#mirror frame scrollwork

[sebastianchris]

Living Room Enclosed in Orange County

[pixelatedsnuggles]

Living Room - Enclosed

[misseviehyde]

Mommy knows best

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM...

David sighed as he looked around his new home and listened to the racket coming next door from his daughters room. The little bitch was playing music incredibly loudly and refusing to come out and help him unpack. Chloe was acting like a total brat... again.

He supposed she was still angry about the divorce - but did she really have to take it out on him? It was her mother that had cheated on him and driven a wedge into their family. Laura had moved in with her new rich boyfriend and Chloe would clearly rather spend time at their luxurious house than at her Dad's new home.

He'd bought the apartment because it came fully furnished. Chloe's Mom had left him with almost nothing. It had all happened so fast.

Running his hands through his greying hair he unzipped his suitcase and walking over to the wardrobe pulled it open to begin putting his clothes away. He whistled as he worked, trying to ignore the thud of the bass coming through the wall.

Spoiled fucking brat... she needs to be brought under control.

David rubbed his eyes tiredly. It almost felt like he'd heard a voice coming from the corner of the room - but that was impossible. He was alone.

Maybe you're not as alone as you think simp.

This time David was sure he had heard a voice. He whirled round and peered into the corner. But there was nothing but an old fashioned full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

Elaborate silver scrollwork framed the mirror and it's silvery surface almost seemed to ripple as if it were alive. Intrigued he stalked closer and to his surprise saw a figure staring back at him.

Hello loser.

There was a woman in the mirror gazing back at him. A beautiful stylish woman. She was dressed all in black - in clingy tight fitting leather that left her smooth perfect legs on show and her beautiful figure clearly evident. Manicured nails and pedicured toes shone glossily back at him as she held him with a steady gaze. A sexy pony tail rose from her scalp - her hair black and her face bold with strong makeup and dark glittering eyes. Dollar sign earrings hung on either side of her head - this was a girl-boss and no mistake.

It was hard to tell how old she was - his age probably... but she was in a lot better shape than he was. She looked assertive, competent - the kind of woman who liked to hit the gym and work out. She looked like a man eating dominatrix... he could just imagine her sucking off some big alpha cock whilst making her cuckold husband watch.

He had always had a thing for women that treated him like trash. It was why he let his wife cheat on him for all those years - why he now allowed his daughter to push him around. Why he could do nothing but stare in admiration at the woman in the mirror.

Yes that's right. Women take advantage of you because you're a useless fucking cuck

The woman in the mirror laughed, her hands on her hips.

But even a useless cuck has his uses. I'm trapped in this mirror and I want out.

David knew that something evil was happening. He should cry out for help from his daughter, but the music next door was too loud and he couldn't seem to stop staring at the woman in the mirror.

Yesssss, that's it loser. Come closer. Come to Mommy.

The woman untied her belt and let her leather dress fall open. Underneath she was naked... her body perfectly toned and curvy in all the right places. A tattoo of a scorpion stood proud on her thigh - and David couldn't stop staring at her luscious breasts and shaven pussy.

Yes, isn't my body just the best? Come closer cuck. Get your dick out for me.

David was helpless to resist as he approached the mirror and unzipped his belt. His trousers fell to his knees and his cock sprang out.

Pump it for me...

David's hands stroked up and down his cock as the woman in the mirror began to touch and play with herself. She moaned, her pony tail swishing as she rolled her head and her eyes fluttered in delicious pleasure.

Sinking to her knees slowly, she grinned maliciously and opened her mouth invitingly.

David knew it was impossible - but the compulsion to slide his dick into her mouth was too strong. He pushed his cock up against the glass... and to his amazement with a wet glop it sank into and through the glass.

That's it cuck... give me your fucking cock.

David groaned as he felt the mirror woman's lips slide round his dick and he felt her begin to suck. She reached out and the glass bulged and parted as her hands came through and she slide them around his ass.

"Ohhhh fuck, ohhhh my God," groaned David as the woman's head began to bob up and down - her pony tail bouncing as she sucked and slurped his dick. He felt himself being pulled deeper into the mirror and the glass beginning to bulge and flow outwards as he thrust his hips into her face.

The woman's hands were on his back, she was sucking him so hard now... his dick had never felt so good... it felt like she was draining him of everything.

glug glug glug mmmmmmmhhhhh ahhhhhhhhh

With a wet pop the woman pulled her head off his cock and standing up pulled him deep into the mirror. He groaned as she flowed like water, her physical form starting to engulf him and flow over him.

A hand formed around his cock, pumping and stroking as she enveloped him and he felt himself being absorbed.

That's it... don't fight it.

David groaned as soft luxurious skin flowed over his own. Manicured nails sprang from his fingers and looking down he saw firm full breasts forming on his chest. He felt the woman's face flowing over his... her lips merging with his own as he groaned orgasmically and began to cum.

With every spurt - his dick shrank and as the last of the mirror surface wrapped around him and flowed over his body - his ass swelled up and a tight pussy formed over his crotch.

Trapped inside the woman - David felt her thoughts and memories beginning to smother his own. He felt his pony tail bouncing on his own head, as his new clothing formed around him and he reached down to tie up his leather dress. Licking his lips David tasted expensive lipstick and he ran his fingers over his skin, thrilling at the softness of his body and how good it felt.

Just let yourself sink into nothingness. Become me...

The mirror behind him was just an empty frame now - as empty and blank as David's thoughts as he felt it all slipping away. It felt so good to surrender to this new body. It felt so good to merge with the woman.

You're going to love being me. You're going to love being a woman.

With a groan David let go and allowed the woman to flow into every part of his soul.

It felt so good to surrender... to just become her.

There was no going back.

***********************

Vivian opened her eyes and stretched languidly. "Mmmmmh, that is SO much better."

Adjusting her dress, she picked up David's phone and took a selfie. "Yes, I really am perfect."

Her perfect lips curved into a wicked smile as she walked over to the door and out into the corridor. Pushing open the door to Chloe's room she smirked at the look of surprise in the other woman's eyes.

"What the... who the fuck are you?"

"Don't you remember me bitch? I'm your step-mother."

Vivian's eyes bored into Chloe's and the girl felt her will being drained. Her mouth dropped open stupidly as the evil bitch dominated her daughters will and rewrote her mind to accept this new situation.

"Don't try to resist Chloe. Your days of fun are over. From now on you will do anything I tell you."

"Y... yes Mommy," gasped Chloe.

"Good girl," purred Vivian.

"But what about Daddy?"

"Your Daddy was a fucking loser. He's me now and we won't be seeing him again. Now turn down this fucking music and do your homework. There are going to be some big changes around here."

Chloe obeyed without question. After all... Mommy knew best.

THE END

[simarjeet12]

How to Pick Mirror Frames That Go with Your Style

Mirrors are not only useful home appliances; they are also strong decorative accents that may improve the atmosphere of any space. Because the frame's style, color, and material may greatly affect the entire design, selecting the ideal mirror frame is crucial to improving the aesthetics of your room. Consider alternatives like the Buy Sunburst mirror UK for a touch of contemporary sophistication if you're searching for a standout piece. Whether you're going for boho flare, modern minimalism, or traditional elegance, here's a guide to choosing mirror frames that best suit your aesthetic.

1. Recognizing Your Style and Space

Think over the design of your space for a bit before choosing a frame option. Is it eclectic, rustic, modern, or traditional? An excellent mirror frame should complement the room's current furnishings, wall colors, and décor. A basic design could work best in a bathroom, while a dramatic frame might work well in an entryway.

Advice: Examine any eye-catching items in the space, such furniture or artwork. Choose a frame that accentuates these features without overpowering them.

2. Classic Elegance: Gilded and Ornate Frames

Gilded and ornate frames are a great option if you're inclined to timeless, traditional décor. These frames, which draw inspiration from classic European designs, may have elaborate carvings, scrollwork, or leaf patterns.

Where It Works Best: Grand entryways, dining rooms, and classic living rooms look great with ornate frames.

Styling Tip: For a unified effect, combine these frames with other opulent components like chandeliers, plush textiles, or vintage artwork.

3. Sleek and Unframed Mirrors in Modern Minimalism

Think of frameless mirrors or mirrors with thin, metal frames for a sleek, modern look. These designs' simplicity may open up a room and give it a light, clutter-free atmosphere. Particularly for minimalist environments, frameless mirrors provide a clear, uncluttered reflection.

Where It Works Best: Bathrooms, bedrooms, or any area where a clean, contemporary aesthetic is desired.

Styling Tip: For a contemporary look, choose mirrors with geometric shapes, such as squares or circles. The minimalist look is enhanced when these mirrors are paired with neutral or monochromatic colors.

4. Natural Frames and Wood for Rustic Charm

Mirrors with wooden frames are a great choice if you have a warm, rustic aesthetic. To add a feeling of organic appeal to the space, use natural textures, faded finishes, or recycled wood.

Where It Works Best: Bohemian, farmhouse, or rustic settings, especially in kitchens, living rooms, and bedrooms.

Styling Tip: To highlight the rustic vibe, try combining wood-framed mirrors with other organic components, such as plants, woven baskets, and stone accents.

5. Metal Frames as an Industrial Edge

Raw materials are essential to industrial décor, and metal-framed mirrors are a fantastic match for this style. When combined with exposed brick, concrete, and other industrial components, dark metal frames—often with a matte or worn finish—add a robust, no-nonsense appeal.

Where It Works Best: Living areas with an industrial, urban style, home offices, or entryways.

Styling Tip: For a structured appearance, choose square or rectangular forms. For a striking presentation, use two metal frames side by side. They also look fantastic in pairs.

6. Creative and Diverse: Vibrant or Textured Frames

Frames with vibrant colors or unusual textures give those who enjoy a whimsical, artistic décor style an opportunity to express their individuality. Mirrors with painted patterns, mosaic tiles, or unusual forms give any space a creative touch.

Where It Works Best: eclectic and bohemian areas, particularly in restrooms, corridors, and living rooms.

Styling Tip: Select frames with vivid hues or textures that go well with the room's other décor pieces, such as striking throw cushions or quirky wall art.

7. Light Frames and Whitewashed Coastal and Nautical Images

Mirrors with bleached or light-toned frames look well in coastal décor, which frequently emphasizes light and airy themes. These frames offer your house a laid-back, beachy vibe that is evocative of sandy beaches and ocean breezes.

Where It Works Best: Living areas, baths, and bedrooms with a coastal theme.

Style Tip: Use light frames with neutral color schemes like sandy or soft blue. To finish the design, add driftwood, seashells, or nautical decorations.

8. Luxurious and Glamourous Mirrors with Metal Frames

Choose mirrors with brass, silver, or gold metallic frames for a glam look. Any room is made more opulent and sparkling by these frames, especially when combined with upscale materials like velvet or marble.

It works well in dressing rooms, bedrooms, or any other location where a little more luxury is desired.

Styling Tip: To add more glitter and heighten the overall glam vibe, use metallic mirrors in light-reflecting places.

Advice on Selecting the Ideal Mirror Frame

Align Your Woods or Metals: For a unified effect, try matching the mirror frame to any other metal or wooden elements in the space.

Think about the frame width and mirror size: Make sure the size and dimensions of the frame match the available area since a huge mirror with a thick frame might overpower a tiny space.

Experiment with Shapes: Don't only use rectangular mirrors. Mirrors that are rounded, oval, or even asymmetrical can improve many designs and provide visual appeal.

Conclusion

The ideal mirror frame may be the final element that unifies your decor, expressing your personal style and the atmosphere you wish to create in your room. Selecting a mirror frame that complements your style will help add harmony and beauty to your house, regardless of your preferences for eclectic artistry, modern minimalism, rustic warmth, or traditional elegance. Therefore, take advantage of the opportunities and use your mirrors to create a chic statement.

[vintagehomecollection]

Gilt wood ornamental with flamboyant rococo scrollwork and rocaille framing an early piece of mirror glass. Old mirror like this was produced with an amalgam of silver and mercury, and exposure to damp makes it go grey and patchy.

Classic Decorative Details, 1994

[lychbeast]

Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya

Kelly sat on her bunk. She just heard the news. The Forward Unto Dawn had been carrying John. But they never found him in the wreckage.

"Goin the road to sweet Athy haroo, haroo."

Fred walked in. His eyes were downcast. Lynda was right beside him.

"Goin the road to sweet Athy haroo, haroo.

Goin the road to sweet Athy, a stick in the hand and a drop in the eye

a doleful damsel I heard cry Johnny I hardly knew ya."

Kelly's voice was quiet, but she knew Fred and Linda could hear her. Her tone was steady as she breathed, just like when she was running. Linda and Fred crossed the room over to her bunk. Fred rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Where are the eyes that looked so mild haroo, haroo

Where are the eyes that looked so mild haroo, haroo"

Fred joined in singing. His voice was deep and matched hers. There was echoing off the mirror polished floors that sounded like the growling of a protective mother bear.

"Where are the eyes that looked so mild

When my poor heart you first beguiled

Oh why did you run from me and the child

Johnny I hardly knew ya"

Linda sat on the bunk and leaned against Kelly. The frame creaked beneath the both of them. The song was a trio. Linda's voice floated above the two of theirs. Always above the team to watch their backs.

"With your drums and guns and guns and drums haroo, haroo

With your drums and guns and guns and drums haroo, haroo

With your drums and guns and guns and drums

The enemy nearly slew ya"

Kelly cut off.

"Oh darlin dear ya look so queer

Johnny I hardly knew ya."

The barracks was quiet. During training, they learned many sea shanties and marching songs to bolster up morale. They originally learned of When Johnny Comes Marching Home. But after working alongside one sailor with a long family history in the Navy, back when ships were made of wood and rose over mountains of ocean, they learned of the version called Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya. It was undoubtedly less in favor of the military, but they all learned the lyrics.

"But I'm happy for

To See ya home

Johnny I hardly knew ya."

Kelly felt along her left knee. She had scrollwork of numbers. All the family she lost There would never be a grave or even a plaque on some monument, there was barely even a funeral. But she would hold their names with her. 117 was going to be in dark blue ink right above 034.

John would like that, she thought.

[avnid]

History of Open Wagons, Special Wagons

Travelling people and the wagon

‘Vardos’ were the traditional homes for the Gypsy and Irish Traveller community. They are still treasured and continue to have significant cultural importance. Horse-drawn living open wagons have been in use for at least one hundred and fifty years. Some are very basic but Travellers generally love their wagons to be elaborately decorated, hand carved and ornately painted. Traditional Traveller and Romani symbols such as flowers, horses, vines, grapes and pears are used and elaborate scrollworks created.

As you can see from these photos carved details are often accented with gold paint or, in the most expensive wagons, gold leaf.

The windows would be etched with fruit and mirrors would-be high-quality cut glass with images of a vase, flowers and fruit.

The improvement work on British roads by Thomas Telford and John McAdam enabled people to live on them in wagons.

Up until this point Gypsies and Travellers lived in rod or bender tents which were constructed with malleable hazel or ash rods and covered with tarpaulin.

When there were not enough tents for their growing families, they would sleep beneath or in their tilt carts with basic covers.

Country wheelwrights and wainwrights saw the opportunity to build and sell more robust wagons to the travelling communities. This was the start of the heyday of the traditional wagons.

Irish Travellers living in rod tents on the side of the road.

The Bill Wright wagon One of the most famous wagon builders was William (Bill) Wright, 1844-1909. His works were situated near Leeds. Such was his reputation that Travellers would make long journeys to purchase his wagons or to get repairs made to those they already owned.

Bill Wright gained special recognition for his unique bulging Bow Top design. This design was often copied by other envious builders. He also had a talent for constructing wooden-sided vardos. These wagons easily equalled any made by other notable wagon builders living in Britain at the time.

Wagon features Bill Wright wagons have distinctive features such as a larger body and barrel top, and large wheels at the rear.

The wagons have a trademark carved sunflower or horse.

His sons continued the family business after his death.

Elaborate carvings are a distinct feature on Traveller wagons.

Wagon symbols Symbols typically found on wagons include grapes, apples and pears, horses and scrolls, depicting the rural lifestyle. Bill Wright was famous for always using a sunflower on his wagons.

Funeral rites Although the Travellers and Gypsies adored their wagons, the funeral rite during the 19th and 20th centuries included burning the wagon and belongings after the owner’s death.

Some of the deceased’s possessions, jewellery, china or money would be left to the family. The rest, including the wagon, was destroyed.

Wagon types Wagons can be categorized into six main styles. The Burton is the oldest example of a wagon used as a home in Britain. 

Our wagon is based on a Bill Wright Bow Top. These can also be known as the Midland, Leeds, Lincolnshire, Yorkshire, Bell and Barrel Top.

About our wagon It is light and durable and the best for crossing fords and pulling off road onto rough ground.

It is least likely to topple over in a strong wind.

It is built with ledges and a round canvas top on a bowed wood frame. The wagon’s interior is typically fitted out with built-in seats, cabinets, a wardrobe, bunks in the rear, a chest of drawers, and a glass-fronted china cabinet.

A small cast iron ‘queenie stove’ is always on the left on entry to the wagon so that the chimney is in less danger from low-hanging tree limbs at the side of the road. The stove is used primarily for heating, the quality and ornateness indicates the family’s wealth.

Demise of the horse-drawn wagon In 1900 there were 40,000 horse-drawn omnibuses and 4,000 tram-horses in London. By 1924 they had all gone.

The reasons for this included the fact that thousands of horses were killed in the First World War and the rise of the motor-car and petrol driven vehicles which totally transformed modes of transport.

Living history There will always be a special place for the traditional Bow Top wagon in many Travellers’ hearts; such an object of beauty and romanticism is hard to forget! Many wagons have become museum pieces like this Bill Wright Ledge Wagon and interior on display at York Castle Museum.

[etherati]

Wellspring [4/14]

Chapter Warnings: Human(ish) (okay they were vampires) remains, including those of children; supernatural bigotry; Trevor probably making dick jokes about carrots.

*

By silent agreement, they begin to work on damage control. Security. If Carmilla really has been routed at Braila, her forces scattered and decimated, her resources depleted in a mad dash for her life—assuming she survived the revolt at all—she will not likely become a concern again for a while. But she is far from the only enemy Adrian has inherited from his father.

All the castle windows are getting warded, not just the ground level ones, a slow and tedious process. Adrian is painstakingly working to repair the two distance mirrors they have access to, one sliver of glass at a time. He cuts himself on the razor edge of a shard once, a fat drop of blood hitting the floor of his father’s study before the laceration can close itself, and for a few minutes, it’s like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

It passes. He doesn’t talk about it.

He’s also taken to patrolling the grounds at dusk and dawn, and dropping in on the hold once a day to be sure its security is holding. Sypha finally got around to reestablishing the wards on it, and Belmont still has the scabby little line across his palm to prove it, but their story and the dreams it sparked have him feeling antsy and nervous, like there is a catastrophe right around the next corner that, seemingly, only he can sense.

But: could he even handle trouble, if he were to find it? He feels physically much improved since they’ve been forcing him to take meals with them, more ready for a real fight than he’s been in months. But there’s a violent disequilibrium that hits him at random moments, and he feels slow and earthbound like he never has before, and that has him worried over his ability to protect his home, his companions. Maddeningly, he knows what the problem is, but like a starving fox that dies ten paces from a chicken coop, he just can’t find the energy to do anything about it. He’s been running close to the edge, in a lot of ways.

When he enters the hold today—he’s rigged up one of the sparking cast-iron lifts from the castle to serve in place of the grand staircase, at least for now—there’s a subtly different smell in the air: fresh pine, the pitch-tar odor of the sap still lingering, nothing like the aged oak and walnut that makes up most of the shelving and structure down here. He follows his nose all the way to the row of grotesque display cases along the back wall, hackles rising involuntarily as he works out where he’s headed. He almost abandons his own curiosity, then—he never enjoys this end of the vault, but today he is particularly Not In The Mood—when he hears a shuffle of movement, the dull clunk-thunk of what sounds like bone on bone.

Anger flares, blood licking at the edges of his vision. If some petty grave robber has gotten in here again, is further desecrating—

But no. He catches the hunter’s scent before he even makes the corner, oiled leather and sweat and that strange touch of spice, layered in with the wood smell he’s already noticed. There’s a square box on the floor next to the glass case, maybe a foot and a half on each side, plain pine, a fair imitation of dignified scrollwork tooled roughly into its sides and hinged top. It’s open, space inside taken up by a carefully, almost respectfully arranged pile of skulls. The display case itself is nearly empty; Belmont is crouched down in front of it, retrieving the last of the horrifying trophies, and he clearly hasn’t detected Adrian’s approach.

The anger dissipates; mischievy crawls in to replace it. He takes a few silent steps forward, drops down onto his heels, peering at Belmont in reflection in the empty expanse of glass backing the cabinet, framing his face over the arc of the skull’s brow even as the hunter reaches for it.

“Gah!” Belmont shouts, jumping backward and just about out of his own skin. He fumbles the tiny skull, recovers his grip at the expense of his own balance, hitting the stone floor hard and barely missing bowling back into Adrian. “Oh my God, you sneaky piss-eyed bastard.”

“Well, that’s rude,” Adrian says, bemused. He stands fluidly, offering a hand up.

“Been called worse,” Belmont grunts, then to Adrian’s faint shock, he actually accepts the help, cradling the skull against his chest with the other hand as he rises. “By you, mostly.”

“And what was it you were telling me, about lowering one’s guard? Something to do with delusions of immortality.”

“Yeah, well,” Belmont says, turning toward the box. “I wouldn’t have to worry about my ‘mortality’ if I didn’t have you around trying to actually, literally kill me—in my childhood home, no less—"

He cuts off as Adrian’s hand moves of its own accord, wraps around his wrist before he can set the skull into the box. His other hand reaches out to trace the shape of it, the compact child’s braincase, the underdeveloped canines. It’s one thing to see it through glass, quite another to acknowledge its reality under his fingers.

“I know,” Belmont says after a long moment, quiet. Deflated. “Could’ve been you. Probably would have been, if the church hadn’t had their way with my family.”

A breath, deeper than it needs to be; Adrian feels vaguely shaken, in the same way as finding his hair clipped close in the aftermath of a swordfight—there but for the grace. Would this Belmont have gone along on that hunt? Is that how the intersection of their paths in this world would have begun and ended? Would his father have lost his mind for his son the same as he had after Târgoviște, or was that sort of mad, heedless love reserved only for the brilliant and courageous woman who had stormed into his life all those years ago?

How did Belmont’s ancestors, Belmont who despite his boozing and veneer of apathy has an impressively strong moral compass, ever justify to themselves the murder of children?

They’re unanswerable questions. They’re unaskable questions.

He releases Belmont’s wrist, watches as the hunter’s big, world-roughened hands set the skull into the box with a delicacy he wouldn’t have thought possible.

“You, Belmont,” he says, forcing composure, ignoring how his voice wavers. Ignoring how that gentleness makes something warm flutter against his ribs. “Continue to have absolutely no filter. Or just an astonishing lack of tact.”

The other man shrugs, closing the box, subdued. “Never found much use for it. Blunt honesty gets me what I need.”

“I would argue that it gets you punched in the face more often than not.”

“And then,” Belmont says, producing a shovel from where it had been leaning against the case behind him. “I know that that’s a person who’d punch one of the heroes of Wallachia in the face. That’s good information to have. Here, carry this?”

Taking the shovel, Adrian narrows his eyes. “What am I digging?”

Belmont shakes his head, hefts the box up from the floor. “Nothing. That’s my job. Just makes it easier to carry this if—oh.” He looks unsure for a fleeting second, then it’s shuttered away again, behind the usual bluster. “I guess I should ask you. If there’s some weird vampire thing you want done, instead of burying them?”

Adrian feels his mouth fall open, just a bit, all at once overwhelmed as it hits him what’s happening here. He’d… he’d thought that Belmont was simply putting them away somewhere, where Adrian wouldn’t have to stare at them every time he came here. That was kindness enough, and unexpected.

“Don’t get me wrong, more than willing to give them a spot out there, but I don’t know what you people do, with—”

“With our dead?” Adrian sighs, dropping his eyes for a moment, thinking, digging through memory. It doesn’t come up often, but he can remember a servant of the castle who had been killed by a wandering, amateur hunter a decade or more ago. His father had treated the corpse with dismissive disdain: a shell, a used-up piece of detritus, proof that the soul inhabiting it hadn’t been fit enough to survive. A failure, due no particular ceremony.

His mother had been upset by it, he remembers now, and his father baffled by her reaction. Humans have always had more regard than that, honoring what’s left behind—paying respect to the hands that touched and the eyes that took in all the wonders of the world, the mouth that laughed, the ankle that twisted in dance, the body that sang with blood and wailed with fear and ran for its life and made that life worth living. Prey things; but then, anyone can become prey, and it’s fitting to feed either the worms or the fire, when there’s no more running to be done.

Adrian shakes his head, coming back up from the depths with a trace of a smile that he can feel despite himself. He settles the shovel over his shoulder. “No, there’s nothing special. This will be fine.”

* *

So they walk out to the Belmont family cemetery connected to the estate grounds, one of the few places even the church wouldn’t deface, all those years ago. It’s deceptively pleasant in the summer sunlight, untamed wild grasses rolling in waves and troughs between and around the headstones, rippling in the breeze like a massive school of blue-green fish. They settle in the far corner, Belmont digging away gamely, Adrian sitting cross-legged on the ground next to the box, tucked up under the sparse shelter of a tree. He’s slung one arm up on the box, pretending at a casual lean, actually feeling somewhat protective.

“Is there any way to find out who they were?” Belmont asks, conversational, when he’s cleared the three foot mark. The heat is oppressive, and he’s discarded his tunic, is flushed with sweat between all the scars, heart pounding in that overpowering, too-heavy way it has when he’s doing something demanding. A kettledrum-beat, too loud in Adrian’s ears.

“Are you suggesting I might be able to touch the remains and, like an oracle, mystically divine their names, places of birth, secret dreams, list of crimes?” he asks, sarcasm perhaps a bit too thick, trying to think through the distracting thudding. His fingers curl around a bit of trim on the box, release.

“Guess I’m expecting too much, huh?”

“That sort of sorcery is really more in your family’s line of expertise than mine.” Parry, jab.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Belmont laughs, breathless.

“Mm.”

Quiet for a moment, as the dirt continues to pile up. Then, an olive branch: “And, I mean. I’m not assuming they all committed crimes.”

Adrian tongues at his teeth, thinking. “Oh, I’m sure some of them were absolute bastards, as you would say.”

“Probably most of them. But that’s not the point, is it?”

A beat of silence, then: “What is the point, Belmont? Why are you doing this?”

The steady cycle of crunching dirt, overarm swing, shower of dirt into the grass draws to a quiet stop. Belmont sighs, doesn’t reply. Starts digging again.

Fine. Not getting an answer. Adrian turns his head, gazes out over the rest of the graveyard. They’d ended up here, in a distant corner, not because Belmont was trying to keep this burial site away from his family, but simply because there was almost nowhere else left to dig. The stones range across the grounds, uneven rows, some broken and moss-covered with the wear of centuries, some twenty years young and glinting white in the sun. So many of them, too many of them for only one family and four centuries. Belmont had mentioned, once, that he’d had six siblings growing up, and it had seemed ridiculous at the time, like something that peasants did because they risked losing half their children to dysentery and consumption and the violence of poverty. There should be no reason a noble family would need to be so prodigious with their offspring, and he’d said as much, merciless in his mocking.

Adrian wonders, idly, how many of those siblings are buried here. Wonders in a sidelong sort of way, defenses skittish about letting the thought in, how he ever thought mocking someone’s dead family was even vaguely fair game.

And maybe this absurdly overpopulated cemetery feels like a legacy of persecution and murder to him, but nothing is ever that simple and it’s a legacy also of sacrifice. The Belmonts did not fight their battles lightly, or win easily. And if Adrian himself wishes not to be held accountable for the sins of his father—

Trevor is digging in silence, limned in the sunlight like stained glass, like a study in penance.

The coat and gloves come off before he realizes it, draped shroud-like across the box. Adrian stands, stills the arm on the shovel; the hunter’s skin is hotter and drier than it should be, and he’s no longer sweating. “Take a break, Belmont. I can finish this more quickly than you can anyway.”

Trevor plants the blade of the shovel in the dirt, leans on the handle. Doesn’t surrender it. Narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to work this out. “You’ll get your nice shirt all dirty,” he says, challenging.

“Despite what you obviously believe, clothes can be washed,” Adrian says, indulging the back-and-forth. “They don’t actually become better at deflecting blows when you let a crust build up on them. Go on, get out of the sun.”

“That’s supposed to be what we say to you.”

“Perhaps—”

“You haven't even got your pretty sunhat.”

“—but I’m not the one currently about to swoon from heatstroke.” He grins, toothily. “Ten minutes in the sun won’t kill me.”

Another moment’s contemplation, then Trevor wordlessly tips the handle of the shovel toward him. He’s grumbling under his breath as he drops hard to the ground under the sheltering tree, something about how he wasn’t going to swoon, damn it and fucking show-off, ten minutes my arse and it had better not.

Adrian ignores the words, smiles lightly. He turns to the narrow chimney of a hole, makes quick work of the remaining depth, and when the task is done and his unknown countrymen laid finally to rest, he gifts Trevor a quiet noise of gratitude and hauls him back into the cool of the castle.

* *

The pages of the large index volume skip past his fingers, feather-soft and remarkably even, smelling like vanilla and old, old ink.

It’s been days since the impromptu funeral, and as is common in late summer, the heat of that day had quickly broken into a thunderstorm that had not completely gone away since. Adrian’s been down here in the hold for a few hours, avoiding a heavy downpour that had started when he was just closing the stone over him. He can hear the rainfall on the roof of this place, even if the others wouldn’t have been able to, and it’s been relentless; he’s close to giving up on waiting and just braving the wet.

On the page below him, a few simplistic doodles of common demons in the margins, more decorative than anything else. Adrian narrows his eyes, feels an impulse rise in him with the distinct texture of you’re going to regret this but you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?

He steps away from the lectern and gravitates to where he knows the Belmonts’ family volumes were stored—journals, references, the ones they wrote and kept up themselves, the most vital information distilled down into only few dozen volumes that span an unremarkable length of shelf. He walks among them, touching each spine in turn with a light possessiveness, a faint sense of taboo. Push-pull, like most of the things down here.

He knows when he’s found it, bound in a brilliant burgundy, the spine detail ornate and lush, hand-leafed with gold and inlaid with braid. Touching it feels electric, feels like falling down and down, into a slippery darkness even he will never escape from. He grits his teeth, pushes through the ward—not black magicians his arse—and pulls the volume from the shelf.

The Belmont family bestiary.

Adrian settles to the floor right there in the stacks, because holding this thing is making him dizzy no matter how he fights it. He leafs through; it appears to be alphabetical, which seems strange—how would they insert an entry, when they found something new? Perhaps this is a later copy.

Wyvern. Werewolf. He’s in the right area, at least, but pauses for a moment to study the illustration set in next to the text, tracing his finger along the scratchy ink. It’s a ferocious creature, all fur and teeth and moonlight, arching its back against the sky, menace rippling off of it in waves. The eyes are shockingly alive. It’s beautiful work.

He flips a few pages, finds the entry on vampires, which is a little underwhelming; the drawing isn’t anything he hasn’t seen in his own battles, and the text, while unnecessarily colored by human-centric religious rhetoric, is basically accurate.

But that isn’t really why he pulled this book down, is it?

This entire exercise started as an impulse, and he lets impulse guide him, flipping a large chunk of the book at once to get back to the beginning of the alphabet. Individual pages he turns carefully, almost as if he’s afraid of finding what he’s looking for.

Then it’s there, under his fingers: Dhampir.

He doesn’t even get to the text, doesn’t get the chance to assess its accuracy; he feels his stomach lurch sickeningly as the page comes into view.

Staring out of the book at him: a child.

A fanged child, eyes dead and empty, poised in an aggressive, predatory stance, blood sluicing down her face and ground into unkempt hair and ragged clothes, but still—a child. Eight years old at most, and if the picture is to be believed, too feral to be allowed to live.

And that’s it. He understands with sudden, horrible clarity: that is all the Belmonts ever knew of his kind. Child-shaped monsters that never grew up, because they had never allowed it to happen. It’s little wonder he’s never met another, in all his travels.

Born with half a soul, the caption under the picture reads, and trapped in the body of an abomination. Death is merciful; it sets the soul free from the monster.

Adrian closes his eyes, presses on them with his hand, trying to steady himself. It’s the same dizziness he’s been feeling for months, or it’s the dizziness from the book’s ward, or it’s the dizziness of realization: this is what he was taught.

But Trevor Belmont is not his father, is not his father’s father, or that man’s father before him. He did not pen this entry, or illustrate it. He did not put those skulls behind glass. He has treated Adrian like the bastard he knows he can be sometimes, but never like a creature with only half a soul.

Adrian pulls himself to his feet, shoves the book back into its place on the shelf and, steadied by its absence, heads back up into the storm.

* *

He squeezes his hair out as best he can in the entryway, tries to finger-comb it into something resembling order, but when he passes by the mirror in the hallway and catches a glimpse of himself, Adrian is startled into stillness.

His hair is tangled and limp and bedraggled, darkened by the water, laying in thick strands against his face like liquid. He’s paler than he remembers being the last time he checked; his eyes look sunken, dark and red-rimmed in that entirely human way of not ever getting enough sleep. He looks, as Trevor would say, like shit.

It’s tempting to just move on, to laugh about what a number the storm’s done on him and just chalk it up to that, but instead: he lets his mouth hang open, bringing his fangs into the picture, and no—he doesn’t just look like shit. He looks like a caricature of desperate, starving ferocity.

* *

So: to the baths before engaging in any human interaction, then. A rinse and a towel-off and a proper brushing, and the heat does some good for his complexion, but there’s not a lot he can do for his eyes, and how much they’re starting to look like the hollow pits in the drawing, sunken and dead and hungry.

* *

He considers, over dinner, bringing up what he’d seen. Not because he really thinks Trevor has an answer that can possibly satisfy him, or even should be forced to produce one; it’s just eating him up, the inked lines of the illustration circling through his head, the crazed eyes and fangs and claws, and a question: Is that how they see me? A soul-sick child who never realized that he wasn’t supposed to live?

But Trevor is in a better mood than usual tonight, laughing over something to do with Sypha’s tiny carrots, which yes, she probably pulled up too early. And this line of questioning would make him defensive, would cause a fight, and strangely, Adrian finds he just doesn’t have the heart for it right now.

Maybe Trevor’s finally growing up a little. Maybe Adrian is, too. Or maybe something important happened out there, under the blistering sun and the watchful, accusing eyes of all of Trevor’s family ghosts. Maybe something changed.

He thinks about Sypha taking his arm in the aftermath of the final fight here, leading him out into the dawn. Thinks about Trevor reaching out of the wagon to send one last goodbye, free from all the antagonistic posturing.

Thinks about them coming back for him, after all the danger, and fighting like creatures possessed in that sparring field, and holding his hands in the come-down—and has to close his eyes for a few seconds.

The carrots, for whatever it’s worth, taste fine. Not amazing or anything—they’re just carrots. But they’re fine.

* *

Sypha drags them both out onto the roof of one of the farthest spires every few nights, to watch the stars come out and wind their way across the night sky. The late summer evenings are pleasant, and the storm has broken at least for now, but there’s a breeze coming out of the distant mountains that drives them to cleave a little closer to each other than they would ever do under the heat of midday. It’s in these moments that Adrian can feel the ghosts clinging their tightest around him, as he lies here gazing into the same starscape that the tortuous, roaring black haze of his father’s dissolution had escaped into; the same night sky the twisting ribbon of his mother’s pyre had risen up into, smoke and ash and worse.

So, these two: they give him their voices and their affection and their humor, and their warmth, and Trevor his sarcasm—press close and talk to him and try to draw him out and even make him laugh on occasion. They do the best they can to dispel the past for an hour at a time. It doesn’t seem to bother them that by the next time they step out onto this precipice, the ghosts are always back again. He never claimed that this would be an easy, one-and-done exorcism; hearts and minds don’t work that way. Nor did he demand their commitment to this cause.

Tonight, though, he can feel the ghosts’ grip on him loosen up, allow him to smile more easily—even up here in the twilight hall of memory. He pushes aside the bestiary, and the skulls, and the graveyard too thick with bones, and his fear over what happened to these two, while they were out there getting into trouble on their own; for a few minutes at least, he is just sitting on a roof with his closest friends, his family, with a beautiful view of the stars and the swollen, pallid moon stretching out above them all. He can see the moonlight reflecting humor in Sypha’s eyes and a relaxed sort of ease in Trevor’s, both of them glinting like blue-white jewels, and why not? Laughter and camaraderie and contentment, after all, have as much a place among the stars as sorrow ever has.

*

*

<--- Part 3

[ashes-and-ashes]

The Mirror

~all I’ve gotten is wolfstar asks, and while I love them, I need some drarry to soothe me~

Draco found the mirror by accident.

He was walking around, aimlessly, up and down the corridors and staircases. It was late at night, in that hour where everything was completely silent, light from the moon filtering down into the hallway. It illuminated things, little bits of silver scrollwork and tarnished candleholders, making it gleam like jewels in the dark.

Pansy called it his grey fog, when everything just seemed to go quiet, nothing but rolling mist filling his vision. Everything just went....numb.

The first time it happened, it was the day after Harry broke up with him. The day after, when Harry had screamed at him, like his heart was being ripped out, screamed because the one he loved was sworn to kill him.

He had been sitting later that night, on one of the couches in the common room, studying some sort of sneakoscope. Every time the door opened, his heart would stop, hoping against all hopes that maybe this time it was Harry.

It settled over him, a cloud of darkness, numbing everything, slowing everything down until he couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel anything. It was almost blissful, like waves smoothing down the jagged edges of sea glass, washing over him until he was almost floating.

Pansy had found him later that night, one hand clutching the shattered sneakoscope. She had sat with him, with a pair of tweezers, picking broken glass out of his bleeding hand. When she finished, she healed it with a poke of her wand, brushing the back of her hand over her cheek before heading to bed.

He’s in one of those grey fogs right now, wandering aimlessly around Hogwarts like a ghost. He doesn’t care if anyone catches him - there’s nothing more they can do to him, anyways. He just walks around, the moon illuminating him, rounds corner after corner until he enters an unfamiliar room.

It’s completely dark, nothing but a shrouded object in the middle of it. A beam of moonlight shoots down from high above, lighting the area just in front of it, and Draco starts. With a steady hand, he reaches forwards, the silk spilling off it into a pool around the base.

Draco stares at it, at the golden mirror, the heavy frame and the words carved around it. Erised Stra Ehru Oyt Ube Cafru Oyt On Wohsi. He brushes it, the words seeming to glow in the moonlight.

“I show not your face but your heart’s desire.” The vouce makes him whip around, his heart stopping as he sees the shadowy figure leaning against the door. The invisibility cloak lies at his feet, like a pool of starlight, as Harry runs his hand through his hair. He gives a bitter smile. “Yeah. I’ve been here long enough to figure it out.”

He looks horrible - face gaunt and hollow, deep bags under his eye. His lips are chapped, lined with scar tissue, and Draco’s heart aches. “What happened?”

Harry fixes him with his stare, those green eyes like emeralds, hard and sharp and cold. “Someone died, Draco. Was killed, I should say. By your side.”

The words would have hurt, long ago, but Draco’s top deep into the fog to feel the sting. He just turns, brushing past Harry, about to leave when Harry grabs his wrist. “Draco. Wait.”

His voice sounds hollow, like it’s echoing up a well as Draco shrugs. “What.”

“Just...” Harry lets out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

There’s something burning in Draco’s chest, cutting through the fog, and Draco lets it burn as he laughs. “That’s helpful.”

Harry releases him, Draco’s wrist warm where he held it. “Look, I...” He sighs. “I’m stupid, I know. You’re the enemy. There’s only one outcome to this twisted story. One of us will win, the other will lose. And.... I’m not an idiot. I know that we’ll probably not both make it out. And I think that will kill me, only one of us being alive. If I was smart, I’d leave. I’ve already tried to.” He shakes his head. “Then why do I keep coming back?”

Draco looks down. “Maybe you’re searching for something that was never there.”

Harry holds his gaze for a long, familiar moment, then exhales. “Come.”

Draco follows him, to the center of the moon. Harry’s eyes are shut, toes lined up where the light of the moon turns to shadow. He slowly opens his eyes, gazing into the mirror, and Draco asks, “What do you see?”

Harry swallows, hard. “Everyone. In my family. My mum and my dad, my aunt, my godfather...” His hand drifts, touching the cool surface, where ghosts must be standing in his vision. “My grandmother and Remus and...” He trails off, biting his lip, then looks down. “What do you see?”

It would be easy, so easy to lie, because they were nothing now, weren’t they? They were something, then nothing, memories and ash on the wind. A hollow reminder of what they used to be, echoing around his bones.

Draco just stares at the mirror, where barely anything has changed. Just then, the two of them, Harry and Draco standing together. The only difference is their hands, linked together, fingers interlocked.

And they look so happy, smiling. With a pang, he realizes Harry’s scar is gone, Draco’s mark vanished, a world where neither of them were cursed. Simple, straightforward, an ordinary life.

Harry touches his shoulder. “Draco?”

Draco closes his eyes. “Us.” He opens them, staring at Harry, the emerald eyes and dark hair and worn lips. “I saw us.”

[suzie-guru]

Strange Magic FanFic - “Girls And Goblins Just Wanna Have Fun...”

Happy Valentine’s Day, @magic-and-moonlit-wings! I sincerely hope you had a lofely Valentine’s Day and that you will enjoy this wee little fanfic I wrote in your honor! 

Since we both share a love of Fairy Fashion and carry a deep affection for Bog and Dawn’s relationship, I thought you would enjoy a fanfic exploring a different kind of Love - in this case, the love of hobbies and the love between a Fairy Princess and her Big Brother Bog King ❤️

(Title is OBVIOUSLY inspired by Cyndi Lauper’s masterpiece - not only can I easily see Dawn having a ball and a half singing it, it’s one of those songs you just associate with a makeover sequence). 

I hope you enjoy, dear! 

Dawn dabbed the delicate point of the slender brush along the fine arch of her brows, arcing it just so with the deftest of touches. Finally finished, she sighed with no small amount of happy satisfaction at the shimmering line of iridescent, glimmering dewdrops that delicately studded her skin, the bedazzlement making her bright eyes all the more brilliant. “Perfection. And the dewdrops won’t budge a bit because I mixed them with the diamond dust we crushed earlier, so this will last all night.” 

Bog raised a scaly brow as he appraised the magnificent makeup she had wrought. “Are you sure it would work for me?” 

Dawn scrunched her nose at him. “We have almost the same eye color, Boggy, and you can’t deny it brings out mine.” 

“Your eyes are larger than mine, lass,” Bog countered, looking away from her to glance at one of the multiple mirrors Dawn’s boudoir held. He spared a short scowl at his reflection then rubbed a hand over his face, those long fingers tensing then flexing. “And my complexion is darker than yours, especially around the eyes. I doubt that even with your talent those drops won’t give near the gleam they have on your face.” 

“Bog Kings of little faith,” Dawn tutted, but she cocked her eyed and eyed the Goblin shrewdly, mulling his words over.  

His cape was absolutely magnificent, the vast spread of interwoven vines of differing dark hues that flared from beneath his wings a monument to both Dawn and Griselda’s patience and skill, the flared collar of thorns and raven’s feathers framing his face so well. Add a clasp made of a few gleaming fangs to hold it in place, and the bird skull mask engraved and etched with the Old Tongue of the Dark Forest and the pair of horns hooked to it that tapered into such elegant arcing points behind him...

She never forgot he was the King of the Dark Forest, the almighty Bog King, dark and dire in name and deed, but now he really looked the part. 

And it’s due to me! 

Dawn sighed at the sight he made, even as she bit back a smile what with how Bog couldn’t stop fiddling with the mask. “What would you suggest instead of the dewdrops?” 

Bog frowned again at the mirror, though this time in consideration. His leafy brow lowered, and yes, he did have such a shadowed visage, the drops would definitely lose their impact against such a backdrop––

A hefty claw dragged across the line of his cheek conspiringly. “Perhaps... markings to accentuate the angular lines of the cheekbones?” 

Dawn nodded slowly, imagining it, seeing the slashes and scrawls of dark, bloody red - no no no, not red, blue, an inky midnight blue to go his eyes - across that craggy face. “That would work. But what about the eyes? Yours are so striking Boggy, and you know how much Marianne loves them. We have to bring them out.” 

Bog leaned on the tabletop of her vanity and studied himself with renewed intensity, meeting the bright blue of his mirrored gaze before nodding decisively. “Amber.” 

Dawn blinked at him. “Amber?” 

“Amber and gold,” Bog replied, straightening back to his full height. “To go with Marianne.” 

Dawn looked at his eyes, so clear and confident in this decision, and studied them, imagined their bright blue against glittering gold and the dusky glow of amber, the contrast so––

Her jaw fell open in her gasp. “That’s gonna be so stunning.” 

Bog nodded, already looking through the various jars and vials on the vanity, his claws scratching over the marble. “Coordinating my colors to match Marianne’s eyes, having everyone see that, understand the implication––” 

“––not only would they see you taking part in our tradition of the Masquerade, but they would understand you’re doing it because of your devotion to her!” Dawn couldn’t contain herself and leapt up, seizing the looming Goblin in a fierce hug. “Oh, Boggy!”  

There was a crackle and crunch of scales, and Bog let out that little huff of laughter only she and Marianne got to hear. “Dawn, if I’m to attend the ball, breathing might be of help.” 

Dawn let him go, still beaming up at him. “You are such a good boyfriend, you know that? Being so supportive of Marianne, willing to go through all of this, all on your own––” 

“I’m not going through it alone,” Bog interjected, taping at her nose with a talon, keeping care of his claws, and Dawn knew his gratitude must truly be great if he was willing to not wince at the term boyfriend. He continued on, his voice gaining a wry edge. “Rock and root help me if I had to brave this without your aid...” 

“Pffft, as if you aren’t a natural when it comes to presenting yourself with suitable flair.” Dawn had already checked with Stuff and Thang that no matter what commands were given, no smoke was to employed tonight. At least, not an obscene amount of smoke. 

Bog harrumphed, the sound not at all grumpy, and Dawn grinned as she grabbed her pallets of petal-paint and started mixing, her movements smooth and sure. Bog settled himself on her settee, flaring his wings and swishing his cape aside so that it draped over the pink petal pillows, setting his mask on his lap. 

Dawn compared it to her own dainty mask of silvermist thread and gossamer gauze that would barely hide her face and wondered at how each item suited its wearer so. One bright and sparkling and with nothing to hide, the other ancient and obviously an object of power, bone and blood coming together to mask the ruler of shadows so majestically...

A shimmering gold-bronze soon glowed up at her, and Dawn quickly went to work, dabbing the creamy-cool mixture around Bog’s eyes, knowing the scrollwork of the vines had to be beyond impeccable in order to bear the scrutiny of the court. They would be so impressed, so undeniably beguiled...

“How did the Masquerade begin?” 

Dawn smiled, setting aside the gold and dipping her brush in midnight blue, dragging it under the sharp curve of his cheek as she answered. “Way back, fairies used to go hunting dressed in costumes, hoping to intimidate the prey. Marianne has a point when she says fairies have always been focused on looks. Anyways, after the hunt, they would all get together and celebrate, and they would keep the costumes on.” 

Bog nodded, his eyes closed as she continued her work. “But the hunts had to have ended, what with fairies distaste for meat...”

Dawn nodded, feeling the familiar thankfulness that their dietary habits had developed so, though she took care not to express such a sentiment to Bog. As a Goblin, the consumption of dead flesh held no disgust to him, and Dawn had always tried to respect that. “Well, the hunts ended, but the celebrations didn’t. Besides, it’s not like we’re gonna fight any excuse to hold a party where we can dress up even more extravagantly. Plus, we can go wild with makeup. Marianne always loved the Masquerade for that reason.” 

Bog’s lips slanted into a smile. “And the makeup is important because even if one wears a mask...” 

“...there’s the Reveal.” Dawn fussed a tiny bit more, making the touch of her fingers fine as possible. “Where everyone takes off their mask and shows their face. It’s the neatest part, people get so creative with their petal-paint.”

“I bet your skills set a singular standard,” Bog observed, and Dawn went pink with pleasure. He continued on thoughtfully. “Do you think Marianne might have been inspired by the Masquerade to wear her eyes like that day to day?” 

“It’s possible,” Dawn conceded, setting her brush down and clapping her hands. “Right. Reveal thyself to thine eyes, Boggy Woggy!” 

Bog sat up with a sigh, turning to the mirror. “Bog King, you daft wee thi––”

His voice stopped as he beheld the sight of himself, eyes widening as Dawn waited with bated breath. Oh please oh please oh please like it, oh please please please––

“I am,” Bog said, his voice low and empathetic as he looked at him, "damn tempted to start wearing this day to day as long as you do it. Dawn, you’re a bloody miracle.” 

Dawn squealed as she jumped in her joy, the silvery-blue petals of her dress flouncing with the movement. “Oooooh, I KNEW you would like it!” 

“That’s selling yourself short, love,” Bog replied, giving her ear an affectionate tweak even as he continued to stare into the glass. “Gods, I’ve never seen the like.” 

Dawn hummed playfully, a smile on her rosebud mouth. “Just wait till you see Marianne...” 

Bog’s brows shot up, and another shivery shot of satisfied joy went through Dawn as the gold gilding his eyes gleamed with the motion. “Doesn’t Marianne do her own makeup?” 

“For day to day, sure, but for the Masquerade...” Dawn gave a smile that was both sweet and sly. “Well, let’s just say, we collaborate.” 

She grabbed her powder puff and dipped it in what remained of her diamond dust, patting it along her cheeks and the lines of her clavicles as Bog watched her, wide eyed and wondering and more than a bit of curiosity in his gaze. “Can you give me a hint?” 

“So impatient,” Dawn tutted, even as her mind went back to a singularly slinky number of darkly pink lisanthius petals stitched with strategically set swirls of jet beads she was sure would send the Goblin King spinning and the dark shimmering train of gauze that would trail after her sister like enchanted smoke, the mask of ravens feathers and her own pair of obsidian horns hiding the petal-painted vines and violet blooms of the dark forest that graced her sister’s skin...

Dawn smiled at Bog, and gave one spiky shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Boggy Woggy. I promise, all will be...revealed.” 

Bog rolled his eyes, whether at the nickname or her amazing play on words, and Dawn found she simply didn’t care as she seized him in yet another hug, her words a sing-song squeal. “Now let’s go have fun!” 

[they-need-a-revolutionary]

TLC Secret Santa 2018!!

@nerdishfeels i finally finished it! here is your gift. it is a kaider fic about them going on a new year’s eve date after a long state dinner. merry christmas and happy new year! enjoy :)

Cinder puffed a strand of hair out of her eyes in annoyance.

“Almost done, Your Majesty," Iko said calmly. She slid the last pin into the elaborate twist. A footman standing next to the two women held out a lacquered box with a small golden clasp. Iko flicked the latch and raised the lid. Gently she lifted the glittering tiara off of its plush, emerald green velvet cushion. “Come to mama," she murmured. The footman closed the box and dismissed himself with a nod.

Cinder straightened her spine in preparation for the headpiece. “Where'd you get this one, Cinder?" Iko asked, admiring the polished diamonds and smooth pearls.

Cinder glanced behind her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, that one was a wedding gift from Queen Camilla. She gave it to me because it's known as the Lotus Flower Tiara, and the lotus is the EC's emblem. It was made in 1923, Second Era.”

“Ooh, vintage!”

“Yeah, the metal scrollwork is admirable, considering the primitive tech and tools they had back in the day.”

“Leave it to you to get your little mechanic brain all wrapped around jewelry.” Iko placed the tiara gently on Cinder’s head, nestling it safely in the stablest parts of her hairstyle. “You look beautiful, Cinder." Iko bent to kiss her friend's cheek.

“Thanks, Iko.” The two turned in unison at a sharp rap on the mahogany door frame.

“Ready to go, gorgeous?" Kai stood effortlessly straight, a dashing figure in his expertly tailored suit. Cinder rose to meet him but he crossed the room first, catching her painted lips in a kiss. Cinder steadied her tiara with one hand and she could feel some of the stress leave her shoulders just knowing her husband would suffer through this horrible function with her. They broke apart and Iko promptly whacked Kai's arm with a makeup brush.

“Kai! Now I have to reapply her lipstick and adjust her hair. And you're already going to be late!” Iko cried.

Kai placed a gentle hand on Cinder's back, sending the same chill down her spine that it had four years ago. “Well, I'm sure the diplomats can wait an extra minute. Take your time, Iko.”

Cinder sat back down as Iko deftly rearranged pins. “Remind me again why we have to go to this dinner, Kai?" Cinder asked, trying to hide a twinge of whine in her voice.

Kai dragged a hand down his face. “It's a tradition. The leaders of Earth get together for dinner every New Year's Eve. According to official media, we talk about world events and general politics. But usually, everyone is so busy stuffing their faces that very little work gets done. Anyway, it's our turn to host this year. It was going to be in Australia, but it turned out they were in the middle of major renovations that they conveniently forgot about until a week ago. Sorry I didn't involve you more.”

“It's ok,” Cinder started. She paused as Iko approached her face with a lip brush. Once her friend-slash-stylist-slash-hair-and-makeup-artist had finished, she continued. “But afterward, I'd like to do something together. Just me and you. Ok?” She gave her lips a final swipe and stood back up again.

“Of course,” Kai said. Cinder could hear the sympathy in his voice. Kai gave a pointed look at Iko as he kissed Cinder’s cheek. The android made a small disapproving noise but said nothing. Kai bent his arm and Cinder slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. She loved the sureness she felt holding onto him like that, her anchor in a sea of anxieties and mistakes waiting to happen. They glided down the corridors together, followed at a distance by a half-dozen security staff.

When they entered the dining room, the diplomats stood and the kitchen staff bowed their heads. It had taken Cinder months to get used to having that kind of effect when simply moving within her own home. She took a deep breath and forced herself to embody an empress, calling forth her memories of royal training.

As they were led to their seats, Kai grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered. Cinder nodded briefly and smoothed her blue crepe skirt. That was the other thing she hated about these functions: she and all the other women had to pretend they were comfortable in their tight, movement-obstructing, or generally unpleasant dresses. She made a mental note to consult Iko about it, and that next time she would insist on wearing a suit as well.

As soon as the first course was presented, conversation ceased and each person was focused solely on eating as much food as humanly possible. Cinder spent most of the meal rotating between chicken satay, tofu curry, steamed bok choy, and a variety of sweet buns. Kai immediately dove for his favorites: chili crab, vegetable egg rolls, inarizushi, and gulab jamun.

When the waiters began clearing plates, part of Cinder wished that the dinner had been scheduled for longer so she could have eaten more. That feeling soon faded as various representatives and politicians swarmed around her and Kai to personally wish them a happy new year. There was a sudden lull in activity, and the two young monarchs only needed to exchange one glance before they both made a beeline for the large double doors leading to the main hall. Cinder leaned against the wall, savoring the relative quiet. One of the women guarding the door glanced in Cinder’s direction but showed no reaction other than a slight inclination of her head.

“So, what did you want to do?” Kai asked.

Cinder chewed her lip and let her eyes wander around the hallway. “Um… I don’t know…” She spun a phantom wrench between her fingers as she considered their options. Kai always loved when she did that, when she was so lost in her own thoughts that the rest of reality seemed to vanish. He gazed at her, still in disbelief that he had married the girl of his dreams. He could almost see the literal mechanisms in her head turning.

Abruptly, Cinder looked straight at Kai, eyes bright. “I know! Let’s go watch the lantern lighting in the park.”

Kai looked at his watch. “Cinder, it’s already 11:30. Are you sure we can make it in time?”

“Yes, what are you waiting for? If we run we’ll have time to change clothes.” Without another word, Cinder grinned and took off down the carpeted hall as fast as her pinchy shoes and confining dress would allow. Kai smiled and ran to catch up with her.

Back in her dressing room, Cinder didn’t even stop to breathe. She rifled through her closet in search of her comfiest cargo pants and sweatshirt. She found them quickly and tossed them on the floor. Iko was no doubt at a wild party so Cinder was left to undo her formal outfit by herself. She placed her delicate tiara on her vanity table. A glance at the clock told her that there was no time for her to remove her makeup or take the pins out of her hair. With a shrug she shimmied out of her evening gown and heels, somehow managing to pull on her incognito clothes at the same time. She had to dig deeper in her closet to find her favorite boots, and she tied them sloppily to save time. She threw on her hood and emerged from her room to wait for Kai.

A moment later, his door opened and Cinder saw that he was wearing his old ratty gray hoodie. She smiled and grabbed his hand.

“Come on, we only have fifteen minutes. I want to get as close as we can to the lanterns.” Cinder pushed the door open and ran much faster than before in her well-worn shoes.

They barreled down the hallways, garnering a multitude of stares from very confused staff, but no one tried to stop them. Cinder couldn’t help but laugh as they scrambled down the stairs to the main road. She hadn’t felt this free and spontaneous since before she became Empress. She glanced at Kai, who was smiling just as wide. The two of them raced around corners and dodged several hovers as they navigated the maze of New Beijing’s streets.

Kai paused against a wall a few blocks from the park, panting. “Wait… a second… I need… to catch my breath… Why… did I skip… calisthenics… with Torin every... day as a kid?”

Cinder snorted as she slowed to a stop. She extended a hand to pull him upwards. Kai accepted, but as she began to drag him up, he drew her forward.

“Ahhh!” Cinder gave a yell as she was thrown off balance. Kai grabbed her other arm to keep her from falling and pulled her into a warm embrace.

“Hey, slow down a minute. I just want to hug you. I love you. A lot.”

Cinder gave a relaxed sigh and nodded into his chest. “I love you too.” She tilted her head back to look at him and tugged his head toward hers for a kiss. She glanced to the left when they broke apart, pulling up a small clock in the corner of her vision. 11:52. Her eyes widened. “Kai, we have to go now or we’ll miss it!”

Kai relaxed his grip. Slowly a mischievous smile grew across his face. “Race you!” he cried. He bolted toward the park before Cinder had time to react. He was already half a block away when she shook her head and followed.

Cinder arrived at the park gate just a few seconds after Kai. He grabbed her hand, momentarily shocked by the coldness of the metal, and they walked in together. Somehow they were able to squeeze their way into the third row of the crowd, the unlit lanterns so close that Cinder could spot the soldered joints of the metal frames behind the ornate paper.

The time was 11:58. Kai stood behind Cinder with his arms wrapped around her shoulders. She rested her head on his bicep as she gazed at the decorations surrounding them. She gave a contented sigh and breathed in the cold night air. It was sharp against her skin, refreshingly jarring compared to the consistent temperature in the palace. The savory smell of fried meat was wafting from a nearby restaurant. The aroma mingled with faint smoke from firecrackers that had been lit earlier in the evening, likely to appease children who weren’t allowed to stay up past ten. Midnight drew closer and the volume of the crowd increased steadily.

“Ten,

nine,

eight,

seven,

six,

five,

four,

three,

two,

one! Happy new year!!”

The lights in the lanterns flicked on while the spectators cheered. Cinder turned her head and smiled at Kai before pressing her lips to his. She could already tell that this was going to be a great year.

[schweizerqualitaet]

SIG P210-5 de luxe .30 Luger with 9x19 conversion kit

circa 1970, 7.65 mm Parabellum, no. P60308. Matching numbers. Mirror-like bore, barrel length 150 mm. Micro sight with competition front sight. Sports grip with front channeling, slide and grip frame in highly polished, plum-coloured finish. Grip frame with scrollwork pattern engraving and gold inlay, additional gold-inlaid monogram "RZ" on grip spur. Early walnut sports grip panels with rough chequering. Unique model in mint condition. Comes with two numberless interchangeable barrels with mirror-like bores in 9 mm cal. Parabellum, barrel length 150 mm each with complete recoil springs. Further extensive accessories: manual, two new spare magazines, magazine filler, two different front sight slides, two different front sight nut keys and small parts like various firing pins, front sights, safety levers, springs, screws etc. Everything packed in a green, lightly damaged original cardboard box. Erwerbsscheinpflichtig.

https://www.hermann-historica.de/en/civil_pistols_and_revolvers_-_switzerland/sig_mod_210-5_de_luxe_luxus-ausfuehrung_mit_spezial-gravur_und_zwei_wechsellaeuf/l/56708

[eloquenceinc]

Key Elements of a French Country Bedroom

There is more than one sort of design school subsumed into “French country decor.” For instance, there are both traditional French country design and French country minimalism that are slightly different, yet similar in may overarching ways.

But many of these are united by common themes; washed-out light colors (pink, white, and blue), the use of natural wood and iron; gilding, floral accents, a touch of toile or lace, and the balance of humility and decorousness.

If you’re trying to create an unmistakable French country air, make sure you include these key elements.

An Appropriately Themed Comforter While you can be flexible with the bed itself, the comforter you choose will color the space with its character.

French country design makes predominant use of washed-out, light colors like pinks, whites, gold, and neutrals like gray or silver.

Your bedding should be layered and give the impression of comfort and elegance. Consider a few decorative throw pillows accented with lace or floral accents to complete the arrangement.

A Rustic Wooden Cabinet to Add Utility, Space, and Character Solid wood only; natural, weathered wood gives a definitive French country air, but light, white-hued pigments are acceptable as long as they are washed out. Gilding is also a theme. Either plainly styled or ornately graven woodwork is acceptable.

A Vintage Mirror to Add Light and the Illusion of Space Elegant, larger-than-life vintage vanity mirrors and even standing floor mirrors are an immutable component of French country decor.

Choose a model with an opulent, gilded frame, or one with an iron frame of scrollwork and fleurs-de-lis.

A mirror like this will open a room and reflect light, making it seem bigger and brighter.

An Antique, Iron Chandelier An iron chandelier accented with ornate filigree or adorned with crystals is a near-must for any French country-themed bedroom.

It will create a focal point, preferably the center of the room, and it will add light.

A Rustic Bench for the Foot of the Bed A wooden, ornately carved bench is a fundamental component of French country bedroom furniture. Place it at the foot of the bed and lay a fur throw across it, or adorn it with throw pillows. You can also leave it unaccented for a touch of austerity.

Whatever You Do, Don’t Forget the French Country Nightstand A side table, drawer, nightstand, or some other sort of bedside table is nigh-imperative in French country bedrooms. Create symmetry with two and flank the bed; do not get only one night stand.

The same elements that guide your choice in a bench or cabinet apply to a French country nightstand, too. Opt for light, washed-out colors, gilding, and ornate woodwork.

Another word to the wise; forego the table lamp. It’s too modern. Instead, add a candelabra, some perfume-scented candles, or a vase of flowers for accenture.

Get Started Creating Your French Country Vision Eloquence, at Eloquence.com, sets the bar for French country design. They carry elegant vintage French country furniture and decor and painstakingly crafted re-editions that capture the spirit of the original pieces.

Visit their website today to begin your journey of reinventing your bedroom in French country style.

[glazonoidledmirror]

Top 5 Standing Mirrors

Top 5 Standing Mirrors

If you're looking to add a statement piece to your bedroom or living room, a standing mirror can be just the thing. Choose from a wide variety of different styles and materials to match any decor. From ornate carvings to rectangle shapes, you can find the perfect mirror for your room. Many come ready to assemble, and it shouldn't take more than 15 minutes to complete. Some require the use of a screwdriver while others can be installed without any tools.

Wood floor mirror

The gorgeous Leanne Ford hand-carved wood floor standing mirror is the perfect way to showcase your personal style and sexy personality. Whether you use it for your bedroom, dressing room, or living room, it is a surefire conversation starter. The scrollwork on the frame adds a vintage look to this piece. Designed by Leanne Ford, this mirror is available in several sizes and comes with matching accessories.

Leanne Ford's home has an eclectic aesthetic, and her designs often feature black and white colors. However, you can find a few neutral tones in her home, including white, black, and natural tones. Her beautiful ornamented floor standing mirror can fit in with any decor, but the rounded mango wood frame and intricate scrollwork give it a unique look. Its cool and elegant style is influenced by the Brutalist movement and mid-century modern design.

Floor Mirror

Standing and floor mirror is a unique design that serves multiple purposes. In addition to being a great way to showcase your best self, it doubles as a hat stand. Its white, curved frame and hidden hat hooks make it a perfect choice for any home or office. If you'd like to take home this unique mirror, you should make sure you purchase it with proper measurements and a suitable wall mounting system.

The minimalist Ashton Mango Wood Mirror is a perfect addition to any farmhouse or rustic home. Its thick wood border is made from natural mango wood and features a black, brown, or white finish. It measures 32 x 67 inches. Because it is made from mango wood, every individual piece has a unique grain pattern, making it an excellent choice for a country or farmhouse styled room.

PB Teen's hand-carved wood floor mirror

This hand-carved wood floor mirror is a great option for anyone looking for a new accent piece. Made of solid teak wood with a brass finish, it is 38 inches wide and 62 inches tall. The mirror features a slim bezel frame and is ideal for light-colored rooms. You can choose a full-length or standard mirror. Whether you are buying a full-length mirror for your bathroom or a smaller one for your living room, you're sure to find one you love.

Whether you're updating your living room or adding a touch of vintage elegance to your home, this floor-standing mirror will be the perfect accent piece. A modern floor-standing mirror, like the one from Umbra, features a square geometric frame and is also functional. A smaller version of this floor-standing mirror is available for under $200. No matter which style you choose, you're sure to find the right mirror for your decor.

Floor Mirror

The Floor Mirror is an interesting piece of contemporary art. Standing at 6 feet high, it resembles an unevenly drawn egg, and is surrounded by a silver sphere on its base. The sphere helps to prop up the mirror, and it comes with a mounting kit for your wall. Although the mirror may seem a bit over the top, it is worth the investment. It will make a great wall decoration and will definitely increase the look of any room.

Its cool curves and asymmetrical shape make it a versatile piece for any room in your home. Made from kiln-dried mango wood, the Safie Mirror's frame has a natural finish and is inspired by mid-century designs. It is available in horizontal and vertical hanging options. Despite its quirky design, this piece will make any room look pleasantly spacious. Here are some tips for sprucing up your home with the Safi Mirror.How to Hang a Standing Mirror

A standing mirror is a decorative piece of furniture that is usually mounted on a wall. They can be mounted on a wall using a drywall anchor or a stud anchor. The mirror should be attached about halfway down the wall so that it sits flat against the wall. A mirror that's too high will not sit flat against the wall. If you're not sure how to hang a mirror, check out this article.

Leaning mirrors

Standing and leaning mirrors are both types of floor mirrors. They are used in different ways, depending on their purpose. Some mirrors can be used as dressing mirrors and accented in the bedroom, while others are made to be floor-length. A full-length floor mirror is an excellent room expander and makes a great accent piece. Whether you choose to display one on a wall or hang it on a shelf, this mirror is sure to make a statement.

Large leaner mirrors add an extra level of depth and style to a room. They are perfect for maximizing the space in a small room, and they are easy to move to different locations. In addition to drawing attention to themselves, extra-large leaner mirrors also reflect anything directly across the room. A wall mirror reflects the activity of a fireplace, and floor mirrors reflect the activities of a convivial family.

Cheval style mirrors

The timeless design of the Cheval style standing mirror is timeless. They are available in many shapes and styles, including oval and rectangular ones. These stylish mirrors can also be made of metal, wood, or a combination of both. They are a great addition to any home, as they not only serve as functional pieces but they also provide a fashionable touch. The style of these mirrors will also add a touch of class to your décor, and they can double as great storage space for your jewelry.

The beauty of this piece is that it serves as a cabinet and a mirror in one. Some models have a two-door cupboard on the side, which allows you to store your clothing or accessories inside. The cost of these mirrors varies greatly, from thousands to a few hundred dollars. The price will depend on the material used for the frame, the amount of storage space it offers, and the craftsmanship involved in its making.

Rectangular-shaped floor mirrors

There are several types of rectangular-shaped floor mirrors to choose from. Most are designed to look elegant and are available in various sizes. They are also available in decorative finishes such as silver and gold. You can choose from one with an ornate vintage-style frame or a simple, sleek design. You can find a variety of different styles and materials, and many models come with a curved or asymmetrical form. If you're looking for something a bit more unique, you can also opt for an ornately designed mirror.

There are also modern and contemporary models available. If you're looking for a mirror that can be easily moved to a new place, then you can select one with an adjustable stand. The Neutype Mirror also has a sturdy, rust-resistant aluminum frame. It is large enough to look at your entire ensemble at a glance. You can find it in several different colors, and it comes with mounting hardware, so that you can hang it anywhere you'd like.

Wooden spheres

Wooden spheres adorn this unique and affordable Standing Mirror with wooden spheres. Crafted by hand, the wooden spheres give this mirror sculptural depth and organic curves. A rustic wood finish accents the distinctive grain of each piece. Its D-Loop mounting system makes it easy to hang and requires little or no assembly. The perfect addition to any room, the Standing Mirror with wooden spheres is available in a variety of styles and prices.

Metal frames

Standing mirrors with metal frames are functional pieces of furniture that can add a touch of glamour to your decor. They are available in a variety of styles, including classic, contemporary, and modern. These pieces are available from a variety of manufacturers, including Artefatto Design Studio and Secolo. In addition to their large size, these mirrors often come with mounts and wheels for easy mobility. However, you should be sure to check the dimensions before you make the purchase.

Modernists will appreciate the clean lines of standing mirrors with metal frames. They add a sleek, modern look to a room. Metal is an excellent neutral choice, and can also complement traditional decor. In addition, these mirrors come in a variety of sizes and finishes. In addition to metal frames, you can find mirrors that feature wood frames in a variety of finishes. A traditional mirror with a wooden frame is usually leaned against a wall, but can also be secured with furniture straps or drywall anchors.

Silver leaf finish

The beautiful look of a silver leaf finish on a standing mirror is quite striking, and it is an excellent choice for your home decor. This type of mirror looks enchanting in any room, whether you place it in your bathroom or your bedroom. Its beveled edge gives it a fairytale appearance, and the nickel clips on the mirror frame add a nice touch. A great option for an entryway table or a bench, this mirror will be an asset to your home.

[emesly]

Effortless style is what this Wood Wall Mirror is all about. A unique scrollwork frame brings perfect casual elegance to any space. The handcrafted, two-tone whitewash finish exudes a relaxed coastal vibe, furthering its understated beauty. So pleasing to the eye, you'll always want it in view. . . Click on the product to “Shop Now” on Instagram! (at Manhattan, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfJvXwPr2h-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[elaianna]

Duchess Elaianna Nesbitt-Stalsworth

[ Portrait drawn by Soleilloo on deviantART]

NAME: Elaianna Nesbitt-Stalsworth NICKNAME: Anna TITLE(S): Duchess of Stormhollow | Countess of Oldcrest | Countess of Broll Bay | Baroness of Barrowfield | Proprietor of Anchor Trading Company AGE: 29 RACE: Human FACTION: Alliance - Kul Tiran GENDER: Female CLASS: Aristocrat RESIDENCES: Barrowfield, Arathi Highlands | Oldcrest, Kul Tiras | Stormhollow Keep, Kul Tiras |

—————————————————————————

{ PHYSICAL FEATURES}

APPEARANCE:

HAIR: Chocolate Brown EYES: Dove Grey SKIN: Alabaster HEIGHT: 5′7′’ WEIGHT: Average, healthy OTHER: Has a scar across the front of her throat through healing it’s been faded substantially due to her vanity, but it is still present. She often wears a head-dress made of gold bedazzled with beads of sea glass (as seen above). FACE CLAIM: Sarah Bolger (Main) Annabel Scholey (Secondary)

—————————————————————————-

{ FAMILY }

HUSBAND: Thomas Stalsworth CHILDREN: Nerina Sydor, Aberdeen Eryn Stalsworth  GRANDFATHER: Ellery Nesbitt (Deceased) GRANDMOTHER: Elaine Nesbitt (Deceased) FATHER: Aedan Nesbitt (Deceased) MOTHER: Agnes Nesbitt BROTHER(S): Derrick Nesbitt (Deceased), Ellery Nesbitt (Deceased), Tobai Nesbitt (Deceased), Eoin Nesbitt (Deceased), Cerrick Nesbitt (Deceased) SISTER: None UNCLE: Bernhard Nesbitt (Deceased) AUNT: Marguerite Maguire (Deceased) COUSIN(S): Agalera Randall, Mateo Nesbitt (Deceased)

[ Art by @teallinum ]

—————————————————————————

{SUMMARIZED DESCRIPTION}

Milk chocolate hair with russet highlights frame a round face with dove grey eyes that watch the world around her with an analytical gaze. Her expression is often neutral, diplomatic, hiding whatever thoughts dwell within her head. Standing at 5'7’’, Elaianna keeps her posture erect, proper and moves with all the grace and dignity that would be befitting a Lady of the upper class. Her figure is healthy and while normally lithe, recently it is showing the signs of pregnancy as she nears the end of her first trimester.

Across her throat is a pale scar but it is often hidden from public eye by an elegant, laced collar created and infused with Light by Sevia Tucker. On her left ring finger she wears two golden rings both bedazzled with a plethora of small diamonds. The top wedding ring was also set with a large emerald. On her right ring finger she wore a svelte band made of whale bone with pristine nautical scrollwork engraved into it. On the thumb of the same hand she wears a simple men’s brass brand.

[ Art by @the-zombi-cat ]

OOC:

Elaianna is a woman who came to the Alliance/Stormwind on the whim of her Father, as a pawn in the game of nobility. From there she forged her own path, starting up her own trading company, The Anchor Trading Company, marrying not whom her family would have wanted, but whom her heart wanted, and begun to live for the family she chose. Not the one she was born with.

She is a woman with skeletons in her closet that not even some of the closest people to Elaianna are aware of. Some may have speculations but very rarely does Elaianna ever give anyone confirmation due to the risks she knows come with such knowledge.

With a love of adventure and a constant yearning for the sea she is a woman that finds herself irritable when landlocked for long periods of time, and detests having to walk on the side of caution even when for her own good.

Recently, Elaianna has inherited the Nesbitt family’s duchy, Stormhollow in Stormvale, Kul Tiras. With this comes more responsibilities, more avenues for trade, and more lands to decide on whom to give to as her Vassals. Above all, Elaianna will remain a woman dedicated to her family, and a businesswoman. Sometimes to her detriment.

— It’s been three years in the making/preparing for a Kul Tiras expansion but now that it is confirmed and upon us, Elaianna’s story is about to be launched full speed ahead —

[ A minorly updated version to mirror the changes of lands being handed over, and birth of Aberdeen ]

@thomasstalsworth @theshadowborn @atc-wra