#the dark world is like the otherworld

[starlitnova]

hear me out

four swords but silent hill

[silverthehedgehogcharacteristics]

Silver the Hedgehog Key Characteristics

Strong Sense of Justice: Silver is a righteous hedgehog of justice that is outraged by suffering and devastation. Seeks to settle scores(Sonic Forces, IDW Sonic) to get back for those that have been wronged and make evildoers pay for what they’ve done. Is very confrontational because of this as he has zero tolerance for injustices or things like breaking promises and will quickly take on anyone or anything to right wrongs and help those in need, however “His wish is to maintain peace, not to eradicate evil”(Sonic Channel). Silver wants to become a hero because it means being someone that can “protect smiles”(Sonic & Silver).

Optimism: Silver is an optimist and embodies hope just as Sonic embodies freedom. He always looks to a brighter outcome, does not give into despair no matter how dire the situation and believes “There’s always hope as long as you don’t give it up”(JP Sonic Forces quote). Inspires hope in others during dark times(Sonic 06 last episode, Sonic Forces, helping Elise through her performance anxiety in Otherworld Comedy) and spreads happiness during peaceful times as he is said to engage in Cheerful Activities after the historical change in 06(Sonic & Silver). If he is down it does not take much to bring him back up(Sonic Rivals 2). Silver has a positive way of life that inspires people and makes them want to cheer him on(Sonic Channel).

Kindness: Silver is an Altruist with a strong desire to help others and is always thinking of someone else’s happiness rather than his own(Sonic & Silver). Silver wants to “protect smiles” and make people happy because he grew up in a world filled with despair. His altruism is the source of his mission and the only thing that can make him break from it as he can’t say no to a sad face or ignore those in need. Silver actively does things like serving apple slices(Wallpaper Comedy 2022) and giving gifts as Santa(Sonic Pict) because his greatest joy is seeing smiles. Silver put the spirit of the pilot Renzo to rest by pretending to be an airplane for him in Town Mission 4. Silver is selfless and acts for others, he has no regard for his own safety and is willing to sacrifice himself without even thinking(Sonic Comic Pumpkin Trigger). When Eggman attacks in Sonic Comic Act Final Stage, Silver instantly acts to shield everyone.

Honest: Silver is a pure and genuine person that is very Forthright, Straightforward and Honest to a fault to the point of being blunt. He can’t tell a lie, wears his heart on his sleeve and has an “Honest, unpretentious and kind demeanor”(Sonic Channel Staff Column). Silver is very humble and does not think of himself as a hero(Sonic & Silver). Silver is an Enhancer(someone that is determined and simple, never lies, hides nothing, is straightforward in their actions and thinking, whose words and actions are often dominated by their feelings and is very focused on their goals),

Brash: Silver has a brash and flippant personality that is even more brash than Sonic’s(even Sonic says Silver has an attitude in Sonic Rivals). Silver is so straightforward and honest that he is also rude and blunt. He has no filter and will call you an idiot to your face if he thinks you’re an idiot and is so direct that he can often ignore manners and social customs(06 NPC dialogue, Sonic Rivals series). Silver is very snappy, abrasive and sarcastic, being quick to insult or sneer at any opposition(06, Rivals series, Riders Zero Gravity, Olympic Games, Eggman’s theme park in Colors DS). Has a confident, somewhat smug attitude about his abilities and is very Competitive(almost fights Blaze when they start one-upping each other over who could deal with Orbot and Cubot on their own in Colors DS). Silver is said to have Mischievous Side(Sonic Channel Commemorative Illustration series). Silver is Headstrong(almost fights Blaze when she treats him like an amateur in Otherworld Comedy) and can be quick to start fights for both serious and petty reasons(Colors DS, Rivals series, Jet and Bowser Jr in Mario and Sonic, Infinite in Forces). Silver is very ill-mannered in general which is more apparent in Japanese where he has various informal rude mannerisms including using “Ore”(informal masculine “I”), “Anta”(Impolite “you”) that signifies he speaks bluntly, pointing directly at people he speaks to(confrontational gesture) and crossing his legs while sitting(roughly the Japanese equivalent to putting your feet on a table). Silver is rash and impolite in contrast to Future Trunks. Silver’s blunt rudeness, honesty and overall traits are the complete opposite of Eggman Nega’s over-politeness, deception and overall traits. Despite this however Silver is still outgoing and approachable.

Naive: Silver has a black and white perspective and is innocent in his ideals. Expects people to believe him when he says he’s from the future or explains outlandish situations simply because he knows them to be true(Which causes people to not believe him). Sometimes takes things literally and doesn’t understand jokes but has an angry “What’s so funny” attitude when he doesn’t understand things(Says “Yes, why?” when Espio asks “you want me to believe that?” in Sonic Rivals 2 and “What’s so funny” when he didn’t understand people what people were laughing at in Otherworld Comedy). Silver is young and immature according to Shun Nakamura.

Emotional: Emotionally immature, unregulated and unfiltered. Sometimes Silver tends to deal with things too head-on because of the strength of his feelings, or he tends to take everything on himself, which can make him reckless and rash/impulsive(In the Japanese version of 06 Blaze describes him as running wild rather than insecure). Short-tempered, easily angered and has a wrathful temper like Blaze. Gets indignant when people don’t listen to him(Sonic Channel) and punches things when he is frustrated(06, Mario & Sonic series). Feels joy and rage loudly but sadness and contemplation quietly. Silver is generally High-Spirited, puts his all into what he gets invested in(I’m giving this everything I’ve got!). Can get carried away or needs to be calmed down/held back when he gets riled up. Silver is hot-blooded and rash while Sonic and Shadow are calm and cool(Sonic & Silver Sonic Channel story).

Peace: Silver lives and fights for World Peace. Silver is devoted to peace because he hails from a hellish ruined future that was filled with darkness, devastation and suffering. Silver has great empathy for the state of both people and environments so devastation saddens and upsets him while beauty and prosperity leaves him breathless. Blue Skies and Smiles are especially important to him, blue skies make him feel at peace, and he can’t help but smile when seeing smiling faces. The quills on Silver’s head are patterned in the shape of a Japanese Red Maple Leaf which represents peace and prosperity.

Sentimental: Silver is also very Sentimental. He finds great beauty in nature and serenely appreciates both the wonders of the world and the little things that most people take for granted. Silver enjoys sightseeing and going on journeys(Sonic Colors DS, Olympic Games, Sonic Pict) because of this. Silver relaxes and chats with his friends during downtime(Sonic & Silver). Silver has a somewhat wide-eyed curiosity and likes seeing cool and interesting things(“Interesting”). Silver feels serene and at peace when seeing nature, happiness and prosperity. This side of him ties into his peace themes due to his ability to appreciate beauty and serenity which the Momiji/Japanese Red Maple also represents.

Fighter: Fought and struggled for half his lifetime(possibly since he was Cream’s age) through the disaster future(Sonic & Silver). Silver hails from an extremely hostile environment filled with darkness, large Iblis enemies and constant disasters. He has high aggression because of this and has very intense determined expressions and aggressive body language with constant fists even during competitions or just tasks he's focused on. Silver has angular sharp pointed eyes like Sonic’s other rivals which represent intensity and danger in character design. Shadow describes Silver as a Fighter in Team Sonic Racing. Silver is extremely powerful being able to evenly physically fight Sonic and Shadow to a standstill in 06 and the Rivals series, and repeatedly destroy both the gigantic Iblis and small armies by himself in 06 and Sonic Pict. Silver both Enjoys Fighting and has an Instant fight response when surprised in Sonic Generations. Silver “sometimes calls forth great power without mercy”(Sonic Channel).

Determination: Silver has relentless Determination that allowed him to fight through the apocalyptic future. Doesn’t give up easily(got exact hedgehog apple slices after 40 tries). Has no regard for pain/massive pain tolerance(Kept fighting undeterred after being kicked in the head by Shadow and skipped across the street like a rock by Sonic in Generations and endures excruciating "pain beyond description” caused by his powers in Sonic & Silver). Silver is bold and undeterred by any threat(says “We can take them all on!” when facing Eggman, Knuckles and Rouge in Rivals 2 and “I’ll just destroy him everywhere at once” when facing Solaris in Sonic 06) as he fought against disasters and large Iblis monsters in dark dangerous environments from a very young age and throws himself at every enemy from Iblis to Infinite without hesitation, even if they are stronger than him.

Straight-to-the-point mentality, hates distractions and petty details(Doesn’t care what the plan is called, only that it works in Forces). This can make him impatient towards things that get in his way or waste time. Silver is Goal Focused(even during things like competitions he says the Jade Ghost Wisp is the only item he likes because it lets him disappear and focus on racing in the Team Vector interview). Takes things much more seriously than Sonic and sometimes gets mad at Sonic for not taking things seriously or messing around(JP TSR, Sonic 4 Panel Manga). 

Silver is very direct and Proactive as he spent most of his life trying to defeat Iblis and find out how his future came to ruin when no one could tell him how and actively investigated Dodon Pa and Eggman in Team Sonic Racing.

Silver is pragmatic and somewhat ruthless. Opens both his fights with Sonic in 06 by trying to sneak attack and snipe Sonic with psychic energy balls. Has fought dirty by playing possum to hit Sonic in 06, snuck past Soleanna guards to get to Radical Train in 06. Mugs Tails in Sonic Rivals 2(he’s okay with stealing), has no qualms with fighting kids like Tails or Bowser Jr. Leaves his enemies to die even if they beg for life(Sonic Rivals 2/IDW Sonic). Has the “get-it-done” mindset of Future Trunks and will do whatever it takes to save the future.

Challenger: Enjoys challenges and ways to test himself(Sonic Colors DS, Mario & Sonic Series). Makes steady efforts to train and improve offscreen(Sonic Channel Comedy). Silver is a very skilled person that takes offense to being treated like an amateur(Otherworld Comedy) and is able to do various jobs around Soleanna(06 Town Missions), become a delivery boy(Sonic Pict), a butler, a top class ice skater, and a genius skating coach(Sonic Channel) and has sharp shooting among the best in Soleanna’s 1500 year history. One of his catchphrases is “I’ll take you on”. 

Intuitive: Silver sometimes deduces things that other people do not and every central game role Silver has from 06 to TSR is about him searching for truth and he has successfully figured out the schemes of Eggman and Eggman Nega before anyone else each time. Silver can be very sharp, perceptive and crafty; he figures out Eggman Nega’s disguises by noticing small details in his mannerisms in Sonic Rivals, intuits Blaze trying to control her great power when seeing it for the first time in Sonic Channel and changes his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao instead to advance his mission in Sonic Rivals 2.

Often shown/implied to like Apples(he ate apple flavored calorie bar rations in the 06 Iblis future according to Sonic Channel Sonic Pict) suggesting they are his favorite food. Apples also symbolize sweetness, beauty, and hope for prosperity in Japanese and Jewish culture.

Lives in the good future the same way Blaze lives in the Sol Dimension when not in Sonic’s time(spends most of his time there as he doesn’t get to see Sonic very often according to Team Sonic Racing). Also implied to live in Soleanna(He was originally going to be named Venice simply because he lived there, implied to live there in Sonic & Silver and Otherworld Comedy Act 4 Sonic Channel stories).

[4chance]

flow of our lives — I. a mr. crawling series built around the sweet mundane. — part 1 of ?

word count — 0.6k summary — you take care of crawling to make up for past bitterness. notes — SFW. gn reader (no pronouns). END04 implied. bold = otherworld language. we call him "crawling" here, because we're close enough with him now to drop the honorific.

You must use force to twist the knob of the faucet (more now than before your foray into that world) and let the water roll, until you stop it at the lip of the bucket. You dip your fingers in. It is warm, and the heat is not far from your own, not too harsh. Crawling will not shy away.

He loves you—so much. He has a zest for your life, like a sweet, loyal dog; he loves you like a dog loves the chocolate in your hand. You did not always love him the way he deserved: to this day, he wears you proudly on his face (in the blood you had shed when you plunged your crowbar down his face). You soak a microfiber cloth in the water, tip Crawling’s chin with the bed of your thumb, and press the cloth to his cheek.

“Hot?” he says.

Your face drops to a look of concern. “Many hot? You hurt?”

“Not hurt. Little hot feel good.” He tilts his head, burrows his cheek into the cloth. “Why you have this?”

The water of the Otherworld is cold and hard and stagnant. Crawling knows the hot of a scared, throbbing heart; of the fire meant to ward off his kind. When you take up your cloth and wipe the grime from his chin, you show him warm: a nice heat, that is not here to hurt him.

“Your face… have blood. Blood… go out of your face—me happy.”

“Happy?”

His hands dart to the cloth. He tries to wrest it from your grip and drag it toward the center of his face.

“Calm down—not… move.” Since the Otherworld has no word that you know for please—“friendly.”

You know Crawling can handle himself. He braved the Otherworld as long as he did, and you trust him now to keep your apartment during the day: he mops floors and folds clothing, prompted and not. Still—it is you that must make sure he knows: you are not here to hurt him.

He never let the other ghosts touch him (not like this—not at all). Perhaps he forgave you already—loves you just that much.

You bring one hand to cradle the back of his head; the other gives his face gentle strokes. His body melts beneath your touch; he swipes his face against the cloth to help you out. The cloth blackens quickly: one half of his face requires four dips in the bucket. You see now just how pale he is, not that ash-gray you thought it was at all—in fact, so white his veins show dark as tadpoles on his skin.

You glide the cloth below his curtained bangs. Your fingertips cave in on the crest of his cheekbone. “You okay?”

“My eyes… not able to clean. Sorry.”

“You should not sorry,” you say, in an attempt at your clearest Otherworld pronunciation. Crawling hides his eyes and downplays his height, and you are sure it is for you, so as not to repulse you—yet he cannot make you hate him if he tried. “You good.” You stroke the crown of his head, the way he likes; a giggle escapes his broadened mouth.

You do what you can—you kiss the bridge of his nose, then rise to change the water. The skin that lines his sockets has the gravity of jowls, lined in essence with the slick of fresh blood. You either cause him no pain, or he hides it for you. Really—what have you done to deserve him, who loves you so much?

(This—

You look at him as if he is a jewel in your hands. He has never been treasured. Not like this, not at all.

The breathy rumbling of his giggles, from his chest to his cheeks, brings a flutter to your heart, and a warmth to your gaze. All you have done is be fond of him, made the smallest things you do his world.

The Otherworld is simple, in that only the strong survive—and so when you show him warm, he knows you’re true, and that is all.)

[dark-corner-cunning]

Summoning the Fetch: A Mirror Magick Enchantment

Welcome back, Seekers! In my local coven, we’ve just completed a journey through the mysteries of Spirit, diving into the magick of the Fetch Spirit. Since many of you enjoyed the Spirit House post, I thought it only fitting to share a glimpse into the Fetch Spirit here. This practice was inspired by the wisdom found in "The Crooked Path" book a few years ago. As always, take what resonates with your soul, weave it into your craft, and make it uniquely your own. 🌙✨

What Is The Fetch Spirit?

In the craft of Spirit Work and Traditional Witchery, the fetch spirit is a vital thread in the tapestry of a Witch’s soul. Many paths teach that the soul is a trinity, woven from the higher self, the mid-self, and the lower self. The fetch spirit dwells in the depths of the lower self, tethered to the Underworld and the shadowy realms of the unconscious. It is the raw, instinctual force within us, rooted in primal needs like safety and comfort.

The fetch can be seen as the ID of our being—a wild, emotional current that stirs intuition through gut feelings and instinctual nudges, often acting as our unseen protector. By forging a relationship with the fetch, a Witch may delve into the hidden chambers of emotion, amplify intuitive knowing, and tap the deep well of the unconscious mind.

Skilled Witches often call upon their fetch to walk between worlds or perform workings on their behalf, leaving the Witch present in one realm while their fetch accomplishes tasks in another. This spirit companion may mirror the Witch’s form or manifest as an animal—its connection to our instinctual nature shaping it into the guise of a hare, cat, bird, or other creature. Such shapeshifting recalls the old tales of witches transforming into beasts, yet it is not the Witch’s body that changes but their fetch slipping into an animal guise to carry out the work.

Still, the lore carries warnings: the fetch and the Witch are bound as one. Any harm that befalls the fetch could ripple back to the Witch. Tales of fetches wounded in the Otherworld, with their Witches bearing matching scars, remind us of the sacred balance in working with this primal part of ourselves. Though physical harm may be rare today, the stories caution us to approach this work with reverence, care, and the wisdom of those who have walked the crooked path before us.

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

Summoning the Fetch: A Mirror Magick Enchantment

Purpose: Enlist the power of the Fetch Spirit with this enchanted mirror working, creating a portal between realms. Once the mirror is enchanted it can be placed on or above your altar, allowing the Fetch to reflect your magickal workings across the seen and unseen worlds. Let its gaze weave your intentions through the threads of all realms, amplifying your craft with otherworldly connection and power.

Timing: Dark Moon

Ingredients:

A Mirror - I personally favor antique silver-backed mirrors for this work, as they hold a conductive energy, but truly, any mirror will do. It is the intent and the magick you weave that brings the mirror to life.

Candles: Tealights or Pillars

Crossroads Smoke Blend or Spray

Offering

To begin, create your ritual space by arranging the candles in a circle upon the ground, with the mirror placed at the center—acting as a portal to the unseen, where you can see your reflection. Cleanse the mirror thoroughly before use, using either sacred smoke or a spritz of a Crossroads blend to clear and consecrate its surface. For this, I favor a simple but potent, crafted blend:

✨ Mugwort: For consecration, astral travel, and cleansing magickal mirrors. ✨ Wormwood: To summon and open the veil. ✨ Fumitory: To conjure, commune with chthonic spirits, and weave connection with the shadowed realms.

To craft a crossroads spray, steep your herbs in alcohol (60 to 100 proof works best for potent extraction) for at least one full moon cycle before your ritual work.

Once your sacred space is prepared, pause to ground yourself and step into the magickal circle. Take the crossroads smoke and begin circling your ritual space clockwise, letting the smoke weave its power around the candles. Walk the space as many times as feels right—allow the rhythm to guide you deeper into a trance-like state, where the veil between worlds begins to thin. 

Now, light your candles and summon the crossroads, quarters, corners, or whatever energies resonate with your craft. I have my own way of calling these forces, but follow your instincts, trust your practice, and call forth what speaks to your spirit. Let the magick unfold as it will.

Once the Crossroads has been summoned, step up to the mirror and let your gaze fall upon the mirror. Lock eyes with your reflection, peering into the depths of your soul. Hold your focus unwaveringly, let your thoughts fade and your vision soften. Through your eyes, reach into the mirror, descending into the shadowy realms of the Underworld where your true essence lies hidden. When the connection stirs, speak words of power, such as: 

"I summon my fetch on this dark moon night,

My astral twin, shadowed self, and tethered light. 

I call you forth from the depths below, 

Rise through this mirror, let your presence show."

Feel the energy shift as the boundaries thin, and your fetch begins to stir within the liminal space. Whisper words of kindness and praise to your fetch spirit, calling it forth from the shadows, until it you feel that it has stepped into the mirror’s gaze. Let your words weave a bridge, a thread of connection, until the spirit answers your call.

Once you've forged a connection with your fetch, it’s time to lay down your intentions, terms, and conditions for your pact. In spirit work, clarity is everything—be precise about its purpose, your expectations, and how you’ll nourish and honor this relationship through offerings. Spirit dealings can be unpredictable, so taking care to establish firm boundaries ensures a smoother partnership.

Consider crafting a unique signal or calling method, such as a specific whistle, gesture, or phrase, to summon your fetch when its aid is required. By setting these foundations, you not only honor the fetch spirit but also weave a bond of trust and power into your craft. Also, consider writing your pact in your own hand, sealing it with your name, and offering it to the flames. As the smoke rises, it carries your intentions into the other realms, weaving them into the unseen. Again, do what calls to you.

When you feel your Fetch working has reached its conclusion and the connection has been made, step even closer to the mirror and bind the connection by kissing your reflection in the mirror, pressing your hand against its surface, or breathing a sacred breath of life toward your Fetch. Then, speak this incantation, or craft your own words of power, to seal the enchantment:

I am you, and you are me, Bound together, tethered free. Two as one, spirit and form, In sacred union, magick born.

Together we weave, together we bind, Power awakened, paths aligned. By will and craft, let it be, My Fetch and I, in harmony.

When the energy feels settled and the rite is complete, extinguish your candles, place the mirror in its sacred resting place, give thanks, and leave an offering in gratitude.

______________________________________________________________

May your magick flow with unwavering strength, ever potent and true. As you work with the Fetch Mirror, may the veil between worlds grow thin, and may the power of your spirit and its reflection guide your path with clarity and purpose. Blessed be. ✨

[anarchy-and-piglins]

I was reading up on a bunch of fae curses for a fic I'm writing (I ended up not going with any of the curses I read about because making up my own curse for the fic just ended up being more convenient) and one of them was like

"the person afflicted with the curse goes to the Otherworld (the fae world) every time they fall asleep or unconscious. The fae that cursed them can pick exactly where and how they appear in the Otherworld. Over time, the person's quality of sleep will be affected to the point where they're constantly tired, paranoid, and sick, sleeping longer and longer, until they eventually get stuck in the Otherworld forever."

And I'm not saying that's the perfect plot for a dark SBI fic buuuuut.... something something SBI cursing Techno because they want a new family member, slowly peeling away his resistance night after night within a realm where they have full magical power and Techno is one of the only humans, trying to show him how good his life can be with them if he just gives in and lets them take care of him, while Techno's life in the real world deteriorates because of his insomnia and exhaustion.

[bananarrlele]

Dornröschen

tags: gore, dark romance, power dynamics, psychological horror, vampire, horror, obsession, gothic, supernatural, non-canon elements, erotic, blood play, seduction, smut (explicit sexual content), dub-con, female reader, dominant male, size difference, oral sex (fem! receiving), lots of terms of endearment, rough sex, biting, creampie, brief aftercare, literature mentions (goethe's poem 'heidenröslein'), title translates to "little, thorned rose" or even "sleeping beauty", in german. everything written in bold is otherworld language.

plot: "after a violent earthquake shakes the underworld, you rush to mr. silvair’s lab for help. but everything feels wrong — he’s no longer the cold, distant figure you know. transformed into a vampire, silvair pulls you into a surreal dream where your unrequited love finally finds its answer."

Knabe sprach: 'Ich breche dich, Röslein auf der Heiden.'

The boy said: I will break you, little rose on the heath.

The depths trembled like a heart in agony, and the ground opened like a hungry mouth, swallowing everything in its path with an intensity you had never deemed possible. It was as if a slumbering giant was writhing in its sleep, as the walls shook and the floor shattered, as if hell itself was opening beneath your very feet. Losing your balance, you could do little but emit a gasping murmur of exasperation, followed by a piercing cry of pain as your head collided with a rock, and your vision darkened as if an ebony veil was cast over your eyes.

When you were finally able to open your eyes again, you groaned painfully upon touching your head and feeling a warm, sticky liquid gushing from the deep cut, but a fleeting, perishable sense of relief filled your chest as you noticed that the sound of the rumble had subsided.

With your eyes wavering and blurred by agony, you hesitantly extended your hands before you, only to see them smeared with blood as red as cracked rubies. A silent scream escaped your lips. It was a nasty gash, the reddened flesh spasming, and the quick pulse of hot blood eagerly pouring out. The sight of the blood transported you to a dark, unknown place, where physical pain mingled with the anguish of the soul. But a persistent force within you, perhaps fear, perhaps intuition, kept you moving toward an uncertain destination.

Or perhaps, not so uncertain and unknown after all. The throbbing wound in your head was a map, and the pain a compass, guiding you through a tortuous but familiar path: the small room of the doctor. The space occupied by Mr. Silvair wasn't far, but the darkness caused by the stupor threatening to close your eyes was like a sea of ink, hungry and eager to suffocate and end you. Your body protested, stiffened in an aged armor of pride, keeping your legs nearly rigid, but you knew you needed help. And the Doctor had always been there, like a precious clock never moved from its place, a faithful shadow, the only constant in a world of perpetual changes. His words were law, and his judgment, always reliable.

Upon reaching the door, you pushed it with a trembling hand, entering with a firmness already frayed. Your body, already exhausted and weakened, finally succumbed. The merciless darkness took over once more, and you fainted, falling into a deep, involuntary sleep.

Consciousness returned slowly, like a mist dissipating in an eternal twilight. Your eyes opened, unsteady, as if being pulled from a deep, viscous sleep. Your eyelids twitched gently against the velvety gloom that enveloped the room. A canopy bed cradled you, soft as a cloud, with columns carved from an exotic and distinct wood. The heavy, opaque crimson velvet curtains filtered the faint, almost nonexistent light seeping through the cracks in the windows.

The air was dense, laden with a sweet, almost cloying perfume reminiscent of wilted roses and incense. A slight tremor ran through your body, and you stretched, feeling your sore muscles. As you sat up in the bed, your eyes adjusted to the dimness and began to distinguish the room's details.

The walls, covered in rich scarlet fabric, were adorned with a profusion of paintings. Portraits of men and women, all with impassive expressions and penetrating gazes, dominated the walls. They were figures of authority — kings, queens, generals — who seemed to observe you with curiosity. Among the portraits were also still lifes, with lush fruits and wilted flowers, and dark landscapes, with abandoned castles and twisted trees.

Beside the bed, a black marble fireplace held embers that lazily glowed, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Above the fireplace, a Venetian mirror reflected a distorted image of the room, doubling the sense of opulence and decadence.

A solid mahogany desk, filled with old books and yellowed parchments, occupied a corner of the room. A raven's feather rested on a silver inkwell, inviting you to record your thoughts.

As you stood, your bare feet touched a Persian rug, soft and thick, cushioning your steps. The high, vaulted ceiling was decorated with frescoes depicting mythological scenes, filled with dark gods and fantastic creatures.

With a tilt of your head, your eyes fell upon the silhouette of a man of imposing stature, unmoving on his own feet before the fireplace, with the flames dancing and illuminating the profile of his pale, almost translucent face. A shiver ran down your spine with the realization. Mr. Silvair was there, more sumptuous than ever. But not the Silvair you knew, dressed in his usual bloodstained, worn lab coats. No. This was a transformed Silvair, almost unrecognizable.

His long, silver, misty hair fell loosely over his shoulders like liquid mercury, framing his ivory face with a slight smile. His eyes, if they still existed in their sockets, covered by bandages stained in crimson, contrasted with his attire, so different from anything you had ever seen. The one who once presented himself in sober, functional garments now wore an extravagant and dark ensemble. A silver velvet coat, embroidered with delicate arabesques in a deep burgundy hue, draped over his broad shoulders. The piece, though luxurious, bore a certain carelessness, with undone buttons revealing layers of fine, lace-trimmed shirts. Tight leather pants, shimmering like silver, clung to his legs, contrasting with heavy, high-heeled boots, more suited for a battlefield than an opulent hall.

The gothic, antiquated, and aristocratic look was a shock, but there was something familiar about the figure. The same aura of mystery and power that once defined him was now amplified by his new attire. It was as if, by shedding his physician’s garb, Silvair had revealed a part of himself that had always been hidden — a dark, enigmatic facet that coexisted with his scientific nature.

A sigh escapes his lips as he unsettlingly notices your gaze and steps closer to the bed.

— Finally. You're awake.

You furrowed your brow as you noticed him communicating perfectly in your human tongue, not resorting to the one of the underworld. Your bewilderment deepened when you detected a hint of an accent in his voice, rough and archaic.

You blinked, disoriented by the sudden shift in his tone. The man who had once appeared as a cold, detached doctor now revealed an unexpected, almost tender side. The strangeness of it lingered, but it soon gave way to an intensifying curiosity that tugged at you.

— You know my language? — You murmured, your voice hoarse with the remnants of sleep.

— Naturally, — He answered, his tone dripping with a quiet superiority. — I speak all your tongues.

Your eyes widened in disbelief.

— All of them?

He gave a slight, almost theatrical tilt of his head, his movement elegant and assured.

— Yes, all of them. French, German, Spanish... Even the most obscure dialects.

A shiver crept down your spine. How could he know so much?

Before you could form another question, he continued, his voice a little lower, almost intimate now.

— Do you remember Goethe? A poet of some renown in your world. Heidenröslein, my dear…

You shook your head slightly, intrigued.

— "Röslein auf der Heiden..." A delicate little rose, growing in a wild place. A thing of beauty, surrounded by chaos. Just like you.

His voice had taken on a new quality, smooth and sensual, each word weighted with meaning. He took a slow step forward, deliberate in his movement, and with it, the distance between you shrank. It wasn’t just a physical approach — it was as if he were pulling you toward him in ways you couldn’t quite explain, closing in on you, emotionally as much as physically.

— But I don’t wish to pluck you just yet, like the boy in the poem. No. I want to tend to you. I’ve kept you safe, you see...

His words lingered in the air, hanging heavy with an almost unsettling promise. His gaze, once clinical and detached, now held something deeper — something possessive, something darkly protective. The room, once oppressive and filled with an eerie void, now felt thick with an intimacy that you couldn’t escape. The air around you seemed to hum with a dangerous allure.

You took a shallow breath, entranced. For a fleeting moment, the world outside his presence disappeared. All the uncertainty, the strangeness, the tension, everything faded into irrelevance. The man standing before you, no longer the cold, calculating doctor, had transformed into something else entirely. Not in appearance alone, but in the very essence of the atmosphere he commanded. A weight hung in the air, drawing you in, an undeniable pull that made everything else seem insignificant, distant.

Your skin prickled. His comment, his proximity, everything was so intense. You tried to compose yourself, but his voice was hypnotizing.

— How do you know so much?

— I have plenty of time to read, my lovely. And language, it is like a labyrinth. Once you find the thread of Ariadne, all the paths reveal themselves.

He extended a cold and elegant hand, gently caressing your face to trace the outline of the wound on your forehead, before stepping back slightly, his expression becoming more distant. It was if he were withdrawing into his thoughts for a moment.

— But let us return to the present, shall we? I am most pleased that you have awakened. You were in a profound, consuming slumber, one that could not be easily disturbed.

His attention shifted, and he gestured towards the opulent attire that lay upon the chaise longue beside the bed. His voice took on a more formal, commanding tone.

— Ah. As for your attire, I have taken the liberty of selecting something fitting for the occasion.

The garments were nothing short of extravagant. The gown, composed of rich crimson velvet, shimmered under the dim light. Its delicate embroidery of silver threads formed intricate patterns across the fabric, while the lace at the collar and cuffs added a touch of elegance. A corset of dark satin cinched tightly at the waist, lending an air of refinement. The voluminous skirt cascaded in soft folds, adorned with dark pearls that sparkled faintly. Beside the gown, a pair of knee-high boots crafted from supple black leather stood, their heels elegantly designed.

He moved closer once more, his voice taking on an even deeper resonance.

— The banquet will commence shortly, my dear. It would be most unfortunate for you to keep the others waiting.

His covered eyes possibly locked with yours, the weight of his words leaving little room for dissent. His presence, once again, enveloped you entirely, as if the evening, and the role you were to play within it, had already been carefully predetermined.

You nodded timidly, your eyes trailing over your worn clothes. The rough cotton scratched at your skin, a constant reminder of your simple life. Mr. Silvair had left silently, leaving you alone with a whirlwind of emotions.

With a sigh, you approached the ancient mirror, its golden frame chipped and faded with age. The reflection that stared back at you was pale and tired. You disentangled yourself from your old clothes, feeling a mixture of relief and sorrow. The silk gown, however, was a revelation. The vibrant red seemed almost incandescent, contrasting sharply with your skin. The soft texture slid over you, caressing you like a warm breeze. The golden embroidery glittered in the candlelight, casting an almost hypnotic glow. As you donned the dress, you felt yourself transform, as though you were a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

You paused for a moment, studying your reflection in the mirror, seeing a stranger before you, yet somehow, it was you. The gown seemed to mold perfectly to your form, highlighting your features in a way you had never experienced. There was a sense of power in the transformation, but also a haunting vulnerability, as though you were about to step into a world from which there was no return.

A deep breath escaped your lips, as you attempted to calm the storm of nerves within you. The gown seemed to murmur as you moved, its fabric flowing over your skin like the whisper of something unfamiliar, something unsettling. You stole one last glance at your reflection, noting the stranger staring back at you, before turning toward the door. Your footsteps were swallowed by the thick carpet as you made your way forward. The banquet called, and with it, the grand spectacle Mr. Silvair had promised, waiting to unfold before you.

The banquet hall was shrouded in a pulsating gloom, its walls draped with ancient, tattered tapestries depicting scenes of vice and decadence. The clinking of golden goblets against plates and the muffled murmurs of distorted conversations echoed through the vast space. As you stepped further inside, the mingling scents of roasted human flesh and fresh blood intertwined with the heavy aroma of incense, creating a sensation both repulsive and fascinating.

The table stretched endlessly, covered by dark cloths stained with blood and other viscous fluids that glimmered in the candlelight along its length. The golden cutlery, polished yet tarnished, gleamed ominously in the flickering light, as if eager to delve into the human flesh displayed upon the table. The meat was raw and grotesque, human flesh skinned and scattered across the surface, some pieces nearly unrecognizable, as if the victims had been torn apart in a frenzied, animalistic rage.

The air was thick with the oppressive weight of ritualistic depravity, and each step you took, hidden, resonated with the echo of past horrors embedded in the very stones of the hall. Shadows danced mockingly on the walls, and the grotesque feast laid out before you seemed to pulsate with a life of its own, a grim testament to the dark desires of those who gathered there.

Monsters draped in black, flowing veils sat around the table, their bony, misshapen hands grasping pieces of flesh with their utensils, sharp teeth gleaming as they chewed with sadistic pleasure. The men and women at the table were pallid figures, their skin ghostly white or tinged with shades of blue and purple, their eyes hollow yet ravenous, surveying everything around them. Some had eyes as red as blood, as if they had already feasted but still hungered for more.

At the far end of the table, a grotesque spectacle: a severed head, its eyes alert and full of devilish mischief, rested as a macabre trophy, draped in strands of auburn hair. Its expression was frozen in a roguish grin, yet those around it, including Mr. Silvair, seemed utterly unfazed. The lifeless body of Mr. Chopped, its parts scattered along the table, appeared as nothing more than a grisly decoration, an addition to the feast that all knew was not merely of flesh and blood, but of twisted power and perverse pleasure.

The scene was one of decadent horror, a nightmarish tableau where the boundaries between life and death, pleasure and pain, were blurred into a single, horrifying reality. The monsters reveled in their feast, their laughter a chilling symphony that resonated through the hall, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the murmur of ancient, unspeakable rites. The banquet was not just a meal, but a ritual, an affirmation of their dominion over the grotesque and the macabre, a celebration of their insatiable appetites and unholy desires.

They dined with their golden utensils, the forks and knives glinting as they sliced through pieces of human flesh with precise, almost surgical accuracy, as if they were handling something as ordinary as a regular meal. The decaying flesh was brought to their lips with a monstrous slowness, their sharp teeth biting and tearing as if they were predators in their purest essence. Blood flowed freely, staining the edges of the plates and the tablecloths with a deep, crimson hue.

As they ate, strange toasts were made, crystal goblets raised and filled with thick, dark human blood. The hoarse, rough tone of one of the monsters cutted through the room.

— To those who dare to cross the boundaries between life and death! A toast to the darkness! — He said, his voice deep and almost reverberating.

The others echoed his toast, their voices blending into a chilling chorus. Mr. Silvair, at the head of the table, nodded with a small, enigmatic smile. His presence commanded attention, and even in this macabre setting, he exuded a sense of control and authority.

Suddenly, the gaze of the guests shifted, drawn to the far end of the table where the decapitated head sat atop a silver platter, lightly dusted with blood. It was unmistakably Mr. Chopped Head, as previously stated, his body gone, yet his head remained, almost absurdly bubbly and elated in its stillness. Beside it, a hand was carelessly splayed across the table, grotesquely stitched back together with crude thread, as though hastily reattached to the lifeless flesh.

A woman in a black veil raised her goblet, her voice dripping with soft sarcasm as she addressed the head, her eyes flickering with dark amusement.

— And a tribute to our dear Mr. Chopped, who, even without his body, continues to grace us with his joyous spirit. — She said, her lips curling into a mockery of a smile. She lifted her chalice of blood high, offering a morbid salute to the decapitated head. — May his absence inspire us.

You watched from the shadows, a strange sense of detachment gripping you as the grotesque scene unfolded before you. Your presence went nearly unnoticed, blending into the darkness, like a silent observer in a nightmare too absurd to feel real.

Then, in an instant, the room fell deathly quiet. Ravenous eyes locked onto you, as if devouring you with their gaze. A low growl rumbled from a few of the monsters, followed by murmurs — a mix of repulsion and primal desire. Hands rose from the table, the pointed fingers of creatures lightly grazing the silverware, poised to strike. The air grew thick with tension, as if it might snap at any moment.

But before any move could be made, a silky yet powerful voice interrupted the impending chaos.

— Quiet. — Mr. Silvair's voice sliced through the silence with a hypnotic smoothness, yet it carried a force that silenced them immediately. He rose from the table, his slender and elegant figure standing out against the shadows. — She is my guest. Mind your manners.

Mr. Silvair made a graceful gesture with his hand, inviting you to come closer.

— A night of celebration and pleasure becomes even more intriguing with a special guest. — He said with a soft smile that seemed to hide something deeper, darker. His voice was a seductive whisper that somehow eased the tension in the room. — Please, my dear, come in and enjoy the evening with us. Are the delights of this night to your liking?

As he spoke, the monsters at the table quieted down, their predatory gazes now softened, as if somehow controlled by the host's power. Some of the darker figures at the table, covered in veils with deformed faces, still watched you with subtle hunger, but it seemed Mr. Silvair's presence had temporarily calmed their more primal instincts.

A woman in the back, with skin white as wax and eyes like red blades, raised a goblet of blood, making an exaggerated gesture of greeting.

— A human, at this banquet of monsters... — She muttered, laughing lightly, her sharp teeth reflecting the candlelight. — How delicious and dangerous she must be.

Mr. Silvair turned to her, the smile never leaving his lips, but his eyes gleaming with something deeper.

— She is not just a human. — He approached you again, his steps silent. — She is a new kind of delicacy, my dear.

The monsters at the table clapped subtly, with the excitement of those about to taste an exotic dish.

The vampire leaned close to you, his mouth almost touching your ear, the weight of his presence completely absorbing your attention. The heat of his body contrasted with the coldness of his skin, and you could smell his fragrance — something between incense and hot metal.

— You are safe, my dear. Do not let the terror of this place consume you. — His voice was soft, almost like a promise, and you realized how he seemed to be attuned to your thoughts, as if he controlled the very space around you.

He then kissed your hand, a cold gesture, but one that brought a sense of calm, as if the chaos around you could be controlled by his presence. When he lifted his face, his features glowed with a deep hue, the candlelight reflecting in them with an intensity that made him seem more than just a man, more than just a vampire — but an entity that understood the balance between life and death, pleasure and terror.

— I will take care of you, in every sense, my sweet human. — Silvair’s smile was soft, but full of second intentions. He somehow still gave you the impression of being the greatest predator in the room, and at the same time, the one offering you the strangest of refuges.

The banquet continued, but now, with every bite, every smile, every laugh, you felt as though you were being slowly and inevitably woven into the web he had created around you.

The laughter and hushed murmurs gave way to an unsettling silence, broken only by the sound of knives and forks sinking into flesh. With each sip, the blood goblets were raised, staining the guests' throats a deep crimson. But there was more in that room than just monsters and their carnal indulgences.

As the night deepened, a new kind of spectacle began. At the far end of the table, near the large silver candelabra, the acrobats started to move. However, they were no ordinary acrobats. Their figures, skeletal and disjointed, seemed more like entities than human beings, their bodies twisted into impossible shapes. Their arms and legs, thin as broken branches, bent and contorted, as if defying the laws of physics, while they danced among the monsters, leaping from one side to the other with a disturbing agility.

The most unsettling part, however, were the sounds that followed their movements. Every contortion of their bodies emitted a sharp crack, like bones breaking, but none of them appeared to feel pain. Their skin, a mix of soaked flesh and exposed muscles, slid as if bereft of any trace of normalcy, each movement resulting in an explosion of macabre beauty. They were like ghosts of acrobats, created solely to entertain while the banquet continued.

In one of their leaps, one of the acrobats landed with a soft sound beside Mr. Silvair, his bones breaking grotesquely as he bent into position. The vampire, without averting his gaze from you, raised a goblet and offered it to the acrobat, who, without a word, took it with a visibly dislocated hand and raised it to his lips. The dark liquid was slowly poured into his mouth, his neck arching with the movement, before he passed the goblet to another of his kind.

Silvair watched them with a contained smile, and as he leaned slightly, his deep voice reached your ears, almost a whisper.

— Are they not marvelous? — He uttered subtly, without much emphasis. — Before, they were like you. But the true transformation comes when you know the limits of flesh and pain. Like a doctor who understands the deepest aspects of human nature, I perfected them. Now, they dance in decadence.

A chill ran down your spine. The way he said it, the lightness and at the same time the veiled threat in his words, made your stomach churn. But you didn’t have time to react, for Silvair’s hidden eyes were on you once again, as though he knew exactly what you were feeling, even without showing any expression.

You tried to pull away, moving slightly back in your seat, feeling strange, exposed. But before you could say anything, he extended his hand with a firm yet gentle gesture that made you stop. He took your hand, his cold skin against yours, and brought it closer to him, not with brute force, but with an undeniable persuasion.

— Don’t be afraid, my dear. I’ll take care of you as I always have. Do not fret, my delicate heart. — His voice was now softer, almost seductive, like a mist enveloping your thoughts.

But before you could react, a low scream cut through the air, and your eyes were drawn to the center of the table. The woman with red eyes, who had made the toast earlier, was being touched by one of the bone-ridden acrobats. He approached her with monstrous grace, his skeletal hands taking hers with a slow and inevitable gesture. Their movement was hypnotic, like a dark dance atop the table, almost ghostly in its lightness.

The acrobat drew her towards him, his bones groaning as he bent low, his face close to hers. But instead of a mere kiss, his teeth sank into her neck, the bite deep and unrelenting, causing blood to spurt in a vivid jet, partially staining the acrobat’s face. The crimson liquid poured forth, bright and grotesque, as the monsters at the table raised their goblets, eyes locked on the flowing blood.

The woman, with a sigh that mixed both pleasure and pain, made no cry. Her expression, one of twisted ecstasy, swept through the room, infecting it with a dark fervor. The acrobat continued, his feeding violent yet graceful, and the room thrummed with satisfied murmurs as the creatures, monstrous and depraved, reveled in the spectacle.

At that moment, a figure arose — a creature with skin as cold and blue as the sky on a frozen day. His eyes, like spheres of ice, gleamed with an unnatural light, and its voice sliced through the tension like a sharp winter wind.

— A lattermost toast, then. — He announced, his gaze never leaving you, a sinister smile twisting its lips. — To our new guest. May she become one of us. May her flesh also transform, and may she share with us the eternal banquet.

The blood still poured from the pale-skinned woman, but now all eyes were on you. The room seemed colder, and the monster’s invitation wasn’t a proposal, but a veiled threat, with a supernatural weight that made your breath catch. Silvair’s fixed gaze was there, a contrast to the scene of violence, but with the same intensity. He didn’t seem concerned, but rather expectant.

You felt a chill crawl down your spine as the room waited for your response.

[...]

— No.

The tension in the room was still alive, pulsing in the air, but when your feet finally moved, you felt a sudden wave of panic. The banquet was not a safe place. There was no rest among those creatures, among those monsters disguised as elegant hosts. You didn’t know if it was fear or the desire to escape, but something inside you screamed for freedom.

The door to the hall opened with a creak, and as you took your first step into the mansion’s corridors, you noticed something unsettling. The hallways seemed to shift before your eyes. The walls distorted, the floor molded itself as if it had a life of its own, and the paths that had once been clear turned labyrinthine. The portraits on the walls watched you with vivid, threatening eyes, their smiles becoming even more grotesque. The tension was in every corner.

You moved forward with quickened breath, almost feeling the claws of the monsters drawing closer, their unmistakable putrid scent in the air. The murmurs and laughter of your pursuers echoed through the hallways, but before they could reach you, a hiss of command cut through the air, coming from somewhere deep and distant. Silvair’s soft voice, like a snake hissing, made the monsters retreat, pulling back with visible fear. He had given the order, and none of them would dare disobey.

Without thinking, you ran even faster, until a gallery of mirrors appeared before your eyes.

The mirrors were old, with intricate golden frames, but the reflection was not yours. As you passed in front of each one, your image distorted, stretching, deforming, as if the mirrors were toying with your perception. A ghostly figure, a reflection that was not yours, began to follow you, making your steps tremble.

You moved forward, but the mirrors seemed to conspire with the shadows, amplifying your insecurities, making you doubt your own direction. The air felt heavier, as if charged with some sickly magic, and you felt like you were being watched with every move. The murmur of a distant laugh echoed through the mirrors, and you hurried to reach the end of the gallery, where a pair of double doors opened before you, revealing a room.

You entered the room, the air cold and thick. You didn’t know where you were, but a sense of discomfort enveloped you immediately. The room was opulent, decorated with dark tapestries and velvet black furniture. The furniture was classic, with details in aged gold. Your gaze quickly passed over the immense canopy bed, and the heavy curtains, when something, something you couldn’t quite place, made you turn and look at the large wall on the other side. There, an ancient grandfather clock stood, its hands moving with disturbing precision.

Before you could understand what was happening, a figure materialized behind the clock. Mr. Silvair.

He didn’t need words. His crooked smile, his imposing posture, the aura of power emanating from him — everything made your body freeze for a moment, as if he were a predator and you, his prey.

— You will not escape, my dear. I know well the desires that stir within you, the silent yearnings you dare not speak aloud. I understand the depths of your needs, as if they were my own, and I assure you, there is no sanctuary beyond these walls. — Silvair's words were laced with subtle yet dangerous promises, resonating in your body in ways you couldn’t comprehend. He drew you closer, his dominant presence enveloping you, as if trapping you in a deadly embrace. — Don’t be afraid, you are exactly where you need to be.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps came from the balcony. A desperate impulse surged through you. You moved toward the window, your fingers trembling as you struggled to open the door leading to the porch. If you could just reach it — perhaps you'd have a chance to escape.

But before you could act, he was behind you, a shadow that seemed to grow as you tried to resist. His hand gripped your shoulder, the pressure light but inescapable.

— Don't be foolish. — He whispered, his voice now a seductive murmur, his lips almost brushing your skin. — You think you can escape from me with mere flights? You belong to this place as much as I do. And we belong to each other.

Time seemed to cease, the echoes of the banquet and the distorted whispers fading into nothingness as the tension between you became the only reality. Your body, though reluctant, responded to him, as though drawn by an unseen force. Each movement of his left your breath heavier, your heart racing, as if the very air around you were aflame.

Silvair withdrew slightly, his gaze fixed on yours, a blend of dark pleasure and eternal patience painted upon his face. He examined your eyes with an almost predatory focus, as though seeking something hidden within, a vulnerability, perhaps, or a capitulation. His fingers remained lightly upon your skin, as though making a vow unspoken, a quiet promise of what was to come.

— Do you understand me, my love? — His voice drifted like a velvet night, smooth but carrying a dark command. — You feel it, do you not? You know what I am, what we are.

His hand traveled to your neck, fingers grazing your skin with the lightest touch, almost tender, yet laden with ownership. His fingers drew invisible patterns along your skin, lingering where the warmth of your pulse beat strongest. What he did was not mere physical touch, but a deeper tether, a silent binding, as if he were slowly remaking something deep within you, something that once felt unyielding.

— There is no flight from me, sweet prey. — He whispered, his voice a silken rasp, rich with finality. — No matter where your feet wander, no matter how far you flee... I will find you. Within you, beside you, until the very last breath escapes your lips.

The heat of his presence was palpable, the charge in the air almost unbearable, but still, something within you resisted. Your mind struggled to hold onto who you were, to remember the reason to run, but his touch, his murmurs, they clouded your senses, intoxicated you. Each word he spoke was a spell, weaving its tendrils around your soul, and with every breath, the pull grew stronger, making it harder to recall why you had ever fought.

He leaned in again, his lips barely brushing the edge of your mouth, his breath mingling with yours in a quiet, forbidden symphony. His kiss was light, like the softest whisper of the grave, but imbued with the dark promise of something far more perilous. Something you did not know whether you feared, or whether you were already doomed to crave.

— There is no turning back now, my beloved. No more choices to be made. — He murmured, as though delivering a final decree. — It is your fate, as it is mine.

His hands, once gentle, now roamed with more intent, one sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he could not get enough of you. His lips moved once again, brushing more fiercely against yours with a slow, deliberate heat, each touch coaxing a soft moan from your throat. There was no room for hesitation, no space for escape. His kiss was all-encompassing, exploring, claiming you with a possessive need that made your heart race and your pulse quicken.

His tongue teased at the edge of your lips, coaxing you to open, to let him in, and as you did, he slid deeper, his kiss turning urgent, hungry. The sensation of him in your mouth was intoxicating, a mix of sweetness and something darker, more primal. You could feel the heat between you intensifying, a slow burn that ignited every nerve in your body.

His hands drifted lower, tracing the curve of your back, pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. His body pressed against yours, the rhythm of your breaths syncing, his every movement a tantalizing promise of more. The kiss became more desperate, as if he were pulling you into a place where words and reason no longer existed.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and neck, each kiss a spark, each touch a fire that consumed you. You could feel his breath on your skin, hot and uneven, as his hands moved to the hem of your clothing, lifting it slowly, teasingly, as if savoring every moment.

— You are so exquisitely beautiful, my fragile rose. Your lips, they taste like a forbidden indulgence. — His voice lowered, thick with longing. — You make me dizzy with desire, aching to consume you entirely, to lose myself in the depths of you.

— Your kisses leave me yearning for more. Would you indulge me with another fragment of yourself, my beloved? — He inquired, his voice soft but laden with a deep desire, as his hands rested delicately on your chest, fingers lightly brushing the contour of your bust.

— Let me tend to you. — He whispered, and the gentleness of his words, like a spell, seemed to envelop every fiber of your being. With a smooth, almost ethereal movement, you, like a puppet in the hands of fate, walked, your steps inaudible like a shadow, toward his bed. Your fall was gentle, like a petal in the wind, as you settled onto the mattress, your senses lost in the vortex of that palpable tension.

The atmosphere seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your breathing, each movement of yours a silent dance, where desire and fear intertwined in a choreography you could not, or perhaps did not want to, interrupt.

— Good, small thing. Do you trust me? — He asked softly, his words barely a whisper as they hovered on his lips. You could only nod, a delicate movement of your head, before he continued, his voice like a velvet caress. — Let us remove these garments, shall we? Here, allow me to assist you, my dear.

His hands, cold yet gentle, moved with unsettling precision as he undid the fabric of your clothing, each touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the curve of your body with an almost reverent slowness, as though savoring every moment, every inch of your exposed skin. The clothes fell away like a shroud, discarded and forgotten, leaving you bare before him in the dim light, a silent offering to the darkness that surrounded you.

— Don't tremble. I am here for you. — He commanded, his body hovering above yours. His lips found yours once more, kissing you deeply, passionately, as his hands explored every inch of you. When his mouth trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin, you arched into him, your nails digging into his back. You could feel his clothed hardness pressingly gently against your bare center, as he moved above you and momentarily buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent with an ecstatic expression.

He devoured your skin with hungry kisses, his teeth nipping at your tender flesh. His fingers traced a feverish path along your spine, igniting a trail of desire. Your breasts, swollen and taut, were his focus, his lips and tongue working their magic, coaxing sweet cries from your throat. A moan escaped your lips as he deepened the kiss once again, his tongue exploring every secret corner of your mouth.

His kisses trailed downward, a fiery descent, consuming your body until they reached your core. You writhed, your impatience a fleeting spark that ignited a slow burn within him. With a gentle but firm hand, he stilled you.

— Be still, little one. I will have my pleasure, and I intend to savor every moment of it.

His free hand slid between your legs, finding you slick and ready, and he groaned again, a primal sound that only heightened your need. Without warning, he lowered himself, reaching the apex of your thighs. You were so fucking needy, and he, so fucking mean. Sensing your desperation, he paused, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. A cruel smile twisted his lips as he reveled in her growing impatience. Another whimper escaped your lips, and he purred.

— Very well, my dear. I do enjoy hearing you whine. You've ruined my dinner, you know... but I cannot deny myself this indulgence for much longer, my dark rose.

He didn’t make you wait anymore. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he leaned in. The first lick was slow, deliberate, his tongue dragging over your slick folds. A moan escaped your lips, your head falling back as pleasure shot through you.

— Sweet. Intoxicating, sweet nectar. My dear, this is as intoxicating as the blood that courses through your veins, the blood that I feel thickening, driving me wild. Simply delicious. — He mumbled, grinning like a madman against your weeping cunt.

It was a pathetic spectacle, really, the way you crumbled so easily, so utterly consumed by hedonism with the barest of temptations. Yet, it was intoxicating, this display of your surrender.

— How exquisitely sensitive you are for me, my love. — He murmured, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as his fingers invaded you. Your head lolled back, a silent moan escaping your lips as his fingers hit your most vulnerable spots with practiced ease.

His tongue explored the depths of your being, while his long, icy fingers plunged within, their rhythm slow and deliberate, savoring every intense sensation. You cried out, your hands entwined in his silver hair, holding him captive as he consumed you. His tongue circled your core, teasing and tormenting, until you writhed beneath him, desperate for release.

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest. As your cries echoed through the chamber, he paused, his clothed gaze intense, drinking in your every reaction. Then, with a predatory grace, he resumed his assault, his movements intensifying, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

— Look at you. Completely at my mercy, fucking yourself on me with such abandon. You want it all, don't you? My hands and mouth, simultaneously. You're insatiable. What a greedy little lady. — He breathed, watching you subtly grind against his mouth and fingers, with a pouty expression. — Poor soul. You're so close. Just let go.

— Silvair... I'm...

— Hush. Come for me, my dearest.

His words unleashed a torrent of ecstasy within you, a primal scream escaping your lips as you climaxed. Your body arched, limbs trembling, your nails digging into the sheets. He held you close, his own breath ragged, as the tremors subsided, leaving you weak and utterly surrendered.

He rose from between your legs, his lips stained with your essence. He kissed you passionately, sighing in satisfaction.

— Simply exquisite. You taste better than anything I've ever had. — He mouthed, running his tongue over his lips. His fingers traced the contours of your face, your jawline, your cheekbones. The intimacy of the moment made you feel vulnerable, and you nestled closer, feeling a deep connection.

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. His fingers roamed your back, searching for a specific spot. When he found it, he pressed harder, making you arch your back. Your breaths mingled, a frantic rhythm that made you dizzy.

— You're so delicious. Your taste has me leaking. — He whispered, gently caressing himself through his clothes. — Pardon my bluntness, little lady, but I need to fuck you so badly.

His fingers lace with yours, guiding your hands to the button of his pants. The warm skin and the texture of the fabric beneath your fingertips excite you even more. You help him shed his clothes, revealing a muscular and desirable body. The atmosphere is electric, and anticipation builds with every passing second.

A thrill of excitement and a flutter of nerves coursed through you. Your eyes widened as you watched his massive member sway freely, an overwhelming urge to touch him, to explore every inch of his body, consuming you completely.

— Let me return the favor. Please... — Your voice resonated across the silence of the room, more whiny than you have actually intended. Your hands tentatively extended to grab his shaft, your eyes posessed with lust and your lips twitching, desperate to please him.

Before you could act, though, he captured your wrist, his head shaking slightly.

— That won't be needed, my darling. If you want to truly satisfy me, simply surrender. Let me show you.

With one swift motion, he swept you from the bed, lifting you onto his desk, scattering papers and books without a second thought. The cold wood pressed against your back, but all you could focus on was him, his consuming presence dominating your senses.

— Spread for me. — He commanded, his voice low, dripping with dominance.

You obeyed without hesitation, your legs falling open instinctively. Your body was still humming from the aftershocks of your climax, but the hunger in him told you this was far from over. He stepped closer, his hand trailing up your inner thigh, teasing just enough to make you shiver.

— Do you know how much I’ve wanted this? — He purred, his thumb brushing over your slick folds, wet and aching for him. — How much I’ve wanted to claim you completely?

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your mind was fogged with desire, your body betraying you as you arched into his touch, silently begging for more. He smirked, a slow, wicked curl of his lips that sent a jolt of anticipation through you. Then, without warning, he pulled you to the edge of the desk, his cock pressing against your entrance, cold and heavy.

— Look at me. — He ordered, his voice firm but laced with something softer, almost tender. — This is what you've been fantasizing about, my sweet.

You gazed at him with desirous eyes, and in that moment, you felt utterly exposed and vulnerable. But there was no fear, only a raw, desperate need. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed into you, inch by agonizing inch. You gasped, nails digging into the edge of the desk as he stretched you.

He paused once he was fully sheathed, his breath ragged against my ear.

— You feel heavenly. — He mouthed, whispered, his voice trembling with restraint. — Like you were made for me. So impossibly tight.

You whimpered, hips instinctively rocking against him, urging him to move. But he held still, savoring the moment, the connection. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck.

— So sweet. So perfect.

Then, with a low growl, he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. Each stroke was deliberate, deep, hitting spots inside you that made your vision blur. You clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper.

You sobbed under him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he set a relentless pace, his hips slamming into yours with a primal rhythm that left you breathless.

He remained silent, his senses consumed by the primal dance of your bodies. The sounds of your skin against his, the rhythmic groans escaping your lips, filled the room with a raw, animalistic energy. His breaths came in ragged gasps, mirroring the frantic rhythm of his movements, each thrust pushing you closer to the precipice while he deliberately held back, savoring your growing desperation.

One of his hands moved between you, his thumb finding your clit with a predatory precision. You arched beneath him, a raw cry escaping your lips as he applied the perfect pressure, circling in time with his relentless thrusts.

— Silvair, please. It's too much for me...

Silvair tilted his head, his covered eyes seemingly fixed on yours. Beyond your whining, there was much more to capture his attention. The skin of your neck, flushed and damp, pulsed beneath his fingers. With every movement, you writhed more, pleading for a brief respite. Yet the vampire only quickened his pace, his breathing growing heavier, mirroring your own.

With a guttural groan, he moved closer to your neck, his teeth grazing your soft skin. His eyes narrowed in an intense gaze, a silent promise of what was to come. In a swift and precise motion, he sank his teeth into your skin, feeling the flesh give way under the pressure. A wild moan escaped his lips as he deepened the bite, marking you with his brand.

The initial pain was sharp, like a needle piercing your skin, but it quickly gave way to a strange, intoxicating pleasure. You could feel his fangs sliding deeper, the sensation both alien and exhilarating. Blood welled up around the punctures, warm and thick, and he began to suck with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

His grip tightened on you, his hands like iron bands holding you in place. Each pull of his mouth sent waves of heat and weakness through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the duality of agony and ecstasy. His tongue lapped at the wound, the rough texture adding a new layer to the sensation as he drank deeply, savoring every drop of your essence.

The room seemed to fade around you, the edges blurring as your vision tunneled to the sight of his silver head bent over your neck. You could hear the wet, obscene sounds of him feeding, the soft slurps and groans filling the air like a twisted symphony. Your pulse pounded in your ears, each beat pushing more blood into his eager mouth.

— Magnificent. This is ambrosia, my dear. You have the taste and allure of an outlaw, a queen, a harlot, a goddess. — He moaned, his voice thick with desire. — Bloody hell! I dare say that you taste of life itself, my darling.

Warm blood trickled down his chin, mingling with his saliva. You arched, the pain morphing into an intense, addictive pleasure. The sensation of being possessed, of having his mark. The feeling was almost too much to bear, a relentless onslaught of pleasure and pain that left you gasping and trembling in his arms. His hands roamed over your body, fingers digging into your flesh, each touch sending shivers of sensation through your already overloaded nerves.

As he fed, you could feel a strange connection forming, a bond of blood and darkness that tied you to him in ways you couldn't fully comprehend.

— I drink your blood, and I would eat your skin if I could. But you're too beautiful to waste. — He uttered with his sardonic voice, while resuming his thrusts, each one deeper, more painful. With each penetration, a guttural moan escaped his lips, echoing through the damp walls of his chambers. His fangs gleamed with a sick intensity as he watched you writhe beneath him.

The wound on your neck throbbed, a constant reminder of his mark, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the lingering pleasure that coursed through you. Silvair held you close, his touch gentle now, as if he was cradling something precious, in a sickening contradiction.

— I yearn to see your face, your delicate features, twisted in ecstasy once again for me. Come, my rosebud. Come for me. — He tried to sound tender, his voice a low growl against your ear as his cock continued to pound your poor cunt. You felt as if your body were no longer your own, sore and filled with lust, before jolting at the imperious voice of Silvair. — Come on, you little minx! Come for me! — The control slipping from his grasp was evident in the way his hands tightened on your face, his knuckles white against your skin. Each thrust was a hammer blow, driving you deeper, faster, until you couldn't bear it anymore.

As a thread silently snapping, you were engulfed by a wave of ecstasy, a primal scream escaping your lips as your body surrendered completely once more. He followed moments later, a roar of triumph echoing through the room as he spilled himself deep within you with a low hiss.

— By the underworld, you're too beautiful to be real. — Silvair murmured, his voice soft and full of admiration as his fingers traced the line of your jaw. — You felt so good, my precious.

He reached for you with a possessive sense of care, a mix of lust and something deeper. With careful movements, Silvair began to clean you, his hand firm but gentle. He used a damp cloth to wipe away the sweat, the traces of blood, and the other fluids from your skin, each touch a silent promise of care and protection.

— I always knew you were special. — He said, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet of the night. — Now, you are mine in every way. And I will cherish you as the rare jewel that you are.

He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you closer, the proximity of your bodies bringing a sense of security you had never known. Silvair kissed your forehead with unexpected tenderness, his cold lips contrasting with the warmth of your skin.

— Rest now, my love. — He mouthed, his voice like a balm to your exhausted senses. — I am here. I will always be here.

He continued to care for you, each gesture meticulous and full of devotion. His fingers gently combed through your hair, and he whispered words of comfort and affection, as if lulling you into a peaceful sleep. Feeling the weight of your weariness, you closed your eyes, surrendering to Silvair's care, knowing that despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a strange and profound love in his touch.

As you began to drift off to sleep, his last words echoed softly in your ears.

— You are my eternity, my treasure. Nothing will ever separate us ever. — The soft tickling of his silver hair against your cheek roused you slightly, but you did not stir. Your breath was slow and even, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. He smiled to himself. In this moment, you were his, and he was yours.

Ah. Wild rose, my black rose. Finally, I have plucked you.

You wake up abruptly, your eyes snapping open and locking onto the stained ceiling of Mr. Silvair's underworld laboratory. Chains sway ominously from above, the frigid air pressing against your skin like an unrelenting force. You frown, pushing yourself upright, only to realize you're on his inspection table. Your hand slides over your face as fragmented memories flash before you like feverish dreams — the bizarre notion of Mr. Silvair being a vampire, your unreturned passion, and the sense of suffocating helplessness.

The metallic clinking of chains echoes faintly as you shift.

— Where is he? — You murmur, your voice cracking in the cold silence.

Moments later, a lean figure emerges from the shadows, his presence unsettlingly silent. Mr. Silvair’s lifeless, bandaged gaze fix on you as he approaches with measured steps, a syringe glinting ominously in his bony hand. His clinical gaze sweeps over you, dissecting every detail with unnerving precision.

— You awake. — He states, his monotone voice devoid of inflection. — Big head wound. Bleed. Me treat. Medicine give.

His abrupt, fragmented words make your chest tighten.

— Me medicine need don't. — You stammer, shrinking back slightly. — Me good. Really.

He tilts his head, studying you like an anomaly he can’t yet classify.

— You hurt. Pain slow heal. My job ensure you recover. Medicine now.

You flinch at his commanding tone, instinctively pulling your legs closer to your body.

— No, Silvair. I said I’m fine!

For the first time, his brows twitch — an almost imperceptible reaction. He steps forward, syringe poised.

— Humans lie. Body does not. Me prevent worse outcome.

— Why are you so... — Your words falter as he looms closer. His detached demeanor burns like frostbite. — So clinical about this? Can’t you just... talk to me like a person? Not a science experiment?

Silvair pauses, seemingly processing your outburst. His head tilts once more as if precisely calculating the significance of your plea. — Talk unnecessary. Healing priority. You live, that all matter.

You sigh, passing your hands through your hair.

— No, you don't understand. I've.. Ive had a dream, alright? Me dream.

Mr. Silvair pauses for a moment, his head tilting slightly, like a curious bird.

— Dream? Me not know dream. We not dream do. You must rest.

You furrow your brow, feeling the weight of his words, but something inside you pushes you to continue.

— You blood sucker creature were, in dream. Hostile, but fascinating. And I... I was... — Your voice falters, hesitating to reveal more.

He seems more intrigued now, though his expression remains calm.

— Interesting. Human imagine strange. But you speak strange when weak. Me care for you. Me reverse pain.

Before you could protest, he leans over you, his eyes scanning the fresh wounds on your head. His proximity is unsettling, but somehow comforting. He offers a soft smile, something rare and unsettling.

— Human curious make me. — He murmurs, his words sounding like a mix of observation and fascination.

You shiver, not from fear, but from the intensity of his gaze.

— You don’t understand. — You mutter, trying to look away. — In dream, you want me, but you know not how to show. Like now.

He blinks slowly, pondering your words as though trying to decipher a complex code.

— Me not know want. But me try. For you. Me learn.

Your breath falters for a moment. He is always so cold, so indifferent, but now he seems vulnerable, in a peculiar way.

— Do you really think you can learn to feel something like that?

He tilts his head again, as if considering.

— Feeling is strange science. Me study. You teach?

The question catches you off guard. Could you really teach a being like him the meaning of feeling?

man, if there were doubts before about god’s existence, then all of them have been cleared for me, because i finally managed to finish this text, once again, massive. i can’t measure my words, unfortunately. but i’ve had this idea in my head for about two or three days. initially, this story was supposed to be written with mr. crawling in a gothic setting, but i felt i couldn’t do justice to the vampiric atmosphere with him — not this time. i needed someone more detached, yet complex. and mr. crawling would be too sweet for this, in my view. maybe i’m a bit biased, too. writing for silvair is so much fun, and he’s underrated. it’s a shame, because i think he’d make a great vampire.

i hope you forgive any possible mistakes. this time, i had some issues with my laptop and had to switch to my phone in the middle of writing. please overlook any weird formatting or grammatical details. as always, this text may be revisited for adjustments.

in fact, i've written this whole ass text with only one hand, because...

now, about the smut. usually don’t feel entirely comfortable writing smut, but i think the situation and the whole vampiric act would eventually lead to something like that. i hope it's at least decent.

anyway, have a lovely day or night, and take care! xoxo! ♡

[thatdruidgal]

00.01 table of contents

Grimoire Table of Contents

This is my personal Grimoire, so it will be focused just on the information that I need/use! If you’d like more info on anything that I haven’t included, please do more research!

00.00 introduction

00.01 table of contents (you are here)

00.02 book list

00.03 advice

01.00 correspondences

01.01 triquetra Druid elements

01.02 quarternary elements

01.03 crystals

01.04 herbs

01.05 waters

01.06 colors

01.07 metals

01.08 chakras

02.00 lunar magick

02.01 lunar ingredients

02.02 dark moon

02.03 new moon

02.04 black moon

02.05 waxing crescent

02.06 first quarter

02.07 waxing gibbous

02.08 full moon

02.09 blue moon

02.10 waning gibbous

02.11 last quarter

02.12 waning crescent

02.13 lunar eclipse “blood moon”

02.14 solar eclipse

02.15 moon void

03.00 tarot

03.01 numbers 1-10

03.02 court cards

03.03 suits

03.04 major arcana

03.05 yes/no/maybe

03.06 spreads

04.00 basic spells

04.01 warding/protection spell

04.02 cleansing spell

04.03 safe travels satchet

04.04 luck/prosperity tea

04.05 fire cider + chutney soup

See this post for all of my favorite recipes

05.00 favorite ingredients

05.01 quartz

05.02 amethyst

05.03 obsidian

05.04 citrine

05.05 sodalite

05.06 salt

05.07 rosemary

05.08 cinnamon

05.09 lavender

05.10 moon water

06.00 spirits + fae

06.01 signs of fae

06.02 attraction/offering + repelling fae

06.03 (some) types of fae

06.04 spirit guides

06.05 spirit signs/omens

06.06 working with spirits

07.00 calendar

07.01 yule / dec 21st

07.02 imbolc / feb 2nd

07.03 ostara / mar 21st

07.04 beltane / may 1st

07.05 litha / june 21st

07.06 lughnahsadh / aug 1st

07.07 mabon / sept 21st

07.08 samhain / nov 1st

07.09 history cycles

08.00 druidry

08.01 druidry overview

08.02 bard

08.03 ovate

08.04 druid

09.00 science and magick

09.01 quotes

09.02 matter and energy

09.03 placebo effect

09.04 energy and physics

09.05 more matter, energy, and theoretics

09.06 measuring energy

09.07 psychometry and "imprinting"

09.08 aether

09.09 green magick and plants

09.10 synchronicity

10.00 theism + beliefs

10.01 witchcraft practices

10.02 deist quotes

10.03 deism workings

11.00 margin notes [upg]

11.01 low budget options

11.02 how to practice around burnout

11.03 small ways to practice

11.04 notes

12.00 worldview [upg]

May or may not include this

12.01 personal beliefs

12.02 creation of the universe

12.03 death + otherworld

12.04 time

12.05 institutionalized religion

12.06 magick

12.07 aspects of world

12.08 spirits

13.00 library

13.01 Viridarium Umbris

[rockongolddustw]

The Black Sisters Fic - Complete

(Andromeda x Ted, Narcissa x Lucius, Bellatrix x Voldemort)

Canonish compliant fic set around the rise of Voldemort. Enemies to Lovers, Fish out of Water Slow Burn, Villain Origin Story, with lots of Slytherin politics, cliffhangers and witchcraft lore

Complete, 150k words, find it on A03

Cover art by @guine_evere on IG

‘Beware all ye who enter’ read the dusty old sign hanging over the doorway of the ratty old tent. The Black Sisters stood before it, contemplating the cavernous lair of the Seer Narcissa insisted on seeing.

The sign should have made them pause, but then again, the sisters were hardly likely to be threatened by idle threats meant to scare the masses. No one would accuse Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa of being ordinary. The Black sisters rose above it all.

‘Come on, Bella,’ Narcissa implored, pulling her eldest sister through the entrance and into the blackness beyond, ignoring her sighs and eyes rolling in exasperation.

Bella had no patience with Divination or Narcissa’s girlish obsession with it. All she saw in her teacups were so-called Grims.

‘They say she only comes out during Solstice once every five years; we cannot miss her,’ Narcissa insisted, determined that her sisters listen to her for once and take their futures seriously. How were they to make a dent in the world if they were not prepared for what was coming?

Andromeda fell behind, as she so often did, uninterested in her sister's plans, plots, and schemes, getting lost in the much richer world playing out in her head.

She bathed her senses in the dark atmosphere of the Seer’s lair. The tent held an intoxicating musky sandalwood smell, the rich velvet drapes brushing against her fingertips as she gazed at the twinkling sprites dancing brightly in their midst. It felt unreal. As much as she was used to the eccentricities of the Wizarding World, this place was more dreamlike than anywhere she’d ever visited.

Only the sharp eyes of the famed Seer could pull Andromeda out of her trance. The Witch they’d heard so much about from Narcissa held court in the centre of this otherworld. She sat in stillness before a fire, deep hooded eyes trained on the sisters. They could barely breathe at the intensity of her gaze.

Andromeda and Narcissa felt ill at unease. The sisters were no strangers to ancient magic, but this place felt drenched in an unknown power.

Bella remained unmoved; it took much more than some parlour tricks to make her believe in such nonsense. The eldest of the Black sisters huffed as she reluctantly took a seat, waving her hand to encourage her sisters to follow.

The Seer merely raised a brow and handed Bella a gleaming silver dagger. She wasted no time grasping it, a look of disdain etched on her strikingly beautiful face.

All the Black Sisters were well-versed in blood magic, and the ritual did not need to be spelt out. Bella quickly sliced open her palm and let her blood drip into the flame, then grabbed her sister's hands to do the same, all in an impatient flurry. Andromeda complied quickly, watching the thick, crimson blood fall from her hands in fascination. At the same time, Narcissa grimaced, wincing delicately, and snatching her hand back, swishing her wand to stem the flow of blood as soon as she could and checking her dress carefully for any spots of blood that might have fallen onto it.

They watched carefully as the Seer cast her wand over the flickering flames, guiding them in their path. She then cast her intense gaze into the depths of the fire and searched furiously for the answers she sought.

Finally, the Seer took a deep breath, her eyes gleaming and a small, wry smile etched on her face.

‘The last of the House of Black,’ the Seer whispered as she watched the dancing flames, unknown futures springing to life in its depths. It was both a promise and a threat.

‘Our line is strong,’ Bella scoffed, clearly unimpressed with the theatrics and ominous prediction.

‘None will survive you,’ the Seer smiled. ‘The only question is, will you endure?’

‘What is our fate?’ Narcissa whispered gently, enraptured by the low baritone voice of the Witch in front of them.

The Seer contemplated them one by one. Her words were a low, deep hum, powerfully vibrating as they spilled from her mouth.

‘Love,’ she said, pointing her long finger to Andromeda;

‘Influence,’ pointing to Narcissa;

‘Power,’ pointing to Bellatrix.

‘Do not be fooled when you are banished, imprisoned, and crowned. There is more to come; you must look to these forces to see it. They will drive you, they will shape you, and if you are not careful, they will devour you.’

The Prophecy hung in the air for a spellbinding moment. Then, slowly, the Seer's words turned into smoke, curling around and dancing lightly in the air before they descended, compelled towards the orb below them, swallowing the smoke in one gulp. Another promise captured for the Hall of Prophecies.

Bellatrix jumped to her feet in outrage. ‘There is no one who can devour us,’ she hissed, furious at the implication.

She jumped from her seat, grabbed her sister's hands, and pulled them quickly out of the oppressive tent into the fresh air outside.

The Seer cackled loudly.

In her long years of prophesying, she had found few could accept their fate. It didn’t matter. The Black Sisters would find it came to them just the same.

[animefeminist]

Hagio Moto’s Marginal and BL manga as feminist fabulation

Content Warning: Discussions of sexual assault and gendered violence

Major Spoilers for Marginal

Hagio Moto—a key manga artist of the year 24 group shoujo renaissance—is famous for her comics exploring gender and sexuality (The Poe Clan, The Heart of Thomas), and her often mystical, mind-expanding sci-fi (Otherworld Barbara), as well as works that do both (They Were Eleven, A, A’). Marginal, released from 1985-1987, is an example of this overlap. Set on a Dune-like desert world in which all women have died out, and all babies are born to a mysterious religious figure known as “Mother,” Marginal explores what gender relations might look like in a world with no women.  Here, Hagio follows in a long sci-fi tradition of feminist novels and short stories like Suziki Izumi’s “Onna to onna no yononaka” (A World of Women and Women, 1977), Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness (1969), Joanna Russ’s The Female Man (1975), and Kurahashi Yumiko’s Amanon koku ōkanki  (Records of a Voyage to Amanon, 1986), which use a fantastical premise conduct speculative sociological experiments into other ways gender could be done. Marginal is very much worth the read alongside these texts, as a work of feminist fabulation which uses emergent “boy’s love” tropes to talk about heterosexual relationships, as much as to fantasize about homosexual ones. 

Read it at Anime Feminist!

[teodora156]

[angels/fallen angels AU]

Characters:

– The Lord of Darkness/Tomelior (Tom): The oldest fallen angel, looking like a centuries-old statue in a resembling a monk's robe with a hood. It hides a pair of dark, piercing eyes that sometimes turn scarlet at a certain angle. Behind his back he has a pair of large dark wings covered with ash with numerous scars from centuries of labor. He wears a ring similar in shape to a beautiful black snake with a very smooth and shiny body and ruby eyes. He is immortal, he lived for about 300 years, but since time flows very differently in Pandemonium, and you can live a whole life here in one hour, this figure is not accurate. The discoverer of evil, proud, decided to challenge the Creator, to take his place. Having sown seeds of doubt and persuaded some of the angels to join him in the struggle for the throne, he began slowly but surely to gather supporters. After hearing about God's desire to create the Earth and populate it with various creatures, including humans, he intended to rule them, making them vassals of his kingdom and distribute crumbs of power to those angels who joined him, who would help him achieve his goal. However, the planned and planned uprising failed: at the moment of the battle with the angelic army remaining loyal to the heavenly throne, a group of rebellious rebels, including Tomelior, were thrown into the otherworld by the forces of the Creator. Falling from Heaven into Pandemonium, and falling from the mercy of the Creator, he had to survive in a new, unexplored environment. Staying in numerous wanderings and searches, he saw a lot: the mysterious lands of this world, the creatures that lived in it, his companions of fallen angels who changed, succumbing to their inner nature. Later, Tom stumbled upon the Land of Eternal Shadows. After exploring it, he settled here, declaring himself its master, the Lord of Darkness. Since then, he has ruled it alone, this vast kingdom. He lives in a cave, spending most of his time alone with his thoughts.

– Harreth (Harry): A bright angelic creature, with immaculately snow-white wings and a more petite body, over which a snow-white Roman toga is draped. On his left ankle he wears a bracelet with beads created by their crystal hailstones. A sweet, pretty face with emerald eyes. Just like the rest of the angels, born and incarnated by the creator initially into a spirit, and then acquired a material shell, kind, innocent, but also stubborn and defiant Harreth spent his entire short, barely begun life in Heaven and knew nothing else. Due to his inexperience, he does not have such inveterate prejudices about the evil and vicious nature of fallen angels. He is still too young for some complicated assignments and is learning the business from the senior angels. All angels must undergo proper training and learn centuries-old knowledge from their teachers before being assigned to be a guardian angel, messenger angel, or warrior angel. Sometimes the instructive instructions of the seraphim and cherubim, as well as a strict system of hierarchies and rules, annoy the restless student and he runs away and explores new territories. So once he accidentally fell into an otherworldly, completely unknown world for him, almost crashing if not for his wings that saved him. By a strange fate, he ended up in the kingdom of the Lord of Darkness, in the Land of Eternal Shadows, and this gives rise to their forbidden relationship.

– Creator (Dumbledore): An eternal phenomenon, present everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The original Self and the cause of all things. No one has ever seen his presence, so no one can tell what he looks like, but everyone has heard his soothing, enveloping voice. He can be completely different: wise and understanding, supportive and loving of his creations, but also cunning and manipulative, and in some moments ruthless. The guardian of the past, present and future knows the beginning and the end of time, but to share this knowledge only with his trusted advisers. There is a duality in him in the desire to leave his creations to determine their own fate, and at the same time in the intention to conceal something for their own personal interests.

[pt.1], [pt.2], [pt.4], [pt.5], [pt.7].

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 27

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: In a sitting room in the Zenith temple of the Dawnfather. Matilda’s parents are having a conversation with a cleric of Pelor while she climbs on a chair to look at some devotional objects a short distance away. The cleric is pouring tea for the adults.

Cleric: Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bradbury, the good news is there’s nothing to exorcize. I sensed no interference from a fey or fiendish presence. But it seems your little one has been touched with an early knack for sorcery.

Mama: Sorcery . . .

Papa: But how? With all respect, Sister, we may not be the most pious of folks, but we’ve never gone astray from the gods.

Panel 2: The cleric continues. Matilda reaches out to touch the flaming head of a Pelor-shaped candleholder, surrounding it with a wobbling sphere of shadow that turn the edges of the light a purplish-black.

Cleric: Shadow sorcery is not unholy in nature, although it has much in common with darker magics. A shadow sorcerer’s power draws from the Shadowfell, the hidden echo of this plane. It may be innate, that is to say, hereditary, or it may be the result of a brush with that dark otherworld.

Mama: Hereditary? But . . . we’re just ordinary people.

Panel 3: Her father wrings his already-shapeless hat while her mother looks away in distress at the story.

Papa: Could be the other thing. When she was born, well . . . she almost wasn’t. It looked like there was no life in her at first. And she was such a tiny thing. Arrived too early and in the dead of winter besides. She hardly had a fair chance. But when one of you good folks came to perform the rites, there was no need after all. There she was, just taking in the sights with those great big eyes of hers.

Panel 4: Matilda picks up the candle flame like a marble, looking pleased with herself. Her fingertips have begun to exude a shadowy goo.

Papa: And now here she is, and as lively as a tadpole, is our Tillie. But it was . . . odd, to say the least.

Panel 5: She holds the now-dark flame in two hands, stretching it like a bubble and concentrating on it to see how big she can make it. It is nearly bigger than herself.

Papa: But what about this “lady” she keeps saying she saw in the barn?

Mama: Yes, she seems very attached to this . . . person.

Cleric: The company of an imaginary friend is one of the fleeting delights of childhood, is it not? She’ll outgrow the notion in time, I’ve no doubt. You are lucky to have such an imaginative and loving little girl.

Mama: (interrupting) What in the world is that child -- Matilda!!

Panel 6: The conversation goes silent as the bubble quietly pops, engulfing her in a localized cloud of darkness. Matilda’s voice emerges from the cloud.

Matilda: Where everybody go?

Mama: Oh, Tillie. What are we going to do with you?

[silverthehedgehogcharacteristics]

Silver the Hedgehog characteristics

Justice: Silver is driven by a Strong Sense of Justice. Silver is a righteous person that is outraged by injustices, devastation and suffering. This makes Silver very proactive as he actively investigates things he thinks are wrong(Spent his whole life in the Iblis future trying to find how the world was destroyed and how to fix it when no else did, actively investigated Eggman and Dodon Pa throughout Team Sonic Racing). Seeks to settle scores(Sonic Forces, IDW Sonic) and get back for those that have been wronged or make others pay for what they’ve done. This makes Silver very confrontational as he has zero tolerance for things like breaking promises and will take on anything to fight for what is right, however “His wish is to maintain peace, not to eradicate evil”(Sonic Channel).

Optimism: Silver is an optimist and embodies hope just as Sonic embodies freedom. He has a positive way of life that inspires people, always looks to a brighter outcome, does not give into despair no matter how dire the situation and believes “There’s always hope as long as you don’t give up”(JP Sonic Forces). Silver has faced constant hardship in his life without ever giving up hope. Inspires hope in others during dark times(06 Last Story, Sonic Forces) and spreads happiness during peaceful times(became a top class ice skater and a celebrity genius skating coach to entertain and help people in Otherworld Comedy). Silver has an enchanting smile(His smile fills Elise with trust and joy during their performance in Otherworld Comedy and someone he serves apple slices to can’t say no to his smile even though they're full already in Wallpaper Comedy 2022). 

Peace: Silver lives and fights for World Peace. Silver is devoted to peace because he hails from a hellish ruined future that was filled with darkness, devastation and suffering. Silver has great empathy for the state of the world in both people and environments so devastation saddens and upsets him while beauty and prosperity takes his breath away. Blue Skies and Smiles are especially important to him, blue skies make him feel at peace, and he can’t help but smile when seeing smiling faces. The quills on Silver’s head are patterned in the shape of a Japanese Red Maple Leaf which represents peace and prosperity.

Sentimentality and Serenity: Silver is also very Sentimental and can be introspective. He appreciates both the wonders of the world and little things that most people take for granted. Silver feels serene and at peace when seeing nature, beautiful scenery and people’s prosperity. Silver enjoys sightseeing and going on journeys(Sonic Colors DS, Olympic Games, Sonic Pict) because of this. This side of him ties into his peace themes due to his ability to appreciate beauty and serenity which the Momiji/Japanese Red Maple also represents.

Kindness: Silver is an Altruist that is always thinking of someone else’s happiness rather than his own(Sonic & Silver) and has a strong desire to help others. Silver wants to “protect smiles” and make people happy because he grew up in a world filled with despair(Sonic Channel). Silver is selfless to the point of being self-sacrificial without even thinking(Sonic Comic Pumpkin Trigger, was willing to to seal Iblis within himself with no hesitation) and instantly acts to shield others when Eggman attacks(Sonic Comic Final Stage). Silver engages in Cheerful Activities after the historical change in 06(Sonic & Silver) and does things like serving apple slices(Wallpaper Comedy 2022) and giving gifts as Santa(Sonic Pict) because making others happy is what makes him happy.

Honest-Forthright: Silver is Straightforward and Honest to a fault. He can’t tell a lie, wears his heart on his sleeve and has an “honest, unpretentious and kind demeanor”(Sonic Channel Staff Column). Silver is very humble as he does not think of himself as a hero(Sonic & Silver) and only cares for the job being done. Silver’s character is themed around purity(Sonic & Silver) and everything from his silvery white color to his honesty to his naivety ties into this. Silver is a reliable person(Sonic & Silver) that cherishes his friends, strongly believes in and is genuinely grateful to those who help him(Sonic Rivals 2, Sonic & Silver). Silver is an Enhancer(someone that is determined and simple, never lies, hides nothing, is straightforward in their actions and thinking, whose words and actions are often dominated by their feelings and is very focused on their goals)

Bluntness: Silver is so straightforward and honest that he’s blunt and rude, especially rude to those he deems against him, but also friends on occasion(rudely regards Sonic in JP TSR). Silver has a blunt and direct approach to most things(seen in how he tells townsfolk he’s from the future in 06 and expects Espio to believe him in Rivals 2). Silver has no filter and will call you an idiot to your face if he thinks you’re an idiot and is so direct that he can ignore manners and social customs(Sonic Rivals series) especially if he’s in a rush. Will be short with and rude to people, mock them, disregard them, and shoot down their statements without listening if he thinks they’re in his way. Notably even Sonic says that Silver has an attitude and Knuckles calls Silver rude in Sonic Rivals 1. Silver is overall informal and ill-mannered which is more apparent in Japanese where he has various informal mannerisms including using “Ore”(aggressive masculine “I”), “Anta”(Impolite “you” as opposed to the polite “Anata”) that signifies he speaks bluntly, pointing directly at people he speaks to(confrontational gesture) and crossing his legs while sitting(roughly the Japanese equivalent to putting your feet on a table) among others. Silver is blunt and unfiltered while Sonic and Shadow are coy.

Brash: In contrast to Future Trunks, Silver is brash, rash and impolite. Silver has a punkish personality with a cocky attitude that’s even more brash than Sonic’s. Silver is sassy, abrasive and sarcastic, being quick to insult or sneer at any opposition in both battle and competition(06, Rivals series, Riders Zero Gravity, Olympic Games series, Eggman’s theme park in Colors DS) and isn’t afraid to tell people to shut up(Sonic Rivals 2). Silver is headstrong and can be quick to start fights for both serious and petty reasons(almost fights Blaze when theTriumph cutscene of Sonic Colors DS and again when she treats him like an amateur in Otherworld Comedy, fights almost everyone in the Rivals series, Infinite in Forces, almost fights Jet and Bowser in Jr in Olympic Games). Silver has a mischievous side(Sonic Channel Commemorative Illustration Series). Despite this, Silver is still outgoing and approachable.

Straight-to-the-point mentality, hates distractions and petty details(Doesn’t care what the plan is called, only that it works in Forces, even during things like competitions he says the Jade Ghost Wisp is the only item he likes because it lets him disappear and focus on racing in the Team Vector interview). This can make him impatient towards things that get in his way, seem pointless or waste time(“Get out of my way”) but also ties into his optimism as he picks up by saying “there’s no point in worrying” in the Japanese version of Team Sonic Racing. Silver is goal focused, pragmatic and hyper focused on saving the future.

Naive: Silver has a black and white perspective and is innocent in his ideals. Expects people to believe him when he says he’s from the future or explains outlandish situations simply because he knows them to be true(Which causes people to not believe him). Sometimes takes things literally and doesn’t understand jokes but has an angry attitude when he doesn’t understand things(Says “Yes, why?” when Espio asks “you want me to believe that?” in Sonic Rivals 2 and “What’s so funny” when he didn’t understand people what people were laughing at in Otherworld Comedy). Silver is young and immature according to his creator Shun Nakamura.

Emotional: Silver is emotionally immature and uncontrolled. Silver tends to deal with things too head-on because of the strength of his feelings, or he tends to take everything on himself, which can make him reckless and impulsive(In the Japanese version of 06 Blaze describes him as running wild rather than insecure). Silver is generally High-Spirited, puts his all into what he gets invested in(I’m giving this everything I’ve got!), feels joy and rage loudly but sadness and contemplation quietly. Can get carried away or needs to be calmed down/held back when he gets riled up. Easily angered and has a wrathful short temper like Blaze. Gets indignant when people don’t listen to him(Sonic Channel) and punches things when he is frustrated(06, Mario & Sonic series). Silver’s animations and dialogue in the Olympic Games are full of emotional outbursts. Silver is hot-blooded and rash while Sonic and Shadow are calm and cool(Sonic Channel).

Determination: Silver has relentless determination that allowed him to fight through the devastated future. Doesn’t give up easily in any activity(got exact hedgehog apple slices after 40 tries). Never giving up even in the most dire of circumstances, endless determination for tasks both big and small. Not immune to moments of self-doubt when the circumstances have become truly dire or his worldview has been shaken, but he easily finds his determination again and keeps going until the bitter end without ever giving up. Has no regard for pain/high pain tolerance(Was constantly hurt in the Iblis future, kept fighting undeterred after being kicked in the head by Shadow, shredded across the street by Sonic in Generations and endures excruciating "pain beyond description” caused by his powers in Sonic & Silver) because of this.

Bravery: Silver is extremely brave and has no regard for his own safety(Sonic Comic Pumpkin Trigger) as he fought against disasters and large Iblis monsters in dark dangerous environments from a very young age and recklessly throws himself at every enemy and obstacle from Iblis to Infinite to a meteor with no hesitation, even if they are stronger than him. Silver is bold and undeterred by any threat(says “We can take them all on!” when facing Eggman, Knuckles and Rouge in Rivals 2 and “I’ll just destroy him everywhere at once” when facing Solaris). Silver values bravery/directness and dislikes cowardice(Sonic Rivals 1+2, Team Vector Nintendo Dream interview)

Intuitive: Silver is noted to be very Perceptive(Sonic Rivals 2) and good at combining small details to find the truth(most notably in the Rivals games, also a bit in TSR,  Sees through Eggman Nega’s disguises by noticing small details in his mannerisms). Doesn’t fall for the same trick twice(Eggman Nega in Rivals 2). Silver can be intuitive and crafty(intuits Blaze trying to control her great power when seeing it for the first time in Sonic Channel, changes his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao instead to advance his mission in Sonic Rivals 2). Every central game role from 06 to TSR is about Silver searching for truth and he has successfully figured out the schemes of Eggman and Eggman Nega before anyone else each time.

Fighter: Fought and struggled for half his lifetime(possibly since he was Cream’s age) through the disaster future(Sonic Channel). Silver fought his whole life through an extremely hostile environment filled with darkness against large Iblis enemies and constant disasters. He has feral high aggression because of this with fierce determined expressions and aggressive body language including constant fists even during competitions or just tasks he's focused on. Silver has angular pointed eyes like Sonic’s other rivals which represent intensity and danger in character design. Silver is extremely powerful being able to evenly physically fight Shadow in 06, and Sonic and Knuckles in the Rivals series to a standstill and repeatedly destroy both the colossal Iblis and small armies by himself in 06 and Sonic Pict. In Sonic Generations, Silver both Enjoys Fighting(Fights Sonic for fun after you beat him) and has an Instant fight response when surprised. Shadow describes Silver as a Fighter in Team Sonic Racing. Silver “sometimes calls forth great power without mercy”(Sonic Channel).

Rash: Described as Rash in character bios, the combination of Silver’s straight-to-the-point focus and strong emotions can lead him to be impulsive and rush through things such as when he tells Soleanna guards that he’s from the future in Sonic & Silver. This also makes Silver somewhat ruthless as he has no qualms with fighting dirty(played possum to hit Sonic in 06), mugging Tails for Rings in Sonic Rivals 2 or opening all of his battles with Sonic by attempting to snipe him with projectiles in 06 and Generations.

Challenger: Silver is a daring adventurer that partakes in sports and competitions like Sonic’s other rivals. Silver enjoys challenges and ways to test himself(Sonic Colors DS, climbed Tokyo Tower in the Mario & Sonic series). Silver engages in Cheerful Activities after the historical change in 06(Sonic & Silver) and loves seeing and experiencing cool new and interesting things(“Interesting”). Silver is confident in himself and very competitive(almost fights Blaze over who could deal with Orbot and Cubot on their own in Colors DS). Silver is a talented and skilled person that makes steady efforts to train/improve his skills(Wallpaper Comedy 2022) and takes offense to being treated like an amateur(Otherworld Comedy). Silver approaches everything with great attention and care and can even accomplish things he’s not experienced in. One of his catchphrases is “I’ll take you on”.

Antithesis of Eggman Nega: Silver’s overall traits are diametrically opposed to Eggman Nega’s. Silver is Pure, Blunt/Rude, Honest, Young, Empathetic, Impulsive/Reckless, Naive, Practical/Focused, Altruistic, desires Peace and Prosperity and is willing to die to protect the world while Eggman Nega is Twisted, Overly Polite, Deceitful, Old, Psychopathic, Calculating, Sophisticated, Petty, Egoistic, desires Chaos and Destruction is being willing to die to destroy the world.

Often shown/implied to like Apples(he ate apple flavored calorie bar rations in the 06 Iblis future according to Sonic Channel Sonic Pict) suggesting they are his favorite food. Apples also symbolize sweetness, beauty, and hope for prosperity in Japanese and Jewish culture.

Implied to live in Soleanna(He was originally going to be named Venice simply because he lived there, implied to live there in Sonic Channel stories). He might be Italian coded as his counterpart Galahad uses an Italian dagger as a sword.

After 06 Silver lives in the good future to a similar extent that Blaze lives in her dimension. Sometimes thinks things in Sonic’s time are dated (Sonic Rivals 1, Sonic Colors DS)

[vajrapoet]

thinking about world-first design

My last three games were more or less centered on the character, and consequently the player. I think this is a completely valid way of playing, but having done three kinds of games that had this, I wanted to branch out into a world-first style of design.

World-first design are the ones I associate with the stylings of mostly OSR: where the gameworld and the modules and the adventures and the equipment, the counting of ammo, of resources, are all more important than creating a character in such a way to fulfill a particular fantasy or character concept.

I call this world-first rather than character-first because it puts into primacy the very world and fiction that the players must interact with rather than the player characters being only focus of such games. In the same way that character-first design (WotC D&D, Exalted, Lancer) doesn't inherently preclude an overwhelming focus on a world's lore and vibe, world-first design doesn't inherently preclude a focus on character building or a certain primacy of the player characters over NPCs. In World-First design, to be someone of note is to have played the game and interacted with the world long enough. However, a caveat of this world-first design is that it's very easy to die, to be extinguished (it is important, in a way, in World-First design to showcase the strength of the world and how it doesn't bend to the whims of a player).

The difference of course, is how the mechanics are mostly written and presented. In World-First design, there's not much use for metacurrencies that imply that the PCs are inherently different or privileged over other player characters. World-First PCs gain privilege from things within the gameworld. While diegesis is of value, it is not the be all end all, as long as the game focuses on mechanics of the world rather than of the player. Frex: ROMANCE OF THE LOTUS THRONE has a (very rare, D&D 4e Action Point-esque) reroll system known as DETERMINATION. However Determination is a very real thing in the game, and can be gained from succeeding in particular tasks, or interacting with community and finding some form of purpose. Its sublimated form of willpower. Its also a bit of an Undertale reference. The difference then is that Determination is not meta-currency: it's in-world currency. There's no Determination stat in the character sheet: it instead fills up an inventory slot. It's a mechanic of the world and not of the player. It's simulationism without the tax forms (rules-lite, fiction-first simulationism is a topic for another post).

When I play or run RPGs, my personal preference has always been that of immersionism. The deeper you sink into a world's physics, a world's customs, the more the Other becomes the Self is a point of great joy for me: whether that be the chilling borderlands of SYMBAROUM, the intricate Underworld of VAMPIRE, the ineffable Space Opera of FADING SUNS, or the crimson-gold otherworld of ARTESIA. World-First can be a genre emulation philosophy (frex, if your world is meant to emulate a genre, a la Exalted's Creation) but I believe that Genre Emulation is not the be-all end-all of Role-Playing Games, as some would think it to be. Mechanics aren't automatically good just because it hearkens to a particular genre, a la PbtA. I think mechanics are good when they accomplish the Design Goal of the game. And sometimes Design Goals are to simulate or fabricate an otherworld and transport you there. I think that goal is one of the more difficult ones to truly achieve, so any that attempt it to this day I hold in respect, even if they end up being rules-heavy simulation-esque attempts. I believe that World-First games are like, the immersive sims of TTRPGs (in the sense that they take some getting used to but create for some of the best emergent gameplay moments, as well as potent immersion of a world).

In ROMANCE OF THE LOTUS THRONE, I’ve managed to do a bit of a mixing. Inspired by the likes of Dark Souls and Elden Ring, where the world is important, but its the character builds that make or break a game, I’ve made the characters dependent on the world. This means you more or less start a game with a blank slate of a character, or someone with the bare minimum of detail. Then, as you play, you learn and gain abilities from milieu of the world, gaining items and powers and magicks from playing the game, rather than from a Class Table. In a way, this is also an inherent forcing of diegesis in the game, and diegesis is one of my favorite concepts in all game design, across all mediums.

This does (somewhat) assume that the characters you’re playing are either amnesiac, young, or people that have not really accrued anything over the years. This is just as well: I believe that you can gain world-changing skills and capabilities even at 60 or 70 or beyond. However, if you want to build a character already seasoned, that’s easy enough to do: simply give them a number of starting equipment and Arts.

All of this lends itself to the ROMANCE's Buddhist bent, especially concerning the ideal of Anatta or Non-Self. Metaphysically, there is no self, all individuation arises from a nigh infinite set of other factors that eventually form the character. This enlightenment is inevitable for PCs that live long enough in Romance: a character eventually becomes a master of anything, removing the individuation of specialization as they inch their Cultivation closer to Awakening. To gnosis. To bodhi.

At the end of it, world-first design kind of asks the players to interact with the game not from their own biases but on the game's own terms. For the longest time this has been a no problem: the biggest world-first games are OSR after all, and they carry the baggage of D&D. However, for games that need and deserve worlds to be taken on their foundation and not the player's, both a World First design approach as well as a World First player mentality could provide a different, maybe even enriching experience that most character-first games would not deliver in the same way (character first games deliver a different, honestly more marketable niche in the realms of OC gaming and Power Fantasy).

[purplesoulcollection]

Otherworld Fans

Do you even question your existence in world?

Yeah, i was the one asking that. This is not the first time I'm being this serious, but this one is the urgent question.

I realized that I was the only one who felt that this world was not my real world.

This place doesn’t feel particularly strange, yet my dark eyes seem to express a reality that feels out of place, as if it’s my eyes that are the odd ones.

It’s a world that mirrors my own, filled with modern conveniences like technology, smartphones, and Wi-Fi that connects everyone through the internet. Yet, it’s also a world plagued by air pollution that makes breathing difficult, and the sun’s heat can feel like it’s cooking people alive, just like in my previous existence.

Still, deep down, I know I don’t belong here. The world I truly belong to is the one where I spent my entire life, a place that wouldn’t change over a single lifetime.

Even if I have to die, my memories would reset, allowing me to experience life anew, as if for the very first time, in an endless loop.

But who knows which monarch that made the blunder of allowing me to be reborn with the memories of my past life intact, robbing me of the joy of living without the weight of knowing I’ve lived before, only to face death once more?

Ops, I let my bad thoughts wander for some reason. My rational and gloomy thought is always ruin for the fun. Sorry for the moody rant. But I have my reason too!

Do you think you will happy if you have to restart your life and study the fact that you already know in the world that mirrors yours?

Yeah, I'm glad at first, but now my gladness dropped 70%, not completely happy again. Why? Why I'm not completely happy, you asked?

Because you know...?

This realm is now the world of solo leveling ragnarok. Not the world of Solo Leveling instead.

It’s no longer the place where Sung Jinwoo was the main character, starting from the very bottom and rising to greatness through a mission system that sought to exploit him. Even though I want to see the live action even if it has to be in secret stalking.

I’ve lost the chance to witness the iconic moments from his legendary comics and novels. I can't even glance at the majestic event that i already memorized the order if sometime i being reincarnated into this world...

I’ll never get the chance to be the person that Sung Jinwoo secretly admires or like since we don’t even exist in the same time period.

Tears streamed down my face when I encountered Sung Jinwoo, now married with children. I can't stop it.

Literally, I cried the first time I saw him alongside Cha Hae-in when my father let me see him—those countless fanfictions I had devoured about Sung Jinwoo x reader shattered before me, leaving only the harsh truth. He can't be mine...

I can only see his worried face when i cried in front of him, he tried to persuade me to stop the tears by by promising to buy me snacks or make friends with his child.

Seeing no change in me, he urgently ask my father for the clue of my cries that my father also having no clue at all.

Sung Jinwoo is undeniably so handsome even when he already married and is already middle aged man … but sadly, he’s not someone I can ever reach; Even after I met him through my unrealistic second life…

then I felt someone's hand wiping my tears. The hand that made me look away from Sung Jinwoo's face and turn my gaze towards the hand that cleaned my face from my tears.

And I saw it. the next protagonist in this world. Sung Suho.

He was the one who wiped my tears with his innocent face. His little hand, which was slightly smaller than mine, still tried to wipe my tears innocently.

Seeing his face and recognizing Suho's face which had similarities in the eyes and nose to his mother made my nose clogged with snot and I ran out of Sung Jinwoo's house which I visited with my father.

I dashed away, tears streaming down my face, feeling embarrassed about my snotty nose. Why should I humiliate myself in front of someone I look up to?

My eyes stung, making everything around me seem hazy, but I was relieved to find the playground deserted, free from other kids.

I plopped down on the swing, staring at the ground, feeling exhausted and sad. At least if I looked down, no one would notice a little girl crying all alone in this empty playground.

Why am I even crying? He’s not a character meant to be with me.

I admire him from afar, and while he’s my idol, that’s all he is—just an idol. Sure, he’s incredibly cool, handsome, and exactly my type, but I have to accept that he’s out of reach if fate doesn’t align with my dreams.

and because I looked down I didn't see someone chasing me coming to see me sitting on the swing. he was panting after me who was emotional.

But seeing me sitting and not realizing that he was chasing me finally made him sit on the swing next to me.

the sound of the swing being shaken made me aware of someone's presence, I wiped my tears and wiped my snot with my hand, trying to appear fine even if I knew it would be useless if my eyes were red from crying.

When I saw the person next to me, I wasn't too surprised to see Suho chasing me. My father knew that I was a smart child to be able to come back to Jinwoo's house when I was done crying and whining, and both Cha Hae-in and Jinwoo were two people who could detect me in their own way, they're strong for the reason.

Only Suho was the one who bothered to chase me here alone.

He didn't look at me when I saw him, but I knew that he was aware that I was watching him.

"Why are you chasing me?" My voice was nasal from crying, not the sweet voice of a girl who can ask for anything sweetly and have her parents grant it.

Hearing me finally want to talk to him made him turn around and asked, "Why are you crying anyway?"

His probing eyes made me shy away from being angry with him. He thinks I want to cry in front of his father? NO!! I want to be the best daughter figure for him, but i can't control my reaction.

"I don't know why, so don't ask!"

I barked at him, still very frustrated with my current situation.

it's better for him to just leave until I manage to calm myself down. That would be better for both of us. I don't want to mad at him, he's innocent and know nothing about me.

But he's being the one who couldn't read the situation and didn't leave even after I barked at him. he just looked back at the sky and swung his swing.

Why doesn't he leave too? Is he insensitive?

We both fell silent, allowing the wind to blow and the warm sunlight to fill the quiet, which was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

Since I was starting to sweat from the heat, I finally stood up and suggested we head home together.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, trailing behind me as I walked away, he walking slower than me. Maybe that's why he couldn't immediately chase after me who ran away to the playground.

I scrunched my face, knowing I couldn't be completely truthful with him. "I don't know, maybe it's because your dad is just too handsome… and that makes me a bit jealous of your mom?"

His reaction was one of surprise; he lowered his arms from behind his head, clearly taken aback. "Do you like my dad?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch.

I didn't appreciate his response, which felt like it was prying into my embarrassment. "No, don’t joke about that! I’m just intrigued by him, not in love! I just hope to find a guy as good-looking as he is someday."

What I said was partly true but also a bit of a stretch. Where else could I find someone who matched my standards? Imagining someone perfect was my only option.

"Since you seem to like my dad so much, why not extend that to me?"

His question left me speechless, making me reconsider his character.

Wow, is Suho really the kind of person who can be this unpredictable? Shouldn't my mere glance at the comic be enough?

"Why do you keep making jokes? How can I like you when I don’t even know your name?"

Technically, I still didn’t know his name; we hadn’t introduced ourselves yet. Dad had only introduced me to Suho's parents before I ended up in tears.

"You can like my dad right away, so why can’t I?" He still insisted, he raised his hand while making a fist. Looks very serious in his opinion.

"You just can’t!" I shook my head firmly, dismissing Suho's illogical suggestion.

He fell quiet, awkwardly tracing his finger along his cheek before finally saying, "If you don’t know my name, I’ll tell you, but you have to share yours too!" He looked embarrassed and turned his gaze away.

Why is he looking away so awkwardly? Is he trying to be my friend but feels shy because our first interaction was a bit rocky?

feeling guilty because this was my fault I stretched out my hand to Suho, "Okay, my name is Name, satisfied now right?"

He looked at the outstretched hand in front of him, clearly taken aback. When I noticed he wasn't moving to take it, I thought about pulling my hand back.

But as if sensing my doing, he quickly grasped both of my hands. "I'm Suho, nice to meet you, Name!" he exclaimed loudly, causing me to jump a little from the unexpected volume.

"Why do you have to yell like that? You really startled me!" I loudly tell him. He only can shrunk because he knew he was doing something wrong.

"Well, you can't expect me to just stand here waiting for you to say something." he answered in a nervous voice. afraid of making me angry again.

"You took your sweet time, didn't you? Let's get home before my dad gets mad!"

He nodded, and we started walking home, completely unaware that we were still holding hands.

The End

[the-king-and-the-druidess]

prompt: almost • Morgause/Lancelot • S4 • the spiritworld • not rated

It has been days there, it felt like an eternity here. An eternity of loneliness, pain, fear, numbness.

Morgause was lying on the ground, hiding from them, when she felt the air stir. Something has changed. She hid deeper into the folds of darkness, fearing it was something evil after her.

But it was good. Oh, he was so good. Strange how he can be in this gloomy place of mists and emptiness. His bright self had no place here amongst the likes of her.

He wore the dimmed lustre and glory of knightly robes. His face was kind and handsome. Morgause sat by the withered rock and watched the knight wander the ashy valleys of the otherworld.

Lancelot could feel her gaze on him, hear her quiet footsteps behind him. She never left him. A strange woman in grey rags, her eyes were so alive, full of passion and power. Like embers, they burned on her pale scarred face. The look of a fallen queen.

The shadows attacked, they choked her, tore at her fair curls and clothes, and Lancelot drew his sword and attacked them, protecting her. They surrendered.

"Who are they?" He sat down beside her, their elbows touching.

"Ah, those." Morgause threw a glance at the shapeless figures crawling aside, hissing angrily. "The souls of those I killed. They come and go. They want me to be like them, but I won't. No way!"

And Lancelot believed someone like her would never become a shadow. She would always keep the fire burning. "Have we met before? You remind me of someone..."

"I didn't kill you. I would have remembered..."

Without words, they realised who they were before. High Priestess and Knight, enemies with no chance for mercy or understanding.

"Why are you here?"

"I sacrificed myself for the one I loved."

"Likewise. And I regret nothing."

If Morgause guessed what sacrifice Lancelot had made, it could not be a coincidence, it did not touch the ghost of her heart. That, the past was gone. Love, it lasted forever. Morgause held out her hand to him. Lancelot hesitated a moment, then pressed his palm to hers.

The touch was so real, warm, sensual, stronger than anything here and maybe, beyond. "We would have hated each other back there." he said sadly, intertwining their fingers.

"Sword and magic, it would have been a glorious fight." Morgause smirked. "But there is no past or future here." she clung to him greedily.

"Is it forever?" But he was not alone anymore.

"Until we are purified." Morgause reached for him, and Lancelot leaned towards her, and their lips almost touched in what might have been salvation and redemption, but some wicked force suddenly seized him and dragged him upwards, into the cruel reality of the living world.

"No!...."

Morgause found herself alone in the darkness again, and the sins crept closer, again, tugging at her tattered skirts, dragging her down into eternal silence.

@merlinmicrofic

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Celtic beliefs in trees (26)

I for Idho (Yew) - December 21st Winter Solstice 

“Death of a king in his waning 6 months - The Celtic Tree Calendar (Ref), the end of the beginning, the beginning of the end ...”         

Colour: dark green; Star: Saturn; Gemstone: olivine; Gender: female; Metal: lead, Element: earth; Patron: Banba, Hecate; Symbols: resurrection, death + rebirth, eternity, path to meet ancestors + land of the soul

Today is the winter solstice, also called the hibernal solstice, the day in the northern hemisphere when the sun is at its lowest altitude in the south and day is shortest and night longest during the year (reversed in the southern hemisphere).

Yew is an evergreen tree with dark green leaves and red berries. The yew is a robust tree with a thick girth and an extremely long life. It is probably the longest lived of all trees.

As soon as the downward reaching branches reach the ground, the tree begins to grow strongly, as if it has been reborn as a new tree. The eldest living yew tree is in Europe is said to be the Fortingall Yew, in Perthshire, Scotland, and it has been estimated between 3000 to 9000 years old.

In addition, the yew's hollowed-out heartwood, especially when wet, looks like a flayed animal, and when cut it appears to bleed, so the yew is increasingly said to be a sacred tree. Yew sticks were believed to be able to divine the future, and yew sticks were used as 'writing pillars' to engrave the Ogham script, as they could be preserved almost forever.

As the druids believed the natural law of reincarnation, where the soul becomes reborn as another person, the yew was seen as a protector of the soul during the journey to the Otherworld. Some believe that the road to the Otherworld is shaded by rows of yew trees. Furthermore, the yew is said to stop any obstacles caused by evil spirits from the other world.

As a sacred 'tree of immortality', believed to protect and purify the dead, yews are often planted in cemeteries, many of which are as old as the church or much older.

ケルト人の樹木の信仰 (26)

IはIdho (ｲﾁｲ) - 12月21日 冬至

“衰えゆく半年の王の死 〜 ケルトの木の暦（参照）、始まりの終わり、終わりの始まり…”

色: 深緑; 星: 土星; 宝石: オリビン; 性: 女性; 金属: 鉛; 要素: 土; 守護神: バンバ、ヘカテ; シンボル: 復活; 死＋再生、永遠、先祖に出会える道＋魂の国

今日は冬至、北半球では太陽の南中高度が最も低く、一年の間で昼が最も短く夜が最も長くなる日(南半球では逆転する)。

イチイは濃い緑色の葉を持ち、赤い果実を実らせる常緑樹。イチイはたくましい樹木で胴回りが太くなり、ものすごく長生きをする。おそらくすべての木の中で最も長生きする木といえるだろう。下方に伸びた枝が地面に着くと、新しい木に生まれ変わったかのように、力強く生育を始める。ヨーロッパで最も古いイチイの木は、スコットランドのパースシャーにある『フォーティンゴールのイチイ』と言われており、樹齢は3000年から9000年と推定されている。

また、幹の中が空洞になったイチイの心材は、とくに湿っていると、一見皮を剥がれた動物のようで、切れば血を流すようにも見えるため、ますますイチイは聖なる木だといわれるようになった。

イチイの杖は未来を占うことができるとされ、またイチイの棒はほぼ永遠に保存できるため、オガム文字を刻印する「���字棒」として使用された。ドルイドは、魂が別の人間に生まれ変わるという輪廻転生の自然法則を信じていたので、イチイはあの世への旅の間、魂を守ってくれるものと考えられていた。冥界に至る道はイチイ並木の木陰になっているという説もある。さらに、イチイは異界の悪霊が起こすいかなる障害をも食い止めるという。

神聖なる「不死の木」として、死者を守り浄化すると信じられたイチイは墓地によく植えられ、その多くは樹齢が教会と同じか、またはそれよりずっと古い。