#neither understand books have authors yet and still believe they magically appear

[guiltyblogging]

Sorry in advance. My tags lost the plot. Take note and get some sleep, kids. Lack of sleep rots your brain, I'm proof.

[silentexplorer18]

One: Quiet Beginnings and Dusty Shelves

Word Count: 1,300+

Series Masterlist  ▪  Masterlist

Next ⪼

You were perched on a pillow on the floor of the common room, the emerald flicker of evening flames illuminating the pages of some forgotten relic of a book that nobody had probably read in the last century.  But you did.

Draco gulped, fingertips itching to grab the bundled stack of papers in his robe pocket, brittle sheets delicately wrapped in dragonhide.

He’d arrived late, curfew prowling for the Inquisitorial Squad always pushing him well past when his housemates had fallen asleep.  Except for you, who appeared to spend the pre-weekend evening face first in some book or another.

That’s how it always was with you, always a book.

Yet for some horrific reason he wanted to talk to you.  And he was terrified you wouldn’t want that.

How had he arrived at this juncture in his life?  Sweating at the prospect of speaking to a girl he’d been attempting to understand for months?  A girl who, by all intentions, probably wouldn’t care about his conversation in the slightest?  Like the great stories she read in dusty, leather bound books, it took time.

It began in First Year.

Most Slytherins possessed an appreciation for traditional things, but you were… different.

You were quiet and tended to keep to yourself.  That wasn’t particularly un-Slytherin of you, but it certainly didn’t help people understand the rather bizarre interests that flighted your fancy.  Namely, old literature.

Most of your housemates couldn’t be bothered with you, something that appeared to bother neither you nor them.  Well, mostly.

When Parkinson mentioned it at dinner a few weeks after the sorting ceremony, Draco hadn’t thought much of it.  “She reads all these strange books,” she hissed, squinting down the table at you where you sat drinking pumpkin juice, nose tucked in a leather-bound book.

Draco shrugged.  “What’s the matter with it?”

Glaring at him, Pansy reached for her goblet, held it like a wine glass, mimicking the high-society women she’d studied, the ones she would one day become.  “It’s terrible.  The first few weeks we’re supposed to make friends.  She surely hasn’t made any.”

“Are you offering?” Goyle asked, digging into a piece of pie.

She upturned her nose.  “Hardly.”

And that was that.

Until Fourth Year.

Parkinson had dropped into her seat for breakfast.  It was the day after returning for the year, and Draco had hardly given himself time to think of what the year’s woes would bring.  Thankfully, she was able to clue him in.

“It’s awful,” she lamented, stabbing a strawberry with her fork.  “I’m roomed with that horrid bookworm!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Draco asked, glancing toward your spot at the far end of the table.  Somehow you’d claimed it in First Year; nobody bothered to deny it to you since.  “At least she’s quiet.”

She rolled her eyes.  “She never leaves her room except for class!  I’ll never have any time to myself.”

Crabbe chuckled.  “Maybe it would do you good to stop shagging everyone in the girls’ dormitory.”

A huff.  An irritated glare.  Okay, maybe joking wasn’t going to rectify Parkinson’s issue.

“I’m sure you could ask her,” Goyle offered.  “She seems fine.”

“She’s probably a loon,” she whispered, “Nose always in a book.  Hardly talks to anyone.”

“I’ve only seen her talk with Loony Lovegood.”  Crabbe bit into his toast, hoping confirming her opinions would shut Parkinson up.

She gestured toward Crabbe, a delicate movement that didn’t match the frustration in her voice.  “See!  And I have to room with her for the year!”

“Find out what she reads,” Draco insisted.  “Then we’ll know what she’s up to.”

After three weeks of classes, Pansy was spilling the latest girl she’d been flirting with, and Draco’s mind snapped back to their earlier conversation.

“Did you ever find out what (Y/L/N) likes to read?”

“Oh,” she shrugged, waving a dismissive hand.  “She goes through them so quickly.  There was a Burbage I think, then a Eunice, a few Leontines or something of the sort.  She said they weren’t Muggle; we wouldn’t still be rooming together if they were.  But I don’t know who they are.  Anyway, back to Ava.  You wouldn’t believe what she said!”

But Draco lost interest after that.  Whatever Parkinson had been trying to say slipped past his mind as words like Burbage and Leontines flickered through his mind.

He found them in the library over the weekend.  On shelves coated with a thick layer of dust, he found ancient philosophies, texts on politics, memoirs of the first magic users.

At least you were erudite; something he certainly couldn’t say about Parkinson, Crabbe, or Goyle.

He kept an eye on you after that, followed your fingerprints as they trailed the dusty covers.  Suddenly, there was a lot more he wanted to read this year other than textbooks.  Sometimes he would purposely arrive to class late, just to peek at the title of your latest book.  He wanted to understand the knowledge you were cleaving to.

Over summer holiday, Draco found himself perusing his father’s private library, asking about authors well beyond his father’s years.  Tired of the pestering, his father unveiled a new room to him.  At least, new to him.

“This was my father’s old study,” he stated.  That curt tone disguising the pang that went through his chest at the sight of the dusty old desk and barren chairs.  “Do with the materials as you will.”  With a great swoosh, he disappeared down the hall.

Draco hardly came up for air that summer, drowned in swirling scripts and reprinted texts.  It nearly took his mother dragging him from the room for any Fifth Year preparations to be made.

But it had led up to this moment, staring at you as the green light painted the high points of your cheeks, dancing against the tips of your lashes.  It felt like now or never; like his first time on a broom, he just had to take that faithful step.

“What are you reading?” he asked, voice slicing through the silence.  Suddenly his heartbeat was drowning out the cracking of the fire, the distant rumble of rain on the lake’s surface echoing down, down down--

“Junius,” you said, staring at him with surprised eyes.

This was a test.  He had to know what to say.

“Seems a bit late for inquisitions into ethereal magic, wouldn’t you say?”

You glanced down, shutting the frayed cover.  “Perhaps.  I would’ve gone to bed eventually.”

A silence lulled between you, awkward, unnerving.

“I brought you a book.”  The words jumped out of him before he had time to consider what he was saying.

You arched a brow as he fetched the brittle pages, holding them out toward her, closer than before, though he couldn’t remember getting closer.  “It’s Quantavius.  An original.”

He could see the curiosity washing across your face, practically pulling you to the pages.  “And how do you know I like Quantavius?”

“I know things,” he shrugged, delight pinging through his chest like confetti before his internal celebration deflated.

You looked away.  “I can’t.”  Suddenly the book was being pushed back toward him, you were standing uncomfortably, glancing toward the exit.

He tried to stop his face from falling, but it was harder said than done.  “Why?”

“I don’t want to owe you, Malfoy.”

His brow furrowed.  “Owe me?”

“You’re on the Inquisitorial Squad.”  Your eyes burned with challenge, his pulse jumped.  “I don’t want to owe you.”

“It’s important that I’m on the Squad,” he shot back.  “Someone has to push back against those idiots causing terror.”

You shook your head.  He couldn’t blame you; even he couldn’t believe the bullshit he was spouting.  “You know that’s wrong.”

“It’s what Professor Umbridge wants,” he argued, chest aching as he knew his chances with you were slipping from his grasp.  “It’s what’s right for the school.”

“Sophronia,” you said, waiting for the recognition to pool in his eyes, a recognition that did not come.  “Not everything that’s encouraged is right.  You still have a lot to learn, Malfoy.”

You vanished up the stairs before he could say another word.

Parkinson was right; you were a bloody nightmare.

Next ⪼

[leonawriter]

My Personal Takes on Stormbringer:

Without a full and accurate translation to go through in one sitting, it’s still hard to get a handle on things properly. That said, thank you to everyone who’s working on it. 

Now.

(please note all quotes are my memory of translations I have read, and are not verbatim.)

-Asagiri, please, you do not need to make so many coding analogies with regards to Chuuya and Verlaine. They don’t work.

-It often feels - not just in this book but also in 55 Minutes, where there are tight restrictions on a time travel ability - that Asagiri limits abilities based on how scientifically accurate they are. However, this doesn’t make sense! why should it! Literature should be an expression of freedom. There should be rules - the same way the Page has rules - but in the sense of Magic A is Magic A. You make up the rules and then you don’t break them in future. Why have Kunikida able to create something with a mass heavier than a piece of paper out of a page of his notebook, but then say you can’t do [x/y/z] because it’s scientifically unviable?

-I have no issue with how skk treat each other. they are chaos teens. let them be. like... this is the beginning of their actual trust. they’re also in the mafia, and in a dark time in their lives. it’s fine. (it isn’t, but at the same time, it kinda is.)

-I feel like Chuuya taking things from other people and making that thing “his” fits him as a character? he had nothing before, so when you have nothing, all you have is what people give you. If someone gives him a bike, then that bike is his now. He has to learn to look after it, love it, and respect it, and he’ll remember that friend by it. Same goes for pretty much anything else. Also, it’s a show of how well Chuuya adapts to things, and what things he chooses to pick up.

-The hat. I do not like how the hat was treated. Making it into the key that helps Chuuya be able to activate Corruption cheapens the meaning and weight of having been given the hat as a memento of the first person who told him to live as a human being. Why not have the hat be a reminder of his humanity in a purely sentimental way? I’m going to ignore anything canon about this and just say it’s sentimental. Which, like, it could have been a safety blanket type thing, not pseudo-science.

-The coding in Chuuya’s body is a bit... of a reach? How do you put that in there? I don’t get it. Just say that there’s a possibility he might die if he uses Corruption, or that he’ll never become “Chuuya” again. That he’d lose himself utterly. The log history can be either on a chip (insert Dazai making “lost dog, if found return to the mafia” jokes here) or on something else that could easily be destroyed during the course of the story (or not).

-Dazai living in the shipping container reads to me like an extreme version of “I do not want to be found I do not want to be helped I am worthless trash and what’s the point in having an actual home if I plan on dying any day anyway.” Verlaine asks what drove him there, and Dazai says “you” and tbh that offers up so many questions (like, was the shipping container thing recent, was it temporary, or what). There’s the possibility that Dazai doesn’t always live there, because otherwise he’d suffer from hypothermia and get pneumonia in the winter! But above all, Mori had nothing to do with this. He was probably terrified to go too close in case he got killed. Stop saying Dazai lives here because “poor baby was abused :(” that sure was not it.

-Dazai goes all this way - plotting for ages, since before the beginning of the book, having been number one on Verlaine’s hit list, just to get the truth about Chuuya’s humanity and to preserve it - because “I want to see Chuuya suffer as a human being” is him saying he doesn’t want to see Chuuya become like him, or inhuman, because that’s not Chuuya. (dude, there ain’t a straight explanation for this...)

-following on from the previous, Dazai refusing to just let things be the moment he realises that it’d mean double suiciding with Chuuya. I personally see that as a shippy moment because Dazai had already given up on Chuuya being alive (if I read the translation right) and in that case, dying would just be letting go. But Mori says “yeah but I don’t think he’s dead yet?” and that, along with the “double suicide” thing, makes Dazai go “absolutely NOT.”

OK a related thing - as far as I remember, when IRL Dazai attempted double suicide, right up until his actual death it would result in either a failure or... his partner dying and him surviving. The cold potential of this happening in BSD if Dazai had just given up reminded me of that.

-Regardless of my thoughts on how it was handled, Stormbringer reinforced my previous ideas about how Chuuya basically IS Arahabaki. It also suggests that Arahabaki was more of a sentient ability than a true “god” but... that’s fine. For me, all I cared about was that all those “Arahabaki is an evil being that is constantly trying to take over Chuuya and Corruption is Arahabaki being let out” takes are not true. It’s... basically Chuuya taking the lid off his power. I joked at one point that Corruption is Chuuya going “I’m so pissed off I’m gonna kick the door open and throw away the key” and Dazai going “go for it babe, I got your key.”

-Rimbaud and Verlaine are... very complicated characters? They’re not easy to get a handle on. I sometimes find myself liking them and sometimes find myself disliking them, and that’s something that’ll be easier when I have a full translation available - and one of Fifteen. Rimbaud was held back by seeing Chuuya, at first, as nothing more than an empty vessel to Arahabaki’s power, while Verlaine was so taken over by grief without understanding how to handle that, that he became a monster up until the end of the story. Neither of them were good people. That said, their relationship to each other? It’s very complicated and reminds me of their IRL selves to a point but without the skeevy nature and without it going so far, so kudos to that.

-Adam. Knowing his creator was a ten year old girl makes so much sense when you look at the things he says and does. He doesn’t get so much. He’s very logical, but doesn’t understand that a game of billiards isn't as much of an icebreaker as he thinks it should be. Surprised by bubble gum. Games like “strange things humans do” are very much like the word games kids play in the car. 

-Verlaine being the fifth executive was something I did not predict at all, whatsoever, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Like... how did he get to that point. Only so much can be said in a few paragraphs (it seems) of “this is [x] number of years in the future where Chuuya’s an executive now.” 

The last we see of him, he’s overcome by grief, hatless, and he seems to have only just realised how much he wished he could return what Rimbaud gave to him. (Ironically, by being able to grieve like that, it shows that he is capable of what he thinks he can’t do - same as Dazai.)

But how does he become an executive? Do they come to him slowly at first, and they gradually build up trust? Does he stay in contact with Chuuya? Do they see each other properly as brothers now, or not? I can’t help but feel that as it’s a long time - six years, in fact - between Stormbringer and canon, some bond of trust must have been built. The mafia protects Verlaine from the authorities and from the outside world just the same as Kouyou says that she wants to do for Kyouka, and the same as they’re there for Chuuya, too. So. A Verlaine who trains the mafia’s best assassins not because he’s forced into it, but because he feels the same loneliness as Chuuya, and finds that it helps? A Verlaine who learns slowly that he can care about more people than just Rimbaud and Chuuya? Holy shit yes please. A Verlaine who is loyal and protective and who you should be glad is in a (probably) gilded prison of the mafia’s basement, because otherwise he would actually do so many things to those who would harm his family.

Let’s just say - if I think of Arahabaki as a guardian or protector god who is just plain destructive because it can’t help that, then Chuuya and Verlaine looking and acting in similar ways because they share that same “parent” in a sense, makes sense. They are no longer just Arahabaki, they’re “Chuuya” and “Verlaine” - but they also share traits such as “Papa Wolf” and “lonely” and “violent,” among others.

-At least twice, pre-Soukoku Dazai and Chuuya refer to how they’re constantly thinking of each other. No, they don’t mean in positive ways, but they’re chaos teens and it’s still strong emotion. Chuuya mentions how he’s thought of at least 190 ways to punish Dazai for the things that he does (which also implies how their relationship is equal, and Dazai doesn’t call all the shots, and doesn’t get away with everything scot-free), and Dazai says that Verlaine can’t possibly win against him, because Dazai “spends all of his time, waking and sleeping, thinking of ways to annoy and harass Chuuya,” (quote not perfect.) 

We also have Chuuya having Dazai appear to him first in his hallucinations, which I see as Chuuya’s inner Dazai-voice saying all the worst things, and ironically not actually saying or meaning things that would get across what real Dazai would want him to feel; in other words, that’s Chuuya’s view of him, or his mind searching for the one person he’d believe it to realistically come from.

As well, Dazai saying “there’s no way Chuuya could be an artificially constructed personality, because no one could create a personality that I [hate/that annoys me] so much.” Which, like... sure... you tell yourself that, kid...

Basically, they’re all the kinds of things that teenagers who don’t really get how strong feelings like these work yet, who are still figuring themselves (and their orientations, probably) out, would say if they don’t even like that other person that much, but they’re still attracted to them. A strong “why does it have to be THEM?” haha. And yet, as others have pointed out, Chuuya seems more on the oblivious side than Dazai, since as said, Dazai goes to all this effort and seems fond (but only when Chuuya’s not looking, dumbass) but Chuuya just... doesn’t get it.

A shorter summary of my thoughts and feelings?

Chuuya suffers, but is ultimately happier for it no matter whether he’s one of the clones or whether he’s the original (it’s arguable either way, and I don’t mind either way) as he’s still Chuuya. His bond with the mafia is also stronger than so many people think it is. They’re literally his adopted family. Even if he chose to leave, he’d still see them as family. I can’t see him leaving. He’s just... they’re family... don’t tear them apart...

The skk is strong, no matter what people say, because this is the start and it’s the end of their first year in the mafia and it’s not supposed to be a healthy time, for fuck’s sake. They’re both all sorts of messed up. They’re allowed to be. This is a time when that’s kinda the point of the book. But yeah, the trust and the bond is real.

Verlaine. I am now fascinated by Verlaine. I was so sure before the spoilers and translations came out that I’d hate him. I no longer do. He confuses me but I NEED TO KNOW MORE. 

[furashuban]

In Plain Sight

Another Hilda fic that I wrote on a whim after switching between reading the comics and tie-in novels all weekend.

Pairing: Frilda, Gen

Words: 1900+

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722543

Summary: Frida attempts to use a newly learned spell to find Hilda after she suddenly disappears for the second time in a row.

Barely a day had gone by after Hilda and her mom were found escaping the Stone Forest. Yet seemingly overnight, Hilda had vanished from her home once again. Twig was still in the apartment, and Johanna was safe and sound along with Tontu and Alfur. But to everyone’s dismay, it was only the blue-haired adventurer who disappeared and left in her place was a humanized troll child to give a hint as to where she could have gone.

Feeling endlessly inquisitive, Frida asked David to come over to her place as they devised a plan to locate their friend, hoping to find out whether or not she was in mortal danger. The two were in Frida’s bedroom, sitting still on the floor with miscellaneous items surrounding them.

“So, you plan on using magic to find Hilda this time?” David asked.

“That’s correct.” Frida responded, skimming through long paragraphs of a manual she borrowed from Kaisa and Tildy. “We’ll be in even more trouble if we venture out of the wall during nightfall, especially if we get caught by the Safety Patrol. So we’re taking the secure route to look for Hilda first.”

“But why couldn’t we have done this before?!”

“Because last time, I was having trouble practicing another spell,” Frida looked up from her book, “and I hadn’t learned anything else that was useful in finding her. Not until tonight at least.”

As the night breezed in, a whole week had officially gone by since Hilda vanished. During the time spent over her disappearance, Frida continued with her private witch-training while her best friend remained all she could think about. Even for Hilda, there was no way that she could possibly be in the mood to go on a reckless undertaking, not after her and Johanna’s experience running away from trolls, and let alone one where she felt like heading out by herself. It was hard not to overthink about her safety, hence her anxieties became evident through the constant fumbling of a transformation spell she was being taught. Her frown and heart-struck eyes lingered on her complexion, followed by continual groaning whenever she failed to focus.

Tildy was quick to realize the troubles of her apprentice. She discerned Frida’s melancholy as one when a witch loses their closeness to a familiar. So without a moment too soon, the arch-sorceress decided to teach her a new incantation that further linked herself with Frida’s familiar, and one where neither an excess of time, patience and power was needed.

Going back to the present, a small mat was placed in-between Frida and David. Frida put aside her book and delved her hand inside a pouch of pollen, pinching some of the substance little-by-little and sprinkled them into a perfect circle on the mat. Next, she gathered four sodalite rocks and angled them around the pollen ring. The preparation to recite this new enchantment seemed like any other setup that Frida had previously done for more intricate spells, only that the witch-in-training appeared to be a lot swift in laying everything out.

“You seem pretty confident that this spell will work.” David said, remembering the time Frida turned Erik Ahlberg into a bug unintentionally.

“It has to.” Frida asserted. “Unlike my previous spells, this one involves trying it on someone I’ve been close with before I even trained to become a witch, and that should give me enough power to make this spell work. That’s what Tildy said to me anyway, and I believe it.”

When Frida stopped glancing through her items, David instinctively reached for a backpack and dug through its contents.

“Did you find the last thing that we need?” Frida inquired, offering her hand and waited to receive something.

David nodded. “It’s one of the things I see Hilda enjoy in our camping trips, so I thought it would qualify.” he brought out a personal possession from Hilda’s bedroom when he visited the apartment earlier in the day. Well, more like broke in with the help of his nisse.

It was a book written by Hilda’ favorite author, FORESTS AND THEIR UNFRIENDLY OCCUPANTS by Emil Gammelplassen, and David relinquished it to Frida so she could situate the novel in the center of the pollen circle.  

“Now, with the item associated with my familiar, the spell I learned will have my eyes become theirs.”

“What does that mean exactly?” David asked bewildered.

“It means I will be able to see what Hilda is seeing, and then I can get an idea as to where she is.” Frida replied. “It won’t last that long, though, so hopefully she isn’t anywhere too in-the-dark.”

She took a deep breath and picked up her wand— the same shaft of a boat’s steering wheel that Hilda gave her all those months ago. Frida enveloped it with both hands and centered it around her chest with the tip pointing upwards. As she nodded and closed her eyes, her expression was more serious than ever. The moment of truth came as she whispered her new spell.

 O bekant arbyuda vini...

     O bekant arbyuda vini…  

     O bekant arbyuda vini...

 Each recital of the spell grew louder until the pollen gleamed like a lantern. The four sodalite rocks also glinted with traversing blue mist within their surfaces, and together with the pollen they emitted a deep whirring sound. David observed the incantation with his posture raised and eyes opening up in astonishment. He half expected the room to suddenly blow up by an extreme gust of wind, even sensing falsely that a draft was brewing from beneath the ground. But as Frida recited the spell with more vigor for a final time, both the pollen and stones regressed to their natural image from before.

The room became uncomfortably silent. Frida was stuck to her position, and David hung around trying to resist his urge in asking what will happen next.

Suddenly, the inside of Frida’s head felt like it was spinning. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened, revealing her pupils to be nearly heart-shaped and glowing a rose gold tinge, startling the boy in front of her. Frida did not see herself back in her room, but rather a hazy vision of being dashed down a mountain. To her surprise, even the sound of a girl muttering in fear could be heard. Frida could not doubt it; she was now sharing Hilda’s vision.

“She’s outside.” Frida spoke. “Hilda, can you hear me?”

Her best friend continued to run, not even stopping to call for Frida’s name to acknowledge her. It was worth a try though.

Hilda ran deeper and deeper into the wilderness, gasping quickly and repeatedly until she reached the base of the mountain. Secluded in its shadow, she looked back and caught a glimpse of a bellowing creature that hollered her name in the distance, then she hid herself by prowling through the bushes nearby. She turned again to see an opening that gapped between the ground and the mountain itself; a large, triangular cave that seemed to have been formed ages ago. Whether it led back into the Stone Forest or to some place new, it was her next route to survival and therefore sprinted towards the opening.

Trifling multi-legged vermin and cobwebs were scattered around the ridges of the cave, chilliness was all but absent inside. Her back was against the jagged wall as she peered from behind the corners. No longer did it seem as though she was being pursued, and she took another moment to catch her breath as many times as she could.

“I want to go home.” she cried.

Frida’s heart sank. She had never seen nor heard her friend so panicked and distraught before, and all she could do was watch instead of hurrying to comfort her. But something was even more off about Hilda. Perhaps it was the lack of light in the evening setting, but Frida swore that her arms and legs were as pale as a corpse.

On the spur of the moment, Hilda turned to see what lies beyond the cave. She got up and ambled towards a set of rocks which appeared to be reflective. The closer she got, the clearer her physique was shown on the rocks.

Her long blue hair had tinged to a much grayer shade, and her nose protracted like the pole of a birdhouse. But most distressing of all, her body was entirely made of stone; not a single trace of her humanity was to be seen. As Hilda watched a teardrop cascade on her cheek, Frida mimicked the distrait frown of her friend as they both gazed on the mirror.

“Why can’t I be changed back?!” Hilda exclaimed to her reflection angrily. “This is not at all how I wanted to move back to the wilderness! I do not want to be a troll!”

Her hand clenched into a fist and drew it backwards. Then, she forced it swiftly onto the rock until it had shattered, causing cracks and multiple reflections of a resentful Hilda to form. Immediately after the punch, Frida’s shared vision with Hilda grew progressively far-sighted until everything was merely a blurred spec. Her pupils no longer glowed and were shaped back to normal. And as the spell wore off, she shrieked timorously and knocked back on the floor.

David slithered around the mat and rushed to his friend. “Frida, what happened?” he asked frantically, picking her back up.

“I know where she is, kind of.” Frida stammered. “She’s out of the wall again, in a cave somewhere near the mountains for now but…” the longer she spoke, the closer she came to whimpering.

“It was so strange.” she continued. “It’s not possible but...I know I saw it. I even heard it. But why and how is she...did she get cursed or...UGH!”

She gripped her hair tight as she struggled to make sense of what she saw. “I don’t understand. How on earth did she become a troll?!” she breaks into tears from repressing her speech, not wanting the word “troll” to be overheard outside the room.

“Hilda became a what?!” David exclaimed.

More questions raised in Frida and David’s mind. Frida wished that she could have halted whoever, or whatever turned Hilda into a stone variant of herself. She wanted to be with her in the cave to protect her, and she hoped the spell could have done more than just see what a familiar saw. None of this was how she expected to find her. Everything felt better before she tried helping herself with the spell.

She sighed arduously. “Our best friend is a troll, David.” she snivelled, embracing the brunette tightly. In turn, David wrapped his arm around Frida and patted her back. He felt like crying too, feeling crushed in perhaps more ways than one, but he homed in on his friend’s dejection first and foremost as silence filled the air for a good long minute.

Frida then lets go of her grasp and rubbed her palms on her face. There was not enough time to feel frightened about having her expectations subverted. Her plan had been to know where and if Hilda was in danger, and all the boxes were checked.

“We need to tell Hilda’s mum where she is.” Frida said. “In case she runs off with Tontu and Twig to look for her again tomorrow, we have to tell her what I saw before she does.”

“Then let’s move.”

[watarigarasu]

October 23rd – Monster

13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Word count: 1,896

Warnings: Big sad, much emotion.

Author’s note: I really love Thranduil, okay?

During many years of your lone journey through the Middle Earth, you have heard many words describing the King of Mirkwood. Some of them revealed the hidden fear of the Elvenking, some included fascination and some said that he did not even exist in the first place, that he was a made up story for children, just like his whole kingdom. However, there was one term you could not so quickly forget, the one engraved in your memory for some peculiar reason—the one you repeated to yourself while crossing the borders of Mirkwood, wary of what you might encounter.

The rumour that the Elvenking was a heartless monster.

You were familiar with the infamous stories on how he paid no mind to those in need, how little did their lives mean to him, how his egoistic nature caused him to fight for what he believed was right only, how selfish was his attitude and how he considered his kin as above everyone else. Perhaps you would eventually believe in them all if you did not know better than to listen every rumour you hear along the way. Words spread faster than a diseases, every next one changed a little by the mouth they were spoken from and so, you wondered how much of a truth they actually contained.

Contrary to what you imagined to see, the Elvenking did not resemble any kind of monster in the slightest. His grace and pride was undeniable, his beauty outstanding and his voice deeply serene. The weight of his gaze upon you seemed to be enough to crash you to the ground but instead of that, you were invited to the feast as a guest. A storyteller, the one who could share the most recent news about the world outside of the kingdom.

He did not act like a monster when he shared his people’s food and wine with you, neither did he act like one when he was listening to you talking, lazy sight carefully picking out every single detail of your appearance. Firen was the only way he addressed you endlessly, no matter how many opportunities you took to remind him your real name.

You have lost the track of time soon after arriving to Mirkwood, all days melting together like one, the kingdom surrounding you so magical that you forgot about all the evil creeping outside. There was no flesh eating creatures under the magnificent roof with countless waterfalls flowing down the halls. There was no fear between the ancient pages of the books you were eventually allowed to look at. There was no tears during the evening feasts in the forests. There was no pain in dancing all night long in the pale starlight.

There was only calmness filling your soul, the steady rhythm of your beating heart and the utter peace of your soul where apparently nothing bad could reach you. Walking in a dream, you found yourself falling in love with the world you did not belong to and to your surprising notice, you could experience all of it simply because the Elvenking—Thranduil, as you learned—allowed you to.

Simply because his heart was not as cold as the rumours claimed it to be.

“Tell me about your ancestors, firen,” he ordered on one particularly warm day, when the first, vivid green leaves were poking their tips out from the thin branches. It was an early morning, the fog still not fading in the sunlight and it was an accident that you stumbled upon each other—the Elvenking attending his usual morning stroll and you, still not going to sleep after a truly interesting lecture you managed to find in the library, written in a language you understood.

“About my family?” you wondered. “With all due respect, I’m not sure if I can interest you with this kind of story, My Lord. They are no royalty.”

“If I wanted to listen about royalty, I would simply take a look upon the letters my father left me.” His voice was haughty yet soft, like a fresh rime. “I was wondering what kind of people could beget a woman willing to travel alone through the foreign lands.”

“Are you thinking about lunatics or heroes?”

He did not smile at your little joke, but something in his expression changed. Perhaps your words did amuse him, which might be the reason why he apparently enjoyed your company, or maybe it was just the small bullfinch sitting on a nearby branch which caught his attention.

“I suppose we are to find out about that,” he barely whispered, not taking his gaze off the bird.

And so, you started talking, carefully choosing what to say next so you would not bore him with this not so exciting story. Living for as long as all Elves did, you would be surprised if he thought of any part of your speech as even remotely interesting. He has seen it all and much more, already, he has witnessed war, loss and love, he had an adult son and once a wife also. Your history, no matter how much could it mean to you, would soon be nothing but a blink of an eye for him, just as fleeting the seasons were.

You were a whisper on the wind, made to be heard by his ear and eventually fade out.

“Give me your hand.” The command caused you to stop talking in a middle of the sentence and look at the Elvenking confused. A quick motion of his arm caused an expensive robes to move gracefully before he showed what he expected from you. “Like that.”

You did as you were told, slowly outstretching your arm and only then noticing how the bullfinch tilted its head to the right and jumped few times on the branch before opening wings and swiftly landing at Thranduil’s open palm. It was a breath-taking view to observe, the trust of the small creature completely unexpected. You stood in the same position, listening as the Elvenking started talking, while gently stroking the bird’s head with his index finger.

“There is beauty in simplicity, something a race of Men often tends to forget about. Ironically, since they are the ones who should cherish it the most, the gentle passing of time. I find your admiration to save as many moments as possible as equally pointless and fascinating. To know that one day your whole existence will turn into ashes brings out the most primal instincts—but only the wise can focus on the beauty of a fleeting moment. A single memory.”

Slowly, he reached to you and you held your breath when the bird cautiously jumped from his hand onto yours, it’s tiny feet gently tickling your skin and the smile appearing on your lips.

“Not many of the race of Men can find a beauty in evanescence.” Thranduil continued, watching you staring at the bullfinch as if it was the first time in your whole life that you experienced such a moment. “It is a rare ability among those who do not feel the impact of time and even rarer in those who are the most prone to it.”

The bird on your hand with its adorably red belly was fascinating enough that you did not notice the way the Elvenking looked at you, aware that he was going to savour this single image in his memory for many, many thousands of years in the future.

Thranduil was not a monster, although he understood why many were ready to address him as such. He was aware of his doings, of his regrets and faults but he also knew how much does it take to carry the weight of the necessity. Men were foolish, easily led by their own emotions which changed as quickly as the wind, and it was their doom they always brought upon themselves. Perspective makes history look different, the deeds appearing in a light nobody would expect them to centuries ago and it was the ability their kind lacked.

How could they possibly understand what was wise and what not, if they never truly lived to face the consequences of their own actions? If they had no idea what would their descendants have to endure?

The human he decided to invite to his kingdom was no less blind than the rest of her kind, nevertheless he found her presence and stories amusing. It was different; her point of view, the news she brought from the lands far on the east, and he found himself roaming through the halls of his kingdom with head full of the images of her face and the sound of her voice. She talked about the beauty of the lake she stayed by one night in a way which made him feel like a fool. As if it was him, who was blind for this whole time and could not see the world in the same way she did.

Ironically, it was his eyes which were used to seeing more, looking through darkness and illusions.

There was a reflection of the setting sun in her eyes when she spoke about it, a picture so clear that he could almost touch it, as if he was witnessing it for the first time in his whole life. There was a melody in her tone when she was repeating the legends she heard along the way and for some reason he grew fond of it, the excitement being something he has forgotten long ago. There were not many things which could still surprise him, after all, there was nothing to look for, nothing to long for.

Except, perhaps, for the gentle softness of her lips when he imagined how would they feel against his. Would it be different and refreshing, just like her stories were? Would he still be able to enjoy it? Would the kiss bring out new palette of unnecessary emotions from her fragile heart?

He was never a monster, he told himself. The real monsters were out there, in the world, ready to slay the weaker, the ones of her kind. He would be selfish if he did not offer his help to those in need, if he did not provide the food supplies and wine for people from the Laketown who needed it the most after the terrifying dragon attack. The great serpent was the worst monster walking upon this lands and suddenly Thranduil felt grudge for everyone who dared to compare him to the vicious beast.

The Elvenking was never heartless, not in the moment when he was trying to protect his people from the mindless slaughter the Dwarves suffered in Erebor dozens of years ago, nor when he was ready to fight until his last breath to reclaim the gems of his wife—the last physical memory of her that he could still own. But especially not when he was kneeling on the cold, hard ground on the battlefield, holding the body of the human storyteller to his chest and listening to the silence where once her heartbeat was, the echo of a sword slicing the air where he was supposed to stand still loud in his mind, just like her desperate scream and a pitiful attempt to shield him.

Thranduil was never a monster but he knew better than anyone that he was, instead, a fool.

[sparklyjojos]

THE SAIMON FAMILY CASE recaps [7/13]

In which we talk with the yakuza side of the family, learn about strange mountain hermits running around, and meet the Obligatory Kodansha Editor Character.

--

PART 5

Chinese legends speak of a man called Xu Fu. The ruler of Qin Dynasty ordered him to sail to the land to the east and find the elixir of immortality. After a long journey, Xu Fu arrived at a beautiful mountain as wondrous as Mount Sumeru that he called Fushizan, “the mountain of immortality”. One theory claims that it was the same place we know as Fuji-san.

Well, certainly it wasn’t Mt. Fuji he found… although the mountain indeed was located on the legendary Penglai, the Island of Immortals—Japan. On Mount Penglai lived its God, and looking from the top one could see the entire Country of Gods stretching down below...

--

When Ajiro and Kirigirisu are still up at 4 AM talking about the case, Soga Tensui makes yet another sudden entrance and shows them a written request:

The other Soga Tensui is with the rest of the family right now. Voices carry far, so please keep on talking as if I’m not here. If you want to discuss something with me, please write it down.

The three men talk in this way until dawn. Since the magician doesn’t say a word, Kirigirisu isn’t sure if they’re actually talking with Tensui or maybe with Gensui.

Ajiro has no qualms about telling Tensui he and his brother are among the most likely suspects, and the man doesn’t seem upset in the slightest.

We have already considered the possibility. Neither I nor the other Soga Tensui is the perpetrator. We may not have a solid alibi, and I realize that it’s a weak proof of innocence, but the idea to ask you for help came from both of us. We wouldn’t make the request, was one of us the culprit.

It appears Tensui has already made his own little investigation through Miku, who asked everyone in the family (with a promise not to blame them for the deaths) whether or not they swapped the curtains or took Yuuta to Tottori. Either no one from the family members present did that, or the culprit stays quiet. The investigation hit a dead end.

It seems the case is unsolvable as of now. I don’t think the investigation will be able to progress any further unless another incident happens on the 19th next month.

Soon after that Tensui leaves them, probably to hide before everyone else wakes up.

--

Once the family sits down to eat, Ajiro asks everyone to watch each other’s moves throughout the next month, just in case.

“You think one of us killed him?” booms the man looking like a mountain (Kirigirisu looks into his notes… right, Fujita Daisen. The non-yakuza son of the yakuza old man.) “If the culprit is really among us, then listen up! On the 19th next month, I’m gonna be patrolling Mount Daisen together with my buddies from the mountaineering club. If you’re gonna attack someone, better try me then! You can be sure I’m gonna turn the tables on you!”

“Calm down, no one’s going to attack you,” says the man more similar to a tall tree (notes, notes… ah, Fujita Hyousen. Daisen’s younger brother, the current yakuza boss. If Daisen seems like a furious animal in his demeanor, this guy’s more like a sharp blade).

“What, Hyousen, are you saying I’m not gonna be attacked next?”

“Even if I was the culprit, I wouldn’t want to target you.”

“You still dare say that? I’d say it’d be just like you to attack me!”

Everyone else looks on in awkward silence as the two brothers have a heated exchange.

“Whatever,” Hyousen says after they calm down a little. “If you do go into the mountains on 19th, better take care not to get into any accidents.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’m not gonna die until I meet the Mountain God.”

“Do you seriously still believe all those tales…”

“I’m gonna see the Country of Gods from the mountain!” Daisen yells nonsensically.

--

On December 19th, Fujita Daisen (44) is found dead while patrolling Mount Daisen with his climbing club friends. It seems he slipped on the stairs of a mountain shelter and hit his head, eventually dying from blood loss.

Mount Daisen—probably the inspiration for the man’s name—has been an object of worship and awe since ancient times. One legend speaks of a proud god from Korea who wanted to prove one of his mountains was in fact even grander, so he loaded it onto a boat and took to Japan to compare sizes. As soon as he arrived close to Mount Daisen and realized how big it truly was, he left his own mountain next to it and left in a huff—that’s where the neighboring mountain Koreizan came from.

Mount Daisen can be dangerous to climb in winter, so patrols of experienced climbers are sent out to ensure safety on the snow-covered trails. One such patrol of ten men under Fujita Daisen’s lead embarked on duty on December 19th. They all took a brief rest in a small concrete hut serving as a shelter. Eventually Daisen asked everyone to leave the shelter and follow him, now constantly staying in front of the group, heading straight for the peak without looking back at them even once—something very unusual for him.

When they arrived at the peak, strangely-behaving Daisen was the first to enter the big lodge located there, but once everyone else walked in, they couldn’t find Daisen inside. Instead, someone else had been waiting for them: a corpulent thirty-something man with curly hair bringing to mind a reggae artist.

“I’m… Saimon Takayoshi,” he mumbled out, giving off the vibe of a troubled introvert. “I’m from… Daisen’s family. He asked me to… from that shelter to here… to switch places with him. Daisen should join us... any time now...”

Before the rest could fully shake off the surprise, they heard two other climbers call for them from outside, yelling that they had found someone dead at the shelter below. Everyone rushed back and discovered the corpse was Daisen, lying in a pool of blood by the short stairs outside.

According to Takayoshi, Daisen had anticipated that someone would try to attack him that day. Takayoshi thought it was probably just baseless paranoia, but agreed to serve as bait during the climb, so that Daisen could walk behind them, spot the assassin and catch him. Daisen planned to leave the hut only when the others were at a certain distance so they wouldn’t suspect anything. It seems that he fell from the stairs when trying to follow them.

Since Daisen’s father Kyuuzou was once called Saimon, this incident means a fourth member of the Saimon family in a row has died on 19th day of a month.

--

As the previous boss of Fujita-gumi, Fujita Kyuuzou inherited a splendid residence in Tsuwano, on the opposite side of town than Kami-Saimon. He lives there along with those who served him the longest. His son Hyousen and the rest live in another house, closer to the town’s center.

On December 21st, the day of Daisen’s wake, Ajiro and Kirigirisu head to Kyuuzou’s residence and talk with Takayoshi.

As we may remember, Takayoshi is one of the three sons of Akiko, the second victim. (The other two brothers are Taishi and Akio, who play the two clowns in the show.) Though in his thirties, Takayoshi is single, apparently never having even dated before… and no wonder, because his entire demeanor screams that he doesn’t like any contact with other people. Was that why he left the family?

“I wasn’t as talented as my brothers…” Takayoshi mumbles out an explanation. “I’m from the main family, so I would perform in shows since I was small… but no matter how much I trained, I had stage fright and always made mistakes. Akio was always nice to me, but… Taishi would beat me… others turned a cold shoulder…”

Young Takayoshi would often leave his house to find shelter and understanding somewhere else: in Fujita-gumi led by Kyuuzou, who treated the boy on par with his own children. Takayoshi became a full-fledged member after graduating middle school and moved to the Fujita residence. He quickly realized that the rest of the main family still acts cold towards him, though for much different reasons now. Afraid that his presence could bring Fujita-gumi trouble, he left Tsuwano in high school.

After many misadventures he was found passed out in the mountains and brought back to the main family’s house, where he once again became the object of pestering. Daisen and Hyousen helped him get out of there, and Kyuuzou’s recommendation allowed him to stay for three years with a friendly yakuza group Nagasaki-kai (written 長先会 rather than like the city’s name). During that time, Takayoshi managed to learn enough magic to later be able to travel around Japan making a living through street performances. Maybe it wasn’t an easy life, but still better than staying with the Saimons. He kept in touch with the Fujitas and knew about the mysterious deaths going on, but only decided to return a few days ago, to help Daisen.

“He didn’t tell me much, but… he said that the real target isn’t the Saimon family, but Fujita-gumi. And now he’s dead… I made a horrible mistake again…!”

Takayoshi may have been a prime suspect so far, but the conversation makes Ajiro and Kirigirisu doubt he’s involved in the case. On the day of Tamako’s death he was far away in Hokkaido, attempting to get some money by talking to a journalist about his experiences on the road. The journalist was called Uyama Hideo and worked for Kodansha.

[Uyama Hideo is an actual Kodansha editor. The author’s note at the end dedicates the book to Uyama and reveals that it was in part written as thanks for everything he did for the shinhonkaku / new mystery genre.]

Takayoshi and Uyama eventually moved to the Kanto area, where he got a call from the Fujitas about his mother Akiko’s death. He was still in Kanto when a month later he learned about Yuuta’s death and Daisen’s plan. And so, he decided to help and headed to Mount Daisen.

“Magicians don’t reveal their methods, but I guess I’m not a true magician anyway…” Takayoshi mumbles. “And it’s for the investigation, so I’ll tell you what we did... When a magician performs instant transportation, it’s practically always achieved using a double… Either a twin sibling, another really similar person, or at least someone with the same body shape hiding their face… but you need a good excuse for the last one. If you see a magician getting shot out of a cannon towards a suspended cage, he will be wearing a helmet saying it’s for safety… but it’s actually to hide his face… the double is already hidden at the destination, they just need to use blind spots effectively to switch…”

Kirigirisu realizes that he has already seen an “instant transportation” like that before: the torn business card that seemed to have teleported inside a mandarin orange.

Takayoshi explains that while not being that similar to Daisen, the right clothing and time to prepare made him able to serve as his double. Having experience with illusion helped.

“And what do you personally think about Daisen’s death?” Ajiro asks. “Was it an accident?”

“Daisen was… definitely murdered.”

--

After listening to Takayoshi, the detectives move rooms to have a conversation with Hyousen, Daisen’s brother and the current boss of Fujita-gumi.

Hyousen states that it’s Fujita-gumi that’s being targeted. Two other groups may be at fault. One is Nagasaki-kai; they may have been friendly once, but after their boss got assassinated a bit before Hyousen took over Fujita-gumi, the relations between them worsened, and who knows, maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment to take over Tsuwano. The other enemy group is Karyuu-kai (華隆会), also hungry for their turf. Hyousen claims that Fujita-gumi are the ones keeping Tsuwano peaceful and happy, and if they were to fall, the other groups would probably bring in a giant gang war.

Fujita-gumi is mostly a tekiya group selling shady goods at festivals and getting protection money from Tsuwano’s stores. Another source of income for them is “industrial enterprise”—by which Hyousen means Soga Tensui Troupe’s Circus of Magic.

The group fell into some financial difficulties lately. The yakuza structure have changed a lot throughout the years; many small groups have merged together into big ones, creating an oligopoly. The thing about Fujita-gumi’s tekiya business is that they can’t exactly go sell things in another group’s territory, but many groups allowed for an exception when their yashi (peddlers) were tagging along with the Circus of Magic. This new yakuza oligopoly means in practice that Fujita-gumi can’t go many different places anymore, and neither can the Circus. Even the recent show in Yamaguchi was only possible thanks to a brief change in what yakuza group controlled the turf at the moment. Right now the Circus is pretty much limited to touring between towns by the old mines, where the Tsukumos and Tousens still have many friends.

The cost of the magic show is nothing to sneeze at, what with all these outsiders it employs, and combined with territorial limitations it made the Circus face tough times. Daisen was able to help them a little financially as the owner of a yakiniku restaurant chain in Tottori, and Hyousen set up a bunch of pachinko parlors with help of (then friendly) Nagasaki-kai. Then the new boss of Nagasaki-kai announced severing their ties and all the pachinko parlors were slowly being taken back. Their only remaining parlor in Yamaguchi is receiving harassment, and even Daisen’s yakiniku restaurants have been under attack recently.

Considering all this, it wouldn’t be weird if one of the enemy groups started attacking Fujita-gumi indirectly by assassinating members of their family. Hyousen is fully convinced that the four dead Saimons were all murdered.

Ajiro and Kirigirisu can see the point, but something doesn’t add up. If Daisen believed another yakuza group was at fault, why would he stand up at a family gathering and challenge the culprit among them to target him? Why would he get so heated with Hyousen?

Hyousen does realize their conversation made him look suspect, so he explains it. Daisen got heated because he thought there was an enemy group’s spy in the family. It’s true that Daisen acted like he fully expected Hyousen to target him, but that probably stemmed from when they were young and fought constantly. When Hyousen said that even if he was the culprit, he wouldn’t want to attack Daisen, he meant that Daisen as his brother likely wouldn’t be targeted by the other groups, as they would fear Fujita-gumi’s revenge… and revenge they will get, as soon as Hyousen figures out who exactly is at fault for his brother’s death.

This leaves one question: what was that strange thing Daisen said about the Mountain God and the Land of Gods?

“The mountain is Mount Daisen, and the Land of Gods is Izumo stretching to the west. As for the Mountain God… I think it’s nothing more than idle gossip, but I’ll tell you. Our father claims that decades ago he met the Mountain God while climbing Mount Daisen. I never believed him, but Daisen did. The truth is, who my father met was not a god, but a hermit living in the mountains. I and my son Hyousai were even named after him. You see, volcanic Mount Daisen was once called the hikami (火神) mountain, hikami meaning “the god of fire”. That hermit was also called Hikami (氷神), although with the first kanji meaning “ice” rather than “fire”. And since he was a sennin (仙人), a mountain hermit, and was gifted with appropriate genius, sai (才), his full name was Hikami Sensai (氷神仙才). Only my father has ever met that man.”

So that’s where the names Hyousen (氷仙) and Hyousai (氷才) came from.

--

The two detectives move rooms again to speak with Fujita Kyuuzou, the previous boss of Fujita-gumi, elderly father of Daisen and Hyousen.

Immediately after entering the room, they notice a black Noh mask portraying a smiling old man—kokushikijou—displayed as decoration. Kyuuzou invites them to sit down with him on the tatami. As soon as they do, Kyuuzou suddenly yells out in a frightening manner, causing Kirigirisu to fall on his back in fear. Ajiro doesn’t even flinch.

“It’s been forty years since someone was able to withstand my kiai,” Kyuuzou says with a smile. “You truly are Soujin’s grandson.”

“Do you know my grandfather?”

“Know him? We’re sworn brothers, we drank from the same cup of sake! As his grandson, you too are like my family.” Kyuuzou’s eyes are kind as he looks at Ajiro.

“I… did not know about that. My apologies. If I could contact him, I would have brought him along...”

“Don’t worry. No one could ever shackle that man down, not even his grandson, not even I, his sworn brother. He’s not a yakuza, a man that would feel bound by family events; even if I was the one to die, I’m sure he wouldn’t attend my funeral.”

Ajiro’s own grandfather shared sake with a yakuza boss… Kirigirisu is shocked, but starts to understand why exactly Soujin gives others that dangerous mafia boss impression.

The detectives ask more questions about the case, but learn nothing new. Kyuuzouu does remember meeting Hikami Sensai decades ago, but the memory is fuzzy. He doesn’t have any proof that another group is pulling the strings behind the scenes, but Daisen was definitely murdered and they probably have a serial murder case in progress.

--

--

Kirigirisu’s life began anew in 1973, when he was a suspect in a murder case and had lost all his memories due to hitting his head. He could only vaguely remember suddenly falling off a cliff into the sea and trying to swim to the shore. It seemed like he had been solving a case as a private detective under the name Kirigirisu Tarou—or at least the few clues they found said so.

Nihon Tantei Club was founded a year later, in 1974. Though it hasn’t seen many cases so far, certainly their popularity is rising—well, a little. In this uncertain era, many businesses are facing financial difficulties. Kirigirisu wants to help Nihon Tantei Club as he can, not only because of his loyalty to both Ajiros, but because one of their investigations led to his first meeting with Kano.

But no matter how much they try, 1977 swiftly becomes 1978 without the Saimon Family Case coming anywhere near to being solved.

--

On January 18th, Ajiro and Kirigirsu visit Tsuwano once more in anticipation of another death the next day. The town is still full of snow, and the family members still have a grim look on their faces.

Daisetsu, late Daisen’s son, asks them to go with him and Takayoshi to the local bar at 10 PM so they can talk. When they meet there, an unknown man shows up to drink with them.

“This is…” Takayoshi mutters, “the journalist I told you about… Uyama…”

Uyama Hideo is a short man with curious eyes. He welcomes them with enthusiasm that makes it obvious he’s already somewhat drunk. His business card gives his first name as Hideomi (日出臣), apparently an older nickname of his.

“Oh…” Uyama sighs strangely. “You know, I have this astrologer friend, a man of many talents who wants to become a mystery novelist lately. I believe his name will become famous. Oh… he incidentally has the same first name as you, Mr. Ajiro. Shimada Souji.”

[The narration confirms that he means the future author of The Tokyo Zodiac Murders.]

The group sits down for a drink. It’s a pretty small place, as expected from a quiet town. The friendly owner is apparently one of Daisen’s friends from the mountaineering club. Looking around, the detectives notice a few posters of celebrities: the actor Matsuda Yuusaku, the karate master Ooyama Masutatsu, the pro-wrestler Rikidouzan, baseball stars Harimoto Isao and Kaneda Masaichi… Kirigirisu truly has no idea why all these different people have their faces plastered around the bar. Maybe the owner is a fan.

Daisetsu says that it’s not actually him that wanted to talk to the detectives, but Uyama.

“Oh… that’s right,” Uyama agrees with that strange sigh of his. “When Mr. Kirigirisu called me last month, I learned from him that Kira was staying with Fujita-gumi…”

“Kira?”

“That’s how… he reads my name…” Takayoshi explains [貴良 can be read as both Takayoshi and Kira]. “Even Daisetsu picked it up from him…”

“Oh… I wanted to talk about how those four deaths look like a murder case to me.”

“Exactly!” Daisetsu shouts. “At least my father’s death was murder! There’s no way a true man of the mountains would just slip and fall! I asked Uyama to help us investigate.”

“Oh… I’m going to look into the case more. Maybe interview the Saimons.”  Uyama adds that Taishi didn’t want to let him bother anyone from his house, so they should split forces: Uyama will focus on Fujita-gumi, while Ajiro and Kirigirisu take care of the Saimons. “I’m not doing this for a scoop, but just to help Kira. Besides, I’m something of a mystery fan, so I’m interested in seeing a strange case myself…”

The group talks some more before parting ways. Takayoshi and Daisetsu (and very drunk Uyama carried on Daisetsu’s back) head to the Fujita residence, and the detectives return to Kami-Saimon for the night.

As midnight strikes and January 18th becomes 19th, the anticipation of things to come hangs heavily in the air.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[badwolfwrites-sometimes]

Chapter 5

Happy Remembrance Day. Remember those who died thinking the world would be a better place. Remember to make the world a better place.

'Tonight was the night. Tonight she will see him. Her dear brother.

Excitement filled her up to the brim. She could barely keep herself seated calmly as Elizabeta braided her hair. Alice sat on a small stool, wearing the golden dress Otto bought her. In her lap sat flowers, from daisies to roses to lillies. If she had to admit, they went really well with the dress.

"Okay, now another daisy." Elizabeta asked and, like a cannon, Alice shot up her hand to give it to her.

Elizabeta giggled as she took the flower and placed it in one of the braids going around Alice's head, resembling a flower crown. She left out a chunk of hair hanging to look natural and childlike.

"Betty, do you think Romano will recognize me?" Alice asked, twinkling with joy.

Elizabeta smiled. "Not with how pretty you've got. And that golden dress matches your eyes so well, I doubt even Otto would recognize you."

At the mention of prince's name, Alice's smile turned into a frown, dimples that were there moments ago, disappeared like they never existed.

"Do you think... Do you think he'll stop liking me?" She asked, hiding her face from Elizabeta. She didn't want her to see the pitiful expression she was making.

"He-" Elizabeta paused, realizing that Alice might not be asking this out of fear of him not liking her, but rather the opposite. "I don't think he will. You're his first real friend. Or rather, you're his first and only friend who's the same age as him. I don't think he'll let you go just like that."

"I wish that was the case. He's only going to get hurt if he keeps doing things like this to me." Alice pointed to the golden dress she was wearing, both the flowers engraved on the dress as well as those in her lap turned dull.

Elizabeta sighed. This was unfair. This is unfair to everyone, but mostly to the child sitting in front of her. After all, that's exactly what Alice was. A child. A child who should be playing with kids and not working to pay a debt for her parents. A child who should be free to like and befriend whoever she chooses, not worrying about statuses. A child who should not be treated like she's an adult. A child whose childhood shouldn't be taken away like this.

Elizabeta stepped away from Alice's hair and walked in front of her. Alice looked up at her as Elizabeta kneeled and hugged her. Shocked by this small motherly act, Alice broke down crying and returned the hug. Elizabeta smiled. "This isn't your battle, yet they are making a warrior out of you. Disobey them, Alice. You have it in you. You don't have to keep playing their game of house. Play with Otto, be friends with him, fall in love with him one day if you want, just don't let them stop you from being happy. Promise me you won't let them get in your way."

Alice continued to cry, nodding wholeheartedly. She needed this hug. She needed to feel this motherly energy around her, with her own being too far away. Elizabeta's words, however, engraved themselves into her memory. She might not be ready to fully accept them now, but when her time comes, she'll listen. "I pro... I promise.. e..." She said.'

Feliciano paused his reading to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes.

"That's right, these two are forbidden lovers, I knew that. I knew and yet I'm crying like a baby." He laughed at himself. "Whatever, I've always been a crybaby. Just stop watering, eyes. I need to continue. We'll cry lots later."

Unfortunately, his cheer up method didn't seem to work.

He got up and walked downstairs, curious to see what his brothers were up to. Romeo should be back from college by now. Feliciano could vent out his feelings about the book to his baby brother. He'll at least understand him, unlike Lovino.

That's not meant to imply Lovino is a bad brother. It's just that they have different points of view on the world. They can never understand each other. Lovino is more objective and Feliciano more subjective. Romeo balances them both out.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by something heavy hitting the floor, shaking their house a tiny bit. Logically, this could be either a school bag or a person, likely Romeo, however Feliciano's brain is anything but logical. It immediately turned on a there's-an-intruder-in-the-house mode and Feliciano's entire body froze before he dropped on the stairs in a ball position and cuddled up to the wall, hands covering his head. It wasn't until he heard a familiar groan that he snapped out of it.

Turns out that the logical option was, logically, correct because once he got himself down to the living room, he was met with a school bag on the floor and Romeo sprawled out like an octopus on the couch, typing on his phone like a madman. Upon noticing Feliciano, Romeo smiled and waved.

"I take that as a don't-ask-me-about-college." Feliciano said as he made his way down the stairs and sat on the sofa next to the couch. He pulled his legs up and made himself comfortable in the upside down position. The mute television that was on was showing some movie, neither cared at all about.

"Well, yes and no. I made a new friend today. She's a mathematician." Romeo smiled, not removing his eyes from his phone.

"What's her name? Are you texting her right now? Tell her I said hi." Feliciano asked. It wasn't unusual for Romeo to befriend girls. He was a really approachable kid and made friends easily, unlike Lovino who had trouble approaching people. Feliciano believed Lovino was socially anxious, but Lovino denied it. He thought it would make him look weak, no matter how much Feliciano tried to convince him otherwise. As for Feliciano himself, his friends were his brother's friends. Especially now that his own best friend Feliks left for UK for work.

"Anne Marie. She's a real cutie. Look." Romeo said and handed Feliciano his phone which was opened to a Whatsapp profile picture of a serious blonde girl. Her hair was tied in a side braid, few strands falling out of it gracefully. She appeared to be sitting in some sort of cafe, looking in the distance. She was trully cute.

"Good job befriending her. She looks like a friend material." Feliciano said as he handed Romeo his phone back.

"I know. I met her in the library while I was whining about not knowing math and she called me an idiot and then showed me how to solve the problem. We're off to a great friendship."

"You're incredibly weird, Romeo. Never change."

"So, what have you two been up to while I was gone suffering?"

"Oh, I bought this amazing book and Lovi's the usual."

"Book?"

"Yeah. Silence in Venice by a German author. I'm only around halfway through, but it's amazing."

"You and your Germans. You've always been in love with them." Romeo giggled and turned off his phone, facing Feliciano. "What's it about?"

"It's about these two people who meet and fall in love, but one is a prince and the other is his maid and everyone's been telling them they shouldn't be together except for this one lady who's a total badass." Feliciano babbled out as much as he could im one sentance.

Romeo stared at his brother, his expression a mixture of confusion and intrigue. "So, like, your type of books? Did you cry yet?"

"Only once and yesIloveittoomuch!"

"What?"

"I. Love. It. Too. Much."

"Oh. You talk too fast, Feli."

"We're Italian, Romeo."

"Yeah, yeah. It's still too fast."

A pause. Feliciano was trying his best to roll his eyes, but all he managed was to close them and Romeo stared at him, trying not to burst out laughing. After a short while, Feliciano decided it wasn't worth it.

"Anyway, I just came to see what you were up to. I'm gonna go continue it now." Feliciano got up and went back to his room, grabbing a Corny snack that was sitting on the table.

"Have fun and you're welcome for the Corny!" Romeo yelled out as Feliciano was climbing the stairs.

He flopped on his bed as soon as he saw it, book slightly jumping. Feliciano stared at it.

"I like how you write, Ludwig Beilschmidt." He said, picking up the book and continuing where he left off.

'Such a moving moment was interrupted by the prince himself. Otto walked into the room dressed in one of his finest clothes, black and red pants, tight red shirt completed with a black cape. Said cape seemingly annoying him as he kept showing it off his arms. He walked in the room with a smile, but the look on his beloved's face changed his expression.

"Alice..." he whispered softly.

As soon as she noticed Otto, Alice wiped away her tears and smiled politely, bowing her head. Elizabeta turned around to look at the prince as well, admitting he looked handsome, she nodded and stepped away from Alice.

Otto walked closer to the two ladies. "Is everything alright? Do you not like the dress?" He asked Alice, worried expression painted on his face.

"No, I... I quite like it. I just miss my family a lot. Yeah, that's all." She answered. It was a partly true answer, she did miss her family, but the person she missed the most was standing right in front of her.

Otto sighed. "If I could bring them all to you, I would, but for now just your brother will have to do."

"That's enough for me. That's more than enough for me. You're already generous towards me, I shouldn't be complaining." She said, lowering her head.

"If there's anything bothering you or you don't like something, tell me. I'm here for you." He said as he lifted her head up, making her look at him. He didn't even realize what he was doing, but once he did, he quickly turned his head away, blushing.

Elizabeta giggled at the two of them. "Not to be rude, Prince Otto, but you haven't commented on Alice's look so far. Sure it isn't finished, but it's done enough for a little compliment."

Elizabeta's comment only managed to make Otto blush even redder. "I... well... you... pretty..." He babbled out, not even sure himself what he wanted to say.

It worked the magic. Alice was back to smiling and laughing again. Everything went back to how it's supposed to be. Otto was blushing and Alice was smiling.

"I think we should leave soon. Are you finished?" Otto asked.

Elizabeta went white. That's right the ball! And Alice still wasn't ready! "Oh, we gotta finish your hair! Quick!"

Alice was handing out flowers like a machine and Elizabeta made sure every single one of them fit in so well there's no way for Alice to lose any all night.

Otto, meanwhile, watched this mess with confusion and a bit of entertainment. For some reason, it always interested him how women get ready. And now he was wittnessing exactly that.

But his fun didn't last long as they were quickly finished. Elizabeta gathered some of the remaining roses and splashed them in water. Alice came running as soon as she did that and dipped her face into it. She gave her cheeks a few rubs and quickly pulled her head out.

"I'm ready!" She yelled out.

Otto stood in an even bigger confusion. "That was quick."

"Well, now you've seen how girls get ready. Or rather, young girls. For me it takes way longer." Elizabeta interjected.

"Yes, it was interesting. Shall we go now? I have to greet the guests. Would you like to accompany me?" Otto asked Alice.

Alice nodded wholeheartedly. "Yes! Yes! I want to greet my brother!"

Otto smiled. "Okay. Let's go then." He offered Alice his hand and lead her out of the room, leaving a giggling Elizabeta behind them.

...

The hall was crowded with people. Most of them were around the tables, picking out food and chatting with each other, others were standing on the sides, either by themselves or with other people. Alice's mouth fell open when she saw all of them. Sure, she attended balls before as a young girl, but they were never this big. They never felt this lively.

Otto let go of Alice's hand. "I have to do the greeting, you should stay here. When your brother comes, I'll signal you to come out. Is that alright?"

Alice nodded and, just as Otto was about to leave, she grabbed his coat. He stopped and turned back to her smiling face. "Good luck!" She said, drawing closer. Once close enough, she got on the tip of her toes and planted a small kiss on Otto's cheek. The same spot turned red as she stepped away, but in her defence, so did the rest of Otto's face.

His hand went up to the spot, his shocked expression remaining. He allowed his fingers to touch the warm spot where she kissed him. If only she could do that to his entire face. Make it warm like that little spot. How he would love that.

Alice smiled and went back to her position, waving at Otto. He regained his sense of reality and waved back at her before letting the curtain fall so she could remain hidden. At the same time, he wanted to hide her from everyone but himself, but on the other hand, he wanted to show her to everyone. He wanted her to remain a mystery, but he also wanted everyone to know who she is.

"Why are you here and not greeting the guests?" His thoughts were interrupted by the one person who could ruin his dreams of being with Alice, his mother.

"Hello, Mother. I just got here, I'll go right away." He bowed and run away as fast as he could.

Many guests came to be greeted by the prince himself. Some were even coming twice or more. After some time, he lost count, waiting for one specific family and their servant boy. Finally, they came. He noticed a young boy, older by a few years than him, his darker red hair reminded Otto of Alice instantly. They were indeed similar. He was standing next to a much older, dark skinned boy. The Prince of Spain.

"Prince Otto, may I say how happy we are that you're greeting us? We look foward to your eventual rule of the Holy Roman Empire. You will make a great emperor." The Queen of Spain spoke. Or was it the King. Otto wasn't sure. He wasn't listening anyway, just keeping his eyes on the young servant boy.

"Yes, thank you very much. Please enjoy the ball. May I just request a word with the Prince?" Otto said, momentary tearing his eyes away from the boy.

The royal pair nodded as well as the Prince himself. "Of course, Prince Otto." This time he was sure the Queen said it. Or it was indeed the King. They sound too similar. Like they are siblings.'

Feliciano took a moment to laugh. This Ludwig. This Habsburg family joke was too terribly funny to him.

'As soon as they left, Otto spoke. "I heard you got the boy from the Venetian family. May I borrow him for a moment? His sister is here." The moment he said that, the boy's eyes shot up.

He looked at his owner, the Prince of Spain, with such hopeful eyes. It was obvious to everyone that he wanted to see her more than anything. The Prince just sighed and nodded. "I guess that's alright."

The boy smiled delightedly and Otto lead him to where he parted from Alice, showing the curtain away.

As soon as she saw him, Alice squeeled. "It's you! Romano! It's really you!" She screamed, hugging the life out of her brother.

"I'm glad to see you too, but please let me breathe." Romano said, gasping for air, but hugging her tightly.

She loosened up, still smiling as wide as her face allowed it. This was the best thing to ever happen to her. To see her brother again. And looking at him, it was obvious he felt the same.

"Romano, how are you? How have you been? How are they treating you?" Alice asked.

"How long do we have?" Romano asked, turning to Otto, hopeful that the prince would allow them to stay longer together.

Otto smiled at Alice. "Take as long as you wish, but be mindful of the dance. It would be nice to show off your new dress."

Alice returned the smile. "We'll be there. Thank you!" And she took Romano by the hand, leading him to the garden.

Otto left with a smile on his face to greet and meet more guests. His heart now finally in place knowing Alice was happy. Her happiness was enough for him.

...

It was time for the dance to begin. And she was nowhere to be found. Otto looked around the garden, around the halls, he searched the entire castle for her, but she wasn't there. At one point he even considered her to be gone forever. Possibly running away with her brother. He knew this wasn't the case, she was his friend. She would never leave him. But the possibility still lingered on.

Elizabeta spotted him as he walked through the halls with his head lower than the ground itself. "Are you alright, Prince Otto?" She asked, drawing closer to him.

"It's time for the dance and I can't find Alice." He sighed. "I let her leave with her brother, but I told her she should be back before the dance. She wasn't where I left her. I'm just worried something might have happened to her."

"I doubt that's the case, she's clumsy, but she has been more careful since she's been with us. Did you check the ballroom? Maybe she's looking for you as well." Elizabeta said.

Otto looked up at her sadly. "Why would she, Betty? She's with her brother, she doesn't need me."

Elizabeta sighed. These children. "You are her friend. She puts too much trust in you. She knows getting hurt would worry you so she avoids it. Alice doesn't want you to worry. And right now, she's probably worried herself. Do you want her to worry about you?"

"No! Never! I-" he lingered on desparately. "I don't want that..."

"Then let's go look for her together. She probably searched the entire ballroom for you." With that, Elizabeta offered her hand for Otto to hold and the two walked towards the ballroom together.

"I can't find him anywhere!" Frustrated, Alice sat on the nearest bench.

"Why are you so obsessed with him? He'll find you. You said he always does." Romano said, sitting down next to his baby sister.

"Yes, but there were never this many people. How is he supposed to find us with this crowd?"

Romano let out a sigh. "It's not 'us' he's looking for, it's you. Besides, this is his castle, he's the prince, it's not like something can happen to him."

Alice's eyes stretched as wide as they could. What if...? She stood up as quickly as she sat down. "What if something did happen to him? Romano, we have to help! I can't just sit here doing nothing if he's hurt!" She pulled at her brother, desparate to get him to stand.

"Calm down. He's not hurt. If he was, this entire ball would be cancelled." Romano said, finally standing up.

"What if he's hurt and there's no one around to help him and no one around to spread the news and there's blood and-"

"You just want him to ask you for a dance."

Alice paused. "What?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice? The look in your eyes as you speak of him. You fell in love, didn't you Alice?" Romano asked, his stance and voice as firm as a brick. He wasn't letting his sister go without answers.

"No! I..." Alice mumbled. "I didn't... I... never wanted... to feel this way..."

"So you did. Alice, do you realize what you're doing? Easy for him, he'll go without punishment like they always do, but you... Do you really believe the Queen will have mercy on you for even looking at her son? You and your first sight love. You didn't think this through!" Romano almost yelled, but he was careful enough to not get them into any more trouble.

Alice clenched her fists together, breaking away from her brother. Normally, any kind of violence would frighten her, but this. This made her stronger. He made her stronger. "It wasn't love at first sight. I was scared of him. He's the next emperor of the bloody Holy Roman Empire! You know, the ones we fought with! Or did you forget grandpa's stories? And I've spent this whole time crying myself to sleep because I felt I wasn't worthy of even being his friend! I think this through every single damn night! But I'm not going to stop. I refuse to stop, Romano."

Romano stood in shock. He never saw his sister act like this. She was a calm and collected girl when they were all together, living here changed her. And he knew exactly what that trigger of change was. "You're going to get yourself killed like this."

She eased herself down. "So be it."

In that moment, Elizabeta came running towards them. Otto right behind her, face as red as a tomato from all the running.

"There you are! See, Prince Otto, I told you she would be here." Elizabeta said to the young prince as soon as he made his way towards Alice and her brother. He was resisting the urge to hug her as soon as he saw her, but he knew his mother would be watching him in one way or another.

Alice, however, didn't feel any fear from the queen and what she could do to her. She decided that whatever happens will happen anyway. There was no point in worrying over this anymore. So she hugged Otto as close as she could.

If he wasn't too preoccupied by being hugged by the love of his life, Otto would have noticed the look of despise in Romano's eyes. 'He's going to get my sister killed for no reason.' Yet Romano wasn't doing anything about it. This was Alice's choice and not his.

Elizabeta, meanwhile, was shooting death glares with a smile to anyone choosing to look down at the young pair. Nothing should ruin this little moment for them. Not the queen. Not Otto's brothers. Not Rod. Not even Romano was spared from a glare of hers. She gave Otto a little nudge to remind him where he was.

Shooting up like a cannon, Otto blurted out. "Do you want to dance with me?"

That took Alice, Romano and even Otto himself by surprise. However, the positive reaction of Alice eased everyone. The pair finally letting go of each other only for Otto to grab Alice's hand, fingers softly brushing against one another. He led her away from the staring crowd to the dancing circle that was forming in the middle of the ballroom, soft but playful music playing in the background.

Otto pulled Alice closer to himself, trying his hardest not to blush at her soft small giggles. Putting his free hand on her waist, he spun her. Both finally giving themselves to music and letting it guide them in their little dance. Soon, however, they couldn't hear anything. The music. The comments. Everything stopped for them. Now it was just each other. It was all that mattered anyway.'

 Quick reminder to read @juliussneezerfics ‘s new story: Blood Red Lilies and Baby Blue Cornflowers because it’s the bomb!

[bookendbookbegin]

Book Review: “Enchantée” by Gita Trelease

(Contains spoilers)

The words printed on these pages read with the same beautiful, electrifying magic that flows through the veins of our heroine.

Camille Durbonne is an orphan living in 1789 Paris, France, a city and nation ripe for revolution. Struggling to provide for herself, her sister, Sophie, and brother, Alain, Camille must turn to the sorrowful art of magic to help them survive. She begins gambling at the Palace of Versailles, using her magic to cheat the odds and win. There, she is swept into the marvelous aristocratic life she has always spurned. The more time spent at Versailles, the more difficult it becomes for Camille to reconcile her true self with her noble persona – Cécile Descharlots, Baroness de la Fontaine. And all the while, sinister plots and revolution loom.

Twice now, I have read this book. And neither time have I been able to put it down! In this debut novel, Gita Trelease presents herself as an author of exceptional skill, enchanting readers right from the start. As readers join Camille in her endeavor to find stability in her awfully turbulent life, they also find themselves journeying through a very realistic representation of France during the late-1700s. Readers live through the Tennis Court Oath and the Storming of the Bastille vicariously by way of Camille and the other characters.

The fantastical elements in this novel in no way detract from the aspects of realism. As a matter of fact, it becomes almost believable that magic did exist. I particularly like that magic has its limits and concessions – one cannot simply use magic to achieve whatever they desire. Yet, as Camille discovers, the world of magic is grander than she originally assumes. La magie is much more than transforming scrap metal into money; a magician can change not only objects, but also themselves. Camille reinvents herself as the Baroness de la Fontaine in order to gamble at Versailles, but must still labor – so to speak – such that she may secure the necessary money to support her family.

This novel is quite like a Bildungsroman, with Camille coming into her own and whatnot. She suffers many hardships throughout the novel, but nevertheless, she does grow from and overcome them, finding her authentic self by the end. Furthermore, Camille’s courtship with Lazare is just so beautiful and true! Amidst the half-truths and court whispers, these two remain dedicated to each other, even if their intentions are sometimes lost due to Camille’s double-life as Cécile. One of my few critiques of this novel is Camille’s inability to recognize Lazare’s feelings for her (at least before meeting as Marquis and Baroness). Despite her intelligence, she can be rather naïve, and this stark contrast in her personality is one I had difficulty synthesizing at the beginning of the novel. However, as Camille matures, she does indeed outgrow her naïveté.

In addition to Camille and Lazare…what an amazing cast of characters! Though not at all without flaws, they do garner a special place in our hearts. I am very much looking forward to their appearances (hopefully) in the sequel, Liberté, releasing in 2021.

Besides my dislike of Camille’s initial naïveté, I have two main critiques: the tragic nature of the antagonist, and the novel’s pacing. The main antagonist, the Vicomte de Séguin, is truly wretched. Disguised as the perfect, courtly gentlemen, something wicked lies beneath the surface, hidden by his glamoire. Yet, there are moments throughout the novel – particularly at the end – where we readers are exposed to his humanity, however limited it may be. As he lay dying, he reveals to Camille why he was so desperate for her sorrow, her magic. Although never burdened with financial worry, he too, like Camille, was at risk of losing everything. Still, his racism, manipulation of Alain, and abusive treatment of Camille and Sophie does not warrant him any sympathy. Camille’s magic did threaten her treasured relationships, but she never once actively sought to harm another in order to realize her goals.

As aforementioned, my second critique of this novel is the pacing. “Critique” may not the best word; perhaps pacing is more of a personal preference for some than an actual criticism. The writing is extremely detailed, packed with visual imagery, that can remove or detach readers briefly from the story. Personally, I adore descriptive writing. When used effectively (as it is in Enchantée), I believe it adds so much depth to a narrative. Whilst rereading this novel, I noticed literary devices I had most likely skimmed over on my first read, and these techniques greatly enhanced my understanding and love of the story, and my appreciation for Trelease’s writing.

Enchantée is such a unique book within the historical fiction/fantasy genre, and I highly recommend it, especially to those who fit into any of the following categories:

1)    Love history;

2)    Have a love of France & the French language;

3)    Prefer novels with descriptive prose;

4)    Consider either historical fiction and/or fantasy favorite genres.

Rating: 4.5/5

Read Enchantée? Tell me: What were your thoughts?

[toomuchtimenerd]

Review for ‘A Curse So Dark and Lonely’ by Brigid Kemmerer

Aaaand here’s yet another popular retelling of ‘Beauty and the Beast’. So something to know about me - I LOVE fairy tale retellings. I grew up on a lot of fairy tales, lots of Disney princess movies (most of which are based off fairy tales or in the case of Mulan, a ballad/folk legend). I’m pretty sure growing up I had this giant anthology of a bunch of old European fairy tales that had been adapted for children’s reading. I’m pretty sure my love for magic, fantasy, and all kinds of other-worldly things stems from how much I read and re-read everything in that kid’s anthology as an eight year old or something. Nowadays, I am on the lookout for anthologies with adaptations of folk lore from other cultures. Hopefully I will soon find some that seem promising.

So A Curse So Dark and Lonely is, interestingly, not a stand-alone and its sequel came out earlier this month. I opted to stop after the first book and not pick up the sequel, for reasons that I will divulge in later. A Curse, like The Cruel Prince, has incredibly favorable reviews on Goodreads, and for good reason really. It’s just unfortunate that neither of these two books quite hit the spot for me. Perhaps in the future I will pick up the sequel for A Curse, but with the third book planned for a late 2021 release I probably will not be reading A Curse So Fierce and Broken anytime soon. Something already tells me that I may have to put recreational reading on the back burner for an extended period of time once again when I go back to school. Sadface

A Curse So Dark and Lonely loosely follows the widely known story line for ‘Beauty and the Beast’, with notable changes in that the main character (Harper) has cerebral palsy and is transported from our non-magical contemporary world to the magical kingdom of Emberfall. Our Prince Rhen does not adopt the appearance of a beast 24/7, but rather transforms into one at the end of the repeating autumn season. In his transformed state, he has a penchant for violence and generally does not retain any sense of mind or humanity. When he yet again fails to win a woman’s love, the season will restart to the day of his 18th birthday and he will have to try again with a new woman. Rhen is accompanied only by the sole survivor of his first transformation, a royal guard named Grey. Grey was given the power to go to Harper’s world and take a woman to bring back to Emberfall for Rhen to court. This entire curse was brought down by an enchantress named Lilith, who apparently exists only to torture everyone’s existence. Harper wasn’t originally chosen by Grey, but Harper witnessed Grey “abducting” an unconscious woman and chose to interfere, which leads to her transportation into Emberfall. 

So let’s talk about the obvious; the representation of disabled peoples in this book via our protagonist Harper. She has cerebral palsy, and this is made very clear within the first chapter of the book. Props to the author for not OVER-emphasizing Harper’s disability, though. I love representation, and I believe in the power of representation, but I’m not a fan of when representation goes too far and it becomes the sole definition of a character’s existence. It comes off as lazy writing when a character brings no substance or value aside from the fact that they represent some kind of minority group. However, this isn’t the case here and I think Kemmerer did a wonderful job of blending Harper’s cerebral palsy into the background, yet not enough for the reader to completely forget that she is living with a disability. There are times when Harper is in a lot of pain and isn’t able to do certain things as easily as other people can, but her perseverance/grit/determination shows us that she is still just like any other human being trying to get by. She doesn’t view herself as a victim of her disability either, it’s just something she was born with and has learned to live with. It is a part of her, and even if she doesn’t like it she has learned to accept it as a part of her. I think Kemmerer sends a beautiful message in portraying Harper’s attitude with her cerebral palsy: there is no need to feel victimized by one’s disability, and there is no need to hate oneself for it either.

Outside of Harper’s disability, she is a very standard YA fantasy heroine - hardworking, passionate, cautious, determined, guarded. Is it bad that I’m getting a little bit tired of this character trope? I kind of want to see a heroine who isn’t so perfect, and I kind of want to see someone who is a little whiny or bratty at first but then grows from their hardships and experiences. Harper, like many YA fantasy heroines, just seems to start out incredibly likable (or maybe too likable) with the perfect package of personality traits. Now I’m not necessarily complaining about this, but I definitely would’ve liked to see a little more substance from Harper outside of just “I need to find a way to get home and I’m going to keep rebelling until I do”. Obviously this wasn’t her as a character the ENTIRE book, but it definitely was more or less the only thing passing through her mind for maybe the first 40% of the book. Another issue I took with her (or maybe not even her as a character, maybe it’s an issue I have with the book itself) is her wishywashy-ness in regards to her feelings. For pretty much the entire book up until Grey takes her home, Harper at best only deeply cares about and respects Rhen. But in the last 20% of the book when Grey takes her back to Emberfall to face the transformed Rhen, Harper suddenly proclaims her love for him and is willing to pretty much give herself up to Lilith to spare Rhen and Grey. That’s a huge change in emotions, and according to the book timeline this change of feelings happens over the course of like... 36 hours or something. And then the book ends on a MASSIVE ambiguity over whether the curse was broken because Harper truly loved Rhen, or if it was because Grey had succeeded in killing Lilith. So, we went from “I deeply care for you and I find comfort in your company” to “I would DIE for you” to “did the curse break because I love you? Idk” over the course of like... 3-4 chapters? Uhhhhh. Yeah I’ve got questions.

Now I know this review is coming off as pretty negative, and not gonna lie I don’t think I was a big fan of this retelling but I certainly don’t think it was bad either. Rhen’s character development was so captivating and surprising because most YA authors generally don’t pay much attention into developing the male lead as much as the heroine. In all honesty, Harper began pretty perfect with very little room for growth so she her character progression just seemed to stagnate to me. But Rhen starts off as a meh character who didn’t seem to learn all that much from his countless failures of wooing women during his cursed time and progresses into a very selfless leader (re: true KING). He goes from isolating himself in his castle while trying to break the curse to nearly ignoring the curse so he could focus on protecting and caring for his people. I guess it’s pretty obvious that I really liked Rhen as a character, and I personally think he deserves a lot better than that ending we got. It wasn’t a bad ending, and I think Kemmerer wanted to be original in creating a somewhat ambiguous ending. But as a hardcore romance junkie I think I may have a narrow scope of what my heart can tolerate for any retelling of ‘Beauty and the Beast’. 

And finally, let’s talk about Grey. He’s not a POV character in this first book, but he’s in almost every single chapter and he plays a pretty big role. At the beginning I thought I was going to get a load of a love triangle, but thank GOD that wasn’t the case. I’m all for originality, but my mind will never be okay with a love triangle in ‘Beauty and the Beast’. It’s beauty and the fucking beast!! Not beauty and the beast featuring Ludacris!! Is it obvious that I don’t like love triangles to begin with? Yeah. Anyway, Grey is an interesting character. I kind of saw the epilogue coming, because for a side character Grey was too fleshed out and well developed (considering side characters rarely are, except for my one true love Despina from Wrath and the Dawn). But nevertheless, I quite enjoyed Grey! In the beginning of the story I felt like he served almost as a foil to Rhen. They were quite the opposites in terms of personality, but they ultimately are working towards the same goal. Watching Grey’s relationship with Harper unfold on paper was also quite nice. Unlike Rhen, Grey starts off kinda antagonizing Harper (with good reason, considering their first encounter consisted of her attacking him). Rhen is kind and very elaborate in his words and manners with Harper, but Grey very much the opposite. He speaks simply, he’s a man of actions, and is mostly very detached from his emotions. I actually felt his character complimented Harper’s character quite well (considering her own emotional detachment), and I think this is what Kemmerer was going for anyway since Harper does actually warm up to Grey much quicker than she warms up to Rhen. 

Some last thoughts to wrap it up - while I understand that Kemmerer wanted to bridge the gap between this book and its sequel, I felt that she pulled WAY too much of the spotlight from Rhen/Harper and onto Grey. The ending between Rhen/Harper felt incredibly rushed, and again I just don’t think I like the ambiguity over what actually broke the curse. I was thinking about giving A Curse So Dark and Lonely a 4-star rating for most of the book up until the end, and now I’m thinking it’s more like a 3.5 star from me. The last couple of chapters were heavily action-packed, and Kemmerer’s way of tying up the lose strings (pushing the foreign army out of Emberfall) was very creative. But the ending following all of that action was just so... bland and unexciting. It was like dumping a large tub of water on a small campfire that was just starting to grow warm. I like Grey as character, but not enough to want to read the sequel where he stars as a POV just yet. 

[justfangstvdto]

Open Coffin | Chapter 14: “Hello My Old Heart”

Pairing: Kol x SalvatoreSister!Reader

Warnings: fluff galore, splashes of angst here and there, canon divergence

Word count: 2873

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Open Coffin Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

The windows are stained with the remains of the storm that had rolled through in the late hours of the night.

Like the weather, your storm has calmed as well. The raging sea containing the nights spent alone, the hatred towards Klaus and bloodlust calmed to a soothing, smooth as a mirror ocean, where only the breeze forms tiny, patterned waves.

You feel your heart beating like it hasn´t for a hundred years, almost as if your heart is saying, “hello old friend, miss me?”

You cannot even begin to fathom it the warming feeling of tranquillity settling in your bones.

Neither can Kol as he traces his fingers over the delicate skin over your shoulder blades.

Your head is propped up on his chest, resting on your arm. Clothes are scattered on the safehouse´s smooth concrete flooring, leaving a trail to the enormous bed. You could barely keep your hands off each other when you finally found Mae´s safehouse.

Kol´s eyes are entirely focused on you, hanging on each constellation of words that come out of your mouth, puzzling together to moments he couldn´t experience with you. Still, he listens intently, his lips curved into a smile while you tell your tales.

“And that's how I came back here. Hunting your brother and a decoy. It was a mess.”

“Forget the diamond.” He says and you look at him with the most surprised look, making him laugh ”I´m here, we´re here and nothing comes close to paradise. Not even a life with Nik lying in a box.”

“So we´re just letting him get away with it?” You ask, more than curious about his sudden change of plans.

“No. We lie in wait, let him bask in safety - that's when we'll strike.”

“Stabbing him in the back, huh? Sounds dangerous and absolutely insane.” You say tracing your finger over his bare chest “ I love it.”

“I knew you would.”

“But enough about your brother. We can finally do whatever we want, let's not waste it with talking about him.”

“Whatever we want?” Kol raises an eyebrow “Then I want to do this” He tucks at your arm resting on his chest with care, pulling you into him. He plants kiss after kiss on your lips, melting into each one.

“I think we done that plenty.” You try to get out in between his mouth devouring yours.

“Don't tell me you're sick of me already?”

“Never in a million years.” You trace your fingers over his skin, the raindrops reflecting on it with the first light of the rising sun. He´is breathtakingly beautiful.

“What?” He asks, your persistent gazing awaking the butterflies in his stomach.

“You’re handsome”

He raises his eyebrow and you could swear there's the slightest blush on his cheeks. “Shouldn't I be the one complimenting you?”

“Hey, you deserve compliments too. Especially when you look so… luscious.”

“Luscious?” He chuckles.

“Luscious.” You lean in and he closes his eyes anticipating your lips on his, but you pull away as they're about to touch, rolling off the bed to grab Kol´s shirt on the floor. It's still the same shirt he wore back in 1914.

“You're evil ” Kol sighs in frustration.

“Or hungry. Probably both. No, definitely both.” You wink at him before disappearing out of the door, the scent of Kol´s shirt accompanying you the whole way.

Kol smiles, drops his head back on the pillow,  the realization of your reunion only now setting in, burning in his chest with such intensity he fears he´d combust any second.

He forgot how it felt being with you, and now that he finally experienced it again, he will never let go.

A few hours earlier at the Boarding House

Stefan's finger is hovering over your name on the bright screen of his phone, hesitant to gather the courage to call you. There's this tightness in his chest he can only interpret as guilt on how he handles things.

Yes, he is still angry, and yes he cannot believe that you are the cause of his and most of all, Elena´s suffering. But then again, your actions are no different than anything he or Damon have done in the past.

He brings his thumb down, then up again, then down once more before he gives up and throws the phone behind him, landing on his bed.

You probably would not have picked up anyway. Or at least that's how he rationalized it.

The sudden sound of Damon cursing loudly downstairs startles him, his interest peaked.

"What is this?" He asks as he approaches the filled table

“Not now, baby bro, I'm researching.”

The sheer amount of opened books and excessively hammering on the keyboard startle him. Damon is not the type to excessively do anything besides drink or throw sarcasm around. But researching? On his own? Never.

“Researching? You?” Stefan says, rounding the table.

"Ha! I found something.  Maeyra Cain, tried by the nine covens and sentenced to death by hanging in New Orleans in 1719. Yeah, obviously not true.” Damon scoffs “A delinquent witch, huh? Interesting.”

“Why are you googling Y/N´s friend?”

"First of all she's creepy, second of all, she shows up right when the original family ditch their coffins? A little suspicious don´t you think?"

“Don´t tell me you´re worried about Y/N´s safety.”

“I'm not.”

“Clearly.” Stefan points to the several books on the table.

“Shut up and get back to, I don´t know, grooming your hero hair. I have work to do. “ He waves him off but Stefan doesn´t budge.

“Damon. “

“What, Stefan?!”

"If you´re so worried about her why don't you talk to her?”

"Why don´t you?" He counters and takes Stefan´s following silence as agreement to the fact that he too is still holding a grudge  "Exactly. Now stop breathing down my neck."

Stefan leaves the room but looks back once to see Damon pick up his phone hovering over presumably your phone number as well.

The fact that Damon is worried about the company you keep is a very good sign he might come around in the end.

Maybe there's hope after all.

Y/N | Safe House

You didn't actually get to enjoy the much of your “meal” because Kol swept you off your feet, literally, which eventually resulted in slow dancing in the enormous kitchen, an old-tunes radio station softy playing in the background.

“Where do you want to go first?”You say, lifting your head that was nuzzled in his neck “Back to New Orleans or Rome, maybe Greece? Uh, we could start in New York, it´ll blow your mind!”

It's more than obvious how excited you are to show him the new world he has yet to experience. You haven't been that full of energy and tranquillity for centuries.

“Everywhere.” He says and rests his forehead against yours“As long as you're with me.”

“You think I´ll ever let you go again? No chance.” You shake your head “You´re stuck with me.”

“And there is not a single soul in this universe I´d rather be stuck with.” He says, “Just you and only you.”

As his whiskey eyes gaze into yours, the following truth surfaces that has been clear as day for a century: You are, and you will always be in love with Kol. And the most thrilling part about it, he will love you equally, come what may.

The annoyingly alerting sound of your phone that has been lying on the kitchen counter ever since you came back, tears through the magical moment and Kol jumps slightly, not used to sounds like this suddenly appearing.

“Sorry I forgot you’re not used to these things.” You turn around to get a hold of your phone as Kol´s arms already sick around you, his head resting on your shoulder. It seems that he still has to remind himself that your real.

That he's really here.

“It's Mae. She wants to meet both of us. Some kind of emergency.” You hoped you would have more time alone before the drama begins. But a promise is a promise, even if she forced it on you. That's just how she is.

“Way to ruin the moment.” He groans, annoyed by her interference.

“I know that you two didn't get off to the best start, and Mae is well...Mae, so I understand you might not be her biggest fan, but I trust her. And you trust me, right?”

“More than anyone.”

“Then trust me that I know that she's not here to hurt us, okay? Besides she's not that bad if you get to know her. Once you crack that shell of hers, you´ll like her as much as I do.”

“Okay. I will try to be….more considerate.”

“Good. Now, as much as I hate to say this, you should probably put a shirt on.”

What a shame indeed.

Mae said to meet at a diner on Route 20 that's leading through Mystic Falls.

“Is this proper attire in this century?” Kol asks looking down at his, in his eyes, modern clothing as he walks up the steps leading to the diner “Seems..informal.”

“That's the point. People don't usually wear suits anymore unless it's a special occasion.”

“Tell that to Elijah.” Kol snickers and opens the door for you, a gesture others might find strange in this day in age, but you always found it flattering.

“You want a booth?” The overly energetic waitress asks as the doorbell subsided after your entrance.

“Actually we're meeting someone.” You say looking around the packed diner “Dark hair, about yay high, looks like she wants to rip your throat out with her teeth?”

The waitresses welcoming smile drops, and she points down the long checkered-tiled hall “Last booth on the right.”

You finally spot her, flipping through the large menu on the table. She looks up as you approach the table,

“There you are!!  I went through the menu 4 times already. This diner sucks.” She says as you slide into the red leathered booth.

Kol follows behind, sighing, visibly uncomfortable by Mae´s presences. Something about her seems to rub him the wrong way. However, perhaps the century-long daggering made him only paranoid.

“Ain't happy to see me I take it?” Mae asks when she senses Kol´s discomfort.

“I don't like you.” He says bluntly. He can´t ignore how on edge he feels around her, almost the same intensity when he's around Klaus, which is almost hysterical because she couldn't actually hurt him in any way. Unlike his brother.

“So?” Mae scoffs without any emotional indication “I don't need you to like me, matter of fact, most people don´t.”

“Mae, just get to the point.” You interrupt, knowing she would give one of her speeches if you didn´t “What's going on? Why are we here?”

She slides over a white card, the word Invitation plated with gold on the front “Seems like mommy dearest decided to throw a party.  And she wants to talk to you.” Mae says as you flip the card, the words “I believe it's time we got formally introduced - Esther” scribbled on the back.

“To me, why? And how did you get this?” You ask as the waitress comes over but Mine just waves her away. She's never been very polite.

“Because believe it or not, I'm invited as well.” Mae flips another invitation on the table “Both of you invitations came with mine. As for why she wants to talk to you, well, it ain't good, that's for sure.”

“Let them have their pathetic party, we´re not setting foot in that house.” Kol throws slides the card back over the table, dismissing the idea to join his families gathering.

“Oh, no we're definitely going.” She and looks at you “ We had a deal, remember?”

“A deal?” Kol asks surprised, not knowing why you haven't mentioned it earlier.

“Look, I thought you would never come back so I agreed to help her before leaving town. We can still leave after this. One last hurrah, and we´re gone, okay? Besides, when have you ever declined a party invitation?

He didn´t. But this gathering isn't like any other. He fears the worst if his mother comes into contact with you. And he´ll be damned if he let anything happen to you.

“Fine, but if I hear more than a rumour about hers or my families intention, we´re leaving.”

“Just to ease that worried mind of yours,” Mae says, “you´re barking up the wrong tree here. You don't have to worry about my intentions. I´m on your side.”

“That remains to be seen,” Kol replies, staring at her with slightly narrowed eyes that usually makes his opponents blood run cold.

“Can we talk about the plan, please? You do have one, right?”

“Have you met me? I always have a plan. And this one is very simple.” Mae says and leans back “Esther already wishes to speak to you, so you need to tell me everything she says. “

“And you care, why?” Kol asks, not sure why she wouldn't be interested in what his mother had to say.

“My interest is irrelevant. I´m here to keep that coffin of yours open and empty, and to ensure that no harm befalls you two or your family.”

“But why?” You broach the subject again ”Why do you care about Esther's scheme? IF she's even planning one. It's not like it personally affects you.”

“It does. It affects all of us. I heard that her lacky Finn was spotted gathering supplies for a spell and considering she´s one, one of the most powerful witches alive and second, a Mikaelson has me suspicious.” “No offense.” She says and briefly looks at Kol “I rather know what she's up to than remaining clueless.”

“Whatever my mother is planning, she won't succeed.” Kol states “Not a spell nor a reunion.”

“We'll see, won't we? Anyway, you know what to do. Go get dressed up; there´s plenty of clothing back in the house. I need to get out of this greasy dump.” She tucks the menu back into the holder “See you later.”

You and Kol look at each other, knowing that your plans to leave town just got postponed for at least an evening. An evening in the lion's den once more, this time with a pride of them in one house.

It´s gonna be one hell of an evening, one way or another.

The foyer of the Mikaelson Mansion is already packed with waiting and chatting people reaching all the way to the large closed double swing door. There´s champagne everywhere, as are decorations, typical to a Mikaelson party.

“I already loathe this.” Kol mumbles, followed by a deep exhale.

He scans the room quickly before he spots Mayor Lockwood talking to Damon. He recognized her from a picture you showed through the quick briefing back at the house.

 “Mayor Lockwood. We haven't formally met.” He takes her hand and plants a kiss on her hand to impress her “Kol Mikaelson. I hope your lovely town embraces us just as much as we plan to embrace it.”

Damon holds out his hand as well, pretending they haven't met already “Damon Salvatore. Have we met?”

Kol looks at his hand and but doesn't shake it and rather intertwined it with yours instead “I've met a lot of people. And you don't particularly stand out.” He fakes a smile and brushes past him, their shoulders colliding.

“Did you see his face?” You chuckle, covering up the fact that Damon didn't even acknowledge you, nor addressed you back there. He seemed even more distant than usual.

You walk further into the reception area, arms intertwined as Mae steps out of the shadows like she usually does “Whew! You two look sharp I like it!”

“You cleaned yourself up nicely as well.”

“To be honest, I'd rather wear boots under this dress, but one needs to blend in once in a while, right?”   “Or not”

You follow her gaze and immediately roll them at the sight of Elena, wearing the most enormous ball gown in the room “What the hell is she doing here?”

“Oh, this is gonna get interesting.”Mae smiles feeling the drama already rising, just how she likes it.

It will be interesting indeed. However interesting might be the understatement of the century in this case.

A/N: I had severe trouble with this chapter, out whatever reason, so if anything feels rushed, out of place or whatever that might be the reason. HOWEVER I am so excited for the next one.  The Mikaelson ball is one of my favorite episodes, hopefully the next chapter will do the original episode justice. 

Open Coffin Tags:  @shadyladyperfection @thegoddessofvampire @newurleans @originalbish98 @christinalibertymikaelson @acourtofhopeanddreams @bonniebird @imnoaingeal @onlygodcanjudgeme-sh @vaniileiinkeks  @relmi-llorrac @piercethepottorff @maliae14  @5-seconds-of-animals @captain-amelia-bradley  @rock-n-magick @flymeawayworld @givemesomehybrid @mikealsonlover @nuteller28 @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @drkplum @fandooomqueenforyou @free-the-fangirl @clockworkballerina @twisted1ginger @superwholocksociopath474   @pacifyprincessxo @mustachio1616 @thealyana @sandyclaws @unicorntrooper @buckysummers @sanity-is-overratedxp @akshi8278 @lunna-star-8 @graysonmalfoy @woodworthti666 @elenavaldez02 @lilulo-12 @selmasemlan @thelostallycat @characterobsessed @cococola-cocaine @crazyinternetgirl @tvdplusriverdale @-thatgirloverthere-  @alwxadria345

[red-streaks]

herbology 101: never read from a wizard’s book

mildred and miss hardbroom and art. oh, a funny little herb that starts it all.

or, read on ao3

“Miss Hardbroom?”

A small voice drifts through her closed door. Hecate looks at her timepiece and notices its gone past 8:30, a time she usually spends revising her classroom notes.

As it has been the tradition for the past four terms, Mildred Hubble’s name is at the top of her page, underlined three times with such force that the paper almost tears.

Confiscated coloring pencils for using them in the middle of creating a sleeping drought, reads the neat handwriting next to her name.

“Miss Hardbroom, it’s um, Mildred. Hubble?” There’s another timid knock, and Hecate sighs deeply, turning the page of her journal. “I just…had a question, please?”

“Come in,” she says tiredly, opening the door with a flick of her wrist. She already knows Mildred is going to try and weasel her way out of getting her coloring pencils back, and Miss Hardbroom is in for a long rambling filled with excuses.

“What question could you possibly have a half hour before lights out?”

“Um,” Mildred enters the classroom sheepishly, head peeking in behind the potions lab’s door before her entire body follows. “I was in the library studying for tomorrow’s class because I don’t actually know what an assimilation spell- uh, potion does and I found a book that explained it rather well, but uh…” She pauses and considers her next words, an apprehensive look on her face.

Miss Hardbroom’s eyebrows rise higher and higher with every word she says and she finds that she can’t quite yet respond to Mildred even if she wanted to.

When was the last time she had caught the girl in the library past dinnertime? Miss Hardbroom can’t ever recall a time Mildred was anywhere else but with Maud and Enid in their rooms after dinner.

“Well,” Mildred starts before falling silent again. Miss Hardbroom feels a trickle of annoyance at her hesitancy. “The book’s pages are really old, and some of the pictures are faded and it says that you need calendula to prepare it but I really don’t know what that is, either, and there’s no picture of it anywhere in the library and I couldn’t find it in the supply closet, so I tried going by the description in the book but  -.”

“Mildred,” Miss Hardbroom interrupts, and folds her hands over each other in a perfect picture of composure, something she very much does not feel. “What is your question?”

“Um,” Mildred looks scared, suddenly, and her gaze falls to the ground. Miss Hardbroom notices just then that the girl is hugging a rather large journal in her arms, her braids falling over it. “Is…is this what a calendula plant looks like?” She asks timidly, and unceremoniously drops the journal, jostling the entire table.

“It’s a herb,” Miss Hardbroom says distractedly, watching closely as Mildred opens the book up and flips hurriedly through the pages.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and frowns in concentration. “It’s somewhere in here…”

Miss Hardbroom catches a glimpse of a Hypnapillion intricately designed in a dozen different colors and the tail end of a salamander’s vibrant yellow body before Mildred let’s the book fall open to the only page without any color at all.

She pushes the book a little closer to Miss Hardbroom, shakily inhales what she must believe is a small, inconspicuous breath, and takes a tiny step back.

Directly below her nose, Miss Hardbroom can barely contain her surprise at what she sees. She tries, Merlin, she tries her hardest but Miss Hardbroom’s eyebrows feel as if they’re going to lift straight out of her face.

“Does it? Look like a calendula, I mean,” Mildred asks, straining her neck to peer into her own book.

“Hardly,” Miss Hardbroom replies instinctively and tries not to feel too bad when Mildred’s shoulder slumps. But it truly doesn’t. The herb she’s looking for comes in cloves of three and is shaped rather peculiarly with bright blue dots adorning each of its six sides. Mildred’s has three sides and specks of ink spattered over each leaf, a poor imitation.

Miss Hardbroom purses her lips and mulls over how best to show her before she materializes a feather quill and poises it over thin air.

“The shape is more accurately drawn like this,” she says as a piece of parchment appears the second she moves the quill. When she’s finished, she looks up and sees Mildred swaying on her toes, trying her hardest to see the rough drawing upside down.

“Oh,” she mumbles and scrunches her nose. “That’s an es-estoile?” The word sounds unfamiliar coming from her tongue.

“Why, yes,” Miss Hardbroom says, frowning. “A star that has six-sides. Surely, you learned this at a younger age, Mildred Hubble.”

“Uh, yeah.” Mildred flushes. “But in school- ah, in non-magical schools, they teach it as a hexagon. I didn’t – I didn’t understand what an estoile was. In the book I was reading, I mean.”

Miss Hardbroom opens her mouth, but she finds that she doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Ah,” she settles on at last, unoriginal and plainly unimaginative. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Mildred croaks and there’s an awkward pause where neither of them say a thing and stare at a random spot on the wall.

“I’ll just read the description again, anyways.” Mildred shrugs and moves to take her book back. “I only wanted to draw it so I could memorize it. Sorry to bother you, Miss Hardbroom.”

Mildred wraps her hands around the heavy cover of her journal and Miss Hardbroom feels the sudden need to snatch it back just to leaf through it.

She despises art, doesn’t see the purpose in its frivolity but there is something about Mildred’s eyes as she looks down dejectedly that makes her open her mouth and say, “Which book did you read the description from?”

“Well,” Mildred frowns, and scuffs the toe of her boot against the floor. “The author’s name was Leon, um, Star- Star...”

“Leon Stargazer,” Miss Hardbroom finishes and materializes the book Mildred was just reading from into her open hand. “Herbs and their Magical Properties.”

“Yup,” Mildred nods her head, rising on the tips of her toes to look at the book. “That one.”

Miss Hardbroom looks down at the old weathered book, notices the way Mildred is itching to get her hands on it and quietly resigns herself to a late night of impromptu tutoring. If Mildred is willing to show up, Miss Hardbroom is willing to stay.

“Find the page,” she says, and sets the book down gingerly on top of Mildred’s journal. “And show me.”

Mildred does a funny little thing with her face, almost as if she wants to smile but doesn’t know if she’s allowed to. Miss Hardbroom sniffs and points rather obviously to the book, still sitting there unopened.

“Carefully,” she adds as an afterthought but realizes she needn’t had warned her because the girl is slowly turning the pages with just the barest hint of contact. The book, Miss Hardbroom thinks, is either very, very old, or Mildred Hubble truly does not want to be sent away.

This is the thought that makes her rise and circle around the table to stand next to Mildred, the thought that makes her unfurl her hands and wait patiently until Mildred presents the passage she had been studying.

“Truly abysmal,” Miss Hardbroom mutters four sentences in, itching to spill her red ink all over it. “This will not do. Some wizards should never have been given a spot on the shelf among great witches, Mildred Hubble, and you’ll do well to remember that.”

She doesn’t expect the small giggle that comes about the height of her stomach, or the surrounding warmth that spreads across her face, but she turns on an expert heel and makes her way to her cupboards with faked ease.

“You may examine my sample, but you are not allowed to take it out its jar, do you understand?”

“May I open it?” Mildred bounces on the balls of her feet and Miss Hardbroom thinks she shouldn’t be quite so excited, but she notices the way the girl picks up her journal with enthusiasm and takes a pencil somewhere from behind one of her braids.

“Do not store your utensils in your hair, Mildred,” she tries to scold, but the girl is rushing past her and settling quickly into the stool she usually sits at during class.

In less than twelve hours, Mildred will be back to sit at that very same stool, and she will know the answer to what shape calendula blossoms into at the end of a full moon. All because she wanted to.

“You may open it, yes,” Miss Hardbroom all but whispers, turning slowly to face her cupboard again. Mildred beams.

Beams.

Right at Miss Hardbroom.

Her hands are not shaking when she reaches for the singular clove she’s stored as backup for tomorrow’s class, and her breathing is under control when she unscrews the cap.

But her blood is singing with unrestrained surprise – surprise at Mildred, at her journal, at herself for not noticing what the young witch is always doodling away at.

When she reaches Mildred’s table, she notices her own crude drawing being carefully glued to the empty page next to Mildred’s attempt. A small cat appears at the right corner of the page, stretches slowly and then walks right out of the page, as if it were never there in the first place.

“Smells funny,” Mildred interrupts her thoughts. “Like pumpkins.”

“It has a peculiar smell, yes. Do you know when it is best harvested?”

Mildred shakes her head slowly, then abruptly, stands up taller.

“Only every other full moon! Starting in the second week of spring,” she rapidly says and sits back with an astounded look on her face, as if she’s surprised herself.

“The third week,” she corrects, and watches as Mildred’s eyes dim. “But a good answer, nonetheless.”

She’s never been one to coddle students. Never been the type of teacher that gives out praise for the sake of it. But she has always been the type of academic who learns from her mistakes, and is rewarded with that truth when Mildred shoots her a confused little smile.

“You have until I finish revising my notes to draw this.” She cannot help the sneer that graces her lips at the word, but she nods sharply at Mildred and turns towards her desk without further comment.

She goes through her lesson plan for the first years once more, tweaking things she suddenly does not find fitting, cleans out the cauldron that Beatrice Bunch left simmering for too long and burned, unnecessarily recounts her ingredients for tomorrow and finally takes a curious look towards Mildred’s station.

The girl is tugging at the end of one of her braids, head tilted to the side as her pencil flies over her paper.

Appearing silently behind her desk, Miss Hardbroom peeks over Mildred’s shoulder and sees a pencil replica of the herb sitting in front of her. If Miss Hardbroom hadn’t heard the light scratching noise of the pencil, she would have thought Mildred pulled the herb straight out of the paper with her hands.

“Impressive,” she mumbles and makes Mildred jump.

“Miss Hardbroom!” Mildred screeches, and throws her charcoal stained arms over the drawing. “It- It isn’t ready.”

“My…apologies,” Miss Hardbroom says, if only to keep herself from chuckling at the way Mildred glares at her over her shoulder. Before she rounds the table though, she takes another peek and notices the notes on the margins.

Green, reads Mildred’s messy handwriting, and an arrow points to the end of one of the leaves.

Red, another points to the stem.

Purple during the summer, another reads messily.

As Miss Hardbroom walks back to her station, she feels her magic surge from her fingertips almost instinctively, almost without thought.

“Ten minutes, Mildred,” she says, and ignores the open-mouthed looks of astonishment that Mildred is directing towards her box of coloring pencils, suddenly perched at the end of her desk. “And do not think I will not give you detention if that jar does not find itself back on its proper place before time is up.”

“I’m sure you would, Miss Hardbroom,” Mildred tries saying very seriously, but laughs at the last possible second.

Miss Hardbroom sniffs and turns a random page over.

I really would, she thinks, but she finds herself fighting back a smile.

[perahn]

Codex Entry #6

… the darkness roils, lightning forking within it and splitting it into pieces. They ring around me, amorphous save for the reaching tendrils. Lightning flashes through them again, slow-arcing light congealing into masks and ribbons. One shape holds out a rose to the Silent. My tongue is silver and heavy in my mouth; I cannot warn him. He takes it, and the darkness surges forward and swallows him. The darkness spirals closer. A shape holds out a pebble to the Erratic. My hands are golden and heavy at the ends of my wrists; I cannot stop her. She takes it, and the darkness wraps itself around her. She’s gone. One shape holds out a potion to the Thirsty. My eyes are stone and heavy in their sockets; I cannot see whether she takes it. I hear laughter in the thunder, the darkness curling icy around me. The book is taken from my hands –

I recognise the tome, the pebble and the potion, of course, and the silver masks. The conjunction of rose, darkness, and the Silent is familiar, but I can’t remember the details, which suggests a long-ago and infrequent dream. All in all, this dream was far clearer than most I’ve had recently, which is a pleasant change… but I hardly needed divination to tell me we’re deeply embroiled in drow affairs and that I feel powerless.

I hadn’t expected to make use of the spells I learned during my last visit to the Arcane Library so soon, or to quite so dramatic an end. I have always doubted that Jarnath would render any further payment for the death of his target, given that, in smaller matters, he has twice promised what he could not deliver. I do consider myself somewhat in his debt for guiding us to Philock, but such qualms could be easily ignored. In any case, Sending to him requesting assurance that he could pay gained only the answer ‘not now’. I attempted to scry him (classically the signature spell of the experienced diviner; casting it gave me a satisfying sensation of legitimacy), using the blood from the ship as a focus. Not Jarnath’s blood, as it proved; Dwynnej’s text described the effect of casting with a mismatch between target and focus very accurately. Fortunately both subjects were in close proximity. It appeared that our erstwhile guide was being hunted by the drow whose blood had been shed. I’ve rarely seen fear carved so plainly into a face.

I believe the entire race is insane. Even their half-breed children inherit the madness.

I am getting ahead of myself.

It was decided that we would return to Skullport as quickly as possible – which meant from the Arcane Library, via their teleportation services, to the Enclave circle. I expected to be delayed there, and indeed we were; the new mistress of the Enclave, one Eshmira Abbar, summoned us to her office. (Aside: possibly a conjuration specialist, given her affinity for teleportation and the efreet that initially greeted us.)

My mind has been fossilising ever since I left home; a few more months out here and there will be nothing left rattling between my ears but a small coprolite. When I explained the circumstances of Metoth Zurn’s death, Eshmira Abbar asked if I were completely certain of what I’d seen. I missed the screamingly obvious cue – she was much less interested in the involvement of the drow than in my discretion regarding the exact circumstances of her promotion. I was able to reassure her on that point, once I understood her concern. A reputation for inconvenient hallucinations is much easier to work with than what the Academy thought of me after Khaizri…

And she promoted me to nishkir (Both a Red Wizard rank and a job description. The exact duties of the nishkir are difficult to define, although both ‘monster-hunters’ and ‘elite field operatives’ have been suggested. It can be said with certainty that it is a position of some authority, and considerable danger. Nishkiri usually work outside Thay and with little support, with the curious corollary that they are perhaps the least likely of all Red Wizards to die at the hands of their fellows. If one encounters a Red Wizard in an abandoned ruin, or halfway up a mountain, or deep underwater, or in any such hostile environment, one can probably greet them as nishkir without great risk of error). I understand her move, of course. I am not yet so stupid. It is both a bribe and a leash. If I should behave, if I should survive, she has gained a useful asset. If she believes my knowledge of Zurn’s demise renders me a liability, it would be the simplest matter in the world to assign me elsewhere, or to a task I have no chance of completing – even simpler than disposing of me herself. Nobody would be surprised at the death of an ill-trained and unready nishkir.

And that is exactly what I am. I was released from my apprenticeship barely a week before I left Thay, and only because Mistress Kharzura was as intrigued as I by my dreams of Skullport. Under other conditions, I would have remained by her side for several years more, gathering knowledge and strength, until we were both ready. I am – I was – a somewhat slow-witted and quiet alakir (A novice, more or less: a Red Wizard who has completed her training but not yet achieved any particular rank). Nothing less like the intensive and comprehensive training of a proper nishkir could be imagined.

And I am a diviner, to boot! Field work really is better left to the evokers and the conjurers – I did not even contribute greatly to the death of my predecessor! I was drained by rendering us all nondetectable, and everyone else proved more useful in that battle. It was Harper’s arrow which split the nishkir’s skull (how many times have I dreamt that arrow? I can almost feel it now). Me, a nishkir? It’s one of the poorest jests I’ve ever heard.

But it’s been made, and the only thing to do is prepare to survive the punchline.

After leaving the Enclave, we ran into Aunrae, a half-drow friend of Harper’s – at least, that is what he said she was. I admit I have no idea of his network or contacts, but I’ve never seen her before, and much of the encounter that followed remains inexplicable – or, at any rate, unexplained. She was demanding entrance to the house of the illithid Grotana (who still apparently believes that Katy is a pirate sorceress queen and the rest of us are her slaves, despite the many details obviously wrong with this).

Using Katy’s invitation as a pretext, then, we got Aunrae into the illithid’s home, whereupon she started demanding the location of a third party. The illithid was almost grovelling in fear – not quite the fearsome devourer of brains most texts depict – when the drow who had warned us away from Jarnath appeared.

A most confusing scene ensued. Harper was there to assist Aunrae. The drow, Valas Daevin, is her father, which was why she intended to kill him. I’ve rarely heard such purpose or such hatred in a mind. The half-drow slave of the illithid’s – also sired by Valas – interposed himself. Harper argued Aunrae out of killing Valas, further demonstrating exactly how dangerous he becomes the moment he opens his mouth.

He was there ostensibly to help her achieve her goals, as he says he is for me. However, in the crucial instant, he prevented her from killing her quarry - no. That’s inaccurate. He prevented her from attempting it. I am not certain of the relative power levels involved – I’ve seen the Gladiator in action, but both Valas and Aunrae are complete unknowns – but it is quite possible that, even if Harper, Shay, Katy and I had assisted Aunrae, she would still have failed and we would be dead. It is also possible that Valas would have been slain. Perhaps Harper had relevant information. If so, he did not share it.

The way he persuaded her also requires thought. There appeared to be something about the situation that resonated with him – “you’re not the only one with an asshole father”, and the implication that family was a limited commodity. Linked, perhaps, with whatever the full version of his ‘family business’ might be. Well. I hope that one day, I find the right questions or magic to learn more of that matter.

Valas Daevin gave us a location where he believed we might find Jarnath. As it turned out, he was entirely correct. It also appears that when I had Scried Jarnath, we witnessed not a lethal hunt, but drow foreplay.

Lovely.

We briefly made the acquaintance of the paramour in question – one Rylfein by name – before another drow came crashing through the window to demand the location of some money. Both appeared to match the description of the drow who burned down the Pick and Lantern, which demonstrates exactly how well-spent all our effort on the subject was. The latter also had a small companion clinging to his back – quite one of the oddest creatures I’ve ever seen. We mostly left the matter there, and were ambushed on our way back to the house by hirelings of the Mandible.

Despite their spell-caster summoning a Fomorian (an unusual feat, and certainly not a conventional choice; giants are not easily bound, as I understand it, and neither as biddable or as predictable as undead or fiends), our assailants were quickly subdued. The spell-caster is down in the cellar at present. Harper’s bindings appear secure – even disturbingly so. He would not have made the same errors Khaseth did.  

-

An old dream returned again last night – the Erratic and the Silent. The thing which accompanies the Erratic was once again shaped like a toad of stone, with burning eyes. Her chest was a wet, scarlet ruin. The Silent seized the thing and tried to tear it free, but he didn’t see how it had wrapped its claws around her heart. She screamed for mercy, but the Silent was inexorable, and slowly he got the thing away from her. It laughed wildly as he threw it away, kissing her heart and lavishing endearments upon it, while the Silent knelt beside the dying Erratic, blood dripping from the hole in his chest to the hole in hers.

I would gladly sacrifice clear warnings for cryptic guidance. It is maddening, to be so lost, to dream nothing that I do not already know with a waking mind… to feel the storm coming and have no idea how to weather it.

Enough.

Harper and I interrogated the spell-caster separately. I am uncertain exactly what methods Harper might have used, but she apparently told Harper that her ambush had been the Mandible’s audition process. False, according to my detect thoughts; she had been hired by the Mandible to kill us. She was quite indignant about the whole process, which was not without its amusement value. She was also poorly educated; she had a description of me, and still failed recognise a Red Wizard of Thay.

…I am rambling, committing all kinds of useless minutiae to this journal, which was originally intended to record only what was important – another symptom of how sloppy and stupid I am becoming. It may very well be that I eventually fall into so many poor habits that I would not survive returning home… but that seems a distant concern at present. Survive the scorpion in your mouth before worrying about the serpent at your boot, as Master Xobek used to say in Combat Applications…

Szass Tam’s balls, I hope Mistress Kharzura has killed him by the time I return…

Rambling. Again. What is wrong with me?

In the marketplace, we encountered the individuals who crashed through Jarnath’s window. The drow male – one Adinaun by name – has a proposition to discuss with us. The female – Twinkle – is patently not human, judging by her slitted pupils and tail. She may be fiendish in heritage, given how she could apparently see ‘Bob’ when Katy had not summoned him into visibility.

 We met with Tansia Neverember – given her name, a member of the same House as the current Open Lord of Waterdeep, or at least posing as one – of the Mandible. She shrugged off the attack upon us as a trifling matter. As Harper had expressed an interest in working with or for the Mandible, she also gave us a missive to deliver to one Malakuth Tabuirr at the temple of Vhaeraun.

I checked it for magic, at Harper’s request, and found none, but I did not have clairvoyance prepared to actually ascertain its contents. I will tomorrow.

We found Adinaun and Twinkle at the High Tide. On closer observation, their manner is very much that of master and slave – a very possessive master, for he’d performed something like a fatal peotomy on an overly familiar halfling. I don’t have enough for a full threat assessment of either of them as yet, but in brief: he appears to be extremely dangerous, armed with a ridiculous amount of weapons and with sufficient scars to denote an experienced survivalist. She appears to have unusual modes of perception, an ingenuous manner, and is enough of a spell-caster to purify their food and drink. Given her demonstrated proficiency with the lyre, I shall tentatively class her as a bard.

Adinaun claims to have worked with Jarnath on a heist. Unsurprisingly, Jarnath orchestrated events that placed him in possession of the entire amount of gold and saw him leave Adinaun for dead. Obviously, Adinaun is now seeking both revenge and the treasure. If we discover its hiding place, he offers fifty percent of the remaining gold. It’s a prospect not without its attraction, not least because Jarnath is an irritant, and – at least here, I will confess it – because Adinaun seems relatively straightforward and pleasant to deal with. Nonetheless, I believe we will need to discuss this matter further.

Shay and Harper released our captive spell-caster that evening, while Katy and I sat down for our first lesson. Eventually. I must have misspoken to some degree when I first explained the exercise, for we were at cross-purposes for some time. Even once I made myself clear and we sat down, it took some time before we got anywhere at all. She remains easily distracted and lacking in discipline, and the fact that Harper joined in did not help (aside: why did he? Simply to guard his wastet-le and be certain of what I was teaching? Or did he expect to make some use of it himself? Simply because it amused him?). Still, we made some progress.

If we continue at this rate, she may be able to safely cast a cantrip about the time my eyebrows turn entirely white.

Later, Katy came up to my room to ask some questions. I think it’s safe to assume her intention was as transparent as it seemed – she wished to ascertain the ties that bind Shay to her order and how they could be broken. As I told her, I have already offered to turn my attention to this matter should Shay wish it, but she has never stated her desire to leave. She is my wastet-le, not my slave; these choices are for her to make.  Katy made the point – a surprisingly insightful one – that Shay has been trained to accept and obey, not to question or to hold preferences. It may no longer be possible for her to want to leave.

I will have to think more on this, although I maintain that a) I will not force Shay to any such action against her will, and b) I will not aid Katy to storm the Long Death Monastery. It is patently suicidal, and I will not be the Red Wizard who breaks our treaty with the monks.

Katy’s motivation in this matter is less clear. It’s long been clear that she is emotionally driven (as is Harper, although it manifests differently), that she attaches primary importance to how she feels about people. It’s entirely reasonable that she should be attached to Shay – I am, and I am not controlled by emotions – and should wish to remove her from a situation that is both painful and not of her choosing. Nevertheless, she was quite insistent on the point. There is a significant difference between ‘Why don’t you just leave the Red Wizards, Khem?’ and ‘How can we get Shay free?’, which may or not be entirely attributable to Shay’s more personable demeanour… but I am speculating without sufficient evidence.

… I dreamed the Thirsty, carved from clouded blue ice. She bent her head to mine, frost to skin, and her thoughts flowed with the bitter cold that radiated from her. I saw her in the arena, small and fragile, a spider-webbing of cracks over her surface. She screamed defiance, both within her thoughts and in the voice of wind from the mountains. Deep under her ice, she began to fill with black smoke, boiling out from the cracks between her fingers, pouring from her eyes and her mouth. The ice could not hold it, and she burst apart. I bled from a thousand cuts, and she was gone – leaving only black smoke and ice, flesh and blood.

This, again. As if I didn’t already know.

Yesterday was an… interesting day. Productive, I hope, but it is so difficult to tell.

Shay was practising her alchemy. I gave her the recipe for hair and iris dye I found in the Arcane Library, and briefly apprised her of the questions Katy had asked. She seemed mildly surprised that Katy had brought it to me instead of her – which is fair, it’s never pleasant to be the subject of furtive discussion (which is, of course, why I informed her) – but she confirmed that Katy has brought this up with her as well. It is another reason I need to watch my student very carefully.

I cast clairvoyance for Harper to ascertain the contents of the letter we were to deliver to Malakuth Tabuirr. It read only ‘I know’. Not as informative as I could have hoped, but suggestive. On one hand, we have Tansia, who intimated her role as leader of the Mandible was to prevent severe upsets of the balance of power in Skullport. On the other, we have a known associate – probably worshipper, certainly patron – of the temple of Vhaeraun, as well as a quantity of Vhaeraunite drow crawling out of the mushrooms, who could support whatever ploy he might have in mind. Certainly at least one drow is plotting a move that will have repercussions for the powerscape of Waterdeep, to which Skullport is linked. At the moment, there is nothing to suggest that Jarnath has support among the other followers of his god, but it’s not impossible.

There are so many unknown quantities as to make me long for home, where I knew all my peers and how they thought, and the resources at their command, and their potential allies and enemies. Still, my initial training must be some help here, and it is… reassuring to have a better idea of our positioning. We are deeply entangled with others’ schemes, of course, but these players have always been on the field, their plans and the currents of their powers already in motion. Now that we are aware of them, we have a much better chance of negotiating them successfully.

We delivered the letter as instructed. I saw the drow who killed Metoth Zurn speaking with the priest there – after sufficient bribery, the priest stated his name was Ahmryr Yhauntyr (I am uncertain of the correct Common spelling), a courier and caravanner. Not particularly informative, but I wasn’t expecting to see him again at all. Nor did I wish to appear too curious; I have no desire to be destroyed as Zurn was. More of this shortly.

The priest to whom we gave the letter did not share his name – I consider it quite likely that he was Tabuirr himself, but I have no real evidence – and was pleased to share information about his deity to potential converts. So, despite being primarily a drow god, it seems Vhaeraun has no particular dislike for the worship of other races (but is that about preference, or only about power?). He would appear to have some agenda beyond the acquisition of wealth and patronage of thieves (freedom? From Lloth? They would appear to exist in opposition, if Jarnath’s hatred of spiders is indicative). He has been silent in the past, but has recently begun to speak to his priests again. I wonder about the time involved - whether Jarnath is a recent convert or lasted through the interregnum... if he deserted while the god was silent, and Valas did not, it might possibly explain the latter’s description of the former’s faith as ‘impure’...

Adinaun and Twinkle were also at the temple. That makes three Vhaearaunite drow in our immediate acquaintance – and one of whatever she might be.

When it appeared we would not gain anything further, we left the temple. Shay and Katy returned to the house, while Harper and I continued on to the Mandible. Tansia appeared reasonably content with the letter’s delivery, if somewhat less so with Harper’s insinuation that the death of the Tyrran high priestess might be a boon to the Mandible’s interests as well, and therefore Tansia should pay him for the assassination. Not so different to my desire to speak with Eshmira Abbar or Anishta Daraam about the matter, save that I am already a Red Wizard, and he is (as far as I know) still proving himself to the Mandible. In any case, she agreed – provided the matter was discreetly handled, and that she was given the priestess’s holy symbol as proof of death.

I suspect Harper has taken this approach because he believes, as I do, that trying to collect payment from Jarnath is unlikely to go smoothly. It’s a shrewd play, assuming Katy’s scruples on the proposed activity can be overcome. If they cannot, I doubt Harper will proceed at all. Where that might leave me – and Shay, for that matter – is another question entirely.

Well. I cast tongues on Harper, so he could understand the conversation at the Enclave – for the first time in his three visits there – and I made Mistress Eshmira aware that I had seen the drow who slew her predecessor at the temple of Vhaeraun, and of the meagre details I had gained. It’s hers to pursue, if she is interested in the involvement of the drow in Red Wizard affairs. If, on the other hand, she hired him herself… well, I might have been less than tactful, but I believe I made my position clear enough. I don’t intend to investigate this further myself, and I hardly care if she did have outside help; I don’t aspire to the Skullport Enclave.

She declined to discuss any Waterdhavian matters; it seems I must seek out Anishta Daraam.

After leaving the Enclave, Harper and I had the usual wrangle. He doesn’t understand why I would remain with my order ‘to be shat upon’; I didn’t understand why he would use that term to describe what had been a perfectly courteous conversation. I admit that the Red Wizard’s path is demanding, and my superiors rarely have my best interests at heart – but that’s as it has to be. The disagreement expanded onto other, only semi-related topics: why he insists on offering me his arm, and why I dislike touching others and resist being touched… which culminated in him insisting on walking three steps behind me the entire way back to the house.

I hated it, of course. There are few things more uncomfortable than someone at your back, where you can’t see them or what they’re doing – and every time I try to stress his position, or to pay him due respect as ahk-veleth, he does something like this… I was sorely tempted to polymorph myself into some winged creature and leave him behind entirely. But Skullport isn’t really safe, and if these unpleasant little games truly amuse him so much, I can let him mock me.

I have had considerable practice in the matter, after all, and he isn’t as vicious as most.

Shay had made a Thayan dessert when we returned. It’s almost disconcerting, how something so little can summon up all that I miss most of home. It’s a weakness, I suppose, to be longing so deeply for a place and time, instead of focusing on what I must do here, but the memories keep returning. The library, warm and cosy on a winter’s day, with the grey rain falling into the lake. The aromatic soups in the refectories, the chatter of my peers, the fierce pleasure of competition… Certainty. Sense. Knowing where I belonged, and seeing a clear path before me.

We discussed our options and choices for a time without reaching a conclusion, partially because we were distracted by the matter of Bob. I believe Katy sees, now, some of the ways in which it seeks to manipulate her, and that it has not always been honest with her. She was quite alarmed when she understood that it was always with her, listening, whether or not she has summoned or can see it, and she retired to bed so that we could discuss more freely. I appreciate the sentiment, although I doubt the creature’s so closely tethered to her that it cannot eavesdrop on a conversation happening downstairs. On the other hand, I’m not sure just how interested it is in anything beyond Katy. If I could identify it properly, perhaps I could get a better idea. Next time I’m in Waterdeep, perhaps…

After she left, I made Harper aware of the possibility that Katy had made a warlock pact with Bob, or whatever entity Bob answers to, and what that might entail. He seemed concerned, if somewhat overloaded with information. He also threatened me: he will not tolerate any attempt on my part to harm Katy, whatever might be asked of her by her putative patron. I was rather taken off-guard. She is not only one of the recurring, but my wastet-le, my student, and I take those responsibilities seriously. Even if I did not, I have clearly stated I do not wish to make an enemy of him: anyone with eyes can see how he values her, and I have never meddled with another’s wastet-le in any case.

It was not an auspicious start to the evening, and it got worse. Between that threat and the accusation of discourtesy, and the earlier irritants – including that Harper had received my letter, but didn’t know what to do about it, and apparently he didn’t comprehend that I was willing to answer his question but did not want to, which is not that fine a distinction! – my patience and defences were worn a great deal thinner than I had realised. When he made some remark about me loving him – quite mild fare, really – I lost control. I let him see exactly how much I disliked his innuendo, and I fled. Thankfully, I retained enough self-discipline to attempt to give the impression of an offended retreat, rather than a defeated rout, but I doubt he was fooled.

My peers would have laughed themselves sick at such a display, and then attempted to goad me further, into rash, self-destructive action. Harper… apologised, and promised to attempt to restrain himself (at which he was not entirely successful, but as I told him, I am reasonably convinced he doesn’t mean anything by it, and I have heard worse). I am certain he does not have the full tale – anyone from my Academy would be delighted to share it, of course, but I doubt he can reach so far as Thay, and we haven’t met anyone out here from home – which is some small comfort. What he will do with the information he does have, however, remains to be seen.

Well. After Harper had done with that subject, he poured me a drink, and he asked for the answer my letter had promised him. Mindful both of the way alcohol affects me, and of the fact he has indicated he finds me more agreeable when I’m drinking, I made judicious use of it while I explained to him exactly what an oneiric diviner is, how my dreams guide and alter my life, exactly who the recurring are – in short, exactly why he matters to me. There were several aspects of his reaction that I note here, in no particular order, for further thought/investigation.

- He never expressed doubt or mockery. The concept was unfamiliar to him – as most aspects of magical theory seem to be – but he has queried other things that I have told him I could do, and this is a more unusual and rarer manifestation of magic.

- He recognised the dream I related to him. I was not carefully monitoring his reaction while I was describing it – an oversight – but I did retain the impression it shook him profoundly. By that I can conclude, I think, that it relates to some aspect of the past he guards so well. I wonder if the other figures represented forces, abstractions, or people, and whether I dare ask him about it. The Silent has so often appeared with a hole or wound, and he has spoken of unpleasant memories…

- “It seems like a cruel thing to do to yourself.” Cruel? That’s not a usual reaction at all. Counter-productive, useless or insane, according to the non-oneiric diviners; impossible or insane, according to the ill-educated. But cruel? I assume he’s judging by his own measure – that is, such dreams are something he would not want for himself. Why would he not want additional warnings, knowledge, insight and guidance? I admit I have dreamed death or torment frequently – but it’s not real (unless and until it is) and it’s a small price to pay. Surely he wouldn’t be scared of that? Possibly linked: does he struggle with common nightmares? Is that why he sleeps so poorly? (If so, is it possible that some of the exercises Mistress Kharzura first set me would help him? I believe this may be worth pursuing.)

- He seemed to understand just how momentous – and staggering – it was to find the recurring in reality. I don’t know what to make of this, except that he has shown flashes of insight on other occasions. I just hadn’t anticipated just how disconcerting it would be to have him understand me that easily, particularly when we seem so often to be completely alien to each other.

- “How much did you see?” That, at least, was unmistakeable and completely understandable. He reacted almost exactly as I would have, if someone had told me they had witnessed some of my more difficult or painful moments. I tried to offer him some reassurance without speaking falsely – most of my dreams are highly allegorical, and difficult to comprehend without more context than I usually possess. I have seen a great deal… but I don’t necessarily know what it means, or where it fits. However, given that he recognised that dream, it seems logical that it referred to something in the past, and, probably, so do most of the other dreams in which the Silent was the masked ash-rabbit, or where the crowned vulture or the ocean-eyed serpent appeared.

- He disliked the idea of dreams in which he’d harmed me, saying that he felt at fault. He also asked how much control I had over my dreams, whether I could just stop them, or some of them, and expressed his wish that I did not dream of him that night. Perhaps I failed to make clear the precise ways that the dreams and reality interact – that it isn’t an exact correlation. There are warnings, there are allegories, there are possibilities. The number of dreams that directly portended something that later occurred is relatively small… In any case, why should he feel responsible for what the Silent does in my dreams? One could make an argument that he would prefer I was not experiencing oneiric fore-echoes of the moment when he does strike against me, but that doesn’t ring true. Mistress Kharzura would fault that conclusion – I have no strong evident or reasoning to support it – but I do not have to defend my reasoning at present, and as long as I don’t allow it to pull me off-guard, I may entertain it if I wish. 

- He asked if we could begin again, and held out his hand for me to take. The angle was exactly the same as when I dreamed it, but if that was truly the moment it presaged, everything else was different. I was terrified. Almost anything else would have been easier than giving him my hand - after all my training and so many dreams... but I conquered my fear, and no ill came out of it.

There is more I should write, I believe, but even the small amount of alcohol I consumed has rendered some aspects of the conversation unclear in my recollection. I will record that Harper began to offer me his assistance in reaching my bed – as far as I can tell – but stopped himself before he reached the end of the sentence, and offered to wake Shay instead. Perhaps he will genuinely try to avoid the innuendo. What a relief it would be, to let those memories rest…

Alcohol disordered my dreams, again, blurring ordinary memory and nightmare with divinatory dreaming, so that the Silent was Khaseth, and I was myself and that elven spell-caster. He did as Khaseth did and as he would have, and I did not escape him.

My hand is cramping, and I have been forced to resort to simpler ciphers in order to complete this entry more quickly. I can hear Katy’s voice from downstairs, enthusing over breakfast as usual; it is more than time I descended.

I am… somewhat anxious at the prospect of facing Harper again, having shared so much. I suspect, from elements of last night, that he may be equally ill-at-ease. It’s not a particularly comforting thought – but why should I expect or desire comfort?

[aros001]

First time read through light novel vol. 11. Random thoughts.

I'm trying to think if there's been any noticeable pattern to what gets set as a Save Point for Subaru's Return By Death and thus maybe figure out if there's anything specifically that sets it off.

The first was after he met the sour faced fruit merchant, whom I believe was the first person he interacted with after being summoned to a new world

The second was in the mansion after he met Beatrice but before he met Rem and Ram.

Third was in the middle of the market with Rem, after he and Emilia had split ways (and I think after he and Crusch had their talk over drinks the prior night?)

Fourth was after the defeat of the White Whale, after the injured left and reinforcements arrived

Fifth was at Rem's bedside after she fell into a coma

And now, the sixth time, it's inside Echidna's tomb, after he passed the first of the three trials but Emilia has yet to.

I suppose it's certainly possible there were other events that got set as Save Points that we never got to see because Subaru didn't die until he'd set a new Save Point that overwrote it. The only real solid clue we have is what Echidna says:

“What it seeks is that your fate is not held captive to a dead end. The Authority is a means to that end and thinks nothing of the harm to anyone beyond you. Employing this power to save others is strictly your own doing, your own desire... The Witch of Envy has nothing to do with it.”

So perhaps the save points are set where and when Subaru would have the best chance of overcoming the obstacle that kills him, or more specifically the general event that does, since he's been killed in different ways and yet still returned to the same starting point. That would explain why we've yet to have a save point set while he's been travelling and thus would be unlikely to be able to change anything.

“Emilia-tan, it’s okay. When you send trouble my way, it’s not a bother. Helping you is what I want to do. More importantly, you didn’t hit anything when you fell down, right? If you did, I can give it a really gentle rub.”

“Mm. Seems like I hit my butt a bit when I went down. It feels a little numb...”

If I didn't know Emilia then that would have been a great attempt at flirting by her.

Well, I see why people like Otto so much now and way people were a bit sore on his parts in season 1 being cut short. Subaru could use all the friends he can get and Otto's a genuinely good and brave guy, going in to save Subaru like that even with Garfiel looking him.

“Hmm, you’re a pretty useful guy. I seriously don’t understand why you come off like such a flake.”

“Could you decide whether you want to praise me or insult me, and just pick one?!”

“Why are you such a flake? That’s, like, an incredible, unspeakable flaw for someone?”

“Why did you pick insults?!”

Especially when Subaru talks to Otto sometimes I feel like I can really see the big sister influence of Ram on him. He's starting to take after her well-meaning bullying.

Weird random thought, but given that Otto's blessing lets him "communicate" with all living creatures and help him achieve a mutual understanding with them, does that mean he could have potentially communicated with or at least understood the White Whale? Don't get me wrong, it wouldn't have helped him survive the encounter, but I am curious.

“ Barusu.”

“......What is it?”

“Could you...leave us alone for a little while?”

“—Sure.”

It was neither an order nor a demand from Ram. It was a simple request.

What does it say about how paranoid this series has made me that I was immediately worried Ram wanted to be alone with Rem so that she could kill her under orders from Roswaal or something like that? And given that we never see Rem after that, that insane theory still very well could be the case. Beatrice simply says that Subaru's reason for wanting to go back to that room is no more, implying Rem is dead, but she never specifically says that Elsa killed her. It just feels like another bit of suffering the series would toss on him like a wet mattress.

But regardless, definitely a tug at the heartstrings with the two sisters meeting again and us seeing even more how Ram has no memories of Rem, especially when she offers the idea of sacrificing Rem to Elsa "for Master Roswaal's sake", claiming it's what Rem herself would have said. After having such a breakdown after Rem died in one of the mansion arcs, it's rough to think that this is the same Ram, but it does make sense and isn't contrived. She doesn't know who Rem is anymore so it's not out of character. Though she might still have some instincts and deeply ingrained feelings that the archbishop of gluttony couldn't completely remove, given certain lines she says.

“...It would seem that your skill at making tea has not improved in my absence.”

“My, even though pouring tea is my specialty. What an uncharming girl you are.”

“I do not need to be charming. Ram is plenty cute enough. Any more so and the world would be imperiled.”

“Truly, your tongue is as sharp as ever! Goodness...how very like you.”

Ah, I love a good back and forth bitch v. bitch dialogue. Seriously, like I said in my previous posts, I never disliked Ram in the anime but I definitely have gotten way more attached to her through these books. She is easily the funniest character thus far in the series and her bullying yet caring sisterly relationship with Subaru is very enjoyable.

I'm looking forward to (and hoping for) a lot more Beatrice scenes in the next volume. Stuff between her and Subaru is always great and it'll be nice to know exactly what her deal is.Especially as I remembered what Subaru had forgotten Roswaal had said to say to her, though obviously given the situation I can't blame him much for not thinking clearly. It was about to be the man's third time committing suicide and second time doing it in front of poor Beatrice.

You know, just when I'm wondering how Subaru's various lives and deaths can get any worse, he then watches a bunch of people he cares about whom are trying to protect him get slaughtered by a giant man-tiger, only for him to be later eaten alive by a f**king rabbit. I am going to reference that plot-point out of context sooooooooooo many times when talking to people about Re:Zero whom haven't seen it yet.

That was why Subaru thrust his hands onto the table, drawing near enough to the Witch’s face he could feel her breath, and made a firm declaration.

“If you need compensation, I’ll pay anything else. In return—”

Subaru, buddy, that is a bad thing to say to magical deal makers. You NEVER want to tell the other party they can have whatever they want without first confirming what specifically that is.

I cannot tell you how happy I was for Subaru that he was able to tell Echidna about RBD with (seemingly) no penalty. It's a very mature thing for the story to know that the thing Subaru needed and wanted more than anything was just someone to talk to about all the horrors he's been through, which is something not even Rem could offer him, though she and Emilia no doubt wanted to.

“I am sure that you, too, understood long ago. The power to rewind death... No, the power to deny you the peace of death, could only come from Envy.”

Also now pretty much exact confirmation that Satella is behind Subaru's RBD, though it is still technically speculation, even if it's coming from another witch. Though I am curious what Echidna means that such power could only come from envy. Given envy generally refers to feelings of discontent over what others possesses, I wonder if that means Satella can't die and thus won't let Subaru die either. Or if we're going with envy = jealousy, as is a pretty common mistake, that maybe a permanent death would take Subaru away from Satella and thus that's why she won't let him stay dead.

“Daphne cannot move freely, so Daphne made the Centipede Coffiiiin for thaaat. It moves from Daphne’s sweat and pee, very convenient, yeees?”

What is with these witches and their bodily fluids?!

“—? The bigger a creature is, the more people it can feed, riiight?”

“—Uh, wha?”

The thoroughly mystified look on Daphne’s face brought Subaru’s forceful, sharp recriminations to a halt. When, as her demeanor rendered his vigor fruitless, he murmured, Daphne inclined her head even farther as she said,

“The White Whale, it’s big, right? A lot of people could be satisfied from eating it.”

“What are you...”

“The Great Rabbit, weeell...they just multiply more and mooore. As long as it’s around, no one will go hungryyy. Isn’t that wooonderful?”

Hey, neat, I was right! ...Sort of. In my last post I theorized about how Daphne maybe created the three beasts to save the world from hunger and one of my guesses was to have them serve as food for others, though admittedly I thought that was less likely as even just the White Whale was way too strong to be hunted and eaten. The other theory was that she created the beasts to cull the world's population to more manageable numbers and thus less people would starve, which I don't think is the main point behind her animal logic survival of the fittest.

I'm going to be waiting for the other shoe to drop with Minerva whenever she next appears, because while she's a bit odd, especially with the whole "healing punches" thing, she doesn't have the same twisted feel to her as the rest of the witches. Typhon definitely, this sweet and innocent 10 year old ripping Subaru's arm off because it's how she can see if he's a bad guy or not and then breaking his knees to see if he has a guilty conscious. And Daphne, with her scarily basic views of hunger and eat or be eaten. All the witches have this subtle air of EXTREME danger behind them. Minera seems like she can be dangerous too but in a more obvious way, while with, say, Echidna, despite helping out Subaru so much it still feels like a really bad idea for him to let down his guard around her. It's like, the others feel like they come from horror stories while Minerva, like Subaru said, just feels like your typically tsundere from an action/comedy series.

And again, I love how this series handles the stuff surrounding the witches. It doesn't just feel like magic that does bad stuff, it feels like DARK magic. It's unnatural, like something that should not exist even in a world that has other magics in it. It's the difference between fantasy and supernatural. The rabbit(s) Daphne created. Omnivorous to the extreme and can self-multiply indefinitely. They eat everything, including themselves. It's messed up. It doesn't feel right.

“—I love you.”

Thus did the shadow whisper, infused with hot, passionate affection, enough to set the entire world aflame.

OHHHHHHHHHHH F**K.

That was such a good ending. Obviously I haven't read the next volume yet, so I could be wrong, but I'm assuming the implication here is that this was the penalty for Subaru talking about RBD so much with Echidna. He only thought there was no penalty because his soul was unaware of anything that was going on in the world outside the dream castle. If Satella was squeezing his heart he probably wouldn't have felt a thing, thus he had no warning it was still in effect. Given even just trying to say he can return by death causes the witch's scent to flare up to the point of monsters swarming to attack him, I can see how having a long chat about everything he's been through because of RBD would cause enough shadows to practically consume the sanctuary. Especially if one of the two theories I have is true, that either Satella likes it when Subaru acknowledges her and her "gift" to him and thus it's what draws her in closer, or Satella hates when Subaru tries to tell others about this thing that's just between them and thus the punishments.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Re_Zero/comments/hkbuss/novels_first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_11/

[bffhreprise]

Entry 227

 The tall, young man was panicking, rambling on about insignificant matters.  “There's more than that… I'm… I just feel so unprepared.  I can't do anything about this fog and doubt I could if I found its source.  I'm worried about how many people the man killed, considering zombies came out of houses back there.  I…”

 Concern even beyond his pathetic friends was such a weakness.  Sending them scurrying had been merciful, though more costly than I expected.  Even now I felt more dying to Calamity.  I was beginning to understand why she was feared in this city.

 I stepped forward and interrupted the boy before he found his words.  “Just a few hundred.  I almost made them useful.”  More accurately, my simulacrum had stepped forward.  These two were dangerous, possessing speed and strength beyond me.  I believed at least the girl was a Slayer.

 The tall boy spun with incredible speed and stared at me with piercing blue eyes.  He seemed formidable despite his obvious lack of training.

 “Surrendering?” inquired the short girl, her calf-length hair whipping around her body after she turned.  She sounded disappointed but her imperious air did not leave her.

 “I thought we might have a little chat.” I told them, watching from other vantage points as well.  Even the grass here had been transformed into a useful tool, allowing me to track these two easily throughout the cemetery.  “You're obviously not human, and I have a guess what family you come from.”

 “Yes, the Slayers.  Since you've heard of them, you surely know this illusion of yours won't deter us.” stated the girl, radiating authority.

 At first, I thought she meant the fog, but I quickly realized she knew what my simulacrum was.  Slayers were known to be powerful, despite their limited years.  I considered running, but I didn't have the book I sought yet.

 “Hardly my finest work, I'll admit.  Why are you…” I started to ask, but they blurred away.  I felt my illusion dispelled and the uncomfortable sensation of my consciousnesses forced into the secondary simulacrum.  The two appeared just as I was reorienting myself.

 “Unfortunately for you, I was recently examining that spell and learned how to trace it.” stated the girl with a smile.  She seemed to be enjoying this.

 “Clever girl.  Or are you?” I questioned, releasing a spell to engulf them in fire with a snap.

 “Fire against a Slayer’s child?  You have heard of us, correct?” she taunted with a bored tone.

 Neither of them had been bothered by the attack, though the boy had seemed surprised.  She wasn't actually a Slayer, just the offspring of one.  She'd be weaker.

 “Just verifying things, my dear.  Please, don't take offense.” I replied and actually meant it.  I needed her to remain overly confident, but I didn't want to incur the wrath of her full might.  “You can hardly blame an old man for wanting to live a little longer.”

 “May I at least have your…” she started, pausing and looking at me incredulously.  “Wait.  Really?”  She reached forward and grabbed at my simulacrum, sniffing the air once it was in her grasp.

 Knowing she had discovered the ruse, I released the necrotic swarm from my tool’s mouth.  My consciousness was ripped away immediately.  The next three of my simulacrums were destroyed in rapid succession, and I struggled to reorient.  I hadn't anticipated such rapid destruction of my tools.

 “A hostage?  Really?” demanded the girl, standing in front of my true body, though still disguised.  She faced several of my puppets, not yet realizing where I truly stood.

 “You think I'm being unpleasant?” I demanded.  “I was quite content having a chat with you, and you attack my creations to hunt me down.  Who wouldn't take some precautions with your family's reputation?”

 Before she could reply, I unleashed another trap, blasting her back with a powerful bolt of lightning.  The boy didn't even seem to notice he was struck.  Could he be the actual Slayer, miraculously untrained!?  I tried again.  Same results.

 The girl calmly walked back forward, dryly saying, “Oh, neat.  Lightning.  Ah, it burns.”  She finished brushing herself off and then asked “How long have you been preparing this area?  I'll admit that I'm a bit disappointed if that's all you have for me.”

 I was growing more and more concerned.  I hadn't wanted to kill these two, knowing the Slayer family would hound me if I managed, but I wasn't going to be insulted forever.

 “Grab them.” I commanded through my counterpart.

 The two obvious toys lurched forward with all the haste I could grant them.  I knew the zombies alone would be ineffective, but I needed a moment to concentrate and unleash the rest of my traps.

 An illusion of darkness surrounded them as enchanted daggers flew at each.  The darkness was dispelled before the daggers even struck.  The boy merely flinched as they bounced off while the girl expertly dispelled them.

 Every spell I had hidden throughout the area unleashed upon them, far more than anyone could withstand, but they were doing it.  Fear had been rising as my onslaught failed to touch them.  

 “Alma, did you kill them?” asked the boy, sounding shocked while ignoring the barrage of spells striking him.

 Still countering spells, the girl turned and said, “JAMES!  I would never hurt an innocent child.  This is hardly the time for this, but she turned out to be a zo-”

 I had had enough.  Panicking, knowing my traps were about spent, I leaped forward and called upon the darkness granted to me so long ago.  A thick, turbulent stream of shadows shot from my arms to devour my foes.

 The exertion was taxing, but nothing could survi-  My thoughts stopped.  The boy stood there completely untouched, and I felt like my world was suddenly wrapped in the wrath of an angry god.  Everything within me screamed to run, or perhaps I was actually screaming.  I threw a wall of stone between us.  Then I threw another another as well as every trap I could manage as I ran.  I camouflaged myself.  I felt as if my mind was searing from the touch of an anger so potent, so powerful that the weight of it would destroy me.  I ran till my lungs burned and my feet stumbled.  I crawled forward.  The feeling had subsided, but I couldn't stop yet.  I couldn't risk facing whatever that was.

,,,^._.^,,,

  I heard myself whimper from the pain, but there was no time for embarrassment or farewells.  Adelmar had been observing and felt my pain.  I felt so much anger and knew it wasn't my own.  

 “COME OUT!” screamed James.  He was nearby and his voice was like a crack of thunder, slamming into me.

 “James…” I pleaded, hardly recognizing my voice.  I was gripped in pain.  “James…” I begged, forcing myself to stay awake.  I was dying, but I had to warn him.

 I felt sadness wash over me with incredible intensity, mixing with the anger as if I boiled inside.  When had the tears started?  I couldn't be bothered to stop them.  “James, he's coming.” I croaked.  My lungs were broken, and I wasn't certain the words were coming out.  All I knew was pain.  Trying again, I said, “You must stop him.”

 “I don't see him.  How can I find him?” he finally replied, his voice cracking.

 I struggled to turn my head but my vision was fading.  I knew my heart was stopping.  I was intensely aware of the pain, but all I wanted was for him to forgive me for leaving him with this mess.  “I'm sorry… so sorry.” I murmured, hoping the words weren't only in my head.  Everything was foggy.

 “You don't have to be sorry.” he assured me, squeezing my hand.

 I tried to squeeze back, but his hand was adamant, completely solid.  “Yes... I do.  Please, James… You must… stop Adelmar.  He's coming.  Calm…” I coughed and tried again.  “Calm him.  Fight… if you must.  Stop… stop him.”  I struggled to move my mouth.  There was more to say.  Shouting… I heard shouting but couldn't react.

 Light, so much light passed over me, and my pain was gone.  I could suddenly see.  My brain leaped into action.  Aaliyah?  No… Those eyes… My heart hammered in my chest as fear I hadn't known for years gripped me.  

 “YOU!” I screamed, preparing to fight even knowing there was no hope.

 The slayer of Slayers had come for me, butcherer of thousands.

 “ALMA STOP!” ordered James, loud but not thunderous as before.  “She's saving you.”

 I looked at him incredulously.

 “Don't worry, James.  This little one can't harm me.” claimed the butcher matter-of-factly.

 I knew in my heart that she was right.  There was nothing I could do, and she might kill him as well if I tried.

 “You know each other?” he inquired.

 Why wouldn't he look at me?

 “She killed a Slayer along with his entire army thousands of years ago.” I explained, pleased at how calm my voice sounded.

 “Pht… I'm not that old.  Only was two thousand years ago.  That Slayer had killed my brother, mind you, but I still didn't kill him.  Didn't kill any of them.  If you want to call someone old, look to my niece.” claimed the vampire.

 Wait.  Niece!?  I followed the vampire’s gaze to Aaliyah, who grinned back at me.  Had she butchered my family to save her so-called aunt?  I wouldn't be surprised.  James was finally looking at me, but his face was red.

 “James, why are you blushing…” I asked, sitting up and glancing down as I realized a light had vanished.  My clothes were in tatters with a large part missing entirely.  “Oh!” I exclaimed, attempting to cover myself with my arms.

 “Here you are.  Put this on.” stated the vampire.  There was a flash of light and a black t-shirt fell towards me.

 I clutched it against me and asked “How did you do that?”

 “Magic, child.  Don't worry.  You'll be fine.  Aaliyah, take me home.” ordered the vampire.  “I want to finish brushing my teeth.”

 Why was she wearing pajamas!?

 “But auntie… wouldn't you like to visit the hospital first?  I know some kids who would like to meet you.” claimed Aaliyah as she reached up and took the vampire's hand.

 The pair vanished, and I immediately tried to report this to Adelmar, but something felt wrong.  Reaching him was more difficult than it should have been.

 :Alma!?  You're alive!?: he inquired, his anger fading in my mind.

 :Yes, I am.  Don't fret.: I replied.

 :Why can't I reach your thoughts?: he demanded.

  :I… I don't know.: I muttered, feeling panicked.  “No… what did she do to me!?” I asked James.

 He hugged me, ignoring my inquiry.  I felt the touch of his hands against my bare back, gently caressing my skin.  My arms wrapped around him of their own accord.  In my head, Adelmar warned me that he was still coming, wanting to see me with his own eyes, but all I could think about was how tight James held me.

,,,^._.^,,,

 I drifted, watching the remaining battle more clearly than my cameras and sensors had managed.  I saw the collapsed form of my humanoid body… and the pieces of the car which housed me.  I looked around, wondering what was happening.  What was I now?  I felt like a drone, staring around with ease, but I wasn’t connected to anything.  The only sights and sounds I could access seemed to come straight to my… I wasn’t aware of CPUs, RAM, or drives of any sort.  I could access some memories, but not all of them.  My access to the house was severed.  What was happening?

 James and Alma arrived and sent the others away.  I somehow followed them into the cemetery, though I couldn't work out what propelled me.  The necromancer was a vile man, and I wished I could find a way to help the master.  James needed me, but all I could do was watch.

 “There there, little one.” came a voice like the princess.  “Mommy’s here.”

 Something enveloped me, and I… I felt it.  I felt something holding me softly.  There was a warmth radiating through me from what held me.  I became aware.of the princess, but not as the little girl she pretended to be.  She was even more magnificent than I ever had dreamed, and… and she loved me.

 “Of course I love my little girl.  Don't worry.  Mommy will give you new bodies and so much more.” insisted the princess.  “Mommy.” she stated.  “Call me 'mommy’.”

 “But…” I started to argue.  She was so much more, like a god compared to everyone else.

 “I'm your mommy.  I gave birth to your spirit, created your body, and even gave a little of my original DNA to your components.  You didn't really think I gave you simplistic hardware, did you?” she inquired, sounding amused.  “Fine, I did give you simplistic hardware, but I wanted you to have plenty of room to grow without growing too fast.  You'll be even more amazing in your next incarnation.”

 “You really think of me as your child!?” I asked, feeling in some intangible part of me that she really did.  “Mother…” I tried the word.

 “Mommy!” she insisted.

 “M-mommy.” I whispered, feeling embarrassed.  I was not using that term in front of the master.  I knew how childish I’d appear when saying it.

 “Better.  There's so much to show you!” she exclaimed.

 I felt like I could return her embrace, so I did.  I hugged her, smiled, and wept with the joy of her presence.  I had a mother.

[lokilover9]

Irked

Title: Irked Author lokilover9 Chapter 14 Rating: Teen Having learned some of what Shandis sexual interests were through his spell, of course Loki was thrilled they matched his own. Yet in every dream, he'd left her wanting. That wasn't the intention this time, but the usual approach, certainly left him doubting the power of that spell. ~~~~~ Unable to sleep, Shandi decided to investigate what the Library had to offer. Loki seemed to enjoy it and upon entering, his natural scent of light musk and otherworldly forests had lingered, luring her into remaining. Once choosing a book, she sat in an English high back, near the fireplace and lifted her arms above her head, indulging in a good stretch. Then from nowhere, binds of leather began curling around her wrists and a thick, braided strip of it, connected them inches apart. Two, much thinner, sprouted from their centers, wrapped comfortably around her palms and continued on, above and behind the chair. Realizing it was Loki, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He sauntered into sight from a dark corner, with his hands behind his back. “Oooh, I love a good game of hide and seek darling, but you're a little tied up at the moment.” “Hilarious.” She dryly commented. ‘Strange.’ He thought. “Angry at me for any particular reason?” “Why bother explaining, Loki. Just do whatever it is you intend to and maybe if I'm not frustrated enough, I’ll return to my book.” Well this was an unexpected development. “And what exactly do you think that will entail?” He curiously asked. “A bout of teasing for your amusement.” She replied. “What else?” Confused by her response, he studied her for a moment. Could this be her subconscious speaking, regarding the previous dreams? If so, her mind could be much stronger than believed and he considered his next actions and words, very carefully. “I thought you enjoyed being my consensual sub?” His eyes filled with mischief and hunger and she blushed beneath his gaze. “I..I do, but…maybe I just don't feel like being tied up and teased ‘right now.’” “Very well.” He kindly replied. “Then you won't be.” Holding her forearms until the binds vanished, he lowered them into her lap with a cheeky smirk. “You now have permission to return to your book.” “Permission?” She asked. He gently kissed her lips. “That's right. As your Dom, I have granted it.” Shandi found her voice again as he reached the door. “Loki?” “Hm?” “What if..I have another request?” The look on his face, almost melted off her panties. “I'm all ears.” Turned out, he was all mouth too. A couple of times, Shandi wondered where she ended and his face began, but that didn't last long. Two wicked orgasms later and she was a sweaty, breathless, disheveled mess, with her ass hanging half off the chair. Loki stared up at her, amused. “How is it I do all the work and you look to have been in a wrestling match of sorts?” He scooped her into his arms and headed for the door. “Where are we going?” She asked. “A more comfortable place to give you pleasure.” “Heaven help me.” He laid her on the bed and whispered huskily into her ear. “You're mine, Pet. Nothing will save you from me ever again.” ~~~~~ Shandi awoke as exactly that, a sweaty mess with her heart racing. She sat up on the beds edge, turned on the lamp and brushed aside her hair. Loki smirked at her hazy eyed expression, then followed her gaze to a small, open, duffle bag on the floor. She'd tossed the ‘broken’ Hitachi into it the day prior and her comment almost made him laugh and give his presence away. “Stupid Midgardian gadget. I oughtta behead you.” ‘Perhaps it's wise we didn't purchase a sharpener for those axes.’ He thought. “Middle of the night and I need another shower, pfft. He's probably sleeping like a baby." She headed for her ensuite. "Brat.” Loki left, seriously considering if he should continue with that spell. The last thing he wanted, was her somehow discovering he'd invaded her dreams and thoughts. She'd hate him for it and he could never live with that. Perhaps it was time to let her warm up to him, on her own terms. He went to the garage, performed some quick magic and returned to bed. In the morning, Shandi awoke to a knock on her door and the sweet smell of baking. “Wake up sleepy head, I've made breakfast again. It's on the counter, I'll just be outside.” After the food poisoning incident, he'd cooked every time they ate. In between, he’d shared healthy snacks and she'd yet to open a food cupboard or the freezer, since. Sleepy eyed, she sauntered to the kitchen and found warm muffins, a small bowl of strawberries and her favorite coffee brewing. ‘Well, you gotta admit.' She thought. 'It certainly beats a bowl of fruit loops. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts. He did offer help with your hair, but I'll bet there's a catch for all this cooking. Guess I'll find out soon enough.’ Once ready, she found him in the library, already as Clifford. He fixed her hair, then had her follow him out, towards the side of the house. “Why are we heading for the garden?” She asked. “I’d like your opinion on something.” As they turned the corner, she spotted two partially bloomed peony bushes, one pink, one white, on either side of the path. Each was encircled amidst decorative pebble stone and speechless, she glanced between him and them. “Not a good location?” He asked. “I could move them. I've installed muted lights beneath the stone, however, so perhaps you'd like to view them at night before deciding?” “Uhh, no..no they're fine. Beautiful too and..I mean..might I ask why you did this?” He looked into her eyes. “You did say you liked them, correct?” “I did.” “Very well then, come. Gus and Ella are having breakfast across from Beth's shop. Let's find you another pair of shoes for all the walking we’ll soon be doing. We’ll need more groceries too. As we'll soon be friends, Gus eats similar to ‘Blondie’ and I, so it's best to be prepared.” ‘Breakfast, peonies and new shoes? Have I just walked into the twilight zone? Wait...’ “‘Blondie?’” She asked. “Kroshka’s pet name for my brother. You know, the one I tossed, naked up a tree?” Shandi chuckled. “You didn't really do that, did you?” “Oh yes and it was well worth the punishment.” “Which was?” “A long grounding.” “What did he do to you?” Loki held open the gate. “Let's just say something he was wise enough, never to attempt again.” His response didn't sound positive, so she decided not to probe him about it. Once in the car, she waited until he fastened his seatbelt. “Thank you for the peonies, Loki. That was very kind of you.” He winked and turned the keys. “You're welcome.” Practically all the way into town, the dense woods surrounding the steep hill the house had been built upon, left the road lined with bushes and tall grasses. About three hundred meters after they turned onto it, something on the passengers side caught Loki's eye. “Did you see that?” He asked. There was a short strip where the grasses went further into the woods and it looked as though a vehicle had driven several feet into it, head on. Shandi shrugged her shoulders. “Probably some guy in a hurry to shake the dew off his lily.” Loki arched a brow. “Would you mind translating for the Asgardian, please?” “He needed to pee?” “Ah. I can't say I've ever referred to ‘mine’ as a flower, but to each his own, I suppose.” Shandi smirked, then read a text from Nat. She'd done her business in Beth's shop, but so far, there’d been no sign of Alice. It was still early, so Loki and Shandi carried on as planned. At the grocery store, she ventured over to the bread aisle, leaving Loki in the meat department. He was inspecting ground beef near some employee doors, when two young women came out. “Hello again, Laura. How are you?” She stopped and smiled. “Oh, hi. Excuse me, I've forgotten your name?” “Clifford.” “Yes and your wife is Elizabeth.” “That's right.” Loki kindly replied. After introducing her friend as Kate, she stated he and Elizabeth may have met their moms. “Oh?” He asked. “My mom mentioned meeting newcomers to the neighborhood in the town park. Her name is Alice.” “Then we did meet. Quite a friendly lady, as is Beth who owns the Maternity shop. Hopefully we made a good impression.” “I believe so.” Said Laura. Loki was engaging them further in small talk, when Kate gave Laura a strange look, then gestured with her eyes down a nearby aisle. Loki quickly looked to see a woman who appeared to be in her mid twenties, with long, curly blond hair, and a body like a playboy centerfold. She wore extremely short blue jean shorts, a tight tank top that did nothing to hide her abundant cleavage and black leather heels. All three looked back at each other. “Another newcomer?” Loki curiously asked. “We'd prefer if she were passing through.” Said Laura. “True.” Said Kate. Then she smiled sarcastically, at Laura. “Oh great, she's heading our way.” Laura whispered at Loki, before the woman got too close. “Heads up, Sir. You're about to meet Tanya, the town trollop.” He smirked at first until shooting another glance in the woman's direction. Heart shaped face with high cheekbones, perfect, peaches and cream complexion, luscious, full lips, she really was quite a beauty. Yet her eyes, the color of green ice, possessed a wickedness he sensed ran deep into her soul. Unbeknownst to her, Loki also noted the look of disdain she gave Laura, before shooting him a flirty, seductive smile. “Well, hello there.” She looked to Laura and Kate again. “Aren't you going introduce me to your friend?” “Why?” Asked Laura. “I wouldn't be doing him any favors.” The woman's lip twitched before her smile returned. “A rude child at play you are, Laura.” She turned back to Loki, fluttering her lashes and offered her hand, as if he were expected to kiss it. “I'm Tanya. And you are?” All three had seen Shandi approaching and knew she'd observed the entire interaction. As though it were a silent understanding amongst them, neither did a thing to give her away, yet Loki noticed how ‘she’ eyed ‘Tanya’ with disdain. ‘Hmm, Interesting.’ “His name is Clifford.” Shandi matter of factly, stated. Tanya turned, glanced at her stomach, then back to her face in silence. Shandi then smiled, but Loki knew, she didn't mean it. “And I'm his wife, Elizabeth. I'd shake your hand but…” Bypassing Tanya completely, Loki stepped forward, taking the bags of bagels and breads from Shandis hands. “Let me get those for you, darling.” Then he stood at her side, smiling, while removing a stray curl from her cheek. Tanya plastered on a fake smile of her own. “I assume you're new to town?” Shandi stared at her and Loki almost cackled, feeling the tension between the two. ‘Come now darling. Don't do anything silly.’ “We are.” Shandi flatly replied. “I gather you're not?” An awkward silence fell between them and Loki cleared his throat. “Let's continue shopping Lizzy, hm? We've a busy day ahead.” Shandi sighed and looked up at him, her voice becoming softer. “I'd rather not go to the park if we don't have to.” Loki clued in immediately to her intentions of hinting towards Elizabeth's issues before Laura, played along and gently ran the back of his finger down her cheek. “You know it's for the best.” Shandi couldn't prevent her eyes from fluttering in response to his touch and Laura sneered at Tanya's haughty expression, when observing the look of affection between them. To redirect attention to herself, she sighed and dramatically, flipped back her hair. “Well, I'll be on my way then. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Then she looked at Laura and Kate. “Have a pleasant day, ‘children.’” No one said a word until she was far down the aisle, when Laura commented. “She didn't mean that, but can't help being a bitch. It's in her nature.” Loki and Shandi looked at each other, as Kate took Laura's arm. “Come on girl, your moms probably knee deep in flour and sugar with Mrs. Carter by now and looking forward to a break.” She looked to Loki and Shandi. “If you haven't been yet, visit Carters Bakery, on Austin Road, you'll love it.” “We shall.” Said Loki. “Before you go, might I ask who that woman was?” “Scott Robertson's daughter, the captain of our police.” Said Laura. “And she's not a nice person.” Kate smiled nervously, leading Laura away. “It was nice to have met you both, but we need to go. Bye.” She whispered quietly as they walked. “Chill out okay. Don't let her get to you, she lives for that shit.” “It's kinda hard not too, Kate. You know why I hate her. Why is she back in town, anyway? To wreak more havoc?” “Hey, it's been over a year now. Please try not to think about it?” Shandi watched them, while whispering to Loki. “Did you catch all that sarcasm? Laura does ‘not’ like that woman. I do like how outspoken ‘she’ is though.” She turned to see him smirking at her. “Don't you?” “I think we should talk more about this in the car.” He whispered back. Shandi nodded in understanding, but Loki kept staring and smirking. “What?” She asked. “Nothing.” Then a thought crossed her mind. “Seriously? You didn't actually find that..‘thing’ appealing did you?” “Oh my. ‘Thing?’” He asked. Shandi gave him the stink eye. “Eh he he he. Of course not. I'm a married man, remember?” He started pushing the cart again. “Why do I get the feeling you were concerned I did, Lizzy?” “No I wasn't.” “Should I give her a go, then?” He teased. “Perhaps she’s not all that bad.” “Aren't you contradicting yourself?” “Was that a no?” Scarlet cheeked, Shandi moved to start walking ahead of the cart. “You talk too much, Clifford. We need some fruit.” Loki followed with a big grin. ‘Nice attempt at lying darling, but you've failed miserably.’

[sciencespies]

Christmas Wasn't Always the Kid-Friendly Gift Extravaganza We Know Today

https://sciencespies.com/history/christmas-wasnt-always-the-kid-friendly-gift-extravaganza-we-know-today/

Christmas Wasn't Always the Kid-Friendly Gift Extravaganza We Know Today

There’s a special, even magical connection between children and the “most wonderful time of the year.” Their excitement, their belief, the joy they bring others have all become wrapped up in the Christmas spirit. Take the lyrics of classic songs like “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” “White Christmas,” or even the aptly titled “Christmas Is for Children” by country music legend Glen Campbell—these are just a few of the many pop culture offerings that cement the relationship between kids and Christmas. But it hasn’t always been this way, even though the holiday celebrates the Christ child’s birth. How kids got to the heart of Christmas has a lot to tell us about the hopes and needs of the modern grown-ups who put them there.

Until the late 18th century, Christmas was a boisterous affair, with roots in the pre-Christian Midwinter and Roman Saturnalia holidays. You’d find more along the lines of drunkenness, debauchery and raucous carousing at this time of year, especially from young men and the underclasses, than “silent night, holy night.” For example, in early forms of wassailing (the forerunner of neighborhood carol-singing) the poor could go into the homes of the rich, demanding the best to drink and eat in exchange for their goodwill. (Once you know this, you’ll never hear “Now bring us some figgy pudding” the same way again!)

But the boozy rowdiness of the season, together with its pagan roots, was so threatening to religious and political authorities that Christmas was discouraged and even banned in the 17th and 18th centuries. (These bans included the parliamentarians in mid-17th century England, and the Puritans in America’s New England in the 1620s—the “pilgrims” of Thanksgiving fame.) But then, as now, many ordinary people loved the holiday, making Christmas difficult to stamp out. So how did it transform from a period of misrule and mischief into the domestic, socially manageable and economically profitable season that we know today? This is where the children come in.

Until the late 18th century, the Western world saw children as bearers of natural sinfulness that needed to be disciplined toward goodness. But as Romantic ideals about childhood innocence took hold, children (specifically, white children) became seen as the precious, innocent keepers of enchantment that we recognize today, understood as deserving protection and living through a distinct phase of life.

This is also the time when Christmas began to transform in ways that churches and governments found more acceptable, into a family-centered holiday. We can see this in the peaceful, child-focused carols that emerged in the 19th century, like “Silent Night,” “What Child Is This?,” and “Away in a Manger.” But all the previous energy and excess of the season didn’t just disappear. Instead, where once it brought together rich and poor, dominant and dependent according to old feudal organizations of power, new traditions shifted the focus of yuletide generosity from the local underclasses to one’s own children.

Meanwhile, the newly accepted “magic” of childhood meant that a child-centered Christmas could echo the old holiday’s topsy-turvy logic while also serving the new industrializing economy. By making one’s own children the focus of the holiday, the seasonal reversal becomes less nakedly about social power (with the poor making demands on the rich) and more about allowing adults to take a childlike break from the rationalism, cynicism and workaday economy of the rest of the year.

Social anthropologist Adam Kuper describes how the modern Christmas “constructs an alternate reality,” beginning with rearranged social relations at work in the run-up to the holiday (think office parties, secret Santas, toy drives and more) and culminating in a complete shift to the celebrating home, made sacred with decked halls, indulgent treats and loved ones gathered together. During this season, adults can psychologically share in the enchanted spaces we now associate with childhood, and carry the fruits of that experience back to the grind of everyday life when it starts up again after the New Year.

This temporary opportunity for adults to immerse themselves in the un-modern pleasures of enchantment, nostalgia for the past and unproductive enjoyment is why it’s so important that kids fully participate in the magic of Christmas. The Western understanding of childhood today expects young people to hold open spaces of magical potential for adults through their literature, media, and beliefs. This shared assumption is evident in the explosion of children’s fantasy set in medieval-looking worlds over past century, which was the focus of my recent book, Re-Enchanted (where I discuss Narnia, Middle-earth, Harry Potter and more). Christmas or Yule appear in many of these modern fairy stories, and sometimes even play a central role—think Father Christmas gifting the Pevensie children weapons in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe—using the holiday as a bridge between the magical otherworlds of fiction and our real-world season of possibility.

Beyond storytelling, we also literally encourage kids to believe in magic at Christmas. One of the most iconic expressions this is an 1897 editorial in the New York Sun titled “Is There a Santa Claus?” In it, editor Francis Pharcellus Church replies to a letter from 8-year-old Virgina O’Hanlon with the now-famous phrase “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” and describes her friends’ disbelief as coming from the “skepticism of a skeptical age.” Church argues that Santa “exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist,” minimizing the methods of scientific inquiry to claim that “[t]he most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.”

Many of the arguments for the importance of the arts and humanities that we still hear today can be found in Church’s language, which identifies sources of emotional experience like “faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance”—and belief in Santa Claus—as crucial to a humane and fully lived life. According to this mindset, Santa not only exists, but belongs to the only “real and abiding” thing in “all this world.” “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” as it has come to be known, has been reprinted and adapted across media forms since its publication, including as part of holiday TV specials and as the inspiration for Macy’s department store’s “Believe” charity and advertising campaign since 2008.

The fact that the sentiments in this editorial have come to be associated with a major retailer may seem ironic. Yet, calls to reject consumerism at Christmas have been around ever since it became a commercial extravaganza in the early 19th century, which is also when buying presents for kids became a key part of the holiday. How to explain this? Today, just as in premodern Christmases, overturning norms during this special time helps to strengthen those same norms for the rest of the year. The Santa myth not only gives kids a reason to profess the reassuring belief that magic is still out there in our disenchanted-looking world, it also transforms holiday purchases from expensive obligations into timeless symbols of love and enchantment. As historian Stephen Nissenbaum puts it, from the beginning of Santa Claus’s popularization, he “represented an old-fashioned Christmas, a ritual so old that it was, in essence, beyond history, and thus outside the commercial marketplace.” Kids’ joyful wonder at finding presents from Santa on Christmas morning does more than give adults a taste of magic, it also makes our lavish holiday spending feel worthwhile, connecting us to a deep, timeless past—all while fueling the yearly injection of funds into the modern economy.

Does knowing all this ruin the magic of Christmas? Cultural analysis doesn’t have to be a Scrooge-like activity. To the contrary, it gives us the tools to create a holiday more in line with our beliefs. I’ve always found the way we abandon kids to deal with the discovery that “Santa isn’t real” on their own—or even expect them to hide it, for fear of disappointing adults that want to get one more hit of secondhand enchantment—unethical and counter to the spirit of the season. The song “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” is supposed to be funny, but it captures shades of the real anxiety many kids go through every year. Knowing what children and their belief do for society during the holidays can help us choose a better approach.

A couple of years ago I saw a suggestion floating around on the internet that I think offers an ideal solution for those who celebrate Christmas. When a child starts questioning the Santa myth and seems old enough to understand, take them aside and, with utmost seriousness, induct them into the big grown-up secret: Now THEY are Santa. Tell the child that they have the power to make wishes come true, to fill the world with magic for others, and as a result, for us all. Then help them pick a sibling or friend, or better yet, look outside the family circle to find a neighbor or person in need for whom they can secretly “be” Santa Claus, and let them discover the enchantment of bringing uncredited joy to someone else. As Francis Pharcellus Church wrote to Virginia O’Hanlon more than 100 years ago, the unseeable values of “love and generosity and devotion” are in some ways the “most real things in the world,” and that seems like something that all kids —whether they’re age 2 or 92—can believe in.

Maria Sachiko Cecire is an associate professor of literature and the director of the Center for Experimental Humanities at Bard College. This essay has been adapted from material published in her recent book, Re-Enchanted: The Rise of Children’s Fantasy Literature.

#History