#cristinarosales

[lossecretosdeblackthornhall]

Emma a Cristina

Querida Cristina, 

¡Perdón, perdón y mil perdones! Me doy cuenta de que el mensaje que acabo de enviarte probablemente no tenía ni pizca de sentido, así que después de leerlo, tíralo y lee esto. Estaba histérica cuando lo escribí. Llevaba días queriendo contaros todo lo que estaba pasando con el secuestro de Mina, pero no podía. Entonces, cuando pude, todo salió a borbotones. ¡Lo siento de verdad!

Fue horrible no poder decirte nada de lo que estaba pasando. Siempre he odiado la política, ya lo sabes, pero por muy inusual que sea tu posición (y la de Mark), la Corte Seelie sin duda te consideraría parte del séquito de Kieran, y se nos prohibió expresamente contactar con cualquiera de las dos Cortes sobre el hecho de que Mina fue secuestrada en su habitación aquí en Blackthorn Hall. Y obedecimos órdenes al pie de la letra.

Y resultó que la persona que encabezó el secuestro fue Madre Hawthorn, la niñera del Primer Heredero, que eligió casarse con un nefilim. Desde entonces ha tenido una relación complicada con los Cazadores de Sombras, especialmente con Herondales (¿Quién no tiene una relación complicada con Herondales?), y ahora exigía ver a Kit si queríamos recuperar a Mina.

Nadie quería que Kit lo hiciera, aunque todos temían desesperadamente por Mina. Pero él estaba decidido. No había nada que lo detuviera. Así que se hicieron arreglos a través de un grupo de hadas intermediarias para que Kit se reuniera con Madre Hawthorn. Ella había exigido una cita cerca del agua del río, así que fuimos al paseo marítimo en Chiswick. Hay un pequeño parque allí, y un pequeño quiosco de música. Todos -Julian y yo, Tessa, Jem y Kit- caminamos hasta allí, en silencio y sombríos. Tessa no dejaba de acariciar la espalda de Kit, y estaba claro que intentaba no llorar. Jem parecía querer matar a alguien. Kit parecía decidido. Y Jules... Bueno, ya te hablaré de Jules.

Nos mantuvimos a cierta distancia mientras Kit cruzaba la hierba seca hacia el quiosco de música. Al acercarse, Madre Hawthorn salió de entre los árboles, con Mina en brazos, y empezó a caminar hacia él.

Jules y yo nos pusimos tensos, por si Jem o Tessa se lanzaban a por el bebé. No les habríamos culpado, pero sabíamos que no podíamos permitir que lo hicieran: Kit tenía que poder intentar coger a Mina sin una lucha violenta. Lo único que puedo decir es que se nota lo mucho que ambos han sufrido y soportado demasiado durante toda su existencia. Se agarraron de las manos y ninguno de los dos se movió, aunque podías ver lo desesperadamente que querían correr hacia sus hijos. Fue una muestra increíble de control, pero también desgarradora.

Kit y Madre Hawthorn se reunieron frente al quiosco de música. Por supuesto, no pudimos oír nada de su conversación, pero vimos que Mina extendió inmediatamente los brazos hacia Kit. Kit trató de alcanzarla, pero Madre Hawthorn levantó una mano. Estaba claro que no quería devolvérsela, y empezaron a discutir. Me di cuenta de lo enfadado que estaba Kit, aunque intentaba mantener el control. No paraba de negar con la cabeza una y otra vez, cada vez que Madre Hawthorn hablaba.

Al cabo de un par de minutos, la madre Hawthorn se echó a reír. Miró hacia nosotros -nos vio claramente y no le importó- y chasqueó los dedos. Kit fue arrojado al suelo; rodó sobre sí mismo y se puso de pie, pero para entonces unas enredaderas negras surgían del suelo, lo acuchillaban y se enroscaban alrededor de sus piernas. Mina gritaba tan fuerte que podíamos oírla.

—Ya basta—gruñó Jem, y empezó a cruzar la calle. Pero Julian le puso una mano en el hombro.

—Esperad —dijo, y todos nos quedamos mirándolo; ya sabéis que tengo una fe absoluta en Julian, pero por un momento incluso yo me pregunté si se habría vuelto loco.

Y entonces... Entonces se oyó un ruido enorme. Al principio pensé que era un helicóptero, o tal vez un montón de helicópteros, pero luego me di cuenta de que no, que el sonido era más extraño que eso: eran cascos, golpeando el cielo. Pasaron por encima de nosotros y... ¡eran Gwyn y Diana! Era toda la Cacería Salvaje, había un par de docenas de ellos, algunos a caballo, otros en criaturas aladas que nunca había visto antes. Pero al frente estaba Gwyn, con Diana en otro caballo detrás de él, con el pelo suelto por detrás.

Diana se abalanzó y agarró a Mina de los brazos de Madre Hawthorn. Gwyn estaba justo detrás de ella, y agarró a Madre Hawthorn con un brazo (ese señor es sin duda muy fuerte) y la colgó sobre el lomo de su caballo. Parecía bastante peligroso para la Madre Hawthorn, pero ya sabes, no hay mucha simpatía hacia los secuestradores por aquí.

Diana se abalanzó (la Cacería Salvaje se abalanza mucho, como recordaréis) sobre nosotros y entregó con delicadeza a Mina a Jem y Tessa. Entonces Diana nos guiñó un ojo y volvió a elevarse hacia el cielo, y ella, Gwyn y el resto de la Cacería ascendieron más rápido de lo que yo hubiera creído posible. Supongo que tenían que alejar a la Madre Hawthorn de nosotros, lo cual tenía sentido. De todos modos, se marcharon, desapareciendo entre las nubes.

Tengo que decir que el guiño de Diana fue bastante badass. Me hizo extrañar un poco el hacer cosas así. Creo que esta noche me iré con Cortana por ahí y decapitaré algunas hierbas.

En fin. Kit corría hacia nosotros, Tessa lloraba de alivio y Jem miraba hacia donde había desaparecido la Caza Salvaje. Mina, por supuesto, estaba bien. No paraba de decir "¡Caballitos!", lo cual era divertidísimo, y entonces llegó Kit y empezó a preocuparse por ella, y Julian y yo nos apartamos para dejarles espacio a los cuatro para su reencuentro.

Julian tenía una de esas miradas en la cara, y tuve una corazonada. 

—Fuiste tú, ¿verdad?—Dije—. Tú contactaste con la Cacería Salvaje.

Se encogió de hombros. 

—Madre Hawthorn dijo que no contactáramos con las Cortes Seelie y Unseelie, pero la Caza Salvaje no es ninguna de las dos. No juran lealtad a nadie.

—Tampoco la Madre Hawthorn—dije—. Así que fue algo así como: ' Cacería Salvaje, ven a buscar a tu amiga también salvaje, se está volviendo demasiado salvaje'.

—Algo así —dijo, y su voz era casual, pero me di cuenta de que estaba satisfecho consigo mismo. Y le dije, que yo también lo estaba.

De vuelta a casa le preguntamos a Kit qué era lo que quería Madre Hawthorn. Dijo que quería decirle que era descendiente del primer ya-sabes-quién (sé que Kieran os ha contado algo sobre la herencia feérica de Kit, pero no toda, y la mayoría de la gente no lo sabe) y que había venido a llevárselo a vivir al Mundo de las Hadas, donde pertenece. Kit nos dijo que intentó dejar claro que no quería vivir allí, que estaba satisfecho con la vida que tenía (aunque miró a Jem y a Tessa mientras lo decía y creo que satisfecho es quizá menos embarazoso de decir que cómo se siente en realidad, que es mucho mejor que eso). Ella no paraba de decirle que era su destino y su deber, que su destino vendría a por él muy pronto si no se doblegaba, bla, bla, cosas de hadas, ya sabes cómo son. (Eh… Kieran, si estás leyendo esto, no te ofendas).

Aun así, no creo que estuviera diciendo toda la verdad, porque Madre Hawthorn se tomó muchas molestias como para que solo se tratase de dar ese mensaje. Podría haberlo puesto en una postal. No era nada que Kit no supiera ya. Estoy segura de que dijo más cosas que Kit no quería compartir. Me di cuenta por su expresión al hablar. Espero que se lo cuente a Jem y a Tessa cuando esté preparado. Al menos podemos estar seguros de que Gwyn se asegurará de que Madre Hawthorn se mantenga alejada de él, lo cual es una preocupación menos.

Eso es todo por mi parte, y estoy tan aliviada de poder compartirlas con vosotros al fin. Supongo que si Kieran necesita más información debería ponerse en contacto con Gwyn; yo ya te he dicho casi todo lo que sé.

Cuídate, hablamos pronto, ¡y abrazos a K y M!

Emma

Texto original de Cassandra Clare ©

Traducción del texto de Niloa Gray ©

ATENCIÓN: no se permite hacer Drives ni PDFs de “Los Secretos de Blackthorn Hall” por Copyright. Cualquier infringimiento va contra la ley.

[bookperusing]

✨ Rep Post for @enchantedextras ✨ I love this print so much! My favourite (Blackthorn) family having a well deserved beach vacation! 😍 You can get this beautiful print designed by @michelacacciatore from @enchantedextras on Shopify [US customers] and on Etsy [INTL customers] Use my code BOOKS15 to save 15% on everything in the shop! Links are in the bio! ✨ Q: Which is your favourite bookish family? If you don't have one, what are you currently reading? ✨ [Tags: #thedarkartifices #theshadowhunterchronicles #cassandraclare #blackthorn #blackthornfamily #family #beach #beachvacation #vacation #julianblackthorn #emmacarstairs #jemma #markblackthorn #cristinarosales #kieran #kierarktina #livvyblackthorn #tyblackthorn #kitherondale #kitty #drublackthorn #tavvyblackthorn #enchantedextras #prints #bookishitems #trilogy #series ] https://www.instagram.com/p/CnQBLE9rMBl/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[julescarstairs]

TDA Royalty AU: Royal Wedding

Everything had lead up to this moment, Emma thought, clasping her hands in front of her. Her and Julian had spent months planning this wedding. They had spent several nights laying together, watching the stars wink down at them, murmuring softly to each other over wedding arrangements: Where will we wed? What food will we eat? Who will we invite? Where shall we travel for our honeymoon? Julian had requested only one thing: that they wedded in gold. When Emma asked why, he had looked up at her from his sketchpad, lit by soft candlelight on his bedside table, and said, “I had a dream about it once. You understand how I am with my dreams, Emma.”

And Emma did. They had shared stories of their dreams for as long as she could remember, but Julian’s dreams had always been rather bizarre. He spoke of black clad warriors carrying swords and stones which shone as if they were carved out of moonlight. He spoke of black marks burnt into their skin, each working to achieve different effects. He spoke of one mark he had seen frequently in his dreams, even drawn it on paper for her. Although it was an absolutely absurd shape, Emma had felt a sudden familiarity towards it, like a splash of cold water to her face. It sent a bittersweet sensation through her, as if the mark could do great good, but also great evil. When she asked him what it meant, he simply looked at her and shrugged, a crooked smile on his face. She had never told Julian that on some nights, she dreamt of the exact same things. They were too coherent to be just dreams—but Emma had no way of following these things up, so why talk about them?

Nonetheless, they had decided upon a gold wedding as opposed to a white wedding, and Emma now stood inside the palace with Jem Carstairs, waiting for her cue. Jem had offered to walk her down the aisle, as her father should have, being her final remaining family member, and Emma had accepted immediately. She had, for so long, visualised walking the aisle alone, but here she was, about to walk it with a member of her family – and not just any member of her family: the current King of the Carstairs Kingdom. Looking up at the large doors leading outside, Emma imagined what the scene on the other side of it: Julian, anxiously waiting for her, the other Blackthorns and other close royal families – the Herondales and the Fairchilds, among others – chatting quietly among themselves before the ceremony began. She looked down at her golden gown, and then at the yellow diamond ring on her finger, and then at Jem, “Do you think I am perhaps too yellow? Blonde hair, golden dress, golden ring…”

Jem laughed, a soft, musical sound, “Emma, you look beautiful. You are his golden girl, after all. You need not worry about your appearance.” He reached up and fixed one of the yellow-and-white blooms that had been woven through her hair, “If I may ask, what made you choose a golden wedding as opposed to a white one?”

“It was something we both dreamt of,” Emma said, and when Jem paused, she elaborated, “As in—something both of us would have loved to see happen. White weddings are just… bland, you know?”

“Not all white weddings are bland,” he said, but was still smiling a quiet smile, “Nevertheless, all I wanted to say was that a golden wedding is a marvellous idea.” Before Emma could respond, there was a gentle knock on the door in front of them. It was time. A knot twisted in Emma’s stomach as nerves – and excitement – settled in, and she looked down at her shaking hands. She had imagined and reimagined this day every night for weeks, and yet now her mind was blank of those fantasies. But her mind was still racing with all the what ifs known to the world, and she had to clasp her hands together to cease their shaking. Jem offered her his arm, and smiled encouragingly down at her, “You’ll be fine, mei mei. Come, let us go.” Emma took his arm, and had to squint against the sunlight as the doors were pulled open. She gasped.

Everybody was there, just as she had imagined, the guests seated in white chairs facing the other end of the aisle. As her and Jem began to walk up the aisle, she saw Clary’s red hair tied up atop her head, Jace’s blond head like a halo in the afternoon light, Tessa’s grey eyes fixed on her as she turned around, and even Kit’s sharp gaze on her, among many other eager faces. Tavvy sat in a chair in the front row with Helen and Aline, peeking over the back of the chair at Emma. She couldn’t help but smile, as she turned to look straight ahead. On one side of the platform at the end of the aisle stood Cristina, Livia and Drusilla, decked out in beautiful white bridesmaid dresses. They, too, had white flowers woven through their hair. Livia, her maid of honour, clasped her hands together with glee as her eyes laid on Emma, and Dru smiled softly at her. Cristina smiled at her, too, and gave an encouraging nod. Emma and Cristina had grown closer over the past few months, since Cristina spent more time at the Blackthorn Palace to be with Mark. Cristina and Emma’s friendship had been fast-tracked so much that Cristina had ended up the person subject to Emma’s pre-wedding meltdowns. What if I mess up? What if it all goes terribly wrong?

Mark stood on the other side of the platform, the left side, just behind his brother, and Ty stood next to him. Emma remembered the look on Mark’s face when Julian had asked he and Ty if they would be his best men – “because I don’t want to have to pick just one of you.” He had looked honoured beyond belief, and flung his arms around his brother, squeezing him tightly. Emma had felt a tear sting at her eye as she watched the intimate moment. Emma’s gaze fell on Julian, now, and she had to blink frantically to stop tears of joy from spilling down her cheeks.

He looked beautiful. Clad in gold and white, with his crown stark atop his head, he was looking down at her with a smile that he saved only for her. Now everybody could see that smile, and it made Emma’s heart flutter. He was framed by an archway of white and gold flowers, spotted with some red blooms here and there. His eyes were glittering; she could see that from where she stood. Emma smiled, unable to stop herself. She was smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt as she joined Julian on the platform. Julian removed her wedding veil from her face, smiling even wider than before, and then took her hands in his.

The Marriage Officiant looked between the two of them – he was a small, thin man with a heavily lined face and a mouth that seemed eternally set in a hard line – and then opened the book in his hands, “We are gathered here today in celebration of the wedded union of two royal families: the Carstairs and the Blackthorns. We stand here today to remember these families alone, and to watch as their histories are tied together for the future. We will witness the forging of two souls: the souls of Princess Emma Cordelia Carstairs and Prince Julian Atticus Blackthorn.”

Julian squeezed Emma’s hands, and Emma raised her head to look into his eyes. She wasn’t sure why she’d even looked away. His eyes held a question: Are you alright?

She nodded, still grinning. Yes.

The Wedding Officiant had begun to natter on about the unique histories of the Blackthorn and Carstairs’ royal families, but Emma had drowned him out. For a moment there was only her and Julian standing together on the platform. All of her attention was on his face – the unique curves and contours of it, the light freckles on his cheekbones, the way his nose sometimes crinkled when he smiled teasingly at her, even the light crease between his eyebrows that seemed to always be there, reminiscent of the concern he held for her and the ones he loved. She so badly wanted to kiss him and be done with it, so that it was sealed and done, so that they could go off on their honeymoon. They were planning to head south, where it was cooler (as it turns out, the south is colder than the north, which only became an inside joke between Emma and Jace considering that ‘Lady Goldpine’ had deemed the north dreadfully cold.) They had planned it so they would be there in time to watch the first snowfall of the season. Julian had insisted on bringing his paints and a small canvas so he could paint her in the snow. Emma, on the contrary, couldn’t wait to form a ball of snow and throw it at him. She wanted them to have fun and be youthful whilst they could.

“Emma Carstairs,” the Officiant said, drawing Emma out of her reverie. She would have scowled at him for ruining her daydream but then realised why he had called her name, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you pledge your heart and soul to be his, your loyalty forever in his favour? Do you promise to remain beside him until death does you apart?”

Emma nodded, looking back at Julian tenderly, “I do.”

The Officiant turned to Julian, “And you, Julian Blackthorn, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? You place your heart and soul in her hands, your loyalty forever in her favour? You promise to remain by her side until she is taken to places beyond which you can follow?” Emma really was wondering why they lingered on the idea of either of them dying for so long. Maybe death and grief was a tender aspect of marriage? It didn’t feel like it. She would never want to live in a world without Julian in it. He was her world.

Julian nodded, not taking his eyes off of Emma for a second. She was consciously aware of his thumb running over the back of her hand, “I do.”

Emma heard Livvy quietly squeak behind them, unable to contain her excitement. You know what? Me too, Livvy, she thought, I’d be squealing with you, too, if I could.

The Officiant nodded, “Then we shall proceed with the exchanging of the rings, and the crowning.”

The Crowning. Because Emma was marrying into another royal family, she was dubbed a Duchess. So that made her a Knight, a Princess and a Duchess. Emma’s head spun. She had far too many titles for one person.

Mark appeared beside them, holding open a box lined with velvet pillows. Within it were two rings, golden bands that caught the light as they were picked up. Much like Emma’s engagement ring, they had patterns of the crenelles of a castle intertwined with thorned vines on them, but they were more heavily engraved and easily seen. Emma gently took Julian’s hand and slid the ring onto his finger, unable to hold herself back any longer. Then, Julian took her hand and slid on her ring. It joined her engagement ring, like a perfect pair, on her finger. She looked up at Julian again, who looked utterly wired. She could see the energy thrumming through him, could feel it in the tension of his hands. She so badly wanted to wrap herself up in him, but no, she had to wait a little moment longer.

Andrew Blackthorn had arrived sometime then, carrying a tiara delicately in his hands. The base of it was the same as all of the other Blackthorns’ crowns: black, with a pattern of thorns. He stood tall, as a King always should, and Emma bowed her head to let him put her tiara atop it. It fit almost frighteningly well, and she willed herself not to reach up and touch it in wonder. Andrew’s hand came down gently on her shoulder, and he smiled at her, “You have always been a member of our family, my daughter-in-law.”

Emma smiled back at him, inclining her head gratefully. Then, she turned back to face Julian, whose appreciative gaze was temporarily on his father. When Julian looked back at her, his eyes flicked up to look at the tiara atop her head briefly. Then he stepped closer to her, his eyes on hers once again. The Officiant, who was now smiling a soft, small grin, said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. Emma wasn’t sure who had moved forward first, but that didn’t matter. They had both stepped forward and found each other’s lips in a passionate kiss. Emma’s hands went up, looping around his neck, and in a swift movement Julian picked her up to carry her bridal style, not breaking the kiss for a moment. She sucked in a gasp and her face went hot, her eyes opening wide for a moment. Julian was grinning impishly down at her. He winked, and then brought his head down to kiss her again. Since when did you get so suave? Emma thought to herself, not without affection.

Emma lost herself in the sheer joy surrounding her and Julian, kissing him fiercely as if to let the world know he was hers – because he was, and now always would be – as the cheers and applause of all the onlookers echoed across the palace grounds.

[memmacarstairs]

Emma and Cristina

Imagine that in TWP, Emma visits Cristina in Feéra, they talk for hours about the boys, they brush their hair mutually, make sweets, share gossips and anecdotes, and, after a while, Emma  announces Cristina that she and Julian are planning a wedding... Wouldn't it be nice?

[catycandraw]

Hi everyone! It’s been so long! I just finished Queen of Air and Darkness and I’m in love with this throuple! Can you guess who I’m talking about?

Hope that @cassandraclare will like this! :D

[fairetaire]

as much as i love kpop yall really have to stop casting korean idols or korean actors as characters in tsc who aren’t korean (Jem, Aline, Lily etc). By doing this you are participating in erasure by disregarding their identity and replacing them with another ethnic/racial group. It’s no better than whitewashing so please find celebs who perfectly represent characters of minority groups.

[alexandracurteart]

Wip of Cristina Rosales 🌹Love this girl, been meaning to paint her for ages! 😁 #cristinarosales #thedarkartifices #cassandraclare #shadowhunters #digitalpainting #sketch #portrait #artistsoninstagram #wip https://www.instagram.com/p/B0TOQAOA0LA/?igshid=mvm97kk61cbq

[whitethorn-blackthorn]

Ty: Kit texted me “Your adorable” so I texted him back and said “no, YOU’RE adorable.”

Dru: And?

Ty: And now we’re dating.

Ty: All I did was point out a typo, but I like him so I’m not going to say anything.

[anna-lightwoods-vsco]

Clary x Ash reunion

Clary : So ... i uh- heard you have wings?

Ash : I heard you killed my father.

[lossecretosdeblackthornhall]

Cristina a Emma

Texto original de Cassandra Clare ©

Traducción del texto y las imágenes de Niloa Gray ©

ATENCIÓN: no se permite hacer Drives ni PDFs de “Los Secretos de Blackthorn Hall” por Copyright. Cualquier infringimiento va contra la ley.

[calums-betch]

LORD OF SHADOWS SPOILER

Me: you can't end a book in a cliff hanger

Cassandra Clare in LoS: But the soul, the spirit that made her Livvy was no longer there: It was something that had gone away to a far and untouchable place, even as Julian ran his hands over her hair again and again and begged her yo wake up and look at him just one more time.

High above the Council Hall, the golden clock in began to chime the hour.

[parolesullapelle]

. November 27🌹 . □ Theme: Characters I love □ Fandom: The Dark Artifices □ Character: Cristina Rosales □ Quote: "The bad things can't matter more the the good thing" . Hello my lovely little flowers!⚘ Trovo divertente come lo stile degli aesthetics sia completamente cambiato dal primo all'ultimo. Sicuramente quest'ultimo è più basic, dettagli su sfondo, circa, bianco.. Però non saprei scegliere quale mi piaccia di più🤔 Anyway non vedo l'ora di rifare qualcosa del genere! Magari con meno post😂 . ○ Seguite tante pagine di aesthetic? ● Quest'estate per colpa, o merito, di @aesthetic.ravenclaw e @heroesvspidey mi sono appassionata alla cosa! Comunque sì, abbastanza. ○ Preferite le foto più basic o quelle più ricche?! ● Di norma basic, ma vorrei provare com qualcosa di più ricco. . ��#ifer_edit #fendemond_aesthetic #aesthetics #aesthetic #thedarkartificies #thedarkartificiesedit #tda #tdaedit #cristinarosales #cristinarosalesedit #tinarosales #tinarosalesedit #shadowhunters #shadowhuntersedit #cassandraclare #cassandraclareedit . ||Arianna♡ {#gayisokay 🌈} (at Milan, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5XAJkDIoiJ/?igshid=crsh1k7ohhuq

[etherealnik-archive]

happy birthday @cristinarosales (june 4)  → adam parrish

I was here. I exist. I’m alive, because I bleed.

[cedisbook-blog]

I have a serious question

am I the only one that doesnt ship Cristina-Kieran-Mark? Just asking✌🏽

[theshadowhunterchronicles27]

Aaaaaahhhh Julian Blackthorn rambling makes me crazy. Actually everything Julian Atticus Blackthorn makes me crazy. I just really want a letter from mark or cristina. To know how those three are doing. And the PS just hit me lol. And Jessamine. I seriously can’t believe Julian and Mark kinda knew. Sometimes I wish everyone can see her not just the Herondales

Julian to Mark

Mark Blackthorn

℅ Helen Blackthorn

Los Angeles Institute

Malibu, CA

Dear Mark,

Don’t worry about the parchment scroll yet, I’ll get to it at the end of the letter.

Hello from Chiswick! It’s pronounced like chizzick, it’s just outside central London, and it is a collapsing ruin. The house, I mean, not the neighborhood, which is cozy, a little suburban, lots of green space, quiet. You’d like it.

I should have been in touch before, I know that – and I’m sorry. We had to move fast to save this place and I knew a fire-message wouldn’t reach you. Blackthorn Hall may be a ruin, but it’s our family’s legacy, one of the very few things that we’ve inherited from Blackthorns past. I feel this sense of responsibility, a need to preserve the place for Tavvy and Dru, for Ty and Liv — well. You know.

It was us or the Clave, and they would have knocked it down and put something else in its place. It’s easily in bad enough shape that knocking it down would be the practical move. But it’s ours, and I kind of love it. I mean, if we don’t love it, who will? It can be truly beautiful again, I believe that. You should visit when you get a chance—all of you there are invited, of course—but be warned that if you come in the next couple of months you will be put to work.

This brings me to the parchment, which is the estimate and contract from the faerie builders for the renovation work on the house. I was hoping you and Kieran could look it over for faerie trickery, both in terms of whether their rates seem reasonable, and also to make sure they don’t get Tavvy if we’re late with payment, that kind of thing. They came highly recommended—they’re brownies? I think? They look like big garden gnomes. I mean, it’s probably the pointy hats. They could take them off, of course, but I guess they like them. They must know they look like garden gnomes. Anyway, they seem trustworthy and industrious and all that. But faeries do love tricking humans. Let me know what you think.

Oh, I should explain that there is one part of the house that is in all right shape and has all the “mod cons,” as they say here. It was redone in the Sixties and, well… it is groovy. The cons are Mod as well as mod. I am not sure you will get that joke but don’t worry about it, it was pretty stupid. The thing is, I’d never thought about it, but I realized this must have been fixed up by our grandparents. The timing works out. So this must be where Dad lived, once. And Uncle Arthur. It was where they grew up. And I realized: they, too, must have been groovy.

Arthur. Must have at one point. Been really groovy.

I just want you to sit with that for a moment, the way I did. It creates a feeling I believe to have never been felt before by any human being in the world.

You should see the clothes. I mean, really. You should see them. There’s a consignment shop’s worth of vintage stuff here and none of it suits me at all. You’re welcome to it but it is almost all synthetic fabrics and would not go over in Faerie itself.

Aaand I know I’m rambling. I was trying to avoid saying this, but there’s something about this house. It reminds me of some of the nights you and I used to ramble around the Institute back home. Which I know is weird, London couldn’t be more different than the Santa Monica Mountains — I miss the wildfire tang in the air, the smell of the chaparral and sage, the coarse dirt under our feet. (Do you miss it too? I feel like it has to be very different where you are in Faerie.) But there were plenty of times, especially when we were younger, when we’d tell ghost stories out there and scare ourselves that something was watching us. Maybe something was, though I’m inclined to think now that it was something friendly. Here in this house I get the same watched feeling, like there are eyes on me, shadows I see out of the corners of my own eyes that disappear when I turn around.

Anyway, I really wish you were here. I’d bring it up with Emma, but I don’t want to freak her out. She’s started the massive job of sorting through decades of papers and journals that used to belong to the people who lived here, and I’ve started painting the ballroom. I know Emma has been in touch with Cristina, please send my love to her and to K as well!

Your loving bro,

Julian

PS: I realize now I don’t know where this letter will find you, so let me clarify that “all of you are invited” from the LA Institute, not “all of you are invited” from the Unseelie Court.

[shadowbooksmx]

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