#the Pyes appear

[jomiddlemarch]

gingerbread

2. “Drat!” Anne exclaimed. She wished to use stronger language, but somehow the idea of crying out “Struth!” felt dissatisfying and repeating, even to herself and in a whisper, any of the oaths she’d heard hired boys utter over the years must bring down the icy wrath of Marilla Cuthbert, though Anne was sure God himself would be more tolerant. After all, she was working for His good.

“What’s wrong, Anne?” Gilbert said. Diana and Jane were somewhere about, but Anne and Gilbert had been left to the far end of the room to sort through the various baskets and hampers and one ribbon bedecked crate imprinted with McNeils Finest Eggs, which Anne didn’t mind so much except for the missing apostrophe. They were working on yet another A.V.I.S. project, this time to help repair some of the church outbuildings, and it had been Diana’s idea to auction off baskets of treats baked by the girls of the town. Anne had never been quite sure why anyone in Avonlea would pay for the same baked goods their daughters, sisters and mothers made for them on a regular basis, but Diana had been so dear and excited that Anne had rallied to the cause.

“We’re short a basket,” Anne said. “We’re short a basket and we advertised there would be twenty-five and how will it look to Avonlea, to the Pyes, Gil, if we can only muster twenty-four? I can’t ask anyone who’s already made a basket to rush about and make up another one in only a few hours, not when everyone has already helped so much and it’s my own fault that I’ve misplaced one.”

“I don’t see how it’s your fault,” Gilbert said. “Are you sure there’s one missing?”

“I counted three times and while I may not be accomplished when it comes to geometry, I can manage to count to twenty-five,” Anne said, the exasperation plain in her voice. Gilbert’s hazel eyes widened a little and she bit her lip. He was only trying to help and here she was, snapping his head off. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have spoken so rudely. I suppose I’ll have to steel myself to never hearing the end of it from Josie Pye, but that’s nothing new.”

“Why don’t you just sort out the rest of the baskets and I’ll hunt around, see if I can turn up the errant wanderer?” Gilbert said. He did that now and again, used a poetical turn of phrase but in his cheerful, steady tone. It was maddeningly appealing and Anne suspected he had an inkling of her response but also that he enjoyed the leeway she allowed him to be something other than practical, logical Gilbert Blythe. She nodded and he walked off to the other end of the room and then to parts unknown as she busied herself with the most attractive arrangement she could create. It wouldn’t do to showcase McNeils apostrophe-less Eggs and run the risk of being accused of favoritism or worse, advertisement.

A few hours later, the work was done. The hall had been dusted and polished within an inch of its life, which Anne filed away as a thought to contemplate for a story, the life of the Avonlea hall, the baskets and hampers and red-ribboned egg-crate were all shown to advantage on tables covered in white tablecloths and some charming little nosegays in Marilla’s spare jam jars. True, there were only twenty-four baskets to auction, but it was the imperfections that made life interesting Anne reassured herself.

“Oh, Anne, look!” Diana called out, hurrying toward the front of the hall with a large basket in her arms. “I found it, the missing basket!”

“I’ve never seen that basket before in my life, Di, and you know I have a peculiarly acute memory,” Anne said. She took a closer look and saw the basket was filled with all sorts of gaily wrapped packages of cakes and cookies, even a squat and delightful pot of honey. She took a deep breath and smelled ginger, clove, cinnamon and nutmeg, then carefully pulled back the corner of a bundle at the top. There were a half-dozen star-shaped gingerbread cookies of uneven thickness but a definite refinement on the last time Anne had seen similar treats.

“Gil did it,” Anne said. “He ran home and he made up a basket of all the cookies and cakes his mother made this week and he baked these cookies to add something fresh!”

“It’s awfully sweet of him,” Diana said, as sly as she could ever sound. “Only fair, though, for I believe I saw him take the basket you made home with him. It was your basket trimmed with white ribbon and those bittersweet berries you found in the lane, with the lemon shortbread and the currant tea-cakes, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Anne said. “Now I don’t know whether to scold him or thank him.”

“I know what you ought to do,” Diana said. “Bid on his basket. And win it.”

“And then what, my dear Machiavelli?” Anne said.

“Why, offer to share, of course,” Diana laughed.

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

All stories in the “Daisy’s Diary” series which feature an appearance of Paperetta Ye Ye.

Hey guys! I remember seeing somewhere that Dickie duck appears in one of the "Diary Ducks diary" comics but when I looked it up again to see which one nothing came up? Do any of you know or did I totally imagine this

[headspace-hotel]

kinda fascinated by how there appears to be two different firefly species in my back yard now. One is the normal fireflies everyone knows with the yellow glow, and the other seems a little bigger and has a green glow, giving three flashes in quick succession.

They hang out around the meadow a lot. No success in catching the green-glow fireflies though because they tend to fly a little higher and have longer intervals in between their three-flash displays.

I saw a couple bumble bees today too! I am just so happy because since i've been tending to the Meadow, it is so full of life. Every day I see something new I've never seen before.

I need to get out there and take some proper photos, lol. I took a photo of my yarrow earlier but I haven't really been documenting the progress in pictures and I probably should

the yarrow was just kinda yanked up from an existing vegetative colony on the side of the road and stuck in a pot, I have yet to kill any yarrow i've randomly pulled up. Ridiculously easy plant to propagate. The plant in the center foreground is some kind of pink aster (i got it from the edge of the pavement in my neighborhood) and in the background you can see beebalm (dad ordered from a website) white boneset (also kidnapped from the edge of the pavement) chicory (volunteered) broomsedge bluestem (volunteered) Joe-Pye weed (dad also ordered from a website) and there should be a goldenrod or two (volunteered)

I have the benefit of having blessing to dig up plants from work, but most of the plants in here were just sorta rescued from gravel or asphalt where they somehow managed to sprout.

I now have dozens of evening primroses that all came from one single evening primrose that I literally pulled out of a crack in the pavement on the side of the road, planted in a pot and then in my front yard flower bed where it bloomed gorgeously and made loads of seeds. (I pulled another one out of a pothole early this year and it's also thriving!)

On a street down the road, there is literally a thriving population of Ruellia growing in the seam of the pavement along the curb and I'm growing like 4 of them.

That street is also where I got the blue mistflower originally I think, in some gravel next to a drainage ditch. The blue mistflower ALSO went to seed and made at least 2 new seedlings in some dirt this spring, 30 feet away from where I originally planted them.

Also we got some random oxeye daisy volunteers this year? And morning glory? I'm wary of the morning glory (that shit can take over) but my mom likes it sooooo

You know what you should really learn to identify though? Sedges. You can just rip those suckers out of the ground they don't care. The other day I was at the park tearing sedges up from the gravel path and putting them in a baggie with a wet paper towel. Same park where I pulled my Wingstem last year! I'm going to get in trouble one of these days probably

Don't go ripping plants out of their habitat where they're happy, but if some poor seedling popped up in a pile of gravel, that's free plant baby!

[delightingintragedy]

Mars Correspondences

From Christian Astrology by William Lilly

(It is mostly word for word. I tried to format it to fit into a nice correspondence list, but the information itself is untouched.)

Zodiac: Aries is his Day-house, Scorpio is his Night-house. Exhaulted in Capricorn, Depressed in Cancer, Detriment in Libra and Taurus.

Nature: Masculine, Nocturnal Planet, in nature hot and dry, choleric and fiery, the lesser Infortune, author of Quarrels, Strifes, and Contentions.

Profession: Princes Ruling by Tyranny and Oppression, or Tyrants, Usurpers, new Conquerors. Generals in Armies, Colonels, Captains, or any Soldiers having command in Armies, all manner of Soldiers, Physicians, Apothecaries, Surgeons, Alchemists, Gunners, Butchers, Marshals, Sergeants, Bailiffs, Hangmen, Thieves, Smiths, Bakers, Armourers, Watchmakers, Botchers, Tailors, Cutlers of Swords and Knives, Barbers, Dyers, Cooks, Carpenters, Gamesters, Bear-wards, Tanners, Curriers.

Diseases: The Gall, the left Ear, tertian Fevers, pestilent burning Fevers, Migraines in the Head, Carbuncles, the Plague and all Plague-sores, Burnings, Ringworm, Blisters, Frenzies, mad sudden distempers in the Head, Yellow-jaundice, Bloodyflux, Fistulas, all Wounds and Diseases in men's Genitals, the Stone both in Reins and Bladder, Scars or small Pox in the Face, all hurts by Iron, the Shingles, and such other Diseases as arise by abundance of too much Choler, Anger or Passion.

Colour: Red colour, or Yellow, fiery and shining like Saffron.

Savour: Those which are bitter, sharp and burn the Tongue.

Herbs: The Herbs which we attribute to Mars are such as come near to redness, whose leaves are pointed and sharp, whose taste is caustic and burning, love to grow on dry places, are corrosive, and penetrating the Flesh and Bone with a most subtle heat: They are as follows: The Nettle, all manner of Thistles, Restharrow or Cammock, Devils-milk or Petty spurge, the white and red Brambles, the white called vulgarly by the Herbalists Ramme, Lingwort, Onions, Scammony, Garlic, Mustard-seed, Pepper, Ginger, Leeks, Dittander, Horehound, Hemlock, red Sanders, Tamarinds, all Herbs attracting or drawing choler by Sympathy, Radish, Castoreum, Aresmart, Assarum, Carduus Benedictus, Cantharides.

Trees: All Trees which are prickly, as a Thorn, Chestnut.

Beasts: Panther, Tiger, Mastiff, Vulture, Fox; of living creatures, those that are Warlike, Ravenous and Bold, the Castor, Horse, Mule, Ostrich, the Goat, the Wolf, the Leopard, the wild Ass, the Gnats, Flies, Lapwing, Cockatrice, the Griffin, Bear.

Fishes, etc: The Pike, the Shark, the Barbel, the Fork-fish, all stinking Worms, Scorpions.

Birds, etc: The Hawk, the Vulture, the Kite or Glead, (all ravenous Fowl), the Raven, Cormorant, the Owl, (some say the Eagle), the Crow, the Pye.

Places: Smith's Shops, Furnaces, Slaughterhouses, places where Bricks or Charcoal are burned or have been burned, Chimneys, Forges.

Minerals: Iron, Antimony, Arsenic, Brimstone, Ochre.

Stones: Adamant, Loadstone, Bloodstone, Jasper, the many coloured Amethyst, the Touchstone, red Lead or Vermilion.

Weather: Red Clouds, Thunder, Lightning, Fiery impressions, and pestilent Airs, which usually appear after a long time of dryness and fair Weather, by improper and unwholesome Mists.

Winds: Western Winds

Angel: Samael

Planetary Alliances: His Friends are only Venus; Enemies all the other planets.

Week Day: Tuesday

Correspondence posts for the other planets: [Sun] [Moon] [Mercury] [Venus] [Jupiter] [Saturn]

[scotianostra]

The singer Lonnie Donegan was born on April 29th 1931 in Bridgeton Glasgow.

Donegan was born Anthony James Donegan, the son of a Scottish father and Irish mother. His father was a professional violinist who had played with the Scottish National Orchestra.

He moved with his mother to London at an early age, after his parents divorced. Inspired by blues music and New Orleans jazz bands he heard on the radio, he resolved to learn the guitar, and bought his first at the age of fourteen. He took his first name after a New Orleans blues singer he admired called Lonnie Johnson.

The first band he ever played in was the trad jazz band led by Chris Barber, who approached him on a train asking him if he wanted to audition for his group. Barber had heard that Donegan was a good banjo player; in fact, Donegan had never played the banjo at this point, but he bought one and managed to bluff his way through the audition. His stint in this group was interrupted, however, when he was called up for National Service in 1949.

In 1952, he formed his first own group, the Tony Donegan Jazzband, which found some work around London. On one occasion they opened for the blues musician Lonnie Johnson at the Royal Festival Hall. Donegan was a big fan of Johnson, and took his first name as a tribute to him. The story goes that the host at the concert got the musicians’ names confused, calling them “Tony Johnson” and ���Lonnie Donegan”, and Donegan was happy to keep the name.

Donegan recorded a reworking of an American folk tune, Rock Island Line. Decca released the song in 1956, billed by the Lonnie Donegan Skiffle Group. The record, with its talking sequences, homage to Americana, and fast train shuffle climax, became a major hit in Britain and America. Because he was paid a flat fee for the session, Donegan didn’t receive any royalty payments for his most popular and influential song until the label struck a new deal for him 40 years later. However, Rock Island Line made him a star in his own right and would remain his signature song throughout his career.

From 1956 through 1962, he enjoyed a string of 34 British hits including Puttin’ on the Style and Cumberland Gap, which hit number one in 1957, Don’t You Rock Me Daddy-O, which reached number four in the same year, and the raucous sing-along My Old Man’s a Dustman which climbed to the top of the charts in 1960. It’s not hard to see why Lonnie is regarded as the first real pop star, his fans included the likes of Lennon and McCartney, who’s first group, The Quarrymen were a skiffle group. he Shadows, the Searchers, the Hollies, Herman’s Hermits, Gerry & the Pacemakers, and Cliff Richard all began their musical lives doing skiffle.

As the swinging sixties rolled on Donegans hits dried up but he was always in demand for gigs at home and across the world, he also dabbled in a wee bit acting and his own song publishing business, his most popular song he bought the rights for being Nights in white Satin. In the 70’s he popped upon the occasional TV shows during breaks from touring, in 1972 Tom Jones covered one of Lonnie’s songs and it went top 5 on both sides of the Atlantic. As a performer he continued to record and lease unsuccessful sides to Pye, Decca, Black Lion, and RCA.

A 1976 heart attack forced Donegan into an uneasy semi-retirement in California. Two years later, Chrysalis Records organized an all-star recreation of his early hits Puttin’ on the Style. Produced by former British teen idol Adam Faith and boasting duets with Ringo Starr, Elton John, and Rory Gallagher, it was his last major-selling album. Follow-ups with respected session ace Albert Lee and Cajun-fiddler Doug Kershaw seemed to point him towards country music, but a series of heart attacks in 1979 ended his full-time career.

In later years Donegan made a series of guest appearances with old friend Chris Barber including a featured spot on Van Morrison’s Skiffle Sessions: Live in Belfast 1998. Just before his death, he returned to touring full time, exhibiting much of his classic verve and humour before standing-room-only crowds. Donegan died on November 3rd, 2002, in Peterborough.

[ratuszarsenal]

the fact that stevenson laboured to reproduce alan breck's appearance from 18th century documents but specifically diverted from those accounts to make him a short king. hysterical

for curious fellows here are some of the descriptions that stevenson apparently would have worked with:

I also want to highlight this fragment which I found to be a very sweet thing for fanny stevenson to mention:

One day, while my husband was busily at work, I sat beside him reading an old cookery book called The Compleat Housewife: or Accomplish’d Gentlewoman’s Companion. In the midst of receipts for “Rabbits, and Chickens mumbled, Pickled Samphire, Skirret Pye, Baked Tansy,” and other forgotten delicacies, there were directions for the preparation of several lotions for the preservation of beauty. One of these was so charming that I interrupted my husband to read it aloud. “Just what I wanted!” he exclaimed; and the receipt for the “Lily of the Valley Water” was instantly incorporated into Kidnapped.

made all the funnier by the fact that apparently that recipe was "just what he wanted" with an exclamation mark and yet it literally does not show up anywhere in the book after its introduction. stevenson literally just liked how the checkov's gun looked like on the wall. no firing necessary

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Delaware’s Tidal Wetlands

In the low-lying reaches of Delaware, the land breathes with the ebb and flow of the tide. These tides support the marshes (tidal wetlands) lining much of Delaware Bay.

Marshes are one of several wetland types that together cover about one-quarter of Delaware—the second-smallest U.S. state. These semi-aquatic ecosystems, which provide habitat for plants and animals, improve water quality, and help protect against flooding and erosion.

These images, acquired on September 3, 2024, with the OLI (Operational Land Imager) on Landsat 8, show a segment of the region’s coastal wetlands in Delaware and New Jersey. In the false-color image (right), open water appears dark blue, and low-lying areas inundated with water (marsh) appear dark blue-green. Farther inland, the vegetation in agricultural, forested, and urban areas appears bright green.

Tidal wetlands lie at the intersection of land and water, where the shore meets an ocean, bay, river, or stream. They regularly flood and drain with the rise and fall of the tides. When these images were acquired at about 11:40 a.m. local time (15:40 Universal Time), waters in the vicinity of the Leipsic River were approaching high tide.

The Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge, centered in the images at the top of this page and shown in detail in the image above, protects 25 square miles (65 square kilometers) along the Delaware coast. About 20 square miles of that area is tidal salt marsh—one of the largest remaining expanses of the ecosystem in the mid-Atlantic, according to the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service. Salt marsh hay (Spartina patens) grows here, providing habitat for animals and shorebirds.

Bombay Hook is one in a series of refuges located along the Atlantic Flyway. In September, birdwatchers visiting the refuge can see late-migrating shorebirds and songbirds and the arrival of the season’s first Canada geese. It’s also the time of year when tickseed sunflower, goldenrod, and Joe-Pye-weed are flowering.

Even protected tidal wetlands, however, can undergo marsh migration—a process in which rising sea levels drown a marsh and cause it to move inland. In 2021, researchers with NASA’s DEVELOP program used observations from several satellites to map Delaware’s marshes and project where these marshes are likely to migrate in the future. They found that between 2010 and 2020, the state lost nearly 7 square miles of coastal marshes; however, some sites—especially toward the middle of the coastline—are suitable for future marsh migration.

NASA Earth Observatory images by Michala Garrison, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. Story by Kathryn Hansen.

[quirkthieves]

@enignoema from here

The Secretary General of the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities and current co-curator of the Gotham Museum of Antiquities was having one of those days where the urge to return to the underground and be done with all of the world's madness was strong. But she would simply have to persist.

"Yes, yes, I'm aware. Get off my desk. You'll need to see what's on it." Unless your head is so far up your own ass that you have eyes down there, she refrains from commenting.

The temporary office was unusually nice; most in her various work travels tended to be small or shared by design. But then again, the GCMA seemed to have an issue with keeping down a curatorial team, so a vacant office or two would be the norm. Ishizu hadn't felt the need to move too many things around other than placing a few gaudy decorations left by a certain Director Pye in boxes for storage and filling up a few shelves with the necessary books and binders. And of course, the addition of a workhorse of a coffee machine and minifridge, because such was the nature of working her hours. Much like the room, Ishizu herself was in a state of utilitarian dishevelment, a far cry from both her official appearances and their illicit meetings. Her white linen button down had long-since been untucked and was creating a new topographical map with wrinkles, collar crumpled enough to threaten turning up on one side. A pair of what certainly could be classy khakis had gotten a similar fate-- and were sporting the dull blue bruise of a tragic pen-chewing accident, the evidence of which could still be spotted in the very corner of her lip if you looked closely enough. Gone were the rings and bangles and headdresses, replaced with a pair of glasses the owner should probably be wearing more often-- but her hair rings remained, and of course, that same, sparkling necklace.

She moves to take her seat as he begins to slink off of her desk; although stopping to refill her What's Up, Doc? mug with a rolled up scroll shaped handle-- a gift to celebrate getting her doctorate from a university pal-- at the coffee machine. She also cracks open the minifridge, sighs, and flops down into her chair, taking a minute to soothe her soul with a long sip of coffee.

"Feel free to help yourself to anything in there...if you like coffee, water, Sprite Cranberry, or Ma’amoul." She should probably keep something other than cookies and soda for sustenance in there. She tells herself this every time she looks inside. She was not going to stock it with anything else, and she knows this.

"But yes, Riddler, I'm well aware you're one of Gotham's most active menaces. You cover quite the extensive record with a variety of methods, and your thematic choices truly are... choices." Ishizu leans in, index finger tapping one well-manicured nail against a laminated photo.

"But for once, the problem isn't you. The police have already come to me trying to pursue that line of investigation, but I don't need the gift of clairvoyance to know that you didn't do this." The photo is evidence from a crime scene-- clearly a staged Egyptology-themed scene, with a note sitting in the mouth of a man who (improperly) had been unfortunate enough to receive the Opening of the Mouth ritual before having the relics in his collection stolen.

The note had a riddle on it. Written using the format of Oedipus' Sphinx. Which was exactly the issue.

"You know better than to touch my shit." Unusually vulgar language. She composes herself. "But even if you experienced such a lapse in your judgement, you are smart enough to know that the riddle of the Sphinx originates from a she-sphinx in Thebes, Greece, not Thebes, Egypt, where the Valley of the Kings lay." It was such a small fact, almost semantics, but the Riddler worked in semantics. Thrived in semantics. He would never target the world of Egyptology without first knowing he couldn't be laughed out of the room with such base errors.

"I'm sure you will not suffer the indignation of being associated with this sort of ill-educated buffoonery, and I will not suffer the indignation of wasting my time on this poorly-behaved simpleton. For that reason, I believe we both have interest in collaboration here." Working with the police would waste time. Working with the local heroes almost always included too much force and too many interfering factors.

Besides, she was a tombkeeper. Traps were what tombkeepers do.

[stephensmithuk]

The Gloria Scott, Part 1

Some quick notes for the aid of readers:

A Justice of the Peace is another term for a magistrate. These are volunteer judges who deal with low-level criminal cases and initial hearings for the bigger ones. Historically, they've tended to be members of the gentry with the wealth and the time to do this; where communities could not find volunteers, they would offer a salary. Trevor Sr. had made his money gold mining as discussed.

Langmere is a small village in Norfolk just east of a town called Diss (that's its name), which is on the London to Norwich railway line and near the A140. The latter road follows part of the Pye Road, one of the Roman roads of Britain that ran from Norwich via Colchester to London.

There was a Second World War airbase there called RAF Thorpe Abbotts which had B-17s based there and is now home to a museum. There appears to be a private airstrip there, but it's unclear just how active it is. It's no Biggin Hill, that's for certain.

Fencing has long been considered an aristocratic sport. I had a go myself at university. It is rather unlike the movies, a lot less moving involved. I preferred epee as it doesn't have the stupid priority rules.

[a-aexotic]

hh sorry to bother you!! if requests are closed or you don't wanna write this you can delete the request but

i don’t know if you watched Puella Magi Madoka Magica, but it’s a really great anime and i wanted to send this character, the anime looks cute but it really isn’t 😭.

can i request josie pye, Gilbert Blythe or Prissy Andrews with a S/O who has a Homura Akemi Personality? (She’s stoic, distant, independent, Homura also appears with her personality being that of a shy, timid, magical girl rather than her cold and strong personality, she also knows self defense since she was in a lot of battles you can watch it here)

Thank you a ton!! I wish you well<33

hey i’m so sorry for the late reply, but here’s a headcanons for both :) i hope you enjoyed

—cw’s: just fluff!!! i think gen!neutral but lmk!

josie pye

i feel like josie would like an s/o who’s generally stoic and is independent

she wouldn’t necessarily mind having a stoic s/o because i feel like josie is reactive and it would be nice to have a neutral energy to the chaos 😭

she likes that you’re calm and that you can solve issues with logic instead of emotions and she can depend on you in that sense

she likes the fact that you are independent because she doesn’t like the feeling of letting people down

so if she knows that you wouldn’t be let down by her, it feels like a weight would be lifted off her shoulders

she is kind of the opposite of you

she would intrigued with your persona and kind of feels like it’s fake at first 😭

she didn’t like how shy you were because she wanted to get to you, but you were hard to break and that pissed her off

most people open up to her very quickly (surprisingly) so she would find this weird

but she ended up cracking you!! AND she fell in love <3

gilbert blythe

he finds you VERY interesting

he loves that you’re not an open book, he wants to earn getting to know you if that makes sense

gilbert loves a good challenge 😭😭

he’s used to people depending on him, so he doesn’t know how to feel when he realizes you’re pretty independent & would rather do it on your own

he loves that you’re shy & that you’re not like this with everyone

he feels special knowing that you’re not just talking to him to talk to him, but rather because you genuinely want to

he just loves your personality and it goes with his perfectly

[lovelykikill]

Whispers of Avonlea

Chapter 1: Blooms in the Garden of Imagination, where they weave their dreams

1892 in Prince Edward Island, Canada. More specifically Avonlea, the small little town that was called home by its no more than 200 loyal residents. Avonlea had its charm, there was no denying it, although small in size and population it was very pretty, the sea bathing the coast beautifully, the houses nicely built many meters apart from one another, the farms kept neatly from the outside perspective, the people seemingly regular and sympathetic to newcomers, nice weather and everything else someone could expect from a small town such as Avonlea. Prince Edward Island by itself was possibly the prettiest little Island Canada had to offer.

He had just come back from a long travel with his sickly father just a week or two ago, John had wanted to see the mountains before dying, Gilbert hated it when he said such things, dying, made him feel uneasy, he was just a boy, what was he supposed to do if his father died? He has no mother, how would he live alone? How would he deal with it? It made him overthink so he would scold his father whenever he mentioned his passage. In the week or so he came back, he met a new girl “Anne, with an E” as she asks to be called, she is an orphan that had been adopted by the Cuthberts, the girl had an intriguing appearance as well as personality, fiery red hair, freckles all over her face and hands, the bluest big eyes possible, pale, thin and short, short temper from what he saw, very expressive and imaginative, he hadn’t had the chance to talk with her yet as it seemed the girls pulled her away from him whenever they could.

Anne Shirley had arrived in Avonlea around a week before Gilbert came back from his trip, she had a hard time in the town but found a kindred spirit in Diana Barry, although finding Diana made her life easier, the disappointment she felt when the reality didn’t quite suit her imagination was very difficult for her, she quickly found that her personality would have to be a bit diluted to be liked and fit in with the other people of Avonlea, she knew that was what she had to do, she mustered up the will to do it around specific settings, such as during lessons and around other girls, Mr. Philips didn’t exactly appreciate her expressive reading or loud voice, as for the girls, they didn’t appreciate her stories from when she was in other families.

Gilbert had tried to befriend her however she learned that that would be an awful idea, when Gilbert was trying to talk to her while entering the schoolhouse she was met with a crying Ruby Ghillis surrounded by angry girls, Josie Pye explained quickly that Ruby had ‘dibs’ on Gilbert as she had liked him since they were little and if she didn’t stay away from him she would be ignored by the girls.

Anne liked to be optimistic, but she couldn’t deny Josie Pye was mean, and so were Billy Andrews and his friends. It was frustrating and not what she had imagined, but Anne just figured she would try to not get attention around Josie and try to keep away from Billy Andrews.

Billy and his friends tended to be the first ones to leave the small classroom when dismissed by Mr. Philips so Anne made it a point to take longer to leave, that particular day Diana had to leave early as her parents had arranged a meeting she had to attend, so Anne had to go back the way to Green Gables by herself, not that she’d mind, her imagination was enough to keep her entertained for longer than she could count.

She got up from her wooden chair once she thought Billy was far enough from the schoolhouse; grabbing her plain pencil box Matthew made for her: her slate: and books. Moving over to the cloakroom, she placed her items in her basket, decorated with the flowers, leaves, and sticks she had found on the path to school like she did every day, she dressed her coat, put on her hat, and laid her plain gray scarf loosely around her neck, it was Autumn and thankfully not cold enough for her to need to put it on properly. Leaving the classroom once she was sure she had everything, remembering the day she had gone home without her milk bottle and Marilla scolded her endlessly. When she checked the mental checklist and was satisfied with the results she left the white schoolhouse.

The air was crisp, and a gentle breeze whispered secrets through the branches, encouraging Anne’s mind to wander to her favorite daydreams. Today, she found herself thinking of Princess Cordelia, a tragic figure she had conjured up in her mind. Cordelia was beautiful, of course, with long, flowing hair as dark as the deepest night and eyes that sparkled with a pearl of wisdom and sadness far beyond her years.

“Oh, Cordelia,” Anne murmured, her voice soft and dreamy, “how terrible it must have been to live in a castle filled with such splendor yet feel so utterly alone.”

Anne could almost see Cordelia now, standing on a balcony high above the kingdom, looking out over the vast lands that were hers to rule, yet feeling a profound loneliness in her heart. The princess’s gown, a beautiful pink that caught the light of a thousand stars, and of course, the puff sleeves flowed around her like water, elegant and ethereal, nothing she, herself felt she could ever wear, she thought of herself as too plain, ugly, homely, and most of all her fiery hair didn't allow her to wear such colors.

“She had everything,” Anne continued, her eyes distant and filled with the sorrow she felt for her imaginary friend. “Jewels and silks, beauty, intelligence, the adoration of her subjects, and yet, she longed for the one thing she could not have: true love.”

The path twisted and turned, leading Anne deeper into the woods. She twirled a bit of her auburn hair around her finger, lost in her thoughts. In her mind’s eye, Cordelia was wandering through a moonlit garden, the scent of night-blooming flowers heavy in the air. Despite the beauty surrounding her, the princess’s heart was heavy with unspoken pain.

“And so, Cordelia roamed the gardens, night after night, hoping to find solace in the whispers of the wind,” Anne said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But the wind could only tell her stories of what was and what could never be.”

Anne stopped for a moment, looking up at the canopy of leaves above her. The sunlight filtered through, casting dappled shadows on her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, imagining the cool, crisp air was the very breath of the enchanted forest where Cordelia lived.

“It was then, on one such lonely night, that Cordelia found a small, hidden gate at the edge of the garden,” Anne said, her eyes snapping open with excitement. “A gate she had never seen before. With a heart full of hope and a touch of fear, she pushed it open and stepped into the unknown.”

Anne’s steps quickened as she moved deeper into her story. She imagined Cordelia stepping into a mystical forest, much like the one she now wandered. It was a place of magic and mystery, where the trees seemed to whisper secrets and the air shimmered with possibilities.

“And in that magical forest,” Anne said, her voice full of wonder, “Cordelia found something she had never expected: a kindred spirit. Someone who saw her not just as a princess, but as a person with hopes and dreams, with fears and longings.”

With a sigh of contentment, Anne continued her walk, knowing that as long as she had her imagination, she would never truly be alone.

“Oh, how I wish I could be as brave as Princess Cordelia,” Anne mused aloud, her voice echoing softly among the trees. “She faced so many trials with such grace and fortitude.”

She pictured Cordelia, her long, flowing gown trailing behind her as she wandered through a similar forest, her heart heavy with the weight of loneliness. The princess’s deep dark eyes were filled with unshed tears, and her raven hair cascaded down her back like a dark waterfall.

“Tragic Cordelia, separated from society by cruel fate,” Anne continued, her voice trembling with emotion. “How she longed to find someone, yet duty and honor kept her apart. Each day, she wandered through this very forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, to hear a voice carried in the wind.”

Anne paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the forest as if expecting to see Cordelia’s ghostly figure appear among the trees. She sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the princess’s sorrow in her own heart.

As Anne wandered deeper into the forest, the sound of the leaves crunching beneath her feet was accompanied by the gentle hum of the autumn breeze. She turned a corner, and there, standing in a sun-dappled clearing was a vision that made her heart leap into her throat.

At first, Anne thought it was just another figment of her imagination, but the figure remained steadfast as if conjured from her very thoughts. It was Princess Cordelia—or at least, it seemed to be. The girl had long, flowing hair as dark as the deepest night, cascading down her back in waves. A delicate, silver bow adorned her hair, catching the sunlight and sparkling as if encrusted with tiny diamonds.

Her gown shimmered in the afternoon light, a cascade of silken fabric in a hue of pink that seemed almost otherworldly. She was tall, with a slender, graceful frame, a year or two older than herself, and her skin was as pale and flawless as porcelain. Anne’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight, unable to believe her eyes.

“Cordelia?” Anne whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

The girl turned, her dark eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the forest around them holding its breath. Then, a soft, hesitant smile curved the girl’s lips, and Anne’s heart swelled with the possibility that her daydream had somehow, miraculously, come to life.

“Hello,” the girl said, her voice as soft and melodic as Anne had always imagined Cordelia would be.

Anne stepped closer, pinching her own arm to make sure her brain wasn’t deceiving her own eyes, attention never leaving the girl’s face. “I—I’m sorry. You just... you look so much like someone I know. Or rather, someone I imagined.”

The girl’s smile grew, and she tilted her head slightly, a gesture so familiar that it sent shivers down Anne’s spine. “My name is Chiara Everhart,” she said gently. “I just moved here from Montreal and thought I’d explore a bit.”

Anne blinked, her mind racing. “Chiara Everhart,” she repeated, tasting the name on her tongue, Anne’s eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Chiara Everhart! What an utterly enchanting name! It’s like a melody, so lyrical and beautiful. It sounds as if it belongs to a princess in a far-off, magical land, or perhaps the heroine of a grand, sweeping romance! Oh, how fortunate you are to possess such a name! You look just like... well, just like Princess Cordelia from my stories.”

Chiara chuckled softly, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” Chiara’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and understanding. “Really? That’s quite a coincidence. I’ve always loved the idea of being a character in a story.”

Anne’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful! Imagine, Princess Cordelia finally stepping out of the pages of my imagination and into the real world!”

Chiara laughed softly, a sound that was both musical and comforting. “I’d love to hear more about her,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. “Perhaps you could tell me as we walk? May I ask your name?”

Anne’s exuberance faded slightly as she sighed, casting her gaze downward. “I’m Anne. Just Anne. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Such a plain, unremarkable name, devoid of any poetry or grandeur. But please make sure to spell it with an E, Anne with an E sounds much more romantic than Ann with no E, still nothing like magnificent Chiara Everhart.”

Chiara shook her head gently, her eyes filled with warmth. “Oh, Anne, your name is wonderful. It’s full of grace and character, just like you. And you, Anne, are anything but plain. You look like you’ve been kissed by the sun himself with those freckles. Your hair is like fiery autumn leaves, and your eyes shine with the color of the brightest water or sky.”

Anne’s face lit up, her eyes wide with wonder and disbelief, Chiara did seem to use big words romantically, and she even complimented Anne. “Do you truly think so? Oh, Chiara, how marvelous! I have always wished to be thought of as special, to have a name and a presence that captures the imagination.”

“I do,” Chiara affirmed, sincerity in her voice. “You are a rare and beautiful soul, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, with a name as lovely as the person who bears it.”

Anne’s heart soared as she took Chiara’s arm, feeling the warmth of her presence.

Anne struggled to keep pace with Chiara, whose long strides and graceful movements seemed to make her glide over the uneven forest floor. Despite the height difference, Anne’s enthusiasm and energy propelled her forward, determined not to let her new companion out of sight.

“Oh, Chiara,” Anne exclaimed breathlessly, “you walk like a queen through her enchanted realm! I imagine you’re exploring your vast kingdom, seeking out hidden secrets and lost treasures.”

Chiara turned her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips. “Do I? I’m just trying to find my way around these woods.”

Anne’s eyes sparkled as she continued, hardly pausing for breath. “And here, beneath the ancient oaks, you discover a hidden glade where the fairies dance by moonlight, their delicate wings shimmering like the stars. You’re their beloved princess, the one they’ve waited for all these centuries.”

Chiara chuckled softly, clearly amused by Anne’s vivid imagination. “That sounds wonderful, Anne. What happens next?”

Anne’s face lit up with excitement as she weaved her tale, momentarily forgetting that Chiara was not just a character in her story. “Next, you find an ancient, forgotten well. It’s said that whoever looks into its depths can see the face of their true love. You lean over the edge, and—”

Chiara gently interrupted, her voice warm with amusement. “Anne, you have the most amazing imagination. Do you often create stories like this?”

Anne blushed, realizing how carried away she had become. “Oh, yes! I can’t help it. Every person I meet, every place I go, there’s always a story waiting to be told. And you, you’re like a character straight out of a fairy tale.”

Chiara smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Thank you, Anne. It’s quite a compliment to be part of one of your stories.”

Anne’s cheeks flushed with pride and embarrassment. “I just can’t help but admire you. Your elegance, your poise, it’s all so enchanting. You’re like Princess Cordelia brought to life, walking here beside me.”

Chiara’s pace slowed slightly, making it easier for Anne to keep up. “Well, if I’m Princess Cordelia, then what shall we do next in our enchanted forest?”

Anne’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh, we must prepare for the grand ball in the fairy court! You’ll need a crown of flowers, of course, and a magic wand to grant wishes.”

Chiara laughed, clearly enjoying the play. “A crown of flowers, you say? Then we should gather the most beautiful blossoms we can find!”

They darted around the forest, picking wildflowers and weaving them into a delicate crown for Chiara. Anne’s nimble fingers worked quickly, and soon enough, she placed the floral creation atop Chiara’s head, admiring her handiwork.

“You look absolutely regal,” Anne declared. “Now, with this wand”—she handed Chiara a stick adorned with a few flowers and leaves—“you can grant three wishes to anyone you choose.”

Chiara took the makeshift wand with a graceful nod. “Very well, Lady Anne. What is your first wish?”

Anne’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I wish for…a grand feast under the stars, with all our friends and magical creatures in attendance!”

Chiara waved the wand dramatically. “Granted! And for your second wish?”

Anne pondered for a moment, her imagination running wild. “I wish for a magical adventure, one that takes us to far-off lands and mysterious places.”

Chiara waved the wand again. “Granted! And your third wish, my dear Lady Anne?”

Anne’s face softened, her voice filled with sincere admiration. “I wish for our friendship to grow ever stronger, just like in the stories.”

Chiara’s eyes softened as well, and she waved the wand one last time. “Granted, Lady Anne, with all my heart.”

They laughed and continued their game, creating elaborate stories and pretending to be characters from Anne’s vivid imagination. The forest around them seemed to come alive with their words, the colors of autumn painting their path with hues of magic and possibility.

As Anne and Chiara continued their playful journey through the forest, Anne’s mind suddenly sparked with a vivid memory. She recalled the special friendship ritual she had once performed with Diana, a ritual that had bonded them as kindred spirits for all time. Anne knew that she must share this cherished tradition with Chiara to seal their new bond.

“Oh, Chiara!” Anne exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. “I just remembered something very important. We must perform a friendship ritual to ensure we remain kindred spirits forever!”

Chiara’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “A friendship ritual? That sounds wonderful! How do we do it?”

Anne’s face flushed with excitement as she began to explain. “It’s very simple but incredibly meaningful. First, we need to find a special place, a secret spot where only the truest of friends can meet. Then, we must each bring a token, something that represents our friendship.”

Chiara nodded eagerly, clearly enchanted by the idea. “Where shall we find this special place?”

Anne looked around, her eyes scanning the forest until she found a secluded clearing surrounded by ancient trees. Sunlight streamed through the canopy, casting a magical glow over the area.

“Over there!” Anne pointed. “That clearing looks perfect. It’s as if it’s waiting just for us.”

They made their way to the clearing, the air around them humming with anticipation. Anne reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn ribbon, a keepsake from one of her many imaginative adventures.

“This ribbon represents all the stories we’ll share,” Anne said, holding it out with reverence.

Chiara rummaged in her satchel and produced a delicate, silver bracelet. “And this bracelet represents the bond of friendship that grows stronger every day.”

Anne took the ribbon and tied it around the bracelet, binding their tokens together. Then she looked at Chiara, holding her pinky finger up for them to lock it together, her eyes brimming with sincerity.

“Now, we must recite the pledge,” Anne instructed. “I’ll say the first part, and you can repeat after me.”

Chiara nodded, her face glowing with excitement.

Anne took a deep breath and began, her voice clear and full of emotion. “I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, pledge to be your kindred spirit and friend, to share in your joys and sorrows, and to stand by you through all of life’s adventures.”

Chiara repeated the words with equal sincerity, “I, Chiara Everhart, pledge to be your kindred spirit and friend, to share in your joys and sorrows, and to stand by you through all of life’s adventures.”

Anne continued, “With this token, we seal our friendship, and promise to keep it sacred, now and forevermore.”

Chiara echoed, “With this token, we seal our friendship, and promise to keep it sacred, now and forevermore.”

They placed the ribbon-wrapped bracelet in the center of the clearing, a symbol of their new bond. Anne looked at Chiara, her heart swelling with happiness.

“Now, we are officially kindred spirits,” Anne declared, her eyes shining.

Chiara beamed, her dark eyes sparkling with joy.

Anne took Chiara’s hands in hers, feeling the warmth and connection between them. “We’re kindred spirits, and that’s the most magical thing of all.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the forest, Anne and Chiara realized it was time to part ways. The sky shifted from the golden hues of late afternoon to the deep purples and blues of twilight, signaling the end of their magical day together.

“I guess we should head home before it gets too dark,” Anne said, a tinge of reluctance in her voice.

Chiara nodded, her expression mirroring Anne’s wistfulness. “Yes, but I’m so glad we spent this time together, Anne. I’ll cherish our friendship ritual.”

“So will I, Chiara. It’s the beginning of something truly special,” Anne replied, giving her new friend a warm hug.

As the two friends bid each other farewell, they promised to reunite soon before making their way to their respective homes. Anne increased her pace as she realized Marilla and Matthew would be eagerly awaiting her return.

Upon finally reaching the familiar Green Gables, it stood as a tranquil sanctuary under the night sky, its charming farmhouse silhouette framed by the delicate glow of moonlight. From Anne's perspective, the house was a comforting beacon of warmth and safety amidst the cool, crisp night air. The familiar gabled roof and quaint dormer windows seemed to glow softly, reflecting the gentle light of the stars that twinkled above.

The yard, usually alive with the colors and sounds of day, was now a serene expanse, bathed in silvery luminescence. The ancient trees cast long, gentle shadows across the lawn, their branches swaying softly in the late evening breeze, whispering secrets to one another. The garden, a riot of blossoms during the day, now going to slumber peacefully, its fragrances mingling with the cool night air, creating a soothing and almost magical ambiance.

Inside, the soft amber light spilling from the windows hinted at the coziness within. The kitchen, always the heart of Green Gables, emitted a warm, inviting glow. Anne could almost hear the crackling of the hearth fire and the quiet hum of Marilla’s evening tasks, creating a lullaby of domestic contentment. The aroma of freshly baked bread and a hint of Marilla’s lavender sachets mingled in the air, a sensory tapestry that spoke of home and love.

The parlor, with its polished wooden furniture and carefully arranged knick-knacks, held an air of timeless elegance. Anne imagined the soft ticking of the grandfather clock, the gentle rustle of the curtains, and the occasional creak of the floorboards, all adding to the symphony of nighttime sounds that made Green Gables so unique.

As she gazed at her beloved home, Anne’s heart swelled with a profound sense of belonging and gratitude. Every corner of Green Gables, every shadow and flicker of light, held a story, a memory. From the adventures and dreams she had woven into its very fabric to the quiet moments of reflection, the farmhouse was not just a structure but a living, breathing entity filled with love, dreams, and endless possibilities.

Under the canopy of the star-studded sky, Green Gables stood as a testament to all that Anne cherished—her sanctuary, her muse, her home.

Anne noticed a warm glow emanating from the windows. The amber light spilling out into the dusk signaled that Marilla and Matthew were patiently awaiting her return. Eager to escape the cool evening air, she hastened inside, her heart quickening with anticipation and relief.

In the cozy kitchen, Marilla was engaged in a worried conversation with Matthew about Anne not being home yet. The comforting aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering stew filled the air, mingling with the crackling of the hearth. As Anne entered, Marilla's sharp eyes immediately detected her, a hint of concern in her expression.

"Anne, where have you been? It's getting late, and you know how worried I get," Marilla scolded gently, her voice tinged with apprehension but softened by her undeniable affection for the girl.

Matthew, with his gentle demeanor and kind eyes, raised his gaze from his seat, mirroring Marilla's worry. "Did you have a good time, Anne?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm to Anne's slightly frazzled nerves.

Anne nodded enthusiastically, her face aglow with the exhilaration of the day's adventures. "Oh, yes, Matthew! I met the most extraordinary girl, Chiara Everhart. We had such a magical time exploring the woods, spinning tales of wonder and make-believe."

Marilla's stern expression softened slightly at Anne's unbridled joy, but her discerning eyes quickly scanned Anne's appearance for any signs of trouble. "Anne, where's your basket?" she asked, noticing its absence.

Anne's eyes widened in realization, her heart sinking. "Oh no! I must have left it in the forest while Chiara and I were lost in our stories. I got so caught up in the adventures that I completely forgot about it."

Marilla released a sigh, a mix of exasperation and empathy coloring her features. "Anne, you must be more careful. That basket contained important items," she chided, though her voice was gentle.

"I'm terribly sorry, Marilla. I didn't mean to leave it behind," Anne apologized, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and a touch of guilt.

Matthew stood up, his comforting presence a steadying force. He placed a reassuring hand on Anne's shoulder. "It's alright, Anne. We can go retrieve the basket tomorrow. For now, let's have dinner. You must be famished after your adventure."

Anne looked gratefully at Matthew, the weight of her earlier mistake lifting slightly. "Thank you, Matthew. I promise to be more attentive in the future."

Marilla nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her earlier sternness. "Just make sure you do, Anne. Now, freshen up and join us at the table."

As Anne washed her hands and prepared for supper, her mind drifted back to the enchanting afternoon spent with Chiara. The memories of their laughter and shared stories warmed her heart, a reminder of the magic and wonder that could be found even in the simplest of moments.

Meanwhile, Chiara made her way back to Everhart Manor, the day’s adventure still vivid in her mind. The dim light of the setting sun cast long shadows along the path, illuminating her way home in a serene and ethereal glow. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.

As she strolled through the twilight, her thoughts danced between the enchanting stories she and Anne had spun that afternoon. It was then, among the scattered leaves and the gentle rustle of the wind, that she noticed a familiar basket lying near the edge of the woods.

Chiara bent down, her fingers brushing against the worn wicker. “This must be Anne’s,” she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips as she recalled their joyful time together. She decided to take it home, intending to find a way to return it to Anne the next day.

Upon reaching Everhart Manor, Chiara’s new home, stood grand and imposing against the lush backdrop of Avonlea’s countryside. The stately white mansion exuded an air of timeless elegance and sophistication, its pristine facade gleaming under the golden rays of the setting sun. Tall, fluted columns framed the entrance, supporting a balcony that overlooked the sprawling, manicured grounds. The architecture, a blend of classical and colonial styles, spoke of an era of grace and grandeur, every detail meticulously crafted to convey a sense of opulence and refinement.

As Chiara approached the manor, the wide gravel driveway crunched softly underfoot, flanked by meticulously trimmed hedges and vibrant flower beds that added splashes of color to the pristine white surroundings. Majestic oak trees stood sentinel around the property, their branches forming a natural canopy that provided both shade and a sense of seclusion.

The double doors painted a deep, welcoming blue, opened into a vast foyer bathed in soft light from a grand crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. The polished marble floors gleamed underfoot, and an intricately carved staircase wound gracefully to the upper floors, its banisters adorned with delicate wrought-iron designs. Elegant sconces cast a warm glow along the walls, highlighting portraits of generations of Everharts, their dignified gazes watching over the house.

Each room within the manor spoke of luxury and careful attention to detail. The parlor, with its plush velvet furnishings and richly patterned rugs, guests to linger and converse. An ornate fireplace, its mantle adorned with fine porcelain and silver candelabras, crackled softly, adding warmth and a sense of homeliness to the otherwise grand space.

The dining room, dominated by a long mahogany table polished to a mirror-like finish, was ready to host lavish gatherings. Crystal glassware and fine china gleamed in the soft light of another chandelier, while tall windows draped with heavy silk curtains offered views of the expansive gardens beyond.

Chiara’s room, a sanctuary within this grand abode, was a haven of tranquility. Soft, pastel hues adorned the walls, and the large windows framed by billowing lace curtains allowed natural light to flood the space during the day. A canopy bed, its posts intricately carved and draped with sheer fabric, stood as the room’s centerpiece. A writing desk, cluttered with journals and sketchbooks, sat near the window, offering Chiara a perfect spot to capture her thoughts and inspirations.

Chiara walked through the grand entrance, the basket swinging gently in her hand. The manor’s stately presence loomed against the evening sky, its windows glowing warmly. Inside, the house was filled with the comforting aroma of dinner being prepared, and the flickering lantern light cast a golden hue across the elegantly furnished rooms.

She ascended the grand staircase to her room, the plush carpet muffling her footsteps. Once inside, she placed the basket on her writing desk. The soft glow of the lantern light illuminated her room, casting a warm and inviting atmosphere over her personal sanctuary filled with books, sketches, and delicate trinkets.

Curiosity piqued, Chiara examined the contents of the basket. She carefully lifted out each item, recognizing the various belongings that must have been important to Anne. School books, a slate, a small very well-made pencil box, a glass bottle stained with milk on the inside, and a handkerchief —each piece told a story of Anne’s lively spirit and imaginative mind. Chiara’s heart warmed at the thought of her new friend.

“I suppose I’ll have to return it to her tomorrow at school,” she mused aloud. “If she’s not there, surely someone will know where Anne lives.”

Settling into bed that night, Chiara felt a deep sense of contentment. The memories of the day’s adventures with Anne, the shared laughter, and the budding friendship filled her with serene happiness.

[puppybytes]

Even though I love base game Outer Wilds, I'm not having a good time with the DLC, and I think I know why:

There's a key few mechanical and aesthetic differences that makes echoes of the eye way less playable than Outer Wilds itself, small spoilers for both under the cut.

(Be aware I'm writing this only three loops in.)

For one, the DLC is in a whole different area, in which you cannot use your ship. Sure, I can accept this, but they are removing the whole flight mechanic for (what I feel is) little benefit. Just having the option to go back to the ship to read the ship log, or to refuel, or to Fuck Off (tm) is one of the reasons why Outer Wilds as a standalone game was manageable for me: you're always given the option to escape, or to do less scary things before taking on the main spooks of the quantum moon, dark bramble, or giant's deep's core.

Echoes also has a lot less ambient music than the base game, which I am aware is done exclusively because it's more scary to be left alone with your thoughts, but I feel like that is an unnecessary extra step considering dark bramble, the scariest place in Outer Wilds, also had ambiance, and giant's deep's core was (in my opinion) unnecessarily scary, but at least didn't contain any threats. They decided to extend this terrifying silence to the entire DLC, with the only relief from this tension being the boat sections.

another way Echoes of the Eye makes it hard to continue playing for me, is the lack of text. Any text I find I cannot translate, and only seems to appear on signage. I don't get to connect to the characters like I could with Pye and Solanum, for example, because I don't know anything about this species. This does lead to a quality of life problem as well, as the only way to know you've gotten the environmental clues from just walking around, is to check the ship log, which gets updated seemingly at random to me. This ship log, mind you, is in your ship! you know, the one that you had to leave outside of the Echoes area! This results in a lot less satisfying exploration than in Outer Wilds itself because in Outer Wilds itself, the ship log was not mandatory, and easier to reach. Now, this last point is just a personal problem I have with Echoes of the Eye, but it is one I will address.

I am A Coward. I don't like being scared, I don't like tense situations, and I cannot handle horror games of any kind, and that's just me, and that's fine, but it does make it hard for me to enjoy this experience because I don't know what's in the next dark room.

ALL OF THE ROOMS I HAVE TO ENTER ARE TOO DARK, AND TOO SCARY.

Overall, despite the lack of distractions from the horror, I hope to still finish Echoes of the Eye, but I'm not having fun, and I don't think I will have fun in the next long while with this game.

because that's the problem I have, I have to be scared, forcibly, instead of my curiosity scaring the shit out of me when I'm ready.

[lianne-quarry]

Egregious Epiphanies

*Part two to Ballroom Benevolence, linked below.

Regardless of Saturday evening’s proclivities, Monday dutifully arrived; that meant Anne and Gilbert had a study session at three p.m.

Well, not just Gilbert and Anne, but Christine, Ruby, Moody, Charlie, and Tobias as well.

Gilbert knew Anne ran away when things would get too real. So, he half expected her to be weird if they had a moment of tension. Still, he had arrived at the ball hopeful of that very scenario. Similarly, as Gilbert stepped onto the porch of the Redmond Library, he expected Anne to be business as usual, not apt to talk about Saturday’s intimate moments. Especially not in a group setting. 

He couldn’t help but overthink it all. 

Gilbert was older, no longer so insecure to think Anne could never look at him as something more.

But she was still so guarded. He almost wished he could tell she wasn’t interested in him. He almost wished she would just scoff at the idea of him and her, as she used to.

Instead, Anne’s friendship, wonderful as it was, was sprinkled with tension and moments between just the two of them -   moments that couldn’t be fabricated by the one-sided passions of his own brain, as much as he’s considered the possibility. Like an addict, he feigned to get her alone. He was addicted to the fleeting moments of her wide eyed gaze, chest aflame when her eyes looked as if they flitted to his lips. He got high off of the sweet shyness that would appear only for seconds. There were a few instances where Anne would turn to him, eyes full of determined bravery and gumption- only to save speech, as if deciding to not say what she had been convincing herself to say. Above all, he truly enjoyed her company.

However, these seconds, these minutes of something, would give Gilbert hope for weeks, even months at a time. And of course, he knew he couldn’t go on like this forever. The way his own body seemed to scream at him in her presence, aching from holding back from her, was painful. But that wasn’t Anne’s fault. 

Moving on would mean losing her - however much of her he had - and pursuing someone else would be a lie.

So, on this Autumn Monday, amidst his study group friends in Redmond Library, Gilbert was trying to stop watching Anne chew her pen. Well, kind of trying.

“Gilbert! Are you even listening?” Moody exclaimed, startling Gilbert’s attention away, as well as the few neighboring study tables. His eyes snapped to Moody.

“Huh?” he said. Brilliant, Gilbert. Only Moody seemed to notice where his attention had been tied. 

“I was saying that it’s going to be a beautiful night for swimming tonight. And besides, we’ve all been so committed to studying that we should let off some steam before exams on Monday. Plus, Anne showed us this gorgeous outlet to the Pye’s section of the lake,” Moody finished. Anne seemed suspicious of these plans, probably due to the alluding of trespassing.

Ruby noticed this, interjecting, “And Anne, before you say no, Josie said her parents are still in Halifax for that business thing. She said it would be totally fair game. And you know the neighbors aren’t close, only that secret footpath.” Anne seemed open to the idea. Gilbert awaited her response, as Ruby’s comment shifted the group's attention to Anne. She was a sort of magnetic command in secret ventures, and it was common that Anne’s attendance to these hang-outs were essential to a lively time. Their peers were always suggestive of some fun but simple games, but Anne had a bright, competitive nature, and created unique rule changes, as well as thwarted lulls in conversation or activity.

Anne’s small smile grew into a shy grin. 

“Let’s do it.”

———

Anne had one event committee meeting before the scheduled rebellious swim that was to take place later.

Her mind was a bit elsewhere, trying to place why she was so nervous about tonight. Anne fought the urge to scoff at herself for being consumed by worries surrounding Gilbert, knowing she ought to sort out these nerves, because Gilbert was not an oppressive force, but her friend. She hasn’t felt like herself since the ball, and while masking this elsewhere, she knew Gilbert would read her unease from a mile away. 

She sat at the Women’s Committee table with her fellow members as they finished their event proposition form for graduation. Christine sat across from Anne, and while she was a nice girl, her presence sat like a rock in Anne’s stomach. Christine seemed to be spending quite a bit of time with Gilbert, who had taken a liking to her. They had a biology lab together.

Who was Anne to suspect that Gilbert couldn’t have female friends? And who was she to think any girl friends with Gilbert secretly wanted more from him? All of Anne’s new begrudging conclusions pointed back to herself, which was definitely why she didn’t want to bring them to light. If real, then Anne would have to take her own advice and do something about it.

Anne’s attention was put outward from inward when her ear caught Gilbert’s name. Ashley Ingram had said something to Christine.  Ashley continued,

 “I’m just wondering, because my sister has been hounding me to get some answers out of you. She’s a woman of propriety and class, of course, so won’t pursue him if he’s already spoken for…” Ashley trailed on, eye-urging Christine to reveal something. Christine looked annoyed. Anne pretended to be busy herself, but was equally interested in her response.

“I’m not one to speak for Gilbert,” Christine said dryly.

“Oh come on, Christine!” Laurel chirped from the end of the table. “Everyone sees you guys walking together. You’re telling me you guys sneak to Harley’s Pub to do homework each week?”

Anne grew hot, keeping her eyes low. 

Christine huffed. “That’s exactly what I'm telling you, Laurel,” she said sharply. Anne sensed Laurel wouldn’t leave it alone.

Laurel’s eyes sharpened at Christine. 

“Well, to be fully transparent, I’ve heard that you exchange your bedroom services for his homework answers, but I suppose that’s not something you’d proudly admit to. Ashley’s sister believes he must just enjoy you for conversation, but I assured her that can’t be it-” Christine slammed her papers down on the table, not letting Laurel finish. Hastily grabbing her belongings, she left the group, finding a spot across the library, by her lonesome. 

“Meeting adjourned,” Ashley said facetiously. The other young women stacked their papers into their cases, but Anne just watched. She glanced at Christine across the room, who was clearly flustered and angered. Why wouldn’t she be.

Anne felt frozen, the rock in her stomach growing heavier. She knew not to believe such rumors, but blushed red from the intrusive imagery of explicit images of Gilbert and Christine. His hands on her. His eyes attentive to her. Enough.

She started to feel rotten that she didn’t defend Christine. How Laurel could front as a feminist and be so accusatory of Christine, Anne didn’t know. Breaking out of petrified form, Anne grabbed her books, walking past murmuring tables to Christine, who didn’t look up from her papers.

“Um, hey. Do you mind if I sit here?” Anne asked softly. Brown eyes found blue. Christine looked surprised, vulnerable. She shook her head, using her hand to gesture to the seat. 

She had to say something.

“I’m sorry about Laurel, um, that was terrible.” Anne tried to convey her mortification.

“Thanks. It was, right?” Christine said. Her shoulders seemed to drop.

“I usually stand up for people with stuff like that. Sorry, I guess I just- froze.” Anne said, but Christine only shook her head in dismissal. 

“You’re not responsible for her, Anne. Thank you, though,” the dark haired girl finished. Anne thought about how she had no real reason to dislike Christine. With each new understanding of her past reactive emotions, Anne leaned toward a begrudging conclusion. Here was another for the list.

Christine seemed to relax in her chair, dropping her pen in a 'I give up’ sort of way. The redhead watched her expression grow somewhat humored.

“Can I ask you something? I guess it’s kind of personal,” she maintained. 

Anne’s brow became quizzical.

“Sure, Christine.”

Christine smiled, raising her hands, as Anne noticed she talked with them.

“You and Gilbert. You guys never… You know,” she trailed, suggestively. Anne played the fool, simultaneously curious to the true nature of Christine’s question. Anne moved her head, keeping eye contact, urging her on.

 “I don’t know,” Christine continued, smiling funnily. “Kissed. Courted. Went out.”

Anne broke eye contact, looking down before saying,

“No. Um- never.” She looked back up at the brunette, suddenly feeling as if they were two girls at a sleepover, rather than stiffly stationed at a library table.

“Well, go on, ask me,” Christine said with an encouraging hand thrust. Anne looked lost; good natured, but semi-stressed.

“Ask you what, exactly?”

Christine laughed.  “Ask me if I’ve been with him.”

Anne couldn’t believe what had transpired in the past hour. This is not how she’d imagined her day progressing. She dismissed Christine with a look.

“I’m- You don’t have to-” she took a breath, “Um, Gilbert’s business is his-”

“We haven’t done anything, Anne. God! You’re just as bad as each other,” Christine exclaimed. Anne ran a hand over her hair, exasperated, but not mad at the conversation. Christine had a charm that was blunt and almost masculine, Anne noticed. It was kind of funny.

Christine’s laughing slowed to a chuckle, and leaning forward she continued, “I’ll leave you alone after this, but, for what it’s worth, I always got the…” she searched for the right word. Anne was attentively listening, and Christine noticed how emotive the redhead’s eyes were, however deflected her body language. “Look, Anne, when Gilbert and I first became lab partners, I'll admit- I had a small crush. He’s very handsome. Not obtuse like all the other guys at Redmond.”

Anne’s eyes deadpanned.

Christine scoffed, before continuing, “But, that didn’t take hold. And if Gilbert noticed, he did nothing about it. I honestly always got the feeling he was kind of waiting around for you.”

[d-field22-blog]

First Appearance: Man of Steel #3 (November, 1986)

Story: Ever since she was a little girl, Margaret Pye and her parents we're not financially sound, and whenever her mother would bring home even the cheapest piece of jewelry, Maggie was immediately drawn to the shine in which the ring would deliver. Over the years, the fascination for shiny objects would grow and grow, and often whenever her classmates would show off their own expensive jewelry, Maggie would be immediately drawn to the shiny diamonds, and gold necklaces. Often she would attempt to steal them from her classmates, and would often be mocked for her habits and was then called Magpie. The name and habits would only fester when she reached high school, and her skill of thieving would begin to rise. For the entirety of her high school years, she would admire the objects from afar as she would spy on each of her classmates, and would learn their locker combinations. The first piece she would steal was an emerald ring from her school bully, Samantha Johns. Next was a sapphire necklace from Sam's girlfriend Brittany Barrows, and a pair of pearl earrings from Tameka Roberts, and this was only the tip of the Iceberg for Magpie. She would even rob the school board of their shiny valuables; not even the principle's solid gold watch was safe from the Magpie. According to rumor, Pye had acquired nearly 700,000 dollars worth of stolen jewelry and many other objects which shined bright like a diamond. To avoid suspicion from the student body, Margaret had in her trips from school would either steal, buy, or make her own counterfeit jewelry in an effort to fool the victim that what they wore was still their legitimate prize, and if one was to suspect her, she would leave her stolen prize in another student's locker in an effort to throw anyone off of her trail. Most times, those methods worked swimmingly in her favor, until one day Margaret had become to greedy and careless. One hot Monday morning, Margaret was caught with her hand in the cookie jar after being set up by Sam, Brittany, and Tameka who had overheard her bragging to herself about the emerald ring Pye had stolen and witnessed her leaving the office of the city councilor with a pair of silver earrings. falsely spread rumors about a pearl necklace; one of which was so large that it could shine as bright as the sun. In the end, Margaret was met with half of the student body getting their own ounce of revenge, and leaving her beaten, and not only expelled from her high school, but was arrested for thievery and for framing others with the fake replicas. Since then, the obsession would take complete control of her, as she was often seen trying to steal the guards leys, as well as their badges in an effort to claim shiny things again. Most times she would sent to solitary confinement repeatedly. For her, it was a miracle that she had gotten out of prison, while for others it was a curse. For many years later, her old school bully was selling a grapefruit sized moonstone which shinned like the moon in the light. However what Sam and her wife Brittany had not known, was that the night before, ye had stolen the stone and replaced it with another replica, only this time this one was quite deadly. When Sam had set the stone onto the booth for auction, the stone had exploded, killing Sam in the process. All that was left behind in the crime scene was a grieving Brittany, a lone feather from the bird which gave her the name she had long since been cursed to carry, and a bewildered playboy who would eventually seal the thief's fate when the feather would fall right into his hand, and an equally shocked patron who was quite impressed with the crime, and witnessed the feather of the bird and sought to make hire this criminal to his own services.

Real name: Margaret Pye Occupation: Professional Criminal Base of Operation: Gotham City Eyes: Blue Hair: Red, White(wig) Height: 5ft 7n Weight: 120lbs

Attributes: Known for having a compulsion for stealing any object which is shiny. Suffers from both Kleptomania and Shiny Object Syndrome. Uses fakes which not only look similar to the stolen object, but are also known to explode. Harbors a fierce hatred/ rivalry with Catwoman. Skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Uses the custom claws of her design for her endeavors and for combat. High intelligence despite certain circumstances. Often works as both her own agent, but also a well trusted thief of the Penguin.

Dream voice actress: Rachel Matthews.

Featured song: Pretty Shiny Things by Kassi Ashton

Notes:

One of the rogues that I find to be a bit underrated, Magpie totally deserves more respect than she deserves. Well maybe not the older incarnation, but the newer one is a bit cooler. Though writers do use her these days, I'm still waiting for a definitive Magpie story. Plus Batman needs more women in his rogues gallery.

So the design is based in not only the newer take, but also a bit of the classic look in terms of the glasses, belt, and a little bit in her gloves.

I'm gonna have to admit something. I DO NOT like Beware the Batman. I don't like the CGI, 60 percent of the characters designs, like Batman's for example, and I don't like how they used Pyg. I mean I don't know what the hell they did to Lazlo, but that eco-terrorist thing, was not Pyg. He should have just been left alone, and that goes for Anarky too. I mean really. What were they thinking in making him this Batman's arch enemy?! If anyone, it should have been Two-Face. But oh wait, they didn't start using him until near the end of the season/run! Same for Penguin who pretty much got the shaft as a poster and a mere mention. I really hate how the classic rogues got screwed over, and don't even get me started on the whole Joker situation. That is a can of worms all on it's own. But what I did like ewas the updated Magpie design. Though I didn't like how they tried to make her of all people Catwoman of this shoe and those nails. Just why? So that's kind of why I opted for the gloves being the key to her nails, and straight out of her fingers like the mutant from X-Men, whose name escapes me.

Although I do like the updated design they gave to Magpie back in Beware the Batman, I do admit that they should have tones it down. So I went with what you see above.

[bitegore]

alphabet transliteration rules etc etc

VOWELS (no dipthongs, say every vowel)

a - ah like in odd e - eh like enter i - aye like in eye (or, like, I) o - oh like in open u - u like in ooh y - yu like in you (yuh sound included, unlike in u)

CONSONANTS

c - a click. sort of a k-h sound. like. if actor is a word pronounced like this, it goes ahkk-(eh)tor. like saying doctor in a stereotyped german accent cc - hebrew ch sound, like in chai d - d g - voiced g h - voiced h j - regular j like in "joy" jj - ch like in "chapter" k - hard stop/pause, sort of a quiet (g)/(k) sound kk - spoken K sound, normal k l - l m - m n - n b - b - like a soft p p - p - regular p/hard b r - trilled r rr - longer/harder trilled r (like rrrrrrr rather than rr) s - s t - t v - v or f, depending on which is "flows" easier to say. not distinguished. older transcription systems use fs instead sometimes. z - zh like "je" in "je ne sais quoi" or the s in "asia" ' - unvoiced h, like the secret h in "everest" before the vowel or the h in "white" after the w. rare, largely appears in words with long strings of consonants (syetkk'vri, pronounced syoo-et-k(uh)-vri, would be unpronounceable without it)

VECTORS

LOCATION VECTORS

moving/on a locational vector - sole (suu-leh) still/anchored/not vectoring anywhere - byake (byuu-ah-(g)eh)

toward self - dyk- sole dykka (dyuu-kah) out from self - tak - sole takkes (tahk-ess) parallel to self - [empty] - sikke (sigh-keh)

vertical (z) - pye - sole pyete (pyuu-eht-eh) horizontal (x / east-west) - 'vros - sole evrus ( ev-roos) horizontal (y / north-south) - kkiste - sole kkistakke (kice-tak-eh)

vertical (z) up/to surface - pyelite (pyuu-ehl-ite-eh) vertical (z) down/to ground - pyalu (pyuu-ahl-ooh)

to open - sev - sole sevrekk (sehf-rek) to wall - kkyk - sole kkykkot (kyuu-kote)

west-of-self (translated often as "right" when used metaphorically) - kkye - sole kkyes (kyuu-ehs) east-of-self (translated often as "left" when used metaphorically) - set - sole setke (set-keh) south-of-self (translated often as "forward" when used metaphorically) - teki - sole tekeit (teh-(g)eh-eyet) north-of-self (translated often as "backward" when used metaphorically) - aru - sole aryok (ahr-yuu-oh(g))

horizontal (x) west-of-self to open- vroskkysev (vross-kyuu-sehv) horizontal (x) east-of-self to open- vroset'tev (vross-ehttev) horizontal (x) west-of-self to wall- vroskkykkuk (vross-kyuu-koo(g)) horizontal (x) east-of-self to wall- vrosesekkyk (vross-ehs-ehk-yuu(g)) horizontal (x) west-of-self - vroskkye (vross-kyuu-eh) horizontal (x) east-of-self - vroset (vross-set)

horizontal (y) south-of-self - kkisteki (kice-te(g)-eye) horizontal (y) north-of-self - kkistaru (kice-tar-roo) horizontal (y) south-of-self to open - kkistekisev (kice-te(g)-eye-sehv) horizontal (y) north-of-self to open - kkistarusav (kice-tar-roo-sahv) horizontal (y) south-of-self to wall - kkisteikkyk (kice-teh-eye-kyuu(g)) horizontal (y) north-of-self to wall - kkistarkkyuuk (kice-tar-roo-kyuu(g))

TEMPORAL VECTORS

still/this moment (RARE word) - byesti (byuu-ah-steye) "on a temporal vector"/at any other point in time or experiencing time in motion - siste (sigh-steh)

south-temporal/forward in the future - teki - siste tekearr (teh-(g)eh-ahrrrrr) north-temporal/backward in the past - aru - siste aryorr (ahr-yuu-orrrr) in parallel/at the same time - siku - siste sikyuarr (si(g)-yuu-ahrr)

zero point - point of calibration, compass-location - byaksikketkka (byuu-ah-si-ket-ka)

[siansfashion]

Victorian Music 

Professional music did not emerge and people had limited methods of reproducing sounds using handy materials.

In the 1830s saloons flourished. The origin of music hall of Victorian England may be traced back to the older saloons where all types of entertainment were provided. The saloon was a room which included performances like: dancing, singing, acting, comedies, plays, dramas and many more. In the mid 19th century, music halls began to be built in London. In this period professional songwriters began to emerge.

Prior to the 1850s, traditional folk songs were enjoyed and cherished by the people of the Victorian England. However, Victorian music moved away from old norms and patterns around the 1850s. In the later period, house orchestras became complex and sophisticated pianos started to make an appearance in the market. Also, women who were once prohibited from playing musical instruments or performing in public were now given freedom to do so.

Famous Victorian Era Composers:

-Stephen Adams (1844-1913)

-Michael W. Balfe (1808-70)

-John Barnett (1802-90)

-James Bland (1854-1911)

-Carrie Jacobs Bond

-Claribel [Charlotte Alington Barnard, née Pye] (1830-69)

-Sir Frederic Hymen Cowen (1852-1935)

Harvard Referencing

VICTORIAN ERA. (N/A) Music and Musicians in the Victorian Era. [Online] Available from: https://victorian-era.org/music-and-musician-in-the-victorian-era.html. [Accessed: 6th December 2022].

Fig 1. N/A. (N/A) Music and Musicians in the Victorian Era. [Photograph] Available from: https://victorian-era.org/music-and-musician-in-the-victorian-era.html. [Accessed: 6th December 2022].

Fig 2. N/A. (N/A) Music and Musicians in the Victorian Era. [Painting] Available from: https://victorian-era.org/music-and-musician-in-the-victorian-era.html. [Accessed: 6th December 2022].