#but instead of doing what it's meant to the role causes grief and tragedy yet if the Shadow Princess is killed it's even worse than the

[ziracona]

Please take all 3 if you can & record all 3 if you vote in the tags of whichever you take last. : D S/S/E poll and Flex S/S/E poll and quick rundown of S/S/E if you want details

[analysis-by-a-muffin]

YGO Analysis: Protagonists and Rivals, the Pivotal Relationship (Part 1)

There are a variety of relationship archetypes that come with any genre. Their importance, meanings, and depiction come with a strong and wide variety even from within their own genres or franchises. Rivalries are a constant across several media; only coming with different faces depending on the reason for the competition between two characters. Action movies, shows, etc tend to have major rivalries between the protagonist and a character that is both their opposite and their equal (whether or not they’re actually an equal truly depends on the piece of content but shhh). This relationship can be a strong driving point of plot related events, and one of the finest examples of that is the Yu-Gi-Oh franchise with its growing number of rival relationships that are distinctive in their own ways— even while they’re following a very set pattern.

General Overview

Compared to many other rivalries— in shounen works especially— there’s a lot about the way Yu-Gi-Oh goes about theirs that struck a surprising chord with me. Thankfully, each spinoff doesn’t give the viewer an exact clone of the rivalry that started it all, regardless of how popular Seto Kaiba and Pharaoh Atem are. There’s also a notable lack of anything feeling generic or far too in line with tropes, following them safely down to a T. Each one has a flavor that allows for viewers to have their own favorites which can range from cold and intense to warm and soft.

Duel Monsters crafted certain characteristics and behaviors within each dynamic.

Obsession: Each rival has a focus on the protagonist that they don’t really give to any other character. The intensity of it changes with each pair, however, and can sometimes involve stalking the main character, oftentimes thinking about them, or more mildly, simply talking about them a lot in private to someone else. Another staple to their obsessive behavior is going to absurd lengths to get the attention of the protagonist, something which they’ve displayed as a thing the rival can get pretty greedy for.

Plot Importance: If a YGO series isn’t well made or structured, the main rivalry is likely not going to be a very good one. When done spectacularly, their relationship can be what causes major events to unfold and hinge on which is par for the course with this franchise. Basically, rivalry quality and series quality play very important roles.

Friendship: Typically, they start out as enemies or strangers. Whatever it is, they’re not on great terms right away, but through a connection/understanding of each other that no others have, they become unlikely (and even unconventional) friends. Their bond is meant to be seen as one of the strongest in each series and are often each other’s greatest influence. On top of all of that, it’s normally the protagonist who longs to befriend the clearly broken inside rival. Which has a high tendency to end up with them being upset at offers to help and understand them being harshly rejected.

Soulful Connection: Duel Monsters is a card game with in-universe lore heavily pertaining to duelists’ souls, and the concept of them in general. It’s no surprise that the protagonists and rivals can end up with bonds that cause them to feel like soulmates. Yet, there are times when that connection becomes extremely apparent and more overt. First duels between them tend to have the protagonist being able to read the rival, seeing parts of him that don’t line up with what he says and leaving them to wonder why they’re so closed off or who made them act this way. Of course, this comes as a huge shock to the rival along with their ego. This in turn fuels the need to aid the rival; meanwhile, this character zeroes in on the protagonist.

Key Similarities: Regardless of how seemingly dissimilar they can be in beliefs, attitudes, intelligence, and their very dueling styles, these two are meant to have something that draws them to each other unlike anyone else. This showcases a common unbreakable thread that keeps them bound. It can be anything from pride to shared background experiences to having a hidden heart of gold.

Paralleled Features: Red versus blue is an age old trope that makes itself known in YGO. If the two aren’t clearly in line with that, they have several other opposing color differences such as one wearing darker colors while the other wears lighter ones. One of each of them could also be paler than the other either slightly or blatantly.

Sun/Moon, Light/Dark: Another common trope, that comes with some diverseness across the board. The protagonist can be made out to be something bright and life-saving similar to the sun, and this can be openly stated or strong hints to this can be thrown in. In the eyes of the rival, the protagonist can be seen as their light in the darkness. Someone who thrills them, serving as this unique person who can make them feel more alive and can even stop them from sinking too deep into metaphorical darkness.

Respect and Trust: These two are cornerstones of every dynamic. Without them, everything falls apart. The rival has a lot of difficulty navigating the idea of trusting others but commands respect he often doesn’t receive. The protagonist comes in to teach them better and be a guiding force much like with aiding them in friendship.

Separately, the rivals share traits modeled after Kaiba.

A lust for power (usually the result of never having any true power in their own lives)

A physical design that depicts them as being bigger, taller, and overall more masculine (in a few cases they’re even a year or two older)

Dramatics in their gestures, speech, fashion sense, dueling methods, and interests

A cold and aloof personality in which their stoic nature causes problems in whatever relationships they have

Cards are mainly very imposing and dark creatures

Difficulty with honesty and containing aggressive feelings

Being a part of a higher social or economic class (something which weighs on them and can be the source of a huge portion of their grief)

Dueling style will almost exclusively be focused on dominating the opponent through beat down

Experiencing a tragedy that forever changes parts of themselves in ugly ways

Protagonists are similar to Yugi and/or Atem, but unlike their less kind and closed off counterparts, there're plenty of times in which they’ve deviated far from the norm.

A more open heart to kindness and letting people get close, along with the urge to help others

Designs make them smaller and shorter than their rivals with a softer appearance that welcomes instead of rejects

A warmth and hope that can irritate the rival

Are more likely to use cards that feature cute monsters

Tragedy can strike them, but it’s treated like a source of strength or something that greatly influences what they do (can come with less hurtful coping mechanisms)

[There seems to be a common tactic when it comes to hiring the Japanese voice actors for the protagonists. They don’t have the experience of several roles, and voicing a YGO lead character is their first big hit].

These dynamics are easily my favorite part of each series, and one of the things I look towards the most when a new series is announced. Finally taking the time to write out an analysis and composing my thoughts feels nice. The next parts will be dedicated to actually looking at the specific relationships instead of talking about them generally.

[princesssarisa]

The feminism of “Wuthering Heights”

Not long ago on Quora, I answered the question of “Is Wuthering Heights a feminist text?” I thought I may as well share it here too, since my similar post on the feminism of Romeo and Juliet has been so popular.

Is Wuthering Heights a feminist text? It’s debatable.

It’s certainly not a work of modern feminism, and just because Emily Brontë was a woman doesn’t mean she lacked internalized misogyny, per se.

From a certain perspective, it can be read as a fairly sexist story. It revolves around a brooding, violent male anti-hero, Heathcliff, who emotionally and physically abuses women (among many other dark deeds), yet whom the reader is still clearly meant to feel some sympathy for. His descent into villainy is at least partly blamed on his beloved Cathy, because she rejected him for a wealthier man. As for Cathy herself, she’s a wild, fiery figure who defies society’s ideals of sweet, passive femininity and wields the chief power in both of her romantic relationships, and yet she’s portrayed as a vain, arrogant, vicious-tempered narcissist, prone to manipulation and hysterics, who emotionally betrays both men. Ultimately she’s “punished” with anguish-induced madness, sickness and death (and implied twenty years of wandering as a miserable waif of a ghost), and from then on she serves to fuel Heathcliff’s “manpain,” with his endless grief being used to stir up pity for him despite all his cruelty. Nor is Heathcliff’s abuse of women the only male-on-female violence to be found. In one scene Hareton Earnshaw slaps the younger Catherine when she insults him (to the approval of narrator Lockwood, who overhears it and thinks her “sauciness” deserved the punishment), yet he’s still portrayed as having a heart of gold under his gruff facade and is given a happy ending where he and Catherine fall in love and become engaged.

And yet…

It’s a story told mostly from a woman’s perspective. The chapters narrated by Lockwood are more of a framing device than anything else – the bulk of the story is narrated by Nelly Dean. And her focus is really more on the young women she serves than on Heathcliff, who sometimes disappears from her narrative for months or years at a time. Heathcliff might be the driving force of the plot as a whole, but it can be argued that the two Catherines are the real protagonists, with Heathcliff as the love interest to the first and the antagonist to the second.

Furthermore, all four principle females are three-dimensional characters. The two Catherines, Nelly Dean and Isabella Linton each have distinct, multilayered personalities and none can be reduced to stereotypes of womanhood. None of them are objectified or sexualized the way even the most “feminist” male author’s female characters tend to be. Nor are any of them meek or passive; in different ways, each one is feisty, sharp-tongued and rebellious. All of them are flawed too (putting women on a pedestal is almost as anti-feminist as vilifying them) yet with the possible exception of the elder Cathy, none of them are treated by the narrative as bad people. At the very least, they’re no worse than the men around them, and even though they suffer for their mistakes, none are portrayed (again, with the possible exception of the elder Cathy) as deserving the bad things that happen to them. Young Catherine and Nelly both receive happy endings, while Isabella’s ending is bittersweet, and none of them need to conform to a societal ideal of womanhood to escape from tragedy.

It’s too bad that most adaptations cut the second half of the book, because without the younger Catherine, the elder Cathy’s portrayal might create the sense that Brontë was condemning high spirits and willfulness in women. But young Catherine, who is portrayed sympathetically and gets a happy ending, is very much like her mother: lively, strong-willed, adventurous, temperamental, and sometimes too proud for her own good. In her ultimate romance with Hareton, as she “civilizes” him and teaches him to read, she arguably takes almost the same dominant role her mother did over Heathcliff in their childhood, though unlike her mother she is willing to listen to him and compromise with him. The fact that during his reading lessons she gives him “smart slaps” when his attention wanders and playfully threatens to pull his hair for his mistakes helps to compensate for the one slap he gave her back when they were “enemies.” (It seems unlikely that their marriage bed will be a tame place.) She earns her hopeful future not by being more passive or ladylike than her mother was, but just by being a kinder, more compassionate person and more willing to recognize her mistakes and grow past them. Hareton contrasts with Heathcliff in much the same way.

Nor, contrary to popular belief, is Heathcliff ever romanticized. His horrific deeds are never excused away and he’s not portrayed as a desirable romantic partner for anyone but the equally fierce Cathy. The very notion that he’s a romantic hero is brutally deconstructed by Isabella’s storyline, as she naively idealizes him and thinks she’s in love with him, but is horribly abused after she marries him and quickly comes to despise him. Brontë might ask us to understand him and pity him, but she never tries to make us love him. He’s a tragic monster.

Nor, unlike in the Hays Code-compliant 1939 film, is Isabella trapped for decades in her miserable marriage. She leaves Heathcliff, escapes to London, and builds a new life for herself and her son Linton. True, she still dies young, but she dies free.

Without being heavy-handed about it, the book also condemns the era’s patriarchal laws and customs that made women powerless. The laws that let husbands abuse their wives (Heathcliff and Isabella), that let fathers-in-law lord over and abuse their daughters-in-law (Heathcliff and Catherine), that prevented daughters from inheriting their fathers’ property in favor of the male next-of-kin (Thrushcross Grange going to Linton Heathcliff instead of to Catherine), that gave unfit fathers custody of their children against the mother’s will (Heathcliff and Linton), and that forced women to depend on marriage to raise their own fortunes and to escape from a toxic family (Cathy).

Yet it’s what little power the women do have within these confines – emotional power – that leads to the hopeful ending. Catherine, with help from Nelly, overcomes her own bitterness and reaches out to Hareton, finally freeing him from Heathcliff’s degrading influence with her friendship and later love. This, combined with the dead Cathy’s ongoing hold over Heathcliff’s psyche, is what makes Heathcliff finally give up on life, with his death bringing peace both to himself and to everyone he terrorized.

Last but not least, let’s discuss Cathy. No, she’s not portrayed as a good person, and yes, her sins are “punished” with brain fever and death. But still, it’s gratifying from a woman’s perspective to see the object of an imposing Byronic anti-hero’s love not be a delicate ingenue whom he controls, but an iron-willed firebrand whose passion equals his own and whom he gladly lets dominate him. And any claim that she’s worse than Heathcliff (as bad as, maybe, but worse?) or that she deserves no sympathy whatsoever smacks of misogyny. Her struggles are very relatable for women who feel torn between rebellion and conformity. This quote sums it up well: “I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free”.

As a child she was fully herself: wild, androgynous, barely distinguishable from Heathcliff. But it came at the price of disapproval from her stern father and servant caregivers, and later from her tyrannical brother, who viciously abused Heathcliff and tried to separate them. Then she discovered the world of the Lintons: wealth, status, beautiful clothes, good manners, kindness, affection. It’s so easy to condemn her as a “shallow gold-digger” for giving in to the lure of that world and choosing to marry Edgar instead of Heathcliff. But one glance over her great speeches should reveal that regardless of her other flaws, she’s not a shallow person. With her family and all of society holding up the Lintons and their lifestyle as superior, and when the only alternatives she sees are either staying under Hindley’s brutal thumb (again, remember: for a girl, marriage was the only escape) or starving in poverty as Heathcliff’s wife, it’s understandable that she should give in, even though it means betraying her true self, donning the mask of a proper lady, and rejecting her soul mate. Yet she always knows she really belongs with Heathcliff, not with Edgar, and she tries to have them both by maintaining her “friendship” with Heathcliff while married; before Heathcliff runs away and makes his own fortune, she even plans to help him by sharing Edgar’s wealth with him. But eventually and inevitably, the two men clash and her double life shatters. It’s not just the stress of the love triangle that causes her breakdown, but what it represents: her yearning for freedom while trapped in the confines of upper-class womanhood and knowing what she would loose if she were to choose one over the other. What woman hasn’t struggled with society’s demands of “proper” womanhood and felt torn between wanting to rebel and wanting the benefits of conforming? I don’t think any character who embodies that struggle as powerfully as Cathy can be labeled an anti-feminist character, no matter how deeply flawed she is or how tragically her story ends. The fact that it’s not her failure to be a proper lady that dooms her, but her choice to become one and deny her authentic, wild and androgynous self, can be seen as a particularly feminist statement.

Also, I respectfully disagree with the claim I’ve read that the only purpose of Cathy’s strong will and free spirit is to intoxicate Heathcliff. They’re essential to her entire personal character arc. None of the characters in this complex book are only written to serve another character’s development, male or female.

Is the book feminist in every way by modern standards? No. But does it still have many feminist qualities and themes? Does it speak powerfully to women and empower them in subtle ways? I think it absolutely does.

@theheightsthatwuthered, @astrangechoiceoffavourites, @wuthering-valleys, @incorrectwutheringheightsquotes, @nitrateglow

[bleedingthirium]

Everything I Love Becomes Everything I’ve Lost (Reed900)

Title: Everything I Love becomes everything I’ve Lost. Words: 2740 Genre: Angst. Hurt-Comfort. Grief. Characters: Reed900 Warnings: Death of pet and litter. Authors Note: Not sure why I wrote this. Just wanted Gavin to suffer like the sadistic lil shit I am. Who doesn’t love a quietly supportive and comforting Nines? No one? Just me then? Okay, I’ll yeet myself out. Also, sorry if its all out of character.

 It was funny, no, horrible, how someone can lose so much within the space of just a few hours, and almost lose themselves in the process. Nines witnessed it happen to Gavin. 

At the beginning, Nines was only meant to be there to watch what is considered the most beautiful humanitarian act on the planet; giving birth to life.

The cat Gavin rescued 2-3 months ago had been abandoned because it was pregnant and the owners couldn’t deal with more cats. Gavin took the Mama Cat in, literally renaming her ‘Mama’ and had told Nines about her. Nines seemed curious about the pregnancy and how it excited Gavin, and as something similar to an educational experience in the role of humanity, Gavin offered for Nines to watch the birth. 

Being on call wasn’t new to Nines, however, he couldn’t deny the very vague mix of nervousness and excitement that lingered in his system at awaiting the phone call any moment. 9:23pm, Nines received the call from Gavin, who had barely managed to form a structured sentence as he breathed out in a singular incoherent sentence, “She’sherethey’recominggetyourassoverherenow!” It was lucky that Nines was fluent in the language of Gavin Reed; able to decipher when the man was being sarcastic, covering up emotions or when his brain was working faster than his mouth – such as this particular instance. Arriving at Gavin’s 15 minutes later due to roadworks hindering him from arriving earlier, he expected to be greeted by an excited Gavin. However when he knocked on the door, it flung upon to see a panicked Gavin on the phone to someone. Gavin walked away from the door, focusing on the conversation on the other end of the phone while Nines stepped in. Immediately those cold, calculating blue eyes of his began to scan the room – blood, towels, half-full bowl of water tinged pink, and a cat loudly panting and mewling. Nines LED began to swirl to a bright yellow. Something didn’t feel right. His attention was brought to the conversation Gavin was having, and he noted how Gavin held the phone tightly to his ear as though he feared he’d miss a single word from what was being said. “Yes… about two hours… No, no…no… There’s blood…A lot…Okay, yep…yep… Okay, okay, thank you. Bye.” Gavin dropped to his knees with a curse (“Phk!”) that held heavier emotions that even Nines wasn’t used to dealing with from the Detective. “Detective Reed? What’s the problem?” Nines inquired, slowly stepping over to where Gavin was crouched on the floor with Mama. “Gavin?” Nines voice dropped to a more gentler tone as he knelt down on one knee beside Gavin. Gavin’s shoulders hunched over, phone slipped from his fingers as he sat helplessly by Mama’s side, unable to do much more but physically be there for her. Nines opened his mouth to try and gain the Detective’s “She’s uh… she’s not gonna make it. Four kittens were stillborn. She’s struggling to push the last one out.” “Is there anything I can do to help?” Nines asked, a hand reached out to place upon Gavin’s shoulder in physical reassurance but his original program conflicted with his newly found deviancy and he retracted his hand back to himself before Gavin saw the odd gesture. Gavin was silent. He knew if he spoke, he would break down. He had been fighting that panic in his chest since the beginning, the panic caused an intense fluttering which he knew if he opened his mouth, his chest would constrict tightly and instead of words forming, it would be god knows what kind of sound he was currently pushing down. A shaky breath in that did not go unnoticed by Nines, Gavin tried his best to keep it steady, “There’s uh… the kittens…in…in the….kitch…the table…Can you just, can you just…” Fuck. How to explain to a fucking android how to take care of the deceased as though they need a comfortable place to lay when it was a comfort to Gavin’s soul knowing they’re resting comfortably. “…wrap them up nicely or something?” “Of course.” Nines LED still swirled yellow, but not out of incompetence at the request given, but at Gavin’s levels of emotions. He was distraught but wasn’t showing it. However, if this small request would help ease Gavin’s internal struggle with his emotions, Nines was more than happy to oblige. He found the deceased kittens wrapped up loosely in a blanket, no doubt in a rush with everything being handled by one person, so Nines began looking for something more suitable to place them in. He found a small empty box and lined it with some tea-towels before placing each individual kitten in the box, next to each other, and then placing a final tea-towel over the kittens. Nines made a mental note to replace Gavin’s tea-towels since they were the only linen available that would fit in the box. Nines came back and quietly knelt down beside Gavin. He swore he felt Gavin lean just a centimeter or two towards Nines but he didn’t overanalyze anymore than this situation being out of the emotional norm for Gavin. “This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.” Gavin mumbled as he stroked Mama’s forehead, trying to offer any type of reassurance he could to the cat who was quickly becoming exhausted. She was refusing water, even milk. She hadn’t had any liquids since Gavin got home. The veterinarian he was on the phone to earlier had said that it sounded like her organs were shutting down. They needed to get the last kitten out, even then, the chances of survival were slim. “This was not something you had any control over, Detective.” “I should have stayed home. Maybe seen that something was wrong earlier. I could’ve taken her to the vets. I could’ve done more than just sitting here waiting for her to fucking die.” Nines remained quiet. He could throw facts and statistics at Gavin, but the Detective would likely refuse to take them into consideration and would probably further upset Gavin, which was something he had no desire to do. Silence past by for a moments longer until Nines broke it with another question, “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” As with every question he’s asked, he’s met with a moment’s silence before Gavin finally whispered one request. “Stay?” Nines watched as Gavin’s head dropped down in defeat before bloodshot eyes lifted to actually see Nines for the first time since opening the front door to him. “Please?” In all the history of ever knowing Gavin, Nines has never ever heard him use the word ‘please’.  If this didn’t send software instability errors his way, he didn’t know what will. “Of course, Detective.” Nines firmly stated, being the rock of reassurance that Gavin needed even though this was completely out of his depth of emotional response to this type of situation. He would have suggested calling Lieutenant Anderson over despite the Lieutenant owning a dog, he might still have far more of an insight to animal companions than Nines did. However, there were several factors to take into consideration, 1. Lieutenant Anderson was drinking himself into a stupor and would be of no help to them whatsoever. 2. There was a risk that Lieutenant Anderson would say the wrong thing and further upset Gavin. The night quietly dragged on. Nines fetching whatever Gavin needed without question or hesitation. The only sounds were the distressed mewling coming from Mama, and Gavin softly cooing to her, gently trying to hush her with reassurances. The mewling’s became louder and more distressed as the final kitten arrived and Mama took her last breath. “No.” Gavin’s whispered plea went ignored by whatever high power was out there as Mama Cat passed away from the blood loss and organ failure. However, the squeaky cry of a newborn kitten pulled Gavin out of his grief as he quickly scooped up the tiny being. Nines sprang into action as he grabbed the syringe that was filled with formula for the surviving kitten in place of its mothers milk, passing it over to Gavin who had the kitten wrapped in the last tea-towel he had (courtesy of Nines retrieving it earlier), Nines placed a towel over Mama in respect as Gavin tended to the kitten; who was the current priority despite all the tragedy that occurred. Not much transpired between Nines and Gavin. Gavin was more focused on the surviving kitten than anything, Nines was just the grounding support Gavin needed. Because, honestly, if Nines wasn’t here, Gavin wouldn’t have kept himself together as well as he did. For now, Nines sat down and watched in curiosity as Gavin attentively helped the kitten. He tried to coax it with the syringe to give it the nutrients it needs, he comforted the squeaky little cries, immediately hushing them with the softness of his voice. It’s amazing what a complete douche-head he is at the Precinct, yet he’s soft as a plush teddy bear right now. No doubt if anyone dared even breathe the wrong way towards the kitten, they’d find themselves staring down the barrel of a gun drawn by Gavin.

“What’s the matter?” Nines suddenly asked as he noticed Gavin frantically began looking around for something. “My phone. I can’t find it.” Nines had moved it from where Gavin had dropped it on the floor, to rest it upon the coffee table. Reaching over, Nines handed the phone over and he saw the distress resting back on Gavin’s features. “What is it Detective?” “She’s not eating anything.” Gavin said, holding the toweled bundle closer to his chest in protectiveness as his other hand was preoccupied in find the veterinarian’s number, luckily there was an afterhours number he could call for emergencies; it was the same number he called earlier when Nines showed up on his front door. Nines stood helplessly by as Gavin was frantic on the phone, the veterinarian managed to calm him down but Gavin steel repeated a few questions in hopes that something would change. “Fuck!” Nines LED flickered to red at the violent response as Gavin threw his phone in the corner, almost shattering the screen entirely. “Is there nothing more we can do for her?” Nines enquired, his LED spinning back down to yellow. “…No…Phk! Why is this happening?!” Nines didn’t have a logical answer to provide Gavin with, at least, none that would be comforting enough to the Detective. The next few hours wore on. Gavin switched between sitting down and trying to coax the kitten into taking some of the formula, to standing up and slowly pacing around the room, gently cooing to the small being that was still protectively wrapped up in a bundle. Nines offered to take over, give Gavin a break, but the Detective refused. It wasn’t until 6:30am, where the sky outside the window began lighting up and Gavin moved to stand by it, watching the sun rise. Nines eyes snapped up from staring at the table trying to figure out a way to entice the kitten to eat to beat the low survival percentile, when Gavin’s voice began a quiet melody. He swayed ever so softly with the kitten huddled close to his chest, softly singing an old song, “Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo Here comes the sun, and I say …It’s alright.” And then he stopped swaying. He stopped singing. Nines quietly unfolded his legs that had been crossed over, and stood up, eyes trained on Gavin who hadn’t made a single move or sound. He slowly and quietly made his way over to the Detective and stood by him. He didn’t say a word as Gavin pulled the kitten from his chest, not saying a word but his quiet volumes spoke loudly to Nines. Slender fingers brushed over Gavin’s as he took the now deceased kitten from Gavin, allowing Gavin the time he needed to fully let go. A quick glance up at Gavin’s face allowed Nines to observe him momentarily. Gavin was broken. He was also the type that didn’t handle his emotions well. Especially when they were too raw for him to be able to hide behind his asshole sense of humor. So, when Nines finally held the bundle of towel with his own two hands, the breathy gasp emitted from Gavin didn’t escape Nines’ attention. “I’ll put her with her brothers.” Nines said quietly as he walked away to do just that. Gavin stood there; arms dropped to his sides as he glanced around the dimly lit room. It was quiet. Too quiet. No cats mewling, no cats walking around his ankles causing him to trip over into an unceremonious heap… within the space of a few hours, everything had been ripped from him. Torn from him. What did he do to deserve this?! Why him? Why!? Better yet, why did the universe decide to take Mama?! The pregnant cat, abandoned by her owners for bringing life into this world!? Why punish her!? And the innocent kittens who clearly weren’t even given a goddamn chance!? WHY!? “FUCK!!” The cry ripped through the deadly silence, yanking Nines back to reality as he just finished tucking the towel-come-makeshift-blanket around the last kitten. He strode back into the living room to see Gavin crouched in the middle of the living room, fists gripping his hair as his lungs struggled to breathe against the painful twist of the knife that seemed to enjoy repeatedly stabbing him in the heart where it hurts. LED flashing a dangerous red, Nines quickly found himself kneeling down on the ground once more, this time, in front of Gavin. Two strong hands wrapped themselves around the two fists that were gripping the head of brown hair. A sob tore from Gavin’s lips as he allowed Nines to pull his hands away. It was a heartbreaking scene that unfolded right before Nines’ eyes; it was something he never wanted to witness. The whimper that tore from Gavin before he screamed in such emotional agony that Nines stress levels peaked. A slender hand found the back of Gavin’s head and he pulled the Detective into his shoulder, the other hand holding Gavin protectively around the back of his shoulders. Body trembled beneath his embrace but it wasn’t rejected. Instead, Gavin’s hands swapped from gripping his own hair to gripping the front of Nines’ white jacket. His face buried in his shoulder after scream after scream of grief-filled pain spilled from his lips. Despite it being muffled against the material, it was still a sound Nines never wanted to hear. Nines barely spoke a word since first arriving at Gavin’s but he figured his colder tone was something Gavin didn’t need right now, nor his inept response to providing the correct source of verbal comfort in situations like this. Eventually, those screams had quietened down to sobs that violently engulfed Gavin’s body, but Nines continued to hold onto him since Gavin had no intention of letting him go. Nines is still understanding a lot of things, but he knew how important Mama was to Gavin. The day Gavin rescued Mama, he told Nines all about her and continued to update Nines on the progress Mama was making… “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” “I know.” “It’s not fair.” “… I know.” Nines' voice had softened a great deal to the point where it was barely recognizable as Nines. However, his hold on Gavin still remained. Fingers cupped the back of Gavin’s head, lacing his fingers through the brown locks as he continued to hold Gavin for as long as he needed the physical comfort. Nines had to admit, even he wasn’t prepared for the turn of events tonight. He wasn’t even prepared to see Gavin in such emotional distress. In fact, he never took it into consideration whether the Detective could even be broken like that. “Stay. Please? God, just stay. Don’t… Don’t leave. Don’t fucking leave me too.” “I had no intention of leaving.” Gavin had lost a lot within the past few hours. Nines had no intention of leaving him alone. He had fully intended to stay until Gavin was alright. If that took hours, days, weeks even… Feeling Gavin shift slightly beneath him, ever so slightly relaxing against Nines’ frame, Nines’ slender fingers gripped Gavin just a little bit more protectively. He'll stay.  

[tumblunni]

Hmm i think i may have possibly settled on an idea for how to rewrite Kin and Gin to be more complex and potentially redeemable.

Gonna focus on The Big Family Love, because these siblibgs caring about each other so much its literally their battle power is already their best and only slightly sympathetic trait

So i was thinking about the whole 'hey here's another third sibling in the third version of the game' thing and had a BIG BRAINWAVE

What if kin and gin want to turn back time to fix a mistake in their past? And all the evil they do with manipulating other people's pasts is something that they regret having to do buy see as a necessary evil in order to achieve their goal.

Their goal? Bronzlow.

Why did he not appear in the original version of the game and wasnt even mentioned? Because he was DEAD.

Kin and Gin's goal in life is to save their baby brother who died when they were children. Maybe his 'funny' clumsiness and struggle to keep up with his sisters was very much not funny in this original timeline. One day the twins were teasing him over something or other, he messed up yet again and got their kite caught in a tree or something. And they were supoosed to be responsible when looking after the lil guy, but on that day they just happened to be a little short tempered with him and made the stupid decision to yell at him to get the kite back even though they knew he wasnt good at climbing. It was just a stupid mistake of some kids who were probably too young to be put in charge of babysitting their brother. He just.. Fell. Everything was over so fast. And it felt like time had forever stopped at that moment.

So they spent their whole lives trying to find a way to bring him back to life, even doing forbidden magic to become yokai and gain the power they needed to bend time. And they grew old and cynical and slowly lost their grip on morality, because the guilt just kept hauntinh them and the closer they got to making their dream come true the more they became tempted to let go of morals and hurt people in the desperation to finally achieve it...

And then this would be a good excuse for me to lets play one of the original versions of the game and then also the third one. And it could be interesting to set it up like this story with my oc is actually left hanging on the first playthrough and only fully completes after the third game. Like its all in the same continuity as if Mallory really did experience both games! Kin and gin's time travel messing up the future could be a good excuse to show all the different versions as alternate universe type things! And have it so that at some point Bronzlow just suddenly appears without explanation and everyone acts like he was always there. Which would lead to the reveal of the whole backstory and like.. Bronzlow is here now and looks like how he would if he'd lived a full long life, because their plan is almost complete. Theyre always sassing him and he's all funny comic relief but really all alpng he mattered more to them than anyone else and theyre so happy to see him again. And getting to see him again has made them so desperate to make it real that they'd even collapse time and space itself just to not have to let go of him again! Like what if some of his 'funny clumsy moments' are actually like.. Signs that he's not completely saved and the paradox is trying to correct itself? Like he doesnt remember that he died but his sisters do, he's just like 'wow i felt kinda dizzy there for a moment, im sorry' and 'huh i seem really forgetful lately' and he doesnt notice himself flickering in and out of existance and just DAMMIT IM GETTING REALLY EMOTIONAL ALREADY

And in the end of course kin and gin would have to face the fact that bronzlow wouldbt want them to bring him back if it meant other people had to get hurt. Thats why they tried to hide the truth from him, they knew he would sacrifice himself to fix the timeline and save everyone. And it could be super depressing with him joining you to fight his sisters even when he knows it'll kill him, and then the last moment of the fight is the time machine thing being broken and then a vision of the siblings as kids standing beneath that same tree, and the twins begging bronzlow to let them just stop time here and stay with him, if they cant save him then they want to die together... But there's no timeline where he'd ever say yes to that...

:(

So umm yeah, the redemption fot these two would be finally accepting their grief instead of running from it, and you hug them and let them know that they have a second chance at a happy life. He never blamed them, they didnt have to destroy their own chance at happiness for his sake. He'd want them to go out and enjoy life, every time theyre smiling he'll be smiling with them...

I dunno i just think itd be a good way to make people care more about an underrated character. Cos from what ive heard about bronzlow he apparantly barely even talks, and really is just 'we added another one in the third version' with no more complexity than that. Kin and Gin already arent very popular so its understandable that their lil bro would be even more ignored, so this is an idea for how to make his low plot role a big plot role yet alsp at the same time get meta with thw low plot role itself being the big emotional tragedy...

Also i dunno if i'd actually find some way to bring him back eventually? Like as a reward for them at the end of their redemptive arc, maybe have them return in yw3 and help the heroes there and then after a loooong long journey they find another non-evil way to bring him back in the postgame. I dunno if itd dampen the emotional arc to bring him back tho? I feel like the importabt part os just that they learn not to hurt other people tp try and save their brother, as long as they actually finally give up and stop their evil plan it could still show the same amount of character growth if he does come back. Like it wouldbt be a moral-ruining 'yeah their evil plan actualky worked' kind of thing, just some different miracle happened, possibly directly caused BY them making the right choice? Like by confiding in others and not doing it all alone they finally manage to find the answer. But maybe have it happen some time after the endibg so the sadness still has enough time to breathe and it feels even happier when it eventually happens.

Also gives me an excuse to play out the credits sequence but with bronzlow vanishing out of that happy pic of them together. (Thanks to my friend who showed me that!)

[aer-in-wanderland]

JBL | Character Analysis - Ha Moon Soo

The following started out as part of a post on the way in which grief and loss are dealt with in the drama at large, but it got so long that I’ve decided to section Kang Doo’s and Moon Soo’s off as separate posts. What follows is an analysis of Moon Soo, particularly in terms of how she reacts to her tragedy and her emotional journey over the course of the story. 

Even if we’re family we can’t feel the same emotions. It’s just…I can only imagine that, more than my sadness at having lost my younger sister, mom’s sadness at having lost her child must be greater. 

I’m not a good kid. I have a huge plate on the back of my head. You couldn’t tell earlier, huh? They say I was hurt when the accident happened, but I don’t remember. All I remember is…that I left my sister there alone…that because of me, there was yet another person who never returned. But here I am living normally and well all by myself. I was bad, wasn’t I?

When we first meet Moon Soo, she appears well-adjusted, self-contained, and mature. This is no accident - it’s something that she consciously works at. In the aftermath of the collapse, Moon Soo’s parents’ marriage fell apart as each blamed the other for Yeon Soo’s death. When the fighting got too severe, her father left the house, leaving Moon Soo alone to assume responsibility for her mother, who had turned to alcohol to drown her pain.

Moon Soo is strong because she needed to be strong. She is also uncommonly kind. As in the above quote, Moon Soo feels that her mother’s pain must somehow be greater than her own. While it’s true that no two people experience the same tragedy the same way, that doesn’t mean that one person’s pain is more or less valid - they’re simply different. But Moon Soo minimizes her own pain by comparing it to her mother’s, thereby dismissing her own grief as comparatively less. ‘If I’m sad, it will only make things harder for mom.’ So she hides her pain, even from herself. As it says in her character profile:

Moon Soo is also sad and in pain. It’s simply that she’s lost the chance to be sad. But instead of showing her true feelings, Moon Soo bravely continues about her daily life. That was Moon Soo’s method of coping with her sadness.

Moon Soo also struggles with self-loathing and survivor’s guilt. She blames herself for leaving her sister behind, and for calling Sung Jae to the accident site that day. Perhaps even more than Yeon Soo, Moon Soo feels responsible for Sung Jae’s death, because if it weren’t for her, he would never have been there in the first place. Later on in the story, when she learns of her past with Kang Doo, she blames herself for what happened to him as well. This is all due to a combination of her personality and the way she’s processed the accident. 

Why on earth did the accident happen on that day, at that time, at that place? No matter how she thought about it she couldn’t understand, so it was easier to shift the blame to herself. Why on earth was ‘I’ at that place, on that day?

In the aftermath of a tragedy, people try to make sense of things, to find reason in the random, when often there is none. We look for a cause, for someone to blame, for something to point to and say ‘if not for that.’ Moon Soo’s parents blamed each other. Moon Soo blamed herself. As a result, she lived her life in self-imposed penance. One way this manifests is in her work. Moon Soo became an architect out of guilt. It was only later that she came to genuinely like her profession. She had other dreams, but she gave them up.

Moon Soo remembers that afternoon. The wind that blew and the rattling glass, the building that collapsed in an instant, she remembers them. After the accident Moon Soo came to a decision. In exchange for having survived, to not be greedy, to not be swayed by trivial emotions. She simply wished for time to pass, for her to live according to her lot in life, without being noticed.

This is the context in which she meets (or is reunited with) Kang Doo, and at first, he’s an uncomfortable existence for her. At first glance, he is her exact opposite: he’s reckless, he does as he pleases, and he talks as if he cares for no one but himself. It takes time before Moon Soo comes to realize that, in fact, he seems to care for everyone but himself (I’ll do a separate analysis for Kang Doo next). But as much as he bothers her, she also recognizes some part of herself in him. Though she can’t remember, they were in the same accident together, and she senses the same sadness from him. What’s more, he keeps seeing her at her worst and drawing out her true emotions that she’s worked so hard to suppress. Though she initially finds this dynamic awkward and unsettling, it soon becomes a breath of fresh air for her, and the two fall into an easy and genuine friendship. As they grow closer, Kang Doo teaches her to express her emotions instead of always keeping everything bottled up inside.

Moon Soo’s character arc, then, is in some respects the reverse of Kang Doo’s, because, for her, the first step towards healing is to admit that she’s not okay. She may appear to start out well-balanced and then devolve in response to certain incidents and revelations, but it’s mostly that she’s finally learning to face everything she’s not allowed herself to feel for the past 12 years. 

So when Moon Soo gets into an explosive fight with her mother, I can’t help but feel that the timing is no coincidence. Yes, part of it is that Moon Soo’s mother discovers that she’s been working at the accident site and feels betrayed, but what’s significant is that, for the first time, Moon Soo fights back. Up until this point, Moon Soo has always held back, suffering in silence, hiding her hurt all the while. What I find most painful about Moon Soo’s relationship with her mother is that, essentially, she’s emotional collateral. Not only is she unable to express her own grief and sorrow, she has to bear up under her mother’s resentment of her father, her apparent favoritism towards Yeon Soo, and the fact that her mother perceives Moon Soo’s stoicism as callousness. And Moon Soo lets her, in order to protect her from the added pain of Moon Soo’s own hurt. 

Moon Soo was 15 at the time of the accident. What she needed most was a mother to comfort her and tell her ‘it’s okay.’ Instead, she had no choice but to assume that role, and in doing so, she not only lost a parent, she was also now responsible for another person who was dependent on her being the ‘strong one.’ With her father emotionally and physically absent, and her mother emotionally volatile, Moon Soo bravely assumed the role of caretaker, and part of that meant that she had to be ‘okay’ for them both. It would have been so easy to become resentful, but she isn’t. After yelling at her mother, Moon Soo feels apologetic, like she’s gone too far, said too much. Because she loves her mother and sympathizes with her pain, and because in between the rough spots, she’s still the same loving mother that she always has been. 

Which brings me back to the timing of the fight. To my sense, the reason Moon Soo finally finds her voice when she does is that, for the first time, she has someone to whom she can fall apart and take comfort in - Kang Doo. It’s only after she begins her relationship with Kang Doo that Moon Soo allows herself to fall apart, to fight back, and to confront her fears and guilt by asking him to come with her to see Sung Jae’s mom. Kang Doo becomes her safe place, and it’s through his help and his love that she begins to truly be okay, instead of just appearing so on the outside. Kang Doo accepts her as she is. He tells her it’s not her fault, that she’s not a bad person for being the only one to survive. He understands her sadness because he shares it, and he knows how important it is for her to confront her pain in order for her to heal. It’s why he asks Joo Won to leave the memorial project in her hands, and it’s why he insists on seeing it through with her to the very end, even as he’s sick and in danger of dying. 

One of the many wonderful things about Kang Doo is how he shows Moon Soo, in word and in deed, again and again, that she’s a good person, that she’s smart, and capable, and pretty, when she thinks of herself as somehow ‘less’ in comparison to Yeon Soo, and not a good person. He never holds back, partly because he’s a very straightforward person, and partly because he senses how important it is for her to hear it. When Moon Soo tells him that she’s ‘bad,’ he doesn’t answer reflexively. True to character, he thinks it over until it’s true in his heart, and when he tells her ‘no,’ he means it. When she confesses that she hates herself, he tells her, ‘Then I’ll just have to like you more.’ When she worries she was out of line with her mother, he reassures her that it’s okay to throw a fuss every once in a while - that her feelings are valid and important. 

In terms of Moon Soo’s emotional journey, if there was one thing I would have liked to see, it was Moon Soo overcoming her guilt and self-loathing and choosing to stay by Kang Doo’s side not because he was dying, but because she had come to understand that what happened truly wasn’t her fault. There’s a big difference between knowing something logically and believing it in your heart, but accepting that logic is an important first step. I’d like to think that that’s what she spent that night in the hospital struggling with as she waited for him to wake up after collapsing in front of her house. 

We may not have gotten to see that resolution, and Moon Soo may not yet believe it in her heart, but we do see her resolve in the wake of it. Though she’s devastated for Kang Doo, she doesn’t give in to that devastation, choosing instead to live each day with him to the fullest while they still can. They complete the memorial, date, and spend the night together. She stays by his side up until what may well have been the end. Ten months pass.

When we catch up with Moon Soo the following winter, we see her visiting her mother in rehab, exchanging messages with her father, and eating ice cream (hee ^ ^). It’s true that their family will never be the same again. The loss of Yeon Soo broke something fundamental, but they still have and love each other. That healing process will take a while yet, and it will never be complete, but the drama gives us hope that they’re headed in the right direction.

What’s more, we get a visual callback to the first time we saw her out front of San Ho Jang in episode 1, and this time, she smiles. The final sequence, with her and Kang Doo together on the roof, is so important because it leaves us with the sense that they’re happy, and that they’ll have the rest of their lives together in which they can enjoy ‘nothing-special’ moments. That doesn’t mean that their grief is magically erased and that all the wounds of the past are healed, but it does mean that, when that grief finds them again, they’ll each have the other to help them through it. As Halmeom tells Kang Doo:

Sad and painful things are always with us. You have to accept them. Instead, meet even better people and live even more fully. You can do that. Don’t worry. 

And they do.

[yeoldontknow]

It Was The Night: 3

Author’s Note: i hope you all are enjoying this little story <3 i know its short and slow going but still! happy chanvember! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: drama; historical au; suspense; romance Rating (this chapter): PG Word Count: 2,070

III.

For the rest of the month, very little occurred that would cause one to be suspect of anything untoward within the walls of the opera. The days began to blur into one endless stream of music, costumes, and rehearsals, each the same as the last. Having turned seventeen with almost no pomp and circumstance, and priding myself on a rather mature sense of pragmatism, I very nearly forgot the incident altogether. 

The fault, in my mind, was in the trick of the light and the general uneasiness one falls victim to when walking alone in dark corridors. In this resolve, I was resolute, moving through the opera house without any sort of fear, wholly unplagued by the memory. 

Even still, as the thoughts of shadows moved through my mind, I found it impossible to replicate their motions with the flames of my candles. When each bit of darkness is unique, each sway of light singular and fleeting, how then can one prove they had seen anything at all? I deemed this memory a fallacy of youth, the last bit of my childhood fading as I moved towards womanhood, letting it die as I did memories of my emotional turmoil throughout puberty.

This was, of course, until the day a rather mysterious, five act opera appeared on the seat reserved for our illustrious conductor.

Morning rehearsals had barely just commenced, each choral member still shaking away the full shapes of our yawns, when Monsieur Letrouc shouted in a rage at the mess. We all bristled, I especially, at the thought of a manuscript left unaccounted for, or, at the very least, left about and carelessly forgotten. Sheet music for an opera, we were taught, is akin to the bible, something holy and therefore sacred. Such a thing is a guide, all answers contained within its dictation, and to leave it so recklessly behind is a cardinal sin of theatrical production.

While we waited for its owner to stake claim, Monsieur Letrouc’s brow furrowed from anger and disdain, to confusion, a bewildered sort of expression making haste along his features. Glancing over its cover, and even at its thickness, we soon realized this was not, as we assumed, the music for Les Abencérages but instead something different, and unexpected, altogether.

Penned by man named Aeon Smith and based on the tragedy of Antigone, it was regarded with much skepticism and laughter throughout the corps for being ‘terribly presumptuous,’ and assumed to be ‘absolute drivel by a first time writer.’ No one had ever heard search a name, not even the international members within the orchestra who hailed from London. This was a man born of obscurity, and was audaciously presenting his work to the most renowned corps in the country. We called him ignorant, we called him foolish, but soon we all were forced to wear the blush of embarrassed prejudice in the wake of the music.

On a spot of daring wit, one of the chamber string players took a page from Haemon’s death, tearing it from the script with raucous glee, and stood in the center of the stage with a wicked grin. At once, he made every effort for the performance to toe precariously on the line of the absurd. Though, try as he might, it was simply impossible to render the exquisite brilliance of the piece anything apart from perfection. With just one page, the orchestra had become lost in a wave of emotion and we were rendered into silence. There wasn’t much deliberation after that, it was simply agreed upon that this would be our show and we were swiftly given new lines to learn.

It was assumed the music was delivered by a night messenger from an English writer, with such a name as Smith we could only assume this was the nature of its origins. Whispers from the choir girls alluded to a member of the kitchens having composed such delights, while the boys each boasted to having written it themselves once alone and separated from their friends, scratching the notes into parchment by candlelight. I believed neither of such accounts, and instead took to obsessing over the memory of my shadowed angel.

Looking back, I do not know why I titled him as such. Perhaps, it was his lack of an origin that persuaded me to call him so, though I daresay there was a sort of divine truth in the name. In the end, I think my essence called to him, named him as my own before I had ever set eyes upon his face.

In those early days, logic told me there was no such person, but then where else could an opera, with such an unusual writer as Aeon Smith, come into existence? I had the pieces but was completely without the ability to connect them. Conclusions were drawn from one to the next without any thought to their sheer impossibilities. The script was far too clean and precise to have been written by a child, the pages free from stray porridge stains. In my mind, the biggest clue was that the tale was far too romantic to spawn from the dreary, unfeeling heart of an Englishman. Eventually, I decided that its parentage was of little import to me and what mattered most was that it existed, and, therefore, required the length of our souls in its performance.

In a sense, I was devout to this opera, and, thus, devout to Aeon Smith.

Soon after rehearsals commenced, I began to experiment with the bending of rules and the thrill of teenage rebellion. On one particular evening, I snuck out of the bed chambers with Jacqueline, Charlotte, and a publicly mild mannered girl named Annessa. There was such excitement to be had from slipping beneath the watchful eye of Madame Catherine, the pull of adult whim tugging gently on our fingers. It was fleeting, these sensations, but we chased after the temptation of autonomy with bare feet and flushes at our cheeks. Our favourite private insurrection was, as one would assume, the performance hall.

As members of the chorus, none among our group very talented ballet dancers neither were we full members of the corps, we were regulated to the sides of the stage for the full run of an opera. At night, with only the dim glow of an oil lamp as our spotlight, we would stand in its center. With my eyes closed, I could imagine the adoring eyes of an audience, the weight of an aria burning at the rim of my diaphragm. This was where I was meant to sing my prayers, before red velvet chairs, beneath the glory of a crystal chandelier. The gold of the room always drew me in, wrapped tightly around my breath to keep me fixed in a permanent state of awe.

Annessa, never one to admire the beauty or importance of cherished spaces, took to the very center with an eagerness that bordered on aggression and began to sing, loudly, the aria of Antigona’s death. 

It was the only role in the entire opera we could even attempt to sing, the character written for that of a soprano. As not all of us had yet completed the trials of puberty, we were still viewed as half-formed singers, the lower end of the musical scales still perilously out of our reach. Though Ismene had, in my opinion, far more challenging and bewitching arias written for her character, Antigona was the only option for our group to idly learn. Yet, Annessa sang with such boisterous enthusiasm I found myself scowling in the heart of my sanctuary.

‘That is not how it’s meant to be sung,’ I shouted, stopping her in the middle of the aria. At my sides, my fingers were tense, twitching in irritation at her seeming indifference to the character’s lament.

‘Sorry?’ she asked, bewildered. She rounded on me with a hiss through grit teeth. Yet, she did not intimidate me.

‘Antingona is about to die, she knows this fully,’ I explained gently. ‘She has disobeyed her uncle most egregiously, and has now been sentenced to be walled into a cave. At best, she would be reflective. Mostly, she would be sad, yet proud of her choices. She cremated her brother, defied the law, and loved with all her heart. So young and so in love with Haemon, mourning the future she will never have with him. And so, there is no happy ending. She sees Creon for who he really is, and absolutely cannot come to terms with the truth.’

I paused to bite my bottom lip and continued in a more resolved, severe tone, one I had never affixed to my voice.

‘There is no space for triumph here. I’ve never been one for grief, but I do understand mortality.’ 

It felt like a relief, saying it, letting her know that she had completely missed the point of the opera, the music, Aeon Smith himself. My thoughts and feelings had felt like a secret which was now being poorly kept, and I was grateful for the admission.

‘Well, if you’re so clever why don’t you sing it?’ Annessa challenged, finally, the sneer in her voice not going unnoticed by me, and likely the others.

I shall never know what sort of bravery possessed me the moment I accepted her demand, and only looking back now I can almost point towards the exhaustion of restraining my sudden, teenage competitive nature. In the end, I believe wanted this moment, wanted the pride, wanted the sin of it all - wanted, more than anything, to let the Godless city into my veins for once and for all. I took to the center of the stage with delight pulling at my shoulders, lifting my posture and with memories of a boasting Father Ezekiel lingering like phantoms in the back of the theatre.

And so I sang, with full voice and relaxed palms, jaw loosely set and diaphragm open. The words came easily, memorized through repetition in rehearsals and their natural cadences. As I sang, every act on stage became tangible. Soaked into my hands was the blood of my slain brother; before me, my young groom, with dagger in hand, visible only through a fissure of stones. My heart ached with closeted familial betrayal, and my tongue burned with the words I wanted to shout, at France and at God:

Do not believe that you alone can be right. The man who thinks that, The man who maintains that only he has the power To reason correctly, the gift to speak, to soul–– A man like that, when you know him, turns out empty.

I kept singing, wishing I could cry for all my losses and all my future gains, the vitriol pouring out of me in a deluge, much akin to flood.

You’ll never see me taken in by anything vile.

And then, with wide eyes, I saw the shadow looming in the dark at the top of the third level balcony. I remembered my ghost, my shadow in the mirror, and suddenly felt a surge of elation. Here now was proof and not just for my own eyes!

Immediately I stopped singing turning back to my friends, gesticulating vigorously into the dark, just beyond the glow of the oil lamps.

‘Look, in the balcony! The opera ghost!’

They all ran to me, squinting in the direction of my finger and I smirked, fully prepared to clarify the proof of childish, erroneous tales. But when I looked back, there remained only the night, with no welcome shadow to put conviction to my name. My friends laughed the entire way back to our quarters, laughed at my eagerness, my foolishness, my sudden, unpredicted turn towards belief. I’d never once scorned a shadow but, on that evening, I wanted the dark to wither beneath my feet.

The following morning there was a folded piece of parchment, sealed in blood red wax, placed directly in the center of the recital hall. As our conductor opened it, his brow grew over more into a concerned furrow and his eyes, upon completion of his read, bore into mine with tremendous distaste.

He read aloud:

‘By order of Aeon Smith, Y/F/N Y/L/N is to play the role of Antigona. There shall be no exceptions.’