#like losing Aurelia's title in between drafts >:/

[mistfallengw2]

I really want to do ask games now that I finally have the character list, but I think it might be smarter to wait until after I'm done with SotO's story so I don't lose myself in writing stuff...

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #29 - Paternal

set the night before last year’s fill #27, “palaver.”

AO3 Link HERE

=========================

Eighty-nine. Ninety.

The bristles dragged through her hair in a soothing rhythm, marking a routine she'd once kept daily and all but forgotten.

She'd been lulled into a half-dozing state by the sound of the wind as it whistled around the eaves of the manor - it was very cold but there was no snow or ice for once - and every northerly burst made her feel as though she'd stepped back in time a good ten years.

A knot from one of the logs popped in the hearth-fire. She started and exhaled, then raised the brush again.

Ninety-one. Ninety-two.

There were differences, of course. No rattle from a nearby ceruleum space heater, and no worry that her aunt might come knocking for one of her talks. But she was no longer that girl of eighteen summers and this was not the borrowed guest-chamber her aunt and uncle had assigned her in the family compound in Garlemald. This was Ishgard and over a decade had passed since she had been that girl. If anyone in her family spoke her name now it was to curse it for the shame her actions had undoubtedly brought upon them.

But she had no regrets. Things had happened that no reasonable person could have foreseen, and she had done the best she could under the circumstances.

Ninety-three.

When one thought of it in that light, Aurelia supposed she hadn't done so poorly. Granted, hers was something of an extraordinary case, but even Warriors of Light weren't invincible and before all of this had started, she had just been a normal woman no different from any other on the star. If she had known what she-

A rap on the heavy door.

"Mistress Aurelia? Are you awake?"

She set her brush down. "I am," she said. "What do you need, Saulette?"

"The Co-- er, Lord Edmont's asked for you."

"Give me one moment." Aurelia reached for her soft house coat and stepped into her slippers, then made her way to the door. It opened with a creak and the girl on the other side looked distressed to see that she was still fumbling with the belt at her waist.

"Oh, miss, you should have said-"

"It's fine," she said, smiling. "I hardly need assistance to put on a robe, and Lord Edmont will likely have been winding down himself. Where is he?"

"The parlor, miss."

She padded down the hallway and up the stairs at Saulette's heels. The young maid opened the door and bowed, stepping aside to allow Aurelia entry. Edmont de Fortemps sat in his customary chair, warming himself at the hearth and dressed in bedclothes of his own, careworn features drawn and pensive, silver-streaked dark hair perhaps a touch less neat than he might have allowed during daytime hours. It was a rare look at a man who was as controlled and dignified as her own father had been.

"Mistress Aurelia, my lord."

"Thank you, Saulette. Pray excuse us. I would like to speak with her alone."

The girl bowed. "Of course, my lord."

The door clicked softly shut at her back. Lord Edmont was smiling at her in a way her own father had never done, and gesturing at the chair nearest him.

"Well, come in, my dear," he said. "It's too cold to stand in the stairwell, you'll catch a cold from that draft." She smiled in return, drawing closer to the fire and curling up in the plush upholstered chair. "Are you nervous?"

"About tomorrow? A bit, but in that public speaking sort of way, you know."

"I do know, as it happens! Between you and me: that is the one bit about being the official head of the House that I have not missed." He reached for a porcelain teapot sitting on a tray at the nearby end table. "All the heres and wherefores and endless worry about my public image and how it might or might not reflect poorly upon the family as a whole."

"Indeed."

"I wish Artoirel joy of it. He's been chomping at the bit but I suspect reality will set in soon enough."

"I think he'll do well," Aurelia said, watching him pour the cup.

"He will. I love the boy, you know. Very much his mother's child. A bit stuffy at times, but he's a good man with a good head on his shoulders, and he's not mired in Church politics the way some of his peers are. He'll do the Fortemps name justice, I think." Edmont's dark eyes shone with cheer as he lifted the filled teacup and offered it to her. "...You had a great deal of influence there, you know."

"You give me far too much credit that I cannot claim, Lord Edmont. Artoirel is his own man."

"So he is. But you've always led by example, and you taught him some valuable lessons I think he might not otherwise have learned. Cream and sugar?"

"Just a bit of cream. And one lump." She paused, cup halfway to her lips. "...You really don't miss it at all?"

"There are some habits I miss. But it's rather like losing a tooth, you know. Strange at first but then everything falls into place over time and you barely notice that part of the routine was ever missing at all. No," he said, watching her sip, "I think it will be no great effort to make the adjustment. Being a private citizen does have its perks. And I'm still the family patriarch. That hasn't changed."

"No," Aurelia smiled over the rim of the cup. "No, it hasn't."

"Which brings me to the reason why I had Saulette bring you to me."

"What? Oh dear. That sounds rather serious," she said, trying to keep her tone lighthearted as she set the cup aside. "Tataru didn't ring you in the middle of the night for some emergency or other, did she?"

"Fury forbid!" he guffawed. "No, nothing like that. I have something I want to show you, but first I must beg your forgiveness."

"What? Why?" Aurelia was honestly curious. He set his cup aside and reached for a small, varnished spruce box sitting upon his ottoman, grunting softly with the effort. "Why would you need to apologize to me for anything?"

Edmont paused, one hand caressing the grain of the wood. That pensive expression had returned to his face, the one she had caught just before Saulette had announced her presence.

"I've little idea what to do for something like this. I only ever had sons, you see," he said. "I have loved all three of them. Now I don't delude myself into thinking I have been a perfect father, or even a particularly good one, but I like to think I have done well enough by them. ...Two of them, at least. At any rate, I'm told that in Garlemald, the tradition is for the bride to take with her into the ceremony something old, something new-"

"-something borrowed, and something blue," Aurelia finished. "Yes, it's an old wedding custom the Empire never saw fit to dismantle. Just a sort of mnemonic, for good luck. But I would hardly say it's a requirement."

"Be that as it may," he said, his fingers working the catch on the box open, "I would very much like you to wear these tomorrow."

Within the box lay a delicate lace-trimmed handkerchief of sky-blue linen, faded and discolored in places with age, folded into a neat triangle and lying atop what appeared to be a bundle of old letters. Edmont unfolded the corners with as much care as if the cloth was some priceless artifact, and within lay a small, simple pendant, an aquamarine cut into the shape of a teardrop. Firelight reflected upon the individual facets until the jewel sparkled.

"It's stunning and I'm honored that you would trust me with it. Did these pieces belong to the late countess?"

His smile trembled. "No," Edmont said. "They belonged to Haurchefant's mother."

"Oh..."

"My wife would have destroyed all of it, so I concealed this box within my personal effects. I intended to give all of this to him when he married, but-"

Aurelia bowed her head, staring into her cup.

"It bears repeating," his tone was gentle, "that I do not blame you for his death. I have never blamed you."

"But-"

"I grieve him, as does any parent who has had to bury their child, but I have never blamed you. I would give anything to have him back. Yet I cannot deny my pride in having raised a son who would be selfless enough to-" He swallowed, the bob in his throat swift and almost violent in its movement. "...Well, we'll never get through this if I start crying. Take it."

He passed her the box. She stared down at the pendant.

"Lord Edmont, I-"

"No titles necessary, my dear. I think at this point we've moved well beyond formality." He cleared his throat and glanced into the fire. "Well, I'm certain your own parents would be very proud of you."

Oh hells. Her throat felt hot and tight and her vision blurred.

"I very much doubt that," she said, her voice even but only just. "Oh, I doubt that."

"Why so?"

Aurelia's fingers clutched the edges of the box until they dug into her palms.

"...I shouldn't burden you with this-"

"By all means, my dear. Go on."

"It's... my background is much like Haurchefant's, in truth." She sighed. "My mother was a musician and an actress. She had top billing in one of His Radiance's personal favorite troupes, in fact. She enjoyed a good deal of renown when she still toured the imperial playhouses. But fame or no, she came from common stock and my uncle wouldn't have the match. Father broke a betrothal and defied his family to marry her. He even left the capitol at their request."

Edmont had leaned against the armrest of his chair to listen, his expression patient and focused. She glanced into the mirror over the mantelpiece and saw her face, as ever, staring back. Her father's broad nose and high cheekbones and golden hair, her mother's eyes. No matter where she went, she could look in a mirror and always see her mother's eyes. Usually, it was a comfort, in its own way. Tonight-

She chewed on her lower lip.

"They didn't know about her weak heart until I came along. It took so much out of her, and she never recovered from my birth. To say that my father was unable to deal with the loss would be putting things kindly."

"I can well imagine."

"There were so many times over the years I would see him looking at me and the expression he had on his face when he looked away, it- ...I used to think that he hated me. Knowing what I know now, I can see his side of things better than I ever wanted to. He lost himself in his own despair and had no time for anything else. But I think that if he had been given a choice, he would have taken my mother without a shadow of a doubt. I'm certain I'm not the only child to have ever been in this situation, neither the first nor the last. But his greatest sin, his greatest failure as a father, was letting me know it."

Something hot trickled down her cheek but she forced herself to keep talking.

"He wasn't a father to me. How could he possibly have been a good father? The moment she left us he gave up on everything."

Edmont said nothing, and she could see nothing of his face through her tears. But she heard the sound of the chair scraping as he stood, and the tap of his cane upon the floor. A warm hand descended upon her shoulder and squeezed. Gently he plucked the box from her hands, set it on the table, and pulled her to her feet.

"Any parent should be proud to have raised a child like you," he said, "and I doubt your mother would have held any of your choices against you. You are an exceptional woman - not just by your deeds, but by your heart - and even if she had known beforehand what would happen to her I suspect that much like Haurchefant, she would not have changed a thing about her decision. Sometimes our sorrows are so great in scale and so close together we think the world will never be anything else. But there is joy, great joy, in living." He tucked a stray sheaf of her hair behind her ear. "And there is joy in the hope you bring to others and in your presence in their lives. Let that be her enduring gift to you- as you are to us."

Smiling, albeit with a great sadness in his eyes, he opened his free arm and let her come to him.

"Had I ever been fortunate enough to raise a daughter," he said, "I like to think she would have been a great deal like you. If you can ever bring yourself to say it, it would greatly honor this old man to be your father in truth as well as bureaucracy."

Wrapped in his embrace, she smelled cloves, coffee, aged paper, and the earthy sweetness of pipe tobacco. She inhaled on a choked sob and nodded, unable to speak. Tomorrow would be for joy and joy alone. Tonight, she wept for the father she had lost years before he had left her, and for the gift of another.

And before the warmth of the great hearth, basking in the warmth of the parental love she had always wished to know for herself, she let the last ancient tatters of her grief burn away to cinders.

[sawdustandgin]

A Year of Happiness, Joy and Sarcasm: My 2020 in Review

Absolutely nothing needs to be said about the year of our lord 2020 that hasn’t already been shouted from every social media platform like a shrieking alarm alerting us that the ship is sinking. We know. We’re all wet. 

I will not remember 2020 as mask-clad because I didn’t take any photos while wearing one. 

Every December, I reflect on the year through a short essay, allowing myself many opportunities to gush about the music that I didn’t include on my best-of lists but that I still loved dearly. (Though I guess I skipped last year. I found an abandoned draft the other day…) And consistently, I have regarded each year as one of transition. 

I don’t have clear career aspirations outside of wanting to engage with music as deeply and personally as I can; my only concrete life plan is to profile small towns across the country through the lens of its local music scene. So, with this nebulous image of a future endeavor, I have had a tumultuous time with money since losing my job two years ago. I realized fairly quickly, after only a few months of foundering at it, that I was unable to freelance my way to a liveable income. And in all honesty, this was for the best—nothing hurts worse than realizing the activity you are most passionate about has become a chore. I stopped worrying about pitching editors and trying to rub elbows, and I got to work applying for jobs. I, incredibly luckily, secured one after a few more months. The adjustment to being unemployed was a leap for me and my deep desire for a routine, but the adjustment to being employed and trying to maintain a balance between day job and side gig was even harder. 

Then I loosened up a bit. Toward the end of last year, I tried to make a vow to be more consistent with the blog, but instead, I prioritized sleep. At the time, I didn’t realize that it was an either/or scenario and probably would have made a greater effort to avoid my television if I had. But ultimately, I had to accept that my relationship with music journalism was on my terms. And regardless of how [in]frequently I ‘discovered’ new artists (for myself), I wasn’t ‘missing out’ on anything. 

And let’s be real, I wasn’t overly eager to listen to new stuff starting around April. I put so much energy into not losing myself in quarantine that I tuckered myself out before shit really hit the ceiling. When I began thinking toward my year-end lists in November, I began to worry that this would be my most deflated best-of season in recent memory. 

That’s ok, Zoë, no one really cares about top ten lists, I can hear you thinking, colored by a fascination with my determination. But as a double cancer and pisces moon, I like to cling to the art that moves my soul (read: ~nostalgia~). And so I take great joy in spending all of December and most of January repeatedly listening to my favorite music until I conjure a partially arbitrary ranking system and create playlists galore. It really is the best time of the year. 

Of course, there are always a few titles that need no additional spins, whether due to automatic disqualification or simply because I listened so much that I know it intimately. The automatic disqualifications this year were particularly striking. 

A few easy omissions were Chromatica, Positions, and Fetch the Bolt Cutters. Lady Gaga delivered her skip-less album around the time when it became clear that the pandemic was not even somewhat close to containment; my roommate and I cooked to Chromatica every night, singing along to every word. With each new record, Ariana Grande becomes a more graceful songwriter, and it also helps that Positions is a plain ol', boot-knockin’ good time. And the raw power Fiona Apple wields in Fetch the Bolt Cutters would be frightening were she not the perfect vessel to deliver it to us. 

Then there is the category of albums that simply didn’t need my (albeit dim) spotlight: Set My Heart on Fire Immediately, græ, and KicK i are each masterpieces in their own right. They each move purposefully through diverse landscapes, each song a new adventure not bound by genre or expectation. Interestingly, Perfume Genius and Moses Sumney were never mainstays in my music rotation, while my love for Arca is unquestioned. 

That leads us to Re-Animator, I’m Your Empress Of and The Mosaic of Transformation, all of which I actively feel bad for disqualifying. I’m too much of a fan of Everything Everything to impartially write about their new album, though it was one of my most frequently played. I have been writing best-of lists for six years now and I would prefer to write about a constantly expanding, diverse group of artists. That means I can’t keep doting on Empress Of, despite her status as one of our best contemporary artists. Me and Us were truly just prelude to her 2020 record, whose title is a formal introduction. Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith is also the most talented analog synth musician that I personally have ever engaged with, and her latest album is everything I could have wanted.  

It took some self-control (aka strict time management) to not write a few thousand words about The Ascension. Let’s recall my massive thesis on Carrie & Lowell… Yes, I am a former Catholic who thrives in the ambiguous invocation of Scripture, especially from a songwriter who quite literally shaped my taste in music. Luckily, I’m not nearly as pent up with anger and existential dread as in 2015 when I was, for the first time, processing the physical and emotional distance from my family. This elongated emotional breakdown was spurred by drama between my parents, but was also due to an irrational fear I held about my own mother’s death. Listening to Sufjan Stevens forgive his mother on her figurative deathbed has stayed with me. 

The anxiety I felt about 2020 was almost entirely external, so the gorge formed from the current of The Ascension was not nearly as deep a canyon in my heart as C&L, though it is still an affecting 80-minute journey. Stevens’ production, when coupled with his lyricism, is a breakthrough, though I do hear murmurs of folktronica from earlier in the decade. (I’m begging everyone to listen to Under Our Beds by Consilience.) And for perhaps the first time, there were songs that I occasionally skip. If I still had to commute to work, I bet they would have grown on me. In fact, this would have been a perfect driving album—one that wouldn’t cause me to weep while on the interstate. (oh Carrie. oh Lowell.)

Then there was VOL.II by my dear friend Lauren Ruth Ward. She gave me an opportunity to write a unique interview with her about the record to be printed on the inside of the gatefold, making it a permanent fixture on this most exciting of sophomore albums. I could not justify writing anything more about it, if only to preserve the sanctity of that interview, which I gave more effort and attention than any other piece of writing I had done. It was a wonderful and inspiring experience that I hope to replicate. The most heartbreaking part of the pandemic’s onset, from a social perspective, was not being able to visit Lauren after the record was released. 

With all that said, 2020 was about so much more than the music I listened to. All the digital replacements for physical intimacy during lockdown made me realize that my legacy (aka all my music writing) is fragile, locked into the impermanence of the internet. So I took it upon myself to build a physical archive; in the fall, I finalized a zine template, and the first eight issues are in the can. (So far, I have 19 zines planned. Email me if you are interested in having one!) 

I’ve also been living without a front tooth since mid-March. On one hand, it’s been convenient to wear a mask to hide the hole in my mouth, but on the other hand, all I want to do is bite into an apple. (For almost two years before I even knew I had to have my tooth removed, I had been forced to slice apples before being able to eat them. The abject humiliation.) The journey with my dentists and oral surgeon has been excruciating, to say the least. Who knew three people in the same medical practice could have such mightily different styles of care? [Author’s note: I got my crown after writing this essay! :grinning-emoji:]

In sum, it was my image of myself that I was able to see a bit clearer this year. Each year I think that I’ve figured something else out about myself, which had always led me to believe that I am a most-complex, divine being. But I think a more accurate interpretation is that, put simply, I am not static. My thoughts and emotions adapt to life and life doesn’t seem to stop throwing me around like sneakers in a tumbling dryer. My pronouns are now they/them and while I don’t have many specifics as to why, I just know that this feels right. 

I hope your year was at least acceptable; 2021 promises a host of new challenges, but I think we can take ‘em.