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Noble Bell ; Book One, Part I ; The King of Truands

what if you were sent to Noble Bell College instead?

type of post: series characters: rollo, original characters (pierrot, bou, phoenix) additional info: reader is gender neutral, this is mostly my own vision, influenced by Disney's Hunchback, the 1939 movie, and the original novel

prologue | the king of truands, one | the king of truands, two |

Chapter One

That night, while you slept on uncomfortable bed of straw and mildewed wood, a council was held.

It is important to note that, for all its rules, and there were many, the body of staff of the proud Noble Bell College were rather removed from the common life. Outside the realm of the lecture hall and the office, the scholars were governed by a democratic and elected student council, that which organized the events, kept order, and administered discipline, when necessary.

The council was entirely egalitarian, but there are three key members: The Justice of the Peace, now sitting at the right hand of the stand, looking rather bored, The Vice President, M. Bou de Neige, whom we have already met, and The President, who is unusually absent on this chilled evening.

These three people are responsible for an entire body of students. They are looked up to, not only as scholars, but as diplomats, peacekeepers, and leaders. They are expected to keep the students best interests close to heart, to be the bridge between the scholar and the staff, and this is no easy burden, despite most of the council being no older than sixteen years of age.

You must understand, then, the significance of tonight's council.

Gathered around the dark hall, illuminated by the fire burning at one end of the long room, scholars and staff alike exchange whispers, glances, and moods.

"As far as I'm aware, they're still on school grounds," the Justice of the Peace scratches his head with his quill, and a spurt of black ink stains his light brown hair. "One of my men saw them going with Gregoire to La Tombe."

Bou de Neige, who had, up until this point, been rather quiet, grimaces. "The fool. He just can't help himself, can he?"

"Hospitality is a virtue," says the headmaster, a graying, old man in a white cloak by name of Monsieur Diacre.

"Where is the President?"

"No one can find him," Bou says. "I will be speaking for him tonight."

"Perhaps we should postpone until he's been found?" a council member echoes.

"As much as I would like to, this matter is grave," Monsieur Diacre says. "A decision must be made tonight. The fate of this stranger depends on our council."

A low murmur reverberates through the room.

"Now, I have received word from two arcane academies, and there, no mention has been found of this place they say they came from, in any language, in any history. There is, in principle, no proof that this person has ever existed.

Despite this, they have appeared at our doorstep, in our clothes. By merit, the Bell of Solace has seen them fit as a student of Noble Bell College."

Bou stands. "With all due respect, sir, I strongly disagree. How do we know they are not a thief, a beggar, or a vagrant? You know well the problems Fleur City has-"

"There is another thing," Monsieur Diacre says, calm despite the tension in the hall. "Perhaps even more grave."

"And that is?"

"If you will recall, some hours ago, in my office?"

"Yes," Bou says, sitting down again with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "A useless conversation about their home, which does not exist, because they are a liar, a thief."

"Not so. Remember the way their eyes clouded when we discussed the Bell, the school, and the ceremony? How they asked, in that confounded tone, about magic? Even you must know that they were truthful then,"

He narrows his eyes. The Justice of the Peace, who had, up until that point, been scratching the "Ph" of his name onto the stand with the fine point of his quill, finally looked up.

"You don't mean to say they don't know about magic?"

"That's impossible," Bou says, though his eyes are downcast, seemingly lost in the memory of their conversation.

"Perhaps we have become too dependent on the academics. The sciences," Monsieur Diacre says. "That we forget the power of miracle."

"You are sure, then- that this person- this stranger- has no magic?"

"None whatsoever?" the Justice of Peace echoes.

Monsieur Diacre gives them both a hard stare. "Monsieur de Neige, you were closest to them. Did anything seem strange as you walked them to my office?"

The boy presses his lips together to make a firm line. "...I did have such an impression,"

"We must consider the reality," he continues, "That is that we have a young person, born and raised without magic, on our campus."

A heavy silence follows. Only the matrons, the professors of Noble Bell College, old and dressed in gray, bell-shaped habits, murmur amongst themselves.

"But I do hope," one whispers, "That we will not keep them."

"I pity the housewardens if they are to be carried to their doors for shelter. I would rather shelter a thief!"

"A sign of bad luck for certain. The greatest calamities! It's no wonder we had such low exam scores last year,"

Bou leans on his elbows against the wood of the stand and grumbles.

"So, what will we do?"

"There are options," the headmaster says. "This very building was once a symbol of hope, a sanctuary for outcasts. I know how our scholars pride themselves on tradition..."

"And the other?" Bou asks, eyes narrowing.

"I am of the opinion," one older, respected professor says. "That it would be better for the scholars of Noble Bell, and the people of Fleur City, if that strange thing were not in our walls."

The room erupts into a frenzy of murmurs, whispers, and hisses. Monsieur Diacre sighs.

"...That is a possibility. I have received offer from Headmaster Crowley of Night Raven College, as he is looking for a new boarder, and would be willing to accommodate a magicless persons. We could-"

"That will not be necessary,"

Despite the obvious unrest, the symphony of whispers, the crackling of the fire, the single voice, the unwavering presence at the large doors of the hall, cold, dignified, carries over the room.

"President Flamme," Bou de Neige says. He is not greeted in return.

"Please thank Monsieur Crowley for the offer, and send him on his way. They will be staying at Noble Bell," the boy says, walking briskly into the room, cutting through the mass of students and staff like a hot blade.

He climbs the steps to the stand and sits between the Vice President and the Justice of the Peace. Both stare at him as if they were looking at a ghost.

"On what grounds, Monsieur Flamme?" the headmaster asks. A few heads nod in agreement.

"By our rules," he says. "If the Bell of Solace has chosen them, then they are ours."

For the first time, Bou seems flustered, stumbling over his words and making a spectacle of himself.

"But- well, yes, that is the rule, but- you must consider- there will always be exceptions! They made trouble at orientation, they ran away with Gregoire, and that's not even mentioning- no magic! How can they be expected to study at this college with no magic?"

"Compose yourself, Vice President," Flamme says sternly, folding his hands in front of himself on the table. "Noble Bell has seen them fit for our academy. There are greater powers at work here.

And who knows? Our Bell works in mysterious ways. Some day, they may be of great use to us."

"You are suggesting we enroll them as a student, then?"

The council waits with baited breath. After an amount of suspense, he nods.

"I am. Shall we vote?"

Chapter Two

You jolt awake to the sound of hard knocking on the door.

The makeshift home Pierrot had brought you to the evening prior looked quite different in the light of morning. You could now make out the interior:

On all sides, you are, once again, surrounded by stone walls. On one, the door, large and heavy. Above you, the ceiling is high, vaulted, and tiled.

Everything is thick with grime and dust.

On either side of you are what appear to be two large stone benches, engraved with arches, men in robes, and writing in a language you don't understand. Atop these benches are a number of things: papers, quills, bundles of clothing, a block of moldy cheese, and many, many books, piled and shelved as if this small place, whatever it was when Pierrot found it, had been baptized a library.

The boy himself, across the straw-covered floor, is just now waking, bleary-eyed and confused.

"Who is it?" asks Pierrot.

A low, annoyed voice comes from the other side of the stone door.

"Housewarden and Vice President de Neige. I've come on official council duty,"

The color drains from Pierrot's face. "Yes, just a moment!"

"Pierrot?" you ask, following him as he scrambles to his feet.

"You must speak to him first, I'll be out in a moment!" he ushers you to the heavy door, drags it open, and then closes it behind you with the unpleasant scrape of stone on stone.

The morning on the field is crisp and chilled, somehow much colder than the little stone room. Bou de Neige is standing in front of you, his arms crossed, an unpleasant scowl on his lips.

"Is he hiding?"

"He said he would be out in a moment,"

"Very well," Bou says. "I suppose we may as well start without him. I've come to prepare you for your classes."

You blink. "...My... classes..."

He scowls again. "Yes, and don't look so dumb. A student of Noble Bell ought to conduct themselves with the poise of the Righteous Judge himself. The council and staff held a vote last night. Despite your obvious lack of abilities, the Bell of Solace has chosen you for Noble Bell College, and thus, you will be permitted to study with us for the foreseeable future. Understood?"

You nod. He seems... unhappy, you think. Or perhaps he's always like that...

"Good," Bou crosses his arms. "You should consider yourself quite lucky. You have powerful allies on your side."

A loud, obtrusive crashing, and a high scream come from inside the little building. The stone door suddenly cries open again, and out comes Pierrot, now dressed in a black and white uniform, similar to de Neige's, except with pants rather than a frock. His hat is lopsided. Bou stares at him with clear disdain.

"This concerns you, as well Gregoire," de Neige says, hands on his hips.

"Me?"

"Wipe that stupid look off your face," he scowls. "Now, listen. You,"

de Neige points at your chest. "...Are useless in the practice of magic. Correct?"

You nod.

"And you-" he points at Pierrot. "Have lost your scholarship, your dorm accommodations, and your respect. You buffoon."

Pierrot blushes and sticks his hands in his pockets, as if feeling their emptiness. One has a finger-sized hole you can see his pinky wiggling out of.

"The council has come up with a solution that would be beneficial to the both of you. As an act of charity, the expenses of the new scholar have been covered by the college. That includes your books, uniforms, and meals. This does not change the fact that you at a clear academic disadvantage; magicless.

Here is the proposition: you and Gregoire, from the moment you accept, will count for one student. You will share your school materials, meals, and clothing provided by your scholarship, you will study together, take the same classes, and in return, he will perform the necessary magic for both of you."

You and Pierrot share a glance.

Bou sighs. "I, personally, would have never come up with such a ridiculous idea, but... unfortunately... your old tutor seems to have faith in you still, Gregoire,"

Pierrot's face goes pale. "You mean-"

"Either that," de Neige interrupts. "Or he simply thinks you are too weak-willed and incompetent to take advantage of them. I expect your answer before the first bell."

He turns on his heels, long, dark hair whipping behind him, and disappears into the grove, on a dirty cobblestone path back to the school.

"...Well?" a voice says from beneath you. You jump, and look down to see the goat, Hugo. Talking. You're still getting used to that...

"Where have you b... never mind," you say. "What do you think, P- Pierrot?"

You look back around to see the gentleman on his knees in front of you, his hands clasped as if in prayer. He's giving you terrible puppydog eyes.

"Please, please, please, this could be my only opportunity! I have nothing else! My studies- Noble Bell is everything!"

You grimace. "...I don't know. I just met you."

For a moment, he almost looks... taken aback, as if he found it strange of you to consider him, of all people, a suspicious character.

His voice drops, and he answers carefully.

"...I swear to you, by my quill, by my hopes of success, not to even approach you without your permission and consent, but, for the Judge's sake, give me a meal plan!"

Hugo bursts out into bleating laughter, and even you smile.

"...Alright," you say. "Let's go give him an answer, then."

Chapter Three

The dining hall, eerily void of living bodies at this early hour, is a thin, and humble building reaching towards the edge of the campus.

Hidden by the monotonous stone walls of the school, it is rather indistinct, the only remarkable thing being that it is held between courtyards on both sides, making it a sort of bridge between one row of buildings and the other, not unlike the stone bridges that hold the embrace between the island and the city.

This modest, almost dull exterior is deceptive, though, as appearances so often are. Once inside the hall, one is met with the magnificent vaulted ceilings, painted dark with stars, held high by the thinnest of thin, delicate arches on the walls, themselves sheltering bodies of stained glass in every color the eye can perceive. Warmed by candlelight and the fire crackling at one end of the magnificent hall, it is nothing short of... well, magic.

The body, no matter how exquisite, dull, or deformed, is nothing without the matter of the soul.

You tilt your head. In a sad sort of way, the feeling reminds you of your straw bed. Dirty, but warmer than the harsh morning outside.

"What did the building used to be?"

"Hm?"

Pierrot hums, smiling as if he had not heard you, preoccupied with piling his plate. You had counted sixteen strips of bacon so far. At this rate, he would build a tower high enough to touch the painted stars on the ceiling.

"Where you sleep. Your room. It's not a dorm, is it?" you ask, following behind, setting a fruit or two on his plate when the opportunity presents itself.

"More oranges," Hugo demands from beneath you. You concede.

Pierrot finishes off his mountain of breakfast with a few slices of bread, and then leads you off to a far corner of the magnificent dining hall.

"Oh, no. A mausoleum,"

"A what?"

"Don't worry, it's empty," he says. "...I think. I've never checked. I recall reading that the bodies from the old cemetery had been moved."

"Cemetery?"

"Fleur City is full of them," Hugo says. "I've been to my fair share. People just leave flowers all over 'em. A free meal is a free meal, right?"

Pierrot nods in agreement, though he doesn't really seem to be listening. You grimace.

"Yes. The field is covered in tombstones. They're quite pretty," he says. "But the bodies were reburied under the tiles in Noble Bell a long time ago."

Each thing they add seems to be more concerning than the last.

Hugo bleats. "You're gonna have to get used to the cadavers, y'know. This place is old, and full of 'em... and their parts,"

"Yuck,"

"Nonsense," Pierrot says. "There is beauty and life in everything, even death itself. Such is the danse macabre."

You and Hugo share a look. What did he say he was, again...?

"Do you think he came out like that, or was he taught?"

"Rude," Pierrot mumbles. "But one might say it runs in my family."

He offers you a slice of bread, and you decline. The headache you'd been fighting off since first light is making you nauseous.

"Tell us about your family," anything to distract yourself now.

Pierrot smiles, his features warming like the sun on a winter day. He always seems quite pleased to talk about himself.

"I'm afraid it's nothing interesting. My father is a notary, and I have five brothers, though most are older than I. The closest in age, a year younger, is at another arcane academy. Alas, I was disowned, and haven't spoken to them in some time,"

"Unsurprising," Hugo mutters. He snags the slice of bread that would have been yours off the plate, between his teeth, and returns to lying under the table.

You lean into your elbow. "Why were you disowned?"

"By my passion," he smiles. "See, I tried to be a guard, but wasn't brave enough. I became a religious man, but was not devout enough, and couldn't drink enough, anyway. I tried carpentry, but wasn't strong enough. At last, I realized I was good at nothing- therefore, I became a writer."

"And your family didn't approve?"

"Not quite. But then I was here," Pierrot becomes quiet, his eyes turned up at the colored windows of the hall with a sort of holy reverence.

"...And the rest is history."

You blink. Disowned by his family, stripped of his scholarship and thrown out of his own dorm by his housewarden?

He's resilient, at least. You'll give him that.

"And your scholarship?"

"Bah, that was nothing. I simply... printed a pamphlet on free thought that the school officials did not care for,"

"Your dorm?"

"I annoyed the housewarden,"

This guy can't catch a break. No wonder he was so desperate for your help.

"Who's the housewarden?" you ask, watching him absent-mindedly scratch beneath his cap.

"Of L'Universite? You've already met him. He is the one who came to see us this morning, Bou de Neige,"

You hum. Of course... Perhaps he is always that unhappy, then.

"I don't miss him. I kept to myself at L'Universite. The students were... unpleasant," Pierrot shudders, as if taken by some unfelt chill, and you raise an eyebrow.

He goes on without question. "You'd assume, with such a name, that the dorm is only for the most exemplary of scholars, but they're unruly. I was almost burnt alive only once, though,"

Huh. "Why is it called that?"

"The three dorms of Noble Bell are based upon the ancient divisions of Fleur City. On one side, the university district- L'Universite- on one, the aristocratic gardens- here, called La Ville- and in the center, the sacred island, which we call The City," he explains, snapping a crisp piece of bacon in half.

"...But the histories of the dorms have little to do with their personalities. They're only to pay homage to the time when Noble Bell was established. Up until Monsieur de Neige, L'Universite had no housewarden, as per tradition. It was overseen by the college itself..."

"Then the kids got too rough, and the administration had had enough of 'em. I heard about that," Hugo's voice comes from under the table.

Pierrot nods. "Now, de Neige has completely turned it around. He punishes anyone who steps out of line,"

This is a strange place, you think for the umpteenth time.

Chapter Four

Fed, sated, and warmed by good conversation, Pierrot leads you through the delicate halls of Noble Bell College with a renewed lust for life in his step.

He goes about, pointing towards windows and great pillars and plaques on the walls and floor, explaining their origins, which came from where, from what year and artist.

You nod along, content to just listen while your mind wandered.

It feels too real to be a dream, but it must be one. In your world, animals don't talk, humans don't cast spells, and schools don't have astrology classes.

Hugo had disappeared again, likely off looking for table scraps. He seemed to have a will of his own. Pierrot hadn't noticed yet.

"And the tile from this courtyard was repurposed from the Place de Grève..."

He talks so much to himself, it almost feels as if you are alone while right beside him. Despite that, and that he's facing away from you, his sunny self pointed toward the tiled courtyard he seems so enthusiastic about, you can't help but feel as if someone is watching you.

That strange, unnerving feeling had been following you since you left the dining hall. No matter how many times you turned over your shoulder, reassuring yourself that it was only your nerves, it lingered.

Every corner or so, another dignified scholar will pass you by, dressed in the same uniform, quiet, poised, looking straight ahead. Once, you walk by someone shrouded in a blue cloak, singing "Thaumarks to spare? Thaumarks to spare?" to whom you apologize for having nothing.

You don't even know what a thaumark is.

Pierrot leads you through yet another courtyard, and the feeling of eyes on your person never leaves.

It's beginning to weigh on you.

"How much longer?"

"Hm?" he finally turns to look at you, and the strange feeling subsides, slipping back into the shadows of the hall.

"Not much. Don't worry, Scriptorium is easy. As long as you pretend to be busy, no one will bother you,"

Chapter Five

Pierrot could not have given a truer description.

Though, he could have at least warned you about the boredom.

The melodious sound of forty quills on paper echoes off the stone walls and tiled floors. There is no talking, no eating, no foot-tapping, no whispers. The faint sound of the city, as close as it is, feels distant from here.

The parchment before you is as empty as it was at the beginning of class, and the book you'd been provided is on the very same page. The student in front of you has filled two pages already, delicately copying the contents of the book onto the parchment.

Pierrot, sitting beside you, seems to be writing something of his own. At least he seems entertained...

Then, all at once, everyone begins gathering their quills and ink, standing from their seats without a word. Pierrot jolts, shuffling around his things to cover his pages of writing as the other students pass him by.

Though he waits until everyone else is gone before getting up himself, avoiding their prying eyes is useless. Waiting outside the lecture hall is none other than his ex-housewarden himself.

"You. Come with me," Bou says, sharp, crimson eyes boring into you. "We have some things to discuss."

You share a glance with Pierrot. He looks sympathetic, waving you goodbye as de Neige leads you in the other direction.

"I trust you enjoyed Scriptorium?" he doesn't look at you when he speaks.

"Oh- um, yes,"

"Good. Copying manuscripts is an honored tradition of Noble Bell," he says.

"Until the invention of the printing press, all books were made by hand. Though the press made the process fast and inexpensive, the beauty of manuscripts remains unmatched."

You look at him. "You seem to have a lot of traditions,"

He returns your look with a glare. "We are a proud school. It would do you well to adopt a similar attitude. And not to let the idealistic drivel of that fool get to you,"

By "that fool", you assume he means Pierrot. That boy keeps getting stranger and stranger...

"What did he do, anyway?"

de Neige mumbles "heresy", and then clears his throat. "Nothing of your concern. Now, hurry up. You're dawdling,"

Chapter Six

As you pass through the halls of Noble Bell, you think of how easy one could get lost in a place like this.

It's almost labyrinthine. It seems as if every turn leads to another lecture hall, another crypt, another library...

"You should consider yourself fortunate," de Neige says. He's been going on about Noble Bell for some time.

"Of all the arcane academies, Noble Bell College's curriculum has the least practical magic."

"Right," you mutter, following him up another narrow flight of stairs.

"And despite that," he says, "You are already being coddled. The headmaster is... soft. Which brings us to the purpose of my visit."

Bou stops in front of a narrow wooden door and turns in a swift movement to face you. "Follow me," he says.

He takes something out of the depths of his pocket and slots it into the heavy, iron-bound wooden door, then pushes it open as if it were a silk curtain.

You follow him up another flight of stairs, and into a darkened room. The only light, cold and gray, comes from a handful of flower-shaped windows, whose glow illuminates the piles of books and dusty furniture cluttering the small room. Another staircase at the far end leads further into the unknown.

Your eyes are drawn to the window closest to yourself, and you peer out over the island, studying the city, its shape, its color, the curve of its river. You could spend your life up here, alone, comforted only by stone and the dim, foggy noon outside.

Bou hums, drawing your attention back to the present moment. He seems familiar with the room, walking about it and dusting its worn furniture with the sleeve of his uniform.

"Here is the north bell tower. You will be staying here from now on,"

Your eyes widen. "But..."

"Careful. It would be unwise to reject such a generous offer," Bou says, refusing to face you. "The bell towers are spacious, quiet, and warm. Winters are quite cold here."

"But Pierrot?"

Finally, you can see the crimson of his eyes, as he turns over his shoulder to glare at you.

"The student council thinks it improper for you to be living alone with Gregoire. He will stay in La Tombe,"

"But-"

"The key," Bou says, ignoring your protests. He takes something cold out of his pocket and places it in your hand. His skin is almost as chilled as the metal.

"I'll see to it that your mail is forwarded here,"

He turns and leaves you in the room, the rough, cold key still cradled in your open palm. You scoff. What mail?

No one knows you. And no one you know knows where you are.

You don't belong. You're an outcast here.

Your fingers tighten around the key. The least you can do is tell Pierrot. You don't want him to worry when you don't come back tonight, after all.

Finally finding some semblance of purpose, you take long, confident steps back the way you came.

Down the narrow wooden stairs, out the left door, down the stone ones, through this passage, this hallway, this turn, then this, and then...

...No. You don't recognize this hallway. It's darker, and the ceiling is lower. You must have gone too far down.

You take a breath. Don't worry. You'll just retrace your steps.

It isn't over. You've been telling yourself that all day. This is not where it ends. You'll find a way out of this.

All of this.

And then, you're no longer alone.

Though there is no noise, no light, no voice that would indicate a human presence, you are suddenly quite aware that there's someone behind you, watching you from the way you came.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you stay in place. If you are to turn now, will you see someone- or something- standing behind you? A pair of eyes watching you from the doorway you'd just ducked under?

Or, worse- will you see nothing at all?

You decide you don't want to find out either way.

You keep going. Into the dark of the hall, over another threshold and another, around the corner. At some lengths, the feeling seems to subside, giving you a moment's worth of peace, and then it returns.

The halls are getting narrower. You have an inexplicable feeling that you are no longer in the school, but somewhere much deeper, much older, primeval.

The scuff of shoe against stone, which most certainly did not come from your own feet, makes you go cold.

"Who's there?" you shout.

The only response in your own echo.

"Come out! Stop following me! Leave me alone!"

The words come tumbling out without much thought. You can feel yourself slipping into a panic.

Thoughts chase each other through your mind, and then suspicions and paranoia poison those thoughts. You must ask yourself now, what is this? What's there, in the dark, just out of sight?

And your mind answers for you: it is a monster.

There is a monster in Noble Bell College, and it wants you.

"Leave me be!" you yell at nothing. You're starting to get desperate.

Nothing happens. Then, all at once, a light comes from ahead of you, not behind, and someone shouts:

"Who's there?"

You turn your back to the dark behind you in a frenzy, and, finally, the feeling of being watched disappears entirely.

"Me! I'm here!"

Around the corner comes a boy, one you had not seen before. Not tall, but not short, sturdily built, we'll say. He's quite good looking, at least compared to the other students you'd met, with light brown hair spilling out of a short, stubby ponytail, blue eyes, darkened by the black of the hall, and, curiously, the wisps of a beard on his chin. He's quite unlike any of the other students you'd seen so far.

But, the more pressing question-

"Who are you?" he asks it before you can.

You say your name, and his eyes widen. His stern expression turns merry, and he smiles.

"Ah, I know you. The magicless one,"

That's not very reassuring. You grimace.

"...How do you know who-"

"You shouldn't be down here alone, you know. It's not safe. We've had some thieves on campus lately,"

"Thieves?"

"Yes. Or so I've heard," he nods solemnly, and then a strange mood comes about him.

He smirks and puts his hand on his hip, his other at his hilt, purposefully drawing your eyes to what must be a sword. A big one, too, if his smile is any indication.

"But don't worry. I'll protect you. You know, I haven't seen you in person yet. The way everyone's been talking about you, I assumed you were some sort of monster. But you're actually very pretty,"

You give him a weird look. Perhaps you were wrong- of course, he's just as strange as the others. "Um... alright...."

"Ah, where are my manners? Let me escort you back to your room."

"...Right," you say, looking over your shoulder one last time. The boy follows your gaze, and then coughs for your attention.

"Bell tower, yes?"

You look back at him and nod.

"Then let's not waste any time,"

Chapter Seven

Despite his confidence, it takes the boy a full hour to find the right passage out of the tunnels. He gets to the bell tower easy enough, at least.

Something about him tells you he's not from here, either, but you keep the thought to yourself for now.

"Well, here we are," he says, hands on his hips as if he had just accomplished something.

"...Yes. Well, thank you,"

He beams, gives you a courteous bow, locks of hair falling over his face as he does. They turn golden in the sunlight. "It was my honor. And if you need anything else-"

"There you are," someone says from within the bell tower. You recognize the gruff voice, but before you can answer, the heavy wooden door bursts open and Hugo tumbles out.

He chuffs. "We've been worried sick, 'ya know! Pierrot's all over the place! Who's the stiff?"

You turn to the boy, and his smirk sharpens at the acknowledgement. "Um... I don't know, actually. Who are you?"

"My name is Phoenix. It means, ah, sun bird," he chuckles.

You and Hugo exchange a glance, and he stops laughing. "I'm the Justice of the Peace of the student council. I was doing my rounds when I heard you shouting,"

You turn back to Hugo to explain. "I got lost,"

"No kidding!"

"I didn't know you had a kid," Phoenix says, the same sly smile on his lips. You almost scoff.

"Yeah, and he doesn't take kindly to pigs!" Hugo says. "Now, get lost! That's our magicless human!"

As the two go back-and-forth, a little glimmer of white against the dark brown of the floor catches your eye. You kneel, and pull a thin envelope from under the wooden door. It has your name on the back, and a bite taken out of the corner. You roll your eyes at that. Hugo.

The goat sets off, headbutting Phoenix back down the narrow stairs and leaving you alone again. You sit on the floor and open the letter.

Dearly Beloved, it starts,

The King of Truands has reviewed your case and sees you fit to join his Cour des Miracles. All thieves, beggars, vagrants, or otherwise outcasts, welcome.

You turn over the parchment, noting its weight, and stuck to the back is a thin pendant, woven of purple and teal twine, in the shape of a leaf. At its heart, a small, golden cross.

How strange...

You squint at the pendant, and then the letter, which, quite rudely, bursts into flame in your hand.

You drop the fiery letter and it dissolves into ashes on the floor. You huff. Magic...

"And stay out!" Hugo's voice returns from the stairs. For a goat, he certainly has a loud bark.

The white of his small head crowns over the steps, and you stand.

"Hugo," you hold out the pendant to him. "Do you know what this is?"

The goat stops and squints, then scoffs. "One 'a those touristy necklaces. They're all over the city, I can't remember what they're for, though. Just that they don't taste good,"

You hum, bringing the pendant back towards yourself. Why would this King of Truands send you a souvenir?

"...Maybe Pierrot will know," you finally say. He seems to know a lot of useless things, after all.

You hurry to the stairs, Hugo trotting behind you. "What's the big deal?"

"I don't know," you say, paying close attention to each step. You don't want to get lost all over again, after all.

"I've had a bad feeling all day. I think this means something."

"Great, a fortune teller," Hugo sighs.

He follows you, anyway.

Chapter Eight

The sun is already setting over the city when you stumble down the steps of Noble Bell.

The sky is streaked with fiery pinks and oranges, making the school look cold and dull by comparison. Even the clouds, red and descending on the wrought iron gates like a bloodied army, turn the stone of the city into a dull, lifeless blue.

You stumble across the sports field and into the grove at the end of the island.

"Slow down!" Hugo gasps.

You don't. But you do stop at La Tombe and pull open its heavy stone door. It's dark inside.

"Pierrot?" you call for him, as if he were hiding behind a book or in a stray shoe.

Nothing.

"Hey, come look at this!"

You abandon the mausoleum and turn to its side, where Hugo is standing over an attached tomb. Its stone lid has been pushed to the ground beside it, and there's light coming from its depths.

"You think he...?" you start, unable to look away from its gaping mouth. Instead of dust and bones, there's a flight of stairs.

"Who else?" Hugo sighs. "He was looking all over for you."

"He must've panicked when the sun started going down," you murmur. "We have to get him."

"What?" Hugo asks, eyes wide. "Are you crazy?"

You take the pendant out of your pocket and hold it against the warm light coming from inside the tomb.

"I just have a feeling," you breathe in slowly, and take your first step into the grave. "Let's go find Pierrot."

[odditycircus-2002]

Medusa!Reader and Shang Tsung MK 1: Part 5

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Spoilers for Story Mode: Proceed with Caution

The Imperial soldiers aren’t too gentle when they throw you into a cell; luckily, Johnny Cage’s unconscious form broke your fall. You were still blindfolded and tied up, yet you quickly picked up Baraka’s familiar grave voice. He asks what happened as he removes your gag, but you stop him from removing your blindfold by putting a hand over his. You first explain that you lost your mask, so it’s not a good idea for him to remove the blindfold yet. Then you recall what happened upstairs, although Kenshi is the one who reveals it was Mileena being treated for Tarkat. You hiss at Kenshi for disclosing such sensitive information casually. He’s lucky he’s already injured, else you’d give him a good reason to see a healer!

While understandably upset by you withholding the truth, the Tarkatan can’t find it in himself to be mad at you. You were only upholding your vows and doing your duty diligently for the Royal House.

Baraka then asks about your welfare, carefully skimming his hands over your form to check for injuries. You reply that you’re okay before asking Baraka to close his eyes so you can check over him, too. The latter insists it’s some scrapes and bruises, so there's nothing to care for; nonetheless, he complies with your request when you press. After preliminary checking on Baraka, your hands lingering around his face longer than necessary, you look over Kenshi.

However, there wasn’t much you could do for the now blind man since your apothecary bag was confiscated besides using your minimal magic to stop the bleeding. There wasn’t anything else you could do for the others besides wait for them to come to; you were able to turn your attention to the horrors right outside your prison.

You have treated soldiers during your training on the front lines without falter. You have carved open your fair share of cadavers without so much as flinching while digging around in their insides for medical studies. You had even helped dispose of your fair share of cadavers by gathering them to be burned in a pit without issue. Yet what you saw before you trumps all of that and more.

The first thing to hit you was the smell, by the gods' awful smell of death, both new and old. Which mixed with a sickly sweet smell reminiscent of mildew. It was intensified for you since you and your snakes could TASTE it on your tongues. You gagged as it threatened to be the only thing you’ll ever taste again. Then the sounds you’d only ever expect to hear from the Netherealm’s damned souls languishing in eternal torment.

Empty cages hang from the ceiling, with cells lining the walls on your side. You could see arms poking out from between the bars of these cells, desperately trying to scrape for the bloody remains all over the stone floors, which were stained with freshly spilled and hardened blood. From the position of your cell, you could see giant tubes filled with a mysterious green substance and malformed bodies obviously inflected with Tarkat. You felt bile rise in your throat from the dread filling your stomach.

You... you recognize some of the experiments from your mind. All those times you shared your theories and hypotheses with Shang Tsung... Is this all because of what you put into his head??? No! You always, ALWAYS, explicitly expressed how they would be crimes against nature! You did not create such depravity with your hands! Yet, it did nothing to alleviate the guilt already burrowing into your head.

Still, the amount of information that must've been gathered from these- NO! NO! You will not even indulge in such dark thoughts! Shang Tsung has twisted your research beyond recognition of their original intention! This whole lab shouldn't existed! After putting your blindfold back on, you desperately get to work to assist Baraka in breaking out of your prison in more ways than one.

Despite hours of effort, the bars were too thick and deeply embedded in the stone to rip apart. Kenshi eventually speaks again, asking you and Baraka to help take his mind off their current situation. You listen to the ill man retell his life before his disease, about his family and former vocation. Though you have heard it many times before, your heart broke for Baraka when he reiterated how Tarkat took his entire family. Not for the first time, you say that you would've loved to have met Baraka before his misfortune, met his family since they sound so lovely, and seen him happy. You then add how you two would've been good friends even then.

You don't see Baraka's thoughtful expression as both Johnny Cage and Kung Lao begin to regain consciousness. The first quickly remembers Kenshi's condition and rushes to check on his state. You explain to the actor that you did your best, but your apothecary bag was confiscated. Johnny and Kung Lao had understandable reactions when they realized the nightmare they'd woken up in. All your attention then turns to a lone figure entering through a heavy sliding door.

You let out a gasp as you recognize the figure to be none other than Syzoth, Shang Tsung's "assistant." You call out to him, catching the Zaterran's attention. Judging by how his eyes widened and he took a step back, he wasn't expecting you, of all people, to be down here.

The Zaterran avoids looking in your direction out of guilt; even if it was safe to make eye contact, he wouldn't be able to look you in the eye. He then turns his attention to the now blind Kenshi crouched on the stone floor and inquires about his condition. Syzoth then digs around in your apothecary bag next to your cell to pull out a jar of cream you made to dull the pain. He then hands the pot to you first, asking if this is correct. After opening it to give it a sniff, you confirmed he was right before handing it over to Johnny. Johnny offers you a pair of his shades to pay you back, citing you'll need to see. While the latter cared for his friend, you could feel Baraka's questioning gaze.

After commenting on how Syzoth is vile to be a part of Shang's schemes, he questions how you two know each other. You explain that you thought Syzoth was a lab assistant Shang brought along and a friend, the last part you add bitterly. The Zatteran looks at you and the rest in remorse before firmly stating that while you are Shang's prisoners, he is his slave. Your eyes widen behind your new sunglasses as Syzoth explains that the Sorcerer has his family hostage. While he's genuinely sorry for what Shang did to you and everything he was forced to do, he must obey Shang to keep his family alive. You felt conflicted in your sudden urge to strangle Syzoth and your sympathy for his plight. It does dawn on you that having his family hostage explains Syzoth's behavior around Shang Tsung. You weren't surprised to learn that Shang learned shapeshifting from Syzoth, as the latter has demonstrated the ability to you before.

However, you did try to warn Syzoth that, given what you know by now, Shang won't keep his word to him. Baraka assures you that you don't need to show your form if you don't feel comfortable, but you insist otherwise. That's when you removed your hood and cloak from your form to reveal the true extent of what Shang Tsung has done to you, reminding him of the day your life changed forever. The Zaterran barely swallowed his gasp in horror at the sight before him. Your entire body was covered in scales; you had a nest of living and slithering snakes atop your head; your teeth were sharpened points; you had some small spikes on your shoulders and on your forearm; you also had two bat-like wings reminiscent of a Vaternian's, flare from your back.

Shang teleports in front of you not long after revealing your new body. He glances in your direction briefly, taking in your changes with a look of interest. Baraka growls at the Sorcerer before moving in front of you as you put your hooded cloak back on. Shang scowls at the Tarkatan before happily informing the rest of your fellow prisoners of the gruesome fate that awaits them. He directly addresses you after boasting about how he can't be apprehended so easily.

"I truly did want to spare you of your fate, my sweet. Rest assured, my benefactor has told me you are still needed alive for her goals. I will be back soon, dear Y/N."

"... I hope the Netherrealm claims your soul."

After instructing Syzoth to "take care" of you, he teleports away, leaving the rest to their doom. After you and Baraka implore Syzoth that he doesn't have to obey Shang, the Zaterran glances toward you before restating that it's either you or his wife and son. When he raises your cell's gate and a cell containing dozens of Tarkatan abominations, all of you fight back. You finally put your petrifying gaze to use in combat, stopping three combinations in mid-pounce before they could pile on top of Baraka. Kung Lao watches in a mixture of horror and amazement when the three stone hybrids shatter to the ground.

After Baraka defeated some of the larger hybrids, you and Kung Lao assisted him in freeing the others who were put in electrified cells, much to Syzoth's dismay, who knew that Shang Tsung would torture his family to punish him. Before Baraka shifts his stance to fight the Zaterran, you tell him not to blame him for Shang's evil doings. Baraka acquises by not killing Syzoth, informing him that he would've done the same if he were in the Zaterran's shoes.

You go to help up your scaley friend right when Shang reappears. The Sorcerer scowled, displeased at seeing his prisoners free and his experiments killed. You and the rest stood ready to fight as Shang berated Syzoth for ruining his plans for vivisection. Seeing he's surrounded, Shang then uses his magic to release what you instantly recognize as poisonous gas. After revealing that he's killed Syzoth's family long before, Shang teleports away before the enraged reptiloid can grab him.

However, the Sorcerer quickly appears behind you, forcing your mask on your face before you bite him. However, one of your head's snakes managed to nick him on the finger. The last thing you hear before teleporting away is Baraka screaming your name.

[imreadydollparts]

The hardest question

The most difficult question I get is "How do you make them look so nice?" because that's kind of broad and it's a whole process that differs depending on what each pony needs.

I've been trying to think of the best way to answer, and at first thought I'd need to make a flow chart.

I think maybe talking through the process as though I had a pony that needed EVERYTHING, would work, too.

So I'll try.

Let's assume I've bought a pony on eBay to clean and resell. This pony is filthy, has rust and/or mildew inside the body, has smooze, has matted hair, is missing some plugs from her mane, and is missing some paint.

When I get the pony, I take it downstairs to my photo taking spot and photograph the left side, right side, and any other areas that I think are worthy of taking pics.

Then they go for a bath immediately. Because ew.

A bath consists of:

scrubbing all over the body with a damp melamine sponge - this releases dirt from the vinyl and quickly exposes which marks are removable and which are stains, be gentle where there is paint

assessing the pony's needs

[dish] soap and water wash for body and hair

I do not ever throw ponies in a sink full of water and it stresses me out when I see people do that.

Ponies then get laid out to dry and after that go into holding bins depending on what they need.

At this point I usually take the phone upstairs, transfer the before photos to the computer, ID the ponies, label and date individual folders for their photos. I'm usually working on lots of ponies all at once and this forces me to sit down and take a break.

So, in order, they would go through these stations, which I do give silly names:

interior rust and/or mildew removal (derustbutting), which does require derusting the tails and is when I replace metal washers with nylon ties

depending on how matted and tangled the tail is, I may detangle it a bit during bath time with a metal dog comb so that it's smaller and better fits through the tail hole, this also helps with removing rust from the tail hair

smooze remooze which consists of soaking a pony in hot oxy-clean water (do not do this with princess ponies it ruins the metal plating on their 3D cutie marks), and aggressively scraping dirt from the vinyl's airbubbles

let dry completely inside and out

stain or yellowing treatment using 40Vol hydrogen peroxide cream and UV exposure (SunBox) which can take overnight to weeks and often needs reapplication of the cream

rewashing to remove 40Vol cream

waiting to dry fully inside before the tail is reinstalled (3 to 4 days)

temporary tail and head reinstallation

the hair is rewetted and slathered in a heavy smoosh of hair conditioner, then laid on a towel so that the hair is away from the body because conditioner can discolor vinyl if left touching in big globs

the conditioner is left to sit a while (I tend to leave it overnight but that's not necessary, it just forces me to take a break)

after the conditioner has set and softened the hair, they get a good rinse

thoroughly comb the hair with the dog comb, and then again with a flea comb to get all of the tangles out

flat iron

at this point I can wait for the hair to dry and then take off the head and tail again, re"open" the tail, and take some hairs for their mane

plug in those hairs, apply Fabric Fusion (I like it because it's a thick gel), and let that dry

final reinstallation of the head and tail are done when the glue is all dry

assess the hair: does it need conditioned and flat ironed again?

we'll assume yes, so repeat the wetting

repeat the conditioning

repeat the rinsing

repeat the flat ironing

let it dry again because we're going to do hot-setting and I prefer to do that dry

do a "wrap and set" which is where I will wrap the pony's hair around their neck and back leg, wrap a strip of paper towel over that, and a bit of tape, or put in straw curlers

put them in a plastic baggie so they don't get wet, put the baggie in a big bowl with the open end hanging over the side, heat up a kettle of water, pour that into the bowl, and cover it all with a bar towel

wait at least until the water has cooled on it's own (this is another time I tend to leave it overnight)

take them out of the baggie (set it aside, you can reuse it until it leaks)

take them over to the painting station and do my best to match both the color and placement of the missing paint

let that sit overnight

seal the paint

let that sit overnight, too

take off the curlers/wraps (the longer you wait, the better the shape will hold) and make sure their hair is photo ready

take pics of the left side, the right side, and the bottoms of the feet because buyers like to know exactly what they're getting

edit pics, make collages, queue to here, etc. etc. list on eBay and hope for the best

That last part isn't really related to making them look nice, it's just part of the process for the hypothetical pony.

Hopefully you can see why it's difficult for me to answer "How do you make them look so nice?"

[dollsonmain]

Ok I'm going to explode if I don't talk about the big batch of unfortunate ponies that are on their way in for an emergency cleaning.

I am so excited and happy and grateful that I get a chance to clean them up because I'd never get to see many of these ponies in person otherwise since they're too pricey for me to buy.

I'll put it behind a cut, though, so their owner can choose whether or not to view my preliminary assessments which are based on the sales photos.

So, these were an expensive eBay lot with a lot of rare ponies in it which was an excellent price for all of them together. When they arrived to their buyer, it was discovered that they absolutely reek of mildew/mold. That's extremely disappointing.

They got packed right back up and are already on their way here.

Normally, boxes of ponies coming from there say they'll take a week and a half or so then suddenly appear after a couple days. I don't think that's going to happen this time, being Giftmas.

I had linked to the sale a while back but I didn't look super close at the pictures because there was no way I was going to be bidding, until today. They certainly LOOK stinky.

Mildew stink is easier to remove than smoke, regardless of whether it's cigarette smoke or whatever my Wave Runner smells of (it smells like she was in a house fire). Mildew stops stinking for the most part once it's all dead, and it's all certainly going to be very dead when I'm done with these ponies.

I have an ozone generator which will help if the bad smell doesn't wash off sufficiently. They can also be treated like rustbutts and given an oxyclean soak inside and out though that's rough on the hair so not my first choice. I may also get that UVC lamp and add it to the SunBox which is good for killing off mold and mildew. Then it's a question of how efficiently I remove it all from the vinyl, or how deeply the scent has gotten into said vinyl.

I'm both feeling optimistic and wary of that optimism. I don't want to get my own hopes up. Gotta keep that shit realistic.

If everyone got wet enough to mold, I don't think Talk-a-Lot is going to be functional. Hopefully she doesn't have batteries corroding in there. If that stuff on her face comes off, though, she'll at least be good for display. She looks very bright and fresh, otherwise.

Look at that scrungy hair on Merry Treat. hohoho bitch I am so excited. She also has some yellow on her face that will hopefully wash off. If it doesn't, yellow does cooperate pretty well with hydrogen peroxide and the SunBox.

I can already see that Mommy has unstable vinyl. That's a shame. Mommy and Baby are Euro exclusive IIRC, and difficult to get, here.

I'm not sure those dark spots on Baby aren't stains. I hope not, but it kind of looks like marker eyeliner.

These little pearlized babies are downright disgusting... Poor things. The pearl paint is surprisingly not as difficult to clean as I'd feared when the first ones showed up, what was it last year? It can withstand a gentle melamine sponging just as well as the cutie mark and eye paint. I also have a matching pearl paint to help with patching in where needed, though I don't have any semi-gloss sealant so any patched areas would rub off again rather easily. Good enough for display. I am rather confident they will turn out just fine.

Look at that knotted up wad of tail tinsel. (❁´◡`❁) I can't WAIT to make that all smooth and pretty again. Hopefully the stuff on her will come off... I can't tell if she has all of her hair and there were no photos of her other side. It looks like it might be shorter, but that can be caused by being matted, too. Fingers crossed it's all there.

Even with a haircut, Rapunzel's resale value is preposterous, which is why I will never own one.

There's some yellow grime on Birthday Pony and Firefly. I'm wary. It will either wipe right off or is stained. No way to know until I start cleaning.

There are no photos of the other side of Li'l Pocket. I wonder if she has her piggy bank and coin, still.

There's a little Remco donkey in there! I was wanting to see one, and now I don't have to buy one to get to.

Swirly Whirly.... I can't tell if the grime is ON her or IN her. She does seem to have shadowing in thinner areas but that can be both caused by dark mildew inside the body and just the fact that it's thinner, there, and there's a bit of a shadow inside. I won't know until I crack her open. When there's dirt stuck in the rooting holes like that, in my experience, it's coming from inside the body. Which is not a problem.

Her horrible hair texture excites me.

I have seen a few Glow n Shows go opaque even more than Starglow there... No idea what causes it. Happyglow in this same batch seems fine.

Someday I want to have some Glow n Shows.

I expect this to be stains. When it's been little round blooms like that, it's generally stained. I hope I'm proven wrong. She has her key, which is EXCITE.

There have been times where I've picked up a pony that looked like they had blooms and I didn't think they'd come off, and they wiped off no problem.

I actually have this one. She's my only remaining childhood pony. My Secret Beauty's key is long gone, though, and her saddle can barely stay latched anymore. The spring for the latch is worn out. She also has an ink stain on her cheek.

.... I don't even know. The listing doesn't say what this dog is.

[apollogies-p]

Prompt: Fathers Who'd Kill

A part two to my other story and yet another really late addition to ToApril 😭🙏🙏

@toapril-official

▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎

"Wha, shit-"

With a fluttering chiton, Apollo stumbled into the cottage he shared with Chiron and Artemis.

Speaking of Artemis, "Artemis! Artemis! Please, I need your help!" Dragging a hand down his face, he continued, "Me and, me and Chiron got into an argument and he's run off!" With a scoff (and just a few tears shed), Apollo realized Artemis wasn't going to help him anytime soon. It had been a little over four hours, and the sun was starting to set.

Under any other circumstance, Apollo would've been able to track Chiron, no problem (what you think his sister's the only one with tracking skills?) but unfortunately, he's afraid his dear little sister may have trained Chiron a little too well. No matter how far he strained his ears, Apollo never registered Chiron's soft footsteps or his breathing, and whatever traces he did find were in vain.

Chiron, his Chiron, his beautiful baby boy, was going to be at the mercy of all of those monsters. Chiron was eleven, and he couldn't defend himself, gods his dear son was still afraid of the dark for Hades sake!

He stepped out into the cool summer air and knelt in front of the cottage, the grass still wet with mildew. Ignoring the grass stains he was bound to get on his chiton, he screwed his eyes shut and began to pray.

Lady Persephone, goddess of Spring, Queen of the Underworld, and Wife to Lord Hades. Please. Help me. Chiron might be in danger.

Apollo's grip on the grass tightened, please, I can't lose him.

He closed the connection with Persephone and haphazardly wiped his tears away. Crying won't help his son, and neither will waiting.

Scanning the area for dryads left him with nothing. He was going to have to search further down the mountain. Most dryads would've turned in for the night the moment the sun started to set. With nothing more than a thought, Apollo appeared at the edge of the mountain, peering down the steep land.

Shit. He was going to have to go down the mountain wasn't he?

Under any other circumstances, this would've been an easy task, but as much as he loathed to admit it, he was terrified. The pit of anxiety and fear of potentially losing the same little kid that made the past decade the best he's ever lived grew stronger every passing moment. Holding his hand out in front of his face, he realized he was trembling.

Suddenly behind him, a burst of something that can only be described as the pure essence of spring overwhelmed his senses.

"Apollo? Honey, what's wrong?" Apollo turned around, and he lost it; he wept openly in Persephone's arms. "I lost him Persephone, he's gone!" It was through sheer miracle that she was able to piece together his incoherent blubbering.

"Apollo, sunshine, look at me, love. Please look at me." Her hands were so warm against his tear-stained cheeks, but all he could think about was his beautiful boy gone- just like so many of his other children-

"Apollo!" His eyes focused on Persephone's deep brown skin, and he forced himself to breathe.

"It was, it was just supposed to be an average training session Perse, but Chiron got frustrated, and he just-" Apollo licked his lips, he felt so winded, so human.

It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.

With a shaky sigh, he rose from the ground, nose scrunching in disgust at the wet cloth of his chiton sticking to his knees. Persephone rose with him, and it was with a clearer head that he was able to properly recount exactly what occurred.

Persephone let out a soft hum and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Let me fetch my mother and we'll ask the local nymphs for help, " With a sly grin she added, "they'll listen to a pair of natural goddess for sure."

He returned the smirk and held Persephone's hand, giving it a firm squeeze before removing it from his shoulder. "I'll scour the forests again, Chiron couldn't have gotten far." He was gone before Persephone could even nod.

¤¤▪︎¤¤

Six hours.

Six long hours of searching for his son and nothing. It was a miracle that Apollo only had one minor breakdown during all that time. By hour three, he had gotten so emotional that he wailed in Demeter's arms as she whispered comforting words to him.

He supposed she knew what it felt to lose a child too.

Now, Apollo stood in a small clearing in the middle of the dense forest. The sun long gone, and now, with his sister in the sky, Apollo felt a little less nervous, just a little. The clearing was no doubt the former home of a pack of hellhounds, if the clumps of fur were anything to go by. Reaching his hand up the lower branches, Apollo grabbed a small clump of the jet black fur. It probably belonged to a small pup with how dark and unusually soft the fur was.

"Chiron..." He whispered. I'll find you, Chiron, I promise.

With a huff, he took off one more, leaping past rivers and rocks. He could feel the slimy eyes of all kinds of creatures following him. Apollo prayed to any god that'd listen. Please let him be safe.

Another hour- or had it been thirty minutes? Apollo's racing heart and thoughts made it hard to keep track of time-

Snap!

He whipped his head towards the source of the noise, it was at least about twenty kilometers away. Maybe he it just a rogue monster, a cyclops, perhaps? But his instincts told him otherwise, his body screamed at him, gocheckgocheckgocheck-

A sob pierced the air, harsh but quiet enough that, had Apollo not been a music god, he would've never heard it.

Apollo's never moved quicker.

He charged into the, now destroyed, glade. His eyes took in the scene, hellhounds everywhere, at least three fully mature cyclops surrounding a foal. No-

His son.

Pure fury filled his senses. Bright and violent like the sun should be. His body moved quicker than his thoughts. Golden dust painted the trees and ground. With a roar of pure rage, he shot down all three cyclops towering over Chiron, his baby. Finally, with a swift movement of his arm, light erupted, searing the remaining hellhounds that failed to leave in time.

Apollo turned his attention to his child, bloodied and bruised. He had to quell the rage that threatened to bubble over.

"Chiron, sunshine? It's just me, you're safe now." Knelt down to his level, Apollo opened his arms, and that seemed enough for Chiron. He tackled Apollo, tears quickly staining his chiton.

"Father, I was so scared! I'm so sorry I should've never said those things! I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry..."

He cradled Chiron, taking his blubbered apologies, raking his fingers through his ruined hair.

"It's okay, my dear centaur," Pressing soft kisses on the top of head, "I love you so much. I'm sorry it took me so long to find you."

Together, they cried, taking every moment to reassure each other that they were okay.

Apollo walked home that day with a newly healed sleeping centaur, and if he curled up next to his son, pressing tender kisses to his forehead and mumbling sweet nothings, then none would be the wiser.

▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎

Bonus:

Watching them sleep

Demeter: are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Persephone: that we should totally draw a sketch and give it to the muses to paint?

Demeter: yes

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 5 - FORGOTTEN

At the foot of the Statue of Akatosh, there is a crumpled linen gambeson. Its fabric is pale pearly grey, still smelling ever-so-slightly of sulphur; the place where the sides tie at the front is torn and stained brown with old blood, and the quilting is spotted with mould. Sewn onto the chest with meticulously jagged stitches is a black cloth emblem of a wolf.

Every so often – when the Imperial City’s humid air leaves everything damp with dew for days on end, or when the rain patters down through the smashed-up roof – Jeelius takes to the cloth armour with hot water and lemon juice and spells it dry. He hadn’t done anything to it at first. No-one had done anything to it at first – still reeling, trying to understand what had happened and what it meant. Every cleric that served in the Temple of the One had been raised with it – if not physically, they’d heard stories of it since they were children – and it was jarring to have it so literally ripped away and apart, returned chewed up and spat out. (Even if it was a miracle. Even though it was a miracle.) No-one knew what to do with anything at all. The gambeson barely registered, until it rained.

Nowadays, when it rains, the water floods the Temple’s fractured hall and runs down the marble steps into the street. Poor J’mhad is stuck trying to figure out how to dry it all every time, several of the priests trying ineptly to help or just pressing themselves against the wall, shivering. When it rains, the water cascades down the statue and pours over the steps of the dais. The gambeson, tucked away between the claws of its foot and the stump of a marble pillar, is drenched every time. It was harder to ignore when it stank of must and mildew. It was ruining the Temple air and making the visiting worshippers sneeze. So Jeelius washed it.

And he’s kept washing it since.

They’ve talked about more sustainable solutions – an acolyte suggested getting rid of it – but Jeelius couldn’t stand the idea. It felt – wrong, somehow. The gambeson is part of this place; a memorial to whatever exactly happened here, before the golden dragon killed the devil and cleared the skies. It’s important. It belongs.

Maybe he’s being sentimental.

(He remembers collecting that gambeson from its hiding place in the bushes. Then, he watched its owner sponge it down with a care that felt incongruous with their gruff voice and hard-eyed face.)

Regardless, neither he nor Tandilwe would hear of its removal, so it stays. He’s never tried to clean off the blood – that, too, feels in some way disrespectful – but he wipes it down in the fashion he remembers watching all those months ago, keeping it fresh and free of dust and mould. It’s comforting, in its way. Another new little ritual.

There are a lot of new rituals. It’s rather a lot to adapt to. Jeelius was drawn to priesthood for its stability, for the comfort he found in rites and traditions as unchanging as the Nine themselves; for as long as he’s been in this vocation he’s been performing customs centuries old. The world changes so quickly – history compounding, moving inexorably onward – but faith stays still, a single thread remaining through time as all others snap and fray. This, at least, does not change.

Until it does. The Temple of the One has no roof anymore; moss grows in the cracks of the flagstones, so thick and springy that he feels it through the soles of his slippers. They still maintain the braziers that held the Dragonfires, but now more care is paid to the statue – not so much to its maintenance, since it is newer than the braziers by millennia and larger by multitudes, but to its overwhelming presence, its implications, the necessity of restructuring the physical space and activities of the Temple around it. J’mhad is petitioning for gutters to be put into the floor of the halls so that the rainwater has somewhere to drain to. No-one is eager to alter an ancient structure – but J’mhad points out, not unreasonably, that it’s a bit late to worry about that now, and that this minor renovation would preserve the stone from damage and erosion that would be far worse in the long term.

It isn’t just the place, either. Nothing is the same anymore. In the immediate aftermath, people are scrambling – the priesthood included; Jeelius speaks to hundreds of people in those first few days after who still have the smell of sulphur and ash in their hair, who tell him about barricading their doors and hiding out through that final attack, who tell him about friends and family who weren’t inside when it started or whose walls and windows weren’t strong enough. Jeelius says soothing things, like he’s supposed to – leads them through prayer, like he’s supposed to – hides his shaking hands under the skirts of his robe and doesn’t look anyone in the face and doesn’t fixate on his own helplessness when other people are trying to talk through theirs, selfish, like he’s supposed to. When the people he speaks to aren’t seeking counsel – or once they’ve finished asking for help – they gawk at the statue, ask is it truly an avatar of Akatosh, did it really fight off the Daedra, are they gone for good? Did Jeelius see it? Does he know for certain?

He wishes they’d stop asking. He doesn’t want to think about knowing for certain; he wants the same easy belief he had before any of this. He wants, like everyone, to go back to normal; he knows that nothing ever will.

(He didn’t see it. He was in Tandilwe’s cellar. He doesn’t actually remember any of it – all he knows, all he’s been told, is that he had a knife and Tandilwe couldn’t make him let go. If he was going to die he was going to die quickly.)

He tells the ones who ask that he didn’t see it.

No-one seems to have seen it, not in its entirety. The Avatar itself, bright as the sun and screaming gold, is a common enough story, but there are no witnesses of whatever happened in the Temple in the chaos preceding its arrival.

(There’s only a gambeson left on the floor.)

But Jeelius doesn’t think about it, because in those early days the Crisis isn’t really over, no matter what the Council says. Everyone is still lost in the terror of it, trying to scrape out some path back to living, to understand how to keep moving. (Jeelius stops sleeping. Too many people need his help, and he’s scared to close his eyes.) Everyone is waiting with gritted teeth or bated breath for the next attack.

But instead they receive word that the Gates on the roads are closed.

People who had been away from home and terrified to travel begin to return.

No matter how long they wait, the shoe never drops. Jeelius won’t say it, but by all that is holy, sometimes he wishes it would. The Oblivion Crisis defined the world until it didn’t, and now everyone everywhere is living without it and he doesn’t know how to do that anymore. An artist sketches out the scene of the Temple battle as seen from the window of an insula a district over, and when it’s printed as a wood-cut in the Black Horse Courier Jeelius sees a looming statue and the winking of a blade in the demon’s ink-lined face and has to sit behind a pillar until he’s breathing again. After he takes up the self-appointed duty of maintaining the discarded cloth armour, he finds that breathing in the smell of cut lemons is the only thing that will calm him down.

The worshippers stop being desperate and start being curious. It’s easier to help them, now, regardless of his feelings about it. Then come the pilgrims, to pray at the site of Akatosh’s avatar, of his great victory, with endless more questions, none of which Jeelius feels he is answering to their satisfaction.

Did you see Martin Septim? they ask. Did you witness his exaltation? After the last of the Septims is named a saint, they come to pay respects to him as well as Akatosh. They speak of him in such reverent terms as make the ridge of Jeelius’ spine stand on end – though it could well be deserved; he doesn’t know, he never met the man.

(He remembers a letter he saw scribed in Cheydinhal. Dear Martin, I’m abandoning you for another priest I found…)

The pilgrims have a lot of questions, but no-one asks about her.

It’s – odd, Jeelius thinks. He supposes it’s the environment – the people who travel here are here to see the statue. The avatar. They’re here for worship, not gossip. Only he hears talk from the other priests. Hears talk in the marketplace when he goes to run errands. Reads the Black Horse every week and shares news with the others in the Temple and talks through the end of the Crisis in excruciating detail with almost everyone who visits, and it never comes up. No-one is worried. No-one even wonders. It’s as though the miracle has erased them from existence, as though the Divine saviour overwrote the human one.

There’s not even a note in the missives, a brief mention in conversation: no news of the Hero of Kvatch. Jeelius keeps an ear out but there’s never any news of the Hero of Kvatch. Just a bloodstained gambeson to wipe down with water and lemons.

No-one is worried. Why would they be? What is there to worry about now that the crisis is over and done? But Jeelius looks at the blood and thinks of red-stained robes and haemorrhaging in the abdominal cavity. Everyone else might gaze up in wonder at the statue of the Avatar – indomitable, irreproachable, something more than flesh and blood – and praise it as their deliverer, but Jeelius’ saviour stole a toffee apple in front of him and called him names and travelled with him back to the Capital because he said he was afraid.

Jeelius’ saviour was a child. And they’re missing. And everyone knows – they have to. They knew all about her before. But now that there’s a miracle in the Temple district and no use for a hero…

Out of sight, out of mind.

The pilgrims keep coming, and with them come travellers who aren’t here for worship – just to see the avatar for themselves. Someone asks, once, if it’s real.

Jeelius keeps performing his duties, as ever; wringing his comfort from them as best he can, despite how different it’s all become. Twice a week, more depending on the weather, he lays the gambeson flat and sponges it with lemon water, then puts it exactly back where it was.

He still doesn’t know why it feels significant, but it is.

Maybe he wants to make sure he has it on hand, just in case. Just so he can return it, if they ever come back.

[prevasiveproduct]

Mold stain remover: Mold may be a real pain. You need to use the mold stain remover to remove it. Given its highly concentrated composition, it is designed to be effective and fast-acting. It can be used indoors or outdoors and won't damage many common building materials. What's even better? There's no need to scrub it clean! Put away the wire wool and repeat applications forever. This stain remover makes quick work of any mold or mildew removal. Remove lingering odors deeply and permanently.

[whitehallcarpetcleaners]

Tile Cleaning Columbia SC

5 Reasons You Need Professional Tiles Cleaning More Often Than You Think

Have you experienced it? No matter how hard you scrub your tile floors, they never regain their original shine. That’s when you need professional tile cleaning to revitalize those floors.

Expert care can restore your tiles to their original beauty and help protect a substantial investment in your home.

Key Takeaways

Professional tile cleaning extends tile lifespan by removing built-up dirt and grime that can damage surfaces over time.

Expert cleaning achieves a deeper clean than DIY methods, removing harmful bacteria and improving indoor air quality.

Regular professional cleaning saves money in the long term by preventing costly repairs and replacements due to improper cleaning.

Professional methods restore tile brightness and color, enhancing the overall appearance of floors and living spaces.

Expert cleaning prevents mold and mildew growth in grout lines, which can pose health risks if left unchecked.

5 Reasons to Opt for Professional Tiles Cleaning

Professional tile cleaning offers more benefits than you might think. We’ll explore five key reasons expert care is crucial for your tiles.

Extends the Lifespan of Your Tiles

Regular professional cleaning extends the life of your tiles. We’ve seen how neglect leads to discoloration and damage over time. Our expert cleaning methods remove built-up dirt and grime that can wear down tile surfaces.

This prevents costly repairs or replacements down the road.

Professional cleaning and sealing prolong tile life.

Clean tiles resist stains and maintain their appearance longer. At Whitehall Carpet Cleaners, we use specialized equipment to deep clean tiles and grout lines, helping preserve your tile flooring’s integrity for years.

Our team’s knowledge of different tile types ensures we use the proper techniques for your specific flooring.

Achieves Deeper Clean and Removes Bacteria

Professional tile cleaning achieves a deeper clean than regular home methods. We use specialized equipment and cleaning solutions to reach deep into tile pores and grout lines, removing stubborn dirt, grime, and bacteria that household cleaners often miss.

Our professional cleaning service not only improves the appearance of your tiles but also creates a healthier living space.

Harmful bacteria can thrive in dirty water, tiles, and grout. Our thorough cleaning process eliminates these hidden threats. Our methods are gentle on your tiles but effective against germs.

This deep clean promotes better indoor air quality and reduces the risk of respiratory issues. Count on us to give the entire floor and your tiles a fresh, hygienic start that DIY cleaning can’t match.

Saves Time and Cost in the Long Run

With Whitehall Carpet Cleaners, professional tile cleaning saves time and money in the long run. Our expert services prevent costly repairs caused by improper cleaning methods. We use the right tools and techniques for each tile type, avoiding damage that leads to expensive replacements.

Regular pro cleaning also stops mold growth, which can cause health issues and big bills. By choosing us, you skip buying ineffective products that waste your cash and might harm your tiles.

Let’s explore how our cleaning enhances your tile’s look and brings new tile back its shine.

Enhances Appearance and Restores Tile Brightness

Professional tile cleaning revitalizes dull floors. Our expert methods eliminate deep-set dirt and grime, restoring your tiles’ original shine. This process improves the look of your space and creates a cleaner, more inviting atmosphere.

A clean tile floor is like a fresh canvas for your home’s beauty.

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners uses advanced techniques to boost the color and brightness of your tiles. This restoration process can make your floors look as good as new without costly replacements.

The result is a more attractive living space that you’ll be proud to show guests.

Prevents Mold and Mildew Growth

Beyond brightening tiles, professional grout cleaning tackles a hidden threat: mold and mildew. These fungi thrive in damp, neglected grout lines, especially in bathrooms and kitchens. We’ve seen how regular expert cleaning stops their growth before it starts.

Our methods create a barrier against moisture, keeping your floor tiles dry and inhospitable to mold.

Mold isn’t just unsightly; it’s a health risk. It can trigger allergies and breathing problems. We use special techniques to remove existing mold and prevent future growth. Our cleaning process doesn’t rely on harsh chemicals, making it safe for your family and pets.

With expert care, your tiles stay clean, healthy, and mold-free for longer.

How Professional Tiles Cleaning Differs from DIY

Professional cleaning uses specialized tools and methods not available to most homeowners. Experts also know how to treat different tile types, ensuring the best care for each surface.

Use of Specialized Equipment and Techniques

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners uses advanced tools to clean tiles thoroughly. Our equipment includes high-pressure steam cleaners and rotary scrubbers, which reach deep into tile pores and grout lines.

They remove dirt and grime that regular mops can’t touch.

Our methods go beyond essential cleaning agents. We apply unique solutions that break down tough stains. Then, we use powerful suction to extract all the dirt and water, leaving the tiles spotless and dry.

Our process is safe for all tile types, from ceramic to natural stone.

Expert Knowledge of Different Tile Types

Professional cleaners know the ins and outs of various tile types. We understand that ceramic, porcelain tile, and natural stone tiles each need special care. Our experts choose the proper cleaning methods and products for each surface.

This knowledge helps us avoid damage and keeps your tiles looking great.

Different tiles have unique needs. For example, natural stones like marble or granite require gentle cleaning to prevent scratches, while porcelain tiles can handle stronger cleaners. Our team’s expertise ensures your tiles get the best treatment possible.

Next, explore how regular professional cleaning impacts your home’s air quality and tile appearance.

The Importance of Regular Professional Tiles Cleaning

Regular professional cleaning keeps your indoor air clean and maintains your tiles’ look and strength over time.

Maintaining Indoor Air Quality

Clean tiles and grout play a significant role in indoor air quality. They reduce allergens, mold, and mildew in your home. Professional cleaning goes even further. It wipes out bacteria and germs that can make you sick.

This matters a lot in places like hospitals. Good cleaning helps lower the number of airborne germs and improves patient outcomes.

Clean air is vital in all buildings, not just hospitals. That’s why we always stress the need for regular professional cleaning. It’s not just about looks; it’s about keeping the air you breathe healthy and safe.

Next, let’s look at how professional cleaning helps preserve your tiles.

Preserving Tile Integrity and Aesthetics

Professional tile cleaning plays a vital role in preserving tile integrity and aesthetics. Our expert methods remove deep-seated dirt and grime that regular mopping can’t reach. This thorough cleaning helps maintain your tiles’ original shine, keeping them looking fresh and new for years.

We use specialized equipment and techniques to clean different tile types without causing damage when cleaning tiles.

Regular professional cleaning also protects your tiles from wear and tear. High-traffic areas need cleaning every 12-18 months to prevent permanent staining and discoloration. Our cleaning process includes sealing the tiles, which creates a protective barrier against dirt and spills.

This makes future cleaning easier and extends the life of your tiles. Let’s explore how professional shower tile cleaning differs from DIY methods.

Conclusion

Professional tile cleaning offers more than just a sparkling surface. It extends tile life, removes hidden germs, and saves money over time. Regular expert care keeps your home healthier and more beautiful.

We urge you to consider professional tile cleaning solutions. Your floors will thank you, and so will your wallet in the long run. Whitehall Carpet Cleaners is here to help.

Contact Whitehall Carpet Cleaning today for all your floor, rug, and upholstery cleaning, disaster restoration, tile and grout cleaning, and disinfection services!

[wellthebardsdead]

And now, what my dragonborns smell like, just because~

———

Marigold: Honey, chamomile, lotus & orange blossom. He smells like a warm sleepy cup of floral tea and can be just as sweet or scalding depending on how much he likes you~ fittingly to his name he likes the more floral scents and finds them relaxing, though he doesn’t mind earthier scents too like fresh pine. Kaidan likes it from a distance but up close he normally has a sneezing fit, he quickly gets used to it.

———

Henwen: tundra cotton, blue mountain flower and very powdery fine soap, something akin to English fern or talc powder. He loves the comfy smelling scents but lavender is too overpowering for him, it kicks up terrible hay fever. He’s just a soft boi and wants to smell soft too. Kaidan loves it too but it rocks him to sleep too easily laying beside him when he wants to stay up reading to him.

———

Naria: sea salt, sage & jasmin. As a maormer he’s incapable of actually sweating or producing any unpleasant smells so he has no real need for perfumes or fragrance but he enjoys using them regardless. He prefers earthy and milder smells but keeps the scent of the sea with him no matter how far in land he goes. A hug from him will probably leave you feeling very sleepy like you’ve spent a long day at the beach, it certainly does for Kaidan & Cary.

———

Flynt: Lemon grass and sandalwood. He was a soldier for a long time and got pretty used to the smell of gross sweaty armour, then following his loss of eye sight and ability to speak he was left homeless and begging on the streets and dealt with all the unpleasant smells there. So when Taliesin enters his life and spends hours helping him pick out soaps and fragrances he found himself drawn to the sweet and woodsy. He thinks it matches Taliesins honey and vanilla milk scent nicely.

———

Bass: sandalwood, burning hot metal & rosemary. He’s an old dwemer used to working with his hands, so long as he’s clean at the start and end of the day and he doesn’t stink during he’s content. He’s frequently welding or building something and has that pleasant electric scent lingering around him, but also keeps a sandalwood stick burning and a sprig of Rosemary in his scarf to remind him of his wife.

———

Evalien: sweet musk or cotton candy. She’s from our world and likes the familiarity the scents have. And they’re overpowering enough she doesn’t have to smell the rest of team dragonborn when they’re 3 days between inns and the nearest bath. No she will not sleep with Kaidan unless he has one.

———

Sylas: Mint & lemon grass. at first he was content smelling like moss, mildew and the lingering stench of death from living in abandoned crypts and staining his white hair black with soot or charcoal so he could keep a low profile. Then he met Taliesin. And while the grumpy elf resisted his makeover he had to admit he loved the clean, sweet and fresh scents his new lifestyle allowed him… plus Taliesin won’t let him touch him if he hasn’t freshened up.

———

Shamat: Sweet musk & sandalwood. He likes the sweet and warm mix the scent brings him, it feels oddly very familiar to him but he can never place it, at least until he’s kidnapped by nerevar. The first thing he does when he buys his first house burn them as incense. It makes him feel like he’s home. Kaidan does think it’s a little overpowering but he loves seeing how happy it makes him so he copes.

———

Aurorwren: orange blossom & nirnroot. He’s a fan of the sweet citrus scents but also the fresh grassy fragrances the nirnroot oil leaves on his feathers. But given he doesn’t produce an odour he prefers to go without sometimes. Kaidan often says he smells like a chicken to tease him when he does.

———

Poppy: Pure opium. He’ll give you fair warning that he’s going to release a cloud of gas from the pressure locks on his automated parts so you can get out of the way. His blood was replaced with the extract. How’s he still alive? Simple he’s not. Remove the dynamo core and he drops dead. Why opium? Because when he was first rebuilt he kept screaming in pain despite the fact he shouldn’t feel anything. He’s a walking bio hazard but despite that the group always manage to find themselves within range of a valve release knockout at least once.

[usacleanmaster]

Home Cleaning: A Comprehensive Guide to a Sparkling Home

Why a Clean Home Matters

Health Benefits of a Clean Living Space

A clean home means fewer germs and allergens, which can lead to better health. Regular cleaning helps prevent the spread of illnesses and reduces allergy symptoms by eliminating dust, pet dander, and other irritants.

Understanding the Basics of Home Cleaning

The Essentials of Home Cleaning

Cleaning Supplies You Need

To get started with home cleaning, you’ll need some basic supplies: a broom, mop, vacuum cleaner, microfiber cloths, sponges, a bucket, and gloves. These tools will help you tackle various cleaning tasks effectively.

Cleaning Products and Their Uses

Different surfaces require different cleaning products. For instance, use glass cleaner for windows and mirrors, all-purpose cleaner for countertops, and a disinfectant for bathrooms. Always read the labels to ensure you’re using the right product for the job.

Creating a Cleaning Schedule

Daily Cleaning Tasks

Daily tasks include making the bed, doing the dishes, wiping down countertops, and tidying up common areas. These small chores can prevent messes from piling up.

Weekly Cleaning Tasks

Weekly cleaning involves more detailed tasks like vacuuming carpets, mopping floors, dusting surfaces, and cleaning the bathroom. Setting aside a specific day each week for these chores can help maintain a clean home.

Monthly Cleaning Tasks

Monthly tasks include deep-cleaning appliances, washing windows, and organizing closets. These less frequent tasks ensure your home remains spotless throughout the year.

Room-by-Room Cleaning Guide

Kitchen Cleaning

Cleaning the Countertops and Sink

Start by clearing off the countertops and wiping them down with an all-purpose cleaner. Scrub the sink with a mild abrasive cleaner to remove stains and keep it shiny.

Maintaining Appliances

Regularly clean your appliances to keep them running efficiently. Wipe down the exterior of your refrigerator, microwave, and stove. Don’t forget to clean the inside of your microwave and oven periodically.

Bathroom Cleaning

Scrubbing the Shower and Tub

Use a bathroom cleaner to scrub the shower walls, doors, and tub. Pay special attention to grout lines and corners where mold and mildew can accumulate.

Keeping the Toilet Sparkling

Clean the toilet bowl with a toilet cleaner and a brush. Wipe down the exterior with a disinfectant to kill germs and keep it looking clean.

Living Room Cleaning

Dusting and Vacuuming

Dust all surfaces, including shelves, tables, and electronics. Vacuum carpets and rugs to remove dirt and dust. If you have hardwood floors, sweep and mop them.

Cleaning Upholstery

Vacuum upholstered furniture to remove dust and crumbs. For stains, use an upholstery cleaner suitable for the fabric type.

Bedroom Cleaning

Making the Bed

Make your bed every morning to give your bedroom an instant tidy look. Change your bed linens weekly to keep them fresh.

Organizing the Closet

Take some time each month to declutter and organize your closet. Donate or discard items you no longer need to keep your space organized.

Deep Cleaning Tips

Seasonal Deep Cleaning

Spring Cleaning Tips

Spring is the perfect time for a thorough cleaning. Open the windows to air out your home, wash curtains, clean light fixtures, and deep clean carpets.

Fall Cleaning Tips

Prepare for the colder months with a fall deep clean. Clean out gutters, wash windows, and organize storage areas to make space for winter items.

Tackling Stubborn Stains

Carpet Stains

Blot spills immediately with a clean cloth. Use a carpet cleaner to treat stains. For tough stains, consider renting a carpet cleaning machine or hiring a professional.

Upholstery Stains

Test any cleaning solution on a hidden area first. Blot the stain with a clean cloth and apply an upholstery cleaner. Gently scrub with a soft brush and let it dry completely.

Green Cleaning Alternatives

Eco-Friendly Cleaning Products

Homemade Cleaning Solutions

You can make effective cleaning solutions with common household items like vinegar, baking soda, and lemon juice. These ingredients are natural and safe for the environment.

Benefits of Green Cleaning

Green cleaning products reduce your exposure to harmful chemicals and are better for the environment. They are also often more cost-effective than commercial cleaners.

Maintaining a Clean Home

Habits for Keeping Your Home Clean

Develop daily habits like putting things away immediately, wiping down surfaces, and doing a quick evening tidy-up to keep your home consistently clean.

Benefits of a Clean and Organized Home

A clean home reduces stress, improves health, and creates a pleasant living environment. Keeping your space tidy and organized can enhance your overall well-being.

FAQs

How often should I clean my home?

It depends on your lifestyle and household size, but daily tidying, weekly cleaning, and monthly deep cleaning are good practices.

What are the best products for green cleaning?

Vinegar, baking soda, and lemon juice are excellent for most cleaning tasks. You can also find eco-friendly commercial products that are safe and effective.

How can I remove tough stains from my carpet?

Blot the stain immediately and use a carpet cleaner. For persistent stains, consider professional cleaning services.

Is it necessary to deep clean my home every season?

Yes, seasonal deep cleaning helps maintain a healthy and pleasant living environment by tackling areas that regular cleaning might miss.

What are some quick cleaning tips for busy people?

Focus on high-traffic areas, keep cleaning supplies handy, and do small tasks daily to prevent messes from accumulating.

[stesierra]

Guys, I'm working on a new writeblr intro that explains what my books are about but it's taking me a while because I write too much. In the meantime, here's the first chapter of my adult fantasy trilogy. Maybe a little less thrilling than my YA and NA stuff.

If you want to be added or removed from my writing taglist, please let me know. I keep asking if people want to be removed because I'm pretty sure no one wants to be inundated with this much writing.

The Halfway Revenant

Chapter One

Mindral Thideet said, “Show me what you’ve got, and I’ll pay you what it’s worth.” If it was worth anything. She had her doubts. The junkman’s armful of old pages and books stank of mildew and piss, almost strong enough to drown out his body odor.

The junkman bared his crooked teeth and slapped his ragged prizes down on her table. “Got a lot of good things this time, areh. Valuable things. Worth dozens of facts. A book of them, even.”

“We’ll see, aran.” Gingerly, she drew the pile towards her. It stank even worse up close. The white Nimina light overhead illuminated faded letters and torn parchment pages. Some them were so wrinkled they looked about to fall to shreds. Water stains covered others, and the ink had bled so badly they were completely illegible. This was no treasure trove. But she’d pay the man something, no matter how useless his information. That was what kept the junkmen coming to her door.

The junkman sniffed and rocked as she sorted through his odds and ends. His pupils filled his bright eyes as though he sat in the deepest darkness, a sign he was coming down from a sooz high. Only an idiot bargained under the influence, and idiots didn’t last long in the city of knowledge.

She shoved the loose pages aside and opened the first of the books. Missing pages greeted her, and spines warped with age. Where had he gotten these? At the bottom of a trash heap?

“You’re so pretty,” the junkman slurred, staring at her with those drugged eyes.

“I’m perfectly average,” Mindral said. “And if you want to get paid, you’ll keep your compliments to yourself.” It was true. Her dark olive skin and gray eyes fit in perfectly at Shaneh. She’d cropped her black hair short, as was the fashion. Her sharp face and modest curves seldom drew attention. No, she’d earned her place here with her brain, not her beauty.

She sorted through the books, dismissing one after another, until at last she stumbled across an unfinished journal. The cover hung by a thread, and water damage had warped the pages and blurred the writing, but none of the leaves were missing. Only a good family could afford paper pages dyed pure white.

She flipped to the front, looking for a sign of the writer’s identify. In the upper right corner, a neat hand had written, “Property of Kuldeev Nimina. Reward for return.”

A lump formed in her throat. No one would reward her for returning this book. Kuldeev Nimina, a famous recluse and researcher, had split his head open at the bottom of Delshet Canyon a little over two years ago.

It was a fate she courted every time she went gliding. Sometimes she thought about him and all the other careless folk who had smashed into the floor of the canyon when she got ready to glide, but the air called to her, and she couldn’t stay away.

“What are you going to pay me?” the junkman asked, bumping against her table. “You want that one. Don’t you?”

She scooted her stool back. “I’ll give you a page of facts. No more, no less.” He wouldn’t remember them, not high on sooz. If he was lucky, he could read.

“Good facts?”

“Enough to buy a whole month of meals.” Or a few servings of sooz.

He flashed yellowed teeth at her. “Deal.”

She shoved her new pile of junk aside and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. As she painted words on it, she pondered her purchase. She might be underpaying for the journal. A genius inventor like Kuldeev might have mentioned nuggets brilliance in his private journal. He’d been one of the Niminas to design the far-writer, allowing letters to be sent from here to the capital city in the blink of an eye. This journal could be the most valuable thing she’d found that year.

Oh, the Thideet family wouldn’t dare steal Kuldeev’s research and claim it as their own. The Niminas would destroy them if they ever found out. But the Thideets could sell the journal back to the Nimina family for a pretty penny.

The junkman shambled away with a sheet of facts clutched in his meaty hand. Mindral turned back to the journal. She needed her next big break, and perhaps this was it.

She was squinting down at the blurred writing when Shad said from the doorway, “More junk again? You’re going to be buried under it if you buy any more.”

When she glanced up, her cousin grinned at her. His features were softer than any other Thideet’s, and he towered over them all, but his gray eyes marked him as a member of the family.

She snorted. “We have room. Why haven’t you gone home yet? Or did you plan to bring me dinner?”

“You’re not the only one who can stay late,” he said. “And I only bring you lunch because you forget the whole world once you get into the books. Buy your own dinner.” He sauntered forward, a sheet of paper folded in his hand. His blue linen tunic and trousers cost three times as much as her knee-length undyed frock. Shad took pride in showing off the family’s wealth. Mindral liked clothes she wasn’t afraid to stain.

“What’s this?” she said when he slapped the letter down on her pile.

“From the far-writer.”

“I can get up and check it myself, you know.” But she unfolded the page and peered down at it.

It wasn’t much of a letter, just a note. It read,

Mindral,

Your silence over the last year has not gone unnoticed. Two long letters only, with only minor contributions to the family’s wealth of information. I find myself questioning why I have you posted to Shaneh at all. You have many cousins who would jump at the chance to lead our work in the city of knowledge.

Unless you soon prove yourself useful in this post, I will recall you back to Nahiroun. The Mahtiar family has expressed interest in a marriage alliance. A wife and mother would serve the family better than a researcher who rests on her laurels.

Find something to increase the family renown by the end of summer or join the caravans and return home this fall.

With all due respect,

Jahmind Thideet

With all due respect. Mindral knew exactly how much respect her uncle thought she was due. She flung the letter onto the junk pile, where it belonged. “Did you read this piece of shit?”

Shad blinked guileless eyes at her. “Would I do that?”

“You check the far-writer twenty times a day, looking for gossip. I know you read it. What do you think of it?”

His face sobered. “I think he’s serious, Mindral. I know you two always butt heads, but he’s never threatened to send you home before.”

Mindral put her head in her hands. “One slow year, and he thinks I’m a failure. The ten years I’ve spent here mean nothing to him.”

“He’s a hard man.”

“He’s a bastard.”

Shad grinned. “Don’t talk about our grandmother that way.”

“I will if I want to.” She brooded over her pile of trash. “I’ve got to find something to make him happy. But nothing makes that man happy.” She already spent every day trading for useful information, searching the family archive for lost works of genius. Things hid in the archive that no living human remembered. The Thideet family was too minor to have a vote in the oligarchy, but it was old. It had been at the city of knowledge for a long time.

And the junk piles were always another source of knowledge. Everyone in the city knew to bring the things they couldn’t sell elsewhere to Mindral. She’d pay at least a few tidbits for them. Even if Jahmind considered it a waste of time, Mindral had made some of her greatest discoveries among the junk. Kuldeev’s journal might be one of them.

“Go home, Mindral,” her cousin said. “You can make a brillian breakthrough tomorrow.”

She glanced at her enchanted bracelet. The color said it was just before dusk, and her stomach threatened to eat its way out of her abdomen. “You first.”

“I only stayed this late to bother you.”

She rolled her eyes, scooped up the journal and a generous armful of the junk pile, and slid everything into her bag. “Fine. Let’s head out.” She shrugged on her folded glider and backpack and left Jahmind’s note behind. Let it be lost among the trash, where it deserved to be.

As they left the old stone building, they squeezed between bookshelves and crates stuffed into every available space. The Nimina lights flickered out one after another behind them. The crystal orbs only glowed when someone was around to benefit. Mindral wasn’t sure how the Nimina family had enchanted them to do that, for the workings of the lights was one piece of information that wasn’t for sale. The country of Sakhder was full of such enchantments, kept private property by patents and closely guarded secrets.

The ancient archive door shut behind them with a creek. She locked it, the last of thirteen Thideets to leave for the day. A blast of hot spring air stripped away the dusty scent of old books, and she took a whiff of the smoke that drifted up from the cookfires on the levels far below. Up here on the highest level, archives and museums marched along the cliffside road for miles. The ancients had carved the buildings from limestone, decorating them with family emblems and symbols of the four gods. The basalt cliff stretched out over the street to keep off the rare rains. The mud nests of omicats clustered under the overhang, like the nest of cliff swallows. In the dim light of dusk, the omicats flocked back to their nests, tucking all four paws and both wings in, so that only their cat-like heads and the tip of their tails stuck out of the openings. Their high-pitched mews echoed out across the canyon.

“Come on,” Shad said. “I’m starving.”

Mindral ambled away from the archive, glancing across the empty air towards the other side of the city, where she lived. Far, far below, the dark blue Narjeh River ran, but Mindral wasn’t afraid of heights. She loved the thrill of standing on the edge, a thousand feet above the earth, and knowing she could open her glider and fly all the way down to the canyon floor.

Something red streaked down from the overhanging ceiling, and Shad cursed as it buzzed his head, missing his ear by an inch. The creature flew straight towards Mindral, its four clawed paws outstretched, and thumped into her chest with a chirp.

Mindral grinned. “Pitra, what have I told you about harassing Shad?”

The omicat flatted her over-large ears and bared her needle-like teeth. She climbed Mindral’s frock, up to perch upon her shoulder, and fanned her leathery wings against Mindral’s cheek. The omicat stretched no longer than Mindral’s hand from pink nose to the tufted tip of her tail.

“That thing is a menace,” Shad said, rubbing at his short hair. “I’ve told you a dozen times. It’s probably diseased. I found a document yesterday that listed a dozen diseases people can get from bats.”

“Pitra isn’t a bat.” Mindral offered the omicat her finger to sniff.

He frowned at her. “She’s got the wings of one, and she’s just as wild. Everyone knows you can’t tame omicats.”

“That’s why I don’t try,” Mindral said, patting the creature on the back. “She comes to me because I helped her once. And you’re wrong. A bat’s wings are like an outstretched hand, with skin between the fingers. Omicats have wings supported by a single, long finger.”

He threw his hands up. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have rabies! Hasn’t anyone told you that when wild animals get too close to people, it’s because they’re sick?”

“Are you sick?” Mindral asked Pitra, and the little creature yawned in her face. “See, Shad? Nothing to worry about. Don’t you want dinner?”

“Whatever,” he muttered and turned to trudge away from the archive. Mindral followed.

The city of knowledge was like no other city in the world. Not only did it have omicats roosting in the ceiling, it was vertical, made of ten layers carved into both sides of a towering, sheer-sided limestone and basalt canyon. Enchanted bronze pipes climbed the canyon walls, bringing fresh water from the river to the city above. Enchanted columns reinforced the layers, preventing erosion and collapse. The city’s layers were not deep, each composed of a road and three rows of three-story buildings, but they stretched for twenty miles. At the last census, the ten layers contained twenty-five thousand, seven hundred and sixty buildings—counting shops and archives—and forty-three thousand, five hundred and fifty-two citizens. Mindral knew because it was her business to know as much as possible. Besides, the fact was usually enough to buy a snack from the food vendors.

Not far from the archive, a rope bridge spanned the gap between the two walls of Delshet Canyon. Two hoists down to the lower levels stood beside it. A short line waited to use them.

Shad headed towards the line, and Mindral bumped his shoulder and said, “See you tomorrow.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Ride down with me. Show me you’re sane.”

She grinned at him. “Sane? Pitra and I are going flying. What could be saner than that?”

“Anything,” he snapped. “At least that thing has wings. You’ve just got a flimsy glider.”

She touched the device folded on her back. “This glider is the finest of its kind. Built of copper and sailcloth and featherlight wood. Enchanted with feathers for lift and maneuverability. I can sail all the way down to the canyon floor, if I want to.”

“I don’t care if the Niminas themselves enchanted it. It’s madness.”

She gestured out towards the open air between the two sides of the canyon. “But it’s such beautiful madness. Look!”

Down below, people swept past each other on wings of canvas and wood, heading home from work in the fastest and most dangerous way.

Shad stared down at the sight. “Someday, you’re going to step off the edge and collide with someone else. And then you’ll go splat down at the bottom.”

“Worrywart,” she said joyfully. “I’ve never gone splat.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he muttered. “Look, I’ll walk with you.”

“Going out of your way?”

He folded his arms. “If you have to glide home every day, at least I can make sure you make it.”

They strolled north along the road, passing researchers from other families as they left for the night. They all bowed their heads and called her Areh Thideet. She remembered only some of their names but offered a polite “areh” or “aran” to each. As they walked, young teenagers accosted them, advertising for other families who had information or inventions to trade.

A good half of them worked for the Cheref family. They proclaimed the wonders of the family’s transcription device, which could make a thousand copies of a letter in under an hour. Mindral smiled politely but ignored them. As if she—and everyone—hadn’t heard all about the transcription device. Its invention had launched the Cherefs to key family status, earning them a vote in the oligarchy. They had achieved the aim of every lesser family. If Mindral ever made a discovery great enough to cause such a leap in power, she could take over as head of the family and make Jahmind marry whoever she chose.

Mindral petted Pitra as they bypassed another hawking teenager. She told Shad, “You’re silly for walking all the way with me. You’ll just have to walk back.”

He sniffed. “Someone has to look out for you.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Less mature. Who came in drunk last week?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. And you definitely didn’t have a hangover two days ago. We two are the most serious researchers Shaneh has ever seen.”

He laughed, and she counted it as a win.

By the time they reached the point opposite her neighborhood, the sky had dimmed, welcoming the night. Another rope bridge connected the east and west sides of Delshet Canyon, edged by two hoists.

Shad said, “Ride the hoist down. Be a sensible, sedate woman for once.”

Mindral grinned at him. “Oh, Shad, that’s not me.” And she stepped to the edge of the street instead and climbed up onto the low guard wall. The eighth level, her goal, stood at least seven hundred feet below. The people on the road down there looked like a trail of ants.

“Ready, Pitra?” she asked her small companion. The omicat chirped and spread her wings on Mindral’s shoulder.

Shad shook his head and took a step towards the edge. “Why do you love falling to your death so much? You’re supposed to be smart.”

“I really will see you tomorrow,” she told her cousin. “Don’t fret. And I love gliding because it’s the only time I feel really free.”

“You’re crazy,” he told her.

She grinned and spread the wings of her glider. As Pitra leaped from her shoulder, she pushed off into empty space. Gravity seized her, and she dived, streaking through the air like a hawk. Pitra flew beside her, mewling in delight and dancing around her like a leaf blown on a breeze. The wind ruffled her hair and whipped up her frock, exposing the breeches she wore beneath.

As always, when she flew, delight swelled in her heart and sparked in her limbs. If a job had existed where she could spend all her time in the air, she would take it in a second. But her family considered gliding nothing but the indulgence of a dare devil. Unbecoming of a serious reseacher. Only Pitra shared her joy. Only Pitra understood.

As she neared the eight level, she aimed for one of the many rope nets set up to catch air travels. She landed in center, catching the ropes with her hands and feet, and clambered out. The wings of her glider folded away just as Pitra swooped in to land on her head.

“Shoulder, please,” she said sternly and put a hand up to help the omicat climb down to her usual perch. “What have I told you about landing in my hair?”

Pitra chirped and rubbed her pink nose into Mindral’s ear. The omicat always cuddled close right after they’d flown together. She loved it just as much as Mindral did. Mindral shot her a loving smile, but the fragrant air called to her empty stomach. The many food vendors that camped along the road on the eighth level always scented the air with smoke and frying meat, and today it was particularly strong. She followed her nose to her favorite, Parasham Sohem, a mountain of a man who appreciated the value of her information.

For once, no one lined up for Parasham’s food. He bent over his dung fire, stirring a pan perched on a three-legged stand. A dozen skewers of fresh pork roasted beside the flames, glistening with their own fat. Parasham’s bald head and round face glistened, too, with prodigious sweat.

Mindral leaned close and inhaled the sweet smoky scent. “Parasham, my friend, tell me what’s for dinner.”

Parasham straightened, rubbing a hand across his thin eyebrows. “Noodles and sour chicken for you, if you pay for it. Friendship only earns so many free meals. Nothing for that menace on your shoulder.”

She offered him a winning smile. “I paid you last week. And Pitra isn’t a menace. She’s got the manners of a key family areh.”

He shook a fat finger at her. “Last week’s information bought last week’s meals. If you want another dinner, you’ll have to trade information or goods. And don’t tell me that creature’s harmless! Six omicats already swooped in and stole a skewer of meat from me not half an hour ago!”

“But Pitra wasn’t among them. She was with me.”

He snorted. “So you say! The vermin all look the same to me. Do you want food or not?”

“I do. I’ll trade information. I found an old recipe for lentil cakes in our archives. If I give it to you, that’s worth six meals and six cubes of meat for Pitra.”

“Four,” he countered.

“Five, and I won’t go lower, Aran Sohem. I can find food elsewhere.”

“No need to get formal,” he muttered. “Fine. Five meals and five cubes of meat.”

She recited the recipe to him, and he listened with the keen attention and perfect memory that made every salesperson in Shaneh a success. Then she held out a hand. “Meat cube first.”

He grumbled but pulled a piece off one of the skewers of pork. It wasn’t cooked through yet, but Pitra would prefer that anyway. Mindral presented the morsel to her companion, who sniffed it and took a cautious lick.

“Does that thing have a problem with my cooking?” Parasham asked, folding his brawny arms.

Pitra snapped her head forward and snatched the piece from Mindral’s fingers. With a flutter of wings, she flew away, taking her treat off to some private place to enjoy. “Not at all,” Mindral told the cook. “Now my turn.” She dug her ceramic bowl out of her pack, and he shoveled noodles and chicken into it until it overflowed.

She walked home, sniffing at the steam that curled up from her pungent meal. Black chickens strutted along the road, and white ducks waddled besides it. A small pack of branded dwarf pigs gobbled up the waste piles the food vendors had left behind.

Beggars lined the path, hoping for handouts. One snatched at her foot and said, “Areh Thideet, Areh Thideet. Have pity.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You know me?” The beggars knew almost nothing, which was why they were beggars.

“Everyone knows you, areh. You discovered the Fardooz Codex, which everyone thought lost for all time. Get me a meal, and I’ll tell you secrets I have overheard about the key families.”

She stepped beyond the man’s reach. “If you had reliable information, you could trade it to the cooks yourself.”

“The Nimanas and the Cherefs are building an alliance through marriage,” his neighbor insisted. “The cooks don’t believe us, but I know you will.”

“Which Nimina? Which Cheref? The Nimina family thinks the Cherefs are upstarts and wouldn’t marry into them if their position depended on it. I won’t buy you a meal for that.”

The beggars’ faces fell.

Pitra swooped down to land on Mindral’s chest, digging little claws into her frock. The meat cube had vanish down her gullet. Mindral smiled at her and told the beggars, “I’ll tell you how to make an onion and garlic sauce you can trade with the cooks. You can cite me as a source. If you think you can remember it correctly.”

She hurried on after that, eager to get home before her food got cold. To Pitra, she said, “Are you coming inside with me tonight? Or are you going back to your nest?”

The omicat chirped and scaled from one shoulder to the other. She stayed clinging to Mindral as she headed back into the buildings that lined the street. Two rows in, beneath Nimina lights hung from the rock overhang, she reached her dwelling. Like everyone else, she’d shuttered her small windows against the late spring heat. The locked door awaited her, framed by a few carvings of Harvad, the god of curiosity. She bowed her head to his image, that of a sun crowned with many eyes, and told Pitra, “Last chance to stay outside for the night. What do you say?”

The omicat nestled down against her neck, her soft fur tickling Mindral’s skin, and began to purr.

A Nimina light blinked on as Mindral entered, and her silver fan, enchanted with peppermint, rose water and the wings of dragonflies, blew cool air in her face. Pitra launched herself from Mindral’s shoulder and fluttered over to land on the overflowing stone bookcase, which held tomes borrowed from the archive.

“Don’t scratch that,” Mindral said. “You’ll break your claws.”

Pitra must have agreed, because she leaped to the neighboring writing table and dug her little claws into the wood. The scratches blended in with all those the omicat had made in the past.

Mindral stepped in and put her bowl down on her small dining table. Pitra joined her, rattling the bronze spoons and knives, and batted at her great indulgence, her spice kit. She rescued it before the omicat could smash the tiny bottles filled with cumin and tumeric and saffron. Mindral didn’t cook, for like most people in Shaneh, her dwelling lacked a fireplace or chimney, but she liked to add a little variety to her purchased meals.

“Behave yourself,” she told the wild omicat. Gently, she set her glider down by the table, like the treasured object it was. Her backpack of documents she dumped out on the writing table.

“Prrow,” Pitra said, rolling onto her back to knock the spoons off the table. Mindral didn’t bother to pick them up. She slurped the chicken and noodles up from the edge of the bowl, puckering her lips at the sour sauce.

When the bowl was empty, she took it outside to the communal water faucet and rinsed it before ducking her head in the stream. A real bath would have to wait until she had time to haul water to her room. Tonight she had research to do.

Back home, she discovered that Pitra had curled up on her pillow, her tiny leathery wings outstretched, and fallen asleep. She’d have to wake the omicat to go to bed, but that was fine. Sleep wasn’t important when she had research to do.

She shoved the junk pile aside and settled in to read Kuldeev’s journal.

#

Very early in the morning, near the end of the filled-in portion of the journal, Mindral stumbled across a drawing that spanned an entire page. Kuldeev had illustrated an unusual apparatus. It looked something like a table, with four legs and a thick top, but two slots in the sides held carefully sketched pieces of paper. Mindral raised her eyebrows. She told Pitra, who was still snoring on her pillow, “This looks just like the Cheref family’s transcription device. You know, I went to see it once, out of curiosity. You wouldn’t believe what they charge to use it.”

The omicat lifted her head and blinked sleepily at Mindral.

“You’re right,” Mindral said, as though the creature had answered her. “Who cares about resemblance? It’s the enchantment that matters, and the Cherefs will never let that slip from their fingers.”

Yet the opposing page read,

I have devised a notion that I am sure will please Laminda: an enchantment to duplicate written pages without the labor of a scribe. I am still working out the fine details, but I have the general form of the instrument and the and the components I will use for it. Ink and paper, obviously. Fine vellum marked with praises of the four gods of knowledge, to give the ability to transfer the ink to paper. The feathers and tongue of a raven, for the ability to mimic. The wings of a butterfly, to allow transformation. The hairs of a horse, for speed. Spider webs, to bind all the magic together. I am testing a few more ingredients, but I am confident I will have a working prototype within the fortnight.

Mindral blinked down at the journal. “Pitra, you won’t believe this. Kuldeev was working on his own transcription device before he died. He even lists some of the ingredients. This is huge.”

The omicat rose from her pillow, stretching out its tiny forelegs, and mewled questioningly.

Mindral jabbed at the partial recipe. “If this contains the details on how to make an alternative transcription device, the Niminas will pay a fortune to get it back. They can put out their own version and put the Cherefs out of business. Jahmind will sing my praises.”

Pitra jumped up on the table and sat in front of the journal, her tail wrapped around her forepaws. She gazed into Mindral’s eyes with great interest and then yawned.

Mindral couldn’t stifle her own yawn in return. “I can’t go to bed yet,” she mumbled. “There’s got to be more information on the device in here.”

After a dozen pages, she found another mention.

I was approached today by a man from a minor family who knew of my duplication instrument. I have no idea how, for I have written about it nowhere but in my private notebooks and this journal, and I do not speak of my research to anyone. Even the rest of the family does not yet know of my current work. But this man knew. And how he insulted me! He offered me a ridiculous sum of gold for my work and my silence, expecting I would let him steal my discovery if only he paid me enough. Hah! As if gold means anything in the city of knowledge. Even had he offered me a thousand books of lost wisdom, I would refuse. My work is sacred to me. I will share it with the world only when it and I am ready, and when I do, my name will be on it.

Mindral frowned and rubbed at the edge of a page. “I don’t know about this journal, Pitra. Something’s wrong with this story. First Kuldeev was designing an alternative transcription device, and then someone tried to buy it off of him? Who found out about it and how?” She shook her head. “I should just box it up and send it home with the last of the caravans. Jahmind will know how to strike a deal with the Niminas.”

But she didn’t box it up. She couldn’t stop now, not so close to the end. Kuldeev’s final entry said,

I have been robbed! Some fiend broke into my house and rifled through my things, stealing every notebook and jotting of research I had. This journal was only spared because I keep it at the bottom of my laundry hamper, where visitors will not stumble across it. I suspect the man who approached me last week of this violation. I can recreate much of what I lost, but that is not the point! Someone means to claim my work as their own, I am certain of it. I go next to the far-writer, to complain to Laminda. The Nimina family will not tolerate such abuses! Any family who publicizes an invention stolen from me we will crush. And I will tell Laminda to watch the family of the man who desired to buy my work from me. We will uncover the guilty, and they will pay.

Nothing more followed. Mindral paged back to the head of the entry and read the date. Kokufeh 3rd, year 3969. In summer, on the very day Kuldeev had smashed his head open at the bottom of the canyon.

Mindral shut the book and stared down at it until Pitra sat upon it and batted at her chin. Then she told the omicat, “I think Kuldeev was murdered. I think the Cherefs did it.”

This was such a such a shocking statement that Mindral glanced around, as if she expected to find eavesdroppers lurking in the corner. But only Pitra heard her words, and the wild animal responded by fleeing to the door, where she scratched, demanding to be let out.

Mindral rose on unsteady legs and went to open the door. Pitra zipped out through the opening and vanished, leaving Mindral alone with her terrible suspicions and no idea of what she was supposed to do about them. She couldn’t take the journal to a Nimina to share what she had discovered. Kuldeev had been the only Nimina to live in Shaneh for the last decade. All she could do was pass it on to Jahmind, who could pass it on to the Niminas back at Nahiroun. But that didn’t seem like enough. Kuldeev had been murdered in Shaneh, and if there was information about who had done it, it was here, not back at Nahiroun.

Pitra was gone, but Mindral still said aloud, “I could find out who did it. I could get proof. The Niminas would reward us.” This could be the big discovery that Jahmind had demanded.

She wished she could go back to the street and call Pitra back, for she desperately needed a hug. But the animal was wild, not a pet, even if it did seem to be her friend. She hid the journal under the clean clothes in her wooden trunk, next to the useless gold she’d brought from Nahiroun ten years ago. Then she curled up on her reed-stuffed mattress and fell asleep with her head pillowed on one arm.

In her dreams, she searched for murderers, but they turned on her when she found them, and she died alone at the bottom of Delshet Canyon, her body broken in two.

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[okigetit]

How to care and clean your mattress?

If the thought of cleaning your mattress hasn’t crossed your mind in a while, you’re not the only one. In fact, most of us never clean our mattresses in any way. We just end click here up buying a new one when the previous starts to smell and is no longer as white as it used to be.

Taking care of your mattress is essential for ensuring a clean and comfortable sleep environment. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore various aspects of mattress care. We'll discuss the importance of vacuuming your mattress, the benefits of investing in a dehumidifier, the differences between mattress toppers and protectors, how to spot clean your mattress, effective methods to remove odours, and the recommended frequency for steam cleaning. Let's dive into the details!

Why You Should Vacuum Your Mattress:

Dust Mites and Allergens: Over time, mattresses can accumulate dust mites, dead skin cells, and other allergens. Vacuuming helps remove these particles, reducing the risk of allergies and promoting a cleaner sleep environment. b. Freshness and Hygiene: Regular vacuuming eliminates dirt, dust, and debris that can make your mattress feel and smell unclean. It helps maintain a fresh and hygienic sleeping surface.

c. Prolonged Mattress Lifespan: By removing debris and minimizing the build-up of allergens, vacuuming can help extend the lifespan of your mattress, ensuring it remains in good condition for longer.

Why You Should Invest in a Dehumidifier:

a. Moisture Control: High humidity levels can promote the growth of mould, mildew, and dust mites in your mattress. A dehumidifier helps regulate moisture, preventing these issues and creating a healthier sleeping environment. b. Odour Reduction: Excessive moisture in the air can lead to musty odours in your mattress. Using a dehumidifier helps control humidity levels, minimizing the likelihood of unpleasant smells.

c. Overall Comfort: Maintaining an optimal level of humidity in your bedroom enhances overall comfort by preventing clamminess and ensuring a fresh, dry sleeping environment.

Should You Get a Mattress Topper or a Mattress Protector?

Mattress Toppers: Toppers are designed to add an extra layer of comfort to your mattress. They come in various materials and thicknesses, providing cushioning and support tailored to your preferences. Mattress toppers can improve the feel of an older mattress or customize the firmness of a new one.

b. Mattress Protectors: Protectors are primarily intended to shield your mattress from spills, stains, dust mites, and allergens. They are typically made of waterproof or water-resistant materials and are easy to remove and clean. Mattress protectors help preserve the longevity and cleanliness of your mattress.

How to Spot Clean a Mattress:

Blotting: For liquid spills, gently blot the affected area with a clean cloth or paper towel to absorb as much liquid as possible. Avoid rubbing, as it may spread the stain or push it deeper into the mattress.

b. Mild Detergent Solution: Mix a small amount of mild liquid detergent with water to create a gentle cleaning solution. Dip a clean cloth or sponge into the solution and wring it out until it is damp, not saturated. Gently blot the stained area, starting from the outer edge and working inward.

c. Rinse and Dry: After spot cleaning, dampen a clean cloth with plain water and blot the treated area to remove any soap residue. Allow the mattress to air dry completely before putting sheets or covers back on.

How to Get Smell Out of a Mattress:

Baking Soda: Sprinkle baking soda generously over the surface of the mattress and let it sit for several hours, or overnight if possible. Baking soda helps absorb odours. Vacuum the mattress thoroughly to remove the baking soda residue.