#house aellos

[lunaerys-archeron]

THE SHADOW QUEEN

Mainlist | Prologue | Chapter I

(This is based on my book on wattpad)

Daemon Targaryen x OC!(Lunaerys Novak)

For caution, most of this is fictional not included in the books or show!! So there will be more than a few of my original characters that have last names of main characters.

When Aegon the Conqueror and his three sisters came to Conquer what was known as, Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms. There was another Kingdom that was not part of neither of these realms, it was its own entire world. The Kingdom of Adrithe, an own realm built of gold and black steel. The capital was known as Morruk, in which House Novak, the royal family of Adrithe had ruled over their sacred realm. It was said that the people of Adrithe had prayed and worshiped the Gods of the Old Flame, five gods in which created the very first fire, Aellos known as the almighty of all of the Old Flame souls, and sacred oaths. Rhemeros, the goddess of fertility and life. Moruku, the goddess of Seas and Darkness. Orkos, the God of War and Protector of warriors and children, and lastly Lunaeros, the goddess of mischief and eternal death. The legend states that they were siblings, born of the skies, their duty was to create the first fire. The first eternal life.

When the four had came forth to the earth's grounds, they had presented a large land of people their gift, in exchange for their worship and their fair treaties the four gods would present them with fire and protection. During this encounter the gods had chosen a woman to be their sole messenger, she was named, Amaris Novak. The first Queen of Adrithe, the lady of Morruk.

As centuries passed Queen's and King's had came and went, all proudly honoring House Novak.

When Aegon Targaryen, known as the Conqueror of his realms had traveled to Adrithe with his three sisters he had threatened their Kingdom to bend the knee, or they'd face the consequences with the fire of their dragons.

Adrithe's then ruler, King Silas Novak refused to bend the knee to a man who called himself a King for forcing with fear and death.

But Aegon was desperate to have control over what could become a threat to his new Kingdom, the Dragon King offered his only sister he was not wedded, Aelara Targaryen, as Aegon had been married to his other two sisters Visenya and Rhaenys.

However, King Silas refused. For he did not wish to marry a girl ten years his younger, she was only ten and six, and himself twenty and six. He did not want to break the innocence of a young girl who was used as a pawn for her brothers gain, nor did he wish to be stuck in a loveless marriage.

Though King Silas made a deal with Aegon, if he truly wished to go to war then not only would Adrithe go to war but so would Dorne. For Adrithe and Dorne were bound eternally by blood from Silas, as he was of both old flame and dornish blood. Both would gladly go to war for their people. Or, if Aegon never called war against Adrithe, House Targaryen would be welcomed to make trades within their Kingdom.

It was that day, one in which the sun bled blood over its light.

A treaty was sealed in written blood. Adrithe and Westeros would never be at war with one another.

A moons term celebration was thrown, House Novak and House Targaryen joined together as one for days and nights. But twas' on the last night, King Silas had asked Queen Visenya to join him for a dance after he asked her husband. The Dragon and Wolf of the East danced as if they were old lovers.

And that is what they were. Just for one night. Forbidden lovers.

It was three years later, when Silas had sent word for Aegon as they had grown to close friends over their peaceful years since their treaty, Silas Novak was to be married to Alysara Stark. A woman of the cold North, someone he grew to love wholeheartedly. Two wolves of different claims.

It was said that on the night of Silas Novak' wedding to his consort, Queen Alysara Stark. That Visenya had revealed to Silas that her son, Maegor Targaryen, was of blood of both his and her own. Silas did not believe her words, until he saw the young boy run with is brother. Maegor Targaryen was his son. A child born from no marriage. A bastard.

Silas wished to claim Maegor as his own, but Visenya refused. Stating that the Iron Throne was to be his once Aegon passed, and the Iron Throne costed more than a throne made of bones.

More years passed and Silas Novak and Alysara Stark created four children, all boys who resembled their father and mother. For they had their mothers norther hair and sharp features, but wore the golden eyes of their father. News had been shared throughout every single realm known, and when it reached the ears of House Targaryen. Visenya had seethed in anger.

Now that her old lover had children of his own, four, son's at that, and another on the way. Her son Maegor went down the line of Adrithe's succession. For she wanted her son to be King to both Kingdoms.

War breeched when Maegor Targaryen came of age and his brother Aenys had died. He wage war against Adrithe, destroying the treaty his father had once created.

The histories based on this war had stated many different outcomes, but one thing that stayed the same. Visenya Targaryen was the reason for both of her sisters and her sons death. Adrithe and Dorne joined together, their forces to harsh against their dragons, for scorpion blood and viper venom with nightshade killed them painfully but quickly. Aelara and Rhaenys Targaryen died with their dragons. And Maegor died by the hands of his five half-brothers, not knowing they were his blood.

When Jaehaerys Targaryen came to the succeed his uncle as King to the Iron Throne, he tried to make amends with Adrithe once again, to fix what Maegor broke. But Adrithe would no longer find themselves agreeing to another treaty that would one day be broken by a Targaryens' ambition.

Thus, Adrithe and House Targaryen never once again saw eye to eye.

So when King Aelor Novak, the great-grandson of King Silas, received raven from King Jaehaerys Targaryen, in the year 97 a.c. He was shortly surprised and angered at the offer.

For, Jaehaerys had offered his second born grandson, Prince Daemon Targaryen to marry his daughter and heir, Princess Lunaerys Novak.

Would House Novak and House Targaryen finally be joined together as one, as the gods of both the Old Flame and Old Valyria had once intended? Or would they end in another war.

Only Princess Lunaerys and Prince Daemon would decide.

—————————————————————————————————

[eldritchships]

OUGH how about ⏰ + 👥 for our hades s/is to shake things up >:3 i hardly ever talk abt mine but his name is aellopus (aello for short!) and hes the general of an army of harpies hades employs throughout the underworld. hes a big bird monster who appears scary and unapproachable but hes actually very sweet and a huge softie. bc of his appearance tho not a lot of folk try to talk to him and he gets very lonely :> he NEEDS friends so bad so hes perfect for this meme HDKSKS

I didn't know you had a Hades s/i!! This is very exciting

When/How would our S/Is meet? How were first impressions?

Paramonos (Moe for short :]) does spend a lot of time around the House, so it’s likely that the two ran into each other there, maybe Aello was reporting to Hades at the time and Moe passed by. He probably did a double-take because he hasn’t seen a harpy before up close, but when he initiates a conversation (partly so he can find out more, partly to get to know this New Person) he reigns in that awe to be polite. In terms of first impressions, Aello is cool! And a little intimidating, since he is a big bird creature, but he’s still an intelligent person, not an animal, so Moe reckons if he meant any ill-will he’d probably warn or threaten first. Paramonos probably gave off the first impression that he’s generally a bit inexperienced and kinda bored/looking for stuff to do.

Would they be friends/enemies? How well do they trust each other? How do you think the dynamic would be?

I think they could get along well enough! Moe could continue to strike up a convo with Aello whenever they bump into each other, and even offer to try and tell his fortune (Moe needs the practice, after all! Win/win). I assume Aello can get busy with work, but Moe’s a great choice if he wants someone to chill with afterwards. Plus, the more they talk, the more Moe would trust Aello because it’s clearer that the latter isn’t as scary as it first appears. 

I also think there’s something a little funny about the dynamic of “Looks unapproachable but he’s actually a softie” vs “Looks chill but has received visions of The Horrors”.

[wagonlitcommunitytheatregroup]

The Olympus Family (Artemis and Apollo)

Alright so since I have had a modicum of interest in my posts about my creation of all the Olympians in Sims 4 here is a post introducing them. I'll start off with Artemis and Apollo.

Here's Artie and her house and dogs. See my previous story for the extended tale of why the dogs are not allowed in the house. Also full disclosure I did not make this house but I couldn't remember who did so I won't be able to give credit. Just know that there are hundreds of skilled creators in the gallery and tons of amazing houses. Some of which you will see here.

Artie has the "Animal Behaviorist" aspiration (which I found in a mod somewhere) and has a pretty limited social life. I'm trying to make her have some friends and an certain I even made her specifically dislike men but for some reason she really wants to fuck Ares. I thought I set them as family but either A: The game doesn't care or B: My mod that set that got bonked around during that update and now all my familial relationships are all fucked up.

Since there is no source for Artemis' dogs names I gave them the names of the dogs of Acteon as laid out in Ovid's Metamorphoses. Canonically she has 14 dogs, 7 Males and 7 "seven bitches of the finest Arcadian race" but I only did the males because Jesus Christ, getting all of the dogs to behave was...pun intended...a bitch. Pictured here are Dromas (Grey pitbull in the back), Oribasos (Afghan looking guy with an orange head), Aello (licking Artie), Tigris (Chihuahua), Arcas (The Dingo), and Melampus (Mustachioed gentleman only partially pictured). The other dog picture has Hylactor (Dalmatian) outside of the lean-to structure that contains all of their beds and food bowls.

APOLLO:

Apollo I have not played nearly as much so this will be a view of his house mainly. I really looked for one that would allow plenty of windows for the sun god to have natural light. I also tried to make his workout room reminiscent of the gates of the morning so he runs looking straight outside from a high vantage point. Most of this house was designed by someone else but I will claim credit for the workout room. He has a composer aspiration, but I haven't played him enough to make him good at piano or even working out.

[straussz]

Gorgons & Heroes - A 100BC

Hi there ! This challenge is a mix of a lot of stuff i like :

100 baby challenges,

gameplay oriented challenges,

sims 4 toddlers,

killing your sims,

messing with their life so they’re never happy,

mythology !

Each generation is inspired by a myhtological monster or hero, and they’re all assholes.

I saw a Greek Gods legacy challenge, but I don’t think the monsters and heroes have been exploited yet, so here ya go !

I have started playing it and will begin posting on it soon, but I wanted to share the guidelines I made for this. I’m playing it “vanilla” with a lot of occult CC, but you could, if you ever wanted to play it, make it berry and associate a color with each gen :)

Anyhow, if you do play it, don’t forget to tag me so I can see and like it ! ;)

All the rules under the cut !

🐍 Generation 1 – Medusa 🐍

Cold as stone and out for revenge on men and Gods ; You will bring ten demons into the world and kill all your spouses. 

Starting funds are high : 40 000 Simoleons 

Money is made by crafting and selling sculptures

Every spouse must die after birth : you can use mods, cheats, or do it the old fashion way !

First baby with « Angelic » trait is heir !

🕷 Generation 2 – Arachnae 🕷

Sweet Arachnae, cursed for being too confident. Beware Ari, your happiness wont last !

Only one spouse ; Soulmate aspiration can be completed

Money is made by painting

Babies on a clock : when you become an adult, your spouse dies : no more babies !

First baby with the « Inquisitive » trait is heir !

♟ Generation 3 - Sphinx ♟

Who is wise and smart when life brings strangers their way ? My, it is the Sphinx, sensible to a fault. 

The Sphinx can only have babies with sims that defeat them in a challenge : painting challenge, fitness wall, chess, etc.

Money is made with collectibles, and/or hacking

First baby with the « fussy » trait is heir !

Heir must have made 10 enemies before becoming a YA.

🔪 Generation 4 – Aello the Harpy  🔪

Harpies were made to bring mayhem on men. Rejoice Aello, hatred will fill your house. 

Aello can only have babies with the enemies she made as a teen.

Money is made by gardening and fishing.

All kids must hate each other.

First female baby with « Charmer » trait is heir

💕 Generation 5 – Circe 💕

Circe is a beauty, she knows how to get what she wants. No one will resist her charms, and all her children will rule the world. What man can ever defy her ?

Become a spellcaster

Money is made with flower arrangements and selling potions.

Small pets are encouraged.

No males at home ! Male babies must be avoided if possible, and live separated from family if born. 

Last baby must be male, and is the heir !

💨 Generation 6 – Odysseus 💨

Pulling away from Circe’s wrath, Odysseus is lost at sea. Will he find his way home or will he stray away ?

Move far away from your mother.

Marry and have one child at home.

All other babies must result from affairs off lot - and your spouse may never know !

First baby is heir !

📏 Generation 7 – Daedalus 📏

Men repulse you, their passions are only causing pain. You want to raise children with knowledge, and protect them from the world.

You live in a tiny home with a maze around it 

Money is made however you want

In order to have a baby (or a pregnancy), Deadalus must reach level five on a skill. Each time.

 First baby is heir

🌟 Generation 8 – Icarus 🌟

Father taught you well, but you are aiming for the light. Shine, baby, shine.

Aspire for fame.

Money is made by social media and/or media production.

Only have babies with celebrities.

Die before becoming an adult.

Heir is not a child of yours but your youngest sibling (n°80).

👥 Generation 9 - Theseus 👥

You too have made it out of Deadalus’ maze. Maybe you will live longer than your brother. Even though you seem to be keen on Odysseus’ ways.

You have a lot of money from Icarus and Deadalus. 

You have two spouses : they must be siblings

Have kids alternatively with each, without them finding out.

As an elder, leave both spouses for a younger girl. 

First baby with « Independant » trait is heir.

👁  Generation 9 - The Phytie 👁 

Who will you be ? A monster or a hero ? Aren’t those the same, anyway ? Who knows what the future will hold. 

Free generation ! 

[euclarisse]

             CHARACTER  QUESTIONNAIRE    ⸺    eutask  number  one.                                       ➥    click  the  read  more  to  proceed.

001.    how  did  your  muse  find  out  about  being  a  demigod,    and  how  did  they  react    ?

          clarisse  has  always  been  under  the  impression  that  she  was  not  like  other  children    (    albeit,    mostly  because  her  brother  would  tell  her  that  she  wasn’t    )    but  she  didn’t  know  the  full  extent  of  it  until  she  was  around  fifteen  years  old.

          as  a  child,    clarisse  was  very  flippant  with  her  powers  as  she  was  never  explicitly  taught  to  hide  them  and  she  would  often  use  them  when  she  wasn’t  supposed  to.    one  of  those  times  was  during  a  field  trip  to  paris.    she  was  in  the  jardin  des  tuileries  with  her  class    ⸺    a  very  exposed  setting  for  one  so  young  and  powerful    ⸺    when  she  decided  to  use  her  cryokinesis  to  turn  the  water  in  one  of  the  fountains  to  ice.    very  quickly,    she  was  discovered  by  the  harpy,    aello,    who  wanted  to  get  back  at  khione  for  betraying  gaea,    wife  of  tartarus.    though  she  managed  to  scare  aello  away  with  her  powers,    clarisse  was  left  incredibly  shaken  by  the  whole  ordeal.

          upon  her  arrival  back  to  her  home  in  avignon,    her  parents  decided  to  inform  his  daughter  of  her  true  heritage.    at  first,    it  was  a  shock  to  the  system    ⸺    of  course  it  was.    how  often  does  anyone  learn  that  they’re  the  daughter  of  a  goddess    ?    ⸺    but  slowly  it  began  to  make  sense  to  her  why  she  had  these  unexplainable  powers  and  why  she  always  felt  at  home  in  the  cold  and  the  knowledge  became  something  of  a  comfort  to  her.

002.    how  does  your  muse’s  mortal  family  feel  about  them  being  a  demigod    ?

          it’s  a  complicated  matter.    her  parents  love  her  dearly  and  her  mother  often  likes  to  say  that  clarisse  is  her  petit  miracle  when  she’s  had  a  good  day,    but  her  siblings  are  somewhat  indifferent  nowadays.    sébastien  was  incredibly  jealous  when  they  were  little  because  her  powers  often  gained  a  lot  of  attention  from  their  parents  and  he  frequently  wished  he  could  have  her  abilities  for  himself.    he  was  something  of  a  bully  towards  her,    especially  after  she  was  officially  claimed  by  khione  in  her  teens,    but  fortunately,    he’s  mellowed  out  now.    josie,    on  the  other  hand,    has  always  been  super  relaxed  about  it,    and  even  almost  admiring  of  her  sister’s  abilities.    but  she’s  always  looked  up  to  clarisse  in  general  so  it  wouldn’t  have  changed  her  opinion  much  either  way,    and  being  much  younger  than  both  clarisse  and  sébastien,    she  doesn’t  remember  when  clarisse  was  told  so  she’s  always  known  her  sister  was  a  demigod.

003.    when  did  they  get  claimed  by  their  godly  parent    ?

          in  a  way,    clarisse  has  always  been  claimed  by  khione,    but  it  was  never  made  official  until  she  started  attending  camp  starke.    it  was  a  very  delayed  reaction,    with  many  of  the  camp  members  wondering  which  god  could  have  been  her  parent  since  khione  isn’t  exactly  well - known  in  that  region.    a  lot  of  people  thought  she  might  have  been  a  daughter  of  apollo  or  even  aphrodite,    given  her  optimistic  personality  and  blatant  beauty,    and  were  quite  surprised  when  she  was  claimed  by  neither  but  rather  by  khione  instead.

004.    did  they  attend  camp    ?

          as  a  summer  resident  at  camp  starke  in  airolo,    switzerland  for  three  years,    clarisse  thrived.    she  was  a  very  trusted  member  within  the  camp  and  took  part  in  both  the  organisation  and  distribution  of  roles  during  events.    as  one  of  the  oldest  camp  members,    it  was  usually  clarisse  who  was  assigned  to  look  after  the  younger  children  since  she  usually  had  a  few  hours  free  throughout  the  day.    she  wasn’t  the  most  fond  of  any  sort  of  weapons  training  they  had  since  she’s  generally  not  the  most  combative  and  doesn’t  particularly  like  handling  weapons,    but  she  enjoyed  joining  in  with  their  games  and  camp  traditions.    clarisse  had  always  been  very  much  a  city  girl  and  is  used  to  being  the  only  person  with  powers  for  miles,    so  being  in  the  wilderness  around  dozens  of  other  children  like  her  opened  up  her  eyes  a  little.    (    she  still  prefers  the  city,    though.    that  will  never  change.    )

005.    was  your  muse  ever  sent  on  any  quests    ?

          there  was  only  ever  one  quest.    during  clarisse’s  last  year  at  camp  stark,    there  was  were  rumours  that  the  muses  had  stopped  performing  for  the  gods.    about  three  weeks  into  her  stay,    the  camp  director  suggested  to  clarisse  that  she  may  visit  the  oracle  for  the  first  time  where  she  was  told  this  prophecy  with  the  intention  of  following  its  instructions    :

un  enfant  de  l’hiver  et  un  enfant  de  la  terre, chassera  le  vent  et  trouvera  leur  valeur. bien  que  ces  deux  visages  familiers  se  recontrent la  fin  du  voyage  n’est  peut - être  pas  douce. car  un  choix  crucial  doit - il  faire, pour  trouver  ce  qui  est  perdu  ou  tout  mettre  en  jeu.

          so  clarisse  and  another  camp  member  headed  west,    following  the  east  wind  to  the  pyrenees  where  they  would  through  the  mountains  by  car  as  it  would  be  easier  than  going  through  the  cities.    it  had  been  explained  to  them  prior  that  the  diadem  of  mnemosyne  had  been  stolen  from  calliope  after  a  performance  in  olympus,    and  that  they  were  expected  to  retrieve  it  before  zeus  found  out.    not  wanting  to  risk  the  wrath  of  the  god  of  skies,    they  were  given  a  seven - day  deadline  and  were  told  to  return  within  the  week.    they  returned  by  day  six  after  having  killed  a  nemean  lion  and  narrowly  escaping  the  grasps  of  both  scylla  and  charybdis.    the  diadem  had  been  found  in  a  temple  on  the  pic  des  spijeoles,    where  it  was  revealed  that  eris  had  stolen  it  to  get  back  at  calliope  who  had  been  caught  sneaking  around  with  harmionia’s  husband.    nevertheless,    both  clarisse  and  her  companion  were  rewarded  for  their  troubles    (    clarisse  with  a  pair  of  ballet  slippers  that  never  wear  down    )    and  they  gained  honours  from  the  muses.

006.    what’s  their  relationship  with  their  godly  parent    ?

          khione  has  been  in  and  out  of  the  prouvaires’  lives  since  before  clarisse  was  born  and  has  been  present  throughout  her  life,    whether  physically  or  not.    it’s  known  that  khione  kept  tabs  on  clarisse  and  would  send  her  small  gifts  for  her  birthdays  and  achievements.    she  would  often  appear  to  them  during  their  annual  ski  trip  to  the  swiss  alps,    where  she  was  always  introduced  as  a  family  friend.    needless  to  say,    clarisse  is  a  little  bit  biased  when  it  comes  to  khione  and  does  not  like  to  hear  a  bad  word  against  her.    although  she  knows  that  the  goddess  has  done  wrong  in  the  past,    she  often  overlooks  that  in  favour  of  her  affections  and  insists  that  she  has  changed.    to  this  day,    she  still  sees  khione  at  least  once  a  year,    and  she  still  receives  gifts  from  her,    but  only  on  her  birthday.

007.    your  muse’s  favourite  part  about  being  a  demigod    ?

          i  wouldn’t  say  there’s  any  one  particular  thing  that  clarisse  likes  above  all  else,    but  if  she  had  to  choose,    it’s  probably  her  siblings.    she’s  a  very  big  family  person  at  heart  and  has  always  made  an  effort  to  get  along  with  her  siblings,    both  mortal  and  demigod.    she  loves  that  her  family  does  nothing  but  grow,    and  she  loves  that  she  gets  to  share  a  house  with  them  and  there  are  people  who  she  can  look  up  to  and  who  can  look  up  to  her.    she  never  has  to  feel  alone  when  she  lives  with  the  knowledge  that  there  are  others  like  her  and  that  she  even  shares  blood  with  some  of  them.    she’s  also  very  fond  of  her  cryokinesis.    it’s  such  a  large  part  of  her  that  she  truly  wouldn’t  know  what  she’d  be  without  it.

008.    your  muse’s  least  favourite  part  about  being  a  demigod    ?           trigger  warning    :    anxiety.

          the  constant  fear  of  being  hunted  down  by  a  monster.    albeit,    she  doesn’t  have  to  worry  so  much  now  that  she’s  at  eonia  and  she  knows  she  is  protected  and  safe,    but  in  the  six  months  between  her  attack  and  starting  university,    she  was  living  in  a  state  of  near - constant  paranoia  that  she    (    or  her  family    )    would  be  attacked  again  and  it’s  not  something  she  ever  wishes  to  repeat.    she  has  had  panic  attacks  in  the  past  over  it  and  still  gets  nightmares  from  time  to  time,    but  at  this  point,    it’s  a  somewhat  irrational  fear,    since  she  knows  that  there  are  demigods  who  have  definitely  had  it  worse  than  her.    regardless,    it’s  still  very  real  to  clarisse  and  she  attends  therapy  every  month  just  to  keep  it  all  in  check.    she’s  also  become  a  little  dependent  on  people    (    mainly  her  friends  and  loved  ones    )    ever  since  the  harpies  attacked  her  and  doesn’t  often  like  to  be  left  alone.    that’s  not  something  a  stranger  would  ever  realise  about  her,    but  close  friends  and  family  members  definitely  have  in  the  past.

009.    what’s  your  muse’s  weapon  and  battle  proficiency    ?

          i  can  confirm  that  clarisse  absolutely  does  not  like  to  use  weapons  and  isn’t  actually  very  battle  proficient.    she  escaped  from  the  namean  lion  by  the  skin  of  her  teeth,    and  barely  got  away  from  aello.    even  though  she  used  her  aerokinesis  against  the  harpy,    she  still  managed  to  receive  some  pretty  gnarly  looking  scars  over  her  left  shoulder    (    they’re  very  visible  and  she  tends  to  get  self - conscious  about  them  when  she’s  wearing  anything  sheer  or  sleevless    ).    of  course,    attending  camp  starke  in  her  late  teens,    she  was  taught  the  basics  in  how  to  fight  and  use  weapons,    but  she  never  would  unless  it  absolutely  called  for  it.    anything  sharp  and  she  typically  tends  to  run  in  the  opposite  direction.

[thehangeddemon]

All in a Weekend’s Work || Maximus & Xavier

Xavier: Four days gone from the incident with Aello, and Xavier Atlas had done little more than brood.

Telephones had been installed, record players ordered, television sets placed. Books and music en route. The house was becoming more beautiful and whole by the day and still, he barely emerged from the library.

This had gone on for most of the week, slowly lessening as it got closer to Saturday.

On Saturday, the day he and Maximus were set to go to the pictures, he woke positively chipper, making lively conversation during mealtimes and actively wandering the house. By dinner time one could even accuse him of being giddy.

Maximus: His behavior was nothing short of bizarre come Saturday. Over the past four days he'd grown accustomed to the quiet of the house. It was as though his master had been switched with another. How fitting, considering their chosen film.

Xavier Atlas was mostly speaking into an echo chamber. Though he had recovered from Tuesday's incident, his servant had yet to shake his embarrassment.

"I should keep a film in your schedule, m'lord, if it pleases you so."

Xavier: "Yes! Marvelous notion, Maximus." The grin was simply stuck to his face. There was no removing it or dampening his excitement. "We can make it a weekly event or perhaps a biweekly one."

Maximus: What was that expression. Unnerving is what it was.

"Very good, m'lord." His face didn't match his obedience.

Xavier: "Are you looking forward to tonight?"

Maximus: The correct answer was, "Yes, m'lord."

Xavier: "When was the last time you went to the pictures?"

Maximus: This required some thought. "During the war."

Xavier: "Too long. Which film was it?"

Maximus: "From Here to Eternity."

Xavier: Ah, during Korea then. "An excellent choice. Did you enjoy it?"

Maximus: "It was realistically depressing." There, a smile for his master.

Xavier: A smile that was treasured, appreciated, and returned. "Apt analysis. Deborah Kerr did fantastic work."

Maximus: "She only wanted an idea. She could never be with someone beneath her."

Xavier: "She reminded me of the woman who...kept me for several years."

Maximus: "Kept you, m'lord?"

Xavier: "She rented a flat for me in exchange for acts of a personal nature."

Maximus: "As a human?"

Xavier: Xavier nodded. "Indeed. I believe it amused her to have a docker for a lover."

Maximus: "I see." Why did that make him feel...defensive?

Xavier: "In any case, she made it obvious I would never be at her level. And here we are now. I in a manor, and she no doubt stewing in bitterness."

Maximus: "She's still alive? Have you seen her?"

Xavier: Another nod. "Spite can sustain a person for a long time, Maximus. I saw her in passing about a year ago when I went to London. Her husband looked....utterly exhausted."

Maximus: "Why did you stay if you spite her? She didn't employ you. You weren't in chains." A bold question from his servant no doubt.

Xavier: "The spite came about precisely because I didn't stay. I was young and proud and very offended when I discovered she was also keeping someone else. She didn't take my leaving well, even less so when the other man also left."

Maximus: "So you both spite each other. I suppose you're even."

Xavier: “I did for a time but why bother anymore? It’s been decades. I’m having a lovely immortal life. Her miserable husband can have her miserable company with my compliments.”

Maximus: Maximus simply nodded and watched the ground for a moment. "Are we driving into town, m'lord?"

Xavier: “We are indeed. Unless you’d rather we transport ourselves.”

Maximus: "It's been days since you've left the house. Today I shall drive."

Xavier: "Very well," Xavier said with a nod. "Is there anything you'd like to get while we're in town?"

Maximus: "I've already seen to groceries."

Xavier: "Anything else that's pressing?"

Maximus: "No, m'lord."

Xavier: He smiled. "In that case, we'll just have a lovely evening at the pictures. As always, dinner was lovely. The shrimp especially."

Maximus: Demon or not, for wanting shrimp all week, he was concerned for his master's health.

"I'll bring the car around."

Xavier: As Maximus was learning, when Xavier was in a mood for something specific, nothing else would do.

That also applied to excitement about things he'd been looking forward to, like this outing.

"Very good." Did he sound as giddy as he felt? "I'll get my coat and hat."

Maximus: He just wanted to say, 'Are you alright, m'lord?' but refrained. After what had happened Tuesday, he couldn't bring himself to step out of the line which he had created. He was just sociable enough to appease, but not so far as to feel vulnerable. He knew he would not be punished for allowing his master to dress himself, but couldn't bring himself to not present his coat.

Xavier: That was fine by him. He wouldn’t have minded dressing himself but he minded Maximus helping him even less. He’d grown quite accustomed to it over the past couple of months.

“Shall we?”

Maximus: "I won't be but a moment." Maximus slipped into his own black coat as he headed around towards the garage. He would much rather this than the reverse of days ago.

Xavier: While Maximus made his way to the garage, Xavier made his way out to the front step.

It really seemed like the sour mood of the past few days had finally dissipated. On the surface it would appear to be because of the film but really, most of the appeal lay in getting to spend a few uninterrupted hours enjoying Maximus' company.

Maximus: Had his servant known his train of thought, he might have coaxed one of his rare blushes.

The movie theater was packed. A queue lined around the block. They had come early, but not early enough to avoid the mess.

"I didn't expect so many faces," he said under his breath.

Xavier: The crowd didn’t surprise him. It was Saturday night, after all.

“Fortunately for us, you had the foresight to purchase tickets in advance. I’ll wager a good amount of these people won’t be able to get in.”

Maximus: The line began to part. A large man with a grim face shouted for people to separate between purchased and unpurchased. His servant dared smile at his master.

"Right you are, m'lord."

Xavier: Xavier returned the smile and led them to the correct line.

“Now we get to watch the humans forget how to form a queue,” he whispered to Maximus. “They always seem to forget at the most inconvenient times.”

Maximus: "Well, we'll be ahead of them in just a moment," he whispered back.

Xavier: Despite the lines, chaos still reigned. Xavier watched it all with great amusement until they were inside the theater.

“Would you like a refreshment? Popcorn or candy?”

Maximus: "I doubt they sell nicely wrapped praline."

Xavier: “Probably not. There is peanut brittle, however.”

Maximus: "Do you know the difference between the two, m'lord?" There was cheek in that tone.

Xavier: "As a matter of fact, I do." Xavier grinned at his butler. "Peanut brittle has hard caramel and praline typically has soft caramel made with butter and cream." A man couldn't spend as much time in patisseries as he did without picking up a few things.

Maximus: A small smile followed the little lesson. "Very good, m'lord."

Xavier: The modest praise brought a very self-satisfied look to Xavier's face.  "Why thank you. So what's the verdict? Do you dare sample the brittle?"

Maximus: "Why not? What do I have to lose, m'lord. What shall I get you?"

Xavier: "What indeed. You might find you rather like it." Xavier considered for a moment. "Just popcorn, I think."

Maximus: "Caramel or butter?" he asked over his shoulder.

Xavier: "Butter, please."

Maximus: As with the tickets, the refreshments were paid for with his allowance. Their best available seats were right of the crowd of boisterous teenagers, further in the back for privacy.

"Is this alright?"

Xavier: "It's perfect." Xavier got comfortable, relieved to be away from the crowd. "Shall I place a spell around us so we can converse?"

Maximus: That caught Maximus' attention. "I - If you'd like."

Xavier: Even if they didn't talk during the film, he still would. An added layer of privacy was always to be desired.

Only Maximus would notice the way the air around them seemed to shimmer with energy and appeared to blur for a moment. The humans around them would remain completely oblivious.

Maximus: "What do we look like on the other side?" he whispered, eyes on the screen at the beautiful woman.

Xavier: "Vaguely fuzzy," Xavier murmured back. "Like a television with bad reception."

Maximus: "Won't they be suspicious?" He already felt dread for the child. This felt like a circle of Hell he might have passed through.

Xavier: "They won't notice a thing. Normal humans aren't like the ones in films. Only humans in films can perceive the depth of the world around them. Like the boy there."

Maximus: "Children are susceptible. Some humans have the gift. It's beautiful, and pitiful."

Xavier: "Some, but not all. And that's for their protection I suppose." He hummed thoughtfully. "Stunning woman."

Maximus: Even I can see that. "Yes, she is." He took a breath.

Xavier: The doctor wasn't too bad either. But dare he say that aloud...

"The doctor holds himself well."

Maximus: Would he notice that subtle straightening of his spine? "Mm."

Xavier: He would, and it made him smile around a mouthful of popcorn.

"Humans in films are also all apparently immune to delirium."

Maximus: "Not all. The grandmother was oblivious."

Xavier: "Denial is one of their few lines of defense."

Maximus: "I don't know if it's defense."

Xavier: "The English would be appalled at such familiar behavior," he chuckled.

Maximus: "You're already prepared for this. I've given you plenty of practice."

Xavier: Xavier smiled. "I prefer the American way when it relates to these matters. So much more direct. Like the way Miles rushes to Becky's aid on a mere premonition."

Maximus: "I can't say one way or another, m'lord."

Xavier: "Oh dear. Poor Becky has been copied."

Maximus: "He has a chance to save her."

Xavier: "And is doing so gallantly."

Maximus: Is she sitting in the other woman's lap? He continued to watch quietly.

Xavier: "The true human condition. Rationalizing everything."

Maximus: "We once lived in that world."

Xavier: "Feels like a thousand years ago."

Maximus: "Did you ever know, m'lord? Before..."

Xavier: "About the true depth of the world, you mean? Demons and vampires and werebeasts? I don't believe so. I was always called a hellspawn but I didn't think they existed in a literal sense."

Maximus: He had known just enough, but he didn't think it appropriate to speak.

Xavier: Xavier made a face. "How repellant."

Maximus: "I would not be surprised if there is some truth to this."

Xavier: "I wouldn't either. Perhaps some sort of spell rather than extraterrestrial origins."

Maximus: "Or combination of."

Xavier: "Very possible."

Maximus: The bodies should be burned, he frowned. The hesitation only made for the story. Ah, there it was.

Xavier: Xavier shared the sentiment. "In the immortal words of my father, one should always go for the head."

Maximus: "Hope is such a strain on the system."

Xavier: "Hope is how film heroes are made. And actual heroes, I suspect. Without it this world would be very dismal indeed."

Maximus: If you say so, he thought. Of course he would be quiet.

Xavier: "Well. Hope and bravado."

Maximus: Oh. The corner of his mouth twitched. But the more the doctor spoke, the more...something dampened his expression.

Xavier: Xavier noticed. "Are you all right, Maximus?"

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord."

Xavier: He didn't believe him, but said nothing. He simply smiled and nodded.

"There's that hope and bravado again."

Maximus: It wouldn't be such a terrible world, he thought. No love, but no reason to torment, either.

Xavier: "Such a clever doctor. Courage isn't always rewarded but intelligence should be."

Maximus: They're going to fail. This is all failure. The beginning has given away the ending.

He finally began to unwrap his peanut brittle.

Xavier: Xavier thoughtfully ate his popcorn. There was something to be admired in Becky and the doctor, in their noble heroic efforts to save humanity from an emotionless existence.

But of course what he commented on was, "The desert is such a charmless landscape."

Maximus: "I lived there...for a time."

Xavier: "In your human life?" Or in this one?

Maximus: "One year. Richard Claire." Have you heard of him? Another crossroads demon.

Xavier: The name didn't sound familiar, but then Xavier tended to steer clear of crossroads demons.

"We approach the line where bravado becomes foolishness."

Maximus: "It's already too late."

Xavier: "And suddenly we're back in our world, where those who see are madmen."

Maximus: Maximus sighed through his nose.

Xavier: "Alas, poor Miles."

Maximus: "He's going to sleep."

Xavier: "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain."

Maximus: The ending surprised the demon, genuinely represented in his expression.

Xavier: Xavier smiled. "Bravado was rewarded."

Maximus: Everyone began to stand and file out of the many rows. The peanut brittle was tucked away in his coat.

"Shall we wait, or shall I remove us?"

Xavier: "Please, allow me. I've done very little with my gifts this week."

In all the chatter and movement and excitement, it was easy to disappear from human eyes without drawing notice.

Maximus: An instinctive hand almost reached for Xavier as they appeared by the car, just managing to refrain.

"Did you enjoy yourself, m'lord?"

Xavier: "I did," Xavier said cheerfully. "Very much so. Did you?"

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord." He headed towards the passenger side door to open.

Xavier: "Care to make it a regular thing?" he asked as he entered the car.

Maximus: "You've said you want weekly picture." The door was shut behind him. He quickly settled into the driver's seat.

Xavier: "I'd also like you to accompany me, if you're agreeable."

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord." It would be foolish to deny him.

Xavier: Xavier had a feeling Maximus was only agreeing because he felt he had to, but the hope that that would lessen with time had returned. Possibly inspired by Miles and his unending hope.

"I shall open an account at the theatre." He didn't want to take from Maximus' paycheck for what would become a household expense.

Maximus: "I don't mind paying, m'lord." As it was entertainment for him, it only seemed fair.

Xavier: "I won't hear of it. I make accounts for all household expenses and I consider this as such."

Maximus: A silent sigh. "Very good, m'lord." He turned towards the highway leading towards home.

Xavier: Xavier settled in. His giddiness had evened out but he was still in excellent spirits.

"Do you have any plans for your day off tomorrow?"

Maximus: Oh. The question filled him with dread. "To...garden."

Xavier: He nodded. "Well, enjoy. Feel free to take the car into town if you need any supplies."

Maximus: "Thank you...m'lord." That wasn't all he had planned, but the things he enjoyed were done during his master's sleep.

Xavier: For his part, he planned to spend the day examining the attic, particularly the secret room Eisley set up. Setting up the household had pushed it to the back of his mind but it needed to be dealt with.

And if not dealt with, at least understood.

"As soon as the house is closed up for the night you may retire."

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord. Is there anything you wish for me to do when we return?" A quick glance was given to his master.

Xavier: Xavier shook his head. "Nothing more for tonight. I'm going to spend some time in the attic before I go to bed."

Maximus: "Will you need me? Or a duplicate?"

Xavier: "Only for a few minutes."

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord."

Xavier: "I'll call for you when I'm ready to retire."

He smiled as the manor came into view. It was already leaps and bounds ahead of where it had been two months ago and he couldn't be happier.

"This is a fine home we're building."

Maximus: The "we" was generous, in his opinion, and still, despite everything he couldn't bring himself to trust it. Already his master had done so much more than those before him, but he knew...he just knew the final chapter of this story. He felt it from between his legs, his lungs, his chest...

"That it is, m'lord."

Xavier: "You should be enormously proud of the work you've done." Xavier certainly was, but like with so many things he kept it to himself. It wouldn't do to make such declarations after the week they'd had.

"Oh, I forgot to mention. I think a raccoon is trying to ransack our trash bins."

Maximus: "It'll be gone by morning." He wondered, quietly of course, if his master was relieved to have him back to normal.

Xavier: "Excellent, thank you." Xavier was glad that Maximus was no longer any spell, of course, but his butler wasn't quite back to normal yet. At least not the normal Xavier had become accustomed to, the one before Aello's spell.

"Very well then," he said once the car stopped. "I'll be in the library. I'll call you when I'm ready."

Maximus: Maximus would appear on the other side of the car to open his door. The car would then be brought around, and he would linger.

Only little chores this late in the evening. Busywork. He felt a sense of idle hands despite the books, his violin, the bone and ivory hidden in his briefcase, the unfinished garden, the clothes which needed sewing and the shoes in need of polishing. He was needlessly restless, and he had been since Aello's magic.

Xavier: Xavier nodded his thanks to Maximus and went up to the library. He really did intend to learn more about the secret room Eisley had in the attic, despite having brooded in here for most of the week.

He'd gone through all the books, but there were still a number of ledgers and documents that needed to be examined. He would dedicate an hour or two to the task tonight and in the process, glean a better understanding for how this manor had been run before he'd seized it.

Maximus: A lethargic lap had been made around the entire home and the surrounding shed and garden before heading inside. His mind was nowhere, which was not so unusual for late in the evening, but he was aware enough to understand he was behaving atypically.

He wandered as he had the evening of his ordeal. His feet led him back to the library.

Xavier: Maximus would find Xavier poring over a ledger with a furrowed brow.

The more he looked into this, the less sense it made. Nothing he'd found so far explained Eisley's paranoia or knowledge of demon traps.

Maximus: "Is there," he cleared his throat. "Is there anything I might be able to help with, m'lord?"

Xavier: "I'm not sure," he sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. "Other than the demon trap, what's the strangest thing you've seen in this house?"

Maximus: Aside from myself? "The snakes."

Xavier: "Of course, the snakes." He fell into thoughtful silence for a few moments before getting to his feet. "Show me where you saw them."

Maximus: A quick nod. He led them back towards the attic, to the tiny door. The room was much cleaner now. The weeping statues placed in their forever home.

"Here." He pointed to the child-sized door and the wall between the door and the tiny window. "Along here and against the door." As though they were guarding it.

Xavier: "Snakes surrounding a small door beyond which lies a prison cell for a demon," Xavier mused, considering the area. Definitely not something found in the home of a recluse.

"How much dust was in the small room?"

Maximus: "A fair bit." He looked around, as though he might find something new. "There is a spell, m'lord, that we might try. It was one...I learned from another master."

Xavier: A fair bit. Attics were more prone to dust than other parts of a house but even so, he would estimate that the room had been prepared some time ago. Perhaps even before Xavier had started watching Eisley.

All the more reason to find out why.

"What does this spell do?"

12:39 AM] Maximus: "It...is a spell to rewind time. As a viewer. The price is...one I will make. We can see when the space was made, how many knew, what he was doing, all of it safely without interacting."

Xavier: The spell sounded very convenient and useful but he couldn't ignore the caveat.

"What is the price?"

Maximus: "It ages the body the spellcaster inhabits," he said coolly.

Xavier: “Absolutely not. We’ll do this the old fashioned way on Monday.”

Maximus: "M'lord?"

Xavier: “We will pry intensively into Damien Eisley’s life and if no answers present themselves, we shall consider some sort of artifact or other type of magic.”

Maximus: "I've cast the spell before, m'lord," he said quietly. "This is your home. You deserve answers. If you so desire, we can hire someone to cast for us."

Xavier: "And I shall get them. at no cost to either of us." He wouldn't have Maximus subjected to detrimental magic. There were many ways to get answers.

"I'll continue to dig on Monday and see what I can find. Incidentally, how difficult was it to get rid of the snakes?"

Maximus: He was beginning to wonder if Aello had left some of his magick behind. This was nothing. Xavier didn't want an old man tending to his whims.

"Not difficult at all. They didn't seem to mind."

Xavier: "If you had to wager a guess, would you say it was a spell that required...finesse? Experience?"

Maximus: His servant stared for a moment before catching himself. "I think they were just...allured by the ward."

Xavier: "Ah, I see. The snakes themselves weren't magical, they were ordinary snakes drawn here by whatever protected the door."

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. That made more sense. "Interesting that it happened to be snakes that were lured here," he mused. "And very appropriate. It does make one wonder just what type of magic created the ward."

Maximus: "I can't imagine a frail hermit standing on a ladder making what we saw."

Xavier: "Determination can move mountains, but no. I can't either. Eisley had no magic, of that I'm certain. He had to have hired someone who did or at the very least consulted with someone who did."

Maximus: "M'lord, I can make that spell work. We don't know how far back we must go. It could be nothing."

Xavier: "I appreciate you offer and your willingness to pay the price the spell demands, but if we find we must use it, that price will be paid by someone else. Cannon fodder can always be found."

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord." He didn't realize he was staring at his master's hands again. He looked up to catch his gaze and sighed. "Never a dull moment."

Xavier: "Indeed. Let us hope tomorrow brings a few."

Xavier checked his watch. He should probably go to bed. It wasn't terribly terribly late but he didn't feel like poring over more ledgers or documents. He'd leave it for the morning.

"Come. Let us retire."

Maximus: The ritual he'd come to look forward to, quietly as everything else. The simplicity and silence was almost a meditation. Always first his coat, and then his master's cufflinks. He took special lingering care in the act. As though the bits of gold and silver were more precious than their physical price.

Xavier: It was something Xavier looked forward to as well. No matter how busy they were throughout the day or what had happened or what state their relationship was in that day, this ritual guaranteed a few moments of closeness. Formal perhaps, but it still brought them together.

Maximus: "Will that be everything?" he would always ask once reaching his belt. Some nights he expected the command...the one given by those before him. Some, as opposed to each night.

Xavier: "Yes, thank you, Maximus." And of course, the command wouldn't come. Xavier would put on his dressing gown and finish disrobing once Maximus had left.

Since Maximus didn't sleep, he said, "Enjoy your night."

Maximus: "Thank you, m'lord," was followed by a soft smile. And for his next routine, keeping as silent as a church mouse while Xavier settled. He would walk the grounds and make a list of everything which needed to be done during the daylight hours.

Xavier: There would be very little settling this night.

Rather than carry him into dream land, Xavier's thoughts kept drifting to the small room upstairs. A demonic prison cell in the home of a professor of Russian literature. It made no sense.

It would make sense if Eisley was aware that Xavier had been watching him but there was little evidence of that. All they had to go on was that room, the snakes, and whatever information was yet to be uncovered in the library.

Maximus: Maximus had finally retreated to his modest bedroom. A book was unearthed from his briefcase, where most of his possessions remained. He'd long ago given up making a room his own. Few masters had threatened to burn it should he not reveal its contents. Most didn't care enough to inquire. It was just easier, both mentally and physically when traveling between ownership.

He would not check his watch again until midnight. Only to be checked once more at 1 in the morning.

The book was placed on his pillow. Slowly, carefully, the violin case was removed from the depths of his briefcase.

Xavier: By the time midnight came and went Xavier had given up on sleeping. His eyes simply wouldn't stay closed every time he tried; his mind was far too busy.

So he got up and slipped into his dressing gown. Perhaps he would go to the library to look at the blueprints again. The house was large, there had to be somewhere they hadn't yet explored.

He'd find out either way.

Maximus: The house was eerily quiet, as it had been for hours. As it was almost every night. With one exception, which was made every night at this time. Xavier Atlas' servant crossing the span of the house towards the front door with his case clutched in a gloved hand.

Xavier: Maximus wasn't the only one crossing the span of the house.

Xavier reached the landing separating the two wings of the house just in time to catch sight of his butler emerging into the foyer.

He quickly--and silently--took half a step back, concealing himself behind the wall as he watched Maximus. He was carrying something. Was that...a violin case?

Why was Maximus taking a violin case outside?

Maximus: Not just outside. He was taking it well away from Xavier Atlas' ears. Teleportation ran the risk of his master's awareness, which went against the very point.

He had a walk ahead of him. The same walk he'd made almost every night for the past month.

Xavier: Well this was far more intriguing than the mess with the attic.

Xavier waited until the door had closed to sneak downstairs. Maximus was going out the front so he would go out the back and plot a course from there.

Unless his butler planned to take the car somewhere, there were only two places he could go; the garden or the woods. Either way Xavier would carefully and silently follow.

Maximus: His path led into the woods heading opposite of the town. He had taken many a night in those woods in search for the perfect private patch. The trees muffled much, but he'd been more cautious than to trust only nature. A mile into his hike, a small abandoned cottage on its last legs appeared from behind a mass of old sleeping trees. A tiny gravestone beside a tree with a broken swing. Gentle fingers greeted the top as he passed. The weathered heavy door opened with a groan and was shut behind him.

Xavier: Xavier couldn't help but notice that Maximus was walking with purpose. Direction. Whatever this was, it wasn't a one-off thing; his butler had done this before. Perhaps multiple times.

He followed quite a few yards behind, grateful for the cover of the trees and the magic that muffled his movements to near silence so long as he moved slowly.

He was beginning to wonder how long they were going to walk when the cottage came into view. He hadn't ventured into this part of the woods when he had hunted Eisley so the small, dilapidated building came as a complete surprise. How long had it taken Maximus to find it? And what exactly did he plan to do once he was inside?

Maximus: Minutes within with only a gentle clack of the violin case and a soft tuning. His master would catch a word of regard to the gravestone.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Emily."

The gentle melodious tune of Vivaldi, Concerto in A Minor RV 356 barely escaped the broken windows.

Xavier: Xavier had never been more grateful for his supernatural hearing than he was this night.

Without it he never would’ve properly heard what Maximus began to play, would’ve never known the talent and passion put into every last note, would’ve never known the poignant beauty of Maximus coming out here and playing to the moon and the trees and a grave.

Concealed, he closed his eyes and listened.

Maximus: After finishing his first piece, the violin and bow were placed on a nearby table. His coat removed and tie loosened. The first two buttons of his shirt were undone as well, allowing the cool night air to kiss his chest.

The instrument was brought back to position. What to play next? He thought of Xavier and their thieving night.

He began to play La Campanella, a smile on his face.

Xavier: Xavier used the brief interlude to make himself comfortable. He concealed himself behind an obliging group of shrubbery, casting a spell over himself to ensure complete obstruction.

The first few notes of the next piece had a smile curving his lips. A very difficult choice, one he’d seen many pianists get frustrated over but which Maximus played with ease.

Maximus: The night would continue with little pause from his servant. Pendulating between three Italian composures. Some Paganini, then Vivaldi, and a finish of Bazzini. It was Bazzini where he would softly curse under his breath. La Ronde des Lutins was played multiple times until satisfied. A sensation which he would not achieve until his hair had come loose from its perfect part, a growl of frustration, and a slow, deep exhale.

Xavier: And all of it would be enjoyed by Xavier. The perfect pieces and the sad pieces and particularly the piece that was giving Maximus so much trouble.

At one point he'd found himself unable to resist the temptation of getting a peek at what his butler's frustration looked like and he was not disappointed.

Maximus looked every bit the accomplished violinist, beautiful with his disheveled hair and open shirt and overcome with passion for the sake of his art. The toy soldier Xavier had come to know was nowhere to be found in this moment and he was utterly enchanted.

Maximus: He would see Maximus check his watch, glance out one of the nearer windows, gauging where the sun might be in the next two hours. He should get back; he'd indulged by being gone for so long. The frustrations of the attic, his silent lust, his lingering embarrassment. This was his only sure method of catharsis.

He faced the door. Just one more, he told himself. He started back on La Follia, only reaching a minute in before dropping his bow to his side. Eyes closed, head tilted back to the ceiling. There he stood, statuesque. The silence much louder than his violin.

Xavier: Xavier hadn’t given a single thought to the approaching dawn. As it was Maximus’ day off, his butler wouldn’t be dressing him and thus would not know that Xavier was not in his bed. There was no rush at all to get back to his bedroom.

Or so he thought, until Maximus went still and caused Xavier to do the same. He was completely hidden from view, had scarcely moved at all. Surely his presence hadn’t been detected.

Maximus: Freedom or not, he'd had no intention of being caught so far away from the house. He would usually be found in the gardens or tucked away in his room. It was how he liked to play his time off. Something safe and reasonable to a new owner.

But he just couldn't will himself to move. He lived in the presence of silence, the random chatter of wildlife and the whisper of breeze against dead and dying leaves.

He took another breath through his nose, taking in the scent of the house, its dust and wood and decay; the old abandoned clothes and forgotten dried herbs left hanging in the hallway.

"His name is," another breath, whispered, "Xavier."

Xavier: Not a single breath was taken as Xavier waited to see if he'd been discovered. After Maximus' playing the woods seemed eerily silent and still, riding the line between unsettling and peaceful.

Just when he thought that perhaps he should be getting back, his own name fell from Maximus lips, soft as anything.

His name. Xavier's name. Spoken in his quiet, private moment by this beautiful violinist.

Maximus: "What am I supposed to do, Emily?" continued in whisper. The bow weighed far too much to be returned to the violin. He'd carried with him the weight of responsibility, of etiquette, of memories and lust on his shoulders. So tired he was to take a seat on a dust covered chair, violin and bow on the floor, head in his hands. He wanted so much to cry, but what frightened him more was how dry he felt inside.

Xavier: He's speaking to the grave, Xavier realized. Seeking comfort and counsel from a woman long ago passed to the afterlife.

About him.

Something about him, or perhaps about their relationship, was causing Maximus distress. Had Xavier done something wrong? Made a misstep he hadn't noticed or thought nothing of? Had he hurt Maximus?

He must have. His butler was sitting in a dilapidated shack trying not to cry.

Maximus: Her death was one he could relate to in some measure. Though she had not died as shamefully as he, it had been her choice. Having lived a life so fragile, every day a bleed, a cough, a fight for breath, arguing each day with Death had become a chore. Yet she had tolerated her wretched body for thirty-six years.

Her soul was long gone. There was no wraith to greet him. He'd learned everything he could about her from touch spells throughout the house. No one there, and yet he'd grown accustomed to talking to air. She was his friend.

"Please, take it out of me."

Xavier: Take what out of you, Maximus? What have I done to leave you in this state? Tell me so I might fix it.

Safe inside the protection of his spell, Xavier heaved a long sigh. A beautiful night was turning into a tumultuous morning.

He knew he should probably be getting back but he couldn't find the will. He didn't want to leave Maximus like this, despite the fact that his butler had no idea he was here.

He wanted to heal what was hurt, to offer comfort. But how could he, when he was the source of whatever needed to be soothed? How could he do anything at all if he didn't know what was wrong?

Maximus: Maximus abruptly got to his feet, gathering his bow and violin for the case. He'd wasted too much time for himself here. Regardless of his time off, he wanted to have breakfast ready under a cloche before his master's wake.

He began putting himself back together. Straightening, buttoning, smoothing himself into an image worthy of pride.

Xavier: And just like that, the toy soldier was back. Prim and proper, all present and correct.

For the first time since knowing Maximus, Xavier mourned that fact.

With another sigh, he started his journey back to the house. He'd come around the back just as before, taking advantage of his head start to quickly sneak back upstairs and into his bedroom before he could be discovered.

It was just as well he planned to spend the day ensconced in the library and the attic. It gave him ample opportunity to brood.

Maximus: Through the front door not long after his master. To the servant's quarters to do away with his case, his jacket, gloves, and a cursory glance in his mirror. After a quick wash, he retreated to the kitchen. An English breakfast for his English master.

Xavier: His English master had gotten started on his brooding by taking a bath.

He only wished he had a glass of wine with him to make the hot water that much more effective.

His mind was in both quiet, haunted chaos and near delirious joy. Last night had made him privy to such a beautiful part of Maximus, and yet he couldn't enjoy it. Xavier felt guilty for causing his butler such trouble and upset that he hadn't been able to finish playing, more so because he had no idea what he'd done.

And to top it all off, it being Maximus' day off meant there would be no lovely dressing ritual.

Maximus: What there would be, is a tray waiting for him in the library. Beans, tomatoes, two poached eggs, sausage, mushrooms, and toast. Half of the house was filled with various smells which would linger until noon. No wine. Only tea.

No sign of his servant, either.

Xavier: Xavier dressed himself and made his way to the library with a sour expression, one that fell away the moment he spotted the covered tray on the table.

Despite the night’s upset, Maximus had taken time from his day off to make him breakfast.

“Lucifer, give me strength,” he sighed as he sat to eat.

Maximus: He would not find his servant for the rest of the day. Not unless he looked outside. There he would find him in brown trousers and a shirt one size too large with rolled up sleeves and sleeve garters. His hair was less than perfect, but the various plants were not judgmental.

Xavier: Oh, he would look outside, but not from the library window. That would've been too obvious, and put him at risk for discovery.

No, Maximus would be watched from the kitchen window when Xavier went downstairs to do his breakfast dishes.

He was glad that Maximus felt relaxed enough not to be quite so polished while he gardened. He liked the tousled, windswept appearance of him, the concentration as he worked, all of it. Xavier liked all of Maximus very much.

Now he just had to figure out what the bloody hell to do about it.

Maximus: From behind, Xavier would hear the gentle approaching footsteps of another. The explanation was fastened to Maximus' wrist. His same hand with three irregular scrapes.  The one which, if carefully observed, carried with it a long thin scar, curved at the inward tip.

A respectable version of Maximus appeared in the doorway, watching the watcher.

Xavier: Xavier heard the approach of one of Maximus' shadows too late to hide the fact that he was staring out the window at the original Maximus, but rather than turn quickly to save face he stayed staring a few moments longer.

After all, his butler had complete access to his shadows' memories and Xavier found himself wondering how Maximus would react to the knowledge that he was watching him.

Perhaps it could serve as a guide for what followed.

When he finally turned he said, "I did intend for all of you to have the day off but since you're here, you can help me rifle through Eisley's personal documents in the library."

Maximus: The taciturn shadow's mouth twitched. Not quite hidden, not quite obvious. He bowed, gestured towards the hallway leading out of the kitchen. Maximus would have no knowledge of Xavier's observations until collecting his duplicates. For now, he was innocent.

Xavier: Xavier nodded and took them up to the library. The work table and desk were positively strewn with documents and ledgers and even a few journals. It was an unholy mess.

"All right then. We're looking for anything that might explain why Eisley had a demon cell. Letters from an enemy, paranoid ramblings, delusional ramblings, things of that nature. Anything magical. Oh, and if you feel a sinister energy coming off of something, don't open it. Hand it directly to me."

Maximus: Once in a while, seemingly from nowhere, his servant demonstrated a sense of humor. His shadows were no exception. The room was given an upside-down cross, a demonic blessing of good will, and a mirthful smile.

Xavier: He laughed. Regardless of the frequency or the reason, humor from Maximus was always a joy to see.

"May your blessing help us, my dear. You take the desk, I'll take the table."

Maximus: The creature, the shadow, the twin, whatever title given, he was not Maximus. He could not sense things as wholly as his true self. He did not blush and turn away to the pet name. Instead ignoring for his appointed task. A stack of books was placed to the side and felt, leafed through, and piled anew.

Xavier: Many of the documents dealt with the household finances and the construction of the house. There were several years of bills of sale, a preliminary set of plans, correspondence between Eisley and the architect who designed it and the foreman of the team who had built it.

There was the occasional letter from a friend or a colleague, the odd train ticket from trips all over the state. And surprisingly...

"More things from Russia," Xavier said thoughtfully, looking over a bill from a hotel in St. Petersburg. "He actually traveled there, more than once from the look of things. Have you found anything Russia related?"

Maximus: His second Maximus looked up for his master's attention. It could have been nothing at all, but that was not for him to decide. He crossed the room to the table and placed a ticket stub on top of Xavier's open book. It was Russian, and written in haste ink in the corner: Кни��а No 9.

Xavier: "Ah, thank you, darling." The lack of blush or protest was making him very liberal with the endearments, not that he noticed or did it on purpose. It felt extremely natural.

Xavier squinted at the note. "I just saw that somewhere...." He looked around for the bills of sale he'd just been rifling through and rifled through it again. "There was one here from a book shop that had that same thing written on the bottom...here it is! It and several other titles were purchased, although this one has no author listed and no price."

Maximus: He made the universal gesture to open. Should you? He held his hand out. I'll do it.

Xavier: Xavier understood perfectly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. For all we know this volume, whatever it is, may not even be here. When we cleaned the library out I didn't come across any mysterious, author-less tomes. If it's in the house, it's not in here. We'll have to find it."

Maximus: The duplicate thought for a moment. His intelligence was the same as the man outside in the garden. Words were unfortunately, not his strong suit.

He pointed up. The attic, of course.

Xavier: He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, seems like the logical place to begin. Come on, then.”

Interesting how this all came back to Eisley’s obsession with Russia, Xavier thought as he led them upstairs. It made him wonder how it all began. Something had to have sparked it, a person didn’t develop life-consuming obsessions out of nowhere.

Once the attic, he sighed and looked around for a few moments. “Do you....sense anything?”

Maximus: This little game of charades was going to humor the original before evening set. The mimic pointed to the floor. He pried an invisible something. Do you see? He pointed to the walls and hammered. If something was in this room, which was for the most part blank, then by his logic it was underneath, or behind.

Xavier: “No....surely he wouldn’t—well...” This was the same man who’d created a demonic prison cell in his attic; it wouldn’t be completely implausible for him to take a page out of the Tell-Tale Heart and hide something in the floorboards.

“....We’re going to need a crowbar.”

Maximus: A single finger, and then pointed to himself. He headed for the door.

Xavier: “Very well.”

While Maximus’ shadow fetched what they needed, Xavier began to slowly walk around the room, concentrating on anything that felt off or amiss. If he could pick up on something then maybe they could avoid tearing into the floor and the walls at random.

He really didn’t want to have to refinish the attic, no matter how much he wanted answers.

“Where the hell did you put it, you old hermit...”

Maximus: A few minutes passed before footsteps ascended towards the mysterious attic. Replaced by the well-groomed mute was the original. A smudge of dirt on his forehead. Sleeves still rolled with his garters, a crowbar and hammer in hand. Perhaps also of note would be the soft flush on his cheeks.

"M'lord..."

Xavier: Xavier blinked in surprise, not having expected to see actual Maximus until tomorrow.

Lucifer in Hell, he looked beautiful.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing.”

Maximus: "Never while you're working. I wish...you had told me." When you were watching me.

Xavier: “I didn’t want to disturb you. I almost told your shadow to go relax with you.”

Maximus: "It - That - " He just shook his head. "Where would you like to start?"

Xavier: Was Xavier staring? He felt like he was staring. He was so unused to seeing Maximus like this. He felt like he needed to look as much as he could in case he never got another opportunity.

“Right, yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t seem to feel anything out of the ordinary, although that could be because the book itself isn’t extraordinary. Truthfully, I’m trying to avoid destroying the room.”

Maximus: He had to remain focused on their task at hand or else he'd lose his thoughts. It had been his choice to come up here, knowing what he'd seen, what his master had seen, what he had said. What he had hoped by doing so he couldn't say. It was impulse. He felt Aello's spell had never truly abandoned him.

"If we had a piece of the book, I could find it easily," he managed in a clear and present voice.

Xavier: “No chance of that, I’m afraid,” he sighed, willing himself to remember what they were doing up here. “All I have is the name. I’m not even sure it’s the real name. The bill of sale just said book number 9.”

Maximus: "Would he try to be clever about it? Nine steps...nine planks...nine somethings? Was he that type of man?"

Xavier: “I didn’t think he was, but apparently he’s full of surprises.” Xavier looked around again. “Should we try walking nine steps from the small door and looking under the floor there?” It might lead to nothing but they had to start somewhere and this was the most logical place to start.

Maximus: Another one of those smiles, something not quite there, but obviously something of note. Hidden as he stared at the floor and took to position. "Something between our steps. You have bigger feet." It seemed his days off were the prime opportunities for jokes.

Xavier: Only partially hidden. Xavier noted and saw it perfectly well, quietly thrilled to be the cause for it. Maximus' smiles were so rare; each one was something to be treasured.

"Very well," he chuckled. "You take nine steps and I'll take nine steps and we'll split the difference."

Maximus: So, nine steps brought them near the center of the room. Eyes up to the sigil.

"Could it really be that?" he mumbled to himself.

Xavier: ".....Perhaps," he said after a few moments' consideration. "This is the only place it would make sense to keep a mysterious Russian book other than the library. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check."

Maximus: "This malnourished hermit thought a demon was going to appear out of a book?" It made the most sense. The room, the sigil, the lonely chair and table. This was someone's potential prison cell.

Xavier: "Stranger things have happened. It could be that that's why the snakes were drawn here, partly at least. It's a terrible cliche but thanks to our lord and savior they are drawn to us."

Maximus: "Hmm." Our Lord and savior, he said. He didn't feel that Lucifer really attached to either of them. He felt, even at the worst of times, only incidentally demonic.

"I'm not...terribly inclined to have our kin in the house."

Xavier: "I can't say I am either." Xavier thought for a moment. "Should we draw in the gap in the demon trap first? We can always pry up the floorboards telepathically."

Maximus: "Is that a specialty of yours, m'lord?"

Xavier: “Telepathy? Somewhat. I’ve had lots of practice over the years.”

Maximus: "And...everyone's demanded more hands of me, so..." Which gave him an idea. "One of my replicas can search."

Xavier: "Won't they get trapped?"

Maximus: "I can take off the watch."

Xavier: "Would you taking off the watch protect your shadow?"

Maximus: "They always return."

Xavier: "But you feel what they feel, correct? So if whatever is potentially under the floor hurts your shadow, they hurt you."

Maximus: You're worrying about me again. And now Maximus was staring. "To a degree, m'lord," said softly.

Xavier: Xavier's answering gaze was steady, soft, and unwavering. "I won't put them or you in harm's way," he said gently. "The floor can be torn open with our powers and we can observe from a safe distance."

Maximus: "I'm not very good with telepathy, m'lord. It's why I suggest my men." His confession was given with square shoulders and sheepish eyes.

Xavier: "That's no trouble at all. I was already planning to tear up the floor. The method of doing so is the least our worries. What we should do is find some more white paint for the demon trap."

Maximus: "I'll go purchase some. The old cans found on my arrival were dry." A quick bow, he headed for the attic door.

Xavier: "Thank you. And Maximus?"

Maximus: "Yes, m'lord?" He turned to face him completely.

Xavier: I appreciate you sending one of your shadows to help me, and for taking time out of your day off to help me. You didn't have to but I'm grateful for your assistance. Thank you very much."

Maximus: "M'lord, there is no such thing as a day off." But he didn't want his master to feel upset. Which made no sense why it should matter outside of self-preservation, but still he said, "I want to help."

Xavier: Xavier smiled softly at Maximus. He wondered if his butler had any idea how unique that made him.

"Thank you for that, too."

Maximus: "Please, m'lord, don't look for the book until I'm back? For your...safety." Was that too strong?

Xavier: The smile remained in place as Xavier nodded. “You have my word.”

Maximus: Then he would hold him to it. Another bow, much slower this time, and turning once more. Again, just as slowly, as though reluctant to leave.

After quick grooming, his servant disappeared into town. A small can of white paint was purchased. A handkerchief dabbed to his nose as he thanked the cashier. Around the corner of the store, and he would disappear again. Another piece of cloth ruined for the sake of being discreet.

Xavier: While Maximus went to get what they needed, Xavier returned to the library, hoping to find more information about this mysterious book now that he knew what they were looking for.

Eisley had studied every other book he owned; surely he’d studied this one. Why get it otherwise?

Maximus: His servant could be seen from the entranceway. Just his shoulders and some of his head. Trying to wipe the last bit of blood from his nose. Without a mirror, he was simply guessing.

Xavier: Sensing the presence, Xavier looked out the window. Ah, Maximus was back.

He tapped on the window to get his butler’s attention. “Maximus,” he said at a normal volume. “Library.”

Maximus: Of course he heard. He nodded and gestured. Coming, m'lord.

His coat was shrugged away before making his appearance. "Have you found anything?" A pause. "M'lord?"

Xavier: "Absolutely nothing," Xavier sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand it. This was a man who took extensive notes on and analyzed nearly every piece of literature in his collection, especially if it was Russian. Why not study what was probably the most arcane and interesting text he owned?"

Maximus: "Safety, perhaps? He didn't want others to know about it? One of the most dangerous things a man can do is put words to paper."

Xavier: He nodded thoughtfully. "Very plausible. But if that's the case, how did he discover its existence? And why that particular volume? We know from the title that there are at least nine in total, so why that one?"

Xavier heaved a long sigh. "We have too many questions and too few answers."

Maximus: "May I speak freely, m'lord?"

Xavier: "Please."

Maximus: Maximus gently raked his teeth over the corner of his bottom lip. "From what you've described to me, perhaps this is not as deep as we assume. He could have just happened on the book."

Xavier: "You think there could be a chance this was all...well, chance?" It would make sense. If Eisley was interested in the supernatural, there would be more to show for it.

Maximus: "For him not to have anything else in the house, m'lord, it feels more likely the more we learn."

Xavier: Xavier nodded thoughtfully. "I rather think you might be right. For all we know, it was an impulse purchase that went very, very wrong."

Maximus: A single nod. "I shall repair the roof. I will come to you when I've finished." He bowed once and turned away.

Xavier: "Not so fast, I'm coming with you. I'm trusting that attic less and less by the moment."

Maximus: His command stuttered his pace to a sudden halt, looking back towards his master with a face of mixed emotions. Most of which were swallowed down to a single expression of patience.

Xavier: Xavier offered him a smile. "If it turns out to be nothing, you have full permission to accuse me of being paranoid. Until then, I'm protecting you from the attic."

Maximus: "Protection which will be rewarded with your favorite meal when this is put to rest, m'lord." He managed a smile of his own more professional than what he was feeling.

Xavier: "Reward is not necessary but is very appreciated." He would also be giving Maximus hazard pay but there was no need to bring that up at the moment.

Xavier led the way back up to the attic, half expecting something to be up there waiting for them.

"If we don't have one of those long paintbrushes, I propose we tie the paintbrush to the end of the poker to avoid accidentally getting stuck."

Maximus: "I'm going to bring a ladder. I want this trap sealed properly. I'll work from the inside out, of course." Another one of those pauses. "If, that is, your lordship is comfortable with my plan."

Xavier: "Yes, of course. As long as you place the ladder well outside the trap and tie the brush to the poker."

Maximus: Well, then. Would his master catch the deep expansion of his chest and the slow exhale via nostrils?

Xavier: He would, and while normally he wouldn't make this much of a fuss, this situation was very much an exception.

"I ask only that you indulge your employer's paranoia, my dear."

Maximus: Now he would see what the duplicates could not react to. The stutter of his breath, the warmth of his cheeks, the way he could no longer maintain his gaze.

Xavier: Xavier smiled softly to himself, suddenly filled with a sort of calm, quiet confidence he hadn't had this morning in the kitchen.

But he would think about that later on. They had pressing business.

"I'll tie the brush to the poker. You fetch the ladder."

Maximus: He wanted to say, 'yes, m'lord' as so often the custom, but he could not open his mouth. Instead bowing and retreating from the room to rub his face with both hands.

Take it out of me.

He would return with the ladder, rolled sleeves, and a black apron accentuating his figure. He knew the sigil by heart, and knew which symbols needed the most repair. So long as the circle remained incomplete, he was safe. He would insist if his master said otherwise.

Xavier: Xavier entered the small room not long after Maximus, brow furrowed slightly as he tightened the knot securing the brush and poker together before handing it to his butler.

He kept a close eye on the repainting process, making sure Maximus didn't accidentally paint himself inside.

When there was just a small gap left, he reached for the poker-brush. "Down you get, Maximus."

Maximus: He would have argued if not for the indisputable pull to obey. Down as he was instructed. The brush clenched in his right hand. A few little white dots littered his forearms. A single drop on his left cheek, amongst his many freckles.

"I can finish on this side, m'lord. It's not going to take my hand."

Xavier: And here it was. A more perfect opportunity could not have been asked for, and to waste it would not only be criminal, but incredibly stupid.

"It might," he said softly, lifting his hand ever so carefully to Maximus' face to wipe away the paint on his cheek. "Better safe than sorry."

Maximus: Two months ago, his toy soldier would have said and done nothing. A perfectly stone face, eyes forward. He'd grown unfortunately accustomed to monsters and their insatiable needs. One month ago, he might have flinched and apologized. Not accustomed to this particular monster.

Maximus was frozen. Eyes locked on his master and chest aching. One, two, three quick and heavy breaths before he realized his body's reaction. Xavier was so warm, gentle...

"I-" Don't be stupid. Eyes forward. An attempt was made for composure. "I understand," he managed to pluck from thin air.

Xavier: Xavier watched Maximus intently, waiting for him to recoil or turn away or something. But none of that happened. Maximus simply froze, his breathing quickened. His heart probably raced.

"Good." His hand lingered meaningfully a few moments longer, thumb gently brushing Maximus' cheek again under the pretext of more paint. It felt like an eternity before Xavier finally lowered it.

Maximus: His servant swallowed thickly. He wanted to look down at that hand. This moment had been contemplated for days, weeks. At first, it had been shameful fantasy out of desperation. So the inevitable would be less scarring. But Xavier had yet to change course. He could be wrong; he'd been wrong before. A particularly cruel master pursuing a lengthy torture spurred by false hope. That's what Master Atlas was going to be.

But his intuition whispered doubt. Xavier maintained his humanity. Time and again he protected, refused to sell, refused to take advantage of his power.

Take this emotion out of me.

"M'lord..." his mouth was impossibly dry. His tongue was of no help to his lips. "We should...I must see to the sigil."

Xavier: It took a bit for Maximus' words to penetrate. Xavier was too focused on his expressions and reactions and breathing, on the way his tongue darted out to try to moisten his lips.

Had they gone dry? Was his touch the cause? What was running through that mind of his?

The sigil....oh! "Right, yes. Of course."

Xavier wouldn't dash away like a child caught misbehaving; he just took a step to the side to allow Maximus access. His gaze never left his butler's face.

Maximus: It was now Maximus' turn to hesitate. His cheek suddenly felt frozen without Xavier there.

But there was work to be done. Whatever that moment was, his master was finished. He had to force himself to return to task.

The last of the sigil was completed. The room felt much colder and less inviting, as often the energy with such wards. He took a step back to admire his work, back nearly hitting the wall.

Xavier: Xavier felt the change in energy immediately. He had been fortunate enough to only be in a trap two or three times, but the things still filled him with a deep foreboding.

He took a deep breath. "Right then." He moved toward the doorway and motioned for Maximus to do the same. They needed to get a comfortable amount of distance away while still keeping the whole room in sight.

"Stand behind me."

Maximus: At this point, the little attic room was nothing more than a distraction. One which he would gladly take if only to save face. He positioned himself as commanded, quietly, and occupied himself by closing the paint.

Xavier: Placing himself firmly between Maximus and the spot he'd be tearing up, Xavier took another deep breath and focused.

After a moment or two, they'd both be able to feel the floor beneath their feet tremble ever so slightly. There would be a creak, a groan, and the first of several planks would come loose with a loud crack.

Maximus: Maximus watched from around his master's shoulder. Anticipation for something of value underneath the floorboards. Yet the sight of a thick, leather-bound book layered in dirt still came as a mild surprise. His theory had been valid. He felt of greater value.

"Very good, m'lord."

Xavier: Xavier couldn't quite tell if he was relieved or not, but he was smiling nonetheless. "I should be saying that to you. Excellent work, Maximus. You were right. And now..."

It took some maneuvering, but Xavier managed to lift the book out of its hiding place and keep it in the air while he replaced all the floorboards.

"Now the question is, do we open it?"

Maximus: "I...would rather not, but this is not my house. I would sooner burn it."

Xavier: "That's not a bad idea. If it was bad enough to hide, it's bad enough to keep closed."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Is there a barrel or bin we can use to burn it in?"

Maximus: "One - There's one in the woods, I think. I'll fetch it. I should think we need salt for good measure."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. "Yes, we probably should. While you're getting the bin, I'll get the salt." The book would be fine in the demon trap. Technically, it hadn't ever left the demon trap, only changed levels slightly.

Maximus: He wanted to look back at the book one last time. He wanted to feel the texture with his fingertips, but of course neither of them would be handling it. It was better this way, surely. The barrel was found by foot, half a mile from the house, and returned on his shoulder. These were work clothes, and he would not mourn the loss of them should they scuff.

Xavier: It was indeed better this way. Xavier was growing exceedingly fond of his home and the things within it; he didn't want to see any of it harmed or destroyed by whatever was in that book.

After making a stop in his bedroom to grab his gloves, he went to the kitchen to get the salt. Every single precaution had to be taken.

Maximus: Maximus awaited in the driveway. His go-to for burning, as no flora would be harmed in doing so. Was this everything they needed? Would this be enough to destroy whatever the book contained? And then there would be no mystery left within the house. Save for the one between himself and his master.

Xavier: Gloves on and salt in hand, Xavier returned to the attic to free the book. Moments later the front door would open and said book would float out, followed a few feet later by Xavier.

"Should we put salt in the barrel as well as the perimeter outside it?"

Maximus: "I think so, m'lord. Do we have enough salt for both?"

Xavier: "Perhaps. Let's do the perimeter first and if we have any left, we'll put it in the barrel."

Maximus: He didn't think he would need gloves for this. All he intended to handle was the barrel and the kindle. Lighter fluid intended to saturate the book. "M'lord, are you... There is nothing else we'll need? We're certain?"

Xavier: "Well...." He considered the scene before him. He trusted the salt to keep anything malicious contained, but there had to be a reason Eisley had taken so many precautions.

"Do you think we should paint another trap?"

Maximus: "We have enough paint."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. "Let's paint another trap. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." He was just full of proverbs today.

Maximus: Of which would cause a twitch to Maximus' mouth. "Wise you are, m'lord. A few more minutes and this will be over." He excused himself for the paint. This would need to be removed from the driveway before anymore grocery runs, but as his master had stated, the effort was worth the reward.

Xavier: "Thank you, Maximus," he said with a smile, keeping his gaze trained on his butler until he'd disappeared inside.

Xavier sighed as he turned back to the book. What a strange day this was turning out to be. This was the absolute last thing he expected when he'd been observing the reclusive Eisley.

Maximus: The sigil ended up being the width of the path to accommodate detail. This would only work if each symbol was easily defined. The last of the circle was painted in. More grime collected on his knees in the process. He was going to need a bath and new clothes before dinner.

"This should do it." Paint and brush were set aside. The barrel was brought towards the circle. Xavier would have to finish.

Atlas. Master Atlas. His Lordship. Stop it.

Xavier: Xavier carefully floated the barrel into the middle of the trap and once it was in place, gently guided the salt circle into place. Pouring it would've been easier but moving it telekinetically was far safer.

Once everything properly in place, nothing demonic had any chance of escape.

"Right then. Let's get this over with and finally have done with all this Russian nonsense. How good are you with pyrokinesis?"

Maximus: "Amen," his servant whispered. "I know a spell. I could also throw a box of lit matches into the barrel. Which would you rather?"

Xavier: "Matches would probably be faster."

Maximus: "Practical wins out," he smiled. He felt in his pocket next to his cigarettes. One lit and pressed to the others, igniting the entirety. And without ceremony, tossed into the barrel.

Xavier: "We'll do something extravagant later to make up for it," Xavier said with a chuckle.

Relief flooded him as the contents of the barrel caught and went up in flames. At long last, no more mysteries, no remnants of odd obsessions, nothing. The manor was finally completely his.

But of course, as soon as he settled into his contentment, something tore through it.

In this particular case, it was a guttural tortured scream coming from the barrel that had him instinctively leaping back several feet and taking Maximus with him.

Maximus: Though Maximus was yanked back, his (learned) instinct was to shield his master by pushing him behind. The sound which accompanied the scream, like that of a shotgun inside the barrel, reverberated through his entire being. A single hand covered his ear. Pitch black eyes returned to the flames, on guard for something worse.

Xavier: It seemed they both had that instinct. While Maximus tried to shield Xavier, Xavier tried to do the very same thing to him, resulting in him practically hugging Maximus to his body in an effort to protect him.

The flames had turned a dark and almost sickly green. Screams continued to emanate from the barrel, soon accompanied by an arm desperately reaching up and outside the barrel. Its flesh was shriveled and slowly melting off the bone, causing even more screams to echo off the walls of the barrel and the brick surface of the house.

When the flesh was gone, the screams slowly faded to silence, and the flames returned to their normal orange and red.

Maximus: There was no other word to describe what he saw other than grotesque. His only determination was towards Xavier's safety. The salt circle would hold. The trap would not break. He wanted a closer look.

"We both knew," he whispered. "No one must ever discover what we've done." He'd yet to realize he'd been clutching to his master's wrist.

Xavier: Grotesque was the perfect word, if Xavier's disgusted expression was anything to go by.

Neither the salt circle nor the trap would break; whatever had burned to death in the barrel never stood a chance. Xavier was glad of it.

"So did Eisley apparently," he said, making a face at the charred bone hand. "How vile. I'm rather glad we never had to speak to it."

Maximus: "That could have been either of us, m'lord." He released Xavier's hand, mindful not to mention how he'd inappropriately held to his superior, and approached the sizzling barrel.

Xavier: "I'm not so sure. I've never seen anyone like us that looked like that."

He missed Maximus' touch the second he lost it. "Careful, darling, I don't trust whatever remnants might still be in there."

Maximus: This time, the pet name caused a visible hesitation in his steps. A quick glance over his shoulder.

"I'm not going to break the trap." He just wanted a closer look.

Xavier: Maximus would be met with a soft, fond smile. This time, the endearment hadn't been a slip. It was used very deliberately; his own gentle way of telling Maximus that everything was fine, that nothing he'd done had upset his employer.

"I know, I'm just being paranoid again."

Maximus: He would choose to ignore what was becoming obvious. Denial was the last left of defense he had.

"I want it to burn until dawn. I won't be comfortable leaving it unattended."

Xavier: Xavier would let Maximus hold to his denial, but only for a while. Even though he had absolutely no intention of being forceful, there was no chance of him relenting after today.

"We'll let it burn until there's nothing left then throw the ashes into a volcano."

Maximus: Maximus didn't want to know what Xavier was thinking. He would be too afraid of finding another Shore or Mays.

"Are you being serious, m'lord?"

Xavier: He nodded. "Completely. I've done it before with particularly nasty artifacts. Nothing can survive being melted by the earth."

Maximus: "I have lived a small lifetime as I am and I have to say that's a first."

Xavier: "I'm nothing if not inventive," he chuckled. "But until we can get to the volcano, the salt and trap will do."

Maximus: "Very well, then." He felt at his hand, the marks still present. He would have to return to his spell. He didn't feel comfortable leaving this alone.

"I'll make you something to eat in the meantime."

Xavier: "Thank you, Maximus." One day he would make sure his butler had a proper day off. "I'm going to do some more poking around in the attic, just to make sure there's nothing else up there."

Maximus: "Bring one of me with you." Oh. "I - I mean, if it suits you, m'lord."

Xavier: "Of course. One of your shadows led me to the very bit of knowledge that allowed us to rid ourselves of the book. They're tremendous assets."

Maximus: It's just me, he thought. He'd felt so forward with this demon since his first week in service. He was tired of adding more wood to that fire.

Three fresh wounds and two fresh creations in his image. One headed to the kitchen. The other remained at Xavier's side.

Xavier: It wasn't just him, and one way or another, Xavier intended to prove it.

"Come along, my dear," giving Maximus a parting smile before leading the shadow up to the attic. "Let's hope we don't find more of whatever is currently in the barrel."

Maximus: He would watch the back of his master until out of sight. The salt and trap were circled clockwise, searching for any out of place mark which would render their efforts useless. He tried to close his senses to the foul stench of burning flesh to little avail. The hand which hung from the barrel, barely attached to wrist by tendon, jarred his memories of damnation.

Xavier: Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the house felt different. Lighter. The air felt fresher, the light seemed brighter, the colors warmer. Could that be the result of the book demon burning?

Either way, "Something tells me we just did this house a great service. More so when we get rid of that small room. Not really a use for it anymore."

Maximus: The duplicate looked towards master with a rough brow and a wry smile. He shook his finger and rubbed his mouth. Charades was too simple for what the collective of Maximus wanted to say.

Xavier: "I always forget that you can't speak," he chuckled. "I should start carrying a pen and paper for you to use when you're with me. Would you like that?"

Maximus: Would you want me to speak to often? Could hardly be conveyed with just eyes, but they were humorous and curious just the same. There was a practical solution for this, was there not? Some elaborate form of charades?

The smallest shrug, a bow with palm-up hand. Whatever master wants, master gets.

Xavier: "We'll keep it under consideration. Our pantomiming is serving us well for now, as today has proven. Now, let's go explore our attic."

[abitoflit]

The Heart Holds the Match

Timestamp: Spring 24, 512 AV Aello's back fell against the wall. The crumbling stone; as though it could support her. Kisses of cool air crept up her arm. A subtle breeze sweeping everything away. It was as like she was still there, holding her. Cradling her as she had when first born, as though she were still a child in need of a mother's protection. It felt like she were sucking her thumb now, in comfort, thinking of her. What it was like to lean back, into her, and not fall through as she had done before, with every other ghost she had ever encountered. Less they wedged themselves through; becoming part of a fragmented whole. She sighed, as she thought of the woman's words, how they washed over her. Her own; and how they seemed to linger in the air alongside the sunlight, singeing her skin. A tremor shot up Aello's spine. Why hadn't her father come for her? Knowing how her parents had loved in life, the constant glimmer in their eyes when they saw each other, the way they held each other, and spent time together, Aello couldn't help but find it strange that her mother hadn't seen her father since the day they died. She knew her mother would have waited, and had not been surprised to see her as a ghost. She knew her brother would too, in a way, even if they hadn't always gotten along. But her father, her father she knew more than all the others, would stay behind to see everyone well before they crossed over together. Which left the question: where the heck was he? For he had to be here. For a time, the girl considered him having been turned to dust by one of her kind, after a time, and then thought better, knowing how Dira's minions pursued those who did such things, freeing the spelled ghosts. Sighing, her mind dwelled. He didn't seem like one to leave his family behind, so she doubt he had crossed over without them. Which made her wonder if he had even chosen to become a ghost. If ghosts could choose such things. Perhaps, they were merely destined to be ghosts. Or made to be due to their personalities. Their belief that they had things left in this world to attend to, before they went back to the cycle. She didn't really know for sure. But if he hadn't become a ghost where could he be now? Surely he wasn't alive. She would have seen him outside, after the fire, wouldn't she? Shaking her head, Aello returned to the thought that he must be a ghost, lost somewhere. But there was no way to be sure of that. Unless she somehow got her mother to come back. But how could she, without a vial of her mist? Surely, she couldn't simply call and have her mother appear. Force her to possess her so she could sift through her mind, and pick out her memories, especially those pertaining to the day of the fire, all those moons ago. And even if she could do all that, who was to say she'd find out what she wanted, for her father would have to have been with her mother, while she died, for her to glean anything. Which left her brother, but, she doubt she would see him anytime soon either. Sighing, Aello wondered if any of them had been together when it happened. She knew she had been alone, and she thought, she remembered her brother being alone, in his room. But the memory was so distant, so fuzzy, she couldn't really be sure. Yet, now that she thought of it, she wasn't so sure she remembered having seen her father that day. No. No that couldn't be right. Her brow furrowed as she set her hands in her lap, and thought harder. But she simply couldn't recall, which was proving to be quite the problem because she wanted to know. She wanted to hold the secrets. There had to be a way for her to know. A way that didn't require her deceased relatives be present. Again, the girl's mind wandered, moving over to her goddess. She thought maybe, she could help, if only she'd come again. Her followers too; the deceased she could call with her magic. They would know if he was dead, wouldn't they? But... was that really what she wanted to know? No. She already knew, he had died, she just didn't know where he had gone. There had to be a way then, to uncover more of what had happened. Talking to a blondie perhaps, with their marks of Avalis. They could see the past, but could they show her? The girl's hands clenched into fists. They are the only ones who can see, she thought. So, how else can one see what is no longer there? What other way can one come to turn back time? The winds swirled around her, tossing the rubble about. Dust rose from the ashes. Time. "I will call to the servants of lady time. They should know how to rewind the clock," Aello whispered, not so sure as to what she would do if she were wrong, or if they refused to come. It seemed now, after all, her only hope of ever finding out where her father had gone. Where he walked, if he still could. So desperate was she to know, that she didn't so much as come to realize that she too had lit a match. The end flickered, as slowly it fell, and then, went out. Only to enflame the shards of memory, the beginnings of cogs. They melted, curled, charred. Fell away. A part of her already knew who her father was.

[newssplashy]

After moving here in the early 1980s, he emerged as a towering figure in a state known for other monumental political figures, such as Carl Hayden.

PHOENIX — As the motorcade carrying the body of Sen. John McCain made its way into Phoenix this weekend, Arizonans lined up on the side of roads, some with hands over their hearts, others saluting, as if somberly acknowledging that a political era was coming to an end.

“It’s going to be decades in Arizona before we see another political figure with the international stature of John McCain,” said Douglas Cole, a fourth-generation Arizonan and political consultant who once worked as a staffer for McCain.

Without hiding the fact that he was an outsider in this part of the West, McCain nevertheless came to symbolize a tradition in Arizona in which a select group of elected officials wielded outsize influence in the state and beyond. After moving here in the early 1980s, he emerged as a towering figure in a state known for other monumental political figures, such as Carl Hayden, a Democrat who served in Congress from 1912 to 1968; and Barry Goldwater, the pioneer of the modern conservative movement who was the Republican nominee for president in 1964.

Rising into the company of such giants in Arizona — arguably one of McCain’s defining legacies for many constituents in the state he represented — didn’t come easy for the senator. But his unvarnished explanation of how he ended up fighting for a place in the conservative bastion’s congressional delegation suited some in Arizona just fine.

McCain had just retired from the Navy, moved to Arizona and entered the political arena in 1982 in a run for a seat in the House of Representatives. Trailing Republican rivals in the polls and growing weary of critics calling him a carpetbagger, he snapped back during a forum with other candidates.

“Listen, pal, I spent 22 years in the Navy,” McCain, who was born in the Panama Canal Zone and attended some 20 different schools growing up in a military family, said at the time.

“We in the military service tend to move a lot,” he continued. “We have to live in all parts of the country, all parts of the world. I wish I could have had the luxury, like you, of growing up and living and spending my entire life in a nice place like the 1st District of Arizona, but I was doing other things. As a matter of fact, when I think about it now, the place I lived longest in my life was Hanoi.”

Going on to prevail in that race, McCain never lost another election for Congress in Arizona. He and his wife, Cindy, the heiress to an Arizona beer distribution fortune, owned condos in Arlington, Virginia, and La Jolla, California, but the place where John McCain may ultimately have felt most at home was in Cornville, Arizona, a town of 3,300 people north of Phoenix.

The McCains bought a ranch in Cornville called Hidden Valley, at the end of a bumpy dirt road, and built guest quarters on the property. McCain became known for grilling burgers for visitors or frequenting local haunts in town, where his neighbors grew accustomed to seeing him without a security detail.

“John would come in wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Gone Fishing’ on it, sit at the bar and order a cocktail,” said Mario Aguilar-Aello, co-owner of Up the Creek, a bistro and wine bar in Cornville. He said one of the senator’s favorite drinks was sambuca, the Italian anise-flavored liqueur; McCain would often order ribs or étouffée, the Cajun dish served with shellfish over rice.

“Every once in a while an individual would come up to him with a pointed question, but he’d just smile and say, ‘I’d love to tell you what I think on that, but Mario doesn’t allow politics at the bar,'” said Aguilar-Aello. “This was where he came to relax, to be a regular person, and people in the town respected that.”

Cole, the former staffer for McCain, said that the state proved to be the right fit for a politician prepared to go out on a limb and work with, or sometimes energetically oppose, leaders in both parties.

“Arizona has always had a deep independent streak,” said Cole. The political landscape in the state is in flux now, with McCain’s passing and a bruising Republican primary set for Tuesday to replace Sen. Jeff Flake, the Republican who announced that he would not seek another term after clashing with President Donald Trump.

Offering a glimpse of the scars that some of McCain’s political battles produced in Arizona, some of the remembrances of him here were possibly as multilayered and complex as McCain himself. In an essay for The Phoenix New Times, a weekly newspaper, journalist Amy Silverman described the callousness with which McCain would sometimes treat rivals, especially Democrats who are women.

“McCain could be a very colorful character, very real, he’d let it all hang out,” said Silverman, arguing that McCain never completely overcame his transplant status. She questioned the senator’s priorities in seeking to avoid, possibly to Arizona’s detriment, the pork-barrel spending projects that politicians elsewhere often prioritize, to the benefit of their constituents.

“For those of us here in Arizona, as McCain spent more and more time burnishing his reputation with the national media, well, maybe familiarity breeds contempt,” Silverman said, contending that McCain be remembered as “America’s senator, not Arizona’s.”

McCain might have argued otherwise, posting photos on social media, even as he dealt with cancer treatment, of hiking with his family in the hills around Cornville. Arizona, which catapulted him onto the national stage, served as his refuge as he expressed regret over the intensifying partisanship in U.S. politics.

“He suffered fools poorly, and that’s something people in Arizona admired him for,” said Gibson McKay, a former aide to McCain, pointing to the honor guard of veterans standing watch at the mortuary here in Phoenix, guarding McCain’s remains. “That straightforwardness, coupled with the tenacity with which he fought for his beliefs, earned him admiration. With John, you got what you saw.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

Simon Romero © 2018 The New York Times

via Nigerian News ➨☆LATEST NIGERIAN NEWS ☆➨GHANA NEWS➨☆ENTERTAINMENT ☆➨Hot Posts ➨☆World News ▷NEWS

[spyzguyz]

I went to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) this weekend and took some pictures. Here they are.

  The Storm — Edvard Munch

Animal Trainer — Francis Picabia

Street, Dresden — Ernest Ludwig Kirchner

La mujer en el idolo — Francis Picabia

Femmes au bulldog — Francis Picabia

‘M Amenez-y’ — Francis Picabia

Portrait of Joseph Roulin — Vincent van Gogh

Portrait of a Woman — Francis Picabia

I didn’t get the name of this one — Francis Picabia

Poppy — Ruth Asawa

Nude with Joined Hands — Pablo Picasso

Adam & Eve — Francis Picabia

Oleo — Francis Picabia

Montparnasse — Francis Picabia

Fratellini Clown — Francis Picabia

Gertrude Stein — Francis Picabia

Portrait of a Couple — Francis Picabia

Flowers & Plants — Francis Picabia

Street Light — Giacomo Balla

Project for a Painted Wall — Jason Crum

Periwinkles / Moroccan Garden — Herni Matisse

A Machine Without Name — Francis Picabia

Aello — Francis Picabia

Comic Wedlock — Francis Picabia

House by the Railroad — Edward Hopper

Picture with an Archer — Vasily Kandinsky

Museum of Modern Art I went to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) this weekend and took some pictures. Here they are.  

[lunaerys-archeron]

The Shadow Queen - Chapter I

(Daemon Targaryen x OC! Lunaerys Novak)

Prologue | Chapter two

For caution, most of this is fictional not included in the books or show!! So there will be more than a few of my original characters that have last names of main characters.

The sounds of neighs and hooves pouding against the grounds echoed throught the nature, several horses moving just as happily to return to their home, as much as their riders were. The sounds of armor being clunked together, banners of a single wolf surrounded by bones and ash, colors of black and gold being waved by the cloaks on the shoulders of the warriors returning. Eyes beamed with excitement as they followed their commander to the gates of their home.

"Great warriors of the East. We have returned undefeated once again!" A strong voice boasted as she halted for her giant black wolf, stopping by the gates of her home. She wore a proud and victorious smirk under her helm.

"Once we pass through those gates, you will no longer be stray men and women. But strong and willed warriors of a won battle." Her voice had been filled with leadership, her men and women warriors cheered for their commander, pounding their fists against their armor.

The gates to their Kingdom had opened. They were home.

"Princess Lunaerys Novak, heir to the ash-blood throne, future Lady of the Shadow Hills, Warden of the East, and Commander of the mercenaries." Ser Rickard Starlight announced loudly to the people that had gathered to witness the arrival of their future Queen and the warriors of Adrithe.

"Blessings to the four gods princess."

"May the four be with our undefeated warriors."

"May the God of war honor you."

The free folk began to chant as their princess and her mercenaries rode past them towards and through the entire city. They cheered in relief and pride, their protectors had once again defeated a great threat to their Kingdom.

Lunaerys Novak unsaddled her great wolf, patting her head as she did so, giving her comfort after a long time being away in battle. "Rest my dear friend." A young boy comes her way, Alan Vaulant, her squire and the soon-to-be lord of his house, learning under her guidance.

“Princess Lunaerys, welcome home.” The boy greeted with a polite bow and smile.

“Alan, it seems she missed you as well.” Lunaerys laughed when her wolf, Pandora nudged the boy with her snout wishing to be greeted as well, “watch over her will you? And you Pandora, take care of him.” She bid both a goodbye as Alan and Pandora walked to the fields of grass to roust in.

“Princess, your father, the King, wishes for your presence in the throne room.” A knight named Aethen Starfyre called to the young woman.

Lunaerys gave a nod to her childhood friend, "Thank you Aethen, do be sure that Ser Rickard and Ser Harland don't cause too much trouble. We've only just returned."

"You have my word princess." Ser Aethen chuckled, joining the Starlight twins into the ale house.

Lunaerys made her way to the throne room, she knew who was expecting her after her arrival to Adrithe. Her father. King Aelor. As she walked her way through the godswood the servants and maids all bowed when she walked past them, earning small smiles from the Princess. Her armor made a small noise as her black and gold cloak waved behind her.

"Ser Fergus, I see you're still alive old man." Lunaerys teased with a grin as she caught the eye of her father's friend guarding the throne room door.

"Princess I see you were victorious." Ser Fergus Redmond scoffed playfully. "I was sure the rogues would've killed you this time, I lost coin because of you." His grin matched her own.

"Careful Ser, I can have your head for your words."

"Oh but who would put up with you then?" Ser Redmond laughed.

"Is he angry?" Lunaerys asked, her bright mood changing instantly, remembering why she had come to the Throne room.

"He was for a short time, you're his only child, Lunaerys." Ser Fergus wore a glum look remembering the way his friend suffered after Lunaerys went off into battle, not knowing the status of his only child.

Lunaerys faced the ground in shame.

She never meant to cause her father any pain. She then faced forward as Ser Redmond opened the throne room doors. "Thank you, Ser."

She walked down the short steps, where her eyes met those whom she inherited it from. Her father, Aelor Novak, King of Adrithe. Many would've found him slightly intimidating, as the great King sat on a throne made of bones.

Lunaerys shuddered as she took in the presence of her father. His once bright blue eyes, now dull with worry.

She was to kneel on one knee, her head ready to be bowed preparing herself to apologize to her father for her doings. She never met the ground. Instead was buried into familiar arms, feeling the warmth of the wolf blood flowing through his veins.

"My girl. My little warrior." Aelor whispered, holding his daughter tightly to him, too afraid to let go. One year. A year that his only child had gone to war never once hearing word of her status. Paranoid thoughts ran through his head during the twelve moons. Was she hurt? Was she even alive? "You are home. Thank the gods."

Lunaerys did not hesitate another second and wrapped her arms around her father, returning his embrace. There a father and daughter had reunited.

"I'm sorry father."

Her father stepped back slightly, his hands holding onto Lunaerys' shoulders.

"No need for your apology. I should've understood, having a warrior as a daughter would never be easy. I just never wanted to lose you, like I lost your mother."

Lunaerys smiled sadly at the mention of her mother, she had died of a fever that plagued their Kingdom, leaving peacefully in her sleep.

"Would she be proud of me?" Her mismatched eyes, one gold like every member of house Novak and the other blue as the seas, just like her mother had the. Her eyes were filled with sadness and hope.

"Very, my little warrior." Aelor smiled before he placed a gentle kiss on her head.

In the throne room, a father and daughter had been reunited. But soon they would be separated as the girl would soon be of age to begin her own journey.

___________________________

"Welcome to you all! For tonight's feast will be in the honor of the return of my daughter and her mercenaries. For they have slayed another enemy, vanquishing the threat to our people!" King Aelor announced to the court that it had been settled for tonight's evening.

The noble houses all clapped and cheered for their princess and her mercenaries, either slamming their fists or their cups on the tables. They were proud that their Kingdom remained as they always had been. Unconquered by their enemies, protected by the wolf of the East.

"Tonight we shall thank and honor those who risked their lives for our Kingdom. May the God of War honor them and the others to allow them a place in their heavenly Kingdom" Lunaerys and the rest of those present had joined their King in his toast lifting their cups of ale into the air, "let tonight's feast commence."

With the words of their King the noble houses had begun their feasting, making conversations within their own house or with people from others. Though men and some women would sneak quick glances to the royal family's table, hoping to catch the beautiful eyes of the Princess. She had surely changed over the years in war, her face strong, jaw defined. Her beautiful mismatched eyes seemed brighter than ever before.

Lunaerys held a small grin behind her cup of ale, it was amusing as she felt the not subtle looks being thrown her way. Her grin grew as Aethen gave an amused snort her way. House Starfyre had been sworn to her own house since her great-great grandfather was King of Adrithe, she would find herself missing something, if Aethen was not by her side. They had been long friends ever since they were mere babes, their mothers friends before them. To add, they were born on the same day.

"Princess Lunaerys, would you so honor me. And join me for a dance." Ser Rickard had asked from a few feet away from the royal table.

Lunaerys nodded and joined the knight on the floor.

Music began to play, drums bearing like hearts of winds, calling out to the souls of the people. The particular song was one of Lunaerys' favorites, a song created for Adrithe's victory against the Dragons.

Lords and Ladies joined the princess and the knight on the floor, as the dance was turning to a switch in partners. The melody softened to something that was known by history, this particular dance was to resemble the one that was once shared between King Silas Novak and Queen Visenya Targaryen.

Forever forbidden love.

"You look radiant tonight, Lunaerys." Rickard whispered to the princess' ear.

"You clean up well Rickard. I almost did not recognize you." Lunaerys stifles a chuckle when the knight glared at her playfully.

"You wound me princess." Rickard lifted Lunaerys in his arms as the others followed in suit, the dance replica of the wolf and dragon. "You have once again lead us to victory, how does it feel?"

The eastern princess sighed deeply with a small smile.

"Good. Our home remains its own. Though my father has informed me, this will only add to the incoming ravens of betrothal offers."

Ser Rickard laughed, twirling the princess around a few times, before taking her in his arms again. "Anyone would be honored to have a woman such as yourself as a wife. I know of someone that would die for your hand.." It was now Lunaerys who lightly chuckled under her breath, "Who did you have in mind, Ser Starlight?" She teased, but before she received an answer she was spun to the next partner,

Now she was in the arms of the other Starlight twin, Ser Harland. One thing that was acknowledged by the people of Mordun, was that everyone knew the closeness the Starlight twins had with the princess. Though small rumors began that it was either Rickard or Harland that was in a secret relationship Lunaerys, but none were so brave to whisper these rumors in the Starlight twins’ faces, nor for it to make word to her father, King Aelor, who would surely cut the tongues of those who whispered of his only child, meeting their death soon after.

“Harland.” Lunaerys greeted with a smile.

“Princess.” Harland returned with a cheeky grin, without ease lifting the young woman in his arms and circling both of themselves around.

The two teenagers were completely oblivious to the many stares they were getting, the others in attendance either whispered the countless rumors made in their minds, or they gushed how beautiful Lunaerys and Harland would be together. They saw as they danced together, their height was laughable, but an adorable one. Two fierce and strong souls. They had grown together, and fought together. They were always seen near one another when Aethen was not by her side. They were Princess Lunaerys Novak and Ser Harland Starlight. A wolf and hound. A princess and knight. Friends for eternity.

_______________________________________________________

King Aelor sat in his council meeting the following morrow, rather focused to the conversations happening around him. As custom he sat at the head of the table, his closest advisor Lord Ambrose Redmond, brother to Ser Fergus, his sworn protector, and another dear friend. He tried to stay focused on the Master of Whispers speaking to him about something unimportant to the council. He ran his fingers against the russet colored fur of his large wolf, Allyan, who even kneeling to the ground reached past Aelor's height.

“What point are you trying to make, Lord Peter?” King Aelor huffed, leaning forward on his arms that rested against the table.

“A raven was spotted late at night, your grace.” Lord Peter Lagos began to backtrack to his reason for this meeting, handing the letter to Ser Fergus, who then handed the letter to the King.

“A three-headed dragon seal?” The Wolf King said in slight surprise. It has been long since the Dragons of King’s Landing ever tried to contact the Kingdom of Adrithe, since after his father became King.

“The Targaryen’s?” Lord Lucas Starfyre, the Master of Laws, asked in wonder. Why have the, above the gods and men believers, send them a raven? It has been nearly twenty years since their last attempt.

The council watched in anticipation as Aelor unraveled the letter. The Kings’ eyes followed each letter as he read them, his eyes widening in shock, then in slight annoyance as he reached the end. “Of course, another raven asking for my daughters’ hand.”

The council looked at each other before looking at their King worriedly.

“Surely the King does not offer his grandson to take her as a second wife?” Lady Myriah Vaulant, the Mistress of Ships asked. The Kingdom had known that Prince Viserys’ wife had failed to bring a son, and gave birth to a firstborn daughter instead. They did not shame the lady Aemma, but they felt some sort of pity as she was forced to another pregnancy shortly after the miscarriage of her lost child.

“No. But Jaehaerys does offer his youngest grandson, Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

The name of the dragon prince caught the attention of Aelor. It was no secret that the adventures of Westeros’ Rogue Prince made it all the way to Adrithe. The prince was said to enjoy his freedom and liked to cause trouble with that advantage coming with being of royal blood, many called him a womanizer for bedding many women in the brothels, but no one would dare shame him as not only was a prince, but he was also not married.

Though King Jaehaerys Targaryen had hoped with the things he heard of the intelligent and strong minded princess of Adrithe, Lunaerys would be able to hound down his grandson to become a good man. But Aelor would not have his daughter forced into a loveless marriage, nor one of convenience, he would give her the same opportunity he had.

“It seems our princess has made quite the impression during the battle, impressing a member of the Targaryen family takes quite a lot.” Lord Redmond snickered towards the KIng, but then sent him a small glare when Aelor kicked him from under the table.

“Who knows of the reasons that King Jaehaerys has to offer his grandson, but I will not give my daughter, unless she decides it is what she wants.” The council nodded with agreement to their King's words.

“Where is the princess, if I may ask your grace?” Lady Solia Darros questioned.

King Aelor smiled, his daughter was not one for meetings just yet. He had given her a break from her duties after being away for a year, his daughter deserved to be a young woman with freedom before she was backed into her duties forever.

“My daughter spends her time as she wishes, Lady Darros. She has a free spirit, just like her mother, one that can never be diminished.”

As the council continued with their conversations, a certain Princess had left her chambers and took her loyal companion for a small ride into the forests.

She was truly a free spirit.

__________________________________

Lunaerys held her bow close, drawing to the target in front of her, her eyes stilled on the sight, a large boar sniffing away to the trails the young woman made to draw it in. She held her breath as it came closer, then, with one breath out, she let her arrow loose. The boar let out noises of pain as it began to scurry away, but it was met with its end when a large wolf pounced onto it. Wails of its strangulation were heard loudly, before it limped in the locked jaws of its killer, crimson liquid appearing on the snout of the wolf drawing lines down into the grassy ground.

The princess walked closer to her companion, “You did well my girl, enjoy your catch.” She walked close to a tree sitting on its sprouting roots, she relaxed against the tall life. The scenery around her was beautiful, that is something she loved about her home, the beauty of the surrounding nature. The trees moving with life with the winds coursing movements, the bright skies glowing bright with the sun's radiance.

“You always preferred the outside world.” A teasing voice made Lunaerys open her eyes and sigh in announced.

"And you always had a way to rekove my peace, Aethen." Lunaerys joked her eyes closing once again, as she leaned back to the tree behind her. She chuckled when hearing his scoff.

"Well, who would protect the dear princess of Adrithe better than I? Her sworn guard and her most cherished friend." Aethen praised himself as he practically invaded Lunaerys' calming space by taking a seat right next to her. They both bumped their shoulders together playfully, trying to push the other away. "Hello Pandora, at least someone enjoys my presence." Aethen exclaimed with glee when the large wolf greeted him with a nudge to his side, he ran his fingers against her black fur.

"Traitor." The Novak scoffed with a pout. Pushing Pandora away when the wolf tried to nuzzle her head to her side as well. But the princess gave in, and began to scratch Pandora's head behind her ears. Lunaerys chuckled at the wolf's pleased huffs, and as Pandora layed behind both she and Aethen, her body curling around them.

"What is on your mind, Lunaerys?" Aethen asked with concern. The young man had noticed the way Lunaerys had been acting since they returned to Adrithe, she seemed different, more so than any time they had left to battle, "Is it Wayland again?"

Lunaerys eyes opened suddenly at the particular name. She had nor heard anyone else say the name in almost three years. It still hurt, hearing that name. One she had once cherished so deeply.

"No—no Aethen it is not Wayland that had been plaguing my mind. But rather my realization of the duties I will be expected to meet."

Aethen smiled lowly, "Ah yes. Your father has informed me of the many ravens that he received of Lords all over Westeros offering the hands of their sons. You are quite the topic, my dear friend."

Lunaerys scoffed in distaste, "The only reason for that many offers is due to those Lords wanting to see their son as King to an unconquered Kingdom. It is all they lust for in Westeros, power and their ambition bleeds to make it possible."

"Yes but Adrithe is different, Lunaerys. They may become your future husband, but it is you that we will all see as Queen. It is you that we will follow, not them, but you."

The Princess smiled at her friend and protector, she leaned her head against his shoulder, "Thank you, Aethen. You're always helping to ease my mind."

"It is my duty Princess, not only as your sworn shield, but as your friend." Aethen said resting his cheek against her head, "I heard that you have received another betrothal offer this morrow."

Lunaerys snorted a chuckle, "Yes those pesky Lannisters do not know when to stop do they?"

"I do don't speak of the Lannister's, I speak of the offer Jaehaerys Targaryen has made to offer the hand of his youngest grandson." The knight mumbled before Lunaerys moved her head away, and looked up to him suprised.

"Jaehaerys Targaryen sent my father a raven?" Lunaerys asked out loud, but mostly asked herself. Why would Jaehaerys try to offer his grandson? Perhaps this was another way of the Westeros King to men the broken treaty that his uncle long broke. "Interesting. How it would be to marry a man of dragon blood."

Aethen raised a brow in question, though he was equally concern when he saw Lunaerys look in thought. "Surely you're not thinking of accepting Lunaerys. Daemon Targaryen is wild, they call him the rogue prince for reasons, my dear friend."

The Princess only ignored him, she truly wondered what all the gossip about the Targaryen Prince was about. He surely couldn't be as handsome as they say, but she did believe the Whispers of his lustful ways in the brothels. Lunaerys knew that Jaehaerys wanted this marriage as a way to tame his youngest grandson, to better control his ways and become the ideal Prince.

"Of course not, who do take me for? While this would do well for duty, as Daemon Targaryen is to be known as a fine knight within his realms, but, I am not sure he will do well here in Adrithe." Lunaerys stifles a giggle imagining the trials that Daemon would have to go through in Adrithe to become her husband and a knight on their terms, not in Westeros.

How fun it would be to see it.

"Ah, the trials of earning the knighthood," Aethen sighed remembering the day he passed his own and earned his knighthood, "not many succeed the trials. But it would be entertaining to see him try completing the trials for your marriage."

Lunaerys and Aethen laughed together, but as they did so they stopped when King Aelor stepped into their view, his wolf Allyan standing tall behind him.

"Your grace." Aethen bowed now standing on his feet.

"Aethen, do mind to leave me and my daughter for a moment?" Aelor asked with a small smile at the knight.

"Of course your grace." Ser Starfyre sent once last look to Lunaerys before he walked away, leaving the King and his heir alone.

King Aelor let out a deep sigh, as he sat next to his only child he looked around. The small sounds of the water from the river clashing softy with the rocks in between. The area was quite beautiful, the greenery around seemed to grow even more beautiful with the sun's rays. He remembers this place.

The only place where he took his wife, Erys, the day he asked for her hand in marriage. Then after their daughter was born, they brought her here and would spend their days away from the stressful court.

This was the place they could just be together.

"I'm sure you either heard, or Aethen has informed you of the raven that was sent to Adrithe?" The king asked his daughter as they both stared towards the flowing river. But he received no answer from her only more silence, "Lunaerys, know that I would never force you to marry."

"I know", Lunaerys turned to look at her father. She wore a smile, one that resembled her mother's, "but I understand my duty father."

Aelor took his daughter into his arms, basking her in his comfort filled warmth that only a father could bring to his child. He tried to keep his daughter happy, he knew she appreciated the things he did for her, but he so hated the ways things were. He loathed that his daughter focused more on things that were yet to come, rather than to live her life in the slight freedom she had. But he knew that his daughter was too loyal and too wise to go against her duites, from a young age she was taught the things an heir to a Kingdom should be. She learned too much before she was to live happy life of a child.

"My daughter. My only child and solace in this world, you will make a fine Queen to this Kingdom."

Lunaerys smiled and held her father just as much as he held her. She enjoyed these moments when it was the to of them, a father and daughter just being themselves, carefree.

"Linōt eyssīa, mīedys." I love you, my daughter.

"Linōt eyssīa, lokto." I love you, father.

The father and daughter sat in the peaceful silence.

They enjoyed the breathtaking world around them, for they both knew that soon they would not see it again in many years.

_______________________________________________________

It had been two moons since King Jaehaerys Targaryen sent raven to Adrithe. It had been nearly one hundred years since anyone from Westeros has seen a person of Old Flame blood, Jaehaerys had remembered the last time he saw a member from the house Novak. It was when he first became King, and he tried to reconcile with King Lucian Novak to bring back the peace treaty his grandfather, Aegon I, had created. But the wolves of the East were not ones to forgive and forget if without good reason, for House Novak was one of loyalty and trust. Maegor Targaryen had long broken that bond.

It was early morrow, Jaehaerys sat in his own chambers breaking his fast in silence until a servant of his house came in silently.

"Your grace." The young man bowed standing next to the King's sworn guard.

"What is it?" Jaehaerys sighed tiredly, he only was visited either if important news came to King's Landing, or his youngest grandson Daemon had done something Daemon like.

"A falcon was spotted before the sun's light had risen, it carried this in its hold." The young man walked closer to the King handing him the rolled parchment.

The eyes of the King widened.

A black and gold wolf sigil. Unbroken at that.

"Thank you, you may leave." Jaehaerys dismissed the young man with a wave of his hand, he waited until the doors to his chambers closed shut to open the letter.

Jaehaerys Targaryen,

It is to my understanding that you have long wished to fix what your uncle had long broken many years ago. War had been called against your Kingdom and mine, for things that were mistaken and took to far. Both our families and Kingdom's suffered for such mistakes.

Though, we both wish to make things right.

My house, House Novak is not one to easily forgive nor forget. We have not forgotten what your house has done to mine, but it seems you bring a well enough reason to fix what was broken. But know this, if it is your wish to give the hand of your grandson to my daughter he must face many challenges and trials against our most fine fighters in our realm. For the hand of my daughter is no prize, for she does not need anyone to rule greatly beside her.

But alas my daughter understands her duties, as any good heir should.

In the name of King Aelor Novak and his heir Princess Lunaerys Novak, we fully accept your offer. For your grandson will wed my daughter if passed the trials given. Pray to your gods of the Valyrian or the Seven, for if your house takes our forgiveness to an dismay. We will finish what my ancestors had long started.

— King Aelor Novak, First of his name. King of Adrithe, Lord of Morukk, and Warden of the East, the Protector of the Old Flame.

Jaehaerys Targaryen was relieved, House Targaryen and House Novak would be untied as they were longed to be. But he knew the grieve consequences this could have on not only his Kingdom, but to his family. For he knew if his blood would continue their rebellious ways, filled with anger, betrayal.

For the only thing that could bring the end to the house of the dragons, was itself.

Lunaerys and House Novak would be the savior his house needed.

______________________________

[newssplashy]

After moving here in the early 1980s, he emerged as a towering figure in a state known for other monumental political figures, such as Carl Hayden.

PHOENIX — As the motorcade carrying the body of Sen. John McCain made its way into Phoenix this weekend, Arizonans lined up on the side of roads, some with hands over their hearts, others saluting, as if somberly acknowledging that a political era was coming to an end.

“It’s going to be decades in Arizona before we see another political figure with the international stature of John McCain,” said Douglas Cole, a fourth-generation Arizonan and political consultant who once worked as a staffer for McCain.

Without hiding the fact that he was an outsider in this part of the West, McCain nevertheless came to symbolize a tradition in Arizona in which a select group of elected officials wielded outsize influence in the state and beyond. After moving here in the early 1980s, he emerged as a towering figure in a state known for other monumental political figures, such as Carl Hayden, a Democrat who served in Congress from 1912 to 1968; and Barry Goldwater, the pioneer of the modern conservative movement who was the Republican nominee for president in 1964.

Rising into the company of such giants in Arizona — arguably one of McCain’s defining legacies for many constituents in the state he represented — didn’t come easy for the senator. But his unvarnished explanation of how he ended up fighting for a place in the conservative bastion’s congressional delegation suited some in Arizona just fine.

McCain had just retired from the Navy, moved to Arizona and entered the political arena in 1982 in a run for a seat in the House of Representatives. Trailing Republican rivals in the polls and growing weary of critics calling him a carpetbagger, he snapped back during a forum with other candidates.

“Listen, pal, I spent 22 years in the Navy,” McCain, who was born in the Panama Canal Zone and attended some 20 different schools growing up in a military family, said at the time.

“We in the military service tend to move a lot,” he continued. “We have to live in all parts of the country, all parts of the world. I wish I could have had the luxury, like you, of growing up and living and spending my entire life in a nice place like the 1st District of Arizona, but I was doing other things. As a matter of fact, when I think about it now, the place I lived longest in my life was Hanoi.”

Going on to prevail in that race, McCain never lost another election for Congress in Arizona. He and his wife, Cindy, the heiress to an Arizona beer distribution fortune, owned condos in Arlington, Virginia, and La Jolla, California, but the place where John McCain may ultimately have felt most at home was in Cornville, Arizona, a town of 3,300 people north of Phoenix.

The McCains bought a ranch in Cornville called Hidden Valley, at the end of a bumpy dirt road, and built guest quarters on the property. McCain became known for grilling burgers for visitors or frequenting local haunts in town, where his neighbors grew accustomed to seeing him without a security detail.

“John would come in wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Gone Fishing’ on it, sit at the bar and order a cocktail,” said Mario Aguilar-Aello, co-owner of Up the Creek, a bistro and wine bar in Cornville. He said one of the senator’s favorite drinks was sambuca, the Italian anise-flavored liqueur; McCain would often order ribs or étouffée, the Cajun dish served with shellfish over rice.

“Every once in a while an individual would come up to him with a pointed question, but he’d just smile and say, ‘I’d love to tell you what I think on that, but Mario doesn’t allow politics at the bar,'” said Aguilar-Aello. “This was where he came to relax, to be a regular person, and people in the town respected that.”

Cole, the former staffer for McCain, said that the state proved to be the right fit for a politician prepared to go out on a limb and work with, or sometimes energetically oppose, leaders in both parties.

“Arizona has always had a deep independent streak,” said Cole. The political landscape in the state is in flux now, with McCain’s passing and a bruising Republican primary set for Tuesday to replace Sen. Jeff Flake, the Republican who announced that he would not seek another term after clashing with President Donald Trump.

Offering a glimpse of the scars that some of McCain’s political battles produced in Arizona, some of the remembrances of him here were possibly as multilayered and complex as McCain himself. In an essay for The Phoenix New Times, a weekly newspaper, journalist Amy Silverman described the callousness with which McCain would sometimes treat rivals, especially Democrats who are women.

“McCain could be a very colorful character, very real, he’d let it all hang out,” said Silverman, arguing that McCain never completely overcame his transplant status. She questioned the senator’s priorities in seeking to avoid, possibly to Arizona’s detriment, the pork-barrel spending projects that politicians elsewhere often prioritize, to the benefit of their constituents.

“For those of us here in Arizona, as McCain spent more and more time burnishing his reputation with the national media, well, maybe familiarity breeds contempt,” Silverman said, contending that McCain be remembered as “America’s senator, not Arizona’s.”

McCain might have argued otherwise, posting photos on social media, even as he dealt with cancer treatment, of hiking with his family in the hills around Cornville. Arizona, which catapulted him onto the national stage, served as his refuge as he expressed regret over the intensifying partisanship in U.S. politics.

“He suffered fools poorly, and that’s something people in Arizona admired him for,” said Gibson McKay, a former aide to McCain, pointing to the honor guard of veterans standing watch at the mortuary here in Phoenix, guarding McCain’s remains. “That straightforwardness, coupled with the tenacity with which he fought for his beliefs, earned him admiration. With John, you got what you saw.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

Simon Romero © 2018 The New York Times

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[abitoflit]

Out of Time

Timestamp: 29 Spring, 512 AV The skies cast dismal slanting shadows over the stone scattered streets and thatched roofs of the homes in Zeltiva. The jagged edges cut across fallen debris; clotted with the rainfall. Rounded slopes crawling over walls, spilling onto the other side. Cascading over slick stone as the pebbles clattered against the ground. Tears fell from trembling, blackened, misshapen eyes; spit drizzled out of lips. Trying to push the god's pain away. Failing, it still fell. Tumultuous waves poured from overhead as lightning exploded, illuminating narrow areas before fading away into oblivion. Thunder crashed alongside the waves buffeting into Zeltiva's rocky shores. The god's anger reverberating within Aello's eardrums, she could feel the sound ricocheting away as she looked up, through the dirtied windowpane at the world outside of the simple room she found herself within. It never really did stop raining, did it? she asked herself as she followed several lines of tears swim down the dust-encrusted glass. Not since the first day of the storm. Her thoughts paused as her gaze came up, to watch several beams of fiery light hungrily lick the nearby, downtrodden earth. Slowly, her forehead dropped, a wilting flower, falling against the cold glass. A cool air swept through her, causing her to shudder as she crossed her arms and passed her paling fingers over her flesh, to ward away the gathering goosebumps. No time to find them; the timekeepers. Those who know that lady. Again, there was a pause as she began to rub her arms all the more furiously. Nor is there time to find the servants of the lady I call my own. Another pause, pity. Her mind fell silent for quite some time as her ears strained to pick the sound of rain plopping into gathered pools apart from all the others. After a time she could hear it, nearly inaudibe against all of the rest. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after when the pools have cleared, and the waves have returned to their endlessly melodic, rhythmic, natural pace. She listened to them, so high strung, so out of tune. When nothing crashes, nothing clashes. There was a pause as she flattened her rising, green neon veins, coursing rivers, pushing them under the recesses of her cooling, pale and numbing flesh. Maybe then the world's colors shall reflect a bit of luck within what little moisture remains. Her lips curled into a delicate smile as her hands came to a halt; her eyes sparkled mysteriously as her ears played with the multitude of sounds. After all, I have to make them listen. There was another pause. A mere servant of lady Dira. Death and time, can they ever combine? Or are they destined to only run neck and neck at best? There was another pause. Clash, unless... are we really all so different? The rain seemed to get louder, pounding all the more furiously on the glass, defeaning her thoughts. For a time, her mind remained silent, until one thought reverberated within with a defeaning ring: maybe we can go hand in hand, if only we think of the nature of life and death; time and death. For, in the beginning of time, we are ripped from our mother's womb, and brought into this dismal world. That woman cradles us, and with a doe's wide eyes, we stare into her own, at two pale petals curled into a smile. We are made to remember her face as she holds us, young, unclean, dripping with internal fluid and both of our blood. As we are made to take whatever we need from her bosom, a bond is made. One that never breaks, even when one passes. In those stages at the beginning of our time, the time we spend in infancy, she nurtures us. She lets us feed from her; an unworthy parasite. She lets us lie with her, nestled in the crook of her arm. She clothes us, and shrouds our features with a plethora of blankets, and other soft things. She gives us whatever we want and need as soon as we begin to wail, and wag our fleshy arms. She nurtured our feeble, infantile forms. Weak and generally undeveloped. She shelters us from prying eyes, and those who mean us harm. She shelters us from the storm; keeping us close until our limbs begin to grow, and we come to grasp. Soon, she sets us on the floor, and we are made to hold ourselves upright. We look up at her as she turns away and begins to walk. We watch her shadow pass, studying it with our heads tilted to the side, and eyes open wide. We cry as she moves past the threshold, into the nether reaches of our home. Thinking she has disappeared, abandoned us. Maybe she stops for a second, but does not look back. Scared for our very lives, we fall onto our hands in despair. We ignore the stinging sensation the hard wood sends coursing through us as our lips part in a silent scream. Tears stream down our faces, crackling against the floor, the back of our hands, as our legs begin to slide along. Grating, as our toes are tickled. Our fingertips press on, tugging us forward. We smile, for it's as if by magic, we are allowed to chase after her. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, we find her in another portion of the house. She looks down at us as we tumble over the hand we use to tap her; begging for more. She picks us up; we're hers again as we brush noses, and radiance flashes in her eyes; a smile spreads across her cheeks.

It seems only mere moments have passed before we're tossed into a new memory; changed only moderately by time. Our baby cheeks have grown out, our limbs have sprouted newer, longer branches. We have reached toddlerhood. In this time, in this place, we can see her across the room, preparing our dinner. Wanting her time, and her love, we crawl over to her, tug on the lower folds of her dress. She stops what she is doing to study us. Looking distant, almost sad, she turns to rinse her dirtied hands in the basin. When she's finished, she collects us, holds us to her, pats our back; but there's no feeling behind it. I always could feel it- the sudden lack of warmth. Confused by it, I would always look up before she set me down, holding me only by my hands. "No more being a baby. It is time to take your first steps," she'd whisper, before moving forward. We'd always look up at them quizzically for a time, our eyes constantly batting our confusion. Time would pass, and eventually it would beat our hesitation. Our foot would slide forward, seemingly on its own; like the limbs of a marionette, manipulated by its master. We'd giggle as our toes were tickled by the floor; the entirety of our bodies by our own excitement. Bubbles and streams of spit would drizzle from our parted lips as we'd do it again. Then manage another half step, and fall flat on our asses. We'd sniffle as we looked up at her, her hands falling away from us. We'd whine a little as she left, and our hands fell to wood. Pushed up, easing us onto our feet, wobbly knees. Unsteady legs. We'd try despertely to repeat her motions, realizing them swifter then our incessant crawling. But we'd always fall. Make our skin peel away, as our blood pooled around us. For a time, all would seem hopeless, until time struck again: we learned to walk as our bodies developed, and we were thrust unwillingly into early childhood. Without warning, she backs away, or maybe we are the ones to turn away from her in pursuit of relations to those closer to our own age. We'd go outside and play with them- hide and go seek, tag, man hunt. We'd fish in the stream, or even out in the ocean, from a lofty perch on a pile of old boxes by the docks. We'd listen to the gulls, and skip rocks, mock the sailors who crowed the same notes. And soon enough, with a breath of fresh air came a woman's breasts and hourglass frame. Boys who desired and chased; until they one day claimed the forbidden fruit; seeds were planted, and life sprouted anew. Time passed; and swiftly, they were drawn together, and then torn apart, as their child grew. As their flesh began to sag, and speckles began to line it. Wrinkles spread across their face, and crow's feet by their eyes, now covered in a thick, white film. Blinding. As time wares on, their bodies ache. Their bodies tremble, and more is needed to keep them warm. Their blood from freezing over, so that it may no longer flow. Soon, as the brain begins to fail; as memory begins to fade away, death and time both, catches up to a person. Time ages a person the last few steps, as the lady Dira cuts them down with her scythe; and then receives their eternal souls with open arms. Unless they're an abominable nuit of course. The aurist rubbed her arms at the thought. Perhaps that's it then. Time is there to guide us through this life. To age us, and when it comes to that final hour, death is invited to bring closure. To begin a second life. There was a long pause. Yes, perhaps time and death do go together, hand in hand...

[abitoflit]

Covered in Ashes

Timestamp: Spring 12, 512 AV Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Dark powder slipped through her fingers. It was frail. Ticklish. Soft. Not at all like when the sands of time slipped through the cracks. The coarse edges of chipped shells and cracked pebbles gliding past smooth flesh. Trickling down, like a rain, or waterfall cascading over the thick, warm, gathered air. She could scarcely hear the soft hiss of it, as it tumbled down, to the puddle of black by her feet. Dried now, by the sun, after the recent storm. The scent of it lingered, in the air. Even as the dark cloud drifted away. It was so soft, so delicate. Offering a hint of the time long past. The smell of the fire- smoke, charred wood and skin. Flesh. Burning flesh, dripping off the ends of curling bone. Ivory singed with the heat. It washed over her senses, even long before she had closed her eyes and images of the day fluttered past. Like the soft wings of a butterfly, gliding on the wind. She could see it all, sense it all in that moment, as the gentle breeze rustled the fallen bits. The shards of split wood. Darkened now, with seasons past, yet worn too, about the edges. So very frayed, to accompany the nature of the fallen house. The simple cottage; but a frame now, dotting an otherwise empty space, close to the sea; and the nearby wood. Fallen beams strewn across the dust, and everything else still left. Seemingly untouched, over the course of time. Yet anyone who knew what had once been could tell, that much had been stripped away. Looted perhaps, although unlikely. Tossed about by the elements, completely torn away, more like. Most of Aello's things rested outside on the grass. The delicate fronds circling them all, as they would hold the dead to their breasts; burying them beneath the deepened edges, long ago gone brown with the cold, and excessive rain. The harsh winter winds; and stormy remnants. Even so, past the splayed edges, split down the center, growing ragged and charred there were dots now. Speckles of green. Bursts of life; soon flattened beneath the weight of the world, and that which the aurist added too. Her things sat in silent vigil, idly watching from that fateful spot, mere paces from where the world had gone black, all those moons ago. When smoke overtook the sky, and flame swallowed all. They couldn't sense it now, the death that hung in the air. The memories of smoke as the world was shrouded in the darkest of clouds. But it didn't matter. Aello remembered. She remembered far more than enough for all of them. Again, Aello pressed her palms into the floorboards, into the small mounds of gathered black and grey powder that had formed over the years. The particles dusted her fingertips as they furled. Drawing lines in what had once been. She could feel it sinking in all the more now. The pain, as her heartstrings were pulled. Manipulated as though she were little more than a marionette within the hands of a skilled puppeteer. A man whose hands dripped warm crimson, onto her toes, as her heart drummed uncontrollably. A simple song, that seemed so solemn, so final. She could sense it pooling as her sorrow gathered, as she fought away the impending wave of tears. Imminence dwelling within as moisture overcame the whites. Widening the winding red rivers, as dirt made way for mud and coal. Darkened pits. Everything stemmed from those dark places, and fell back into them. Yet, everything fell away, as the world became glassy. Cast behind a strange sort of fog; one which refused to relent, no matter how hard one rubbed, or tried to blink it away. It all began here, didn't it? Aello asked herself as she wiped her stained palms on her knees. Forcing her flesh into the folds. Such a pure white; turning to grey. Becoming as musty and uncertain as her surroundings. As relentlessly dark and cold. As desolate. Long forgotten; lingering. She wondered if she'd ever get the mark out. The memory to wash away completely. Especially now, that she had come back to see what once had been. Simply to remind herself it seemed. No, torment herself. Remember the fallen? Remember the dead? She couldn't quite place her finger on the reason. Couldn't quite imagine why she'd drudge this all up, here now. Couldn't imagine why she'd do this to herself. Force herself through endless waves of excruciating mental pain. And it all ended here too, didn't it?

The winds awoke. Called to the aurist by her tears. The ashes danced; circling Aello like it were a hungry hurricane, waiting to strike. Everything was doused in its ethereal sheet, as it swept across the world, scattering, like fallen leaves. Moving as silently as that, save for the occasional drag cast by those burdened with clear beads. Why are you crying? Why are you crying? Don't cry... they whispered. Aello looked up, startled by the softness of the sound. The way it seemed to whisper, and glide over her, as though it were non-existent. A figment of her imagination, and nothing more. Don't cry, it came again, as it crept over her. Curling up in her lap; coiling, before it slithered up the length of her delicate form. Towards her ears. Licking them seductively as it fluttered across her lips, across her cheeks. Wiping away all moisture that had gathered there. Clotting; as it dripped away. Don't... cry... "Who's there?" Aello whispered, as she blinked a few times, washing some of her muddied tears away. Letting them creep across her skin. Draw the earth to her, before boring everything away. She felt a child speckled with wet sand. Buried beneath the weight of it all; losing her castle, losing her fantasy of simplicity. The perfect world, the perfect life. Buried beneath the weight of losing it all. She felt as though she were losing her mind, forcing herself to remember. Thinking someone were talking to her now, when no one but she, seemed to be around. As far as she was concerned, no one was around. "Are you hiding somewhere? Past the bones of this place? The hollowed ribs?" Why are you crying? Don't cry. Don't cry... "Who are you?" Aello whispered as the winds faded, sweeping the ashes away. From them rose vapors. Tendrils of white, which seemed to waver. But the girl would not notice. She wouldn't so much as sense the presence of their source as she stared down at the ground. As the mist strengthened, and molded, gaseous and largely unwilling to change as it was, into something else. Forming curves. Wisps, waves; like sea foam crashing against the shore. Bubbling, bursting with life and intensity, before fading away. The mist formed garments, soft features; sharper ones. Some so uncertain of themselves, that it was as though they weren't there at all. Yet, the eyes seemed so distinct. So much darker, than in life. Filled with everything contained in those last moments. Drawn into an infinitesimal speck, in the pupil's center. A glimmer, mysterious, nearly lost, yet so startlingly apparent. Slender, white fingers came forth, and curled beneath the girl's chin, lifting her gaze into the ghost's eyes. Even past the moisture, she could see. They grew wide, startled. Feeling as though this were no more than a cruel illusion cast by her mind. "Mom?" Aello whispered. The ghost nodded. "It's time to get up again," Myrrh whispered, the edges of her form flickering, as her center, her simple dress, adorned with a frilly white apron, coming to light. "Onto your feet Aello. As is only proper," she added, with a small smile, as her fingers tickled the underside of her daughter's chin. "Mom..." Aello whispered, incredulously, as she rose to her feet, soon realizing, that she had never gone back. Myrrh simply smiled as she glided around her daughter's form, settling behind her back. She seemed such a strong ghost to her girl, and yet, so very weak, and unsure of herself. Aello could sense her cool air as she came to a rest, and her fingers came to cradle her chin, her other hand, the girl's forehead, as though she were taking a temperature. "You're so cold," she added, as her mother pulled her into her chest, and rested her chin upon the aurist's thick mane of dark brown hair. "So very cold." There was a pause, as the scent of roses reached the girl's nostrils. Faint, and fading. Fleeting, as though they had withered and died long ago. Were crumbling away with everything else. Her will to forget; her desire to remember. The remnants of what once was. "Did you miss me?" Myrrh asked, as Aello's back sank into her embrace, along with everything else. Her inhibition. Her desires. Her need to be loved. For although her touch was cool, as was that of every other ghost, Aello could feel her again. As though she were still alive. It felt as though her mother's core was still warm, from the heat of the oven. From the blood that flowed in her veins. Her flesh felt soft, as though she had just been massaged, and oils had been worked into her skin. Her fingernails tickled, sending small tremors up the length of Aello's spine, even long before she kissed her daughter's forehead. Even before her lips pulled away, allowing only her gaze to linger, as she rocked the girl lightly in her arms. The girl who was amazed that they could somehow, be together again. Almost in the flesh. Almost... "Of course mother. I have missed you so," Aello replied, as her head rocked onto her mother's shoulder. Settling there as her hair splayed angrily by her sides. "You don't know the half of it... but, what of you? Of Leon? Have you been here the whole time, with him?" Myrrh shook her head. "No, only for a time. We tend to go where you go, but sometimes, we just stay here, together. Waiting for you to come back." Aello said nothing for a time. "He came to me a few seasons back. My little brother. He seemed well, if not a little haunted, like all of your kind... you don't... know now that I can help you? Go back. Move on. Give you more mist." Myrrh chuckled. "Do you want any mum, are you hungry?" Myrrh chuckled as she shook her head, waving her daughters thoughts and concerns away as she kissed her forehead again. It was just like old times. Like they really were together again. Almost...

"Mum?" Aello questioned, as Myrrh pulled her lips away, prompting a low, rumbling mhm to escape the ghost's mouth. "Why didn't you come earlier? To see me? Why didn't you expose yourself as Leon did?" she asked. Myrrh shook her head lightly. "At times we weren't strong enough to show," she replied. "At other times it didn't seem right, and at other times, perhaps I wasn't there, busy looking for other people." Aello's brow furrowed. "Is that why you haven't gone back then, you're busy looking?" Her mother nodded, "in part." Aello looked up at her, her lips parted a little, expecting more. She seemed to be saying, and what's the rest of it then? For a long time, the ghost remained silent, simply rocking her daughter in her arms, as she might have done when she were little more than a small child. "Leon and I chose to look after you. After the fire, until you joined us." "But you know that I've been well. You've spoken to me now, seen that. Why not simply return to the cycle now?" Aello asked. "Return your life, and this world to a greater state of balance." "It isn't time yet darling," Myrrh commented, as she ran her hand through her daughter's hair. Pulling apart the strands. "Not until I've seen him again." "Seen who?" Aello inquired. "Your father," Myrrh replied, as she raised her hand again to run it through Aello's hair, the young spiritist grew rigid. Her muscles tensed, as her eyes took on many things. Pain. Fear. Confusion. Surprise. Disbelief even. Her brow furrowed as she turned away from her. As her gaze hardened as she forced her mother to look at her directly, in the eyes. "What do you mean?" Aello asked. "He isn't with you?" Myrrh shook her head. "And if he's not with Leon... you don't think he returned without us? Thinking we too had died in that fire. All of us... I mean." Myrrh shook her head. "I don't know baby." A chill shot up Aello's spine as she took a half step back. She glanced down at the ground, just as her mother raised her hand again to comfort her. She was flickering. Fading away. The wind picked up again, tossing the ashes about them both. They seemed to circle hungrily. "Mom..." The ghost flickered. Flickered, like a candle in the wind. Her light was going out. All the lights were going out. "Mom, don't go!" Aello called, as she looked up again, as she raised her hand and reached for her mother's fingers. They brushed for an instant. One fleeting, cool instant. "Please don't go! I can make the mist! Don't go! I can do it... make the mist..." she pleaded, as the ghost vanished, and every trace of her faded away, as the ashes fell. Aello crumbled. Her knees hitting the ground hard. Rustling the ashes. Displacing them. "I can do it now..."