#i was trying to make this sound like a textbook passage- i hope i succeeded!

[court-of-constellations]

Hello everyone!! I'm back with another post about my original universe, this time about nymphs!

This is even longer than the vampire one so the rambling is under the cut, and I was so tempted to include information about my inspiration for certain things and why I made the creative decisions I did, but I refrained because I wanted to keep this focused and not go off on tangents (however, if you do want to hear about that stuff, feel free to send me an ask at any time! I'm always happy to ramble about this universe!)

So. Nymphs. They're typically defined (by humans) as nature spirits, but what does that mean?

Well, the literal dictionary definition is "a spirit born from the earth or water; a being connected to the earth." Nymphs are, in short, personifications of nature. That's not to say that every little aspect of nature has a corresponding nymph- but there are several kinds of nymphs for several different types of nature.

Nymphs, as a whole, can be divided into two categories: land and water. There are a couple types of nymph that could fit into both categories, and one specific type of nymph that doesn't fit into either, but most nymphs can be clearly defined as one or the other.

Nymphs frequently spawn in areas with high magical concentration; why this is, nobody knows, and most other scholars have put it down to those areas being sacred in some way. These scholars are the same ones that hail nymphs as creations of the divine, made to safeguard the lands that are rightfully ours, so any conclusion of theirs must be taken with several grains of salt. I find that many scholars who subscribe to this field of thinking have never even seen a nymph in their lives, and assume that they are all perfectly like us humans (despite their appearances). This is a lie, one that continues to be retold despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

To understand nymphs, one must first understand that they are not human. They are sentient, intelligent, and quite interesting, but no matter how humanoid their shape might be, they are not and never will be even close to human beings. The exceptions to this rule will be covered later, but true nymphs are nature in its purest form: wild, unpredictable, and untameable. Like fairies, they operate on an entirely separate morality than humans, but unlike fairies, there are no clever tricks you can use to escape them, no set rules you may follow. If fairies are order, nymphs are chaos. If you should encounter a nymph, then by all means converse with them and befriend them if you like, but never forget that they are not the same as you, and no matter how benevolent they may seem, they could turn on you in an instant.

With all of this out of the way, let's finally get to the types of nymphs and their origins.

Land Nymphs

This category of nymph, as the name suggests, are tied to the land. There are several kinds of nymphs who fall under this category, and those nymphs have so many subspecies among them that if I listed them all, this text would be thicker than my torso.

Still, I shall endeavor to at least impress upon you the general idea of which nymphs come from where, so that you might know to use the correct terminology when describing to a friend and encounter you may have had in the woods or fields. Any further study into the subspecies can be found in other, more involved texts, ones whose authors were compensated enough to care about listing every type of nymph that could possibly be found in our lovely lands.

The first to be aware of are dryads, nymphs who have spawned from trees. It is unknown how long a tree must live before becoming a dryad, but this author suspects it to be somewhere in the hundreds, if only for the fact that cutting down younger trees has not as of yet brought a furious dryad out for my blood into my path. Should this change, this text will naturally be updated should I survive long enough to do so.

There are as many types of dryads as there are types of trees, and though there are certainly scientific names for each and every one, I personally have found that simply using the name of whichever tree they spawned from is quite sufficient. A dryad who spawned from an ash tree is an ash dryad, from an oak tree is an oak dryad and so on and so forth; I am quite sure I need not recount the name of every tree for the reader to understand my point.

True dryads, once born from whichever tree they are, are from then on about as attached to the tree as a human might be their parents; their personal feelings vary from nymph to nymph, but in terms of life force, they can and will live even if their tree has been cut down. Unlike humans, the only thing that can kill a true dryad is when the last trace of their tree has disappeared from this world; be it by decay or fire or a misplaced disintegration spell, once the tree is well and truly gone, so too is the dryad.

In terms of a dryad's appearance, their skin will be made out of the same bark as their tree, their hair the same leaves, their innards the same wood. Their eyes may have fruits or flowers in them depending on the tree and time of year, but they may simply be empty sockets. In any case, you should know a dryad at first sight, for unless walking trees are quite common in your place of residence, there's really nothing you can mistake them for.

I would give a description of a dryad's typical personality, as so many others have in their own texts, but my experiences with them have made me aware that they differ in personality as much as humans do; this holds true for all nymphs and I will not repeat such trite and blatantly untrue statements as "all dryads are nurturing, all naiads are mischievous," etc. That is my final statement on this matter and if I receive one more letter from my editor asking where the personality descriptions are, I swear I will-

(Editor's Note: The rest of this tirade had to be cut for its vulgarity and surprisingly creative threats towards me, my place of work, the scholars that continue to perpetuate these stereotypes, their families, and oddly enough, any cows they may have in their possession. Rest assured it was very much unsuited for such a text, but I preserved as much as I was morally able to.)

The florae, nymphs born from flowers, differ from dryads in appearance and origin, and that is where the differences end. They are comparatively rarer as flowers are quite fragile and much more likely to be destroyed, but so long as the vine or shrub or roots survive, so too will the flora. Oddly enough, trees that produce a dryad may also produce a flora from its flowers.

Florae are typically made out of whatever their flower bloomed on, be it vines or stems or branches. Whatever their flower was, replicas of it will be blooming all over their body, including in their eyes, and their hair will be made out of its petals. I have encountered florae many times, and I have yet to figure out just how some of the hairstyles they have are physically possible. One of the many mysteries of life, I suppose.

I suppose now that we have discussed dryads and florae, we must now discuss the dragon in the room: the dryads and florae that were once human beings.

There are many, many different theories of why and how this phenomenon occurs, but there are three facts we know: one, that if a human being is turned into a plant, they will inevitably become a nymph, two, that these humans are visually indistinguishable from true nymphs, and three, they are much more fragile- if their tree is cut down or their flower dies, they will die too and there is nothing that can be done about it.

It is for this reason that turning people into plants is so harshly punished, for you have condemned them to either an early death or a painfully prolonged life that could easily be cut short by anyone unaware of their plant"s true nature. But this is not a book about ethics or law, and if you wish to know more, than you must look elsewhere, for I have shared everything that is relevant.

With that out of the way, let's talk about (gods save me) the other land nymphs.

There are nymphs far older than human civilization, and indeed, humanity as a whole. These nymphs are known to the particularly religious as "The Elder Ones" and to the rest of us as simply the land nymphs.

The best way to explain these nymphs is to take a quick look at history. All throughout time, the earth has been shifting and changing, and as it changes, so too do the nymphs who personify it. These nymphs are fluid and ever changing, their types only vague classifications that serve to describe just what they represent at the moment. They are old, wise, and frustratingly reclusive, and the only reason we know they exist is because of what other nymphs have told us.

Thus far, the classifications are:

Oreads (mountain nymphs)

Valleaeae (valley/pasture/glen nymphs)

Pratae (meadow nymphs (Editor's Note: I personally don't understand the point of this distinction))

Napaeae (dell nymphs)

Haliae (seashore nymphs)

Umidae (wetland nymphs)

This is all we really know about them, and though other nymphs claim that it was them who created all other nymphs, that sounds far too religious for this book.

Water Nymphs

Water nymphs are far less varied than land nymphs (thank the gods, this chapter is getting long enough as it is) and they are all, in terms of origin and appearance, functionally the same.

Naiads (the term for water nymphs in general) spawn from a water source that isn't the open sea (why, this is still unknown.) They are made out of water and may adorn themselves with objects found in their water source, such as colorful rocks or flowers and things of that nature.

The subspecies of naiads are:

Lacuae (lake nymphs)

Pegaeae (spring nymphs

Fluminae (river nymphs)

Naiads are a curious case. Unlike land nymphs, they cannot be killed by any means. Instead, they will spawn, live as long as they like, and then once they're done they will dissolve into the water from whence they came, and another naiad will spawn and the cycle will start anew.

There will never be more than one naiad at a time from one water source, and we have yet to discover any nymphs born from the ocean.

Underworld Nymphs

Underworld nymphs have only been said to exist by the precious few undead who are willing to discuss such matters. They are not proven to be anything more than the dreams of a dying mind, and thus I will not be including them in this text no matter how much my editor begs me to.

If you wish to research them, there are a number of scholarly texts that hotly debate their existence, role in the Underworld, origin, and quite literally every little thing about them.

Vagari

Whatever Vagari may be, they almost certainly aren't nymphs. Some say that they are the children stolen away by fairies, others say that they are the tormented souls of lost travelers. All that can concretely be proven about them is that they can be seen wandering the woods, wearing clothes made out of animal skins and leaves, and wearing a mask in the shape of an animal's head.

I write about them in this text solely because we are just uncertain enough of their true nature that they could, possibly, be some form of nymph.

And with that, this text comes to a close. I hope this will serve you well wherever you may be, and always remember: if you should meet a nymph, treat them and their source with respect, never forget that they are as wild as the earth that formed them, and don't get too attached to any objects they may see in your possession. Or just run. That would work as well.

[txtdreamss]

the boy who has everything// [f.w.]

Summary: Fred and you have been secretly going steady since the end of your fifth year. Now that he and George are making their grand exit to follow their dreams, you are struggling to come up with the perfect parting gift.

Inspired by: https://open.spotify.com/track/37hblhCnC5YzhDQH58Rgpi?si=0EISnLcTRE2mctlIXNObTA

Warnings: Angst, Malfoy!Reader, difficult home life, neglect mentioned

A/N: Currently going through a bit of a writers block that definitely came from school, but I thought something to do with my fav boy would help clear my mind. Just want some input from ya’ll, would you be interested in me starting to take requests? Also, low-key miss having mutuals before I decided to completely start over lol. Also, why does ‘each other’ look wrong to me? Like I am a native English speaker but the words just like sus...

Word Count: 2.2k

    The numerous differences between your childhood and your boyfriend’s were anything but subtle.

    Growing up, you felt as if you were a puppet being dangled for the world to see. Your mother, Narcissa Malfoy, was a complex woman; She obviously loved you very much. She held you, but never longer than it took to keep your tears at bay. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was your father in blood only. His disdain for your lack of enthusiasm regarding blood purity was obvious. He had never once in your 18 years on Earth said ‘I love you’, or even a simple ‘I’m proud of you’. Until the day came where you were willing to take the dark mark and fight on behalf of Lord Voldemort, you would be nothing in your parents’ eyes besides a test child before Draco’s birth.

    Now, from what Fred had told you, his childhood was seemingly filled with sunshine and rainbows. He spent his summers wading in the pond near the Burrow, listening to the chirp of crickets and giggles of his numerous siblings. The entire family was open about showing their love in words and actions. Molly and Arthur, despite not being particularly rich, would give the clothes off their backs if it meant their children would never have to experience fear in any capacity. Fred always had a playmate, and never did he have to go through life fearing being expelled from the family home for his opinions.

    In the simplest of terms, Fred and you were complete opposites. Your similarities were found in the small things; the way you both were headstrong and loyal, and most of all...

   You both despised Filch. Fred had saved your butt from being caught in the halls after dark at the beginning of 5th year. He had decided then and there that despite the fact that you were in a different house, you simply had to be more than another member of the besmirched sacred twenty-eight. He knew from the second you were taking his outstretched hand in the dimly lit corridors that no matter what, you both were destined to be in each others’ lives. As he led you down a secret passage to the sound of Mrs. Norris’ eardrum-rattling mewls, you knew that the idea that he was just another impoverished ginger from the Weasley family was anything but true. Despite all the odds, that night was what laid down the foundations for you and Fred to become more than just another member of the family feud.

    Going on almost 2 years later, and your relationship had shifted from what was a slightly odd friendship to an unexpected relationship. Fred and George were now planning their grand escape for sometime after the Easter holidays, but you had a totally different date on your mind; April 1st.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    “Oi, Weasley! You are a whole 42 seconds late!” You giggled, and Fred simply chuckled before dropping his books next to yours.

    It was rare for Fred to be on time, but he always made an effort (and usually succeeded) for you. Due to your obvious difference in house loyalty, the easiest way you found to spend time together was to carve out 2 afternoons each week to just bask in each others’ presence. Every Monday and Friday (unless there was a quidditch match), you would meet Fred in a secluded corner of the courtyard. The two of you would goof around study, snack on some treats from Honeydukes, or simply lie back and enjoy the sunset while talking about whatever came up.

    “So, anything big happen today, love?” Fred pecked you on the cheek quickly before dropping his head on your shoulder.

    “Just the usual. Apparently, my mother has finally given up on sending me howlers to come home.”

    “Y/N, mum already said she would love for you to come and stay with us during the holidays. You could come get a feel for the family over the holidays next week, and you would finally get to see what the Weasley-Twin-Birthday-Bonanza is like!”

    “You mean watch your aunt call you George for a whole evening while asking why you aren’t a prefect? Oh, I am so in.” The ginger made a face of mock offense while dramatically huffing into the shoulder of your robes. “That reminds me, will you finally cave and tell me what you want for your birthday?”

    “Love, I don’t want anything at all. Having my gal be there for the big one-eight is more than I could ever ask for.”

    Money was no issue; Your mother had continued sending you a small allowance, most likely in the hopes that it would sway you to ‘do the right thing’. Fred had always made an effort to get you a new charm for your bracelet for your birthday, which most likely cost him a few weeks in sales, so of course you wanted to return the favor and find the perfect gift. Last year, you had crocheted him a plush lion wearing a Gryffindor-themed scarf and he had loved it. For some reason, though, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to find him something bigger and better for his final birthday as a Hogwarts student.

    “If you say so, Fred. Just don’t complain when you open my gift and it’s a pair of socks embroidered with little kittens.” Fred simply smiled and grabbed your hand that was previously tapping on the edge of your potions textbook.

    “I’ll wear them with pride.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    “Ginny, please tell me you have some amazing idea for a gift that I haven’t thought of....” Ginny grimaced as you sunk into the wooden chair, obviously aware that this meeting you had called in the library wasn’t just to give her some advice in terms of course selection.

    “Well... um... maybe you could bring him some muggle joke products? He really gets quite a kick out of them.” The apples of Ginny’s round cheeks became rosy, and she awkwardly rubbed at the back of her neck. “I mean, no offense, but couldn’t you just ask him?”

    “I tried that already. At this rate, he will be turning 19 before I figure out what to get him...” A puff of air escaped your chapped lips, and you once again found yourself nibbling on them in thought.

    “Well, here you are, big sis! Trying to figure out a gift for your git of a boyfriend?” Draco’s familiar greasy head popped out from behind the shelf before the young wizard marched up to you directly. “Do us all a favor, give him a little ‘life sans Y/N’... Merlin knows his parents probably don’t want a child of dark lord sympathizers at their shack anyways.”

    “Shut up, Draco...” Before Ginny could attempt to soothe your anger, you had up and left the room.

    “Psh, serves her right anyways...” A resounding smack was heard as Ginny wacked the platinum-headed goon on the back with the heaviest textbook lying nearby.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    It wasn’t like doubt surrounding your relationship had never been an issue before. You often found yourself wondering if your company was putting Fred in danger, especially considering the current climate surrounding the resurgence in death eater activity. Fred had always tried to quell your worries, but sweet words and gentle kisses could only do so much. You and Fred knew how you both felt towards each other, but it seemed like the world was against you some days.

    Maybe Draco is right, he could get out of here and find a nice girl with normal parents to settle down with. After all, who wants to be known as the significant other of a Malfoy?

    A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye, but you quickly dabbed it away with the edge of your sleeve to avoid grabbing attention from any of your housemates. The only perk you found that happened to come with being sorted into Slytherin like the rest of your family was that it was far enough away that you knew Fred wouldn’t find out if you spent any time sulking about your common room. For once, the slam of the heavy dungeon doors brought you comfort instead of a nagging chill.

    Fred isn’t like me. He has everything he could ever want... All I do is create more stress for him.

    Ignoring the harsh gaze of your housemates, you slipped into your dorm and found yourself slinking to bed without so much as slipping off your robes. Pulling the emerald comforters over your head, you let yourself slip into a restless sleep.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    It was finally the day before the Easter holidays, and Hogwarts was more alive than ever. Young couples were spending their last day on campus wandering the corridors, groups of friends sat laughing and promising to write letters on what they each planned to bring back, and even some people that swore they were enemies seemed to be acting more hospitable. It must’ve been nice to not be spending the morning trying to calm your beating heart and convincing yourself that what you are doing isn’t wrong.

    “Hey Lovey! Have you finished packing yet?”

    “Well... not exactly, Freddie.” Fred’s face dropped, and he took your hand in his.

    “Is this about my aunt? I promise you won’t even have to say more than a simple ‘hello’ to her.” The mere mention of Fred’s Auntie Muriel almost cracked your tough exterior.

    “I can’t come home with you, Freddie. There is no way your family wants to spend their holiday break with the daughter of Lucius Malfoy. Look, I mean... here’s your gift. Just please promise to wait till you get to the station to open it.”

    Fred opened his mouth to argue, but you had already turned away as to avoid him seeing hot tears trail down your cheeks. You would have to be insane to go and willingly spend your holiday alone in the Malfoy Manor. There would be no family meals, especially now that all your parent’s energy went towards providing shelter for the death eaters. As you stumbled away to make your way back to your dorm to finish packing, Fred’s warm hand grasped your shoulder.

    “Please. Y/N, all I want is to be able to spend every day of this holiday mucking about with you. I know why you want to go home, and I’m telling you as your boyfriend and best friend to not do it. Just please, grant me a birthday wish... come home with me.”

    Fred drew you into his chest, and you found yourself clutching onto his striped button-up as if it would save your life. His larger hands rubbed across your back, and he pressed a small kiss on the top of your head.

    “Are you really sure about this, Fred? I wouldn’t want to make your mum and dad uncomfortable, or even your older brothers for that matter.”

    “Y/N, my love, the light of my life, just come home. If you can manage to get George to like you more than he likes me, I promise you the rest of my family will love you.” His signature smirk spread on his freckled face, and he pressed a quick peck on the tip of your nose.

    “Now, let’s go get you packed, Y/N.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

    “Oi, Fred, what’s in the box?” George elbowed his brother while somewhat attempting to be quiet. The train ride was almost over, and you had resorted to using the seat opposite to the twins as a temporary napping spot.

    “I nearly forgot I had it on me to be quite honest. Do you think I should open it even though she is coming with us?”

    “She said to open it at the station, but we are obviously past that point, so please just open it!” George bounced in his seat, and Fred gave in to temptation. He unwrapped the ribbon holding the small box shut, opened the lid, and discovered a dainty chain with a circular pendant hanging on the end.

    “Is that a size reference for your-”

    “George! Shut up, you dimwit. I think it might be a mirror-glass type thing, but I genuinely have no idea...”

    “Freddie, bring it to your eye and look through it.” The twins both jumped as you rolled over, clearly no longer asleep.

    Fred brought the pendant to his right eye, squinted, and his immediate smile couldn’t be contained. When held at the right distance, he could see a small picture of you and him from your first date at Hogsmeade. He was much more lanky and awkward looking, and you were almost matched in height. The smile you both shared in the photo warmed his heart to no end, and Fred found himself having to gather his emotions from the memories he had of that day. 

    The ginger all but leapt to your side of the cart, and he wrapped his arm around your still-sleepy figure. He squeezed you tightly to his side before leaning in to whisper something in your ear without allowing George to hear.

    “It’s perfect, my love.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

~Post-fic A/N: I hope this was a good read for you guys! I am definitely on the verge of passing out, but proofreading is superior to sleep (jk). Anyways, if anything comes to mind, don’t hesitate to reach out or send in an ask! I love interacting with you guys, even if it is just a brief hello! :) ~

[erismarriott]

Book Review #3

In Gray by Sara J Bernhardt My rating: 2 of 5 stars Okay, alright, I'll be frank here: I hate giving negative reviews. I despise the devil out of crushing dreams and pulling apart a craft that I hold near and dear to my heart. It tears me in half to have to do this, but it would be incorrect to give a false review that glorified something that I despised (and not for the content type, either. I am a lover of fantasy: high, urban or otherwise). In Gray is set up about the premise of a woman surviving a car crash to find that she is monochromatic colorblind and that her newfound premonitions can aid her in saving lives of those soon to be subjected to mortal peril. I was fine with this and was intrigued to see what the author could do with such a concept. But, from the beginning, I was turned off by a number of things. First off: sentence variety. Every sentence reads in a monotonous, textbook-style voice. I read it aloud to a friend to ensure it wasn't just me being tired or unfair in my determination of such a fact; she, unfortunately, agreed with me. Fantasy should not read like a "how to" technical book; I must say, this one was far more tiresome to read than a variety of the books that I've read throughout my educational career. And I study economics and find pleasure in reading case law. These supposedly boring fields with their even more "boring" language are more gripping to me and easy to immerse myself in than this book. Never you mind that the publisher opted to keep the font in Arial. I thought the first rule of novel formatting was to use a serif font--like Times New Roman or something to the effect. Whatever the actual standard, the font and sentence structure alone made for a painful read. That doesn't even begin to cover my issues with this book. From the beginning, you have plot point after plot point thrown at you without proper context. I don't mind first-person narratives (in fact, I often prefer them, depending on the style of novel), but this book also lacks any verifiable character motivation or proper contextual set up required to become invested in a character. There is only one real relationship of value in the beginning, and while I don't think relationships are vital to a story plot, this story needed something to make it substantive beyond some woman/author's stream of conscious review of what could have been a wonderful story. And, don't get me wrong, there is a good story beyond the awful coat of poor developmental, line or even copy editing. It's true--I found numerous grammatical and formatting issues everywhere, beyond total plot chaos. Stray apostrophes, periods, excess quotations, and errors of the like were completely missed by the author and editors in the case of this novel. Paired with the multiple plot points not being given proper introduction, the world-building was significantly lacking in this work. Now, granted, this would be urban fantasy so it's not quite as crucial to world build as in high fantasy; yet, giving the reader some idea of what the town the character lives in is like beyond "small" and "where everyone knows each other" is necessary. We only really get exposition about surroundings in a few scenes. In some places it's rushed and in other places, the book lags on and often over things that aren't important. It's review of emotional contexts and how they should be approached in response to tragedy are mediocre at best. Now, this isn't to say that this person who wrote this is a bad author. I don't want this review to shine negatively on the quality of their person or future works; in fact, this work (despite what the awful cover may denote) is traditionally published. The editors and formatters in this equation clearly gave no cares in the world as to the quality of the work they put out, nor the author's reputation. This book had a logical procession, but it really needed to be more than one book or fleshed out in a lot of places. Like, a lot a lot. I found myself tearing up with fear at what it might be if I were to be left in the hands of a publisher like this who did not give a darn about my work, but rather if they could put anything and everything on the market at all. This book needs a serious overhaul. The story is redeemable for many qualities and I feel I would have enjoyed it under different circumstances. I really do. But, when your book reads like a stream of conscious textbook with no emotional connection, it makes it very hard to continue or validate reading a work of this nature. Very, very hard. And I say that with much dismay. I don't think I ever want to open this book again, let alone dare to venture into a second book, as apparently, this is the first in a series. I am saddened while I write this. This was a book I wanted to hurl across several rooms. It left me hanging in places where it should have given more (quite often, and not in the good sense at all) and dying for the reprieve of a later chapter in several other places. It's not to say that others won't enjoy this novel; I'm sure many will. Its reviews on Amazon indicate that many did. But, like, I can't help but feel that those few reviews might be overshadowed by a cacophony of bad ones if the author or publisher doesn't take steps to do some serious edits to make this book better. Like, seriously. It makes me so sad writing this and I feel so bad. I don't like ragging on a book; I often like many books that others don't--even the ones that sound boring. I found Charles Dickens to be enthralling when many of my book-loving friends despised him. Other "boring" authors of the like have enticed me as well, both from a classical and modern sense. But, this book here was utterly disappointing. I could not immerse myself in it for the myriad errors and poor editing (all types in question) and that's saying something. And I hope the author won't take this the wrong way. Like I said, the story behind the massive confusion and formatting chaos was beautiful; had it been handled much differently this would have been a gushing review. The author's voice and prose, however, was completely drowned out by the fact that there was too much going on and then not enough. The worst part was that not even the appearance of the novel could make up for at least half of the mental torture I endured while trying and eventually succeeding at reading through this novel. I sincerely hope that future small-published books don't disappoint me like this. Is it worth a read? Maybe. But don't go into it with high expectations of a piece of literature to remember or cherish. Then again, you might find something entirely different about this work and might feel differently; I hope that you do. I hope that my assessment is completely off in its regard of what is actually a good novel, but sharing it with friends and asking them their opinions of passages or plot points that confused or irritated me corroborated my now sorely given opinion. I'm sorry I couldn't come back with a better review. Can the story be saved? Sure. But at this point, it is damned, in my mind, from the first sentence. View all my reviews