#the panel gilt-edged

[salderi]

Korean School

19th century

A leopard, two tigers and a magpie

Jakhodo

watercolour, silk, gilt

the panel gilt-edged and now laid on a green patterned silk ground

framed 124.5cm. by 82cm.

4 3/4in. by 2ft. 8 1/4in.

[fashionsfromhistory]

Knitted Jacket

c.1630-1670

Italy

This waistcoat is a rare example of early 17th century informal dress, which never appears in visual images and with few references in inventories and accounts. References to these garments in wills and wardrobe accounts show that they were worn by both men and women. They seem to have been produced in workshops, knit in ensembles of shaped pieces for the fronts, backs and sleeves. One of the latest references to them appears in a London paper of 1712 reporting the theft of 'a green silk knit waistcoat with gold and silver flowers all over it, and about fourteen yards of gold and silver lace thick upon it.' Similar jackets have survived in many parts of Europe and it is assumed that they came from one centre of production - Italy seems most likely as silk yarns were most easily obtainable there. It is possible that the knitted pieces were stitched together by the purchaser.

The waistcoat is hand knit with coral pink silk and yellow silk wrapped with silver-gilt thread. It is constructed of five shaped panels, one for the back, one each for the two fronts and the sleeves. The seams are hand-sewn with silk thread and the whole garment is lined with blue linen. A series of regular holes along the front edges of the lining on each front edge suggest that it originally fastened with silk ribbons and metal points. It was once thought that these waistcoats were produced on the early versions of the knitting frame. However research has shown that the frame was not developed enough in the early 17th century to produce purl stitches or such a fine gauge. Each panel of knitting bears a pattern of stylised scrolling floral motifs worked in yellow silk on coral. These may have been inspired by the designs of woven silks. A very similar pattern can be seen on knitted waistcoats in the Royal Ontario Museum, the Cleveland Museum of Art and the Museum der Stadt in Ulm. The design is further delineated by the use of reverse stocking stitch against a ground of stocking stitch. A border of basket stitch (squares of purl and stocking stitch) edges the lower hem and wrists. The knitting is very fine, about 17 stitches per inch.

The Victoria & Albert (Accession number: 807-1904)

[thebeautifulbook]

THE HOLY BIBLE (1682)

English, late 17th century. Blueblack goatskin elaborately gold-tooled with red and citron onlays. Panel with citron cornerpieces and red centrepiece with citron oval in middle, surrounded by flowers and leaves within border roll. All edges gilt with foreedge painting of flowers surrounding the text, “Search the Scriptures, 1692’.

Held by The Bodleian Library, Oxford.

source

[fab-bladesmith]

A Roundel Dagger, late XVth century.

Commission work.

This one was an attempt at making a dagger after the amazing wood panels from the Studiolo of Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino - works of wonder in the Art of Woodworking.

But as realistic as they can be, there was still a few hurdles to ocercome, as for example the dagger depicted there doesn't show any separation between the mouth of the scabbard and the top of the guard roundel, or as the handle appears unrealistically short.

But careful examination, cross-referencing with other period artwork and a bit of experience allowed to reach this result, which I hope you'll appreciate.

The blade itself has hollow flats, with a strong back and a sharp, sharp edge. It is of sandwich construction, with modern high carbon steel between two old iron layers ; the same old iron was used for the roundels, which are hollow. The guard roundel is made with a hidden plate between the top disc, inserted from the tang, and the bottom disc, cut to fit the blade section.

This old metal shows a nice, uneven texture.

The grip is boxwood, with fileworked, gilt steel fittings.

The vegetable tanned leather scabbard was hand-decorated so as to match that of a sword owned by the customer, which is said to be Federico's very own.

And there's silk too.

Overall length is about 43 cm, with a 305 mm blade - I followed the recommendations of Maestro Philipo di Vadi for that (its length being enough for the blade to cover slightly more than my forearm), as the Pisan Master offered his treatise to Federico's own son Guidobaldo - about 9 mm thick at its base.

It weighs 340 grams, and the point of balance is at the guard.

The spherical chappe end is gilt too, echoing the one on top of the dagger.

[ltwilliammowett]

A Marcolini Meissen blue-ground covered portrait cup and saucer, circa 1800-1810

The cup reserved with a gilt-edged oval panel painted in sepia with a half-length portrait of Vice Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson. The saucer with a similar circular panel depicting a naval engagement.

[thatshowthingstarted]

Sword (jian) and scabbard, probably made in the court workshops of the Yongle Ming Emperor. Chinese, Ming Dynasty, early 15th century.

The hilt is of gilt iron. The grip is of gibbous rectangular section, punched with small circles to imitate ray skin. Down the centre of the front is a raised spine bordered by tiny flames at either side.

The pommel is of trilobed form, bordered at the front and rear by bands of golden scrolls. The front panel of the pommel is chiselled and fretted with a dragon surrounded by interlacing flames, with triple claws on each paw. At the rear of the pommel, the central panel is decorated with a monster mask (kirtimukha), surmounted by a silvered crescent and golden disc, and with human hands, also surrounded by flames. At either side of the pommel are the Eight Buddhist Emblems of Good Augury (ba jixiang): the wheel of law (dharma), the standard, the treasure jar, the pair of fish, the endless knot, the lotus, the parasol and the conch shell of victory.

The guard is embossed in the form of a monster mask, surmounted by a silvered crescent and golden disc. The face is punched with circles, the canine teeth silvered, the eyebrows and whiskers chiselled and gilt. The horns are in the form of crab claws. At either side of the mouth is a paw in the form of a human hand. The head is surrounded by scrolling curls of mane. The rear of the guard is rendered as the underside of the jaw, with a set of silvered teeth, and a narrow beard running into a throat of alternate silvered and gilt bands.

The blade is associated but is probably a later replacement of Tibetan manufacture. It is formed of pattern-welded steel, of diamond section, straight and double edged. The pattern welding produces a mirrored pattern of addorsed crescents at either side of the medial ridge. The tang is of rectangular section, tapering towards the pommel, with a large expanded peg-hole towards the end. The edges have been ground and sharpened.

The scabbard is of wood covered in green stained leather and bound with gilt iron. At the throat is a V-shaped cut out at the front for seating the blade, and a scalloped cut-out in the leather to accommodate the guard. The throat retains traces of the scarlet silk with which it was lined. The iron binding comprises a long, facetted strip running all the way round either edge.

There are eight transverse bands at the rear, the uppermost and fourth of which are wider than the others, and extend round the front of the scabbard forming suspension loops. The edging strip has four main facets, with an additional narow facet at either side. It is decorated with scrollwork in gold running down each facet, and matching that on the pommel. At either end is a set of three golden lotus leaves.

The front panel is divided stylistically into upper and lower sections. The upper section is decorated quite plainly; a series of five beaded transverse bands divide it into six sections, and there are three vertical bands of fretted four-petalled rosettes in each section.

At the throat is a cusped section with a beaded border, below which is a band of flames. The ornate lower section has six smaller segments, divided vertically and horizontally by fretted 'vajras', each with a 'yinyang' symbol in the central knop. The half-'vajras' at either side emanate from the heads of lions, and the vertical bands of decoration at either side are formed by rows of flames.

Above and in the middle of these divisions are two square panels, each containing a cusped lozenge shaped central medallion, the corners decorated with interlacing flames. The uppermost of these two panels contains two dragons intertwined amid flames, with the heads at top right and bottom left; the lower has two similar dragons, with thicker bodies, and with their heads confronted at the left and right.

The chape section is decorated with a large panel of interlacing flames, within a beaded border. At the rear of the scabbard, the upper band is decorated with alternating gold and silver scrollwork, and terminates in a rosette at the front. The next two narrow bands are decorated with silver scrollwork only. The fourth is decorated at the rear like the top one, but is extended accross the front in a broad band; it is chiselled with four medallions decorated with gilt characters on silver grounds, and surrounded by interlacing gilt flames. The three lower bands are decorated in gold scrollwork.

The rear chape panel has a small, flat piece of rather coarse, scrolling interlace at the bottom, and narrow bands of petalled rosettes at either side.

A four character Tibetan inscription on the lower suspension loop reads 'khi'u ga ral gri' (honourific sharp sword).

China, 15th century (About 1420),

Leather, Ferrous, Gold, Silver, Semi-precious stone, Silk, Wood,

Dimensions:

Blade Length: 30 inches

Overall (sword) Length: 35 inches

Courtesy: Royal Armouries Museum, Leeds, United Kingdom

Sword (jian) and scabbard, probably made in the court workshops of the Yongle Ming Emperor. Chinese, Ming Dynasty, early 15th century.

[historical-closet-raider]

Happy Floral Friday🌹

This ca.1830 nursing day dress is from the V&A collection.

I'm super into anything that looks like Grandma's curtains at the moment.

Anyway...

Here's the Physical description from the V&A website:

"Day dress hand-made from block-printed cotton and lined with cotton. Cut and constructed for nursing.

The dress has a shallow wide neckline and long sleeves which are full at the sleevehead and tapers towards the wrist. The sleeve ends are finished with self-cuffs which are cut to wrap over and form a diagonal line, which is trimmed along the outside edge with six tiny gilt-metal, non-functional buttons. The cuffs fasten with hooks and eyes. The front panels of the bodice are decorated over the breasts with a pair of horizontal self-pleats which meet in a V-shape at the centre front. The dress has a slightly raised waist and a full bell-shaped skirt which is gathered into the waist. The hem of the skirt is trimmed with a deep self-flounce. The bodice has a loose panel which could be unfastened at the waist and lifted for nursing. The design of the print sets boldly drawn flower stems, which include marigolds, heather and valerian rendered in pink, yellow, green and indigo, on a vivid madder ground. The fabric was probably printed with indigo and madder by the 'Turkey red' resist process and overprinted with yellow to form orange and green."

[paletapessoal]

Peshwaz, late 18th century to early 19th century, India

Fine muslin ground with decoration in applied tinsel, spangles and foil. The peshwaz was made for a small wearer. The bodice portion is heavily embellished with wide bands of decoration around the sleeves, neck, hem, front-opening, and down the middle of the ground panels. The bands are made of silver-gilt, bordered by strips of green foil, with rows of blossoms in red foil and sequins. The same style of bands decorate the edges and hems of the skirt panels, and the wrists of the sleeves. The main ground of the sleeves and skirt is embellished with a motif of silver-gilt strip couched into four-petal blossoms, regularly divided by serrated rows of silver-gilt foil. A deep striped trim lines the inside bottom hem of the skirt.

[hexjulia]

i looked up who that painter was because despite having had an intense pre-raphaelite obsession period like every other teenage cliche out there I'd never heard of her. She hardly seems to be remembered. Instead of articles the top pages google shows me are auctions... thankfully there's this page;

https://www.robertsimon.com/wylienotablesale

worth taking a look at! about that painting i just reblogged specifically;

'The subject and attributes of the painting appears to be of the artist’s invention, without a specific literary source. The ashen, somewhat androgynous king representing death peers out at the viewer through a veil held in place by the elaborate jeweled crown seated on his head, sculpted in raised “gesso duro” (Fig. 3). A scalloped halo in richly articulated gilt gesso is seen behind him, placed in front of the blue-grey feathers of his angelic wings, which are subtly modeled in low relief. In his right hand he holds a silver-tipped spear, while his left rests atop an elaborately bound book poised atop a clock-face on a table. The clasp of the book is open, the elaborate cover decorated with raised gold ornamentation around bone inlays, while the spine is decorated with four fictive panels. The topmost shows a dove hovering above the title “Liber Aeternitatis” [the Book of Eternity]; beneath that is a depiction of the Crucifixion; then the Resurrection; and finally a peacock, the traditional symbol of rebirth and immortality. These are all expressively modeled in gesso, highlighted with fine black lines. The gilt background punctuated by round depressions evokes the celestial sky of Italian gold-ground paintings. Throughout the work tempera colors and gilding are integrated with the gesso medium to create effects both illusionistic and decorative.

[...]

The frame, designed and fabricated by the artist, is richly decorated with designs in low relief (Fig. 4). In the corners menacing crows, a common symbol of death and the afterlife, surround a tubular ring depicting a snake biting its tail, an ancient emblem of eternity. Within lies a concentric relief band with alternating dragonflies and flowers (possibly poppies), both associated with change, transformation, and rebirth; then another snake-biting ring oriented in the opposite direction. A further flat band follows, this one decorated with a pattern of swirling knotted cords, of a type usually called sailor’s knots, signifying eternal and unbroken love. Finally, an angled inner frame surrounds the painting, with raised lettering spelling out work’s title along the edge. If the highly personal iconography of this work, both painting and frame, remains abstruse, its fundamental concerns may be said to be the mystery of life, the inevitability of death, and the hope for eternal life.'

look at those details!!

[christomythopoesis]

A Merovingian bronze-gilt radiate-headed brooch featuring a human mask. Comprising at the bottom, a downward D-shaped head-plate with a panel of coiled tendrils and seven radiating ribbed lobes sticking out the circular edge. A raised mid-rib flanked by outward facing crescents and ribbed bosses. Two similar bosses flank the chest-plate, centred by a geometric symbol and faded- moon crescents. Topped with an oval shaped masked face. On the reverse, the original hinge and transverse catch are intact. They would have secured the (now missing) pin. The brooch is accompanied by a custom-made display stand.

(via Merovingian Bronze-Gilt Headed Brooch - Medieval Antiquities | Ancient & OrientalAncient & Oriental)

[kellstreasures]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage 1950’s Hand Painted Paneled Portrait Cup and Saucer Set Occupied Japan.

[thebeautifulbook]

MAHZOR. (Tuscany, c1490) A Jewish holiday prayerbook. Gold highlights, initial word panels throughout in burnished gold on red, green or blue grounds, some embellished with marginal sprays, text illustrations Edges gilt and gauffered

Mid 16th-century Italian gold-tooled dark brown goatskin over thin wooden boards with strapwork painted in red and yellow, both covers with central cartouche with coat of arms, elaborately decorated with a unicorn and rabbit, hatched leaf and flower tools, solid dots and foliate rolls.

source

[aadiengineeringworks]

Best Spares Parts In Faridabad Aadi Engineering Works

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[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 22- Luca

***

This room didn't face the sea. No glitter of wave-light on its white stone, no gulls squabbling over fish guts. The walls were cedar-paneled, their sweet scent a far cry from salt wind, tar, and sweat. It unsettled Luca to not hear the whisper of waves or the thud of the current against a ship's hull, the floor too steady underfoot, his body not yet found its land-legs.

Officially the rooms weren't a cell, but Luca knew it wasn't to give him the illusion of comfort. Isabella likely wanted all rumor caged. Throwing him and Cereza into one of the cells beneath the Palace would little help her.

Still, Luca had to admire the view. Over the edge of the balcony spilled Valeris, a sea of red roofs and whitebrick buildings, agoras and canals glittering in the sun, the broad Vie like an arrow pointing straight to the unseen ocean. The sounds of water traffic and cackling gulls drifted up to him, a faint wisp of factory smoke bitter on the wind. Blue flags still snapped high- a crowned hawk, for Isabella's recent coronation. Somewhere a bell rang, bronze voice tolling long through the sun-drenched air.

His city. His home. Once he'd thought he would never see it again. He might never, not as a free man.

"You are no longer prince of Lapide," Isabella had told him as she marched them to these rooms. "You're not prince of anything. You gave up that right."

She wasn't out of place- he'd made his choices, and as far as consequential matters went, being a prince was far down on the list- but all the same it stung. The one thing he did that mattered, the one thing in his life of uselessness that he was truly proud to have done, and it had cost him his birthright, his title, his place in these halls of great queens.

Valeria wasn't always a queen, he reminded himself, and she stood thirty feet high in marble and bronze in the grand agora below.

Valeria. Who was she, truly? The Aiatar's ghost had raised more questions than answers. What had she done before she came to Lapide's shores? What other islands had she touched? Was Lapide only the last of her conquests?

Frustration flared through him. He needed those answers. He needed to leave this damned room.

He retreated through the balcony doors. A guard accompanied him, one of Isabella's Falcii, silent and stone-faced. The wall panels were carved with cavorting orkwives, the canopied bed altogether too fine for his callused hands and new scars. He ducked to give himself a glance-over in the mirror, ruffling his hair, adjusting his lace cuffs, running his hands down the blue velvet folds of his coat. Its long split sleeves hung near to his knees, intricately embroidered with golden heartlain. Gilt dusted his skin, his hair, his eyes lined in dark kohl, each fingernail painted deep blue, the same stuff the priestesses stained their feet in.

He looked too clean. He felt too clean. Under the paint his face wasn't right anymore- too many scars, his nose too crooked. Maybe he fit his old titles as poorly as he did his old clothes.

So proud, his mother might have said, smoothing down the hair he'd just ruffled out of place. I know what it is to be the left-over child. You have to make your own pride.

His throat tightened. He pressed his hand to his face. The ache in his chest deepened, burrowing down to his heart.

Luca made himself breathe, cleaned the smears of gold paint from his fingers, and without sparing the Falcii another look went through to Cereza's room.

She wasn't alone. A pair of maids dressed her at the mirror; she had both arms outthrust while the other girls flitted around her, lacing stays, arranging the folds of her slip. She saw him in the mirror. Her eyes were red, her cheeks flushed. She'd been crying.

"Triune," she muttered. "Could that codpiece be any bigger."

He crossed the room and sank into the chair by her mirror. "I was going to say you look lovely, but I take it back. You're hideous."

She slid her arms through a silver-blue gown, bright with eel-scale spangles. Her head dropped, but Luca could still see her eyes, bright as the spangles on her dress.

"Cee," he murmured.

"Bell wants to see us. In Mother's...in her office."

"I know."

"I don't...I can't...I can't see her in there. Where Mother was. Where she should be. It...it can't be true, about her, about...Enzo, about everything. Why would he do that to us? He was our friend, wasn't he?"

Luca shook his head. "I don't know."

Tears spotted the front of Cereza's dress. One of her maids wordlessly handed her a handkerchief.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Would you...would you leave us alone, please?"

They departed, the Falcii retreating to the doors, eyes averted. It was, Luca thought, the best they would get. Cereza crushed the handkerchief into a ball.

"Is it true, you think?" she asked. "What Mother did. That she was the one to start the war. That she killed her own sister for the throne."

"She was ruthless enough."

Cereza's mouth twitched. "She was that." She faced him. "Was it our fault?"

"No-"

'"Was it? Our leaving? Did that lead to our mother's death?" She stopped, her cheek trembling. "Was I worth this, Luca?"

"Yes," he said, but he saw in her eyes she didn't believe him.

"Do you think that's the only way it can go?" she pressed on. "Do you think it always has to end in hurt, and anger, and pain, no matter how hard we might try otherwise?"

Luca rubbed the bridge of his nose. Hells, he was tired. "Cereza-"

"Don't lie to me, Luca. Don't you dare."

"I wasn't about to, gull-brain." He lifted his eyes to hers. "I think we're going to find a way."

She knelt at his side, took his hands, and held them, tight. "All this tinsel talk is going to make me sick."

"I'll stop. It wouldn't do for you to vomit on this magnificent velvet."

"You're an ass. Do you really think we'll find a way?"

"We'll find something, Cee." He lifted his arm, and she folded herself under it, but all Luca could think of was the harpoon in his hand, Cereza's heart silent under him, a promise he'd made to a dying god, a promise he didn't know if he could keep.

***

Isabella was waiting in their mother's office, sitting at her desk, silhouetted by the deep blue afternoon sky behind her. Puppy lay curled in a cage on the desk, eyes downcast, ears drooping. The day had begun to ripen into evening, and the shadows were long and dark, the eyes of the heads hanging from the austere walls glimmering in the gloom.

Isabella didn't look at them for a moment, but finished writing a short letter. She wrote clumsily, using her left hand- her off hand. Her right was gloved.

"Is that my execution warrant?" Luca asked.

She scattered sand over the ink. "No. It's an order to the front lines. I am conveying my wishes to my admirals, strengthening the blockade at the sea border and my armadas at our island harbors beyond."

"You're preparing for attack."

"I intend to attack first."

"Is that wise?"

"You didn't see what I saw." She stamped the wax with the hawk seal, then handed the orders to a waiting steward. "Enzo has weapons at his disposal. Terrible weapons. He already burned Pavaloir. I do not intend to let him do the same to Valeris. Would you?"

"I don't think you much care about what I have to say."

She gave him a flat look. "Would you be here if I didn't care?"

"So gracious of you. Where's Sirin?"

"The witchborn is where she belongs."

Cold splintered through Luca's heart. "You haven't-"

"She's alive." Her eyes narrowed, searching Luca's face. "Triune, Luca, don't tell me you're worried about her."

"It's because of Sirin that Cereza and I are alive. She's...she isn't what we thought, Bell. She's so far from what I imagined-"

"Oh." Leather creaked as Isabella leaned back in her chair. "Oh, I see. We've all heard stories of witchborn whispering minds to their will, but I've never heard of hearts. Tell me, is yours still inside you? Or did she rip it out to keep as a pet, feeding it tears to control its every whim?"

Luca didn't take her bait. "Where is she?"

"Imprisoned. Chained."

The cold spread through his body. "I made her a promise that she'd never feel the weight of Lapidaean chains again-"

"And I owe Lapide protection. I nearly cost my people everything. I do not intend to fail them again."

Silence fell, seething and strained.

"I mean what I say," Isabella went on. "I brought you here so you can tell me why you returned. All of you. The witchborn is only alive because of you, Luca, and because whatever else you are, you remain my brother."

She touched the bars of Puppy's cage. "And now you speak of monsters."

Luca nodded. "Far beyond the borders of the Outer Sea, we found secrets. Strange truths. About the Leviathan, about witches, and magic, and history forgotten. And about us, Isabella. The name Valere. Now the beast we told you about is...slowed, by Sirin. She saved us. But it won't stay that way for long. It's compelled to come after Puppy. It'll stop at nothing to destroy it-"

"Simple." Isabella drew her stiletto. Puppy whimpered and scrambled to the far side of the cage, hair standing on end. "We kill the creature."

"No!" Luca rushed to the desk and pulled the cage toward him, letting Puppy lick his fingers in relief. "I don't know what will happen if one of them dies. That's why the monster has to live. Both halves of the whole."

"You want me to not destroy a storm-bringing monster that even now, according to you, is raging its way toward Valeris?"

"That's..." Luca shook his head. "Look, Bell. I need to find more about Valeria. Where she might have come from. Who she was before Lapide. Anything. The ruins, the Aiatar- there are answers with them. I know there are. And Lapide is the only other island I am sure she came to. She wasn't who we thought she was, Isabella-"

Her face drew tight. "What are you suggesting? That Valeria was some pagan whale-worshipper, like you? That our family was founded by a liar and a traitor?"

"Would you believe me if I proved that so?"

"Valeria freed Lapide," Isabella said, her voice low in her throat. "She gave it its glory. And it is up to me to make it glorious once more. Mother thought she knew what was right for Lapide, but she was wrong. I don't intend to make her same mistakes."

"And what were her mistakes, do tell?" Luca asked. "Starting the war or negotiating the means to end it?"

Isabella 's gloved hand curled into a fist. "I intend to end this war. I intend to see Lapide made great again."

"Careful," Luca said. "I'm sure Daval Belmont once said the same."

Her face tensed. "I won't hear you slander our ancestor. Not...not now, Luca. This is not what Lapide needs."

"What Lapide needs? Hells take the war, and your queenly aspersions with it. None of them will matter when that monster comes." He drew a measured breath. "I don't want to threaten your crown. I only want to put right what I made wrong."

"Put right? Mother is dead, Luca. She died because she thought you and Cereza were gone, and she was too deep in grief to defend herself-"

"She died because of atrocities she committed. If you don't want to see that then you're just as bad as she was."

"What do you know about it? You weren't there. You left us all behind to pick up your pieces, so you could chase some mad scheme."

Luca's nerves crackled. He pointed at Cereza. "Some mad scheme that saved our sister. She'd be dead if not for me."

"Leave me out of this," Cereza muttered.

Luca barely heard her. "You were ready to throw her on the pyre yourself because breaking her curse you deemed too damned inconvenient."

"Inconvenient?" Isabella gasped. "We were at war!"

"Yes. And we're still at war. Some queen you've shaped up to be."

"Why do you hate me so much, Luca?"

"What's not to hate? Vicious, arrogant-"

"I could say the same regarding you. Foolish, childish-"

"-Cruel and hard-headed and bloodthirsty-"

"Stop." Cereza's voice cut over theirs. "Both of you. What would Mother say if she saw you now, squabbling like a pair of groaks?"

Luca opened his mouth to argue, but Cereza's glare shut him up again.

"This argument is pointless." Isabella sheathed her knife. "You two gave up your right to make demands when you committed treason against-"

"Damn treason!" Luca slammed his hands into Isabella's desk, rattling her pens in their stand. "This is more than the war, Bell, this is more than you and me. You may have never listened before, may have counted me a fool and been right to do it, but listen to me now. The monster is coming, and when it does, if we can't stop it, more than you or I will pay."

She stared up at him with bright eyes.

"I have heard you, Luca, and I have made my decision," she said. "You stand accused of high treason. When this war is won you will face your charges against Lapide, against your duty as a Valere, and against your queen."

"Wait-"

"Falcii," Isabella called. "Get this traitor out of my sight."

She stood as the Falcii escorted them away, then turned, facing the windows and Valeris beyond, her hands at her sides, her shoulders shaking- though from anger or from tears, Luca couldn't tell.

He kept his gaze downcast as they left the office, but his mind was awhirl. He glanced to the side and met Cereza's eyes. They were bright, insistent, and he knew she'd noticed too. They both knew their sister well, and knew that even as queen she wouldn't have passed up any opportunity to inform Luca of her advantages against him. She hadn't mentioned the Fishcutter, so there was little chance Irene and her crew had been captured.

Isabella had Sirin. She had Puppy. She had them surrounded by guards, by odds insurmountable, by her own will, certain they wouldn't be able to escape again. But there had been no talk of pirates. No talk of witches, either.

Isabella didn't have Niive.

[jardenephotography]

3 Tips for Selecting Photo Frames for Pictures

You can never go wrong with a nature photography print from Jardene Photography, meaning you don’t need any pointers to select the perfect photo for a room. The photo frame, however, is a whole other ballgame.

Below are tips and ground rules for selecting the perfect frame for your prints.

1. Prioritize Cohesion Between the Frame and Your Décor

There’s no shortage of interior designs. Some homes are minimalist, whereas others are industrial. Some are arranged in a modern farmhouse style, while others lean bohemian. The individual elements in these decors give them a vibe you can name.

If your picture frame is one of those elements, it must reflect the interior design you’re aiming for. For instance, a simple black frame would do splendidly with contemporary interior décor. Similarly, a gilt-edged frame might pass muster in a French Country décor.

2. Match with the Photography Print

Matching the frame with the overall décor and your chosen landscape photography prints is a balancing act, but the effort is worth it. Since the prints at Jardene Photography err on the majestic side, you may select a simple black frame or a gilt-edged frame a shade darker than the primary colors in the picture.

It’s much easier to match a simple frame with the print, the color of your walls, and the décor than, say, a quirky, whimsical frame with undefined edges, mismatched elements, etc.

3. Draw Attention to the Art, Not the Frame

The purpose of picture frames is to accentuate and draw attention to the fine art print encased within, not to steal all the thunder. Here’s an easy way to practice this rule: keep it simple and install it over a picture frame molding or box panel to make the print stand out.

Secondly, choose a light-colored frame if your image is simple, casual, or minimalistic.

Conversely, select a dark-colored frame if your print is anything like the formal, majestic, and breathtakingly beautiful pieces at the Jardene Photography shop in Calgary.

Now that you know the base rules for selecting picture frames, you can start browsing landscape and animal photography for sale at a store that caters to the Great White North and whose award-winning landscape photos are also available to the US, UK, and some parts of Europe.

Contact them for further assistance and requests.

[princetorn]

Ornate in its architecture, with fractals of stained glass, and wide corridors clad in chestnut panelling. This place was steeped too deeply in its Hardingian roots for his taste. Gilt edges here, rather than chrome. Dark wood, decorative architraves, ivory curls of cornicing, both timeless and dated at once. Perhaps, if he had looked closer, his gaze piercing the half-light of neither day nor night, Royce would have had the sense he was somewhere other. A wrong place, a wrong time.

His Little Sweetheart lay belly-up and dying outside, or so he believed. A creaking, clicking, smoking ruin. Like the avian victim of a window-strike. As a boy, he recalled the bodily thud of a hermit thrush striking the glass of his bedroom’s glass pane. He remembered how it looked, lying dead on the paving stones outside, how it felt to pass his small, childish hand over its fluffy, speckled plumage of its unmoving chest. It was his mother he called for, then. It was his mother who dug a dog-eared shoe box out of her closet and indulged him in a garden funeral for the unlucky creature. It was his mother who had kissed the crown of his head and spoke softly of a better place beyond the veil of death. After the graveside vigil, water ran hot and steaming as she scrubbed his hands clean in the kitchen sink, as though to remove every trace of that sudden, violent end. As if the bird might have stained him.

It was his mother, he would call for now. Then a local mechanic, or the cops – someone to scrape his car off the front lawn. Maybe then he would check into the hospital, allow himself to be checked over, though he was miraculously unharmed – his father’s only son, and God’s favourite.

Perhaps, if he understood that he was already dead, he would not have flinched when the girl seemed to manifest from the air itself, his gaze drifting from the dull glint of a chandelier hung high above to find her standing before him. Royce stiffened in surprise, drew breath in a hiss through his dentist-perfect teeth, before he relaxed into an affable, apologetic smile.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry for walkin’ in on ya, miss. Y’all got a phone I could borrow?”

With practised movements, he smoothed a hand along the side of his head, making sure the slick-back of his hair was still in place. It was an instinctive sort of preening, triggered by the appearance of a young woman.

“My folks will pay for any damage, you don’t gotta worry about that.”

Given that she lived in a mansion on the edge of Los Angeles, the financial fall-out of his crash was surely the least of her worries.

@princetorn liked this for a starter!

she lurks in the shadows, unseen and unheard, watching as the young man wanders the house, feeling anxiety, fear and rage bubbling inside her as she notes that he seems confused by his surroundings. ( an intruder in her house and he didn't even realize he was trespassing, putting his life on the line — poor fool. ) she should kill him now or else anyone in the house would certainly get to him first. and well, he's her type... ( he's probably even more popular than ellis was, even more cocky. )

she lies in wait only a short while before she gets bored, appearing with no ceremony or flourish before him in all the abruptness and brevity of a heavy blink. "you're not supposed to be here."