When Hoxsey turned Fishbein down, Fishbein used his immensely powerful political connections to have Hoxsey arrested 125 times in a period of 16 months. The charges (based on practicing without a license) were always thrown out of court, but the harassment drove Hoxsey insane.

Fishbein must have realized that this strategy would backfire with Rife. First, Rife could not be arrested like Hoxsey for practicing without a license since he had a license. A trial on trumped-up charges would mean that prominent medical authorities working with Rife would introduce testimony supporting Rife, and the defense would undoubtedly take the opportunity to introduce evidence such as the 1934 medical study done with USC. The last thing in the world that the pharmaceutical industry wanted was a public trial about a painless therapy that cured 100% of the terminal cancer patients and cost nothing to use but a little electricity. It might give people the idea that they didn’t need drugs and though the drug industry was in its infancy in 1934, it was becoming a very naughty teenager by 1939.

In 1939, a mysterious lawsuit against Beam Ray Corporation, the only company manufacturing Rife’s frequency instruments (Rife was not a partner) tied the company up in court and legal expenses in the middle of the Great Depression bankrupted the company. Fishbein and the AMA had won; commercial production of Rife’s frequency instruments ceased completely.

On the other hand, big money was spent ensuring that doctors who had seen Rife’s therapy would forget what they saw. Almost no price was too much to suppress it. Remember that, today, treatment of a single cancer patient averages over $300,000. It’s BIG business.

Thus, Arthur Kendall, the Director of the Northwestern School of Medicine who worked with Rife on the cancer virus, accepted almost a quarter of a million dollars to suddenly retire in Mexico. That was an exorbitant amount of money in the Depression. Dr. George Dock, another prominent figure who collaborated with Rife, was silenced with an enormous grant, along with the highest honors the AMA could bestow. Between the carrots and the sticks, everyone except Dr. Couche and Dr. Milbank Johnson gave up Rife’s work and went back to prescribing drugs.

To finish the job, the medical journals, supported almost entirely by drug company revenues and controlled by the AMA, refused to publish any paper by anyone on Rife’s therapy. Therefore, an entire generation of medical students graduated into practice without ever once hearing of Rife’s breakthroughs in medicine. The magnitude of such an insane crime eclipses every mass murder in history. Cancer picks us off quietly…but by 1960 the casualties from this tiny virus exceeded the carnage of all the wars America ever fought. In 1989, it was estimated that 40% of us will experience cancer at some time in our lives.

After Rife’s Downfall

In Rife’s lifetime, he had witnessed the progress of civilization from horse-and-buggy travel to jet planes. In that same time, he saw the epidemic of cancer increase from 1 in 24 Americans in 1905 to, partially because his work was squashed, 1 in 2.5 today.

He also witnessed the phenomenal growth of the American Cancer Society, the Salk Foundation, and many others collecting hundreds of millions of dollars for diseases that were cured long before in his own San Diego laboratories. In one period, 176,500 cancer drugs were submitted for approval. Any that showed favorable results in only one-sixth of one percent of the cases being studied could be licensed. Some of these drugs had a mortality rate of 14-17%. When death came from the drug, not the cancer, the case was recorded as a complete or partial remission because the patient didn’t actually die from the cancer. It’s just absurd!!! In reality, it was a race to see which would kill the patient first: the drug or the disease.

The inevitable conclusion reached by Rife was that his life-long labor and discoveries had not only been ignored but probably would be buried with him. At that point, he ceased to produce much of anything and spent the last third of his life seeking oblivion in alcohol. It dulled the pain and his acute awareness of half a century of wasted effort – ignored – while the unnecessary suffering of millions continued so that a vested few might profit. And profit they did, and profit they do.

Rife’s Technology Lives On

Fortunately, his death was not the end of his electronic therapy. A few humanitarian doctors and engineers reconstructed his frequency instruments and kept his genius alive. Rife technology became public knowledge again in 1986 with the publication of The Cancer Cure That Worked, by Barry Lynes, and other material about Royal Rife and his monumental work.

There is wide variation in the cost, design, and quality of the modern portable Rife frequency research instruments available. Costs vary from about $3600 to $26,000 with price being no legitimate indicator of the technical competence in the design of the instrument or performance of the instrument. Some of the most expensive units have serious technical limitations and are essentially a waste of money. At the other extreme, some researchers do get crude results from inexpensive simple, unmodified frequency generators, but this is just as misguided as spending too much money. Without the proper modifications, the basic frequency generator gives only minimal and inconsistent results. Rife’s work was always with LIGHT FREQUENCY. A REAL Rife unit must use a Tesla bulb.

Other theories abound on exactly why and how Rife technology works. Dr. Robert O. Becker, MD, in his book, The Body Electric, published by Harper in 1985, gives an exciting report in chapter 15 regarding the fact that photons in light act as an electron donor to tissue cells which stimulates mitochondrial function, raises tissue pH, and increases healing.

One day, the name of Royal Raymond Rife may ascend to its rightful place as the giant of modern medical science. Until that time, his fabulous technology remains available only to the people who have the interest to seek it out. While perfectly legal for veterinarians to use to save the lives of animals, Rife’s brilliant frequency therapy remains taboo to orthodox mainstream medicine because of the continuing threat it poses to the international pharmaceutical medical monopoly that controls the lives – and deaths – of the vast majority of the people on this planet.

Research and Studies on Rife Technology

Recent studies on Rife’s work have been published in peer-reviewed medical journals. The Journal of Exp Clinical Cancer Research 2009 Apr 14;28:51, published a paper titled, Amplitude-modulated electromagnetic fields for the treatment of cancer: discovery of tumor-specific frequencies and assessment of a novel therapeutic approach. The paper revealed, “CONCLUSION: Cancer-related frequencies appear to be tumor-specific and treatment with tumor-specific frequencies is feasible, well tolerated and may have biological efficacy in patients with advanced cancer.”

Their results were remarkable: “RESULTS: We examined a total of 163 patients with a diagnosis of cancer and identified a total of 1524 frequencies ranging from 0.1 Hz to 114 kHz. Most frequencies (57-92%) were specific for a single tumor type. Compassionate treatment with tumor-specific frequencies was offered to 28 patients. Three patients experienced grade 1 fatigue during or immediately after treatment. There were no NCI grade 2, 3 or 4 toxicities. Thirteen patients were evaluable for response. One patient with hormone-refractory breast cancer metastatic to the adrenal gland and bones had a complete response lasting 11 months. One patient with hormone-refractory breast cancer metastatic to liver and bones had a partial response lasting 13.5 months. Four patients had stable disease lasting for +34.1 months (thyroid cancer metastatic to lung), 5.1 months (non-small cell lung cancer), 4.1 months (pancreatic cancer metastatic to liver) and 4.0 months (leiomyosarcoma metastatic to liver).”

Many more articles are coming out on what is now being termed Energy Medicine or Biofield Therapies.  Here is a list of a few:

Cancer Journal 2006 Sep-Oct;12(5):425-31. Complementary medicine in palliative care and cancer symptom management.

J Holist Nurs. 2011 Dec;29(4):270-8. doi: 10.1177/0898010111412186. Epub 2011 Aug 8.

Prim Care. 2010 Mar;37(1):165-79. Biofield therapies: energy medicine and primary care.

Ann N Y Acad Sci. 2009 Aug;1172:297-311. Bioelectromagnetic and subtle energy medicine: the interface between mind and matter.

J Altern Complement Med. 2009 Aug;15(8):819-26.  An HMO-based prospective pilot study of energy medicine for chronic headaches: whole-person outcomes point to the need for new instrumentation.

Integr Med Insights. 2009;4:13-20. Epub 2009 Oct 19. Integral healthcare: the benefits and challenges of integrating complementary and alternative medicine with a conventional healthcare practice

Altern Ther Health Med. 2008 Jan-Feb;14(1):44-54.  Six pillars of energy medicine: clinical strengths of a complementary paradigm.

Explore (NY). 2006 Nov-Dec;2(6):509-14.  World hypotheses and the evolution of integrative medicine: combining categorical diagnoses and cause-effect interventions with whole systems research and nonvisualizable (seemingly “impossible”) healing.

Biomed Sci Instrum. 2006;42:428-33. Localized pulsed magnetic fields for tendonitis therapy.

This was an excerpt from Dr Conners’ book, Stop Fighting Cancer and Start Treating the Cause.

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