#anyway i have it in my possession now ! will read it after jane eyre and drive your plow over the bones of the dead

[saintshigaraki]

the way people talk about the length of dune’s first book i was expecting like . 1000 pages or something not a little over 600 lol

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Sneak Peek

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes, as well as obvious mentions of blood.

A/N : Yes, this one is going to be a vampire fic. I'm not sure what my posting schedule will look like yet, either a chapter a week or one a fortnight. I'm not tagging this post so you'll probably only see it if you follow me but, idk, if you want tagging once I start posting the fic, let me know? I've been reading some gothic literature lately (Picture of Dorian Gray and Jane Eyre) so that's going to influence this. It's going to be a dark fic, but it's not going to stray into dead dove territory. The first chapter will be up on Friday. Anyway, here's a little sneak peak.

It was official; you'd lost your fucking mind.

You’d been standing outside the building for five minutes now, the paperwork tucked in your coat pocket feeling heavier by the second. Were you sure that you wanted to do this? Could you really give up a year of your life to serve a vampire?

What other choice did you have?

A lithe and pale figure watched from behind the tinted, UV proof glass while you changed your mind a dozen times over. After a few more minutes, the sun finally disappeared into the New York skyline, plunging the street into shadow.

The door opened.

The figure called your name, and you stepped forward, almost mesmerised by the lilting, lyrical tone of her voice. You shook your head a little, trying to keep your wits about you. 

You took in the sight of her as she held open the door; taller than you with a willowy figure, long white hair down to her hips, and eyes of pale blue that seemed to look right through you. You’d seen enough vampires to tell one by sight.

Your small suitcase was clutched in your hand, the few possessions that meant anything to you had been hastily packed before you’d headed to New York, and now felt like all you had left in the world. She glanced at the suitcase with disdain, but said nothing.

“Do you have the paperwork?” She asked, the soft but icy sound of her voice sending a shiver up your spine. You nodded and she held out her hand expectantly, waiting while you fished the folded mess of documents from your coat. She gave the contract a cursory glance, making sure you’d signed every dotted line, before; “good. And are you sure you understand everything that this position entails and what will be required of you?”

You nodded again.

“Speak up,” she prompted. “This is your last chance to ask questions.”

Despite the impatience on her face, you took a moment. Only minutes ago you’d had at least half a dozen questions about the job and the mysterious vampire who had hired you.

“What happened to the last person who took this job?” Her eyebrow rose, obviously not expecting that question. “The contract is for a year, but I’ve seen this job advertised three times in the last ten months.”

“There are a lot of people who mistakenly believe that they can do what is required of them. Many have come to work for Mr Russo, and many have disappointed him,” she shrugged.

“What happened to them?”

“The same thing that will happen to you if you breach your contract; immediate dismissal with no severance,” she explained, slowly starting to step towards the elevator. “During your time here, everything will be provided for you and you will only be paid once your term of service is completed.”

“A million dollars,” even though that was the amount in black and white on the contract, it still didn’t seem real to you.

“Yes,” she pressed the call button, putting an obvious timer on this conversation. “Like I said, this is your last chance to ask questions. Once I take you upstairs, your contract will officially begin, and you will forfeit the agreed upon rights.” 

You swallowed the lump that had risen in your throat and nodded, knowing you had no choice. You needed the money and a year wasn’t that long if you really thought about it. 

The elevator doors slid open and you took one last deep breath before stepping inside.

[soulmate-game]

Curiosity Killed the Exorcist

“And then, see here? You have to be on the lookout for subtle signs like these. This indicates that he’s…” Marinette nodded as Tim continued explaining, pointing out various body language and other clues out on the Batcomputer. It had only been about six months since the Batfam collectively adopted the little ladybug into their menagerie of heroes, and started teaching her deductive habits and skills. She would not allow them anywhere near Paris on pain of death (some of them had already tried, and Bruce was still recovering from the bruise to his ego. The bruise on his ass from being teleported out of the city and onto the stone of the Batcave was gone, though) but she welcomed any help they could give from within Gotham’s city limits.

Usually, at least in the beginning, they did their mentorship at a distance over video call. But then Tim found out her identity, and Marinette made the excuse of wanting to meet with them in person to gauge their trustworthiness for herself and erase their memories of her identity if they failed her test— and, well, it all snowballed from there until she was teleporting to the Batcave every few days for detective lessons. She was practically a Bat herself, if not for her out of theme codename. And she found herself surprisingly comfortable with the thought of them being a… very eccentric extended family.

Tim was flipping to another saved video in the Batcomputer archives to show another example of his current lesson, when Tikki flew up to Marinette in a hurry. She was holding Kaalki’s glasses. The little kwami whispered something in Marinette’s ear, instantly making the teen blanch and force on the glasses.

“Sorry Timmy, gotta cut this short! I’ll come back tomorrow to make up for it! Okay? Okay! Awesome, you’re the best, bye!” She ignored all of Tim’s protests and rapid fire questions, instead opening up a portal and jumping through it as fast as humanly possible. The portal has barely disappeared before an all-too-familiar voice rose up from behind Tim.

“Maybe I’m still drunk, ‘cause I could’a sworn I just saw a portal closing in the damned Batcave, of all places,” the British-accented drawl was accompanied by the flick of a lighter and accompanying fizzle of a flame. Tim groaned, mentally making a note to ask how in the world Marinette had known that John “Annoying asshole” Constantine was showing up soon, and if he could be in on the warning next time. Bruce, cowl still off, walked over from where he had been sparring with Damian and crossed his arms. He had also heard Marinette’s hasty exit, and made a few mental notes of his own before focusing on the exorcist in front of him.

“What do you want, Constantine?” he grumbled. Any time the blond brit showed up, things only got far more complicated than he ever enjoyed. And he always gave Bruce a migraine, to boot.

“Two things actually, Batsy,” John held up to fingers as his free hand tucked his lighter away in his pocket. His unlit cigarette stayed in his mouth though, probably just for the familiar feel of it. “One; I’m gonna need you to tell me why there was a portal closing when I walked in, because I’ll be honest. The implications there are way more interesting than what I came here for in the first place.”

“None of your business. What’s the second thing?” Bruce immediately shot him down, but John was not one to be deterred. He never fucking was.

“But you hate magic! You make sure I know that all too bloody well every time I pay you a visit, so why the sudden change in heart? Huh?”

“Drop it, Constantine. What. Do you. Want?”

“Fine, fine. I need your help with…”

— * — * — * — * — *

A week later, Marinette was sitting with Jason and Damian in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, the three of them just minding their own business and silently enjoying one another’s presence. Even if two of them would never admit it. Jason was reading Jane Eyre for the millionth time, Damian was leaning against Titus on the ground as he sketched, and Marinette was embroidering a sunhat. Unfortunately for her, Alfred the Cat was currently asleep on her lap and thus holding her hostage.

Even as Tikki flew up to her ear in a panic and whispered, making Marinette prick herself with her needle. She hissed for a second but shrugged off the familiar pain, much more concerned with whatever news Tikki had given her. Damian and Jason were already on high alert from the second that a whispered curse had left her lips, and were staring straight at her and her kwami and Marinette frantically tried to find a way to get up without awakening the cat sleeping on her.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, feeling thoroughly confused and left out. On one hand, he knew that if they were in physical danger she would have moved Alfred the Cat without hesitation. On the other, he did not like the sheer amount of anxiety he could see her experiencing. Marinette’s frantic eyes shot over to him, pupils mere pinpricks and hands mouth agape as she tried to form some sort of plan.

“Uh— “

“Ah! You must be the fair maiden that the Bats are comfortable with using magic around them,” John goddamned Constantine threw the door to the sitting room open wide, making it bounce off of the wall and lightly smack back against his shoulder. He ignored it as he grinned at the three younger people in the room, waltzing in casual as anything. He wagged a finger at her playfully. “I’ve been awfully curious about you, ya know? Brucie boy knows a shit ton of magic users, but he never likes seein’ any of us do our thing. And to not only allow you to teleport without any apparent discomfort but to actively protect your identity from me? Now that’s a damn accomplishment and I really gotta applaud you for it,” he mockingly clapped his hands a few times. “So what’s your secret, huh? I won’t tattle.”

“No thanks. Kaalki, a little help?” Marinette carefully pushed Alfred the Cat off of her lap before diving into the portal that Kaalki whipped up for her, the entire process happening so fast that Constantine couldn’t even get out a proper “hey!” before she was gone and the portal closed. He just nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

“Ya know what? Fair. That’s fair.”

“Goddamn it, Constantine!” Jason threw up his hands in frustration. “Why the fuck do you have to scare away one of the only sane people in this family?”

“Part of my charm, little red riding hood.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“You know, I’ve been pretty damn nice not teleporting right over to you whenever you disappear. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re avoiding me now that we happen to be in the same room by complete accident, huh?” John asked from where he sat in one of Bruce’s lounge chairs sipping on a beer. Marinette mimed choking him, clearly fed up. He had been trying to have a conversation with her for the past three months, ever since that one time he caught the tail end of her portal closing in the Batcave. Three. Long. Months. And he hadn’t given up, because something about this little Parisian teenager intrigued him. She was sixteen, that much he had gathered from the Bats. But to be sixteen and not only in possession of the Horse miraculous but also clearly the Ladybugs, since he had seen Tikki more than once as well, now that was interesting.

Anybody being in the possession of more than one Miraculous was already cause enough to be keeping an eye on them, which was why he had been keeping an eye on the Paris situation and had pieced together on his own that the presence of Tikki meant that this little parisian teenager was none other than Ladybug herself. Now, that? That was a whole new level of concerning, especially since he knew firsthand that the old Grand Guardian was gone and passed his title down to— yeah, Ladybug.

After that deduction, his interest in Marinette had swiftly switched from curiosity to fuck-I-need-to-know-what’s-going-on-here. Because no kid should have to deal with that kind of weight, and Constantine always looked out for kids when he could.

But right then, Marinette was glaring at him. She had been just coming over for a normal “family” dinner with the Waynes, which she attended from time to time. And apparently they had decided to have Constantine already over so that they could chaperone a meeting between them that would hopefully appease the stupid british magic user enough that he left them all alone again until the next time he needed help.

“Believe me when I say, you’d rather not know,” she replied sharply, glaring Dick. He was the one who had convinced her to come despite her recent close calls with Constantine in the past few days. He studiously avoided her gaze. “I just would rather not cross your path, and there’s no reason for us to interact. Why do you care, anyway?”

“You see, now that is an excellent question!” he chugged the last of his beer and gestured to her with the empty bottle. “Normally, I wouldn’t give a flying rat’s ass. But I’ve put two and two together, since I know who Tikki is,” he nodded to the red and black Kwami. “And maybe I just wanna keep an eye on the new Grand Guardian to make sure she’s doin’ alright. That’s an awful lot of magic and responsibility that you don’t deserve, but I’m not about to try to take it away. Keepin’ an eye on you is the next best thing.”

“Try again,” Marinette shot back, crossing her arms. “You were interested in me before you learned about me being Ladybug.”

“I’m nosy, what do you want me to say? I saw a portal in Batman’s man-cave, I get curious. Sue me.”

“Well. I have Bruce and everyone else already watching out for me, so you can leave me alone now. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to ask every other magic user first before contacting you.”

“Woah, now what’s all this venom for?”

“Uh, maybe we should go and actually eat dinner?” Dick tried to step in, hands up. Constantine had stood up from the chair he was in, which was usually a cue to change the subject as fast as possible. “Before Alfred has to come get us?”

“Maybe I’ll be less venomous if you let the subject drop and leave me alone!”

“Context would be nice, though.”

“Seriously guys, let’s go! Food!” Dick was once again ignored.

“Context is the last thing you need in this situation,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, her arms dropping to her sides. “We’ve had this conversation so many times in so many now-deleted timelines. Just drop it this time.”

“If those timelines are now-deleted, then I obviously don’t remember what’s so bad about telling me why you’re acting like I’m some hated family member you’re avoiding!”

Silence.

Pure. Fucking. Silence. As they all watch with front row seats as Marinette flinches at the word ‘family’.

Pure silence as Constantine’s shoulders drop at the sight of her flinch, realization slapping itself on his face.

“No.”

“See? I fucking knew you would— that this would happen. This always happens, you always hate finding it out, but you’re so— so stubborn!” Marinette was blinking away tears, digging in her pockets and bringing out Kaalki’s glasses. “You’ll drop it now, at least. You always do.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” Constantine rubbed his forehead, still trying to sort through his amalgam of emotions. Marinette just shook her head, turning to Kaalki.

“Do you mind showing Monsieur Constantine the way out, Kaalki? I’ll grab you a load of sugar cubes afterward.”

“No, wait, hang on a second!”

A portal opened up under him, making John “Stubborn Idiot” Constantine drop ten feet down onto the hardwood, polished floor of his house. His bruised tailbone would take a while to heal, but his frazzled mind was by far the more concerning development. He staggered to his feet, reaching for the nearest bottle of tequila.

“Ugh, fuck my damn life.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“Marinette..?” Damian nudged the girl with his shoulder, frowning. It was after dinner that same day, and as much as he hated to admit it he had grown to actually like having her around. She was a good friend to have. And seeing her slumped back on one of their sofas, sketchbook covering her face and not a single rambling conversation to be had or heard? It was very concerning. She just made a groaning sound to answer him, prompting his frown to deepen. “Are you alright?”

“I just can’t believe that such a sweet, adorable thing like you is half made up of Constantine’s genes,” Jason mused bluntly from the opposite couch, where he tossed a rubber ball up and down out of boredom. “But now I see where you get all of your Disaster Bi-ness from.”

“Shut uuuuup,” She groaned, chucking her sketchbook at him. He caught it in midair, replacing his rubber ball with it and tossing it up and down in the air. “I’m just frustrated. This timeline is still perfectly stable, so I can’t erase it. And I can’t exactly ask ‘hey, can someone commit a horrid atrocity that makes this timeline split from the main one so that I can erase it and we can start over from four months ago?’ because that would be horribly irresponsible of me. But seriously, Jason. If you’re gonna ever commit, like, city-wise arson? I’d probably condone it right now if only so I have an excuse to use time travel to get out of this situation.”

“Not committing arson unless you give me a better reason for it, Pigtails.”

“Damn.”

“But are you okay?” Damian asked again, seeing as she had completely ignored him.

“I’m fine, Damian,” she finally sighed. “And I know how this is gonna go. He’s going to totally ignore me now, until we meet during some magical crisis and he only interacts with me when necessary. Then he pretends we never met, we have a private little one-sided whisper-argument about how he will never make a good father figure and I would be better off leaving him alone, blah blah blah. Avoidance is a coping mechanism I guess I inherited from him.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m trying to bite that in the bud then, eh?” Marinette startled out of her sitting position, seeing John stumble into the room…

Drunk off his ass. But apparently still at least mildly coherent.

“I agree with deleted-me’s, I’m not gonna be a dad. Not me,” he tripped, landing on his still-bruised ass and hissing in pain before continuing from the floor; “So if you’re looking for another Daddy dearest, that ain’t me.”

“See, I knew this is how you’d—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I don’t know how long the booze is gonna last and I need it’s courage here. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. Where was I? Right. But I know magic, ya know. The kind that doesn’t rely on little bobblehead gods to do. I got— like, a million books. Shit ton of books. At my place. Ya can read ‘em. My books. At my place. But I ain’t gonna parent, but I can lend ya books. Maybe give magic advice. Teach a little. Little bit. Didn’t think I’d have a child, but apparently I do and she’s the fuckin’ grand guardian and a damn hero, and I don’t know how the fuck I was able to help make someone like that. But whatever, it’s not like the world’s ever fuckin’ been easy on me,” He pulled out a sample-sized bottle of whiskey from one of the pockets on the inside of his trench coat and chugged it. After a brief wince and hiss at the burn, he kept rambling. “My door’s open, is what I’m tryin’ to say. No guarantee I’ll be in any state to talk to when you walk through it, but it’s open.”

Deciding to steadfastly ignore the tears streaming down her face, Marinette just swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I, uh. I think I can work with that.”

John barely made it to the nearby bin in time to vomit into it.

— * — * — * — * — *

I hate my imagination sometimes, guys. I started imagining a convo between Mari and Constantine at like 4am and it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it down. but by the time I wrote it, I kinda forgot like 60% of the original convo and just winged it. And this was born. I 100% blame @multifandomscribette because their Bio!dad John Constantine headcannons are amazing and even though this isn't in that universe, those headcannons are exactly what inspired this. So blame them, lol.

[luxusnoname]

Quotations

Summary: Aeleus faces the challenge of recommending a book to Dilan based on his personality. But how can he do so without giving his own feelings away? A late submission for @apprenticeweek’s Day 3 prompt: Quotes.

Characters/Pairings: Dilan/Aeleus

Rating: G; real fluff hours here folks

Word Count: 1.4k

~~~

Quotations

It wasn’t often that the shift schedule at the castle aligned perfectly to give Aeleus and Dilan the same afternoon off. The only other senior guard was Braig, who was trusted with the duty of overseeing the lower ranked guards only in the absence of the other two. Dilan had grumbled and said there was good reason for it, but Aeleus wasn’t about to complain. 

And so as they often shared their patrols, they shared their afternoon together in the library. Dilan had selected a tome on horticulture, his brow furrowed as though proper soil acidity and cross-pollination techniques were the most stimulating topics in the world. Aeleus settled in beside him with some light fiction.

The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.

Aeleus dog-eared the page, making a mental note to write it down in his notebook later before continuing on with his reading. Beside him, Dilan’s eyes flickered to the book.

“Found another one, have you?” He asked impassively, feigning disinterest even as he leaned over to peer at the page himself. “Let’s see it then.”

Aeleus helpfully tapped at the page with his forefinger. Dilan chuckled to himself. “An apt quote. Your heart is far too soft, my friend. Many would take advantage of that.”

“Better to open it for others than close it off from the world,” he rumbled, a small smile softening the jab.

But Dilan was used to the teasing from his oldest friend. A huff was his only response before changing the topic.

“You must have a quote for every person and situation at this rate,” he muttered as he turned a page, no longer actually reading his own book. “I bet you even have quotes for me.”

“I don’t believe I do.” Aeleus hummed. “But if I find any, I’ll pass them along. Or, better yet, I’ll lend you the book.”

“Oh you know how I do so enjoy fiction and poetry,” Dilan deadpanned. “Though I suppose if you recommend it, I’ll suffer through for your sake.”

Aeleus smiled. His companion didn’t share his love of reading for enjoyment, so the offer itself was rare. Dilan’s choices always served a purpose, academic or otherwise. That wasn’t to say Aeleus only indulged in light reading, but he was the only Apprentice that did so frequently. It could do the lancer some good, he thought. Something to soften the tough exterior.

Aeleus peered at his friend, who was thoroughly engrossed in horticulture once more. It was just about as peaceful as he’d ever seen Dilan. He smiled, warmth radiating from his chest and making its way throughout his body before he turned back to his own reading for the remainder of the afternoon.

~

A week later, Aeleus had read a few books, but struggled to find the perfect quote for Dilan. Well, that was actually a lie. There was one that made him think of his fellow guard, but it turned out to be more of a reflection of his own feelings toward the man. And it was much more forward than he was capable of being.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

The verse encapsulated feelings that he’d spent years trying to make sense of, feelings he wished he could one day verbalize to his friend. He had little to offer but would give it all in a heartbeat. But Dilan was slow to let others in, and hard to win over with pretty words. And Aeleus, of course, wasn’t great with words to begin with. Perhaps he could work up to it.

After a few more days - and many skimmed books - he found a line that was perfect for the stoic guard. It was a romance novel, of all things. He would probably hate it. But the quote was so perfectly Dilan that as soon as he happened upon it, he knew it had to be the one.

He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.

It was a gentle reassurance that no matter what trials the heart has suffered, love would prevail with time. After all, it was with time that the man opened up to him as much as he had. If it was time he needed, then Aeleus would give it to him. Secretly, it served as a promise as well. If the time came that Dilan was willing to open his heart… Well, then Aeleus would be there for that as well.

After some hesitation, he bookmarked the page with the quote and handed the book off to Dilan the next day. The lancer accepted it with only a small grumble, promising to read it soon.

By the next week, he still hadn’t reported back to Aeleus with his thoughts. It worried him that the guard hadn’t said anything at all, positive or negative. Perhaps he had come on too strong after all, and he’d been too forward. Dilan’s heart could be a delicate topic, no matter how hard he tried to convince the world otherwise. Hopefully the man had just forgotten and the book sat on a nightstand gathering dust, its bookmarked page blissfully undisturbed.

But one night as Aeleus retired to his quarters after a shift, there was a peculiar book-shaped package at his doorstep. He picked it up and unwrapped it once he was inside. It was another romance novel. One he was familiar with, actually. He’d read it some years ago in his youth. Turning it in his hands to inspect it, he noticed the corner of a page was folded in.

He smiled. It had to be from Dilan. But what prompted it? His friend had said nothing to him about the other book, but clearly he’d read it seeing as how they were exchanging literature now.

Since he had read it before, he felt only a little guilt in skipping to the marked page. As he flipped through the pages, however, a slip of paper flew out and fluttered to the ground. It was a note. He picked it up, holding it under a lamp to read.

I appreciated and enjoyed the recommendation, my friend. But next time, I’d appreciate your honesty first and foremost. Braig brought me one of your other books and told me it was your first choice. Consider this a response to that one.

~ Dil

Wait, when had Braig been in his quarters? Aeleus rubbed his forehead. What book had the nosey guardsman delivered on his behalf? He performed a quick inventory of his bookshelf. The only one that seemed to be missing was… Ah, of course. The confession. But how could he have known it was meant for Dilan?

With a sigh, he concluded that there were many things Braig shouldn’t know but did anyway. His heart leapt into his throat, dreading his friend’s response now that he knew what had happened. He returned to the delivered book and began reading through the earmarked page, searching for the quote.

But Dilan wasn’t a man to bother with subtlety. He had underlined it.

I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.

A gentle smile broke out as he sat down, reading it one more time for good measure. It would appear that he should’ve been more forward in the first place. He never would have thought that his own feelings were reciprocated. Moreover, he never would have thought that Dilan would read a classic romance novel of his own free will. He studied the book once more; the spine was slightly cracked and worn, and the pages fanned out with ease. The lancer continued to surprise.

Now, with the difficult part sorted out, Aeleus began to think about his response. He could invite Dilan over for tea that weekend. Or perhaps they could discuss it as they patrolled the castle grounds. But of course, the answer was obvious.

He tucked the book into an empty spot on his bookshelf, thumb brushing over it with a soft smile, and began searching his shelves once more.

~~~

Author’s Note: First time writing Dilan/Aeleus \o/ I hc Ael as a bit of a classic lit nerd; mostly adventures and epics, but with a definite soft spot for romance and poetry. Also I’m a terrible reader OTL I just spent a few hours searching for quotes that stuck out to me. In order they are: Ernest Hemingway (no source so probably just something he said but we’ll pretend he wrote it), Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by W.B. Yeats, Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Márquez, and finally the big one: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Maybe Aeleus isn’t the only one with a soft spot after all 👀

[janeaustentextposts]

Hi! You talk quite a bit about adaptations, could you give your thoughts on some adaptations of other classic novels, ones you particularly like or hate?

Well, let me think. I’ll give you the rundown on literary adaptations I like or love, as it’s getting late in the evening here and a bout of solid rage isn’t going to send me off to sleep so much as bring on a bout of indigestion. Also I went to review my DVD collection and for obvious reasons I don’t own many DVDs of things that I loathed. (I do recall nearly bursting into tears after a matinee viewing of I Capture the Castle because I felt the movie ended on such a bittersweet note that I was not prepared to walk out of a darkened cinema into a sunny day with birds singing while I was still Feeling a Lot of Unhappy Things, and so I felt like I hated that movie for a long time because of the sheer mood whiplash of it all. Also I wish I’d read the book first. The book is lovely, and I think I’d’ve stomached the film better, had I gone through the book first.)

Oh! I just remembered The Wings of the Dove (1997). I should have loved it, it had a lot going for it, buuuut fuck that movie and everyone involved in it, it just fell flat, for me. I don’t even care how critically-acclaimed it was, all the characters are The Worst and I never have a moment’s sympathy enough to care what happens to any of them. I hate even thinking about this movie and it is largely responsible for how much I despise Helena Bonham-Carter to this very day. Her and Jeremy Irons (who I admit I have many more personal issues with ‘cause he’s a silver-spoon gross-ass fuckshit.) A movie has got to be pretty damn brilliant on several other points for me to get past the knee-jerk rage I feel whenever either of them appear on-screen.

Also The Portrait of a Lady was terrible and riddled with pointless alterations and please just read The Making of a Marchioness, instead. Maybe I should add Linus Roache to my shitlist as he’s in this one, as well as The Wings of the Dove.

And now for adaptations I liked:

Wives and Daughters (1999) is quite good, in my view, and the ending they added to Gaskell’s unfinished work is quite satisfying, I think. (I don’t know about realistic, but it was sweet and simple and I dug it.)

Orlando (1992) Beautifully done. (Billy Zane! I love him in everything and I literally don’t even know why.)

Little Women (1994) is a classic, but I’m also very excited to see what Heidi Thomas and Vanessa Caswill do with the new miniseries from the BBC and PBS next year.

Daniel Deronda (2002) It’s prettyyyyyy. And so is Jodhi Maaaay.

Washington Square (1997) has a beautiful soundtrack, solid direction, and a stellar cast.

Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) had some great cinematography and a good cast.

Dangerous Liasons (1988) I have such mixed feelings about Malkovich in this one but Glenn Close, holy shit she’s good.

Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) A TRUE CLASSIC LITERARY ADAPTATION I WILL FIGHT EVERYONE. THEN PAY FOR THE RUINED GREEK RESTAURANT.The Remains of the Day (1993) A somewhat underrated classic that I think perhaps unfairly sits in the shadow of Howard’s End a lot of the time, what with the comparisons of the Thompson-Hopkins casting in a Merchant-Ivory film. (I do like Howard’s End, but, again, Helena Bonham-Carter, and I just connect a lot more with The Remains of the Day, as a story.)

Wide Sargasso Sea (2006) I don’t recall unabashedly loving this one, but I own it, so I feel like I must’ve liked it well enough. Then again, I also just found a copy of Sweeney Todd still in its plastic-wrap that I don’t know how I came by, I don’t even like the concept enough to want to watch it in the first place. Also, Helena Bonham-Carter is in it. And Johnny Depp. Why the fuck do I even own Sweeney Todd? Anyway, Wide Sargasso Sea is alright, though I feel like I preferred Karina Lombard’s Antoinette to Rebecca Hall’s.

The Scarlet Pimpernel (1982) I’m pretty sure this is where Jane Seymour and Anthony Andrews made me bi and SIR IAN MCKELLEN HOW DO YOU DO?

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (2006) HOW DO YOU FILM SMELLS? LIKE THIS. MY GOD. (Also please read the book.)

Dracula (1992) I mean, the cast swings between pretty good and absolutely wooden, but from a literary standpoint this is one of the more faithful adaptations of Stoker’s novel out there–though this movie is by no means The Best Anyone Could Do. There’s a lot wrong with it. But then Coppola didn’t need to include the blue fire thing, but he did, and I appreciate that.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994) is worth it for Robert de Niro, alone; and maybe a handful of really, really good shots. Otherwise there’s too much Helena Bonham-Carter and also Ken Branagh just recently hauled himself onto my shitlist but GOOD NEWS the character of Victor Frankenstein was always an annoying fucko and that’s canon, so feel free to hate him throughout, anyhow.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1996) Does not get enough love. A good antidote to Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights for anyone who sat there thinking Rochester and Heathcliff were BIG PILES OF RED FLAGS. Wildfell is a cautionary tale, but actually ends reasonably happily (and more believably happily, IMO, than Jane Eyre.)

The Secret Garden (1993) Pure nostalgia for this one, excellent casting, and the same director as Washington Square.

Ivanhoe (1982) Sam Neill has no business making a villain that compelling. (I know, I know, Bois-Gilbert’s characterization is softened a lot in this adaptation.) And this time I’m bi for Neill and Olivia Hussey. Sorry, Anthony Andrews, you drop to second-slot in this love-fest. Also Rowena ruins everything but that’s canon, so what can you do?

Maurice (1987) Who doesn’t love a fluffy gay gamekeeper?

Cousin Bette (1998) Changes stuff from the book, and on the whole the story can be a bit rocky, especially in the second half or so, but it’s worth seeing for Jessica Lange, alone, I think, as well as some broadly comic notes from side-characters in Hugh Laurie and Bob Hoskins.

Possession (2002) Ignore Gwyneth Paltrow as best you can and otherwise enjoy the literary mystery unfolding in between some amazing flashbacks. Most of the good actors are crammed into the flashback bits, but at least there’s some snarky Tom Hollander and dastardly-but-personally-I-think-he’s-in-love-with-Roland Toby Stephens in the modern-day sections to give us some fun.

Twelfth Night (1996) Again, ignoring Helena Bonham-Carter, this one’s got a lot going for it. Trevor Nunn directing, Toby Stephens managing to be damn fine and somehow I don’t entirely mind that Orsino’s kind of a douchebag, Imogen Stubbs being cute as fuck, and stellar supporting actors.

The Inheritance (1997) Look, this is a little-known Louisa May Alcott thing, and I’ll be honest, it’s not Groundbreaking Television. As far as direction and score and acting and script goes, there is no danger of anyone ever losing sight of the fact that it’s a made-for-TV-movie from 1997 and Meredith Baxter was probably the biggest name they could get for it at the time. Anyway, there’s a reason I own it, and that reason is that watching it is the equivalent of a big mug of hot chocolate after a terrible day. It is pretty and sweet and funny and the villains and heroes are clearly marked from the moment they appear on-screen, and is it perhaps a bit too sweet? Yes. Embrace the sugar-shock.Titus (1999) Goes on a little long, perhaps, but you can’t look away. Anthony Hopkins and Jessica Lange go toe to toe and it’s a thing of horrific beauty. Shhh don’t question the batshit bloodbath, just let Julie Taymor do her thing.

Enchanted April (1991) Run away to Italy with your girlfriends. Just do it.

The Princess Diaries (2001) A modern masterpiece. GET OFF THE GRASS.

Bleak House (2005) Oh my God, this cast??? Is so magnificent?

Persepolis (2007) One of those films that are so good you need to lie down afterwards. Again, please also read the graphic novels.

Any Agatha Christie adaptation, ever–I am HERE FOR IT.

I know I’m forgetting one I thought of earlier, but oh well.

[aion-rsa]

The Tenth Girl Exclusive Trailer Reveal & Author Interview

https://ift.tt/2Zv6bD8

Get a sneak peek at The Tenth Girl, a gothic psychological horror debut teeming with originality.

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Out on September 24th, The Tenth Girl is the perfect read for the fall season and beyond. The story follows Mavi, an Argentine teen who flees 1970s Buenos Aires and the military regime that took her mother for a remote girls boarding school located on a remote cliff in Patagonia, at the very southern tip of South America where she has been hired to teach English to the school's elite pupils.

Spooky context? Vaccaro School is haunted, supposedly cursed by the indigenous people whose land the European colonizers stole and built the school on. When Mavi realizes one of her students, the tenth girl, is missing, and students and staff begin to behave like they are possessed, Mavi must solve the mystery of what's happening at Vaccaro before it is too late.

The Tenth Girl is one part Jane Eyre, one part The Haunting of Hill House, and all parts original, with a twist that you will not see coming. It is deeply inspired by Gothic horror fiction that has come before and by debut author Sara Faring's own family history, but is something entirely new. We are so pleased to be able to debut exclusively the trailer for The Tenth Girl, which hopefully gives you an idea of just how perfect this book is for the upcoming Halloween season...

Den of Geek also had the chance to talk to Faring about creating this vivid, immersive, and utterly original world for The Tenth Girl. Here's what she told us...

There are so many vividly-realized elements to this book. I'm curious if there was a very clear place where it started, for example a character, setting, or idea?

You know, actually I, this book sort of came to me when I was on a trip with all of the female relatives in my family on the Argentine side. We went to Paris of all places to celebrate my grandmother's 85th birthday. One of my cousins is a psychotherapist, which is, in Argentina it's the country with the most psychotherapists per capita. Anyway, fun fact!

And so, one night, she led us in this hypnotherapy group session, which sounds so strange and it was, kind of. It felt like a seance. And we started to share stories from our families' spoken history, I guess you'd say. And I started to hear about the stories I'd never heard from Argentina in the 70s and the era of the military regime there. And, after that, I became obsessed with learning everything I could about this time period, about my family's experience in Argentina for the past century or so. And this book blossomed out of that.

How long ago was that?

It was five years ago because this October we're celebrating my grandmother's 90th birthday.

Oh, that's so cool.

She's one of those people who, even though she's turning 90, will dance until 6:00 am and get angry at anyone who doesn't. 

Wow. She sounds amazing.

Yeah, she's pretty incredible.

So besides that, I did have an idea of the twists in my head when I started writing. So I wanted to explore what it meant to be human, which sounds really over the top, but the reason I love speculative books is because I love books that help me view life with a fresh astonishment, you know? That will make me re-examine the human experience with mind-bending thoughts. I think writing is a great way for me to honor my family history in Argentina and also explore these themes that I love reading about and watching [in TV shows].

This is a YA book, but I feel like it is on the cusp of it being an adult book. I'm curious why you wanted to make it a YA book or where that decision came from.

Yeah, no, good question. I do think that when I was writing this book, I gave some thought to why I wanted to write in general and, when I was younger, books just, they, it sounds cheesy and it is, but they completely changed my life. They were my best friends. They were a way for me to explore my place in the world, to learn, to discover new corners inside myself.

So I knew that I wanted to have a younger protagonist, a teenage protagonist who was coming to terms with who she was and what it meant to be an independent person now that she's no longer with her mother and is kind of going off into the world on her own. That's always just been a really compelling stage for me and I'm sure as I get older that'll change.

But I love exploring that, the mindset of someone who is 17, 18 and I loved reading about that when I was even younger than 17, 18. I think, even when I was like 14, I loved reading about protagonists who were kind of on that cusp, you know, that stage of their life. For me, books made me feel like I wasn't alone when I was teenager. And I just knew I wanted to write for people that age.

And I do think you're right, this book hopefully will appeal to younger people and older people, but I couldn't be happier that it's coming out as a young adult book for many reasons. I'm sure you also know just how passionate and engaged YA readers are which is just unbelievable. I mean it's extraordinary. Yesterday, a blogger posted a photo of how she'd painted my cover on her leg. It was beautiful. It was more beautiful than my cover. 

You have two main perspective characters in this book and I'm curious if one of them came first and why you felt it was important to have both Mavi and Angel's points of view and telling this story?

Yeah, so I would say I knew I always needed to have both because, frankly, when I read books, I love for there to be reveals happening throughout. I love to feel like I'm being led into some secret, and I wanted there to be this tension between the two points of view and the information we're getting from each side. And I also just always thought it would be a lot of fun to see Vaccaro School from both perspectives: the perspective of a teacher who's brand new and views it as one thing and the perspective of a... I don't even know how to speak about Angel in an interview. It gets juicy really fast. From the perspective of someone who is working through pain with humor and is using the house in a very different way, I would say.

And it, to be honest, it was also really fun to write a book in two very different voices. And I know I always wanted Mavi's to feel like a nod to the traditional Gothic works of fiction and then we could have Angel's voice—which would be completely disorienting—have these bits of dark humor and pop culture references and feel sometimes goofy and bizarre.

For me, when you're exploring dark themes, it is just such a breath of fresh air to have injections of humor throughout. So, yeah, they both came about at the same time. I did rewrite Angel's part many times because I wanted to get the tone right because it was easy to fall into a sort of melancholy spiral, if you will, [with that character].

Well you did such a good job distinguishing their voices. I definitely got the Gothic themes from Mavi. From the very beginning, I was like, 'This reminds me of Jane Eyre and other classics,' and then to also have Angel just like dropping like Harry Potter references... They felt very distinct and that is so important I think especially when you see the same events more than once from different perspectives. It can be very hard to do in a way that doesn't feel redundant, but you do a really good job of making that interesting.

Oh my gosh, I am so delighted to hear that, I'm so thrilled. Yeah. I ... because that's something I kind of privately nerd out over, you know, the multi-perspective. But you're right, it can, it can drag, so, you never know.

Obviously, this book was so inspired by your mother's side of the family and you've mentioned also that your grandmother is still alive and very engaged with things. I'm curious if they've had a chance to read the book and also if they gave you specific like feedback or details on, you know, the 1970s Argentinian setting because  they were there so that's obviously a great resource.

No, it's funny you say that because, so almost all of them read an early draft and I was getting feedback from my grandmother and from my mother saying, 'Oh, you know, actually like this one sensory detail of this one story you inserted, that to anyone else would have been like...' OK, we don't need to get in the weeds on that. They were like, no, this is wrong. Like the pavement smelled like this...

Anyway, so I received a lot of that or like the detail of... there's a story in the book, an anecdote about a young man who has a molar filled with poison that he bites down on and that's a real story of a family friend. So I wanted to make sure that, even though the context is fictional, it honored their memory of the situation.

And, beyond that, I'm very proud to report that... Even though, especially with the twist, it was not necessarily all of my family members ideal genre if that makes sense—not that I like to ascribe genre labels to anything, but I think with the twist, you know, you, it definitely appeals to a certain kind of reader and may be slightly jarring, hopefully in an interesting way to another type of reader—they loved it.

But they also saw how much I layered in from all of our lives. It's actually kind of funny when family members read books. I did get a few reactions where they're like, 'Oh, you're just this character, right?' And I'm like, no, that's not how it works.

So you do such a wonderful job constructing the setting of the school. And I'm curious if there were either real world buildings and or fictional buildings that served as inspiration for the school?

There is a building in Buenos Aires, in Recoleta, which is like this posh neighborhood, and it is an abandoned mansion. It's just... it's ridiculous. This building is amazing and there's just nothing being done with it and it's falling into disrepair and it's totally derelict. And it's on a really busy, posh street. So that did inspire some of the aesthetic.

But I just love building Gothic atmosphere. It's one of my favorite things in anything I write: the gloomy, the spooky, the grand, the forgotten, the abandoned. I love that. So that was always sort of simmering in my brain and my imagination for years. But, in Patagonia, I'll be honest, I haven't found a building like Vaccaro School.

Yet.

Yet. Yeah, I went last October again, looked for one, couldn't find one, but I'm going to try again. I'm going to try again this year, so...

And you'll have lots of readers to help out soon.

Yeah, I hope so. Right? I've already gotten some cool photos that people have sent me. Like, 'Oh, is this like Vaccaro School in this country?' Including a cliff mansion in Slovenia, which was pretty amazing.

Do you think about how readers in Argentina will respond to this book perhaps differently from readers in other places who don't know as much about the setting and the time period? 

Well, I didn't grow up in Argentina. I went very often, my family, you know, half my family lives there. But, while I was writing this, I was very aware of the fact that not only did I not grow up there, but I didn't live through this time period. So I'm relying on my family members' very specific perspective on it. And I tried to deepen that and also to explore other perspectives on it by interviewing other people down there, doing a lot of research.

But, ultimately, I wasn't looking to obviously create any kind of, I'm not going to say exhaustive, but any detailed reflection of what that time period was like. I really just wanted to draw, especially for young adults, younger American audiences' attention to this period of time there, especially because with so much going on now, we can forget history, especially outside of the States. And there are many interesting parallels, at least to me, in what's happened in Argentina and other parts of the world and what's happening right now.

Without going further down that path, I just really wanted to draw attention to this time period, which even as someone growing up in California with Argentine parents and family, I knew not enough about. And it's been really exciting for me to see this book go out into the world and also to see other books of friends, especially other Latinx authors, who are putting out books about periods of history in their countries and their family's country that younger readers don't necessarily know that much about.

So I think it's a good way to, through an ideally compulsively-readable plot and characters you're invested in, pique interest in a time period that's not touched on very much in curriculums.

Yeah, well I definitely learned a lot and had a lot of fun, like stopping and Googling things to learn more about them.

Yay! Oh my gosh.

Yeah. So it's definitely not just a young person thing, obviously.

We've alluded to the big twist in this book, but there's a certain degree of mystery throughout. How did you decide on the pacing for when you would reveal certain things, especially the big plot twist?

Yes. Well, for me, it came down to rhythm and while, at first, I tried to use a more traditional structure, like a three-act structure. I tried at first to kind of loosely follow those kinds of structures, but I realized I had so much information and so many twists to handle because that's just how I like to read. So I wanted to write something that followed the same constant reveal structure. I went by rhythm, just intuitively.

Obviously, with a book of this length [editor's note: the book is 464 pages], you want to have enough [to keep people reading]. I think, even within the book, there are different kinds of twists and different kinds of reveals. So I had to be aware of the fact that what a kind of twist that was compelling for one reader, it might not for another and kind of lay them out so that there would be enough for each kind of reader. Because when you have something that, in my mind, does genre bend, you want to make sure that there's enough to appeal to different kinds of readers.

Yeah, definitely. And I think you're right with the length. I think you have to get a little bit more creative in terms of structure or like at least not following that traditional three act structure, which people like, you know, use and don't use in different ways.

Yeah. And it's almost fun to know how the structure works and then tried to subvert it. But it's funny because people, readers grow to expect those beats sometimes. And, yeah, it's an interesting thing to think about because, for the most part, I'm writing just what I enjoy to write, which was a privilege to do and have it still sell, but I feel like, on some level, it's also interesting to be conscious of reader expectations when it comes to hitting beats when readers expect them. It's something I'm still thinking about. I do it in my second book. 

And I think you're right about, you know, reader expectation. I think story consumers today are more literate than ever in storytelling. So that is something to think about, definitely.

Also, I've been interested recently in how, as TV becomes, I mean I guess it's cheesy, but like golden age of TV and as people are watching such incredible television, which has a very different structure in my mind over the course of a season to films or to books, how you can kind of use that as an author. And, sometimes, I feel like I'm writing books more as someone who loves TV than someone who loves movies, if that makes sense?

Yeah. I think I read books like that so I totally understand. Because I also think that this golden age of television is marked by a break in structure and a creativity in structure. So that is a cool inspiration to take from that medium and bring into another.

Yeah, I think that some of the books I'm most excited about now do that as well. So yeah, I think we're on the cusp of something special or maybe we're well in it and I'm just not, you know, well read.

Yeah. It's hard to tell from the inside.

Yeah, exactly.

This book is such a good fall release. And was that like a discussion with your publisher and figuring out when the best release date would be for The Tenth Girl?

Yeah, it's funny because my editor knew immediately. Let me figure out when we like had our handshake deal... it was two years ago, basically. So she knew this was going to be the season, this is going to be the year. She immediately thought like the atmosphere is just the perfect thing for someone to curl up with on a stormy fall night. And I'm inclined to agree.

It's funny because the advance copies of this book had been going out over the summer and occasionally people will ask, 'Oh, you know, I received it. Should I read it on my beach vacation?' I'm like, 'Absolutely! Read it whenever you can.' But is it more fun to read on a stormy night? Yes. But, hopefully—I don't know where you're based—but, when it's a day like today, and it is so hot that you wish you could peel off your skin, it might be nice to retreat into a book where there's fog and storms and chills in the air.

I always like to ask people what stories they're really into right now, whether it's a book, a TV show, a movie, a comic book, whatever. What stories are you excited about as a fan?

I just blew through Euphoria on HBO. Which was really interesting to me and I'm still kind of working out my feelings about it, but I thought it was really kind of spectacular.

I haven't watched it yet, but it's definitely on my list.

It's, I'd be so curious. I'm curious to hear everyone's reaction to it, because. Let's see what else. Yeah, the structure is interesting how at the beginning of each episode it kind of gives you a little short and sweet or not sweet, I should say, but backstory on each of the characters you've been following and then it goes back into the kind of main narrative, which is interesting.

Besides that, I'm reading this book called The Need by Helen Philips. It's very difficult to describe. Basically it opens on this, on this mother who, I don't know if that's a spoiler or not, on this mother who like sees an intruder in her house and the intruder ends up being her. But from a different universe, kind of. And then at the same time, she's a paleobotanist. And she finds a Bible with she as the God pronoun, yeah. Anyway. Clearly it's almost impossible to describe, but it's very bizarre and unsettling and different and we'll see where it goes. 

And then beside that a book I love, which you might've had on your list, but I don't know, is The Grief Keeper by Alexandra Villasante. It's A YA book, basically about if human beings can physically take on another's grief, it's so much more than that. That's just like the speculative hook, I guess. And it packs a punch.

Yeah. That's pretty much what I have going. Besides that, I watch a disgusting amount of reality TV right now because I'm trying to get my brain off of everything.

Yeah, I do that too. I'm just like, I can't write about this for work, so I'm just going to watch this thing.

Exactly.

Well thank you so much for chatting with me today. This was so much fun.

Thank you. This was such a treat. 

The Tenth Girl will be published on September 24th and is now available to pre-order via Macmillan. You can follow Sara Faring on Instagram and Twitter.

Kayti Burt is a staff editor covering books, TV, movies, and fan culture at Den of Geek. Read more of her work here or follow her on Twitter @kaytiburt.

Read and download the Den of Geek SDCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Interview Kayti Burt

Aug 26, 2019

Horror

from Books https://ift.tt/30Dc0eS

[nadhira-hizwani-blog]

Ignite

She could still remember the fire. Lights ignited whenever she walked passed tree and homes. This memory is a curse; she had not wanted it. The memory of herself burnt, never again forgotten? No, she would rather have her soul ripped off and taken.

Why can’t she just have burned dead that night? Never again will she wake up and lament. And her epitaph shall read:

“She went up in flames with all her bookly possessions. Flesh and book burnt. The girl who burnt and shone till the very end”

But she did not die; she was still here. Alive. Yet, worthless.        

Lena Benoit was at the Kensington Art Gallery, staring intently at an intricate fashion piece by one of the local artist. Naturally expressive herself, Lena was wearing a hand-sewn black dress, black knee-high boots and her strawberry blonde hair was done up in a messy bun adorned with white flowers she plucked on her way there.

Her eyes scanned intently the jagged and harsh lines of the jacket displayed. She noticed how well-seamed the front is, the wonderful contrasting leather with the chiffon lining on the inside. She reached inside the backpack for something. Finally finding her notebook and black Sharpie, she moved towards the next piece; a poofy off-white dress made from tulle and organza.

There was a content smile on her lips. She had plans this year. She was going to go to Paris and live with her father right in the city of arts. She will be away soon; far away from this small town of Kensington.

After half an hour browsing idlily through the gallery, Lena sat down on one of the benches outside. She started writing furiously; oblivious of the loud car honks and bustling of pedestrians walking across the streets. She had her eyes only on her sketch of the detailed jacket she had just seen in the gallery.

A figure suddenly caught her eye from across the street. A thin, bony girl with smooth ebony skin holding a tattered copy of Bronte’s Jane Eyre was walking towards her. Her eyes were exclusively looking towards the ground; a lack of confidence hung above her like bees swarmed to flowers. She must have been only ten or eleven but her features were strikingly enchanting— high cheekbones, peachy lips and structured collared bones —  forcing Lena not to take her eyes off this little girl.

The view was not as odd if not for the way the girl was dressed. She was dressed in clothes way too big and bulky for her petite size. Her tutu skirt was bright pink, clashing horribly with yellow bumble bee stockings and brown shoes. Yet, the way she carried herself portrays a sense of indigence and coyness, quite the opposite of lively Kensington.

The girl sat down a bench across Lena’s. Sha started reading her copy of Jane Eyre, her strumming on the red pavement. The jacket soon forgotten, Lena turned to a new fresh page and sketched the girl.

Later that evening, as soon as she got home from the gallery, Lena quickly showered and changed into her pajamas. At exactly 6 o’clock, she heard her mom pulling her Mercedes in the driveway so she went downstairs to the kitchen.

           “Hey darling, how was your day off from work?”

           A rose-scented perfume wafted in the kitchen as Mrs Anna Benoit entered the kitchen, juggling her cellphone and a few shopping bags. Mrs Benoît works with a modelling agency. So, most of the time, the clothes that her models had worn would be brought back home.

           “It was okay mom,” Lena kissed her briefly on the cheek before heading to the microwave to heat up some leftover mushroom fettuccini.

           “Though, I did saw something peculiar downtown just now. A girl was oddly out of place. She had this great features but her clothes were just so out of place.”

           “Oh, did you snap a photo of her? I could recruit her as one of my models. You know how I am always on the hunt for great models honey.”

           “No mom. She seemed only ten or eleven.”

           “Oh, I see. No need to think of her then. Let’s eat then, I have a meeting in half an hour with Vera Wang’s people. My team and I are going to have a wedding show this coming winter using her designs”

             Dinner was eaten in silence. A garden salad was tossed quickly to go with the fettuccini. After dinner was eaten and the dishes were done, Lena went back to her room upstairs while her mom went straight out for her meeting.

           Lena knew her mom was a busy woman —  she’s a manager after all — but sometimes it would be nice to spend some one-to-one time with her as she’s not always around. Lena was alone most of the time. The Benoîts went separated ways last summer; they just drifted apart after their marriage of twenty years. It was not much of a deal anyway, Lena kind of see it coming.

           Her dad — Lucas Benoit would always be in his studio or at The Hallmark College of Arts where he’s a professor. He also kept himself busy with his sculpting studio downtown. On the other hand, mom would always be with her models and clients; taking care of their every need. After filing for divorce, her dad went back to Paris where he had spent most of his childhood there. Lena did not care, she had her own interests and passions to look after to. If her mom and dad are happy, she was happy as well.

           Since graduating high school, she has been working at a cafe near home. The tips there as well as allowance from both parent were enough to pay for her expenses on new clothes, tickets to ballets, theater performances as well as art galleries. She was also a natural bookworm, like many other art-________ people. Her room was filled with books right from the floor to ceiling. Imagine the library in Beauty and the Beast.

           She was cozily tucked in bed, watching Les Fillers Peintes — a French movie while sipping some peach tea. Some candles were lit up — her room hinted smells of vanilla and pumpkin spice — and her eyes were getting heavier. She tried to keep them awake but her eyes were giving in; she felt drowsier by the minute. She soon fell fast asleep, dreaming of sunshine and green fields.

           Her dreams suddenly turned vicious. She was lost among the trees. Black smoke filled the air. She found herself gasping in the forest, looking for something, someone. A way out. She felt hot tingling in her legs. A piercing pain shot through her ribs.

           She woke up choking and gagging. Her nostrils detected the charcoal smell of smoke. There was an earthy, bitter taste on her tongue and lips. Oh, but the burning agony she felt was unlike anything she felt before.

           Her room was on fire.

           Half-asleep, she only realized. Coughing and spluttering, she tried to move. Her limbs hurt all over. Smokes were all over, she couldn’t see. Her lungs were burning, struggling to gain oxygen. She passed out right on the carpet, hitting her head near her vanity as she fell. Darkness engulfed her.

           Sirens could be heard. The whole neighborhood was alive. The house on 27th Street was on fire. Someone was trapped inside. The firemen were on the way. Would they make it in time? 15 minutes had passed as the fire roared on indulging the Benoit’s home.

             “Lena… Lena… Can you hear me darling?”

           “Lena….”

           “Darling, it’s your mama….”

           Her eyelids felt heavy. She just wanted to sleep and rest. Suddenly, an image came to her mind.

           The fire. The heat. The burn.

She tried to scream. Sweats formed on her forehead, under her arms and back. Drenched with cold sweat, her head was throbbing as well. Too piercing a pain, she passed out again on the white linen hospital bed.

Her parents were there, holding her hands. Both on each side of her bed, praying hard for their precious daughter. Tears formed ever so easily; how could a girl so precious and pretty became a victim in the comforts of her own home?

 Six months passed slowly for Lena Benoit. She was at home now, had been home after her month stay at the hospital. She became sullen and quiet. Everything that was dear and near to her was snatched in a blink of an eye. No more college life; at least not in that same year.

The morning was bright and clear; birds were chirping and whistling out happy tunes. Lena sat near her vanity. A tear dropped as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Someone she did not know stared back at her. She grimaced, flinching away from her reflection.

It took her a moment to muster her courage again before looking back into the mirror. It was worse that she had remembered. There were scarred tissues on the left side of her face and her nose and lips were still in stitches. Her right eye was sealed shut with a bandage — only to be removed at the end of this month. The upper part of her scalp was bald with patches of hair where her blonde hair would never grow back. There were also numerous scars marking her neck all the way down to her chest and ribs.

Ugly.                            

All her life of appreciating the aesthetics of life, the one thing she got back was scars and flaws marked all over her.  All her life of painting and sketching, her slender fingers were no longer reliable in holding a paintbrush. All her life of watching theatrical performances and orchestras, her eyes were in the danger of being permanently blind on one side.

She refused to cry yet the tears came again so easily. Her lips taste the saltiness of her own remorse and fear. All the what if’s and if only.

The doctors had done what they could at that time. At the very least, they did save her life. She was still alive and breathing. She still had her parents with her. But there would always be the scars. No matter how faint, the scars would always remain there. Reminding her how permanently damaged she looked.

Enraged, she hurled her wooden hair-brush as hard as she could towards her vanity mirror. A multitude of cracks spread across the mirror, like a spider web. She screamed and began grabbing anything that she could get hold of — a can of hair spray, a perfume bottle, a book — throwing them all at the mirror.

           “Lena, darling! Are you alright?” Her mom burst through her bedroom door.

           Sobbing hard, she clung herself to Mrs Benoit who soothed her hair and patted her back.

           “Shhhh, it’s okay. I know baby…”

           The chirpiness of the morning was broken out by the wailing of a Lena Benoit. The girl who burnt and survived.

 The End.