#i am experiencing greif unlike any other

[thedevilsoftruth]

Y'all...

ITS HIS SONG. LITERALLY, TOP TO BOTTOM. HIS. FUCKING. SONG.

[talesofealdancynedom]

Pretty new plumage for the cute young couple: Artemis(crimson), and Matcha(white), in the royal raven kingdom nest.

Tale 11: Artemis Craweleoth & The Griminthrope (chapter 5 - Beloved Princess 5/5) part 3. Stories of Fey

none

A year after Artemis and Matcha decided to tour magic forests, Morgen as hosting all his and Emilia’s children, and new grandchildren, on the gate. All except Artemis. Their other children had all flown the coop, and become accomplished mages; but not above having family reunions. They all took comfort in the knowing that Artemis was happy, in the shadow veil or some magic forest somewhere. It had been months since Matcha and Artemis were last spotted, but they did visit everyone individually on ocassion. But not this harvest gathering. Cadence, the eldest, insisted that no one go look for their littlest sister so late; unlike Calliope, the second eldest, who sided with Patrick. They missed their youngest sister, wanted to invite her. But Cadence was right; it was well in the evening, and everyone was too tired to hunt Artemis down. But as Cadence woke at dawn, to feed the stag fey with her children, she noticed something; silence.

At first, Cadence ignored the quiet; but then Calliope and her wife noticed, and then Patrick and his girlfriend noticed. Where was the morning calls of cockatrice at dawn? The two of albino peacock phoenixes that bickered all their childhoods? The song of the orphan birds, or metallic flap of Stymphalians. Not even gryphons perched along the edge of the tower. The Sibling’s curiously looked around, and then got their father and mother to check as well. All the raven children were missing. Morgan, being Mage of Tiberius gate, could feel all the fey and people on it, but accounting for an entire kingdom of fey was beyond his scope. Tiberius gate was too dense with fey to sort. Morgan sent his familiar Icarus to help search from above. Even with teamwork, the two couldn’t sense any raven children. Each fey they asked, noticed their plumaged mythical cousins were missing, yet had no idea why this was. Many said the raven fey had vanished during the night. Tiberius Gate was a sanctuary, inhabited only by the king mage, his family, and fey. If there were no children of the raven king here, there weren’t anywhere. This had happened before; when Morgan was King mage and in school. All the wolf children vanished, and almost claimed his enfeyed best friend. The propect of one tenth of all magic disappearing, terrified him.

Morgen feared the worst: The Raven King may have been killed. Such a good friend since they met: going for karaoke and flipping TV channels. The Raven King was always good for a laugh, and giving an unhelpful yet whimsical perspective. Morgan’s greif of the loss of fey and magic quickly became overshadowed by the fear for his raven brother’s life. He was experiencing a special kind of tragedy all over again. As much as Emilia and his children comforted Morgan, they would never understand that the death of a beast king, to the King Mage, is like the loss of a sibling. Flustered, Morgan ran to the Raven Door with his children, only to find a twelve-year-old girl, weeping on beneath a tree, when they entered the shadow veil. She had no colour, except her icy eyes; she was human mage. She looked like a princess, dressed as old Anglian nobility. Her dress was black crushed velvet, with feather ruff; Fairy robes like mage Queen Meriam Craweleoth of the Grand West. Like she was from a time when Tiberius made the gate. The sobbing girl was dirty, worn, and grey. Morgan knelt to her.

“Are you ok? Raven Queen Odette? You wear your mother’s fairy robes.” Morgan said calmly.

“My husband and children are dead. Their song silent, and my true love, all lost. I do not care that I am no longer immortal, cannot fly, or have returned to being a human girl; I weep for my children and husband, I weep, for I no longer want to sing or live without them,” Odette responded in tears. “All I have is my name; I have been Raven Queen here for so long, it is all I know. The veil takes your memories, as the surrounding magic does not know time. But enough of me; I need to aid Artemis and the new Raven King. They may need help adjusting to their new roles, but I can’t move myself to do anything but cry for my late husband.” She sobbed. Everyone was speechless. As if they had heard a eulogy. Morgan’s children could not comfort Odette; for no one but him, had been able to read Meriam’s journals about her daughter’s mortal life. Morgan knew the story well, and it reminded him of his own daughter, Artemis.

Long ago, the now widowed Raven Queen was a princess kept in her father’s palace. There were talks of wedding her off in the name of peace. She was the only heir of the Great West of Anglia. Odette’s future was to be decided by lordly men. Even if her mother, the mage queen, protested. Odette stood gracefully in her finery at the edge of the courtyard pools, watching the birds. Princess Odette Craweleoth was her full name. She always wore soft blues, and had pale hair and icy eyes; she had magic move through her, at a very young age. Thus, changing her colours to that of a swan. Odette starred into the skies yearning to fly, and be as elegant as one of the birds she watched. Yearning to be a charmer of the Raven Gate in the Capitol instead, of its princess. Her mother, Meriam Craweleoth, sadly watched her only child resent her circumstances; like she once did.

Meriam, knowing the ways of magic, had figured out that her princess was a mage. In these olden times, mages were the only people who could use magic. Therefore, mages were used as weapons, if not exterminated; and Odette was oblivious to this fact. She only knew about a royal existence inside a palace. Odette was a girl who only wanted to love and live, and was innocently unaware of the trial of life. This resulted in Odette, not yet a fully grown lady, feeling no shame in indulging in the impossible. Meriam covered any tracks of her daughter and nephew finding joy in magical ways, least the people who call themselves wizard’s protest. More importantly, she wanted them to have their youthful pure wonder, a little longer.

Meriam dared to defy her values, and lie to her king husband; and withhold her knowledge of the fine large raven adorned in treasure. The Raven King visited the balconies uncomfortably often. Odette had grown to love and had befriended him. It was sweet, and heartwarming. Odette and the Raven King talked when he visited each night; bringing her shiny junk, and telling her jokes, as she complimented him and confessed her woes of having no choice in her future. The Raven King then revealed his more human face, to confess that he loved her so much, that if she requited his love, they could fly off together. Odette could be his beautiful swan. thrilled by his offer, she agreed and kissed him, becoming enfeyed with his magic as a beast queen. She loved him back. At last, she determined her fate, and could fly.

Queen Meriam did not see her daughter, the princess, fly off with the Raven King. but knew and said nothing; her little girl would be safe, and live long and happy in the shadow veil. But common men would not understand such things. By the time the guards, and Odette’s father, arrived to her chambers, she had gone without a trace. Meriam now guarded the Raven Gate she had made, for her daughter’s sake. Anything to keep her only child safe, and meet her raven grandchildren. And Meriam died in her age guarding it from her people. People who had been given tools to wield magic, and wished to eliminate magery form the world.

All Odette could recall of this, is once being a princess, the birds she watched, and wanting to be herself. It felt like it was only a dream. Odette had forgotten the name of her kingdom, and the faces of her human family. The people who loved her centuries ago. Odette was raven queen no more, but still felt a mother to the bird fey. She, in her emptiness, wished to help Artemis and her remaining royal children, the richen raven and griminthropes, which were now presumably human mages somewhere. Odette wanted to help her daughter in law be the queen she once was. To protect what remained of what she loved most. It was all she had to fill a hole, where love once was.

Morgan was struck with sadness as well. He was close to the Raven King, who was quite the beloved personality among all the beast kings and mages. No doubt the other beast Kings and Queens would grieve him too. The King’s of fey were like the only siblings Morgan and Emilia ever had. They were like aunts and uncles to their four children. Everyone felt cold and empty; as nostalgia reared from pleasant to bitter. There was no more innocent prankster, funny hat wearer, bad dancing crackly singer. The Raven King sung badly purposefully, because his real voice was so beautiful it caused any living thing that heard it to die. The first Raven King was terrifying and glories, in all his majesty. As pure magic should be. Even if The Raven King was made only of magic itself, he felt like a physical person. He was as old as the world itself, and had met his eventual end. Infinity always has eventually. Even though he lived so long, it felt so short. The Raven King was now just a story in books of magic. In his stead, Matcha would now have to be all of these things.

Suddenly it dawned on Morgan, Emilia and their children. Where is Artemis and Matcha? Are they alive and the new king and queen of the raven kingdom as Odette said? Patrick approached Odette firmly, and requested the widowed queen to take them deep in the forest; to the secret nest. The giant raven nest that was forbidden to anyone but the Raven King, Queen and any newborn heirs. The Raven King had decorated an orchard of trees in dazzling gems, armor, jewelry and ornaments in the most spectacular way. Centuries of careful tweaking and crafting; It was art. It was what inspired Matcha to bead and decorate. The nest sat upon the largest tree in the circular orchard. It was made of felt, down, straw and twigs. As Odette lead the concerned family into the clearing, they saw a large four-winged crimson bird with a skulled head in the nest. Perched above her, another large snow-white raven with Icey eyes, that was adorned handsomely with jewelry about his neck and talons. It was like Odette and the Raven King were still there. The family cautiously approached behind Odette; her face still wet from tears. She pointed to the massive birds, which turned to look at them.

“Mother?” the new Raven King said in a familiar voice. He swooped down into his human form, revealing himself. It was Matcha, and he looked exactly like his father had; taller and with more dazzling feathers, and a crown. Except his eyes, which were his mothers. He waved to the visiting mages with a wide smile. Even as King, Matcha was himself.

“My condolences of your father. All the folk of magic will miss your little siblings, and the gifts he gave to us,” said Patrick “but where is my sister Artemis?” He asked. The red bird ruffled and turned into her human form; It was Artemis peering over the edge of the nest down at them. Everyone’s faces lit up to see her in good health. She had gone white and scarlet, just as Odette had when she became queen. Her collar and trims sparkled, and she wore a clear robe, like a veil embroidered with glittering feathers. The regal plume of feathers around her neck was as soft as clouds. Artemis was nearly unrecognizable. Her trademark autumn blacks of her eyes, hair, and clothes were now a regal white and blood red. Artemis jumped down, and landed before her family, surprising them a little. Even as Raven Queen, she was still herself.

“Told you I would never leave him Patrick.” Artemis said, smirking. Then her expression faded to sorrow. “The Raven King was murdered upon trying to rescue a flock of his captured daughters. The wizards must have been so scared to see him, that they lashed out on instinct like trolls. the beast kings can be verry shocking when you first meet one; as they are so big and all. He must have let his guard down because mages have returned, and have been keeping fey safe. I for one, did not know a beast king could die. I thought they may retire by choice, or turn human or something…” Artemis said. She was hugging Patrick, and melting into the fur of his coat. “I will miss him. He named me, and has been an accepting uncle all my life. Now I am Raven Queen, and I do not know how to be a step mother to an entire kingdom of fey. My husband will have to recreate his father’s work to restore balance. It’s a lot, and it’s not fair. I fear that, along the way, I will also forget you.” Artemis cried. Odette gently clasped Artemis’s hand, and looked away.

“I want to help, and stay, but I also need to find my royal children. They will have survived, and are now mages running amok; they must be confused to be human. Similar to Wolf Queen Flowen’s royal children, if I recall.  I am no longer enfyed, and will age now; my time is precious. I will do my best to help you be a good queen and mother to the raven kingdom. Our kingdom. I think we are all happy to see you both are well.” Odette said coldly. The family stood in the clearing of trees, decorated like a festive ballroom, as they stayed silent in memory of a lost friend, father, leader, and husband. Morgan ran up to Artemis, pulling her away from Patrick to embrace her.

“I and your family, can visit. As King Mage I come often; If the new king sees me worthy of being a brother, and gives me back the kingdom stone.” Morgan whispered. Matcha pulled a palm sized rock with the raven kingdoms rune on it. He smiled and put it in Morgan’s pocket, like it was another Tuesday.

“You look beautiful. This must be how Queen Meriam felt when Odette, her daughter, became a beast Queen. I am happy to hear my child will outlive me, prosperously for centuries; caring for fey like any proud mage. Though I know the veil can fog the mind, I hope you try to remember us.” He continued. Artemis’s family took turns giving her and Matcha comforting embraces, before parting. They took Odette with them to find the last of her children, wishing the best for the new royals. They saw their family off with a gentle smile in return; in spite of the events that had occurred. On the surface, it all seemed so scary, but underneath it was kindness. In time, and with tender love and care, the raven kingdom will once again have a happy ending. In a way, this new beginning already was one.

TABLE OF CONTENTS --->

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[galina]

hi galina! i was wondering if you could share us some of your favourite quotes?

In no real order, just ones that I have collected and think of often:

‘If you are called to change your life by any example, and your self responds–––you must change your life. and once you change, change again.

Your next self, too, will be challenged by examples, to find a self still waiting beyond. Thus there is no perfection in perfectionism; the process of experience and correspondence never stops. If there could be any end in view, it would be only this: that the circle of things corresponding to you grow not wider, but infinitely wide, touching everything that exists.’

Mark Greif, ‘The Concept of Experience’, Against Everything

‘Emancipatory politics must always destroy the appearance of a ‘natural order’, must reveal what is presented as necessary and inevitable to be a mere contingency, just as it must make what was previously deemed to be impossible seem attainable.’Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism

‘A good deal of the hostility to theory no doubt comes from the fact that to admit the importance of theory is to make an open-ended commitment, to leave yourself in a position where there are always important things you don’t know – but this is the condition of life itself.’

Jonathan Culler, Literary Theory (A Very Short Introduction)

‘When they fall in love with a city, it is forever, and it is like forever. As though there never was a time when they didn’t love it. The minute they arrive […] they know they are born for it. There, in a city, they are not so much new as themselves: their stronger, riskier selves.’Toni Morrison, Jazz

‘I think what I’m confessing to is that, however I choose to write about over-there, I am forced to reflect that world in fragments of broken mirrors […] I must reconcile myself to the inevitability of missing bits.’

Salman Rushdie, Shame

‘What tethers me to my parents is the unspoken dialogue we share about how much of my character is built on the connection I feel to the world they were raised in but that I’ve only experienced through photos, visits, food. It’s not mine and yet, I get it. First-generation kids, I’ve always thought, are the personification of déjà vu.’

Durga Chew-Bose, Too Much and Not the Mood

‘If you are not from a particular place the history of that particular place will dwell inside you differently to how it dwells within those people who are from that particular place, Your connection to certain events that define the history of a particular place is not straightforward because none of your ancestors were in any way affected by these events. You have no stories to relate and compare, you have no narrative to inherit and run with, and all the names are strange ones that mean nothing to you at all. And it’s as if the history of a particular place knows all about this blankness you contain. Consequently if you are not from a particular place you will always be vulnerable for the reason that it doesn’t matter how many years you have lived there you will never have a side of the story; nothing with which you can hold the full force of the history of a particular place at bay.’

Claire Louise Bennett, Pond

‘The past conditions us, harries us, black-mails us. The historic avant-garde […] defaces the past […] destroys the figure, cancels it, arrives at the abstract, the informal, the white canvas, the slashed canvas, the charred canvas.’ 

Umberto Eco, ‘Postmodernism, Irony, the Enjoyable’,Reflections on The Name of the Rose

‘The past cannot be entirely recuperated from so much power arrayed against it on the other side: it can only be restated in the form of an object without a conclusion, or a final place, transformed by choice and conscious effort into something simultaneously different, ordinary, and irreducibly other and the same, taking place together: an object that offers neither rest nor respite.’ 

Edward Said, ‘The Art of Displacement: Mona Hatoum’s Logic of Irreconcilables’Mona Hatoum: The Entire World as a Foreign Land

‘[What] if history has nothing more to teach us than that all the shapes of the spiritual world, all the conditions of life, ideals, norms upon which man relies, form and dissolve themselves like fleeting waves, that it always was and ever will be so, that again and again reason must turn into nonsense, and well-being into misery? Can we console ourselves with that? Can we live in this world, where historical occurrence is nothing but an unending concatenation of illusory progress and bitter disappointment?’

Edmund Husserl trans. David Carr, The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology

‘To me, of course, the river paid no attention, caring only for itself, those changing, roving waters into which – as I later learned – you can never step twice.’

Olga Tokarczuk, trans. Jennifer Croft, Flights

‘Imagine having no discarded personalities, no vestigial selves, no visible ruptures with yourself, no gulf of self-forgetfulness, nothing that requires explanation, no alien version of yourself that requires humor and accommodation. What kind of life is that?’

Michael Warner, ‘Tongues Untied’, Curiouser: On the Queerness of Children

Do you see that creamy, lemon-yellow moon?There are some people, unlike me and you,

who do not yearn after fame or love or quantities of money as               unattainable as that moon;thus, they do not later                       have to waste more timedefaming the object of their former ardor.

Or consequently run and crucify themselvesin some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha.

I have news for you—there are people who get up in the morning and cross a room

and open a window to let the sweet breeze inand let it touch them all over their faces and bodies.

Terry Hoagland, ‘I Have News For You’, Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty

O God, I am not like youIn your vacuous black,Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.Eternity bores me,I never wanted it.

Sylvia Plath, ‘Years’, Collected Poems

At that timeanxiety was in you like a scribble.

An oblivion-scribblelike a big piece of Abstract Expressionism where your thinking brain was supposed to be.That was like nothing. It was a big waste.

Emily Bludworth de Barrios, ‘“he beheld the plumage on the miraculous casque shaken in concert with the sounding of the brazen trumpet”’, Splendor

I doubt if 30 years of bleak Leeds weatherand 30 falls of apple and of maywill erode the UNITED binding us together.And now it’s your decision: does it stay?

Tony Harrison, ‘v.’, v.

She lives on a moor in the north.She lives alone.Spring opens like a blade there.I travel all day on trains and bring a lot of books—some for my mother, some for meincluding The Collected Works Of Emily Brontë.This is my favourite author.Also my main fear, which I mean to confront.Whenever I visit my motherI feel I am turning into Emily Brontë,my lonely life around me like a moor,my ungainly body stumping over the mud flats with a look of transformationthat dies when I come in the kitchen door.

Anne Carson, ‘The Glass Essay’, Glass, Irony, and God

Spring is here! We are going to die!

Louise Glück, ‘For Jane Meyers’, Poems 1962-2012

Persephone had it right.If you must go, might as welltake all of spring with you—

Cathy Linh Che, ‘Letters to Doc’, Split

I’ve exhausted my cruelty. I’ve arrived at myself again.The sun builds a slow house inside my house,touching the stilled curtains, the bottoms of cupsleft out on the table.

Jenny George, ‘Reprieve’, The Dream of Reason