#this post is not a safe space for vegetable propaganda

[aropride]

people on here act personally offended if you say you don't like vegetables It's like this whole website's in the pocket of Big Spinach

[destinyamunique]

Ways to Access Your Feminine Energy Tips

On the journey of girlhood, we are not fully taught how to take care of ourselves. Instead, we are given the awkward talk about our period and how we are coming into womanhood, with warnings to be careful around boys. There is confusing propaganda about what a feminine being should be, with many different ideas presented. As a result, many beautiful ladies have gone through life thinking they were "just female" and that there is nothing special about being a feminine being. They endure being catcalled now and then, facing sexist experiences in the workplace, comparing themselves to ever-changing beauty standards, dealing with uterus problems, and so much more.

Women are the healers, lovers, makers, and destroyers, we have played so many meaningful roles in history and even now. It is time for women to come back to our juicy feminine energy these are my tips for accessing your feminine energy.

Sensuality

Sensuality is in all of us you don't have to cast some magic spell to get it. How to get to the feeling of sensuality is by taking a step inside yourself and being present with your senses. My favorite way to exercise my senses is when i am cooking smelling the food cooking in the pan, listening to the sound of vegetables being chopped on the cooking board, tasting the food to make sure it has enough seasoning, and then plating my food making sure it looks presentable. I also find sensuality in dancing which leads to my next point.

Dancing

How can i really go into the explanation of dance I mean it dancing! How could you not love it?! I know it can be a little embarrassing to think of yourself dancing if you are an overthinker. I can be a thinker myself and get a little shy but what I do is shift it. I start to think I am this confident, sexy person who can dance and then I just do it. After you finish reading this post I want you to take 10 mins out of your day to dance and then see how you feel.

Getting Creative

Getting creative can be hard for some of us so I can understand feel you can't. So if you are a person who does know where to start to get creative let me give you a list.

<3 Drawing

<3 Finding diys on YouTube

<3 Scrapbooking

<3 What is something you do a lot in your daily life how can you make that better?

<3 Sewing if you are willing to learn

<3 Going in your closet and try to create a fashion-forward outfit even if you have to fake it till you make it

<3 New hobbies don't need to an expensive one

<3 Try looking up art to get inspired

The last and final one is

Giving yourself the space to be you

If we can't be a safe space for ourselves we would find shelter from the rain.

Reflect on your values and ask yourself are the actions you take align with the true you. Set boundaries with people and even yourself if needed.

Become aware of yourself then take action with self-compassion. Trying to become aware of yourself can sometimes be these wow moments when even surprise ourselves with the things we discover it can be crazy. Don't try to figure out in a day all the things you are not aware of (I tried to do this before) just be in a present state with your thoughts and actions log them down in a journal or a phone. And just also remember whatever comes up remember to keep compassion with yourself and think about the inner child in you that deserves kind words.

THANK YOU FOR READING I HOPE YOU HAVE A LOVELY DAY FULL OF GORG ENERGY! AND HEAL THAT POWERFUL FEMININE INSIDE OF YOU!

bye bye my beautiful babes

[coldalbion]

Thoughts on mythic morality

(Disclaimer/CN: This post discusses such things as depictions of rape, theft, murder, kinslaying and incest. None of what of what I write here should be taken as approval of, or apologia in relation to these acts.) “You look at trees and called them ‘trees,’ and probably you do not think twice about the word. You call a star a ‘star,’ and think nothing more of it. But you must remember that these words, ‘tree,’ 'star,’ were (in their original forms) names given to these objects by people with very different views from yours. To you, a tree is simply a vegetable organism, and a star simply a ball of inanimate matter moving along a mathematical course. But the first men to talk of 'trees’ and 'stars’ saw things very differently. To them, the world was alive with mythological beings. They saw the stars as living silver, bursting into flame in answer to the eternal music. They saw the sky as a jeweled tent, and the earth as the womb whence all living things have come. To them, the whole of creation was 'myth-woven and elf patterned’.” — J.R.R. Tolkien 

The above quote is a charming one, isn’t it? Tolkien’s invocation of another way of seeing, of existing, beguiles us with its sense of possibility. It is, like much of myth and story, fundamentally conservative - not in the political sense, but in the conservational sense. As an attempt to preserve, or at least, keep possibilities open in the mind of the reader, it’s pretty good. Of course, the wrinkle is - or some may say - that this took place in the distant past. Nobody, they might say, sees the world like this - or if they do, then their perception is deluded - because we are past that. We see the world representationally now, striving towards accuracy. Anything else is just superstition, is it not?

The mistake these stereotypical straw men make - within the context that I have breathed life into them for - is to suggest that a linear path between “then-now”, and “past-future”. Actually, they make several mistakes, not least because of their unexamined bias. I’ll not elucidate them all here, but suffice to say that our vegetative friends have not considered, amongst other things, the role of the cultural, historical, and philosophical structures which influence how we perceive and know things. In philosophy, such consideration of knowledge and how, why, what, and where we know things is called epistemology. The thing with philosophy is that it covers many things: morality, ethics, metaphysics, linguistics, epistemology, sociology etc. We have words for all these things, and they are often their own disciplines. Philosophy - literally descending from “philia” + “sophia”, meaning affection or love for wisdom - can cover a kind of work in them all them all, precisely because understanding and using what is learnt in these many and varied arenas, and dong so well? Understanding the implications? Knowing that we know nothing for certain and that things are seldom as they first?  This is wise, these things are wise, and so: wisdom is the useful, sound, and valuable deployment of knowledge and living life itself well.

Our straw men, conjured into existence by the magic of speech and words - shapings of breath digitized and transmitted across the planet to you, dear reader? They are brought forth into a world where the majority of its unexamined structures descend from the cultural shapings of men with pale skins. Dig further back, and deeper, and you will find that those men re-ordered, restructured and built upon the knowings and experiences of people who were not white or male.  The structures of how we perceive, how we know what we know - even how we are taught to think, and express and feel? These did not come from nowhere - unfiltered and whole from the mind of one omnipotent, omniscient, Creator. Rather, many powers and potencies, principalities and agencies act all together.  The flows of power, influence, propaganda, social and economic capital; the emotional and cultural response to events and experiences. All of these are contoured and shaped by the many. That many of the pale-skinned men shaped much of our world today is an accident of birth which is then compounded by economic and social factors based on climate, trade routes, geography, resources etc. This acquisition is then compounded  and backward rationalized - the accidental conflux of factors becomes a self-justification for ideas of false superiority, which drives behaviours which weight things in the favour of that group. Make no mistake reader - there are still many worlds, even today. Bounded spaces, their boundaries staked out by those with the influence and ability to enforce them. That this is being written by a pale skinned man from North Western Europe is no coincidence. Nor is the fact that many will be able to read this, though my tongue is not what they speak natively - their first words carried a history different to mine. For various reason those people learnt my language which sneaks up behind others and mugs them in dark alleys, or engages in savagely lucrative trade deals.   History literally is an accounting what has gone before, thus recounted by those later to be reckoned as accurate sources and authority. It is not all violence, theft and brutality. It is cultural exchange, trade, sharing, incorporation and diffusion also. All these things flow between in flux - this is influence. Influence is often codified and commodified under the rubric of power in an attempt to wield it more universally - which inevitably divorces it from its original context and forces a more acquisitive mindset amongst those who seek it, rather than seeking out points of influential confluence and integrating oneself within that. The orality of history, and cultural transmission, is not something often thought of today. With the advent of writing, information and knowledge conservation shifts to the texts themselves as authority - the metaphor of something being “there in black and white” refers to newspapers, but the sense of it descends from textual authority.  Perhaps not so coincidentally, the historic belief structure of those pale people is rooted in a distortion of a heresy of a Middle-Eastern monotheism, which in itself seems been an offshoot of various Middle-Eastern polytheisms. That Judaism has a central authoritative text, leavened with thousands of years of oral and written commentaries and arguments should be noted. That this text was itself an edited version which scholars believe contains multiple texts, and was added to and redacted from, in response to socio-political and religious reasons over time,  is also of note. That that text was selectively edited and canonized, before being translated in various languages in response to socio-political and religious reasons over time, is worth further note. That this collage of ancient material is elevated to holy scripture and used as basis for moral authority for the majority of the pale people for over a thousand years, and used as justification for imperalism, rape, murder, theft, oppression, oppression on grounds of sexuality, gender - and was a fundamental source of, and during, the social construction of the concept of race - would be shocking, were it not for the desire for that which is referred to as ‘power’ and ‘authority’.  The singularity of authority and power presupposes scarcity. This is to say that fixed, codified protocols of behaviour, perception, and emotional affect allow definition and navigation in an unpredictable kosmos. By structuring experience, we make sense and it is by sense that we structure the world in a feedback loop.  In a society based on orality, it is the stories that are told which preserve, iterate upon, and transmit knowledge and culture. In this, it’s worth quoting Marshall McLuhan: “The medium is the message.” What this means is that how a message is transmitted influences the message content and context. Similarly, it is how and by whom-as-medium it is transmitted which influences the message. Oral societies are often conservative in nature - there are ways things are done, and for reasons. Thus, to deviate from that is dangerous, precisely because things are done that way for a reason which benefits certain people.  Whether those certain people are an elite or a society as whole varies according to societal structures. Those who deviate are dangerous for several reasons - they are unpredictable, which in many societies at one time meant that they are or were a potential threat. They are non-conformist, which implies they may not honour the social contract which is supposed important in keeping everyone safe and keeping the world-order-as-society knows it running.

Recall Tolkien’s charm? His elder possibility is a world-order or worldview (weltanschauung) which sees the numinosity in all things. It thus sees flux and agency and multiplicity.  In the case of polytheism and animism, the multiplicity of agents  and powers suggests a multitude of agents all acting on one another and interpenetrating - rather like ripples or interference patterns. Gods and “Big spirits” ( terminology that is pretty much synonymous in the mind of this author for the purposes of discussion) can be said to have mythic “mass”. A large stone dropped into a pond will make bigger ripples and cancel or interfere with smaller ripples generated by smaller pebbles.  When considering gods as establishers of world-order - or even creating worlds, it’s instructive to consider that in many mythologies, this is accomplished by the overthrow of a previous order or set of structures, and their reconfiguration.  Which is usually, to judge my many world mythologies, a polite way to suggest murder and butchery; fundamentally catastrophic  in all the linguistic and etymological senses of the word.. Once bloodily established, it is usually the actions and processes of the gods which keep the kosmos running. This accreted behaviour forms mores. Myth is thus a recounting of these behaviours and deviations therefrom, not simply as dry recounting but as felt experience which stimulates emotional and psychological affect which joins all participants (human and otherwise) into a shared epistemological framework. In any society, the element of performance is key in any media - not just what the media ism but how it does it, as mentioned above. In an oral society where knowledge is shared through speech, whether by poetry or storytelling, the performance of the teller is key, as is the setting and context of the delivery. Many myths depict rape, murder, theft,  trade, sharing, incorporation and diffusion. In this, they are as much like other forms of media as anything else. Likewise, it of course is the choice of those personally affected by such things not to engage with such things if they feel it would be detrimental to them. Yet, in dealing with myth, particularly if one views it not as synonymous with falsehood, but in fact expressive of some world-reality which forms the root of of our perceptions and experience, we often have questions of morality. To say that myths containing rape, incest, murder, theft etc “offer a window onto a different time” or to suggest that the actions of a mythological figure are literally representationally true and thus that figure should be hated and despised is to present only a fairly shallow reading in the view of the author. Let us take the Norse god Odin - he who, according the texts we have, committed near- genocide against giant-kind; slaughtering his own kindred the god (along with his brothers) butcher the primeval giant Ymir and use his body to make the worlds. The brothers then create humans by breathing life into two logs/trees found by the sea shore - far better then men of straw, no? He steals the Mead of Inspiration (itself brewed from the blood of a murdered god) after seducing and tricking its giant-maiden guardian, but not before killing nine thralls in order to get close to her father - bearing the name Bolverk (evil-doer). He uses magic to impregnate Rindr after she turns him down repeatedly, making it so that Valli, the agent of vengeance for the death of Balfr, is a product of rape - regardless that he is in the shape of/dressed of a woman at the time. He attempts to have his way with Billing’s daughter, but is discovered and chased away by a pack of angry men. He sets up heroes to die in the midst of battle, abandoning them at the precise moment they need his aid. He is, in short, a major bastard.  Did the Norse enjoy stories of rape? Was it a particular genre that pleased them? We have the images of Vikings as raping and pillaging, after all? Certainly, there are texts that suggest they had a different view of sexuality and violence than we do today. But is perhaps our take on Odin in the myths we have had passed down to us heavily biased? Of course. For one, it appears the idea of Odin as chief god in Iceland was due to the preponderance of preserved texts. Archaeology suggests Thor was more popular with the population-at-large than the weird and terrible bastard wizard Stabby McOne-Eye the murder hobo. But Odin is the Master of Inspiration - and both kings and poets were buoyed by his patronage. That this is passed down, collected and written down by a Christian after Christianization of Iceland, and then translated to English, some eight or nine centuries later?

This influences the medium and message. Further, amongst certain neopagans and heathen polytheists, there is a tendency to look at the preserved texts in a similar way to the Bible. This is a product of the mutations of that North West European brand of heresy we mentioned, contextualized in sectarian manner (Protestantism has a lot to answer for). Even if the myths are treated not as literal, we have been culturally contoured to look at myths which describe religious and numinous experience as exemplary. That’s to say, things that serve as examples or moral models, illustrations of general rules. In a sense, that’s akin to looking to police procedurals or popular movies, or 24hr news channels for a sense of morality today. Such things do contain troubling assumptions today - valourisation of violence if it “gets the job done” in movies, or  news stories inciting rage for political or social gain as example. Yet their key raison d’etre is experiential affect. Information and mores may be passed on and inculcated unconsciously, yes. But to view their content as explicitly and directly representational without bias? This is surely dangerous. Furthermore, our attitudes to sexuality and violence, both as distinct groupings and how they interplay in all forms of media are worthy of critique - exactly what is acceptable and why? What is the historical and social context for this? So if myth is not to be read as moral exemplar, what then? In this we must engage beyond a surface reading, if we so choose. As method of epistemic transmission and framing, myth is is not exemplary, but does aid in modelling. It is the response to myth that aids modelling not the myth itself.  To say Odin is a rapist, a murderer, and thief is important - not because he is, or is not these things, but what that means  to the audience participating in the myth, both historically and currently in context. This is why his self-naming as Bolverk is so important, within the context of the myths. Performer and audience and mythic figure all acknowledge this behaviour as unacceptable to humans.  Throughout the myth cycle, the “morally dubious” stories illustrate deviance from acceptability is only viable longterm if one is influential, and this motif exists across cultures. There are always consequences for such behaviour, whether it be the dooming of the world, or more subtle responses. Yet they serve a doubly illustrative function in the case of Odin, and other such figures (often Trickster or magical figures) wherein their behaviour and character is ambiguous precisely because of that nature - existing asocially, breaking rules and remaking them, surviving and prospering in impossible ways, in often hostile environments. This renders such figures “unsafe” “criminal” or “unnatural”, perhaps even queer in relation  to wider society. For such figures, it is the transmission of this quality via the myth which the narrative preserves, even when preserved and iterated upon by time. In this context, to state again, solely literal representational readings of myth are mistaken. This is not to say it is all symbolic, but rather that metaphor transmits information - an Iroquois story says their people learnt to tap maple syrup from squirrels. An Iroquois boy  saw a red squirrel cutting into tree bark with its teeth and later returning to lick the sap; the young Iroquois followed the squirrel’s lead and tried the same technique by cutting into the tree bark with a knife, thus discovering the sweet sap. Long derided as mere “myth” or “folklore” it took until the 1990s for a scientist named  Bernd Heinrich to observe and record it, publishing in a scientific journal - thus ‘legitimizing’ pre-existing indigenous knowledge. 

That such knowledge only became ‘acceptable’ or ‘real’ when performed outside of its original form tells us much about the biases of so-called ‘Western Culture’ as regards myth and folklore. Yet, this example proves the utility of such transmissions, existing over the centuries. That Iceland’s corpus of myth (even in those tales that remained to be written down) may contain metaphorically encode experience which can be re-experienced through felt-sense is made all the more likely, given the preservation of highly localized folklore and histories. Questions of legitimacy or lack are defined by flows of influence and power - inextricably linked to agency and consequence. Myth is therefore conceivable as a manifestation of currents of social influence and should never be held as a fixed thing, whether or not one has positive or negative emotional response to its figures

[beautifulramblingbrains]

The Veiled Keeper

Fandom: The Kaiser’s Last Kiss. / The Exception (Combined.) Characters: Stefan Brandt (Jai Courtney) OC and various historical figures - some of which are fictional. Rating: Small, almost irrelevant mentioning of sex.

This is merely a drabble made up in my imagination of probably complete angst with the possibility of other chapters in the future. It’s somewhat different to what you may be expecting. It is also based after the book finishes. Slowburn. An AU. It is also not factually correct and will contain major *spoilers*. I do not own anything but the deviated plot and OC’s. 

It feels good to get this off my mind. Enjoy :)

The car ride to our new found home is one of silence which leaves an unnerving static I can’t help but feel in the tips of my gloved fingers.

The Manor; now possessed by my recently wedded husband, I have never seen or been to before. My knowledge was very limited, being that I was just an intended before the rush of my wedding to a man I had known just over a month for the sake of heritage.

And even though it had felt like a very long month being passed from pillar to post, I felt as though the man sitting next to me, I didn’t know at all.  

But there was facts that I did know. Friedrich Wilhelm, the German Crown Prince, was a notorious womanizer. His marriage to me was untraditionally late due to his wandering eye and profound reputation. I hear some folks are shocked he even married at all, and especially to that of a girl from a socialite family favored heavily for my Father’s role in recent politics.

I am aware that it will be a long time till I see my family again. - Not that I had expected to. It was not a woman’s place to challenge any aspect of my new marital life, nor be involved with anything my mysterious husband was involved in. I was a spouse; to bear his future children, and in his words, ‘Appear graceful’ at all times.

However, I can say I wasn’t expected to be rushed through our nuptials and whisked to the former exiled Kaiser Wilhelms Manor in Doorn so suddenly after his death. My husband tells me it’s for our own safety, that there are spies looking for a chance at using him for propaganda, just as they had wanted to for his Father.

I should perhaps feel something, other than the numbness that currently resides inside my chest. But, quite frankly, I don’t.

Friedrich ruffles a heavily inked newspaper in his hands, peering over at me from his exaggeratedly twisted mustache. “We are almost there, Hanna,” he tells me as if I couldn’t read the signs, nor had been a witness to a patrol point that was only a mere ten minutes ago. But even so, I smile lightly, turning my head back out the window to watch the large Manor appear through the trees.

At least my reflection that I fight to see past in the odd lighting of our vehicle looks happy.

The road changes to that of something more gravelly, vibrating through our seats as my stomach flutters in sync at our temporary prison. Outside already, in front of the pale steps of the Manor, I can see an ensemble of smartly and poised soldiers waiting for our car to arrive directly outside the building. My mind wanders to the escorting vehicles in front and behind us. The rear vehicle backs off and gives us space to slow as the first moves further ahead as to not send the people waiting into confusion. It makes me think that this is far more serious to what drabbles I’ve been told.

“We are here,” Friedrich points out again, the obvious. It reminds me of our first disastrous night together when he would repeatedly tell me that he was going to come while I laid indifferent to his grunting beneath him still partly clothed and wishing every second that this moment would be over. His howling end was obvious, just like everything he says to me.

Friedrich is aided out of the car first while I wait, and by the time I get helped out of the lavish BMW, I’m aware of him already falling into conversation about the happenings of his father, and becoming surrounded as they begin to enter into the Manor. My shoulders sink just a little with my eyes that drop to the floor while I take a breath to myself. Walking to the first steps of the threshold to begin the agonizing wait that may feel like a lifetime, I am ready, though there is always that small pittance of hope that daftly lingers telling me that things may suddenly change.

My mind can’t help but wonder if this will be the place I will give birth to my children.

“Princess.” The maids and a few lowly ranked soldiers who have honored our arrival, have waited for me. I’m still not used to the way they use the term, sometimes forgetting to respond. The soldier's salute, clicking their heels while the Maid’s dip curtly.

It now seems pointless having worn my most kempt dress of gray with black detailing amidst the shoulders that matches my headpiece. Apart from our platoon of guards and milling household servants, there is nobody here to see it.

The soup is of plain vegetables, but tasteful, and...thicker than how I prefer. Me and Friedrich sit at opposite ends of the table with just the sound of cutlery passing between us. I look up a few times, but he seems to be reading again, a paper laid down on the table in front of him. He would glance up a few times towards the door as if expecting something, and I’m not quite sure what that is. 

I can’t stand the silence any longer. “Your father... had a lovely home here. I see he liked his gardens.” I’m trying too hard to converse and I know it. The maid in the corner shifts slightly.

“Yes,” he grumbles, spooning a mouthful without even looking up at me.

“The decorations and tapestries-”

“Hanna.” His eyes are only move to meet mine, his face still turnt down towards the papers in front of him. “...My wife. I’m trying to read.”

I don’t quite fancy the soup anymore. I signal for the maid and she swiftly approaches taking my bowl and pouring me another glass of sweet red wine that matched the consistency of syrup. I’m distracted when my husband suddenly glances up at the door on his right, just as the matching sound of boots clobber down through the wide hallways we are graced with within the Manor.

When my husband stands, I copy, though we shouldn’t have to. I guess, it was still an old habit of his that was hard to rid of.

Three men, patterned with rain drops on their uniforms and suits, enter. The latter of the three, an officer by some standard I’m unsure of, is the first to remove his visored cap.

“Prince Friedrich Willhelm, may I introduce you to Captain von Islemann, your Father’s previous personal aid.” I grab my chance to study him. A sturdy smile, though somewhat crooked with the nasty yellowing bruise on his cheek and healing gash scarring his lip. His salute is hesitant and unpractised almost, and my head tilts while examining him. This man will be working very closely with my husband. It would benefit me if he was half a decent man and not like the one that is addressing us, Kaltsbrunner, who was merely interested at throwing around his languid authority.

“And we also have Untersturmfuhrer Stefan Brandt who, after hearing of your rapid succession, remained to primarily become the officer of the house guard.” The Untersturmfuhrer salutes perfectly, but keeps his distance.

“Thank you, Kaltsbrunner. Please, join us.” My husband motions to the table.

“We have already imposed enough.”

“No, no. I would like to get to know the people who will be involved, and for my dear wife’s peace of mind.” He now signals to the maids who hurry to furnish the extra places at the table. They are laid out next to Friedrich, leaving me apart from the men.

They mainly discuss the patrols and safety measures, making awful jokes between each other I feel are only to please Friedrich. Our guard, Officer Brandt, is not exactly talkative, but present. He holds a certain likeability in the fact he was able to just sit and listen. He makes no attempt at arguing or agreeing with certain opinions, and cleverly decides to stay quiet when questioned on them.

I finish my wine to make an attempt to leave, or at least look like I want to until my husband catches my subtle hint. That is when the Untersturmfuhrer turns to look at me. “It would also be wise if we knew of your plans and productivity during the day, Princess.”

My cheeks flush, maybe from alcohol or sudden embarrassment of being the centre of attention and I have to clear my throat after such a long time of being mute. “Er… my plans-”

Friedrich’s laugh is hoarse. “My dear wife’s productivity is venturing the gardens and drinking selections of tea, Officer Brandt. I hardly call anything she does an example of productivity.”

Brandt smiles tightly, folding a corner of a napkin on the table. “Every movement needs to be reported. Even if that be venturing your Father’s kept gardens.”

“Are you green-fingered, Officer Brandt?” Friedrich raises his eyebrows.

“No, but having fought in the field, I have managed to appreciate the smaller, forgotten beauties in life.”

“I can agree with that!” Kaltsbrunner pipes up and they clink glasses. My husband appears envious as his eyes twitch between the three. It is fact he has never experienced and does not know of war other than word of mouth. His upbringing and younger years were kept safely hidden in Berlin and various other lavish places, a sheltered life.

“I like to bake, Officer Brandt,” I speak out of term, but hurriedly. “At times I will be visiting the kitchen.”

“That is not a healthy promotion to someone of your status, Hanna.” Friedrich intervenes.

“But it’s true.”

Brandt nods, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, but he is broken out of it by my husband beckoning for another drink to the maid. If my beloved husband thinks that I cannot see the way he admires her when she comes to be at his side, he is wrong. “Tell me, Brandt, of the disaster before my father died. Of why you are still stationed here.”

“I had plans to soldier back in russia, sir, but Kaltsbrunner thought it may be better to solidify my rank and rectify the issues involved in the past.”

“Yes…” Friedrich twirls the tip of his mustache. “I heard briefly. But what is the full story?”

“We had a spy under this roof while I was commissioned here.” Brandt’s head drops towards the table at his confession. “The last I heard, they had captured her. But that is all I know.” Whether it is me seeing something other than scorn, I notice that his knuckles turn white on his glass.  

“My father was always a gullible man. I would like to keep my household tight. No repeats of this situation.”

“The situation was awfully unique, sir.”

Kaltsbrunner coughs. “We are now fully prepared, and aware of the consequences of a repeat. Our informants are far clearer.”

Friedrich is smiling and I think it’s because he has all three of the men squirming in embarrassment. “Shall we retire to the study, gentlemen? It seems we will be working closely with each other for the foreseeable future, and it may be a month or so till I see you next, Kaltsbrunner.”

They wait for my husband to stand before following him. I take it as my dismissal to my chambers, my separate chambers - the place where I feel my husband won’t be joining me tonight.

The birds chirp even through the harshness of the wind that whips my dress around my calves. I stare down at the small pond situated further back from the Manor in the catered gardens, the water murky, and life striving inside. Every now and then a raindrop would tap the surface, disturbing the occupants underneath. But I stand here not to see the fish or my reflection, but to escape the constant fogginess of my mind burdened by worry and doubt.

However, I intend to write later in my journal the unusual sensation of doing nothing for an entire day and still feeling completely exhausted by it. I will also write questions to myself that will never be answered, asking how long I can truly pretend to be happy like this.

I may have been here since after dining with Friedrich, but as it grows gloomier with the sun descending, I’m now unsure of exactly how long I have been standing out here altogether... The mind wanders far if you allow it.

“Princess,” is a mere voice I hum to at first in response - till it dawns on me. “I don’t like to interrupt, but it would have been far less worrisome if you would have told someone where you were.”

“Officer Brandt,” I smile weakly in remembrance to his slow, soothing voice and mannerisms. “Now where would be the fun in that?” He comes to stand beside me, staring into the water. I don’t turn to him, we just wordlessly let time pass.

“Tell me, Brandt... Yesterday...” I trail off purposefully. It wasn’t my place even though my curiosity consumes me. ...But that could also be because of the lack of activity.

“I live for today, Princess.” His eyes slide across to me with his chin tucked to his chest, knowing he’d stumped our conversation.

“Did my husband send you to fetch me?”

“I took it upon myself to fulfill the future order. I was in the study.” He glances back to the Manor, his arms tucked and hands locked behind his back.

“So, you were watching me?” He had to be, just by the positioning of the windows he gives himself away.

“It is my job.”  

“You have contradicted yourself.”

His lips twitch in amusement. “I feared you may try to swim.”

Scoffing, I turn to fully face him. “The spy previously under this roof you specifically referred to as ‘her’.” I’m too curious to let it go. Plus, his attempt to make a joke out of me is a bother.

It’s his turn to remain dubious, a conflicted furrow of his brow while he thinks. “...Unintentionally.” I watch the few flutters in his jaw. The only way to describe his expression is pained.

“To trust or love, is for fools, Officer Brandt.” The tone of my voice I can’t help, nor my mind that wanders back to my messy thoughts across the pond. “But it is our job as fools, to trust or love.”

“You are fond of reading, Princess?”

“Kaiser has a fine selection. And please, don’t call me that. It’s rather irrelevant right now.” He sighs through his nose as if he was about to object. “It’s Hanna. And not a word will fall from my lips, Untersturmfuhrer. My life is very dull, but I can keep affairs to myself.”

“One of a select few.” He waves his hands back towards the Manor. “If I may escort you back, Hanna.” My pulse quickens unexpectedly to the use of my name that was so eloquently spoke. My eyes snap to his, to which he lowers them.

But quite correctly, Officer Brandt hasn’t revealed anything in the sense of what happened previously here, his answers short and specifically anonymous. Everything is merely but a guess on my behalf. However, I believe I’m right that he had some involvement with the spy.

If I felt a personal loyalty towards my husband, I should mention my thoughts. “Please make a note to keep on top of the gardens. Friedrich is not green-fingered nor able to enjoy the forgotten things in his life.” I’m not entirely talking about the gardens, but more as a relatable issue towards myself. Officer Brandt surely knows. “It would be a shame.”

“Certainly.” We walk a little towards the Manor till eventually Brandt slows to speak. “Mieke. Her name was Mieke.” I nod at his sudden change of heart and the strange thought that he possibly trusted me after such a little time. Perhaps we were both transparent to those who truly bothered to look. “And she was of no harm to the Kaiser.” He salutes sharply before marching off towards the Guard post.

It hurts at the prospect that me and Officer Brandt have probably spoken more than my husband and I ever have. My hand unconsciously comes up to my chest to hold at the fabric of my coat as I watch his silhouette striding evenly away, shoulders broad and amplified by his uniform tunic.

However, I wasn’t expecting him to turn back once he reaches the Guard post, to hesitate so evidently. The heat rushes to my cheeks and I flounder awkwardly on the spot, unsure of what to do with myself. By the time I find the courage to meet his stare, he is gone.

[aropride]

this post is not a safe space for vegetable propaganda

people on here act personally offended if you say you don't like vegetables It's like this whole website's in the pocket of Big Spinach