#shroud pearl cookie

[angelicalchaoticabyss]

Black Diamond Cookie

Shadow Pearl Cookie and Black Spinel Cookie (Black spinel belongs to @mumble-jumble-gallery

Onyx Cookie and Shroud Pearl Cookie

Black Gem Mermaid Legion.

[milkcartoncatkid]

GUYSGUYSGUYGSGSTSHSGE HERES MY PERSONA FR THIS TIME

and here’s the analysis of his design :3

INTRO

name: aspen

pronouns: he/they

species: chaos demon, half baku

age: ageless

agere: yes

likes: making friends with apparitions, video games, multiverse hopping, tricking people, music, poem writing, those cookie ice cream sandwiches, kisses, hand holding

dislikes: alc0h0l/drvgs, loud noises, bright/flashy lights, crowds, clocks, dresses

universe of origin: anti-void (hi undertale fandom)

multiversal friends(I AM CRINGE BUT I AM FREE): Tsukasa Yugi, Magolor, Marx, Taranza, Susie, Kasane Teto, Rin Kagamine, Kokichi Ouma, Carlos De Vil, Pearl Houzuki, Frye Onaga, Callie Cuttlefish, Una Otomachi, Idia and Ortho Shroud, Killer!Sans, Horror!Sans, Ink!Sans, Mizuki Akiyama, Emu Otori, Saki and Tsukasa Tenma, Flamberge, Francisca

lives: goes back and forth between universes to Planet Popstar, Splatsville, and Empty Sekai

HEADCANONS

spends a lot of time on Planet Popstar, but often retreats to Empty Sekai if things get too overwhelming

they always spend Splatfest weekends in Splatsville, and will occasionally take the train to Inkopolis

he HATES clocks. they remind him of Bad End Night, and Galactic Nova

loves to cause chaos, but usually runs from it pretty quickly as he doesn’t like the aftermath

”DAMN bitch you on dat ZAZA OR SUMTHN??” - Aspen during Magolor’s boss fight

loves plushies and WILL steal them

im gonna make a special age regression post about him someday

they actually were on a lower level of the tower but did witness the events that happened in the Hell Of Mirrors in the tbhk universe

can only universe hop about three or four times a day, or else he gets really sick and nauseous (the exception is the anti-void; they can get here whenever they need to with ease)

he can also jump around timelines.. spooky dude

may or may not have been the reason Lor Starcutter crashed…….. dont ask

has a special music box, it plays Isabella’s Lullaby from TPN, but it was a birthday gift from Susie

CHARACTER DESIGN (rlly bad srry)

his hair is messy becuz i like messy hair, the horn thingys are inspired by both Taranza and also Tamari from Reckless Battery Burns/Qualia Automata, the wings are inspired by Meta Knight and Marx (when retracted they look somewhat like Meta Knight but when extended they look more like Marx), the clothing is inspired by Tamari, the shirt design is supposed to be like the warp star from Kirby, the jeans i mention i just thought of becuz i like the jeans a girl named Kaitlyn usually wears in history, just any random sneakers will work when drawing him, and the sleeves are over his hands becuz one im too lazy to draw hands two it fits that alt art style and three it just looks cute, and i drew a star on his face to represent the Star Allies Sparkler from Kirby Star Allies in tribute to it being the first (and so far only) Kirby game ive finished

i rlly like his design and fun fact the first time i drew his final design today was on the back of a statewide testing material for science :3

[interxstitial]

WHAT COLOUR IS YOUR SOUL?

golden verse: HONEY — friendship bracelets, beehives, school busses, children's books, flowerpetals, honeyed toast, polaroids. your essence is honey: you are devoted and endlessly enthusiastic. your friendships are your security; you shroud yourself with people who make you smile and feel lost at sea without them. often you are quick to dedicate yourself to whatever hand feeds you. you are the companion. you are the confidant. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of peach, marigold, yellow, and orange, who share your love of teamwork. you are also drawn to the streamlined souls terracotta and chiffon, who will help you grow and discover your own confidence. however, you may struggle to get along with the heedless personalities of orchid and chartreuse who seem like fair weather friends. 

otherside verse: BEIGE — lattes, dry fields, footprints, easels, cat fur, pottery, fresh-baked cookies. your essence is beige: you are an even-tempered and comforting presence. you take refuge in your sanctuary and creature comforts; the warmth you exude flees from spontaneity or change. you are consistent and indulgent. you are the sleepy. you are the satiated. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of brown, umber, tawny, and ashen, who share your patient nature. you are also drawn to the expressive souls sky and cream, who will help you grow and teach you to explore new ideas. however, you may struggle to get along with the spontaneous personalities of blush and lilac who seem too frivolous.

bitter verse: AMARANTH — bundled flowers, ribbon, merlot, overcoats, gemstones, lipstick prints, red velvet. your essence is amaranth: you are engaging and passionate, but never out of place. you do what needs to be done; your confidence is unflinching, least of all when something has slipped beneath your standards. it is hard to live up to the image you imagine others have of you. you are the demonstrater. you are the debutante. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of wine, pearl, noir, and magenta, who share your inner intensity. you are also drawn to the ambitious amethyst and indigo, who will help you grow and inspire your actions. however, you may struggle to get along with the mercurial personalities of teal and bronze who wish to be free spirits. 

tagged by: no one! i stole it >:C tagging: for any muses/verses of your choice! @grmpywlf @mconlight @underctrls @monarchking @piinkfanta @thegreenswillcome @ofgentleresolve @itsacriime​ @jeoseungsaja​

[peachyqueenly]

When She Was Here

Oyster, a Cookie of Salt and a native of the seas… who answered to no god of the Republic’s and cared not of anyone who did.

Mille-Feuille, a Cookie of Sweet dough who attended to the orphans of the Republic each and every day… would it be any surprise if she had been driven mad by such a sight?

Different, yet similar. Both in their indifference and secrets kept.

//An exploration of a relationship between Oyster and Mille-Feuille, and the aftermath of the events of Odyssey.

General Audiences, Oyster Cookie/Mille-Feuille Cookie

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41344314

Within the shadows and corners untouched by light in years, acts shrouded in secrecy occurred all throughout the ‘grand’ Republic. Blasphemous sermons, back alley deals and underhanded bargains… committed by cookies of sugar and salt alike. Sweet and salty mixed into an overwhelming concoction that one would think was brewed by the witches’ themselves.  

No Cookie would want to live like this, but only a few had the luxury of escaping such unappetizing circumstances. And of those fortunate few were two cookies. Two who, on cold and lonely nights like these, kept each other warm and a little less lonely.

A bedside lamp mimicked the dancing of a candle in how faint its glow was; it illuminated only the most prominent curves, angles, and wrinkles of the one who laid in bed. On her lonesome, at least for now. Oyster sat there reading a book to pass the time. No orders to give, nor any meetings to be had this late into the night… unless their dearest Consul desired to test her patience. When the only ones awake were the mistress moon and the one who longed for her so painfully. Yes, it was so very late. And yet she who had it all could not sleep—no, she just did not want to. She was but a bat of an eyelash away from wistful dreams; potentially hearing the song of the moon herself. The only matter keeping her up was… her acquaintance, who she waited patiently for with a tap, tap, tap of her finger against the binding of her book.

Yes, a mere acquaintance could keep her up like this. Nothing personal, she was above such attachments. A simple matter of professionalism and business, as she saw it. Even as she laid there in little more than her bed-time robes. Simple, yet far fancier than most any Cookie could ever hope to see or touch. Let alone wear. Fine pearls danced and decorated the lace as dark as the licorice seas themselves. Quite the sight to behold, truly.

Especially by the suspiciously kind umber eyes that entered the room…  

In her own bedtime gown, Mille-Feuille stood at the now open door. The bright light of her previous space casting herself in shadows the two were far too used to. An inky darkness they sometimes caught in the corner of their eyes while walking about. And then gone, extinguished with a flick. Taken away without a moment’s notice, while the slight beat of her footsteps followed her to bed, where she finally found herself sitting on its side.

“… sorry for the wait, Elder Oyster Cookie.” Mille-Feuille commented, not looking the other in the eyes and instead focusing on the way her fingers lightly danced and molded the sheets, “I had… business to attend to before this.”  

“Mhmmm…” Oyster merely hummed an acknowledgement, not yet looking up from her book. Perhaps engrossed by the contents thereof or playing coy to the one who had kept her waiting. No one would ever know.

“… ‘This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.’”

That, finally, brought one of the two’s gazes upon the other. As Mille-Feuille’s hand froze and a glance was shot towards the other.

“Pardon?” One could almost assume the elder was… bothered, as she spoke.

Oyster does not assume, however. She knows. And she knew.

“… oh, don’t mind me.” The one seemingly oh so knowledgeable of all the happenings around them finally acknowledged her other half. Her one and only . Flipping the corner of a page ever so delicately, before setting it down on her bedside table. A mere footnote to her and the other’s evening, as she now saw it.

“Don’t look too confused either, dear ‘Elder’.” Her words and tone seemed to be trying to reassure Mille-Feuille, “Such a look doesn’t suit you. I merely read aloud sometimes… unless there is something you see in that line in particular?”

There was a moment of silence.

“… no.” Mille-Feuille sighed, shifting as to allow her tired legs to stretch out, “It’s nothing. Just not the greeting I expected, nor have grown to expect, from you.”­­

“Hmm…” Oyster seemed to ponder for a moment. Moving herself a little closer to her partner for the night as she did. Draping her arm around her, and making herself deservedly comfortable with a content hum soon after. Or a teasing one? Perhaps there was no woman in this grand republic who knew, coy as she could be in matters of… business.

… and romance.

Yes, if there was one thing Oyster was known for besides her house’s finances… it was her, let us call it, preference for the fairer gender. Beautiful, like one of her many gleaming pearls, were each and every maiden her expert hands managed to play like a fiddle. Words that sounded like poetry and a gaze that could tint any cookies’ dough in a flustered façade… that was the famous Oyster Cookie. One who could never have just one pearl… or beauty. No, as one came, her gaze fell on another. Never able to look at the same one twice.  

Well… all except one. But it was a mere passing fancy. Nothing more, nothing less.

The hand over Mille-Feuille’s shoulder rubbed circles into her aged yet tender dough. Expertly, as if the other had given her fair share of massages over the years. Enough to bring a groan out of the fair lady.

“No need to stress over small words and ideals, yea?” Oyster mused for the both of them, “You’re here now. I, nor you, should have a concern in the world, no?”

“Not a concern in the world…” the other noted Oyster’s previous words, before she leaned her head into the crook of the other’s neck.

“... yes, I suppose you are right… the night is quiet. Peaceful… at least up here.”

“… yea.”  

Up here…  

It was tranquil. At least up here. Yet these two particular elders knew of the illusion their lives afforded them. Their success, and what supported them just beneath their feet and chapels. For every success story like Oyster and the naval captain Cookies of Sweet worked in tow with, there were dozens of salty doughed souls below them. Wasting away until they became one with the mud. Begging for a single coin. Spouting words most of those up the upper city would consider blasphemous and hedonistic in the hopes that it could help them. A collective voice pleading for some merciful god to help the outcasts such as them.

“God help the outcasts”, they would cry.

Many would choose to ignore such cries, or simply lived in blissful ignorance. But not them.

Oyster, a Cookie of Salt and a native of the seas… who answered to no god of the Republic’s and cared not of anyone who did.

Mille-Feuille, a Cookie of Sweet dough who attended to the orphans of the Republic each and every day… would it be any surprise if she had been driven mad by such a sight?

Different, yet similar. Both in their indifference and secrets kept.

… now the air was tense. The previously soft hands stopped, pressed in a bit too far for comfort at the shift in mood both had experienced. A shift of the tides, strong enough to possibly overturn a ship even.

“… ahem.” Oyster was not naïve; she was more than privy to subtleties like this. “I must say… I was curious about your reasons for being… later than usual.”

She had seen the way Mille-Feuille sometimes merely sat in silence during sermons in recent years. The way her mind and gaze always seemed to be elsewhere during such ‘blessed’ moments. And yet, they somehow still kept her away from Oyster?

“Odd, for someone so devoted and punctual.”

The air only got tenser as the faithful woman said… nothing. Not at first. She merely laid there, a thoughtful hum preceding the slightest of movement… perhaps of discomfort? Or… in preperation. As soon, Mille-Feuille sat up. Guiding them both to a seat as she hovered over the other’s lap.

“Hmm… you know the roles we play.” A soft hand cupped Oysters cheek, before their two’s faces were drawn closer, “My role at the Church can keep me… occupied. Not to mention making sure each of the children get a proper meal and education.”

… warmth.

“Nothing to worry your head over. I’m always attended to, whether by the most loyal of Paladins and attendants, or even by your own officers.”

Oyster felt a slight warmth in her face as Mille-Feuille spoke. Their faces lingered so close together for so long. Was this a tease? Was she on the opposite end of the social games she so expertly played and weaved on a day-to-day basis? No… no, she was the eye of the Republic. An informant, she knew everything. Had a hand in and control of everything.

Including what her heart wanted…and this circumstance.

Not a moment more would be wasted. Before another word could be spoken, Oyster closed the distance and seized control of this exchange. A kiss in the dead of night, a moment of passion between two women who just could not admit the truth—either to themselves or the other. But none of that mattered when their eyes were screwed shut. The only sensation guiding them was the softness of each other’s lips and a pair of finely aged hands that cupped such delicate dough. Oyster could feel Mille-Feuille’s grip, so firm… as if she were afraid she would lose sight of the other if she let go.

As for her own hands? They were situated atop the shoulders of the other. Before they trailed down her arms… feeling every hour and second this most holy of vessel’s had lived. Every blemish, wrinkle, and any other gems her fingers could read a story all their own. All the way down to her hips, where they pulled the larger woman’s frame closer to hers and admired the softness of her frame with the slightest of grips. Finally, it all ended with a contrast in desires. One arm moved up and around her back, pulling Mille-Feuille into as warm of an embrace as this cold and hardened soul could give. While the other… moved down, if for the briefest of moments. Taking in and kneading the softness that was the larger woman's thighs, before traveling back up to complete her embrace.

… not before that previous motion elicited a hum from Mille-Feuille, as they finally separated for a moment of air. The two got lost in each other’s eyes for the briefest of moments. Like moths to a flame, where the nearby lamp created a spark that ignited the golden ambers of the holy woman’s eyes. Contrasting the hauntingly cool eyes of Oyster’s; that which could lure one down like a siren’s song into the deepest abyss.

Not a word nor sound was exchanged. Not a coy turn of phrase nor the sweetest drops of love. Only the slightest creaking of the foundation of their relationship Oyster’s home could be heard for this briefest of moments. One that, sadly, could not last. Like all good things.

“… as passionate as ever.” Mille-Feuille mused, leaning her head into the other’s shoulder, “Like the first all over again, stealing my breath away with your charm. I would not have it any other way, however.”

��Neither would I, ma douce .” were words Oyster had repeated many a time over the years, but this nickname was her’s and her’s alone. Her sweet… indeed, nothing was sweeter to Oyster than this precious moment in time. This precious woman, baked after a dessert no one could have but her.

“… though,” she began again, still holding the other close to herself, “Your vagueness is not lost on me, dear.”

Mille-Feuille did not make any attempt to move. Not a bat of her eye, nor a hint of coyness in them or her frame… She merely smiled down at the other. So kindly and tenderly.

“I’m not sure either of us would be interested in a complete summary of my duties, ma chérie .” she let her eyes wander to the side, in a display of modesty, before they shut, “Especially in matters we both know you care little for…”

“But if they kept ma douce away? Stole such sweetness from me?” Oyster’s words, meanwhile, carried with them a lingering taste of a tease, as if to draw the other’s heart closer to her as her hug brought them physically so, “I am always intrigued by matters that steal what is mine, dear.”

A pause.

“As much of an honor as being the one and only of your’s truly is, it really was nothing special—”

 “Then, a brief description will do, hm?”

“I do believe that’s what I gave, yes?” her eyes opened once more, and Mille-Feuille stared right into Oyster’s, “I had business with the preachers and children of the church. Matters of great importance to address.”

That much was true. Not serious to Oyster, but there was no elder nor perhaps citizen of the Republic who could doubt Mille-Feuille took her role seriously.

… there was still a lingering feeling on Oyster’s mind, however. Something hidden, something murky and obscured and unsightly despite how brightly lit such umber eyes were. Consumed by a darkness even she couldn’t comprehend, like the deepest abyss of the sea. Where the wails of lonely souls were the only thing that could be heard. There was something. Just beyond her reach. And nothing could stay out of her reach… forever.

However, she also knew… pushing was sometimes not the right move. To protect a queen, a pawn or rook sometimes had to move back. Moves had to be considered carefully, as did words. And yet it would be fine. It always was. She would find an opening. Eventually.

She always did.

For now, though, she merely shut her eyes in a seemingly yet feigned move of defeat. Her smile everlasting, and her descending form pulling the other down to bed with her.

“I suppose you are right.” Oyster said with no hint of a tone, brushing a bit of her beloved’s curly hair to the side, “It is true, such matters are rather boring to me. If nothing notable happened, I suppose I have no desire to know more.”

A deep exhale, almost like a sigh, left Mille-Feuille as the two fell into a warm embrace. The softest of beds and blankets enveloping the two.

“Indeed. It is as I said.”

“Then, if it is as you said, it is how it shall be.”

“Indeed… but that is enough about me.” Never one to like focusing on herself for so long, Mille-Feuille turned it towards the other. Intrigued by the many deals and glimmering treasures the other sought and found… if not a bit overly curious about certain attributes.

“I’m sure you have things far more interesting to share with me. Show me.”

A soft chuckle fell from Oyster’s lips. Coarse, from age, and yet no less loving and sincere, “Perhaps I do, but they can wait. Till the morning sun graces us.”

And with that, the light was extinguished. And the two were left to linger in darkness. One pair of eyes shut to meet pleasant dreams.

Yet the other… such sincere umber eyes. They remained open. If for only a little longer, in silent contemplation and melancholy. No longer lit, they sank into a darkness no one would ever think could reside in one such as her. Yet… it did. And she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone knowing, so no one would know. Not the council… especially not her. For everyone’s sake. For her own sake . She just… couldn’t know. She couldn’t gaze into the abyss, nor… see the light of providence herself. Not yet.

Her dearest…

Her chérie…

“Oh ma chérie …”

Was all she could muster. Before, eventually, her own eyes finally shut. And another night passed…

~

Time had passed. Months? Weeks? It was lost, both on a state in ruin and one frazzled mind who, for the first time in ages, shut the door of her private quarters with haste. No sound, not a word to her guards and attendants. Breath heavy and teeth gritted, but finally… on her lonesome.

The indecisiveness of those Cookies of Sweet rang in her head. Hastening her breath, causing her fist to ball up in anger she didn’t know she had. She was angry… bitter.. so, so very hurt--  

That lingering bitterness from that most cowardice of elder’s words lingered on her. Wore down her skin till she almost felt the need to scratch it off herself. Such an insult within the chambers she and her fellow Cookie of the Sea had worked so hard to get into. Not to mention the other’s and how they sat by and did… nothing, until it was too late.

And… her…

“… AGH!!'' Unbecoming of the peak of the republic’s intelligence and finance, Oyster let her fists hit the recently shut door with a pronounced THUD. Before they slid down in defeat… along with the rest of her slender body. Exhausted and at its wits end from the previous series of events. The insult that was the council meeting, their very republic shaken to it’s very core by the darkness itself.

… she, of all people, only learning the truth when all the other elders did.

Her body shook a little. A sight no one would ever live to see… or live to tell others, as one hand left the door to feel the saltiness staining her cheeks. Glistening from her eyes. She hadn’t even been given any time to process this. Any of this. Not from Custard. Not from the other elders, nor forces beyond even her own knowledge and control. Nothing could prepare her for… not knowing… she…

She was supposed to know everything.

She did know everything. She knew the one with amber eyes that would haunt her dreams till the end of days had something to hide.

And yet…

“… ha. Ha ha…” Even one as strong as Oyster. As put together and sure of herself as she had her moments of weakness. And if there was ever a moment for her to be so overwhelmed… it was here. On her lonesome, despite not wanting to be. Despite only wanting one person here to question… no. Not that. Or… just that.  

She just wanted to see her again.

“Haah… oh ma douce .” Her words spilled out in a wave of uncertainty. She felt betrayed. She felt lonely. She felt hurt. She felt… she…

“Mille Feuille…”

… you could’ve told me , Oyster thought.

After all, an elder with a damning secret wasn’t anything new. Whether it was unsafe milkshakes no one on that damned council took seriously, or a plot to take the Soul Jam for themselves. It… wasn’t enough to change how she felt…

What she wanted…

…

Her feelings didn’t change the facts, however. Wishes couldn’t come true. She was no longer here.

[pudding-with-a-happy-meal]

Here's a list of my f/os because my brain said so :D (the names next to my romantic f/os are our ship names ^^)

Romantic:

Black Raisin Cookie (Lovebirds)

Red Velvet Cookie (Puppy Love)

Riddle Rosehearts (Study Partners)

Idia Shroud (Each Other's Top Tier)

Ruggie Bucchi (Survival Instinct)

Epel Felmier (Apple of My Eye)

Mizuki [from Kamisama Kiss] (Blossoming Hearts)

Scaramouche (The Truth in My Heart)

Jung Hi (HotPink)

Cro (Lovestruck)

Platonic:

Hollyberry Cookie (Her hugs and hair ruffles aaaaaa)

Black Pearl Cookie (Sometimes she likes carrying me around to show me how the sea looks like from her angle :D)

Familial:

Sun and Moon/The daycare attendant (from Fnaf sb) (Father/Parental figures)

Kokichi Oma (Older brother)

(And more to add soon ^^)

[burnt-toast-life]

mothie, sasha, mothra, mobius, malice, mitt / mitten, conceit, insolence, vanity, lumine, senti, sirin, sustainer, celine / selina, carnage

ascend, kiana, evil, fern, venus, charcoal, villain, asmoday / asmodeus, eudaimonia, sylveon, meloetta, gardevoir, celestial, archives

ripple, byleth, elegy, void, eevee, cassius / cass, luna, brook, jellymon, andrew, wyatt, charles, harley, felix, abyssal / abyss, vortex, resonance

waves, surge, aquila, amulet, evernight, shroud, aster, star, petra, desire, fishnet, lucius, future, aponia, divinity, isle, dew, pearl

moon / moonbeam, gambit, crimson, eagle , flowers, garland, emperor, noble, melancholy, seraphim, bolt, hades, feather, carnation, blue, cream

porcelain, cosmo, castor, orion, vega, calytrix, nova, lyra, mob, cecilia, narrator, ventriloquist, peach, anemo, hatterene, melody

lyric, clef, medea, harmony, aurora, cotton, century, bloom, zoe, ribbon , silk, threads, millennia / millennium, eon, time, clock, heaven

viatrix, blend, crown, dream, joy, saint, summer, illusion, faith, columbina, lucy, drew, galileo, tellulu

comet, drift, sci, queen or queenie, chloe, mia, kal, azure, kk, belle, winter, gloria, dee, bianca, trixie, damsel, emi, dove, peace, mantis, infinity, serpent, viper, nyx, chasm, veil, demon, shadow, leo, bubblegum, hope, an, synth, raine, wish, cookie, sweetie, eve, nightmare, twilight, dawnght, dawn

here yiu go! u can take any.

Thank you, you have pretty cool names actually. I’ll think about taking Malice, Byleth, Nyx, or Shadow.

- ??

[twilighteve-writes]

Don A Mask and Cloak

Summary: Goldie O’Gilt was charming, and beautiful, and smart, and observant, and it didn’t take long for her to realize that people saw her as the former two and forgot she was also the latter. When she put on a mask to shroud herself with the air of whatever she wanted to project, and no one could see Goldie underneath.

Goldie knows how to pull people into believing she was more attractive, trustworthy, innocent than she truly was. It wasn’t just pure talent.

(Also available in AO3)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goldie O’Gilt was charming, and beautiful, and smart, and observant, and it didn’t take long for her to realize that people saw her as the former two and forgot she was also the latter.

Well, that just made things a lot more challenging, and Goldie liked challenges.

She would quietly rebel in a small ways; taking cookies when she wasn’t supposed to, whispering bad words just as the edge of the adults’ hearing range, eating loudly and talking with her mouth full when she wanted to. Whenever the adults started to frown, she would imagine wrapping herself in a blanket and wearing it like a cloak, labelling it as well behaved in her mind and smiling innocently. And just like that, the adults’ frowns melted into fond smiles, and she was off the hook. She kept putting the blanket around herself throughout childhood, hiding her mischievous streak under well-placed smiles and well-timed crocodile tears.

Then she grew into a teenager, as charming and beautiful as ever, her cleverness armed with hidden claws and whispers of stories about magic and riches and her own desire to have them all. At the ripe young age of her teen years she had already mastered the art of dangling teasing smiles and taunting destiny, letting a curl of her fingers and a cascade of her golden hair lure people into spilling information for her and distracting them enough to let her wandering hands take maps and gems from their pockets. The blanket had been left behind in her childhood room with teddy bears and building blocks, swapped for a collection of dramatic, glittering opera masks.

She wandered into town needing a place to sleep in and donned a mask of a quietly crying young girl, glittering diamonds as tears, painted blue to visualize she was sad, sad, sad. She roared at a group of men who told her to go back to the kitchen when she decided to mine for gold, donning a mask of a fierce lion, its eyes gleaming rubies and its fangs sharpened marble. She smiled at men who smugly showed maps to buried treasure and magical items, donning a mask of a cunning vixen with glittering red fur dusted with diamond dust, appearing demure and quiet and beautiful as she silently outwitted them and ran with her prize, laughing to the wind all the while.

None of them saw through the collection of masks. When she put on a mask to shroud herself with the air of whatever she wanted to project – a young downtrodden girl, a fierce woman, a demure lady hiding her claws beneath – none of them could see Goldie underneath.

None of them, except Scrooge McDuck.

When Goldie put on the mask of a trustworthy, harmless young girl, Scrooge blinked and squinted at her, then acted as if nothing had happened. Nothing about his demeanor changed. Which was interesting to say the least; usually people would have been halfway through their life story by that point. So Goldie pulled out the old blanket and put it on like a cloak, willing the air of trustworthiness and harmlessness to waft around her powerfully, but Scrooge only frowned in displeasure and snapped at her to stop it.

“I already know what you’re doing,” Scrooge had said. “You want me to trust you so you can take my gold later. Well, you’re not getting anything from me!”

Goldie gasped in offense. “Me, stealing from you? Good sir, how dare you!” She willed herself to exude the trustworthiness and harmlessness in droves.

Scrooge only scoffed. “Your tricks don’t work on me, woman. Now let me get my gold.” And, as if Goldie hadn’t tried to make him trust her, he left.

Well, this was intriguing. No one had been able to do that before.

A series of freak circumstances somehow managed to put them in each other’s paths again and again. By the third time they met, Goldie had since realized that Scrooge was a lot different from other people. When their hands brushed, Goldie would sometimes be reminded of the cool, smooth feeling of gold underneath her hands and of a dime clutched like the most precious pearl in rough fingers. Judging by the looks Scrooge threw her from time to time, it wasn’t unsafe to assume he had also felt something from her.

“I told you that your tricks don’t work on me. Stop doing that,” Scrooge had said one time after Goldie tried again to appear trustworthy.

Goldie switched the mask for one with voluptuous lips and a teasing wink instead. Maybe she could just lure him into a false sense of security by distracting him with a sashay of hips and a curl of a finger instead. “Are you sure?”

Scrooge paused, looking at her blankly, then his gaze hardened. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Goldie gripped the masks, unwilling to let go of them. This never failed before. “But why?”

“For once, I would like to actually speak to Goldie O’Gilt instead of… whoever you’re trying to pretend to be,” Scrooge said, and left it at that. It was one of the few times someone managed to surprise Goldie into silence, and a part of her childishly clung to her collection of masks and cloaks and blankets in indignation.

And then they got stuck together in ice, because of course.

It was an odd time, when they were stuck. Goldie was too busy being angry at everything to deal with her masks, and there wasn’t much she could do with them in her situation anyway.

And yet, with the masks gone, Scrooge’s gaze softened, and so did hers. It was ironic, how the absence of her attempts to be more well-liked, more attractive, more trusted was what chipped Scrooge’s prickly armour and let him finally, finally, gave her a genuine smile.

It was almost a shame, when she managed to free herself and left. It was all Goldie then, no mask and no cloak, just her waving Scrooge goodbye and knowing he would chase sooner or later. She pretended not to be disappointed when it took Scrooge a long time to resume their little game, but she let the giddiness in her chest be known by a genuine smile she gave Scrooge, just for a second.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goldie lived her life donning masks after masks, weaponizing her charm and beauty and striking when the moment was right, receiving distrustful glances and smiling innocently and taking the mask she named trustworthiness and innocence, and the distrust melted away and she could take whatever she wanted with little to no resistance.

Scrooge remained the only one who could see through her without fail, and it was a lot more fun than it had any right to be.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Years later, Goldie would meet Scrooge’s precious nephew and niece. Scrooge’s gold-and-coins had strengthened somehow, but more hidden, wrapped safe under his fancy coats and smelled of old maps to treasure. The twins, surprisingly, was so much more obvious.

Donald reminded Goldie of beaches, of dipping her feet into the waves and tasting salt in her tongue; Della reminded her of standing at the edge of a canyon and looking down, feeling updraft wind whipping her hair about. Della fell immediately for the parental mask Goldie chose just for them, but Donald was far more reluctant, and he pulled Della’s sleeve back when she bounded over to Goldie, staring at her with what seemed to be confusion in his eyes. It broke Della’s trust almost immediately and she huddled closer to him.

Goldie laughed it off and ignored the small sting of hurt at the way the twins looked at her. In hindsight, she should have known pulling them to trust her wouldn’t be as easy as pulling any other regular jane. They were Scrooge’s family, and if nothing else, Scrooge would have taught them to think twice before placing their trust in someone who may not have earned it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goldie heard the news of little Della (not so little anymore) going missing and sent Scrooge a letter asking if he was okay. She never got a response, but she never expected one.

The next time they met, he felt like tarnished gold.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When she met Scrooge again it was about a decade later, he was surrounded by a gaggle of children, and he had regained some of his lost shine. She took her attractive mask, but then she saw the telltale signs of his frown and dropped it. It was still odd, how Scrooge never liked her masks, but it wasn’t an unwelcome thing.

The triplets, however, were interesting.

They weren’t as blatant as the twins, but then again she also first met the twins when they were older – the age difference alone might have had something to do with it. But they had their own distinct feeling. The red one exuded warmth like a gentle campfire, the blue one buzzed like static electricity, and the green one was similar to Scrooge in how he hinted of something glittering and precious.

So when the green one (Louie, she learned) asked her to be a mentor for him, she agreed.

She met Donald when she got to the McDuck mansion, while she was casually strolling up the stairs and definitely wasn’t eyeing the plethora of artefacts she could probably swipe. She had to pause in her steps when she heard the familiar raspy voice called out to her, “Goldie?”

She turned and found Donald at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her in apparent confusion. “Oh, hello!” she greeted as he ascended the stairs and stopped a few steps below her. This much older, he felt far more contained but powerful. He didn’t feel like he was leaking saltwater everywhere like he did as a child, but instead of dipping her feet into the shore he felt like Goldie had just taken the plunge into the deep blue without any sort of safety precaution.

“What are you doing here?” Donald asked. “Not trying to steal anything, I hope.”

“Oh, nothing of sorts! The little green one invited me here,” Goldie explained. She smiled. “He’s a cute one. I admit I’m surprised he even considers me good enough to ask me to mentor him.”

Donald sighed, smiling fondly. “Of course he did.” He shrugged. “Well, have fun, I guess.”

Goldie lifted a brow. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot. “What, no shovel talk? I thought you’d be a lot more protective of your boy.”

“Louie’s smart. I trust his judgement,” Donald said. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll hurt him. You’re not a bad person, deep down.”

“Why, Mr. Duck, are you insinuating you know me so well? You have no evidence I wouldn’t do anything to him! I might steal him away, you know. He feels precious.”

“He feels precious?” Donald repeated.

Goldie shrugged. She doubted he would understand; most people didn’t. “Isn’t he? He reminds me of gold and gemstones, somehow.”

Donald stared. Then, his gaze sharpened as the feeling of rising waves reached and enveloped Goldie, prodding her. She stiffened in surprise, staring at Donald with alarm. Was it just the trick of the light, or was he softly glowing blue? Were his eyes changing color into sea blue with specks of white seafoam? Goldie felt like she was being wrapped in a wave that was ready to roll her over, and she didn’t like it.

Then, the sensation passed, receding like a tide. Donald rocked back on his heels, looking at Goldie through lidded eyes as he breathed out a huh. “You have something,” he muttered, more to himself than to Goldie.

Goldie frowned. After that, she couldn’t help but be wary, guarded, against this duck that was obviously so much more than she had ever thought he was. “What do you mean?”

“Opera masks and cloaks,” Donald continued, not even looking at Goldie. “It… fits. I thought it would be like falling curtains though, it feels like the atmosphere changes when you use it…”

“What do you mean?” Goldie repeated, stressing her words, and it seemed to finally pull Donald’s attention back to her.

“You don’t know?” he just asked back.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I know.”

“Oh. Well, you have magic.”

The casual way he dropped it was somehow more shocking than the words themselves. “What.”

“Yeah? I mean, I have it too? So do the triplets, and Della. Uncle Scrooge might have it too?” Donald tilted his head. “Yours don’t feel that powerful, but it’s very refined.”

“I, uh, thank you?” Goldie didn’t remember when she last felt this speechless. Nothing about this should make sense but it really did. She frowned. “So when I meet Scrooge and he reminds me of gold, is that…?”

“Oh, yeah,” Donald nodded. “I don’t think he’s aware of it. It’s hilarious, really, since he actually hates magic.” He snickered to the side.

Goldie stared. “So everyone in your family has it? …Magic? What even is your family? I don’t think I’ve ever felt something from other people. Not like your family’s, anyway.”

“I think we’re somewhat of an abnormality in that way,” Donald admitted. “I don’t think it’s normal, but our family isn’t exactly normal.” His gaze hardened as he stared into Goldie’s eyes. “But I want to talk to you about my boys. About Louie, particularly.”

“What about him?”

The ocean around him rose again, little by little until it loomed above Goldie. “You’re not the first one to realize he feels precious. If you do anything to him, you’re inviting the whole family to hunt you.”

“I thought you said no shovel talk,” Goldie said dryly.

“That’s before I realized you have magic.” Donald stared. “Last time, the one who got interested in him also has magic.”

“Who was it, if I may ask?”

Surprisingly, Donald gave the answer quickly enough. “Magica De Spell. But you won’t want to follow her footsteps.” He smiled, innocent at a passing glance but full of underwater mines. “She can’t use magic anymore, now.”

Goldie blinked. “You’re a lot more capable of shovel talk than I thought you would be.”

“Thank you. I had a lot of practice.” He turned and walked away. “Have fun with Louie. Bring him back before dinner.” He paused and smirked. “And feel free to join us for dinner. I’m sure Uncle Scrooge would love to have you around.”

“You know, you’re sending a very mixed message. You just gave me a shovel talk and now you’re asking me to stay for dinner?”

Donald laughed and walked away. Goldie couldn’t help but smile, but the conversation weighed heavily in her mind.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doofus Drake was one creepy child. That should have been obvious from the start, but somehow the sheer absurdity of his mental state didn’t register until Goldie was literally put on display, which was several shades of disturbing altogether. Maybe she shouldn’t have put on her parent figure mask in the first place.

And then the unmistakable feel of sharp gold and glittering gems drew near, and Goldie found herself relaxing. Louie may be young, but he was surprisingly capable – perks of being Scrooge’s grand nephew, most likely. Goldie watched as he handled the situation – a little roughly perhaps, but he was young, he hadn’t had the time to refine what he could do. Goldie could give him pointers later.

It surprised her, when his magic brushed against hers. He really had come far since the first time Goldie met him. The vague feeling of cold and precious metals had solidified into something sharp and gleaming, reminiscent of the golden khopesh he brought along and emeralds. There was an edge of danger that wasn’t there before, and Goldie wondered what exactly had happened that he developed that edge.

He glowed faintly gold, speckled with green, with his eyes flat discs of gold when he pulled a bag of gold to himself before they escaped the house. The glow faded and the discs in his eyes vanished with a few blinks. It made Goldie wonder what she looked like when she swapped her masks.

“Should you use that so casually?” Goldie asked. “I don’t think most people are aware the McDucks have magic in their arsenal.”

“It’s fine, it’s not like the Drakes were paying attention – wait.” Louie looked up at her. “You can tell?”

“Yes.” Goldie smiled wryly. “You’ve been reminding me of riches since I first saw you in that Gala. Your uncle is very protective of you, by the way. There are some implied threats when we talked earlier.”

Louie pouted. Capable as he was, in the end he was still just a young boy. “I can take care of myself, though.”

“I’m sure you can,” Goldie said soothingly, automatically pulling on the parent figure mask back on. Louie glanced at her warily for a moment, but then he relaxed. It made her wonder if he knew and decided to trust her anyway. The thought warmed her heart.

Not enough to make her regret robbing him blind in the middle of the woods, but she never promised she’d never steal from him. Donald may have warned her about hurting or putting Louie in harm, but he never said anything about pulling a con.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later on, when she was home and surrounded by her newly claimed fortune, Goldie would open her wallet and stare fondly at the new photo she and Louie took. The parent figure mask she donned may have been made to make it easier for them to join Doofus’ party, but in the end she really did ended up liking Louie. He was charming in his own right.

She wondered what would happen if she decided to take up Donald’s offer on joining them for dinner. They probably wouldn’t like it, after what she had pulled, but really, it was Louie’s own fault. He shouldn’t have trusted her in the first place; surely he already knew how many times Goldie had robbed Scrooge McDuck, the richest duck in the world and the most paranoid duck when it came to gold and treasure?

[jancisstuff]

Torene’s Nameday

I do not know what it is like to have a nameday. I have been to others. Eroich’s. Chachanji’s. One time I got bait for Barengar so he could fish on that day and played the harp awhile.

They are all different. So I did something different, as well. Torene would most likely not recall much of the nameday. But others would. And they care for her. So it was not really Torene’s nameday, but everyone-who-cares-for-Torene-in-some-way nameday.

It was for them.

Though not everyone could make the appointment, well-wishes were sent. In some way they still enjoyed the feeling and time from whatever distance. I had food and one thing to do. Talk about where Torene was one Turn ago and finish the bracelet of jade beads.

Twelve jade beads. One for each moon. Each one important in their own way. How remarkable to pay attention to each with such attention. How she has changed and grown. How I have changed and in some ways grown.

Her heart and body have grown while mine has calmed. Her eyes seeing new things, mine seeing the same things in a new way.

The day she stayed awake until the end, looking at each person in turn and the gifts they brought. They themselves were the gift, but all the same they had to leave a momento, an intention of care and protection.

The Gifts:

Aralinde: Her time. This little one though she did not leave Dogberry’s side, spent time with Torene. Understanding the work it takes to travel – especially so young – to see Dogberry, she gave her time to be with him to share it with us. Strangers now friends. I think of her now in Rhalgr’s Reach. I must send her flowers so she remembers the Beds and the Shroud until she returns.

Baeyl: Many. Baeyl brought many I noticed. The first was her smile. The way her lips lifted up as if it was only for me to see. A secret smile that had knowledge and care behind it. The second was a set of floral pomanders with a holder carved with beautiful beasts; for the hard days where sleep was fleeting and needed aid. The last was her, a mother. A mother with much to share.

Barengar: I noticed him early on as others arrived, one of the first. He is hard to not notice, his size alone. First time I had seen the Ala Mhigan since removing the pearl. He stayed until all others departed, a gift of broken ginger cookies wrapped in parchment. It was on purpose, of course, to make the cookie last longer for a tiny person. The right amount for Torene to taste when something fun happened. Almost a training, that good things in life were connected to these sweet warm ginger cookies. Just like the ones his brother adored.

Chachanji: One of the first to know about Torene’s coming before we even knew who she was. He arrived with a box nearly as tall as himself, wrapped in decorated paper and written in large letters that only a smith’s hand could make “FOR TORENE”. He guarded it with care and in a small way I was sad to open it. The idea of a box so well decorated and wrapped to look special had to be enjoyed for existing despite what lay inside. There is a lot of intention and love when someone receives a box like that. Afterall, surprise is part of the gift. Inside was the largest plush I have ever laid eyes upon. Soft and fluffy with patches and mending, a chocobo much larger than Torene to share the bedspace with and keep her company through all her travels. He said it was his from younger days. What a wonder. To have such a treasure and to pass it on. I must needs help Torene care for this plush until she understands and can handle it herself.

Cheche: I had heard about this woman from Nathaniel. She was like a flower in a meadow, swaying to blur anyone’s vision to not see her directly. I feel remiss I rarely had a chance to speak with her. To thank her for a gift that was so well placed it was distracted as others brought gifts. Finally did I have a moment to look upon it properly. It deserved that. There was a lot of thought involved. A gathering of charms. It reminded me of the bracelet Torene wore of jade. Charms of well wishes and protection. Wards I was not greatly familiar with, animals, and one hosting the Twelve together. I must needs thank her for this gift.

Cinnabar: A steadfast companion. I personally missed much of Cinnabar’s time with Torene, but could hear it as she introduced Kwehgraf and helped them get along. I heard afterwards that Torene fed the small chocobo chick with her own hand and got to feel the soft red feathers! That the little one is safe and content to join so many others, after all the ordeals it has endured, is truly a gift. No doubt Cinnabar is to thank for the cloudkin’s demeanor. She is an example of sweetness and strength perfectly balanced.

Dogberry: Since the war spreading, I am happy to work with this man once again. Much as he is humble about his rank, I respect that. He is still as a Captain as he is not one. It never mattered. Along with bringing his daughter Aralinde, he brought beautiful blocks of wood dyed in vibrant colors. Big enough to hold in a tiny hand. They are fun to stack and even more fun to knock over to stack again.

Denz: That he was able to make it was enough, but he came with more all the same. Not Aedwen, which surprised me, but with things for Torene and myself. Astrelle had made them, he told me, two matching charms on a chain bearing the De’bayle family crest. It matches the charm bracelet for Torene, not as subtle. He is very intent on reassuring this connection. His sweetbread, he calls her. It fits. And after that, he carried the many wonders that piled next to Torene, even the large chocobo. All the while letting Torene sleep against his ribs.

Fatima: She is bright like a star and smiles so bright I even caught Torene looking expressly at it. Alas, there were so many to greet I did not greet the lady as much as I wanted. Still, she brought a gift more than eating some of the many sandwiches the party had. There was a bag of gil coins. Many. I will have to find someone to teach Torene how these coins work, for I know I do not understand them well enough. A place within her bed I can store them. Until the time comes. So many coins.

Flora: I did not get to speak to her, but she brought a friend. Perhaps she is training with beastkin? It was a large feline that kept her arms busy and gave her so many kisses it looked as if the woman was blushing from the redness. I did see Ghaellon and Barengar smiling. I was so glad to see her.

Ghalleon: As with Flora, I was remiss to not greet with more than a hello. I still carry his prayer with me and that is a grand gift. How funny it is to think back to last Autumn and the concerns he had for me. And the argument we had, having a meeting of minds. Yet now here we all were, smiling and glad to have people we recall and remember. To enjoy some company even for a short while. The gift of a friend.

Jacline: She had a cane. I could see the fatigue in her face, even through smirks and funny jokes. We were together when the aether changed, to see some of the truths. I knew she was still recovering from that ordeal. Yet here she was regardless, standing, joking, and even brought Torene the most amazing present. I half-spun when the jack-in-a-box sprung near violently out of its box. Torene still stares at it. A first foe? A first fear to overcome? It was perfect. It has a funny song then a big surprise, like a prank. Torene will grow to love it, I know it.

Nathaniel: He came to the Shroud. Those few words mean a great deal. All my energies and efforts were put into Torene for this sun and he understood that. Then also came with kin and friends, eyes of amber keeping an watchful eye on them all as well as Torene. And me. As if that was not enough, he presented her with three gifts. Three useful gifts. They were useful in more than their intended purpose as his apprentice made them to learn the craft. Though I would think it a masters, a journeyman’s at least. A light shaped like a fish that can create light from water. I already use it to tell Torene stories when the sky is without stars.  A spool of thread that looks to be made of gold, for all the tears and rips clothing in play will get. And one thing I know is of Nathaniel’s own hand without him telling me. It feels like the staff he gifted me with. An amulet of moonstone that could purge darkness. To keep her safe. For truly the darkest of suns. Such potent magicks can only last so long, but from the make I can tell it is made for such and can be re-imbued. Not that by the reason alone would I take Torene to Nathaniel. There is another home there.

Ojene: A music box of soft wood that smelled like the ocean and has many animals embossed with metal carved into its frame. It was wrapped in a soft blue cloth that Torene even covers the box with, then uncovers it. I think it keeps the animals shiny. I got to play the music the other night, it was as if Menphina wrote the tune, a song of love and sweetness that lulled both of us to sleep. I realized that Ojene had only recently returned from Doma and made the trip to the Twelveswood after being so long from her beautiful house and home. Her own child was resting there, naught but a Turn older than Torene. I cannot wait to see her again and learn more.

Reginald: I am so glad Reginald has come back into my life. He is the most unique knight I have met to date. An old friend. He arrived with a quilt Torene still grabs often. Each square is unique to its fabric and feel. The colors are warm. I think for Torene it is still a mystery, for each time she finds a different square, it is as if the entire feel and sound is new. I will have to ask him what scents he wants added to it as they fade. Right now it smells a lot like the cologne he was wearing.

Sui: For good health. There was a big bouquet of bright marigolds. Many like a setting sun in Summer. And some like a sun at full noon! It was enough to see Sui’s bright smile, but then the flowers. I found one of the tucked into Torene’s blanket when she fell asleep. The others I will carefully dry and preserve. A marigold is a challenging flower for such a task, but they are for good health and a gift to last a lifetime.

Swozbhar: I saw him talking with Tausenadel. Is he also interested in beasts? Or the sea? It was good to see him, especially in happier times and with less stress in his face. He brought a beautiful wind chime of bones from seakin. It must have taken a lot of work, for none of it smelled fishy, only the soothing scent of salt like an ocean. He said it was more for me than Torene, but who could not enjoy such a thing? I can see Llymlaen sending a breeze to make its soft music start. Or if the Navigator cannot, I just might.

Sylbfohc: He was beaming despite long suns at sea and only arriving back home, and so funny. Torene lit up at his full voice, mouth open in some of the biggest smiles even at first meeting. She does not see a lot of beards, though. And his is certainly eye-catching. I look forward to sharing more stories of his daughter Little Estorme as well as the invitation to work for him with the Maelstrom. Even atop all those things, he insisted on a bag with many gil coins within. For Torene and all the things she will need. I must needs store it away. Such things are beyond me. Traders willing, they will not be beyond her.

Tausenadel: Long have I known Tausen and he was the best hands to help with the party. His experience with beasts, be it to rescue them and recuperate or keep them, is second to none. The Beds were full of many of his little fosters and wards that sun, finding new hands to pet and flowers to explore. He also told many a story, including some of mine favorites. Even if the group got dysentery. I could tell most of the others enjoyed it, pausing in whatever they were doing to listen. I am lucky to have such a great friend.

Ulysses: I know he is still recovering, but still he came. And not alone. Marcel was with him. A bearcub that I knew was small for what he would become, but ever so large already. It was so nice to see him. 

Thank you, generous guests.

[godhlpthegrl]

Capsize

In the winter, we cannot recognize ourselves dressed in our mother's lace. Shrouded in diamonds, and you in pearls, we’re whisked away by our fathers cinching, leather grips to the old fishing district. With its nose turned up high on the hill, looking down at the rest our desolate, iced over tourist town, sits the yacht club. A setting as lively in the summer as it is in winter, where the events held to keep the ennui at bay are disguised as something more-something meaningful. Every wine tasting night, every father-daughter dance, every Christmas dinner all just excuses keeping the townsfolk from their own perilous restlessness until the sun shines over our brimming little beach town again. It’s a place where you and I have to play pretend just to survive. Exploited and used by our families like props and trophies, we’re paraded around like cattle, forced to carve out our widest smiles for the wolves dressed in bow ties and boat shoes. I swear I can still feel the sting, well into the warmer months, from where the old widows slap our hands and hiss “stupid girls! Not like that, smile with your teeth!” Our cheeks would burn, abashed and sore. Nevertheless, we’d comply, too afraid of the consequences that would ensue had we not. With our bare bones exposed, the wolves could carry on gawking, our fathers bragging, and our mothers could breath poised sighs of relief knowing their daughters were safe for another season.

“There’s something unsettling about their eyes,” You declared one night at a dinner dance, cookie swap, fundraising event or whatever it was at the time. We found refuge, hugging our knees underneath a table devoid of any place cards or centerpiece. “It’s like staring into the very nights that claimed their lovers.”

“The widows?”

“If you catch a close enough look, you can see them capsize.”

[saturatedpages-blog]

Suburban Ennui

In the winter, we cannot recognize ourselves dressed in our mother's lace. Shrouded in gold, and you in pearls, we’re whisked away by our fathers cinching, leather grips to the old fishing district. With its nose turned up high on the hill, looking down at the rest our desolate, iced-over tourist town, sits the yacht club. A setting as lively in the summer as it is in winter, where the events held to keep the ennui at bay are disguised as something more-something meaningful. Every wine tasting night, every father-daughter dance, every Christmas dinner all just excuses keeping the townsfolk from their own perilous restlessness until the sun shines over our brimming little beach town again. It’s a place where you and I have to play pretend just to survive. Exploited and used by our families like props and trophies, we’re paraded around like cattle, forced to carve out our widest smiles for the wolves dressed in bow ties and boat shoes. I swear I can still feel the sting, well into the warmer months, from where the old widows slap our hands and hiss “stupid girls! Not like that, smile with your teeth!” Our cheeks would burn, abashed and sore. Nevertheless, we’d comply, too afraid of the consequences that would ensue had we not. With our bare bones exposed, the wolves could carry on gawking, our fathers bragging, and our mothers could breathe poised sighs of relief knowing their daughters were safe for another season.

“There’s something unsettling about their eyes,” You declared one night at a dinner dance, cookie swap, fundraising event or whatever it was at the time. Sometimes we found refuge, hugging our knees underneath tables devoid of any place cards or centerpiece. “It’s like staring into the very nights that claimed their lovers.”

“The widows?”

“If you catch a close enough look, you can see them capsize.”

In spring, we shed our skin between the trees and wash away girlhood in the creek. The world around us is still aside from the trembling in our knees, scraped and laced with diamond pavement and concrete. We’d welcome the season's respite with offerings carried away on the backs of bugs. We’d feast on blood oranges, rip them apart with our nails and wince at the metallic taste. Still, we couldn’t get enough. The entire town couldn’t get enough. The widows thaw back into witches, the wolves suspiciously retreat. Spring was a renaissance, and from high up in the trees-our kingdoms away from home-we had front row seats. I wore mud smeared cheeks well, you wore grass stains better. We used the threads from the tears in the knees on our jeans to reinforce our own loose threads, we used our t-shirts as tourniquets. Naked and raw, running in the woods like infants who just discovered their legs capabilities, all we had to fear then were our mothers. Still numb from the winter, the wolves would run off with their rabbits, leaving them empty nesting, scathing and bitter. They wouldn't like what we got up to in the forests.

“My mom is gonna kill me,” you’d say, with dirty hands mimicking a knife to your throat.

“Don’t joke like that.”

The response to my demand did not pass through your lips. It was not your voice who carried the question, nor was it one that you and I recognized. But we could recognize the feeling it had brought with it, and the butterflies who made their cocoons in the pits of our stomachs began to beat against our insides.

“Who’s joking?”

Come summer, our town becomes overrun like the invasive plants down by the marshes, the ones that swallow you whole lest you got too close. We could never see the tourists coming. It would start with the faint footsteps in late May, only to be heard in symphony with the night owl’s cries. Never bring it up at breakfast, the point would be moot. Even when they get closer and the footsteps began to sound like a stampede, nobody else seemed to notice. Or if they did, they’d never admit to it. We could never see the tourists coming, all we could do was fall asleep to sound of their deafening march and wake up on June first to crowded beaches and congested streets. The mosquitos came with them, moving through the heavy humidity in thick sheets. Bug spray was never enough, but you and I were smart enough to even bother with that stuff, and the witches in the lighthouses were too wise to. We’d make our way through the crowded streets-hiding from more than just the sun underneath the wide brims of our hats-to find them. We’d find them, only after ascending the rusty lighthouse stairs for what seemed like an eternity, concocting spells in the same, casual way that old ladies like to bake. Mud and moss, moth wings and cicada shells, crushed berries that looked less like berries and more like blood. Things we couldn’t quite explain.

“It’s protection,” explained one witch.

“Keep it close, and cherish it like your youth,” said another.

They only ever spoke in metaphors, riddles, or in abstract language that only elicited quizzical expressions from you and me. We’d thank them all the same.

On our way back to town, we’d take the detour route to test out our new protection spells. Far off underneath the canopies of the red cedar swamp where they gathered to store the blood they collect, the mosquitoes avoided us like a plague, disgusted by the vials that hung around our necks.

“If you listen, I mean if you really listen closely and if you stay quiet enough…” You grabbed my hand, trying to quiet me and at the very moment our skin made contact, a blinding thread of heat lightning weaved its way across the sky. Followed by a clap of thunder with all too perfect timing. You simply carried on with what you were trying to say and to this day, you’ve never said a word about the electric hum that followed us home that evening.

“...you can hear the mosquitos whispering.”

I heard them cursing the witches, telling secrets...and I could’ve sworn I heard something about love.

Then came fall, when we’d sit in the graveyards at sunset. There, we’d count the number of new names and unmarked graves, taken by the bugs or the masses. We could never see them coming, but from the graveyards, we had a perfect view of the bridge that guided away the tourists. Oh, how we loved to watch them leave.

“They’re the lucky ones” you’d say.

“Sure are...” I’d solemnly agree, and we’d carry on watching and living vicariously.

You’d inform me of the brightness in my eyes quickly fading, and I’d inform you of the sorry state of your sun-kissed cheeks. As the sun went down over our little beach town, I’d study you closely, thinking in blueprints and escape plans. The trees would shed their own skin, and bend to the will of the wind like skeletons. While the wolves would reemerge, well rested and mean, the witches snuck goodbye letters into our hiding spots by the creek. Ignoring the weather reports that kept our fathers glued to the TV, we’d judge how bad the winter would be by how hungry the wolves were. Our mothers were always far too busy to even think of winter, blind to any impending doom ahead. They frantically packed and prepped our oldest siblings for university, getting ready to send them off, over the bridge with the last of the tourists.

“They’re the lucky ones…” I’d whisper, waving goodbye at the edge of my driveway.

“Sure are…” you mouthed from across the street.

As soon as the minivans were out of sight, as soon as our mothers retreated and our fathers were back inside glued to their TVs, we’d make our way to the creek one last time. Before the ice came to claim it, before our mothers could catch on to where we disappear to in the spring, we retrieved the letters-left by witches and signed by widows, apologizing for what they might do come winter-and left in haste, without any trace to ever tie us to having been there. Come the fall, we fall asleep clutching letters left by witches and signed by widows, holding on to empty vials of what was once protection spell and gripping the notion that one day, we’ll escape ourselves.

“Such imaginations those girls have…”I heard my mother whisper into the telephone one night as she poked her head into my bedroom.

“Isn’t it something?” your mother asked and answered into the receiver.

Pretending to be asleep was both a natural talent and a survival tactic.

[lifeofaernthota]

An Interview with Aernthota Hymllihtwyn

tagged by: @manasong ( and @popola-sil-pola too so she gets a notification that i actually did the thing ) tagging: UHHHH ANYBODY??? WHO WANTS TO???? orz it’s been a million years since i got tagged in this so gomen 

A light breeze ruffles the curtains as Aernthota opens the window wide. Warm Shroud sunlight spills over a coffee table crammed with a plethora of foods; everything from sandwiches to cookies to cake. She motions towards the sofas there before hurrying over to retrieve a whistling kettle and a few mismatched cups from the cabinet. A tap to her pearl, a soft spoken word to someone on the other end, and her attention focuses as she also settles down, helping herself to food. “Ah! Ready when you are! An’ please please pleeease help yourself!”

What is your full name?

Aern giggles a little bit and carefully watches the pen, as if waiting for a mistake to appear on the parchment. “Aernthota Hymllihtwyn. Misspelled, of course. Be damned if I could find anyone but another Sea Wolf t’get it right. Ma still shakes her head any time a letter shows up back home for me... Swears one day, I should just tell’em t’sod off until they can spell it right! Oh hyll, lemme spell it for ya.”

What do your friends call you?

“Aern! Mostly. S’much easier that way. Sylb likes t’call me Sunflower, Dew Drop, Sunshine... yanno that stuff. But he’s the only one who gets away with it!”

What is your favorite animal?

“Adamantoise! Never really saw many of ‘em until I started travelin’ around! Big scalekin... Cactuar are almost as cute though... Though... do those really count as animals? Plants really.... lil... stubby things.”

Where were you born?

Her shoulders straighten some as she takes a hefty sip of tea before continuing. “Right smack in th’middle of Limsa Lominsa! Ma always joked that she was just mendin’ nets like always when I just kinda fell out! But Limsa is home, even after bein’ away for so long. I still go back t’visit when I can.” 

Do you have children?

”Ah! One day I’m sure! Though... none right now.” She mutters something into her cup that sounds an awful lot like “Not for lack of tryin’.”

Is there a person/people you love?

Aern immediately brightens up as she looks towards the door, as if waiting for someone to return. “Sylb! Er... Silver. My husband. My rock, my comfort, th’most handsome Roegadyn in all th’land... yanno all that good mushy shite!” She covers her cheeks to hide a tinge of girlish blush. It takes a few seconds to really contain herself. “Really though... Without him, I wouldn’t know such a good life here. We take care of each other. He’s th’best damned chef I’ll ever meet - he’s the one who made all the food! I can barely boil water without settin’ somethin’ on fire. He’s always helpin’ bring back soil an’ seeds an’ just... I can’t wait t’spend th’rest of my life with him.” 

She stuffs a bit of sandwich in her mouth, stops for a moment, and then immediately has another thought. Frantically chewing, she manages to clear out enough room to speak.  “An’ of course th’whole Company! They’re all th’best cohorts a lady could hope for!!”

What is your favorite colour?

“Yellow! Bright yellows! Yanno like... th’kind of sunshine yellow! Happy colors. Not so much for all th’doom an’ gloom kinds.”

What is your full occupation?

"Er... Dunno if y’really call it much of an occupation but botanist! Er... gardener! Part time adventurer if you can believe that! Some poor sap at the Adventurer’s Guild thought they could train me up an’ make somethin’ of me! After butchering my name of course... But nah! Mostly work with plants. A lil bit with potions. Anythin’ to be outside really.” 

Are you good at physical fighting?

There is a pause as she sips again, uncertainty playing across her features. “Er... Well I mean... I know how t’fight well enough. Dunno if I’d really say good though. Much better at patchin’ people up than really doin’ any damage.”

Which form are you best at?

"Shite that’s a bit tricky too yanno! I studied a bit with th’spear... An’ gods be good I grew up with half th’damned Mauraders in the guild! They were a riot... didn’t give me any slack though! Trained me just as hard. An’ well... t’be honest... Kinda got a lil bit’a practice with one of those katanas. Completely different than any of th’other swords. Feels a lil more fluid.” She trails off for a second, grabbing another hunk of sandwich absentmindedly. “But still. Not really good at anythin’ in that realm. Colson’s th’one to ask about all that!”

What about magic?

With an enthusiastic nod, Aernthota pours herself a bit more tea. “That’s more my style! Definitely.”

Which type are you best at?

“Healin’ magics mostly! Dunno how I got t’really be so in tune with th’Shroud but... it was kinda scary at first. Not too many trees in th’city. But it was... somethin’ else.” There’s a lull here, marked only by the sound of birds outside and the gentle breeze ruffling the curtains. “Sylb’s a little more accustomed t’other magic. Stars an’ such. It’s pretty amazin’ t’think that we’re able to make that sorta thing happen, don’t you think?” 

Craftsmanship?

This question seems to pull her back out of her musing. “Ah! A lil bit here and there! Mostly workin’ with wood and such! I picked up a lil bit from Kurt... but I still need t’ask him everythin’. If you ever need somethin’ made, he’s the one t’ask! For th’right amount of gil...”

Any other skills?

"Maybe? I dunno really! I’ve never been much of... er... much of anythin’ really!”

Are you an only child?

Aern gives an oddly casual shrug at that. “I was th’only one Ma ever raised! Dad wasn’t... er... present? So I dunno! Could have a whole load’a siblings I don’t even know about! But it was just me an’ Ma.”

Where do you see yourself in five years?

“Oh dunno. Maybe still adventurin’! Maybe slowin’ down some with Silver... Hopefully able t’keep a damn plot of those Thavnarian Onions alive without somebody runnin’ through’em...”

Have you ever almost died?

Aern simply bites into her sandwich again. “Haven’t we all? Though... er... Nevermind all that. Not exactly the kinda thing you wanna bring up with most people.”

Do you have a secret, not just a secret, but like a really big secret, hardly anyone knows?

There’s another shrug at that. “If I had any, I promise I’m not sharin’em with you.”

Salty or sweet?

"Sweet! Usually. Unless Silver’s cookin’ and then he’s got this amazin’ stew...”

Do you like yourself?

Aern cocks her head and chuckles some. “I think I’m doin’ aright! Could improve but... yeah!”

Do you believe in the Twelve?

She nods feverishly at that. “Better t’hedge my bets yeah?”

Are you religious?

"Now... I wouldn’t go that far yanno? I think believin’ is enough.”

Do you carry prejudice with you?

There is a moment of Aern only squinting and thinking for a moment... and then shaking her head a little. “I... dunno? I don’t think so. Not more than anybody else would... But then again, still a lotta things I haven’t seen yet! I’d like t’think I’m pretty open t’people though. Limsa’s full of all kinds yanno.”

What do you consider entertainment?

“Oh I love a good story! Sometimes just gettin’ the whole crew together an’ sittin’ around tellin’ stories is the best. I’ve heard people talk about plays an’ such too! But... hmm... Dunno. Maybe if th’right kinda performance was goin’ on?”

Favorite drink?

Aern sips from her cup with a coy smile. “Tea’s pretty swell yanno... but a lil bit of ale’s not bad from time to time... An’ I’ve been known t’sneak a lil rum here and there. But really! I’m mostly good! Found some of those Hingan teas are pretty nice too!”

Do you have any family traditions?

“Hmm? No more than anybody ‘round here I think! Though... hmm... Dunno if you’d call it tradition but I’m always accustomed to a good scrub down of th’whole house once spring really kicks in yanno? Somethin’ Ma always insisted on. Everything dusted, wiped down, cleaned up. Helps get in the mood for nicer weather!”

Are you a good person?

Aern nods slowly. “I try my best t’be.”

Thank you for answering my questions.

"Of course! You’re always welcome t’drop by when y’want!” Aern smiles brightly before lifting a hand and whispering conspiratorially. “Y’might even be able to catch one of Sylb’s Aldgoat Pies if you’re lucky!” 

[nemesisbinxartifactseries]

Artifact Series B

B. F. Skinner's Baby Tender

B. F. Skinner's Dippy Bird *

Baba Gulabgir’s Flute

Babe Ruth's 714th Baseball

Babe Ruth's Baseball Bat *

Babe Ruth's Baseball Glove

Babel Stones *

Babushka's Scrub Brush

Babylonian Battery *

BACCCU Horn

Back Dorm Boys' Basketball Jerseys

Badea Cârțan’s Coat

Badge of the 6th Northern Light Infantry

Bag of Holding Messenger Bag

Bag of Seeds from the Pavlovsk Experimental Station

Baiju Bawra's Oil Lamp

Bakelite Dress Clip

Baku Statue

Balclutha

Balancing 2B Pencil

Balcony of Capulet's House

Balda's Bough of Mistletoe

Balthasar Gérard’s Pig Bladder

Banksy’s Drinking Glass

Barbwire from Auschwitz

Barnard Elliott Bee Jr.'s Civil War Uniform

Baron Humbert von Gikkingen and Louise Statues

Baron Samedi's Top Hat

Barry Larkin's Olympic Torch

Barry Seal's Aviation Radio and Headset *

Barry White's 1979 Stutz IV-Porte

Barstool from the Cedar Tavern

Bartolomeo Scappi's Cloche

Bartending Beer Taps

Barthelemy de Chasseneuz's Wig

Bartholomew Roberts’ Marine Sandglass and Chip Log

Baruch Spinoza’s Icosahedron

The Basano Vase

The Baseball that killed Ray Chapman

Basilikon Doron

Bassoon from the Premiere of The Rite of Spring

Bass Reeves' Marshal Badge

Ba Statuette

Bataan Death March Dogtags *

Bat-Signal

Battle of Trenton Hessian Plate

Bavarian Breaking Wheel Machine

Baychimo Ship’s Wheel

The Bayeux Tapestry

Baylor Dodgeball *

'Beach Blanket Bingo' Bingo Stamper

The Beach Boys' Surfboard

The Bean Family's Chains

Bean Nighe Washing Rag

Beatrice Portinari's Shroud

Beatrix Kiddo's Hatori Hanzo Katana

Beatrix Potter's Scarf

Beatrix Potter's Tea Set *

Beau Brummell's Cravat

The Beau Sancy

Beauty and the Beast's Rose

Bedlam Cot

Beethoven's Ear Horn

Beethoven's Piano

Bela Lugosi's Cape

Bell and Howell's Spectroscope *

Belle Boyd's Dress

Belle Gunness' Wheelbarrow

Bellerophon’s Bridle

Bell from Carmo Convent

Bell X-1 "Glamorous Glennis"

Belt Buckle from 9/11

Ben Kuhl’s Letter

Bender Family Hammer and Knife

Benedict Arnold's Sword

Benedict Arnold's Wig

Benedict of Aniane's Rosary

Benito de Soto’s Black Joke

Benito Mussolini's Brass Knuckles

Benjamin Disraeli's Wreath

Benjamin Franklin Keith’s Theater Seat

Benjamin Franklin's Glass Armonica

Benjamin Franklin's Keys

Benjamin Franklin's Lightning Rod *

Benjamin Franklin's Ring *

Benjamin Guggenheim's Deck Chair

Benjamin Harrison's Wax Cylinder

Benjamin Hornigold's Tri-Corner Hat

Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins' Gloves

Benkei's Weapons Pouch

Benny Binion’s $10,000 Bill

Benny Goodman's Clarinet

Benvenuto Cellini's Salt Cellar and Silver Spoon

Beowulf's Sword

Berlin Wall Spray Paint *

Bernard Bosanquet's Cricket Ball

Bert Acosta's Aviator Goggles and Cap

Bertel Thorvaldsen's Chisel

Bertram Forer's Paper Ball

Bertrand Russell's Teapot

Berzerk Arcade Console

Besarion Jughashvili's Leather Boots

Bessus' Crucifix

Best Friend Bracelets

"Best of the 80s" Jukebox

Beta Version of Civilization: Call to Power

Betsy Ross' Sewing Needle

Bettie Page's Leather Corset

Betty Crocker's First Cookbook

Betty MacDonald's Pouch

Betty White's Pearl Earrings

Beverly Hills Supper Club Cash Register

Bian Que’s Acupuncture Needles

Bian Que's Tea Kettle

Bianca Lawson/Kendra Young's Stake 'Mr. Pointy'

Bickering Halloween Statues

Biddenden Maids' Cake Pan

Bifocals of Hormonal Youth

Bill Anderson's Apron

Bill Bailey's Skimmer Hat

Bill Clinton's Saxophone *

Bill Cosby's Radio

Bill France Sr.'s Key Bowl

Bill Gates' High School Reunion Invitation

Bill Haast’s First Aid Kit

Bill Hicks’ Contact Lens

Bill Kaysing's Feather

Bill O'Reilly's No-Spin Pen

Bill Todman's 'Penny Ante' Board *

Bill Watterson's Transmogrifier Gun

Billy Bretherton's Bug Spray

Billy Club from the Standford Prison Experiment

Billy Hodgson's Teddy Bear

Billy Joel's Harmonica

Billy Joel's Piano

Billy Loomis' Cell Phone

Billy Mays' Placebo Products

Billy Mitchell's Air Force Goggles

Billy the Kid's Boots

Billy the Kid's Repeater

Billy the Puppet's Tricycle

Binding Norse Key

Bing Crosby's Record Player

Binnacle from the USS Squalus *

Bird's Eye Magnifying Glass

Bird's Postal Hat

"Birmingham Badgers' Underwear" *

Birmingham Precinct 7 "Blotube" *

Birthing Charm

Biwa-bokuboku

Bertram Forer's Paper Ball

Black Bart's Cannon *

Black Bart's Sextant

Black Canary's Fishnet Leggings

Black Cookie Jar

Black Denim Trousers of the Terror of Highway 101

Black Hawk's Shackles

Black Hole of Calcutta Monument

Black Oni Mask  

Black Oragon Figurehead Fragment *

Black Jake's Faro Table

Black Ribbon from the 2013 London Marathon

Blackthorn Shillelagh

Blade Runner Clapboard

Blade’s Katana

Blaise de Vigenere's Inkwell

Blaise Pascal's Calculator

The Bleeding Hand

Blendtec Blender

Blindness Inducing Candelabra *

Blood Saturated Rwandan Towel

Bloody "Bee" Playing Cards

Blueberry Hill

Blues Brothers' Hats

Blueprint for the Leaning Tower of Pisa *

Blueprint for the Taj Mahal *

Blue Suede Shoes

Boa Vista Plantation Token *

Bob Beamon’s Sand Pit

Bob Braham’s Lifejacket

Bob Dylan's Bus Transfer *

Bob Falfa's Black '55 Chevy

Bob Fosse's Bowler Hat

Bob Hope's Handkerchief

Bob Johnstone's Microphone

Bob Marley's Hairpick

Bob Ross' Palette & Easel

Bobbie the Wonder Dog's Tags

Bobby Baker’s Vending Machine

Bobby Blackburn's Crocodile Teeth Dentures

Bobby Fischer's Bag of Marbles *

Bobby Jones' Golf Clubs *

Bodhan Stashynsky's Gas Gun

Bodhidharma's Cloak

Bodhidharma's Slippers *

Bola Spider Bolas

Bolaji Badejo's Beret

Boombox from Say Anything

The Bonnot Gang’s Limousine

Bookshelf of Isaac Asimov's Complete Works

Boots from the Grande Armée

Borgia Family Cup

Boris Karloff's Frankenstein Costume

Boroboroton

Boston Pope Night Carts

Bottomless Canteen

Bottomless Cookie Jar *

Boudica's Helmet

Bound and Stuffed Doll

Bow of Eros

Bow of Leif Ericson's Ship

Bowl of Golden Apples *

Box of Tomatoes from La Tomatina

Brad Anderson's Dog Collar

Bradshaw Dreamtime Rock Painting

Brahan Seer’s Adder Stone

Brainwashing Antennae *

Bram Stoker's Crucifix

Bran the Blessed's Cauldron

Braun Couple's Flying Knives

Brendan O'Carroll's Garters

Breogan’s Mirror

Brian G. Hughes Umbrella

Briar Pipe Collection

Briar Rose's Spindle Fuse

Brick from the Berlin Wall *

Bricks from the Collyer Brothers Home

Brick from the Great Wall of China

Brick from the K Foundation

Brigadier General Laverlong's Elephant Walking Stick *

Bridge Plank from Tsingy de Bemaraha

British WWI Soldier's Helmet from the Battle of the Somme River

Britanic Davit

Brodie Smith's Frisbee

Bronze Dragon Token

Bronze Locust

Broxodent Electric Toothbrush

Bruce Lee's Punching Bag *

Bruce Nolan's Hairnet

Brumberger Industrial Slide Projector

Brutus' Dagger

Bryce Dion's Headphones

Buckminster Fuller’s Geodesic Dome Model

Buckskin Frank Leslie's Rifle

Buddy Holly's Sunglasses

Buddha's Alm Bowl

Buddha's Bodhi Tree

Buddha's Khakkhara

Buddy Ebsen’s Funnel

Buddy Rich's Drums *

Buddy's Leash & Collar

Buffalo Bill's Mail Bag

Bugsy Siegel's Knuckle Dusters

Bullfighter Estoque

Bull Summoning China Cabinet

Bunbuku Chagama Kettle

Bunny Man's Axe

Burning Coins

Burt Munro’s Indian Scout

Burt Shavitz's Bee Smoker

Busby Berkely's Flask *

Buster Crash Test Dummy

Bust of Diocletian

Butch Cassidy's Pistol

Butch Cassidy's Revolver

Butter Churn from Lancaster County

Buying Naked For-Sale Sign

Byford Dolphin Diving Bell

Byzantine Iron Rod

[saturatedpages-blog]

Capsized

In the winter, we cannot recognize ourselves dressed in our mother's lace. Shrouded in diamonds, and you in pearls, we’re whisked away by our fathers cinching, leather grips to the old fishing district. With its nose turned up high on the hill, looking down at the rest our desolate, iced-over tourist town, sits the yacht club. A setting as lively in the summer as it is in winter, where the events held to keep the ennui at bay are disguised as something more-something meaningful. Every wine tasting night, every father-daughter dance, every Christmas dinner all just excuses keeping the townsfolk from their own perilous restlessness until the sun shines over our brimming little beach town again. It’s a place where you and I have to play pretend just to survive. Exploited and used by our families like props and trophies, we’re paraded around like cattle, forced to carve out our widest smiles for the wolves dressed in bow ties and boat shoes. I swear I can still feel the sting, well into the warmer months, from where the old widows slap our hands and hiss “stupid girls! Not like that, smile with your teeth!” Our cheeks would burn, abashed and sore. Nevertheless, we’d comply, too afraid of the consequences that would ensue had we not. With our bare bones exposed, the wolves could carry on gawking, our fathers bragging, and our mothers could breath poised sighs of relief knowing their daughters were safe for another season.

“There’s something unsettling about their eyes,” You declared one night at a dinner dance, cookie swap, fundraising event or whatever it was at the time. Sometimes we found refuge, hugging our knees underneath tables devoid of any place cards or centerpiece. “It’s like staring into the very nights that claimed their lovers.”

“The widows?”

“If you catch a close enough look, you can see them capsize.”