#where he became an unwilling prophet on his FIRST DAY

[fabiansociety]

the quark/sisko relationship is underappreciated in ds9, because sisko clearly finds quark deeply, personally annoying, and quark finds sisko mildly intimidating, but neither of them really disrespects or dislikes the other, they just absolutely do not gel

and then every so often they'll get stuck together on a camping trip or something and sisko will start quoting the ferengi rules of acquisition and you'll remember that, oh, yeah, sisko is in fact Really Extremely Good At His Job and quark just gets even more spooked and it's a delight

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 1: A New Prophet

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas

Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into something different. It basically follows the plot of Abby’s Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible.

This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!

Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Lev—even in the flashback part where they’re little kids and wouldn’t have known otherwise—physically pains me, so we’re going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev “L” as a nickname for forever.

Hope you enjoy! :)

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April 2038

Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.

She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.

She knew that they live on the island but they wouldn’t fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.

She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.

She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her life’s purpose.

And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.

It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:

“The Prophet is on the move.”

He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.

She didn’t know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who was confused.

One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasn’t going to fill in the gaps unprompted.

“The Prophet?” Manny questioned hesitantly. “Sir… respectfully… She’s been dead for years. Died before we even joined.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who killed her.” Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.

“My unwilling informants downstairs,” he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the building’s lower levels, “tell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.”

“Okay so… What does that mean?” Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.

“There’s a reason why they’ve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.” He clenched his fists on the table. “This… Neo-Prophet,” Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, “is about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so I’ve been told.”

Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.

Manny jumped in. “What? So the Scars are… celebrating? You’re saying that’s why they’ve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.”

Abby let out a short laugh. “If this is what it looks like when they’re happy, I don’t want to see what happens when they’re mad.”

Isaac remained stoic. “They have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.”

“Right, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move so…” Abby said. “Want us to hunt her down? See what they’ll do when we take away their new favorite toy?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “She’s not our target. We’ll get to her in due time.”

“Then wha—”

He cut her off. “The Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, it’s possible she’s already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I don’t know what that entails, but I’m sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. I’ll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I can’t get any more information on that. We’ll try to prevent it if we can, but that’s not our main focus right now.” Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. “With the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.”

Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. “Sir, we’ve tried attacking their island and—”

“Not like this,” Isaac said. “Not with everyone. There’s a big storm a few days out. We’re going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.”

“And the Prophet?” Abby asked.

“One battle at a time, Abby.”

“Are we sure it would be a battle?” she pressed. “Isaac, she’s just one girl.”

“You would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I don’t doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.” Abby huffed. Isaac continued, “And if she’s anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.”

At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.

“We’ve only got one shot at this… And this is bigger than any of us.” Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. “I need you, Abby.”

She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Good.” He pulled away, heading toward the door. “Look over the plans and go through your rosters.”

“I want Owen,” she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.

When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.

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March 2030 (8 Years Earlier)

The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.

Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.

She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.

You were to be brave. And strong.

The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.

No one was meant to question the Prophet’s teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.

You could feel your mother’s breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.

While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.

This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?

You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.

But there would be no crying today.

Instead, you let your eyes wander to your mother’s reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but you’d always thought your mother was beautiful.

Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.

You were not supposed to be vain.

Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.

“We are imperfect beings,” she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, “And thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.”

She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.” You tried to return her smile. “Now. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.”

She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly. Obediently.

She seemed pleased as she left the room.

You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that you’d spent the whole night before crying. You hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep.

The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.

On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.

Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.

“Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.

You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and had always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.

Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.

“I’m really scared,” you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.

“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. “You’re the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.”

You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

“She will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,” she said, earnest. “Our pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.”

You couldn’t help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.

But Yara’s comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but admire—and borderline envied—so you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.

“It’s time to leave,” she said simply. Firmly.

Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yara’s mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little L’s hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.

You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.

For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You weren’t scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you in…

The hiss of your name from your mother’s mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.

You took a deep breath and started walking.

Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your people’s primary places of worship, second only to Martyr’s Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it – You’d never left the island – so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)

Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a child’s twelfth birthday.

You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends.  

The process was always the same.

Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophet’s Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.

It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.

You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.

The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.

As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldn’t begin guess what it was.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your mother’s hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.

Why were there so many people here?

Your eyes met Elder Constance’s. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.

The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.

Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?

You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.

When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.

You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.

“Welcome, child, on this most joyous day!” Elder Constance’s voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Come. Join us.”

You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.

But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didn’t want your mother to be angry.

So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.

Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.

“Two years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,” she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.

“But She is not dead! For the Prophet’s spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.” The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, “She lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.”

“Here before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our duty—our privilege—to share her words with you.”

“But today, She does not have words for us.” Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. “It is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion… A new Prophet.”

Elder Constance’s hands landed on your shoulders.

“Today, She has chosen Her successor.”

The crowd erupted in celebration.

You went completely numb and tuned them all out.

The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.

A new Prophet?

There can’t be a new Prophet.

What does that even mean?

There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.

And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?

Why you?

Why you?

Why you?

It can’t be you.

If any of your questions were answered, you didn’t hear it above the ringing in your head.

Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constance’s hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.

“…The Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until then…” She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.

The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.

Your legs suddenly felt very weak.

Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.

This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophet’s Prayer. You weren’t sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, “The world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.”

You weren’t speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.

The pleased look on Elder Duncan’s face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:

“You will lead us through the storm May the current be calm May You guide us home.”

Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you would’ve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.

Almost like they were praying to you…

Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.

You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. You’d seen him do the same to others many times before.

This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.

But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing inward, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.

You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t cry. You did as you were told.

You wanted to go home.

“We are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.” Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. “It is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.”

When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. “But the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.”

“Remember that You are part of us, but set apart.” The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. “We look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.” With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.

You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.

Finally, you found your mother among them.

And she was crying.

“My friends,” Elder Constance declared, gesticulating dramatically, “Your Prophet!”

The cheers were deafening.

As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.

You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their mother’s hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.

At least someone was as skeptical as you were.

You wondered if you would get to go home now.

But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophet’s grand house. Into Sanctuary.

There, servants’ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.

You would never live in your mother’s house again.

And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.

[penmanshipeb]

"If you can't beat them, join them."

In Numbers 22, Balak, the king of Moab, saw the Children of Israel and was afraid of them, so he sent to fetch Balaam to curse them. Balaam said he would check with the LORD first. The LORD told him No, don't go with them. This happened more, because king Balak was serious and the prophet desired the king's pay for doing this deed, and so, the LORD said if you go with them, only say what I give you to say. He went the following morning. The ass he rode spared his life and God gave the ass the ability to open his mouth and say words to him, yet the prophet made his way to Balak. He ended blessing the children of Israel three times instead of cursing them because that was all the LORD spoke through him . . . Balak was mad and upset. He was upset with Balaam the prophet. So, Balaam, in his greed, counseled the king of Moab towards his goal of dismantling the threat of the children of Israel. He advised that he should cause self-sabotage through causing the children of Israel to worship their gods and such. This would make the LORD's anger kindle against them to destroy them (Numbers 22-25). Balaam got his prize.

This very same act occured in the Church during the time of the Roman Empire under the emperor Constantine's reign, and is yet ongoing, occurring today. It takes a sense of history to know and follow God's word and promises adequately. The messages to the Churches in Revelation address this history, because it is for "He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches."

During the time of emperor Constantine, there was a union of church and state. There became an infiltration of the world into the Church. Paganism became transformed into "Christian" customs and traditions. Satan said since killing them in the Coliseum wasn't getting it, let me change strategy. A feast/festival for a day called Saturnalia or Yule to some in paganism became recognized and celebrated as the birth and celebration of the Christian deity instead. Its customs became adopted into the Christian faith. No big deal to man but to God, spiritually, it is. Christ speaks about this worldly conquest of the Church saying this:

[13] “I know your works, and where you dwell, where Satan’s throne is. And you hold fast to My name, and did not deny My faith even in the days in which Antipas was My faithful martyr, who was killed among you, where Satan dwells. [14] But I have a few things against you, because you have there those who hold the doctrine of Balaam, who taught Balak to put a stumbling block before the children of Israel, to eat things sacrificed to idols, and to commit sexual immorality. - Revelation 2:13-14

False teachers will teach that this observation is just a part of one's conviction . . . Meaning, it is your prerogative to do as you will here . . . All is pleasing to God. Don't allow these false preachers and teachers as Balaam, who have the word of God or the calling of God on their lives to preach the Word, to steer you to being rejected by God . . . God finishes to this people, saying, "REPENT, or else I will come to you quickly and will fight against them with the sword of My mouth. [17] “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches" (Revelation 2:16-17). Many pastors, bishops walk in blindness, no different than the world. "IF THE BLIND LEAD THE BLIND BOTH SHALL FALL IN THE DITCH." Many pastors, elders, teachers, prophets, evangelists, or people of God in general are covetous just as Balaam, unwilling to shine light on Truth or be for Truth.

📜 Therefore “Come out from among them And be separate, says the Lord. Do not touch what is unclean, And I will receive you.” [18] “I will be a Father to you, And you shall be My sons and daughters, Says the Lord Almighty.” - II Corinthians 6:17-18

[wisdomrays]

QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: Why Was the Prophet Polygamous?: Part 2

Khadija was the Prophet's first wife. As mentioned above, she married him before his call to Prophethood. Even though she was 15 years his senior, she bore all of his children, except for Ibrahim, who did not survive infancy. Khadija was also his friend, the sharer of his inclinations and ideals to a remarkable degree. Their marriage was wonderfully blessed, for they lived together in profound harmony for 23 years. Through every trial and persecution launched by the Makkan unbelievers, she was his dearest companion and helper. He loved her very deeply and married no other woman while she was alive.

This marriage is the ideal of intimacy, friendship, mutual respect, support, and consolation. Though faithful and loyal to all his wives, he never forgot Khadija and mentioned her virtues and merits extensively on many occasions. He married another woman only 4 or 5 years after Khadija's death. Until that time, he served as both a mother and a father to his children, providing their daily food and provisions as well as bearing their troubles and hardships. To allege that such a man was a sensualist or driven by sexual lust is nonsensical.

'A'isha was the daughter of Abu Bakr, his closest friend and devoted follower. One of the earliest converts, Abu Bakr had long hoped to cement the deep attachment between himself and the Prophet through marriage. By marrying 'A'isha, the Prophet accorded the highest honor and courtesy to a man who had shared all the good and bad times with him. In this way, Abu Bakr and 'A'isha acquired the distinction of being spiritually and physically close to the Prophet.

'A'isha proved to be a remarkably intelligent and wise woman, for she had both the nature and temperament to carry forward the work of Prophetic mission. Her marriage prepared her to be a spiritual guide and teacher to all women. She became one of the Prophet's major students and disciples. Through him, like so many Muslims of that blessed time, her skills and talents were matured and perfected so that she could join him in the abode of bliss both as wife and as student.

Her life and service to Islam prove that such an exceptional person was worthy to be the Prophet's wife. She was one of the greatest authorities on hadith, an excellent Qur'anic commentator, and a most distinguished and knowledgeable expert on Islamic law. She truly represented the inner and outer qualities and experiences of Prophet Muhammad. This is surely why the Prophet was told in a dream that he would marry 'A'isha. Thus, when she was still innocent and knew nothing of men and worldly affairs, she was prepared and entered the Prophet's household.

Umm Salama of the Makhzum clan, was first married to her cousin. The couple had embraced Islam at the very beginning and emigrated to Abyssinia to avoid persecution. After their return, they and their four children migrated to Madina. Her husband participated in many battles and died after being severely wounded at the Battle of Uhud. Abu Bakr and 'Umar proposed marriage to her, aware of her needs and suffering as a destitute widow with children to support. She refused, believing that no one could be better than her late husband.

Some time after that, the Prophet proposed marriage. This was quite right and natural, for this great woman had never shied from sacrifice and suffering for Islam. Now that she was alone after having lived many years in the noblest Arabian clan, she could not be neglected and left to beg her way in life. Considering her piety, sincerity, and what she had suffered, she certainly deserved to be helped. By marrying her, the Prophet was doing what he had always done: befriending those lacking in friends, supporting the unsupported, and protecting the unprotected. In her present circumstances, there was no kinder or more gracious way of helping her.

Umm Salama also was intelligent and quick to understand. She had all the capacities and gifts to become a spiritual guide and teacher. When the Prophet took her under his protection, a new student to whom all women would be grateful was accepted into the school of knowledge and guidance. As the Prophet was now almost 60, marrying a widow with many children and assuming the related expenses and responsibilities can only be understood as an act of compassion that deserves our admiration for his infinite reserves of humanity.

Umm Habiba was the daughter of Abu Sufyan, an early and most determined enemy of the Prophet and supporter of Makkah's polytheistic and idolatrous religion. Yet his daughter was one of the earliest Muslims. She emigrated to Abyssinia with her husband, where he eventually renounced his faith and embraced Christianity. Although separated from her husband, she remained a Muslim. Shortly after that, her husband died and she was left all alone and desperate in exile.

The Companions, at that time few in number and barely able to support themselves, could not offer much help. So, what were her options? She could convert to Christianity and get help that way (unthinkable). She could return to her father's home, now a headquarters of the war against Islam (unthinkable). She could wander from house to house as a beggar, but again it was an unthinkable option for a member of one of the richest and noblest Arab families to bring shame upon her family name by doing so.

God recompensed Umm Habiba for her lonely exile in an insecure environment among people of a different race and religion, and for her despair at her husband's apostasy and death, by arranging for the Prophet to marry her. Learning of her plight, the Prophet sent an offer of marriage through the king Negus. This noble and generous action was a practical proof of: We have not sent you save as a mercy for all creatures (21:107).

Thus Umm Habiba joined the Prophet's household as a wife and student, and contributed much to the moral and spiritual life of those who learned from her. This marriage linked Abu Sufyan's powerful family to the Prophet's person and household, which caused its members to re-evaluate their attitudes. It also is correct to trace the influence of this marriage, beyond the family of Abu Sufyan and to the Umayyads in general, who ruled the Muslims for almost a century.

This clan, whose members had been the most fanatical in their hatred of Islam, produced some of Islam's most renowned early warriors, administrators, and governors. Without doubt, it was this marriage that began this change, for the Prophet's depth of generosity and magnanimity of soul surely overwhelmed them.

Zaynab bint Jahsh was a lady of noble birth and a close relative of the Prophet. She was, moreover, a woman of great piety, who fasted much, kept long vigils, and gave generously to the poor. When the Prophet arranged for her to marry Zayd, an African exslave whom he had adopted as his son, Zaynab's family and Zaynab herself were at first unwilling. The family had hoped to marry their daughter to the Prophet. But when they realized that the Prophet had decided otherwise, they consented out of deference to their love for the Prophet and his authority.

Zayd had been enslaved as a child during a tribal war. Khadija, who had bought him, had given him to Muhammad as a present when she married him. The Prophet had freed immediately him and, shortly afterwards, adopted him as his son. He insisted on this marriage to establish and fortify equality between the Muslims, and to break down the Arab prejudice against a slave or even freedman marrying a free-born woman.

The marriage was an unhappy one. The noble-born Zaynab was a good Muslim of a most pious and exceptional quality. The freedman Zayd was among the first to embrace Islam, and he also was a good Muslim. Both loved and obeyed the Prophet, but they were not a compatible couple. Zayd asked the Prophet several times to allow them to divorce. However, he was told to persevere with patience and not separate from Zaynab.

But then one day Gabriel came with a Divine Revelation that the Prophet's marriage to Zaynab was a bond already contracted: We have married her to you (33:37). This command was one of the severest trials the Prophet, had yet had to face, for he was being told to break a social taboo. Yet it had to be done for the sake of God, just as God commanded. 'A'isha later said: "Had the Messenger been inclined to suppress any part of the Revelation, surely he would have suppressed this verse."

Divine wisdom decreed that Zaynab join the Prophet's household, so that she could be prepared to guide and enlighten the Muslims. As his wife, she proved herself most worthy of her new position by always being aware of her responsibilities and the courtesies proper to her role, all of which she fulfilled to universal admiration.

Before Islam, an adopted son was considered a natural son. Therefore, an adopted son's wife was considered as a natural son's wife would be. According to the Qur'anic verse, former "wives of your sons proceeding from your loins" fall within the prohibited degrees of marriage. But this prohibition does not apply to adopted sons, for there is no real consanguinity. What now seems obvious was not so then. This deeply rooted tribal taboo was broken by this marriage, just as God had intended.

To have an unassailable authority for future generations of Muslims, the Prophet had to break this taboo himself. It is one more instance of his deep faith that he did as he was told, and freed his people from a legal fiction that obscured a biological, natural reality.

Juwayriya bint Harith the daughter of Harith, chief of the defeated Bani Mustaliq clan, was captured during a military campaign. She was held with other members of her proud family alongside her clan's "common" people. She was in great distress when she was taken to the Prophet, for her kinsmen had lost everything and she felt profound hate and enmity for the Muslims. The Prophet understood her wounded pride, dignity, and suffering; more important, he understood how to deal with these issues effectively. He agreed to pay her ransom, set her free, and offered to marry her.

When the Ansar and the Muhajirun realized that the Bani Mustaliq now were related to the Prophet by marriage, they freed about 100 families that had not yet been ransomed. A tribe so honored could not be allowed to remain in slavery. In this way, the hearts of Juwayriya and her people were won. Those 100 families blessed the marriage. Through his compassionate wisdom and generosity, the Prophet turned a defeat for some into a victory for all, and what had been an occasion of enmity and distress became one of friendship and joy.

Safiyya bint Huyayy was the daughter of the chieftains of the Jewish tribe of Khaybar, who had persuaded the Bani Qurayza to break their treaty with the Prophet. From her earliest days, she had seen her family and relatives oppose the Prophet. She had lost her father, brother, and husband in battles against the Muslims, and eventually was captured by them.

The attitudes and actions of her family and relatives might have nurtured in her a deep desire for revenge. However, 3 days before the Prophet reached Khaybar, she dreamed of a brilliant moon coming out from Madina, moving toward Khaybar, and falling into her lap. She later said: "When I was captured, I began to hope that my dream would come true." When she was brought before the Prophet as a captive, he set her free and offered her the choice of remaining a Jewess and returning to her people, or entering Islam and becoming his wife. "I chose God and his Messenger" she said. Shortly after that, they were married.

Elevated to the Prophet's household, she witnessed at first hand the Muslims' refinement and true courtesy. Her attitude to her past experiences changed, and she came to appreciate the great honor of being the Prophet's wife. As a result of this marriage, the attitude of many Jews changed as they came to see and know the Prophet closely. It is worth noting that such close relations between Muslims and non-Muslims can help people to understand each other better and to establish mutual respect and tolerance as social norms.

Sawda bint Zam'ah ibn Qays was the widow of Sakran. Among the first to embrace Islam, they had emigrated to Abyssinia to escape the Makkans' persecution. Sakran died in exile, and left his wife utterly destitute. As the only means of assisting her, the Prophet, though himself having a hard time making ends meet, married her. This marriage took place some time after Khadija's death.

Hafsa was the daughter of 'Umar ibn al-Khattab, the future second caliph of Islam. This good lady had lost her husband, who emigrated to both Abyssinia and Madina, where he was fatally wounded during a battle in the path of God. She remained without a husband for a while. 'Umar desired the honor and blessing of being close to the Prophet in this world and in the Hereafter. The Prophet honored this desire by marrying Hafsa to protect and to help the daughter of his faithful disciple.

Given the above facts, it is clear that the Prophet married these women for a variety of reasons: to provide helpless or widowed women with dignified subsistence; to console and honor enraged or estranged tribes; to bring former enemies into some degree of relationship and harmony; to gain certain uniquely gifted men and women for Islam; to establish new norms of relationship between people within the unifying brotherhood of faith in God; and to honor with family bonds the two men who were to be the first leaders of the Muslim community after his death. These marriages had nothing to do with self-indulgence, personal desire, or lust. With the exception of 'A'isha, all of the Prophet's wives were widows, and all of his post-Khadija marriages were contracted when he was already an old man. Far from being acts of self-indulgence, these marriages were acts of self-discipline.

Part of that discipline was providing each wife with the most meticulously observed justice, dividing equally whatever slender resources he allowed for their subsistence, accommodation, and allowance. He also divided his time with them equally, and regarded and treated them with equal friendship and respect. The fact that all of his wives got on well with each other is no small tribute to his genius for creating peace and harmony. With each of them, he was not only a provider but also a friend and companion.

The number of the Prophet's wives was a dispensation unique to him. Some of the merits and wisdom of this dispensation, as we understand them, have been explained. All other Muslims are allowed a maximum of four wives at one time. When that Revelation restricting polygamy came, the Prophet's marriages had already been contracted. Thereafter, he married no other women.

[aohendo]

Editing update!

30,209 words rewritten. Approximately 23% of the way through draft two!

Things changed so far: addition of a short rags to riches plotline (with a very unwilling rags); Kiris now doesn't trust Aris in the slightest; the yarlyk (the thing they're all competing for) is mentioned before chapter 30; general worldbuilding shown more; the journal thing is also explained before chapter 30; Kiris and Iiriok know each other well enough to lightly banter, with it being heavily implied that Iiriok knows Kiris has learned magic (forbidden for princes); 'L Tuola Turre is introduced pre-chapter 17ish; Batar is introduced via murder.

Have a deleted first draft scene for getting through that paragraph!

WC: 547

Original location and context: chapter nine, just after Kiris arrives in Tesendi, but before the official start of the Turre's Competition. Aris and the guards have been trying to get an uncooperative Kiris ready for his first appearance as prince of Strauv, to little success.

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @whimsyqueen @shrunkupthejams @cactusmotif @on-noon @houndsofcorduff

(first speaker is Aris)

“I meant no disrespect.”

Kiris’ throat felt too sticky to do anything, and he shrugged, clenching his hands over his arms despite all the layers of fabric.

“You must understand, my prince, that you are as I have said. What you are only seeing now, we have seen in you since Prince Nelovskevouk’s recoronation. You are—and will continue to be—a credit to Strauv.” All the words were there, all of them in the right place, but when Kiris finally dragged his eyes from the curtains Aris’ gaze was focused on how tight Kiris had crossed his arms. “My prince,” he continued, slowly, “is there something else I should know about?”

“I tried to escape the night of the bandits,” Kiris said, flippantly. He had to distract him. He scoffed, and it felt forced and painful. “If Nelovskevouk hadn’t been there I would have.”

A twitch in Aris’ brow. “I know.”

Kiris nodded, but his hands were clammy. He withdrew them and curled them into fists, because he didn’t want to stain the fabric in fear. “I’ll try again.”

“I know.”

He huffed. “Then why bother?”

Aris’ eyes were soft green, rimmed in brown, his brow weary with time. Salt peppered his hair, not streaking it grey, but still showing the threads of the years he had seen. His skin was Novgor pale but sun-weathered, and a permanent tan-line from his helmet striped his nose. How long, Kiris wondered, has he been in Martarez’s service?

“Just as Prince Nazvili is my prince, so, too, are you. It is my job to keep you safe. Where you go—wherever it may be—I follow. No matter the circumstance. Do you understand?”

Kiris smiled. “I understand.” It wasn’t kind, and he didn’t pretend it was. Here was his captor, the keys to freedom secured to his belt. “I have a duty to Strauv,” he said, stepping away from the window. “I have worth. It’s your job to see that I remain useful.”

“If that is how you choose to understand it, my prince.”

“There is no ‘choice,’” Kiris snapped. “It’s how it is. If I can’t be of service to someone, somehow, then I’m selfish. Worthless. And I’ve been damned too long for a good person like you to allow it to continue.”

No one had a good response when he proclaimed it for what it was. He was the Prophet; what he saw was truth. That’s all he was good for.

Aris pushed himself to his feet as if it hurt him to do so even though he was spry as any of the other guards. “My prince,” he said, carefully and tightly, and somehow so, so worn, “I fear you will be late to dinner if we delay any longer.”

Just another captor in a long line of captors. Kiris didn’t bother fixing his expression before stepping from behind the partition into the rest of his sleeping quarters. The tunic was his Temple robe; the circlet his shackles, burning into his arms from being tightened too much, again, just a little too far, each day, a quarter turn more until he repented. Until he became useful.

What more could dinner hold, that forced Prophecy hadn’t already made him face?

At least he would have worth again.

[nileqt87]

How I’d write a Buffy/Angel spinoff!

I still say the best spinoff they could possibly ever make would be all the Chosen Slayers getting deactivated, then Buffy and a Shanshu'd Angel (IMO, this plot really would only work with Angel, because it actually matches his story arc, not Spike's, to want a human life and fatherhood) have a daughter who grows up not knowing the truth about her parents (and half-brother!) until it's forced to come out.

I would particularly note that the first thing that happens to newly-called Slayers is their prophetic dreams. If ever there was a way to start breaking secrets to this new heroine that also serves as flashback exposition featuring the old shows, this seems custom-built for it. It’s exposition for the audience that never saw the old shows as well as an introduction to a key Slayer ability, but most importantly, it’s personal family revelations that go far deeper than historical flashbacks of unrelated persons or monsters that mean nothing personal. These would be scandalous secrets for a baby Slayer, given Buffy was the rule-breaking Slayer who is most famous for having romantic relationships with the very creatures she’s supposed to slay. Angelus would be the worst family secret of all! This story has all the makings of an existential crisis before acceptance. That would also be a good place to drop in Connor’s history. Buffy never actually got to react to that bombshell either, so that would be an interesting drama with her, as well. Buffy and Angel both tended to feature heavily in prophetic dreams, so it also just feels right to continue that.

If there's some reason why David Boreanaz (who, let's face it, is really not getting younger and SEAL Team can't go on forever) can't or is unwilling to appear, one could have an explanation that Wolfram & Hart has had him trapped in a holding dimension for years as punishment.

You could even build an arc around that with Buffy or the daughter trying to find him. Basically, a kind way of explaining Angel's absence if necessary and Buffy unfortunately having to mirror her single mother (which was a fear of hers), despite it being no fault of Angel's. It would be yet more cruelty for him to miss out on yet another child growing up, which would be a dramatic plot point itself. It could actually become a story where he does matter quite a lot, despite initial absence or mystery.

An even bigger shock than mom having Slayer superpowers and a world full of supernatural forces would be a reveal that dad is a 394+-year-old (depends on if you count hell--in a modern-day spinoff, Angel is rapidly approaching 400 years!) ex-vampire.

The most interesting and fitting story you could ever do with a maturing Buffy would be having her be a mother and trying to have a normal life.

This would also give Sarah Michelle Gellar a starring role that allows her to be age-appropriate, yet also having a younger generation that the original audience can still care about because she isn't completely divorced from the two previous shows in the way that an unrelated Slayer spinoff would be. It allows the core storylines of *both* shows to truly matter, far more than a Buffy Steele-Gunn offspring would.

---

Just a a few notes about my pitch for a continuation that works with the real ages of actors and their availability... I should also note that Xander (played by Nick, anyway--Kelly might work for a flashback) is a character who could never appear in live-action again, so maybe he could be used as another event that contributed to Buffy's retirement besides pregnancy.

If the Shanshu and conception were directly post-NFA, any offspring would be 16 years old right now. IMO, if there were any plans to give SMG a series with her in a major supporting role, this just means that the space for how long between NFA and the Shanshu or how long Bangel got to be with each other widens for however many years it would take to revive the franchise.

I strongly believe that the best option for the franchise would be a back-to-the-suburbs story exploring age-appropriate Buffy facing motherhood, rather than trying to turn Buffy into a war general surrounded by nothing but subordinates (horribly alienating future for her) with a lack of equals or a grounded setting à la the season 8 comics. If you want to introduce the Buffyverse to a new audience whom you can't expect to watch 24-year-old shows until they're interested enough by the revival, you're going to have to ground characters in a relatable reality.

As for how a new Slayer would be called after deactivation, I firmly believe the line is through Faith now anyway, so it would just take her dying for a minute à la Prophecy Girl for a new Slayer to be called. I would definitely want Faith in the show!

--- Facebook discussion

I feel like SMG's concern was less wanting to reprise the role entirely, but more concern that she'd be expected to play the same exact role in her 40s. This is giving her a role that fits a woman (and a mother in real life) who is in her 40s and is a major supporting role rather than he young lead whose story is being centered on.

As for the Angel situation, SMG might actually be more willing to return if she could beg DB to come back for perhaps an initially-limited role and the scenario is one I believe she'd actually support, as it fits with her preferences!

While it might seem that Buffy as a single mother retreads the original, Angel is obviously nothing like the Hank situation (not to mention Joyce and Hank being completely clueless), so the circumstances of the father would be quite different from Buffy's own situation, while also feeding into her own stated fears about her future.

This also brings up all the conversations in Bad Eggs, The Prom and the Chosen cookie dough analogy (children are mentioned again) to the forefront. Unlike with the other options, it was something that came up repeatedly. Admittedly, it was always by Angel due to his infertility and the human life he most desired; all of which ended up being an important part of *his* story.

However, a part of Bad Eggs that is woefully underrated is that Buffy was disappointed when Angel told her vampires can't have children. She immediately covers it up with a babble speech and then starts making excuses for why Slayers are unlikely to have that kind of future. Young Buffy did not disregard it because she didn't want children ever at all, but because the person whom she saw that future with was someone who couldn't have them.

Enter Nikki Wood, where Buffy learns that at least one Slayer was definitely a mother, which she was clearly surprised by.

That's another reason why I can see Buffy, if she got her hopes up with post-Shanshu Angel and conceived, would do anything to be a good mom by not being all about "the mission". She would never want her child to be raised without parents. And I think she'd be doubly sensitive to that, not just because of Nikki, but because of Hank leaving and Joyce dying.

Buffy also became surrogate mother to Dawn, who was made out of her (in a sense, she is her real mother), so Angel's situation with Connor actually had a direct mirror in Buffy's situation with Dawn.

But those conversations were also not just about wished-for children that couldn't be conceived, but also asking Buffy to think about what she wants for her future if she took out the belief that Slayers don't live long enough to have one.

This show would be the answer to what happens to a Slayer when she does live long enough to have the future she barely wanted to get her hopes up for before.

Buffy (ditto Angel) is the character for which this story actually has a ton of setup in the shows themselves. These characters talked about it! And the circumstances are really nothing like Joyce and Hank, even if the initial setup plays into both Buffy and Angel's worst nightmare scenarios about parenthood: being a single mother and not getting to raise the miracle child you thought you'd never have. That kind of bittersweet writing that shirks too-good-to-be-true wish-fulfillment is a cornerstone of what makes it a Buffyverse storyline. If the daughter's family lied to her about their history to keep her safe and protect her from knowing what goes bump in the night (making them the polar opposites of Hank and Joyce in regards to knowing all too well--especially Angel's experience of being the worst thing you could bump into at night, rather than utterly clueless), that would certainly be a conflict. Especially if she found out in a particularly shocking way (say, prophetic dreams). And if Angel (I'd like to imagine he has the company of ghost!Wesley and maybe Illyria and Spike) has been taken for punishment by Wolfram & Hart, it might really confuse her if she doesn't know that he didn't just leave or some other excuse Buffy covered it up with. Wolfram & Hart would also probably love the irony of Angel getting what he most desires (to be human and a father), only to punish him with it by wasting his remaining years separated from all that he loves.

[oberlincollegelibraries]

Weekend Edition: Novels With a Trans or Nonbinary Character(s)

March 31, 2021 marks the 12th annual International Transgender Day of Visibility, so why not pick up novel this weekend that features a trans or nonbinary character (or better yet — characters)? Below are a some titles available at OCL and through SearchOhio.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin Guin's groundbreaking work of science fiction--winner of the Hugo and Nebula Awards. A lone human ambassador is sent to the icebound planet of Winter, a world without sexual prejudice, where the inhabitants' gender is fluid. His goal is to facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the strange, intriguing culture he encounters... Embracing the aspects of psychology, society, and human emotion on an alien world, The Left Hand of Darkness stands as a landmark achievement in the annals of intellectual science fiction. Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl’s Confabulous Memoir by Kai Cheng Thom "Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl's Confabulous Memoir is a coming-of-age story about a young Asian trans girl, pathological liar, and kung-fu expert who runs away from her parents' abusive home in a rainy city called Gloom. Striking off on her own, she finds her true family in a group of larger-than-life trans femmes who make their home in a mysterious pleasure district known only as the Street of Miracles. Under the wings of this fierce and fabulous flock, she blossoms into the woman she has always dreamed of being, with a little help from the unscrupulous Doctor Crocodile. When one of their number is brutally murdered, our protagonist joins her sisters in forming a vigilante gang to fight back against the transphobes, violent johns, and cops that stalk the Street of Miracles. But when things go terribly wrong, she must find the truth within herself in order to stop the violence and discover what it really means to grow up and find your family."-- Provided by publisher

The House of Impossible Beauties by Joseph Cassara 1980, New York City. Burned by her traumatic past, Angel is new to the drag world, new to ball culture, and has a yearning inside of her to help create family for those without. When she falls in love with Hector, a beautiful young man who dreams of becoming a professional dancer, the two decide to form the House of Xtravaganza, the first-ever all-Latino house in the Harlem ball circuit. But when Hector dies of AIDS-related complications, Angel must tend to their house alone. She recruits Venus, a whip-fast trans girl who dreams of finding a rich man to take care of her; Juanito, a quiet boy who loves fabrics and design; and Daniel, a butch queen who accidentally saves Venus's life. The Xtravaganzas lean on each other as bulwarks against a world that resists them.

Confessions of the Fox: A Novel by Jordy Rosenberg "Set in the eighteenth century London underworld, this bawdy, genre-bending novel reimagines the life of thief and jailbreaker Jack Sheppard to tell a profound story about gender, love, and liberation. Recently jilted and increasingly unhinged, Dr. Voth throws himself into his work, obsessively researching the life of Jack Sheppard, a legendary eighteenth century thief. No one knows Jack's true story--his confessions have never been found. That is, until Dr. Voth discovers a mysterious stack of papers titled Confessions of the Fox. Dated 1724, the manuscript tells the story of an orphan named P. Sold into servitude at twelve, P struggles for years with her desire to live as "Jack." When P falls dizzyingly in love with Bess, a sex worker looking for freedom of her own, P begins to imagine a different life. Bess brings P into the London underworld where scamps and rogues clash with London's newly established police force, queer subcultures thrive, and ominous threats of an oncoming plague abound. At last, P becomes Jack Sheppard, one of the most notorious--and most wanted--thieves in history. An imaginative retelling of Brecht's Threepenny Opera, Confessions of the Fox blends high-spirited adventure, subversive history, and provocative wit to animate forgotten histories and the extraordinary characters hidden within"-- Provided by publisher

The Black Tides of Heaven by JY Yang The Black Tides of Heaven is one of a pair of unique, standalone introductions to JY Yang's Tensorate Series, which Kate Elliott calls "effortlessly fascinating." For more of the story you can read its twin novella The Red Threads of Fortune , available simultaneously. Mokoya and Akeha, the twin children of the Protector, were sold to the Grand Monastery as infants. While Mokoya developed her strange prophetic gift, Akeha was always the one who could see the strings that moved adults to action. While Mokoya received visions of what would be, Akeha realized what could be. What's more, they saw the sickness at the heart of their mother's Protectorate. A rebellion is growing. The Machinists discover new levers to move the world every day, while the Tensors fight to put them down and preserve the power of the state. Unwilling to continue as a pawn in their mother's twisted schemes, Akeha leaves the Tensorate behind and falls in with the rebels. But every step Akeha takes towards the Machinists is a step away from Mokoya. Can Akeha find peace without shattering the bond they share with their twin? Detransition, Baby: A Novel by Torrey Peters Reese had what previous generations of trans women could only dream of; the only thing missing was a child. Then her girlfriend, Amy, detransitioned and became Ames, and everything fell apart. Ames thought detransitioning to live as a man would make life easier, but that decision cost him his relationship with Reese, and losing her meant losing his only family. Then Ames's boss and lover, Katrina, reveals that she is pregnant with his baby-- and is not sure whether she wants to keep it. Ames wonders: Could the three of them form some kind of unconventional family, and raise the baby together? -- adapted from jacket

A Safe Girl to Love by Casey Plett Eleven unique short stories that stretch from a rural Canadian Mennonite town to a hipster gay bar in Brooklyn, featuring young trans women stumbling through loss, sex, harassment, and love. These stories, shiny with whiskey and prairie sunsets, rattling subways and neglected cats, show growing up as a trans girl can be charming, funny, frustrating, or sad, but never will it be predictable.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

10th October >> Mass Readings (USA)

  Saturday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time 

    or 

Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Saturday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

  (Liturgical Colour: Green)

      First Reading

Galatians 3:22-29

Through faith you are all children of God.

Brothers and sisters: Scripture confined all things under the power of sin, that through faith in Jesus Christ the promise might be given to those who believe.

Before faith came, we were held in custody under law, confined for the faith that was to be revealed. Consequently, the law was our disciplinarian for Christ, that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a disciplinarian. For through faith you are all children of God in Christ Jesus. For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s descendants, heirs according to the promise.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

   Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 105:2-3, 4-5, 6-7

 R/ The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

or

R/ Alleluia.

Sing to him, sing his praise,

 proclaim all his wondrous deeds.

Glory in his holy name;

 rejoice, O hearts that seek the Lord!

R/ The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

or

R/ Alleluia.

Look to the  Lord in his strength;

 seek to serve him constantly.

Recall the wondrous deeds that he has wrought,

 his portents, and the judgments he has uttered.

R/ The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

or

R/ Alleluia.

You descendants of Abraham, his servants,

 sons of Jacob, his chosen ones!

He, the  Lord, is our God;

 throughout the earth his judgments prevail.

R/ The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

or

R/ Alleluia.

    Gospel Acclamation

Luke 11:28

Alleluia, alleluia.

Blessed are those who hear the word of God

and observe it.

Alleluia, alleluia.

    Gospel

Luke 11:27-28

Blessed is the womb that carried you. Rather, blessed are those who hear the word of God and observe it.

While Jesus was speaking, a woman from the crowd called out and said to him, “Blessed is the womb that carried you and the breasts at which you nursed.” He replied, “Rather, blessed are those who hear the word of God and observe it.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

—————————-

     Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary 

   Liturgical Colour: White.

     (Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Saturday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

       First Reading

Genesis 3:9-15, 20

I will put enmity between your offspring and the offspring of the woman.

After the man, Adam, had eaten of the tree, the Lord God called to the man and asked him, “Where are you?” He answered, “I heard you in the garden; but I was afraid, because I was naked, so I hid myself.” Then he asked, “Who told you that you were naked? You have eaten, then, from the tree of which I had forbidden you to eat!” The man replied, “The woman whom you put here with me– she gave me fruit from the tree, and so I ate it.” The Lord God then asked the woman, “Why did you do such a thing?” The woman answered, “The serpent tricked me into it, so I ate it.”

Then the Lord God said to the serpent:

“Because you have done this, you shall be banned

 from all the animals

 and from all the wild creatures;

On your belly shall you crawl,

 and dirt shall you eat

 all the days of your life.

I will put enmity between you and the woman,

 and between your offspring and hers;

He will strike at your head,

 while you strike at his heel.”

The man called his wife Eve, because she became the mother of all the living.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

      Responsorial Psalm

1 Samuel 2:1, 4-5, 6-7, 8abcd

 R/ My heart exults in the Lord, my Savior.

“My heart exults in the Lord,

 my horn is exalted in my God.

I have swallowed up my enemies;

 I rejoice in my victory.”

R/ My heart exults in the Lord, my Savior.

“The bows of the mighty are broken,

 while the tottering gird on strength.

The well-fed hire themselves out for bread,

 while the hungry batten on spoil.

The barren wife bears seven sons,

 while the mother of many languishes.”

R/ My heart exults in the Lord, my Savior.

“The Lord puts to death and gives life;

 he casts down to the nether world;

 he raises up again.

The Lord makes poor and makes rich,

 he humbles, he also exalts.”

R/ My heart exults in the Lord, my Savior.

“He raises the needy from the dust;

 from the dung heap he lifts up the poor,

To seat them with nobles

 and make a glorious throne their heritage.”

R/ My heart exults in the Lord, my Savior.

    Gospel Acclamation

cf. Luke 1:28

Alleluia, alleluia.

Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you;

blessed are you among women.

Alleluia, alleluia.

  Or:

see Luke 1:45

Alleluia, alleluia.

Blessed are you, O Virgin Mary, who believed 

that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.

Alleluia, alleluia.

  Or:

see Luke 2:19

Alleluia, alleluia.

Blessed is the Virgin Mary who kept the word of God

and pondered it in her heart.

Alleluia, alleluia.

  Or:

Luke 11:28

Alleluia, alleluia.

Blessed are those who hear the word of God

and observe it.

Alleluia, alleluia.

  Or:

Alleluia, alleluia.

Blessed are you, holy Virgin Mary, deserving of all praise;

from you rose the sun of justice, Christ our God.

Alleluia, alleluia.

  Or:

Alleluia, alleluia.

Blessed are you, O Virgin Mary;

without dying you won the martyr’s crown

beneath the Cross of the Lord.

Alleluia, alleluia.

                                 EITHER: 

    Gospel

Matthew 1:1-16, 18-23

For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her.

The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.

Abraham became the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers. Judah became the father of Perez and Zerah, whose mother was Tamar. Perez became the father of Hezron, Hezron the father of Ram, Ram the father of Amminadab. Amminadab became the father of Nahshon, Nahshon the father of Salmon, Salmon the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab. Boaz became the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth. Obed became the father of Jesse, Jesse the father of David the king.

David became the father of Solomon, whose mother had been the wife of Uriah. Solomon became the father of Rehoboam, Rehoboam the father of Abijah, Abijah the father of Asaph. Asaph became the father of Jehoshaphat, Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, Joram the father of Uzziah. Uzziah became the father of Jotham, Jotham the father of Ahaz, Ahaz the father of Hezekiah. Hezekiah became the father of Manasseh, Manasseh the father of Amos, Amos the father of Josiah. Josiah became the father of Jechoniah and his brothers at the time of the Babylonian exile.

After the Babylonian exile, Jechoniah became the father of Shealtiel, Shealtiel the father of Zerubbabel, Zerubbabel the father of Abiud. Abiud became the father of Eliakim, Eliakim the father of Azor, Azor the father of Zadok. Zadok became the father of Achim, Achim the father of Eliud, Eliud the father of Eleazar. Eleazar became the father of Matthan, Matthan the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary. Of her was born Jesus who is called the Christ.

Now this is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention when, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:

Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son,

 and they shall name him Emmanuel,

which means “God is with us.”

    OR: 

    Gospel

Matthew 1:18-23

For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her.

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention when, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:

Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son,

 and they shall name him Emmanuel,

which means “God is with us.”

    OR: 

    Gospel

Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

Take the child and his mother and flee to Egypt.

When the magi had departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Rise, take the child and his mother, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you. Herod is going to search for the child to destroy him.” Joseph rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed for Egypt. He stayed there until the death of Herod, that what the Lord had said through the prophet might be fulfilled, Out of Egypt I called my son.

When Herod had died, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, “Rise, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who sought the child’s life are dead.” He rose, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go back there. And because he had been warned in a dream, he departed for the region of Galilee. He went and dwelt in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, He shall be called a Nazorean.

    OR: 

    Gospel

Matthew 12:46-50

Stretching out his hand toward his disciples, he said, here are my mother and my brothers.

While Jesus was speaking to the crowds, his mother and his brothers appeared outside, wishing to speak with him. Someone told him, “Your mother and your brothers are standing outside, asking to speak with you.” But he said in reply to the one who told him, “Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?” And stretching out his hand toward his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother.”

    OR: 

    Gospel

Luke 1:26-38

Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son.

The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.” But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his Kingdom there will be no end.” But Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” And the angel said to her in reply, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.” Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

    OR: 

    Gospel

Luke 1:39-47

Blessed is she who believed.

Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste to a town of Judah, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the infant leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, cried out in a loud voice and said, “Most blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And how does this happen to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the infant in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.”

And Mary said:

“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;

 my spirit rejoices in God my savior.”

    OR: 

    Gospel

Luke 2:1-14

She gave birth to her firstborn son.

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town. And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying:

“Glory to God in the highest

and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

    OR: 

    Gospel

Luke 2:15b-19

Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.

The shepherds said to one another, “Let us go, then, to Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went in haste and found Mary and Joseph and the infant lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known the message that had been told them about this child. All who heard it were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds. And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.

    OR: 

    Gospel

Luke 2:27-35

You yourself a sword will pierce.

Simeon came in the Spirit into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus to perform the custom of the law in regard to him, he took him into his arms and blessed God, saying:

“Lord, now let your servant go in peace;

 your word has been fulfilled;

my own eyes have seen the salvation

 which you prepared in the sight of every people:

a light to reveal you to the nations

 and the glory of your people Israel.”

The child’s father and mother were amazed at what was said about him; and Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother, “Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted and you yourself a sword will pierce so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

    OR: 

    Gospel

Luke 2:41-52

Your father and I have been looking for you.

Each year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the feast of Passover, and when he was twelve years old, they went up according to festival custom. After they had completed its days, as they were returning, the boy Jesus remained behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Thinking that he was in the caravan, they journeyed for a day and looked for him among their relatives and acquaintances, but not finding him, they returned to Jerusalem to look for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions, and all who heard him were astounded at his understanding and his answers. When his parents saw him, they were astonished, and his mother said to him, “Son, why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been looking for you with great anxiety.” And he said to them, “Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” But they did not understand what he said to them. He went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them; and his mother kept all these things in her heart. And Jesus advanced in wisdom and age and favor before God and man.

    OR: 

    Gospel

Luke 11:27-28

Blessed is the womb that carried you.

While Jesus was speaking, a woman from the crowd called out and said to him, “Blessed is the womb that carried you and the breasts at which you nursed.” He replied, “Rather, blessed are those who hear the word of God and observe it.”

    OR: 

    Gospel

John 2:1-11

The mother of Jesus was there.

There was a wedding in Cana at Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding. When the wine ran short, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servers, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now there were six stone water jars there for Jewish ceremonial washings, each holding twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus told them, “Fill the jars with water.” So they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, “Draw some out now and take it to the headwaiter.” So they took it. And when the headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine, without knowing where it came from although the servers who had drawn the water knew, the headwaiter called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this as the beginning of his signs in Cana in Galilee and so revealed his glory, and his disciples began to believe in him.

    OR: 

    Gospel

John 19:25-27

Behold, your son. Behold, your mother.

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[elysiianisms]

         ❝             ----- the life of cassius octavius was not so well - documented as his written prophecies were, the existence of the prophet only known to those who knew him. before he was elysia's nostradamus, he was a vampire, though not turned of his own will. born the son of a wealthy senator in the city of pompeii in the heart of the massive roman empire, he was skilled in languages by a young age, provided with a philosophers education. on a fateful night, early in his human adulthood, an unknown vampire met his path and turned him into a vampire --- perhaps taking pleasure in the way he awoke confused and overwhelmed, having felt his human life ebb out of his fingertips, only to awaken as a new being, alone. the well - known rule that forbade unwilling participants from being forcibly turned against their wills was not implemented yet. wracked with a painful thirst, stronger than anything he had ever felt before, cassius stumbled through the city cloaked in nightfall --- happening upon another young vampire and his sire. that young vampire was antony, who later held a seat on the council of elders into the beginning of the 20th century. perhaps his sire took pity on him, and knowing what kind of trouble newborns without a watchful sire could be, agreed to raise cassius alongside antony as if they were brothers through their father's blood.

                        the two brothers became as close as brothers could be, learning from each other through the decades. however, on the day of october 24th, 79 AD, the roman city was rocked by the eruption of mount vesuvius. hundreds of thousands of pounds of ash and rock exploded into the sky, blanketing everything in an artificial night as blasts of fire rained down on the city. many humans and vampires alike perished ; among them, antony and cassius’s father. he had protected his fledglings by helping them get to the harbor and on a boat headed for safety, but he did not return after rushing back to the city to help other vampires. with the destroyed city and the lava that flowed so freely from the mountain tops slowly fading as the boat rushed to leave the harbor, the two younglings were lost without their teacher and father. only the bond of brothers kept them together through the following centuries.

                        it was within those centuries that cassius began having prophetic visions and he spent many weeks at a time locked away, scribbling everything he saw on papyrus scrolls. the vague premonitions foretold of a vampire that would be born, not created. a savior for elysia. this would become what would be known to be the pravus prophecy. his study in the mediterranean villa contained dozens of cabinets, all with glyphs burned into the wood to protect the hundreds of books and scrolls, all written in elysian code so that no human may stumble upon them. it is said that in between his writings, he welcomed only one son into elysia, perhaps the trauma of his own birth weighing heavily on his mind. it was during a journey to the north, to the scattered viking provicines, where he consensually created a young man known only by an anglo - saxan name, kensley. the two returned south after a few years, back to the villa owned by the two older roman vampires. as is custom in training fledglings, antony and cassius both swore to teach each others’ children. antony’s daughter, a vampire only known by the name of em — a figure who occupies the highest seat of vampiric authority to this day — was taught under cassius’s guiding patience. the two empathized with one another, becoming very akin to an uncle and a niece.

                        cassius continued writing prophecies up until his untimely death in the middle of the 8th century. an earthquake rocked the mediterranean, causing the villa to sway and violently crumble — cassius had been in his study, perhaps writing one last piece of the prophecy, when he was buried by the rubble. em, desperate and frantic to save her teacher, was small enough to crawl under fallen pillars, eventually reaching where cassius had been pinned and crushed. only his upper torso was visible ; his lower extremities having been crushed beyond even the healing abilities of a vampire. even a large chunk of rock had impaled him through the chest, ensuring that he would not be leaving alive. unable to verbally speak, cassius and em spoke telepathically in his final moments — even dying, he filled her head with all of their memories together and spoke of how proud he was of her. with his last breath, he promised her future would be full of many more people that would love her and cherish her. the telepathic connection was not broken until after cassius’s passing, but it was rumored he died with a smile upon his face.

                         many vampires attended the pyre ceremony of a vampire as profound and beloved as cassius octavius. while his body returned to ash, his writings were locked away by antony, never to be seen again.

                         one vampire who occupies a seat on the council of elders can trace his vampiric lineage directly to cassius through his only son, kensley. vikas was created three hundred years after the death of his grandfather, but many of those who knew cassius could tell that his descendant would have a very similar personality. as for the writings of the first prophet of the pravus, they may have been forgotten to history, never to resurface again.     ❞

[dfroza]

this world will be made pure.

it will be reborn by our Creator’s Love (Light) to right every wrong ever done.

and so we wait for this True Kingdom, of which is here, & now (Spirit) but also contained in promises to come, that will be…

and we have become caretakers of garden earth and of the physical body, each being temporal and imperfect, subject to aging. but even death will be a thing of the past at some point.

and so we share this sacred truth of the Scriptures to inspire with hope, because we are nothing without it.

we need faith. we need hope. we need Love.

we need the True illumination of the Son.

(eternal life is not possible apart from Him)

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 3rd and closing chapter of the Letter of 2nd Thessalonians:

Brothers and sisters, having shared all this, let me ask you to pray for us. Pray that this message of the Lord will spread quickly and receive the praise and respect it deserves from others as it has with you. Pray also that we would all be rescued from the snares of harmful, wicked people—after all, not all people are believing. Still, the Lord is true to His promises; He will hold you up and guard you against the evil one. We do not doubt the Lord’s intentions for you; we are confident that you are carrying out, and will continue to carry out, the commands we are sending your way. May the Lord guide your hearts into God’s pure love and keep you headed straight into the strong and sure grip of the Anointed One.

For the sake of the church, brothers and sisters, we insist in the name of our Lord Jesus the Anointed that you withdraw from any brother or sister who is out of order and unwilling to work, who is straying from the line of teaching we passed on to all of you. You know how essential it is to imitate us in the way we live life. We were never undisciplined nor did we take charity from anyone while we were with you. Instead, you saw how we worked very hard day and night so we wouldn’t be a burden to even one person in the community. We had the right to depend on your help and hospitality, as you know; but we wanted to give you a model you could follow, to lay a path of footprints for you to walk in. This is exactly why, while with you, we commanded you: “Anyone not willing to work shouldn’t get to eat!” You see, we are hearing that some folks in the community are out of step with our teaching; they are idle, not working, but really busy doing nothing—and yet still expect to be fed! If this is you or someone else in the community, we insist and urge you in the Lord Jesus the Anointed that you go to work quietly, earn your keep, put food on your own table, and supply your own necessities. And to the rest of you, brothers and sisters, never grow tired of doing good.

If someone disregards the instructions of this letter, make a note of who it is and don’t have anything to do with that person so that this one may be shamed. Don’t consider someone like this an enemy (he is an enemy only to himself) but warn him as if you were redirecting your own brother.

Work is part of the ongoing work of creation, an aspect of God’s image in us. Those who do not work will be unfulfilled and a burden to those around them.

And now, dear friends, may the Lord of peace Himself grace you with peace always and in everything. May the Lord be present with all of you.

This final greeting is by me, Paul, written by my own hand. This is my signature, letting you know that this is a genuine letter from me, and so I write to you:

May the grace of our Lord Jesus the Anointed be with all of you.

The Letter of 2nd Thessalonians, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 26th chapter of the book of Jeremiah where Jeremiah was wrongfully accused and some people wanted him sentenced to death:

The word of the Eternal came to Jeremiah not long after Jehoiakim (son of Josiah) began his reign as king of Judah.

Eternal One: Stand in the court of My temple, and speak to the crowds who have come to worship from all the towns of Judah. Give them all of My words, Jeremiah; don’t leave out a single one. Maybe they will listen this time, and each one of them will stop the evil actions and return to My path. Then I, too, will stop the impending disaster I have planned for them because of all the evil things they do. Tell them what the Eternal says: “If you will not listen to Me or obey My law that I have already given you, and if you will not listen to what My servants the prophets have to say even after I’ve sent them to you again and again, then I will deal with this temple as I did Shiloh. But this time I will also make this very city a curse for all the nations of the earth.”

The priests and the so-called prophets and the crowds heard the message Jeremiah delivered in the temple of the Eternal. As soon as Jeremiah finished saying all the Eternal directed him to say, the priests, the prophets, and those who stopped to listen grabbed him and began to shout.

Temple Audience: You deserve to die! Why have you uttered such prophecies in the name of the Eternal declaring that this temple will be destroyed like Shiloh and Jerusalem will be empty and lifeless?

At this point, a large mob of people gathered around Jeremiah in the Eternal’s temple.

When some officials of Judah heard what was happening, they left the palace and hurried to take their seats at the entryway of the new gate leading to the Eternal’s temple. The priests and so-called prophets brought charges against Jeremiah to these officials as the crowd looked on.

Priests and Prophets: This man should be sentenced to death! You heard with your own ears how he prophesied against our city.

Jeremiah (to the officials and the crowd): The Eternal sent me to prophesy against the temple and this city—every word you heard came from Him. If you stop your evil actions and obey the Eternal your God, then He will stop the impending disaster He has planned for you. As for me, my fate is in your hands. Do with me what you think is right and fair. But know this: if you execute me, innocent blood will be on your hands and on this city and on all who live here, because the Eternal truly did send me to speak each and every word you heard.

Officials and the Crowd (to the priests and prophets): This man should not be sentenced to death because he has spoken to us in the name of the Eternal our God.

At this point, some of the elders, who were leaders of other communities, stood and supported the verdict, speaking to the entire crowd.

Elders: Remember the prophet Micah of Moresheth in the days of King Hezekiah of Judah. It was he who said to the people of Judah, “This is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, has to say:

Zion will be plowed under like a field,

Jerusalem will be left in ruins,

And the hill on which the temple stands

will be overgrown like a forest.”

As difficult as those words were to hear, did King Hezekiah or anyone else in Judah demand Micah’s death? No, he humbly worshiped the Eternal and asked for mercy, and what happened then? The Eternal stopped the impending disaster he had planned for them and turned back the Assyrian army. Now it is our turn to listen to the prophet of God, but instead, we are about to bring this terrible disaster upon ourselves by ignoring Him again!

Uriah (son of Shemaiah) from Kiriath-jearim had prophesied in the name of the Eternal with essentially the same message as Jeremiah against this city and nation. When King Jehoiakim, his soldiers, and his officials heard what Uriah had been saying, they decided to kill him. When Uriah became aware of these plans, he was afraid and escaped to Egypt. Then King Jehoiakim sent Elnathan (son of Achbor) to Egypt along with others to bring Uriah back. Once they found him, they brought him back from Egypt and took him to King Jehoiakim, who had him executed by a sword and then buried in a commoner’s grave.

Ahikam (son of Shaphan) used his influence to help Jeremiah. As a result, the prophet was not handed over to the people to be put to death.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 26 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, September 8 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the Divine Word:

Both the Torah of Moses and the New Testament attest that Yeshua is Elohim (אֱלהִים) -- the Creator of the cosmos: בְּרֵאשִׁית הָיָה הַדָּבָר / "in the beginning was the Word" (John 1:1,14). The Divine Word and Voice cannot be separated from God any more than the Spirit of God can be separated. Yeshua is the Source of all life in the universe: כָּל־הַמַּעֲשִׂים נִהְיוּ עַל־יָדוֹ / "All things were made by Him (John 1:3). The "Word made flesh" is the "image of the invisible God" and the "radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint (χαρακτήρ, 'character') of his nature" (Col. 1:15). All of creation is being constantly upheld by the word of His power (Heb. 1:3): "All things were created by Him (i.e., Yeshua), and for Him" and in Him all things consist (συνεστηκεν, lit. "stick together") (Col. 1:16-17). As our Creator and Master of the Universe, Yeshua is both our King and our Judge, and therefore Rosh Hashanah (i.e., Yom Teruah) rightly centers on Him...

But in addition to God’s power and sovereignty as our Creator, we note that the Scriptures begin and end with the redemptive love of God. Yeshua is the Center of Creation - its beginning and end. As it is written: אָנכִי אָלֶף וְתָו רִאשׁוֹן וְאַחֲרוֹן ראשׁ וָסוֹף / "I am the 'A' and the 'Z,' the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End" (Rev. 22:13). Indeed, Yeshua is מֶלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים / Melech Malchei Hamelachim: The "King of kings of kings." He is LORD of all possible worlds -- from the highest of celestial glories to the very dust of death upon a cross... יְהִי שֵׁם יהוה מְברָךְ / yehi shem Adonai mevorakh: "Let the Name of the LORD be praised" forever and ever (Psalm 113:2).

The central point of all true Torah, then, is the redemptive love of God demonstrated in the "first and last" principle of sacrificial life. This was prefigured in the original paradise when Adam and Eve were clothed by the lamb sacrificed for their transgression (Gen. 3:21), and the theme continues throughout the Torah, for example, in the account of the sacrifice of Isaac (we blow the shofar on Rosh Hashanah to recall the Lamb of God given in his place), in the visions of Jacob, in the commissioning of Moses, in the redemption from death by the blood of the sacrificed lamb in Egypt, and by the climactic revelation of the altar given at Sinai (i.e., the Tabernacle). Just as the "korban tamid" of the Temple (i.e., the continual sacrifice of the lamb upon the altar) recalled the original Passover and foretold of the Lamb of God to come, so Yeshua, the “Living Torah,” embodied the Sacrificial Life itself, the true Lamb of God that was offered upon the stigma of the cross, to demonstrate God's infinite condescension, mercy and love that redeems the world from sin and death. Just as there is no Passover apart from the Lamb, so there is no "Rosh Hashanah" or "Yom Kippur" apart from God's atoning love given in the Messiah... Now THAT is something for us to make a "teruah," or a "joyful noise" in praise to our God! [Hebrew for Christians]

9.6.21 • Facebook

and another about having a sound mind:

It is written in our Scriptures (2 Tim. 1:7) that "God has not given us the spirit of fear (πνεῦμα δειλίας), but of power, and love, and a sound mind" (note that the term "sound mind" comes from the word saos (σάος) "safe," or under the protective restraining influence of the Spirit of God). Understand the connection between fear and confusion, then, and note further the connection between having a sound mind and a heart of peace and courage (Isa. 32:17)... A fearful or shameful attitude, then, enervates your resolve, quells your love, and introduces pain to your thinking. It is the old ruse of the enemy of our souls to lead us to despair, the exile of shame, and cruel bondage to untruth. As always the answer is the same: namely, teshuvah, turning to God and embracing the grace and love given in Yeshua as our deepest reality, our power, our heart, and our mind. [Hebrew for Christians]

9.7.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

September 8, 2021

The Righteous Judge

“That be far from thee to do after this manner, to slay the righteous with the wicked: and that the righteous should be as the wicked, that be far from thee: Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” (Genesis 18:25)

People often make erroneous judgments. Even those who are officially appointed or elected to judge others are sometimes mistaken, and so we have a whole system of appeals courts. Yet even the Supreme Court, composed as it is of fallible human beings, often seems to be wrong. But as Abraham recognized long ago while interceding for the people in Sodom, we can be confident that the Judge of all the earth will do right!

He not only can judge our actions in relation to His revealed will but can also discern thoughts and motives and, therefore, “judge the secrets of men” (Romans 2:16), and He will do so in absolute rightness. Furthermore, “he will judge the world in righteousness by that man whom he hath ordained; whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead” (Acts 17:31). “The Father judgeth no man, but hath committed all judgment unto the Son:...and my judgment is just,” asserted the Lord Jesus (John 5:22, 30). To those who reject or ignore His redeeming love, relying instead on their own worth, “there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins, but a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall devour the adversaries” (Hebrews 10:26-27).

To those who have been redeemed through saving faith in Christ, there will, indeed, be a Judgment Day, but it will be for dispensing of rewards for faithful service rather than for salvation, and this also will be done righteously. “Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day” (2 Timothy 4:8). HMM

[authorgraves]

James Russell Lowell

(Feb. 22nd 1819 - Aug. 12th 1891)

Brief Bio:

Lowell was born on an estate in Cambridge, and raised in a literary household.  He attended Harvard at age 15, where he seldom attended class, though he showed talent for poetry.  On a visit to Concord, he became acquainted with the Transcendentalists.  After passing the bar, he married and turned his pen toward the abolitionist movement, believing that a poet's job was to be a prophet and critic of society.  He even predicted the Civil War.  He published numerous collections of poetry that brought him critical acclaim, becoming a professor of languages at Harvard, and eventually editor of The Atlantic Monthly.  A frequent traveler to Europe, he was appointed an ambassador to Spain in 1877.  Lowell was prone to depression, and after losing two wives and three children, his health fell into a steep decline.  He lived out his last years on the same estate he'd lived in all his life.

Notable Works:

A Fable for Critics (1848)  

The Biglow Papers (1848)  

Under the Willows (1869)

The Grave:

Lowell is buried in Mt. Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, MA.  Maps are available at the front office, and his grave is very easy to find.  Follow Fountain Ave. and he will be on the right at the foot of a steep hill.  He is buried beside his first wife, Maria White Lowell, who was also a poet.  

Mt. Auburn Cemetery

580 Mt. Auburn St.

Cambridge, MA 02138

Surrounding Area:

Mt. Auburn Cemetery is a sprawling, picturesque place.  On a sunny day, it's a nice place to bring a date for a leisurely stroll.  Lowell's closest neighbors are Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, who was his friend and neighbor in life.  A popular destination for tourists is Washington Tower, from which one can see the entire cemetery.  Across Coolidge Avenue to the east is Cambridge Cemetery.  Those looking for lunch can walk half a mile down Mt. Auburn Street, past the hospital, towards Harvard.  Lowell's estate of Elmwood still stands in Cambridge.  At one time he rented it to Thomas Bailey Aldrich, and Longfellow wrote a poem about it.  It is currently owned by Harvard University, and has served as the private residence of its president since 1971.  It borders Lowell Park.

Further Reading:

Mt. Auburn Cemetery website  

Mt. Auburn Cemetery TripAdvisor  

James Russell Lowell Project Gutenberg

"Life is the jailer, death the angel sent to draw the unwilling bolts and set us free."

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

22nd December >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Matthew 1:18-24 for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Cycle A: ‘She has conceived what is in her by the Holy Spirit’.

Fourth Sunday of Advent, Cycle A

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Matthew 1:18-24

How Jesus Christ came to be born

This is how Jesus Christ came to be born. His mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph; but before they came to live together she was found to be with child through the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph; being a man of honour and wanting to spare her publicity, decided to divorce her informally. He had made up his mind to do this when the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because she has conceived what is in her by the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son and you must name him Jesus, because he is the one who is to save his people from their sins.’ Now all this took place to fulfil the words spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son

and they will call him Emmanuel,

a name which means ‘God-is-with-us.’ When Joseph woke up he did what the angel of the Lord had told him to do: he took his wife to his home.

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 1:18–24

Jesus will be born of Mary, the betrothed of Joseph, a son of David.

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention when, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:

Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,

and they shall name him Emmanuel,

which means “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home.

Reflections (5)

(i) Fourth Sunday of Advent

We are only three days away from Christmas day. The Christmas rush is in full swing. Some people have come home or are on the way home from abroad for Christmas. One of the good Christmas traditions is the gathering of family around the table on Christmas day and in the days afterwards. My sister has travelled home from California for Christmas. Christmas is a time when we try to be with each other, as family and as friends. As a result, we tend to be more conscious at this time of year of those who may not have anyone to be with on Christmas day. Many people make a special effort to ensure that those who might otherwise spend Christmas alone are included in some kind of Christmas gathering with others. That instinct we have at this time of year to be with each other and to ensure that people living alone have company is very true to the deeper meaning of this Christmas season. At Christmas we are celebrating God’s desire to be with us; we are celebrating the birth of Jesus whose other name, according to today’s gospel reading, was Emmanuel, which means God-is-with-us.

Christmas is the feast of God’s presence among us. God became flesh in the person of his Son, Jesus, who was also the son of Mary and Joseph. Today’s gospel reading is the story of the birth of Jesus, according to Matthew. It is a little less familiar to us than the story of the birth of Jesus as we find it in Luke’s gospel and which we read on Christmas night. It is Mary who brings about God’s real presence in the world, Jesus’ presence as God-with-us. She, more than any other human being, can say of Jesus, ‘this is my body, this is my blood’. Through Mary, God became God-with-us in the person of Jesus, her son. Another way of saying, ‘God is with us’, is to say with Saint Paul, ‘God is for us’. Paul asks the consoling question, ‘If God is for us, who can be against us?’ At Christmas we celebrate the good news that God sent his own Son to us, so that we would know that God is for us and with us. Whenever we make an effort to be with and for people at this Christmas time, or at any time, Jesus, God with and for us, is being born afresh in our lives.

Yet, we can all struggle at times to believe that God is really with us and for us. When we hit a crisis of some kind, we might begin to wonder where God is in what is happening to us. We might be tempted to say with Jesus on the cross, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ The crisis may be brought on by the sudden onset of illness in our own lives or the lives of our loved ones, by some significant relationship not working out or some cherished hope not coming to pass. Joseph is in such a moment of crisis in today’s gospel reading. It could be termed a crisis of intimacy. Joseph is the often forgotten character of the Christmas story. Christian art hasn’t always done him justice. He tends to be depicted as an elderly man, more like Jesus’ grandfather than father. In reality, at the time of Jesus’ birth, he must have been a vigorous young man, perhaps still in his teens. The gospel reading describes him as betrothed to Mary. Betrothal is more than what we refer to as an ‘engagement’. As betrothed, he and Mary were legally husband and wife, but they would only live together as husband and wife after their marriage ceremony. The future happiness of this young man is suddenly clouded by an event of which he can make little sense, Mary’s pregnancy. What is he to do in this unexpected and confusing situation? The Jewish Law would have required him to take a course of action that went against all his natural feelings for Mary.

In that moment of personal crisis, according to the gospel reading, Joseph experienced God as God with him, as Emmanuel. God communicated with Joseph at this difficult time in his life and Joseph was open to hearing God’s word to him, a word that directed him beyond what the Law required, prompting him to marry his betrothed, to take her home as his wife. The story of Joseph reminds us that God continues to communicate with us in the challenging situations of our own lives, including those crises of intimacy. God is with us and for us in all those experiences that leave us distressed and that seem very unsatisfactory to us and often to others. There is no situation in life, no matter how bleak, in which God is not present. There is no personal dilemma that need cut us off from God. God speaks a word of love and wisdom to us even in the most unpromising moments of our life’s journey. As Saint Paul says in his letter to the Romans, nothing ‘will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord’.  This is the good news of God-with-us that we celebrate at Christmas, and throughout the year.

And/Or

(ii) Fourth Sunday of Advent

 We like people to remember our name when we share it with them. Our name is important to us. When we are addressed by a name which is not ours, it jars on us. Married couples who are expecting a child often think long and hard about the name they will give their child. Parents realize that the act of naming a child is a really important one. In the very act of naming, the parents are already beginning to shape the child’s identity. The significance of this act is acknowledged in the liturgy of the sacrament of baptism. At the very beginning of the ceremony, as part of the introductory rite of welcome, the celebrant asks the parents, ‘What name do you give your child’. That initial question acknowledges the importance of the parent’s role in naming their child. Later in the liturgy, as the celebrant pours water on the head of the child, he first addresses the child by the name that the parents have given to him or her: ‘John or Mary… I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit’. The Lord calls each child by name into his body, the church.

 In this morning’s gospel reading, there is an emphasis on the name that is to be given to the child of Mary and Joseph. Their child is to be given two names, the name ‘Jesus’ and the name ‘Emmanuel’. Names in the Hebrew language generally had a very particular meaning. The name Jesus, a version of the name Joshua, means ‘God saves’. In the gospel reading, it is said to Joseph that he must name his child ‘Jesus, because he is the one who is to save his people from their sins’. Jesus came to deal with our sins, to take them from us, to unburden us of them. He revealed and embodied God’s merciful and forgiving love. He spoke of himself as the shepherd who came to seek and to save the lost. If we are to experience Jesus as a Saviour in that sense, we need to acknowledge that we are sinners and in need of God’s mercy. In the past people were at times too conscious of themselves as sinners, sometimes to the point of scrupulosity. That clearly is not healthy, spiritually or any other way. Today, the opposite extreme is more likely to be the case. We don’t feel the need of a Saviour because we don’t often see ourselves as sinners. The name ‘Jesus’ given to the child of Mary and Joseph reminds us that we are sinners in need of God’s mercy. That name also reminds us that, in the words of St Paul, ‘where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more’. Mary’s child announces that there are no lengths to which God will not go to connect with us even when we have turned away from him.

 The other name that is given to the child of Mary and Joseph in this morning’s gospel reading is ‘Emmanuel’ which means ‘God-is-with-us’. Their child proclaims God’s presence with us. It could be said that Christmas is very much about presence; it is about people being present to each other. You only have to think of the efforts that people make to get home for Christmas if they live abroad, or the efforts family members make to connect with each other at Christmas even though they may not see too much of each other during the rest of the year. We often make visits to people at Christmas that we have been putting off for a long time. There is something about this time of the year that moves us to be present to each other. Even when we cannot be physically present to people we will make a real effort to connect with them in other ways, whether by telephone, or by email, or by means of the Christmas card. We give and receive a lot of presents, a lot of gifts, at Christmas time, but Christmas is much more about presence than presents. It is our presence to others and theirs to us that is really at the heart of the Christmas feast.

 Perhaps we make a special effort to be present to each other at this time of the year because we know deep down that we are celebrating the special effort that God made to be present to us in and through Jesus, whose name is Emmanuel, God-with-us. Christmas is the feast of God’s presence. The God who, in the words of Paul’s first letter to Timothy, ‘dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see’ came to dwell in a vulnerable child, and those who looked on that child were, in a very real sense, looking on the face of God. God who became Emmanuel, God-with-us, through Mary’s child, Jesus, has remained with us, because the risen Jesus has promised to be with us always until the end of time. We don’t have to come into God’s presence; we are always in God’s presence, even in those times when God seems absent. The other name of Mary and Joseph’s child reminds us that God’s presence is always a saving and life-giving presence. It is a presence that brings pardon where there is failure and new life where there is death.

And/Or

(iii) Fourth Sunday of Advent

 This Sunday the fourth candle on our Advent wreath has been lit. The only candle remaining to be lit now is the white one which will be lit on Christmas day. The short season of Advent is drawing to a close; the feast of Christmas is almost upon us. This is reflected in the readings for this Sunday. The Advent figure of John the Baptist who has featured in the gospel reading for the last two Sundays now gives way to the figures that we associate with the feast of Christmas, Mary, Joseph, and their child, Jesus.

 We like people to remember our name when we share it with them. Our name is important to us. When we are addressed by a name which is not ours, it jars on us. Married couples who are expecting a child often think long and hard about the name they will give their child. Parents realize that the act of naming a child is a really important one. In the very act of naming, the parents are already beginning to shape the child’s identity. The significance of this act is acknowledged in the liturgy of baptism. At the very beginning of the ceremony, the celebrant asks the parents, ‘What name do you give your child’. That initial question acknowledges the importance of the parent’s role in naming their child. Later in the liturgy, as the celebrant pours water on the head of the child, he first addresses the child by the name that the parents have given to him or her before continuing ‘I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit’. The Lord calls each of us by name into his body, the church.

 In this morning’s gospel reading, there is an emphasis on the name that is to be given to Mary and Joseph’s child. The angel reveals to Joseph that the child to be born of Mary, his betrothed, is to be given two names, ‘Jesus’ and ‘Emmanuel’. Names in the Hebrew conveyed a certain meaning. The name Jesus means ‘the Lord saves’. The angel tells Joseph that he must name his child ‘Jesus, because the child to be born of Mary is the one who is to ‘save his people from their sins’. Jesus came to deal with our sins, to unburden us of them. He spoke of himself as the shepherd who came to seek and to save the lost. If we are to experience Jesus as a Saviour, we need to acknowledge that we are sinners who are in need of God’s mercy. In the past people were at times too conscious of themselves as sinners, sometimes to the point of scrupulosity. Today, we may have gone to the other extreme. We don’t feel the need of a Saviour because we don’t often see ourselves as sinners. The name ‘Jesus’ given to the child of Mary and Joseph reminds us that we are always in need of God’s mercy. That name also reminds us that, in the words of St Paul, ‘where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more’. Mary’s child announces that there are no lengths to which God will not go to relate to us, us even when we have turned away from him.

 The other name that is given to the child of Mary and Joseph is ‘Emmanuel’, a name which means ‘God-is-with-us’. The child of this couple is God’s presence with us. It could be said that Christmas is very much about presence; it is time when people try to be present to each other. People make great efforts to get home for Christmas if they live abroad. We often make visits to people at Christmas that we have been putting off for a long time. There is something about this time of the year that moves us to be present to each other. Even when we cannot be physically present to people we will make an effort to connect with them in other ways, whether by telephone, or by email, or text or Skype or whatever. We give and receive a lot of presents, a lot of gifts, at Christmas time, but Christmas is much more about being present than giving presents. It is our presence to others and theirs to us that is really at the heart of the Christmas feast.

 Perhaps we make a special effort to be present to each other at this time of year because we know we are celebrating the special effort that God made to be present to us in and through the child Jesus, who as risen Lord who say to his disciples, ‘I will be with you always, until the end of time’. Christmas is the feast of God’s presence. The God who, in the words of Saint Paul, ‘dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see’ came to dwell in a vulnerable child, and those who looked on that child were looking on the face of God. God became Emmanuel, God-with-us, through Mary and Joseph’s child and this child is now the risen Lord in our midst. We don’t have to do something to come into God’s presence; we are always in his presence, even in those times when God seems absent. God is always present to us, even though we may not be present to God.

And/Or

(iv) Fourth Sunday of Advent

 Christmas day is only six days away. Many of us will already be getting caught up in the Christmas rush. There are still presents to be bought, cards to be sent, food and drink to be purchased, travel arrangements to be finalized. It can be a very busy time, especially for parents. In the midst of all this activity, the readings of the fourth Sunday of Advent keep before us what is at the heart of our celebration of the feast of Christmas. They draw us into the true meaning of the feast and invite us to ponder it quietly and prayerfully at this busy time when activity seems the order of the day.

 We have been reading from the gospel of Matthew every Sunday since the first Sunday of Advent. Whereas in Luke’s gospel Mary is the significant adult in the story of Jesus’ birth and childhood, in Matthew’s gospel Joseph is the significant adult in that story. Our image of Joseph is often that of a somewhat aging figure. It might be better to think of him as a vigorous young man, a young carpenter betrothed to a young woman. Today’s gospel reading portrays him as faced with a very great dilemma. He discovers his betrothed is pregnant even though they haven’t lived together as husband and wife. He is as yet unaware that Mary’s pregnancy is the work of the Holy Spirit in her life. God’s work in the life of Mary has left Joseph at a loss to know what to do. His decision to divorce Mary quietly was the kindest decision he could have made in the circumstances in which he found himself in that culture. However, once it was revealed to him by God that Mary’s pregnancy was the work of the Spirit, he did exactly what was asked of him by God - he took Mary to his home. His initial decision turned out to be the wrong one, even though it was the best decision given the information he had at the time. Joseph’s dilemma is, in a sense, one that we all share in different ways at different times. We make a decision based on the information that we have; at a later time we come upon new information which gives us a new understanding of the situation and enables us to make a better decision. It is not always easy to see the best way forward at any particular time, just as it wasn’t easy for Joseph initially to see clearly what was the right thing to do. Life can throw up complex situations, and, sometimes, all we can do is to make the best decision we can in the circumstances.

 In the gospel reading Joseph is instructed to give the name ‘Jesus’ to the child that is to be born of his betrothed, Mary, a name which means ‘God saves’. Joseph’s child is to be named ‘Jesus’ because ‘he is the one who is to save God’s people from their sins’. His mission in life will be to bring God’s forgiveness to sinners, to assure people that God’s merciful love is greater than their sin. In many ways the focal point of Jesus’ mission as an adult was to assure people that God’s forgiveness was available and accessible through him. Although we may not have a strong sense of sin today, in reality we all need to be saved from our sins. We are all equally in need of Joseph’s son, Jesus. We have all failed in our response to God’s call. We have all fallen short of what God asks of us. The publication of chapter 19 of the Murphy report reminds us yet again of the serious failings of individuals within the church of Dublin to deal properly with the horrendous crime of child sexual abuse by priests. We all welcome the very strong and unambiguous statement made by the Archbishop in response to that recent publication. The feast of Christmas is the feast of the one whom God has sent to save us from our sins. Christmas encourages us all to acknowledge our need of God’s mercy and in doing so to find the strength to make a new beginning. Indeed it is a feast that calls us to keep acknowledging our need of God’s mercy and to keep making new beginnings.

 Jesus’ other name according to Matthew in today’s gospel reading is Immanuel, which means God-is-with-us. Putting the names Jesus and Immanuel together tells us that the son of Joseph and Mary is the presence among us of God’s merciful love. We do not have to do anything to make God present. Jesus’ name is God is with us. We have been graced by God’s presence in a special way since the birth of Mary and Joseph’s son. God’s presence to us is an act of love on God’s part; that is why, in the second reading, Paul addresses the Christians of Rome as God’s beloved. It is because we are so greatly graced in this way that, again in the words of Paul in that reading, ‘we are called to be saints’. Indeed, Paul would say that in virtue of our baptism we are already saints, sanctified through the Spirit, and our calling is to become what we are. This time of year reminds us both of how greatly graced we are and of the obligation that lays on us to live graced lives.

And/Or

(v) Fourth Sunday of Advent

We are only a week away from Christmas Day. The preparations for Christmas are in full swing. Many of our family members are on the move. They are travelling home for Christmas. It is a time of the year when we make a real effort to connect with each other. It is appropriate that we journey towards each other more at this time of the year, because at the heart of the feast of Christmas which we will celebrate in a week’s time is God’s journey towards us in the person of his Son. The core of the feast of Christmas is the birth of a child. Every new born child is special. The new born child at the heart of Christmas is extra special because in and through this child God journeyed towards us, God became, Immaneul, God-with-us.

We are familiar with the story of the birth of Jesus from Luke’s gospel. That is the story we will be hearing next Saturday night, Christmas night. We are less familiar with Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus which is this morning’s gospel reading. Whereas Luke tells the story of the birth of Jesus more from the perspective of Jesus’ mother, Mary, Matthew tells the same story more from the perspective of Jesus’ father, Joseph. In Christian art Joseph is often depicted as an old man, with grey hair and beard, someone who seems more like Jesus’ grandfather than father. Yet, Joseph must have been a young and vigorous man who worked with his hands in both wood and stone. Both gospels, Luke and Matthew, tells us that he was betrothed to Mary. This is more than our engagement. They were effectively husband and wife, even though they had not yet come to live together. That would happen only after they were married. In today’s gospel reading Joseph is portrayed as in a very complex moral situation. He learns that Mary, his betrothed, is pregnant even though herself and Joseph have not lived together as husband and wife. The only conclusion he can come to is that Mary has committed adultery. Joseph found himself facing a crisis of intimacy. Faced with this devastating situation, he did not act rashly, as might have been expected and even demanded by the Jewish Law. He initially intended to divorce her quietly without drawing attention to what had happened. However, Joseph not only showed a sensitivity to Mary but a sensitivity to what God was asking of him in this situation. He came to understand that God wanted him to take Mary home as his wife because the child she was carrying had a divine origin, ‘she has conceived what is in her by the Holy Spirit’. He came to see the presence of God in what he originally thought of as a kind of godless situation.

Joseph understood that God was with him and with Mary in this situation which was in conflict with the social and religious norms of the time. In this respect, Joseph can be an inspiration to us all. Crises of intimacy of one kind or another are part of the human condition. We have all found ourselves in situations that are not ideal, that, at the very least, could be termed somewhat untidy. Today’s gospel reading brings home to us that even in these untidy situations, there is holy ground to be found. God is with us in those moments, speaking to us, guiding us, enlightening us, calling out to us. If we don’t expect to find God in those moments, we won’t notice him. It is to Joseph’s credit that he did notice God in his unsatisfactory situation and heard what God was saying to him through it. We can make the mistake of thinking that, because some situation in our lives is not ideal, we have placed ourselves beyond God’s reach. Yet, God is always present to us, regardless of our situation in life. The child that was born of Mary had two names, according to the gospel reading, one of which was Emmanuel, God-with-us. We can use the preposition ‘with’ in different ways. We might ask, ‘are you with me or against me?’ ‘With’ there really means ‘for’. The child of Mary and Joseph is God with us in that sense of God for us. In his letter to the Romans, Paul asks the question, ‘If God is for us, who is against us?’

Christmas is the feast of ‘God for us’, God working for our ultimate good in all of our lives, including those situations where we might be tempted to think that God is absent. God is ‘for us’ in the messiness of our lives. This is confirmed by the other name that the child of Mary and Joseph is given, the name ‘Jesus’. This name is the Greek form of the Hebrew name Joshua, which means ‘God saves’. Joshua saved Israel from her enemies. Jesus is a different kind of Saviour. In the words of the gospel reading, he will save God’s people from their sins. Jesus is God with us, for us, in the brokenness and weaknesses of our lives. That is why Jesus shared table with sinners and why Paul could say, again in his letter to the Romans, that nothing ‘in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord’.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: sjtbclontarf@eircom.net or  revmartinhogan@gmail.com

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie  Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

[krisanderwrites]

Malachite and Sparrow 01

When I first moved into the dorms at Elsewhere University, everything seemed so vague and ethereal. Choose a nickname to go by? I had never had one before. Leave out creamer at night? Read poetry to the crows? Give Them offerings of bread. Well, I already had given them some of the soft pretzel I had brought from home, watching their black feathers gleam in the sunlight. They were nothing like the baby birds I had carefully hand-reared by instructions from wildlife rehabilitators. The crows were too orderly as they picked over the morsels I offered. I went with the name Sam, after my childhood pet. My first roommate never appeared. The RA assured me that everything was fine- just a mix up in the paperwork. I told him about my plans- biology major with a chemistry minor, becoming a veterinarian or forest ranger eventually- and he laughed and said that I would be alright. He reminded me to just carry salt packets in my pockets and wear the iron washer I had been given. Silly school traditions, I had thought to myself. Still, there was no harm in following his advice. I supposed reading to the crows would be at least a way to pass time- perhaps I could even study. Every day I would spend my time between classes reading aloud from my textbooks to them. Very few seemed to take an interest in my droning, often leaving for higher branches once the food I had brought was eaten. I made very little progress in the way of making human friends as well. Long hours studying and social anxiety kept me from interacting with any classmates unless absolutely necessary.

Slowly I began to withdraw. I spent more and more time indoors with the curtains drawn. I would go days sometimes without eating and nights without sleeping. I still cared for my potted plants and attended classes and studied, but everything was becoming dull and dim. I went through many electronics as my phone and laptop inexplicably would short out with little to no reason. I avoided calling my family. They always asked too many leading questions and I had never been any good at lying. At times the washer around my neck felt unnaturally heavy, like it was weighing me down, but I did not dare to take it off when outside my dorm room. Even as isolated as I was, I heard the stories. People who went missing and only sometimes came back. People who were avoided by fellow students until they packed up and went home. I did not want to end up like them. Home had no place for me anymore. It was not until near the end of my first year that I met her. Her nickname was Malachite. She had olive-toned skin and dark brown hair that reached her waist. Striking up a conversation about video games, of all things, she wormed her way into my life. Once there, she never left. I began collecting tidbits about her as time went by. She collected gemstones and crystals, embroidered things by hand, and drew in her spare time. At any point in time she had many pieces of silver jewelry on her person (not necessarily being worn). Although undecided in which she wanted to focus on, she was a foreign language major. She came from a big family but somehow felt just as alone as I did. At first we only hung out to watch shows or play video games, but quickly it became apparent that we had many other things in common. We shared book recommendations and downloaded music and even favorite snacks. I told her everything- from my perfect older sister and doted-upon baby brother to how I apparently could never do anything right to my long abandoned dreams. Eventually she was spending more time in my dorm room than in her own. Her roommate went missing for a week and then came back... different. Unsure as to where she had been, we were a little concerned. Eventually she disappeared again, this time along with all of her things. Malachite and I agreed to become roommates at the start of the next semester. I stayed on for summer classes just to avoid going home (avoid seeing familiar strangers). The entire time she was gone, I thought about what my family wanted me to be versus who I wanted to be myself. The conclusion I came to was that I had to let part of myself go to become someone I could live with for the rest of my life. I changed my nickname to Sparrow. It was time for me to spread my wings.        *        *        *        * When Malachite returned from the summer, she seemed profoundly relieved to be back on campus. I myself was profoundly relieved to have her back. She took the name and pronoun change in stride, gleeful that I was comfortable enough to try and become my own person. Together, we brought her things up to the room and unpacked.   Negotiations for the room were easy- I got the bed furthest away from the hall so that I could perhaps sleep on occasion and she got the better closet. My comfy reading chair was agreed to be a timeshare since it was literally the best place to curl up with a book and I often studied while in bed. We took turns getting snacks or take-out food. I rolled my eyes when she glued salt to the floor and windowsill, but there were certainly people with weirder habits out there. She made me get out and go to the dormitory cafeteria for breakfast each morning. Together we went to the occasional gathering and I began to meet more people. When she could, she often joined me during my study sessions with the crows. Sometimes she even read her own selections to the crows, which were definitely more popular than my textbook sections. Her days of blasting music on her mp3 player were also well received by the birds. I learned more rules. Never say thank you or sorry in public, underwear was to be worn inside out for luck, and stay away from those promising to sell or trade things. Everything continued on as normal until one day when a fellow student from introduction to sociology showed up in my dorm. He asked me to see to one of the crows if I could, as it appeared injured. I gathered what supplies I had nearby and rushed out the door. Finding the bird was easy enough, but capturing it was another matter altogether. Eventually I managed to coax it within reach with calm words and bits of a sweet roll. The silly thing had managed to run afoul of something with a wicked set of claws. Luckily nothing looked too bad besides its eye. Frowning, I asked it to wait in a nearby tree. Getting pain meds was the hardest part, especially considering apparently no veterinarian normally visited the campus. One finally gave in and accompanied me to the place, eyeing the crows with frank unease. He gave me what I needed and instructions, as well as antibiotics. In return I very carefully never used his name. Medicating an unwilling patient was not a new task for me, even if the swearing definitely was. However, I got the crow cleaned up and diligently doled out treats to wash down the drugs. After a few weeks his scabs were almost gone and his lack of sight from his injured eye never stopped him. Even after his pill bottles were empty, he begrudgingly hung around me in exchange for snacks. The next week a cat limping along on three paws approached and mewled plaintively. Pulling the thorn out of her paw pad seemed strangely prophetic. Two days after that, another student brought me non-descript brown bird (the species of which I am still not sure) tangled in fishing line. The very next day I had my first human patient, a shaken freshie who needed stitches. I began carrying medical supplies in my messenger bag, along with all kinds of food. There is a saying on campus: One good turn deserves another. My first contact with anything that could be considered the Gentry was a person who stared a little too intently at me on my way back from a late afternoon class. I was on my way to the place where the crows gather to study, but the sort of prickly feeling that you get when someone is staring at your back forced me to stop and glance around. They seemed polite enough; however, their voice rung strangely through the air. When they asked me what I wanted in exchange for my aid, I was at first confused. After clarifying that they were not in need of my services immediately, I assured them that I expected nothing. Aid freely given to those in need that I could help. The being gazed a bit longer, eyes almost glowing yellow, and then finally made a pleased noise. I was declared a healer and handed a small golden medallion. They told me to break it in half should I ever find myself needed aid myself. I told them it was a very thoughtful gesture and that was that. When I informed Malachite about the incident, she got a faraway look in her eyes. The very next day she presented me with a gift of her own. A talisman made by her on an iron chain- to replace my freshman washer, of course. The fact that she also had her own copy was entirely besides the point, she declared. However, she was quite confident that the talisman would help one of us locate the other should we ever become lost. To humor her I wore it at all times.       *        *        *        * I had no idea that my interactions with the Fair Folk would only increase as time went by. I still continued to care for the crows and cats on campus, as well as the few wildlife, but every now and then someone would ask me to see something... else. The creatures would often look like a normal cat or dog, but none of the physical parameters made any sense. The people who asked were always a bit... odd yet polite. I chose my words carefully and kept my talisman in plain view, working diligently with what information I had that could be extrapolated to different species. The first party I attended (as a sort of lookout for a friend) put me face to face with a charming man with flame hair that most the guests were ignoring. After striking up polite conversation with him for a while, he suggested a game. The stakes were small and I had never played poker before; to this day I still have the distinct impression that he let me win. In exchange he changed my voice to the perfect tone. I traded it back thirty minutes later to keep a hapless girl from going home with him, amusement on his face as he watched me escort her to her dorm. I quickly learned that not all fae were as discerning as the ones I normally dealt with for my healing. Some took advantage of those who were desperate when making deals. One of the freshies lost their eyes in what was reportedly a "lab accident" if anyone actually believed the official announcement. There was a frog-eyed boy at the annual costume party that I watched like a hawk as he interacted with increasingly buzzed classmates. My friends always noted that I had a bit of a knight complex; I felt useless when I could not help others. Worried, I began amassing even more knowledge. Not just anatomy or physics or pharmacology, but legends and superstitions and even more inorganic chemistry than strictly necessary for my degree. A scientist at heart, I of course never took anything at face value. I asked around campus to find out what worked and what did not. On my own I conducted experiments. Knowing I could not lie, Malachite made me promise not to interfere. She told me tales of what happened to those who did not mind their own business when it came to the Gentry. Although it almost physically hurt to see others making mistakes over and over, I kept my end of the bargain. As long as it did not concern me and I could not easily prevent it by dealing with the humans, I stayed out of the way of the fae. I still healed animals and fed crows and handed out offerings and gave plastic beads to Jimothy. Somewhere along the way I gained a second nickname: Captain. Undoubtedly it began as a reference to Sparrow, and I expected to hear nothing but pirate jokes for the remainder of my time on campus. Instead, the people who most commonly called me Captain were those searching for my help. Occasionally they needed things that I could not help with, which left me turning to Malachite. She gladly pitched in as well- creating satchels full of gemstones to ward off nightmares or making salves out of my potted herbs and flowers. Together we ended our second year wiser and closer together.        

[kishketon]

The Church is always calling for the world to repent of their sin and turn back to God but, if the Church is unwilling to repent then how can they realistically expect the world to do so? The Apostle Peter tells us, “For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God?” If the Bible is truly the word of God then it is the criteria by which all things are to be measured. The word of God as the voice of God determines what is right and what is wrong. When the Church is held to the penetrating and revealing light of the word of God we can’t help but find things that are right as well as things that are wrong. God commands His people to judge what is wrong and weed it out of our lives. In the book of Ezekiel chapter nine God began a process of judging His people Israel and in the process He put to death everyone that was not repentant of their sin. The Lord sent six angels into the midst of the people with slaughtering weapons and told them to kill everyone that was not marked for repentance regardless of sex or age. So many people were killed that day that the prophet that was watching asked God if He would kill everyone. Of course that doesn’t match the lies of the love, peace and prosperity preachers that cry peace and safety in our ears but it is nevertheless God’s judgment of sin. In the end times the wrath of God will be poured out on a sinful world and God says in Revelation chapters two and three that He will begin with His Church. The Bible declares in 2 Chronicles 7:14, “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” This passage tells us that when judgment comes upon a nation that it is God’s people who God is judging and not the lost. Social reformers have long tried to tell us that if we could cleanse the world of the social ills that plague us then we would experience the blessing of God on our nation. Though that would be nice the truth is that we can exhaust all of our time creating a pure environment but if we are not right with God we will still incur the judgment of God. Many Christians today have bought into the idea of a Cotton Candy Jesus that loves them so much that he tolerates everything that they do without regard to their sin and sadly there aretons of preachers out there to tell them that this is so. In the days of the prophet Jeremiah the priests and prophets were telling the people that God was going to bless them. They told the people that they had nothing to worry about because God favored them. Jeremiah on the other hand warned the people of the judgment of God. The people became angry with Jeremiah and imprisoned him. God not only judged Israel but He reeked havoc on them.You can imagine the surprise of the people when they realized that Jeremiah was telling them the truth all along. The first message that Jesus preached is recorded in the New Testament in Matthew 4:17, “From that time Jesus began to preach, and to say, Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Repentance is what He called for then and His message has not changed. The Lord warned us that in the last days men would would make false assertions “For when they shall say, Peace and safety; then sudden destruction cometh upon them, as travail upon a woman with child; and they shall not escape.” (1 Thessalonians 5:3) I once heard a preacher on a radio program that called in and told the radio preacher that he wished that he could preach in his church the way that the radio preacher preached. He told the radio preacher that if he preached the way the radio preacher did that his church would run him off and he needed his job because he had kids in college, a mortgage and bills to pay. What was that preacher saying? He couldn’t proclaim the truth of the word of God because he had sold out for money. Wow! He was allowing his church to walk in a false sense of security because he had sold out to personal gain. That is the same thing that had happened in the time of Jeremiah and in the time of Jesus and sadly some things never change. In Jeremiah 5:30-31 it says, “A wonderful and horrible thing is committed in the land; The prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests bear rule by their means; and my people love to have it so: and what will ye do in the end thereof?” The word here for wonderful is something that causes wonder or amazement. It is amazing what people will allow to happen to themselves all because they refuse to submit to the authority of God in their lives. The question asked here is, what will you do in the end. What will you do when you stand before the Lord and you realize that the lies that you believed no longer work? Where will you turn? The Bible says in Isaiah 45:22, “Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and there is none else.” Our only hope is Jesus and He demands complete surrender to His will. Where are you with the Lord?Let judgment begin in the House of God.

[incarnationsf]

Incarnation as Intervention

By the Rev. Darren Miner

Gospel Reading

Merry Christmas! (And in case you wonder why I’m still saying “Merry Christmas” five days after Christmas Day, it’s because, in our tradition, Christmas lasts twelve days.)

For those of you who attended the Christmas Day Eucharist, the Gospel reading today must sound rather familiar. For reasons beyond my knowledge, the appointed Gospel reading for the First Sunday after Christmas is the basically the same reading as that of Christmas Day. The only difference is that four additional verses have been added to the end.

Now, if I were a particularly lazy person, I might just give you the same sermon that I gave on Christmas Day. Well, I may be lazy, but I’m not that lazy! So what I intend to do is to give you a brief summary of my previous sermon and then elaborate on one point that I think could benefit by further explanation.

Today’s Gospel reading serves as a prologue to the whole Gospel of John. It is like the overture to a musical or opera. It introduces the audience to themes that will be elaborated more fully later in the work. The purpose of this particular overture is to introduce us to Jesus Christ. But it goes about it in an unexpected way. St. Matthew and St. Luke start where most biographers would be expected to begin, with the story of Jesus’ birth. St. John starts at the very beginning, the beginning of the Cosmos!

He tells us about the relationship between God and a divine being called “the Word.” Now, in the original Greek, the name of this being is Logos. Yes, it can be translated as Word. But it can also mean Reason or Order. This Logos existed with God before time itself. Creation was mediated through him. And in a sense, one can even say that the Logos is God. This pre-existent divine person is the one who maintains order in the midst of chaos, the one who supports life in the midst of death, the one whose divine Truth illumines the darkness of ignorance.

This idea that God became human has a special name in Christian theology: the Incarnation. And as you know, our parish is named after that doctrine. In a nutshell, the doctrine of the Incarnation claims that the divine Logos, a Person of the Holy Trinity, came to us as one of us in order to save us. As St. Athanasius puts it, the Logos “became human that we might become divine … [and he] endured shame from men that we might inherit immortality.” Out of love, the Logos emptied himself of his deity and took the form of a finite, mortal human being. And he endured all that it means to be human, including death.

Now, the Jews of St. John’s day didn’t have a problem believing that there might be a diving being like the Logos who was one with God and who had a part to play in maintaining the Universe. But they did have a problem believing that such a divine being would condescend to becoming human. They just couldn’t understand why that might be. And frankly, many people today suffer from the same unbelief.

So, here is my attempt at explaining why the Logos became incarnate as Jesus of Nazareth. It was an intervention! As you know, sometimes families need to help a loved one who is unable or unwilling to stop some bad behavior, despite the ruinous results of that behavior. Sometimes, the bad behavior is taking drugs; sometimes it’s drinking too much; sometimes it’s unhealthy personal relationships. One way families deal with such situations is to orchestrate what is called an intervention. They arrange for friends and family to get together and surprise the person in trouble. Then they try their best to convince the person that his or her behavior is destructive to self and hurtful to others. Usually, interventions involve the use of what folks euphemistically call “tough love.” In other words, there may be some threats made as part of the intervention. Now, sometimes these interventions work. And sometimes, they don’t.

I think that the Incarnation was a form of intervention. God loves us like a father or mother. He sees that we are suffering from a particularly destructive form of addiction—addiction to sin! Now, God had already tried an intervention using “tough love” when he sent the prophets. They pointed out our many failings, and they threatened us with the fires of Hell if we didn’t shape up. And still we refused to turn away from sin. Then, I think, God decided to abandon tough love and to try another, more costly, form of intervention. He sent the Logos, his divine Son, into the world to live as a human being and to teach us about God’s infinite love and mercy. Of course, I am speaking of Jesus of Nazareth. He lived on this earth for 33 years, spending the last three years of his life proclaiming the Good News to the world by word and by deed. And the world killed him for his troubles.

We are told in Holy Scripture that this particular intervention was the final attempt to save us from ourselves. The question is this: Did the Incarnation, God’s ultimate intervention, work? More specifically, did it work for you? Well, brothers and sisters, only you know the answer. Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord? Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ? Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being? If the answer to these questions is “I will, with God’s help,” then I would say that the intervention was indeed a success and that the Incarnation achieved God’s purpose.

Thanks be to God! Alleluia! Alleluia!

 © 2018 by Darren Miner. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

[rufousnmacska]

Child of Peace 17 - Unmasked

Manorian adventures post EoS

(Umm, this one is longer than the others. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad?)

full work on AO3

master list of chapters

  Manon’s eyes shot open and she jerked upright, gasping for breath. She glanced around anxiously, slowly remembering where she was. In the underground tunnels the Crochans had inhabited for hundreds of years. Not deep within the mountain at the Ferian Gap. Dorian was asleep next to her, unaware of her nightmare. Wiping the sweat from her face, she eased herself off of the bed. As she headed to the washroom, she checked Dorian’s watch. Almost 3:30. Gods, she thought with a heavy sigh. It’s too early and too late at the same time.

After splashing water on her face, Manon studied her reflection in the mirror. She’d lost weight. Not just from the travel rations they’d relied on before finding Berwyn. She’d been under so much stress recently. There had been moments when she thought she would fall apart if one more thing happened. And yet other moments when she’d almost laughed, punch drunk and wondering what fresh hell awaited her the next day. Her lips were slightly chapped. And a little swollen she now noticed, running her finger over them. That made her smile though, realizing the past weeks hadn’t been all bad. She had Dorian. And they’d found the Crochans. A grandmother she never knew existed. A niece...

She was going to meet Rhiannon’s daughter in a few hours. After dinner last night, Dorian had told her about the vision that had prompted her sister’s search. She’d sensed his hope, had seen it in his eyes. He’d thought the revelation would lessen her guilt, but he’d been wrong. If anything, the news had made her feel worse. That Rhiannon had acted upon a vision didn’t change Manon’s role in her death. She’d still killed her sister.

Staring into her own eyes, gold sparkling in the soft, magical light, she tried to forget the images that had awakened her. She’d dreamed of Rhiannon. Dreamed that it had been her own hands, not those of the Yellowlegs, inflicting the horrific wounds her sister had worn that day in the Omega. Manon hadn’t witnessed the beatings, but little had been left to the imagination. The Yellowlegs underlings had been brutal. And thorough.

A thought burst into her head. A question she’d never considered before. What would have happened if she had been ordered to administer the torture? Would things have ended differently if Rhiannon had been able to tell her the truth right away? Would Manon have even believed her? But the question that supplanted the others, quickly taking root in her mind… Would she have obeyed in the first place? The truth, she thought, dropping her head and turning away, unable to look at herself. The truth is… I would have.

Of course you would have obeyed. You killed her. What makes you think you wouldn’t have tortured her? You are a monster.

Manon took a shaky breath then made a split-second decision, returning to the bedroom. Dorian was still asleep but she didn’t hesitate to wake him. He sat up quickly, snapping a light on with his magic. “What? What’s happening?” When he found her face, he understood.

He laid back down and opened up the blankets, nodding for her to join him. “Come here.”  When she’d settled against his chest and his arms were wrapped around her, he asked, “What happened? Was it a dream? Or the voice?” Shame washed over her and for a fleeting moment she wished she’d never told him about the voice. Sensing her feelings, he pulled her tighter. “I want to help Witchling.”

“Both,” she said finally. “Rhiannon had been tortured before...” She shook her head, unwilling to end the sentence. “In my dream I was the one who’d done it. And I can’t… I’m not sure…”

“You wonder if you would have followed the orders. If you’d been told to torture her,” he finished.

She nodded. If anyone could understand her doubts, it was Dorian. He had the same uncertainty when it came to his time spent under the control of a valg prince. And while they each felt confident telling the other those actions weren’t entirely their fault, neither could apply that same logic to themselves.

“I know I was in an impossible position. The Matron was threatening me and my coven. In front of the entire clan. But…” She trailed off. Logic and reason never seemed to make a dent in the guilt she felt from killing Rhiannon. Just then, another wave of hate-filled words rang through her head. “I can’t make it stop,” she whispered.

Then listen to me instead, he sent. I love you Manon. You are good, and strong, and loved. Don’t listen to it. Listen to me.

Dorian repeated the words like a mantra, over and over until the other voice eventually faded. It felt like an hour had passed but she had no idea for sure. Twisting around to face him, still in his arms, Manon put her hand on his cheek. “Thank you.”

He smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “Anything you need.” He brushed back her hair and said, “We can’t change our past Manon. But we can use it to draw a line.” He gave her a pointed look as he repeated words she’d once told him. “Use it to move forward. Make changes for the better.”

“Yes but that doesn’t help me with what I have to do today.”

“No,” he agreed. “You can’t make them forgive you. But they don’t really know you. Or what you’ve endured. They don’t know the circumstances of Rhiannon’s death. Maybe that knowledge will hasten their forgiveness, maybe not. Either way, I think talking will help.” He kissed her cheek. “And I think once Annabee gets to know you, the real you and not the reputation, the you behind the mask… That will make a difference.”

Dorian tried to stifle a yawn. “You can shut the light off,” she said. “I’ll be ok.” He raised an eyebrow, not believing her. Mirroring his expression, she said, “It’s late Princeling. I need to sleep. Besides, there’s nothing more to be done about it now.” He still looked skeptical so she closed her eyes and turned around so her back was against him, ending the matter. She heard him yawn again and smiled as he turned out the light.

Within minutes Dorian was sleeping again. Listening to his deep breathing, Manon thought she might actually get some rest too. But, as if that thought was an invitation, the reason she’d been awake in the first place pushed its way back in. The question she hadn’t been able to answer. Would she have tortured Rhiannon if ordered? She knew Dorian was right. She couldn’t change her past. And more importantly, it seemed pointless to speculate about something that had never even happened. Still, fading images from her nightmare continued to float through her head, slowly mixing with real memories of that day in the Omega. The Matron’s veiled threats. The evil glee Manon had seen in her eyes, not realizing at the time what the look had signified. Rhiannon’s bruised and broken body. Her words. Calling Manon a murderer, a monster made from birth. Goading her. The other witches calling for blood. All of them hounding her, pushing her to do it.

She’d always followed orders. Had always tried to please the Matron. To the point of doling out the same twisted forms of punishment the Matron favored. Especially when that bitch was watching. The thought seemed to come out of nowhere, but it made her realize something. She had punished the Thirteen, yes. But it had only ever been when she’d had to. When the threat of something worse loomed overhead. When they were at Blackbeak Keep, or the Omega. When others were present. The Matron or her minions. Shame filled her as she remembered how close she’d come to exiling Asterin. To killing her. I was close, she thought. But I didn’t do it.

Dorian’s arm was still around her and she shifted to lay her hand atop his. Maybe she would have disobeyed. Maybe that would have been the catalyst for her leaving instead of Asterin’s failed execution. If nothing else, maybe Rhiannon would have been able to tell her about their connection… Manon wasn’t sure that she’d have believed her right away. But she was sure it would have given her pause. It would have seeded her mind with doubts. Well, more doubts. With hindsight, she could see that she’d already been on her way to discovering her true self. No, she corrected, acknowledging my true self. The self beneath the mask.

The reputation she’d built wasn’t baseless. Manon knew she wasn’t innocent. Far from it. But… She had to admit it contained its fair share of… exaggerations. She was lethal and fearsome. But also loyal. And... There were times I disobeyed, she thought, remembering Asterin and Abraxos. Her certainty grew as she felt Dorian’s chest rise and fall against her back. Times when it was right for me to disobey. She was not evil. She was not immoral. She was not the Matron. Manon tensed, expecting to hear the dark voice in her head. But before it could surface, she copied what Dorian had done, repeating those words – not the matron – over and over again until she finally lost herself to sleep.

  Aven joined them again for breakfast that morning. Upon her arrival, Manon felt odd. She supposed it was nerves, anxiety over knowing, and also not knowing, what was to come. Aven was kind, but thankfully, also blunt, not drawing out what she’d come to talk to them about.

“I’m sure Dorian shared what he and I discussed last night,” she said. Though she maintained her ever present smile, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Rhiannon was a seer. Her visions were often prophetic, but sometimes she saw into the past.” She narrowed her eyes as she continued. “It runs in our family actually. Have you had them Manon?”

“Once. I think.” She glanced towards Dorian. “But I wasn’t aware of what was happening.”

“It wasn’t a vision of the future or past,” Dorian said. “It was more like… You became aware of things you said you had no knowledge of. You fell into a trance, then said we were all connected. We all had a part to play.”

They both turned to Aven, expecting an explanation. But the little old witch merely shrugged. “Well, it can skip generations. If you were a true seer you’d know it. You’d be sure.” Then, as if the topic of Manon’s vision was closed, she began to pour more tea for each of them.

She knows more than she’s letting on, Dorian sent her. Any time she can’t change the subject, she claims ignorance.

Manon agreed, and told him so. But she didn’t think Aven was acting out of malice. She doesn’t want to scare us off, she thought, sharing it with Dorian. She’s giving us bits and pieces when she thinks we can handle it. She caught Dorian’s nod from the corner of her eye, but before she could think on it more, Aven continued.

“She spared me many details of what she saw, but Rhiannon knew what would happen if she searched for you. She knew she would not return. She said she would die by your hand…”

Manon stopped listening, stopped hearing anything. She was back in the Omega, crouching above Rhiannon, dagger in her hand, dripping with blue blood, the room ringing with cries of death and bloodlust-

“Manon. Look at me.”

Aven’s voice was firm and commanding, pulling her back to the here and now. “Rhiannon knew you would be the one to end her suffering. Those were the words she used.”

Manon stared into Aven’s dark brown eyes. “Suffering,” she muttered. “She’d been… beaten. Before… Before my grandmother…“ Manon stopped and looked away. She felt Dorian’s hand on her back. Heard him speaking to Aven. She only caught a few words. Matron. Punishment. Petrah. Closing her eyes, she shut them out, fixating on the many questions that came rushing through her mind. How could Rhiannon have left her family, willingly going to her death? Had she let herself be captured? What possible reason could have led her to do it? Why?

Noticing the silence around her, Manon looked up to find Dorian and Aven watching her. She had so many questions but could only ask, “Why?”

“Oh witchling,” Aven said softly, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She reached across the table and took Manon’s hands into her own. “I wish I had a good answer to that. Something that would take away all of your pain and guilt. Something that would have granted me a life with both of my granddaughters. Together.”

Dorian straightened and said, “Nehemiah.” He turned to Manon. “The gods sent Rhiannon the vision, like Nehemiah…” He kept his face neutral but Manon heard the hint of disgust in his voice. “She was told she needed to sacrifice herself to get you to act.”

Manon remembered the lovely, regal woman from the witch mirror. Elena had given her instructions to do whatever was necessary to push Dorian or Aelin into action against Erawan. As a result, the Eyllwe princess had arranged her own death to provoke Aelin.

Aven nodded to Dorian. “That sounds likely. As I said, Rhiannon did not share all of the details. But she went convinced that it was the only way to bring Manon home.” Then, to Manon directly, she said, “To prepare you for what is to come.”

No longer able to mask his anger, Dorian asked, “And what the hell does that mean? ‘What’s to come’?”

But Manon thought she knew. “The wyrdkey. We are all connected,” she whispered. Dorian turned abruptly to look at her. “It is here.”

“Yes,” Aven said simply.

She and Dorian had both suspected it was here, hoped it was here. Gambled everything that it was here. And though Aven had all but confirmed it by things she’d said, for some reason, hearing it spoken aloud, so matter-of-fact… Manon felt a strange chill creep over her and she glanced at Dorian. He was trying to contain his anger, and subsequently his magic. She took hold of his hand and he seemed to calm.

“We all have a part,” Manon said, squeezing his hand. She turned to Aven, giving her a hard but not unfriendly look. “But I suspect this is not the time to learn what our roles are. Yes?”

Aven smiled, dipping her head in confirmation.

Manon felt the air around them get slightly colder. It’s ok Dorian. I trust her. And she’s right. Annabee is waiting for us. He turned to face her, staring into her eyes, as if trying to decide if things were in fact ok. She smiled and nodded once. He released a breath and pulled her hand to his lips. Her smile had felt fake. Had been fake, a brave front she was putting on for the benefit of all of them. But with his kiss, she felt a surge of love, and admiration, and respect. And strength. As he pulled away, she touched Dorian’s cheek, returning her love for him.

Then, turning back to Aven, Manon said, “I think I should meet Annabee.”  

Minutes later, they were in Aven’s sitting room. She’d gone down the hall to fetch Annabee, leaving Manon and Dorian alone. Silently, they both studied the space around them. A large desk, overflowing with books and papers, dominated a corner of the room. Sketches of landscapes and people covered the walls to either side of it. The stone wall opposite the desk was lined with wooden book shelves, filled with volumes of varying ages, as made obvious by their state of disrepair. Dorian was doing his best to remain seated next to her. But his eyes kept moving back to the shelves, his head tilting to one side in order to read any titles that were visible.

“I give you permission to go look at them,” she said, hoping to distract herself while they waited.

He quickly turned back to her, a sheepish expression flashing across his face. “No, no. I’m just…,” he trailed off. “You give me permission?”

With a sharp tone and sharper grin, she asked, “Am I not your Queen?”

He watched her through narrowed eyes, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. He leaned closer to her and opened his mouth to say something when the door opened. They both flinched, having forgotten their surroundings and the reason they were here.

Manon rose, unsure of how to act in this moment, forcing her hands to remain still at her sides. She hated feeling this way. So uncertain, so unlike herself. But as Aven slowly came inside, Manon made the decision to let it go. She needed them to see the real her. Wanted them to see the real her. If that meant seeing her vulnerable and exposed... So be it. She didn’t like it. But she could get through it. Sensing Dorian standing behind her, she slipped her hand around her back and he grasped it tightly.

Aven stepped aside, revealing a tall, slender witchling, her hair the same brilliant shade of white as Manon’s. Dorian had been right. The witchling looked like her, in the way close relatives often do. But what she hadn’t expected, what caused her to gasp in disbelief, was that the witchling looked familiar for reasons other than their relatedness.

Manon reached for the chair to steady herself, suddenly overcome by an urge to flee. Or fight. Something, anything, to use up the adrenaline coursing through her. It took what felt like minutes for her to remember the Matron was not here. Did not know what she had done. Was not going to punish her. Dorian moved to stand next to her but all of her attention was on the witchling. Annabee, she thought shaking her head, understanding building inside her. Little Bee.

She must have said it aloud. The witchling’s steely expression vanished, replaced by confusion. “You… You remember me?” she asked softly.

Dorian and Aven looked rapidly back and forth between them. “You know each other?” Dorian asked.

Manon sat down, no longer able to stand. How was this possible? This witchling was her niece. What were the chances?! They continued to stare at each other.

When she didn’t answer him, Dorian turned to Annabee. “What is going on?”

Annabee looked at Aven. “I didn’t think she’d remember… She was there Grandmother. The day my father was killed.” All eyes fell on Manon. “She was the one who helped me escape.”

The room fell deathly silent. Manon looked at Dorian and almost laughed. Almost sobbed. These fucking gods, she thought. I don’t know how much more I can take Dorian. Her hand was shaking and he grabbed it.

Manon. You’re the strongest person I know.

He held her gaze for several moments, long enough for her to regain some semblance of control, then he asked, “Can you tell us what happened?”

Manon turned back to look at Annabee. She was met with gorgeous, coppery brown eyes. Wary, but not hateful. Not accusatory. Not what she’d expected. The young witch seemed genuinely surprised that Manon had remembered her. Manon shook her head in wonder. How could she not remember the witchling? It had been over thirty years ago, but Manon remembered as if it were yesterday. She’d been assigned to the southern corner of Terrasen, near Perranth, sent to hunt Crochans.

Annabee didn’t look as though she was going to speak about it, so Manon cleared her throat and began.

   Each day was the same. Manon woke early, trained with her sword or knives, decided on a section of the territory to search, and then returned to camp empty-handed. She didn’t expect to find any Crochans here. In fact, they were getting harder and harder to find, regardless of where the Blackbeaks were sent. Mother Blackbeak was becoming increasingly irate at the lack of trophies brought back by the coven. Manon wasn’t terribly concerned. Her previous six month mission had yielded two Crochan kills. Old witches who looked as though they wouldn’t last much longer. Some Crochans seemed to let themselves age after a certain point. She suspected it had more to do with the eventual disenchantment of immortality than a desire to blend in amongst the humans. While it had technically been a successful hunt, it had done nothing to distinguish Manon in her grandmother’s eyes. It had bought her time though. If she found no Crochans here, she could return home without too many questions. Without severe punishment at least.

Oakwald had never intrigued Manon the way it did some of her coven. But, the newly crowned King of Adarlan was making advances on the forest, threatening the remaining Fae and other magical creatures. He was very young, having gained the throne after the short illness that took his father. Mother Blackbeak hadn’t spared much thought for him though, saying he was nothing for them to worry about. Manon had held her tongue, not offering her reasons to disagree with the decision to ignore the King. It wasn’t her place. Yet. When the title of Matron was passed to her, she would revisit the Blackbeak stance on Adarlan.

Today, in need of supplies, she made her way into Perranth. Not wanting to attract too much attention, she left her broom hidden back in camp, walking the few miles to the village. Her red cloak would draw eyes of course. Perhaps even lure in a Crochan. But the walk would do her good.

She arrived at the town square around mid-morning. It was a market day, vendors lining the main streets selling food, crafts, clothing, all manner of goods. While making her way through the crowds, Manon kept her senses attuned for signs of any witches. But it was mostly just habit. Instinct. As she started down a row that included a blacksmith selling knives, she decided to take her time and enjoy a break from the past few weeks of fruitless searching.

   Annabee pulled her father through the streets, anxious to see everything. She was finally old enough to accompany him to Perranth for medicines and other healing supplies. And after a journey that took two days, she wasn’t going to miss a thing.

They’d arrived the evening before, too late to go into the town. So, they’d gone straight to Auntie Silene’s house, her father’s great aunt who lived just outside of Perranth. Annabee had never met Silene before, but she’d heard all kinds of stories about her. The little old witch had hair almost as white as her own. But unlike hers, Silene’s had strands of gray, marking it as a sign of age. Still, it was the closest thing to her hair that Annabee had ever seen.

Father had spent the morning buying everything he needed to take back to Berwyn. He’d promised they could take the rest of the day doing whatever she wanted. First, she wanted to go see the animals for sale. Kittens and puppies, but also chickens and goats and pigs. She knew she couldn’t take any back home. And they had all those animals in Berwyn. But she wanted to check if there were different breeds here, ones she’d never seen before. After that, she wanted to get pastries from the bakery they’d passed. The chocolate cupcakes in the front window had made her mouth water. Then, she wanted to watch the puppet show that was setting up in the main square. Father had laughed, saying he couldn’t have planned a better day.

As they waited in line at the bakery, Annabee kept staring out the window, watching all the people go by. Perranth was a lot bigger than Berwyn. She wondered if any passersby were witches. Auntie Silene said there were some Crochans in this part of Terrasen, but they stayed well hidden. The King of Terrasen was a friend to the Crochans. But the Ironteeth clans weren’t. And they didn’t adhere to borders. Which was why they had the Maze on the other side of the mountains. The farther Crochans lived from the Wastes, the greater the risk of being found. But Grandmother had said each witch had to choose. They couldn’t be forced to live in the Maze or the topside villages nearest the Wastes.

A couple stood from a little table just outside the bakery so Annabee ran out to claim it, making sure Father saw her. As she sat, a flash of bright red caught her eye. She turned to see a tall woman walking down the street, her red cape fluttering behind her as she moved. Annabee knew it was a Crochan cape and almost ran after the witch. But she held back, curious about why the witch would wear it so brazenly. When she stopped at a food vendor, the witch pushed back her hood and Annabee gasped. A pure white braid was piled in the fallen fabric. The witch pulled it around to fall down her chest. Annabee watched, breathless and wide eyed, as the beautiful witch made her way down the street, disappearing around a corner.

When her father came out, he surprised her with a cup of hot chocolate to go with her cupcake. Annabee told him about the witch in the red cape and he stood and looked around, but she was gone. Biting into the cupcake and getting frosting on her nose, she forgot about the witch, too intent on the delicious sweet.

After the bakery, they made their way to the square. Kids were running from all directions, jostling to get seats close to the stage. But Annabee stayed still, holding Father’s hand. They found a bench towards the back, and he made sure she was able to see.

As they waited for the puppet show to begin, she felt Father stiffen next to her and he took hold of her hand. She looked up to see him staring over her head. He looked like he was trying very hard not to react, but she could tell something was very wrong. Annabee turned slowly to see what was there, but Father squeezed her hand hard, making her jump and look back to him.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I need for you to go back to Auntie Silene’s house sweetheart. Can you remember the way?”

She nodded, terror flooding her little body, tears filling her eyes.

“It’s ok Little Bee,” he said, rubbing her back. “I think there might be an Ironteeth witch nearby. I need you to go back to Auntie Silene’s. I will too but I’ll take a different road. Just like we talked about. Ok?”

She nodded again. The certainty in his voice made her fear subside a little. He kissed the top of her head as she stood and she began walking out of the square. Annabee knew not to run, not to call attention to herself. But it took all of her courage not to do it anyway. She hadn’t seen an Ironteeth witch in the square, so she hoped Father was mistaken. 

When she turned down a side street that they’d taken on their way into the town, she heard a faint commotion from the square. Annabee froze, not sure if she should run, or turn to see where Father was. She decided to go back, but she did it quietly, peeking around the corner of a building to look into the square.

At the far end of the space, she saw Father disappear down a narrow street, a fearsome looking woman following closely behind. Annabee could just barely make out a yellow band around the witch’s head. She shrank back, feeling like she might be sick. A Yellowlegs witch. After Father. And then she would come after her.

She turned and ran back down the street, veering off between two buildings to vomit. She fell to her knees, landing in the mess, her hands shaking. What was she going to do? Father told her to run but what if he needed help?

The witch in the red cape.

Where had she gone? Annabee wiped the tears from her face and stood, turning in a circle trying to think of where to go, where to look. She ran, taking side streets that skirted the square but would get her to where Father had disappeared.

It felt like forever, but minutes later, after racing though crowds and not seeing the red cape, Annabee reached the street she’d seen her Father run down. She glanced down an alley as she ran past and then skidded to a stop. Turning back, she peered around the corner to see the Yellowlegs witch kneeling over a body. The witch raised her arm, a short sword shining in her hand. As the sword came down, Annabee opened her mouth. But a hand came from behind and covered her face, pulling her back before she could scream.

   Manon had seen the Yellowlegs bitch skulking around the market and decided to steer clear of her. She thought the witch’s name was Iskra. But she wasn’t sure. She never put much effort into learning the names of the Yellowlegs. They were so far beneath her and the Thirteen that she simply didn’t want to waste her time on them. So, she’d chosen to ignore the witch. She had all she needed and was ready to head back to her camp in Oakwald.

But as she turned to go, she heard something coming from the direction of the Yellowlegs. Shit, she thought. If that bitch found a Crochan and Mother Blackbeak found out… Manon would get a beating like nothing she’d received for a long time. Pissed at the possibility of having to fight a Crochan and a Yellowlegs, Manon turned around and headed back towards the center of the town.

As she followed the sounds and scents, Manon noticed a small girl running ahead of her. She stood out for two reasons. First, the girl’s hair was as white as Manon’s. She’d only ever seen that color on her Shadows, before they’d started dying it black to better conceal themselves. But stranger than that, the girl seemed to be headed to the same place Manon was.

When the girl stopped and looked down a small alley, Manon slowed, quietly sneaking up behind her. Without making her presence known, Manon stretched to look around the corner. Shit! From the looks of things, Iskra was about to take the head off of a Crochan.

Manon glanced down at the girl, realizing at that instant what was happening. She was no girl. She was a witchling. A Crochan. How Manon had not noticed that earlier…she must have been too distracted by Iskra to sense it.

As Iskra’s arm came down, Manon saw the witchling tense, as if about to run and try to stop the witch. But if that happened, she would be dead before she knew what hit her. Acting on pure instinct, Manon grabbed the witchling, covered her mouth to keep her from screaming, turned, and ran.

The witchling squirmed in her arms, struggling to get free to run back to whoever was in that alley. It must have been her mother, Manon thought. She’d seen the Crochan’s bare arm, the deep brown color of her skin similar to that of the witchling. Bile rose in her throat at the thought. She had no love for the Crochans. But the idea of a young witchling left without a mother… She thought that was a worse fate than her own. She’d never known her mother and had always told herself that not knowing her had been a blessing. It had left her with no one to properly miss. No reason to dredge up emotions that would only weaken her.

After a few turns, the witchling stopped trying to wriggle free. Probably too shocked to fight back. No one gave Manon a second look as she carried her out of the town, towards Oakwald. Manon didn’t have time to think about what she was doing or why, she only knew she needed to get far away from Iskra.

Once she was more than a mile into the forest, Manon stopped, setting the little witch against a tree. Her face was wet from tears and she was gasping for breath.

“What’s your name?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice light, not wanting to scare her.

Manon had to repeat her question several times before the witchling whispered, “Little Bee.” Her eyes were glazed over, focused on nothing.

“Bee? I think you should have some water. Are you hungry?”

Bee didn’t respond, but when Manon held her canteen up to the witchling’s mouth, she drank it down in a few gulps. Uncertain of what to do next, Manon sat down beside her. She was a sweet little thing. Her bright hair was done in small braids, each with a different colored string twisted in. Manon reached into a small bag and pulled out a caramel, handing it to Bee. The water and sugar seemed to help. Her ashen face gained back some of its color and her breathing evened out.

Watching her, Manon frowned, the full realization of what she’d done finally hitting her. What did I just do? What am I supposed to do with her now?

Manon flinched as Bee leaned against her shoulder, reaching up to take Manon’s braid into her small hand.

“I saw you in the market,” she said softly. “I came looking for you. For help.”

Manon swallowed. Gods. She thought I was a Crochan.

“I… I didn’t know what was happening,” Manon said. Without thinking, she added, “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”

Sorry?! Was she sorry? She’d gone intending to make the kill herself. Why was she lying? Why was she even helping this witchling? The Blackbeaks had a rule against killing children, human or witch. But that didn’t mean she’d had to save this one.

Bee gasped suddenly and stood. “I need to go. The Yellowlegs might find my Auntie! I need to get to her. Warn her!”

“Wait. Calm down,” Manon said, taking hold of her arm to keep her from running off. “You have an aunt who lives around here?”

Fresh tears were running down Bee’s cheeks. “Yes, please! Can you help us? She’s old. I don’t think she can fight an Ironteeth.”

Manon's chest ached at the desperation in the witchling’s voice. She was beginning to panic. “Here, take some deep breaths. If you know where she lives, I will take you there.”

Following Manon’s lead, the little witch breathed in, then blew out, her cheeks bulging from the effort. Manon couldn’t help a small smile. “You’re awfully brave.” The witchling returned her smile, though it was a sad smile. “And we’ll get to your aunt. I promise.” She looked around, realizing Bee likely wouldn’t be able to find her way from the forest. “Shall we go back towards the town? Then you can point me in the direction of your aunt’s house.”

Bee nodded, taking Manon’s hand in her own. Manon tensed at the touch, not sure how to respond to such overt affection. But looking into the witchling’s eyes, seeing the trust there, the faith that Manon would deliver her to safety… She smiled again and squeezed the little hand. “Let’s go.”

   Annabee didn’t remember much about their walk to Auntie Silene’s. She’d known the way from the town, it hadn’t been difficult. But she’d made herself focus on the red cloak. The strong hand that held hers. The silky braid that was the same color as hers. The glittering gold eyes that seemed to steady her. Anything to forget the image of her father lying in that alley. The Yellowlegs witch standing over him. Her sword as it arced through the air. No, don’t think about it, she told herself.

She felt a squeeze of her hand and looked up. The beautiful witch smiled down at her and she forgot about the sights that had just run through her head. “It’s just over this hill,” Annabee said.

When they reached the crest, the witch stopped. “Maybe you should go the rest of the way. I need to get back to my camp.”

“There might be Ironteeth,” Annabee said, suddenly scared again.

“I don’t sense any,” the witch said. “Only your Crochan aunt.” But after she looked back down and saw Annabee’s worry, she gave in, pulling her hood over her head as they continued towards the house.

“If she’s ok, I’m sure she’ll cook you dinner. As a thanks for helping me,” Annabee said, trying to think of an excuse to keep the witch around. But she didn’t answer, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

When they reached the door, the witch hesitated, then knocked. Auntie Silene peeked through the window. The door was opened seconds later. Annabee dropped the witch’s hand and ran to her aunt, crying. Auntie Silene hugged her and looked to the other witch in confusion. When their eyes met, Annabee felt her aunt freeze. And then before she knew what was happening she was pulled inside and forced behind her aunt. Annabee tried to move around her towards the Crochan, but her aunt blocked her. She felt magic ring through the air, but she wasn’t sure who it was coming from.

“I found your niece in Perranth. Her mother was killed by Iskra Yellowlegs. She may still be in the area. If you have some place to hide, I suggest you go there. Now.”

Annabee frowned, wondering why the witch’s voice was so much harsher than it had been with her. She was about to tell her it had been her father who died when Auntie Silene asked, “And what of you?” Annabee flinched at the hate in her voice. She peeked around, worried that the Crochan might be offended by her aunt’s behavior.

The witch tilted her head to look at Annabee, offering her a small smile. Then, to Auntie Silene, the smile disappearing, she said, “What of me? I was never here.” She turned her back on them and left.

Auntie Silene slammed the door, locked it, and took Annabee into a back room. She pulled up a rug, opened a small door in the floor, and sent Annabee down a ladder.

“What about my things? Fathers things?” She didn’t want to cry again but the thought of leaving his clothes behind seemed too much.

As she came down the ladder, Auntie Silene said, “It’s not important dear. We need to leave. Get you back to your mother. That’s important.” Then, she went back up the ladder and sealed the door with her magic.

They made their way through a long, dark tunnel. Annabee lost track of time. Which made her think about Father. But each time she saw him in the alley, she tried to think about the white-haired Crochan who’d saved her instead. Eventually, she noticed a faint light ahead. As they neared it, Annabee realized it was moonlight. They came out into the forest near a little hamlet. Barely more than a few houses and a tiny inn. Auntie Silene went to one of the houses and knocked. They were ushered in by an old male Crochan, who fed them and let them spend the night. His daughter would take Annabee to Berwyn. It was too hard a trip for Auntie Silene to make, but she’d stay with Annabee until the next day.

Annabee cried herself to sleep that night, trying hard to think about the white-haired Crochan instead of her father. She didn’t want to ignore him, forget him. But it hurt too much to think about him. Despite her best efforts though, his face took over and replaced the witch in her mind. As she began to nod off, Annabee realized she’d never asked the witch her name.

   “You never told anyone,” Dorian said in amazement. Manon wasn’t sure if he meant it for her or Annabee.

The witchling answered, but she addressed Manon. “I didn’t know who you were, who you really were, until years later. And when I’d been brought back home and my mother found out what had happened...” She trailed off, frowning. “If I did describe you to her... Well, I suppose it got lost in everything else that we were going through. The loss of my father was very hard on her. Well, both of us.” It took her a moment to continue. “And Aunt Silene was the only person who’d known. She hadn’t known my mother. Why she never sent a message… I don’t know.”

“And when you did realize?” Dorian asked.

Annabee glanced away, and Manon thought she saw an apology in the expression. “I overheard some of my friends talking about the White Demon. How she wore a Crochan cloak and used it to lure witchlings into her clutches.” She let out a derisive laugh. “How she had white hair like me. They actually wondered if we were related. Teased me about it. Asked if I was evil too because of my hair.”

Under her breath, Aven said, “Little bastards.”

“It’s ok Grandmother,” Annabee said with a smirk. “Their teasing didn’t last long.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow and said, “Gods. You three are definitely related. Remind me not to piss any of you off.”

Manon turned abruptly, eyes wide in horror at his flippant remark. But Dorian just smiled and she realized Aven and Annabee were laughing quietly.

“I thought you’d already learned that lesson Dorian,” Annabee said, still smiling. When she looked at Manon however, her smile faded.

Manon felt very uncomfortable. Partly because she didn’t understand how they could all be joking right now. But most of her unease came from the question she desperately wanted to ask. The question that had been bothering her for a very long time. Since that day at the Omega. She didn’t think she deserved an answer. And she worried that it was unfair of her to ask it of Annabee. But...

She looked at each of them before settling on Annabee, then asked, “Would you tell me about her? Your mother?” Manon didn’t bother to cover the way her voice had broken with the question. She didn’t try to hide the pain she felt. The remorse. She laid herself bare to Annabee, her mask gone, useless. Not with the expectation that it would bring forgiveness. But with hope. With the simple desire that these two witches, the grandmother and niece she’d been denied her entire life, might see her for who she really was. Not the reputation she’d created to survive. Not the monster she’d been forced to be. But the person she was trying to be. The person she wanted to be.

Annabee stared at her for a long while, seeming to struggle with her answer. Finally, she nodded and simply said, “Ok.”

She noticed Aven wave a hand at Dorian and gesture towards the door. He sent her a silent question and she nodded, smiling as he kissed her forehead. She heard Aven mention a nearby library to Dorian as they left. His reaction made both Manon and Annabee snort in laughter.  

Once they were gone, Manon turned her attention back to Annabee, who asked, “So, what would you like to know?”

Manon smiled. “Everything.”

    To be continued...

(As always, thank you to @itach-i and @propshophannah for writing help and their brilliant character analyses!)