#white painted wood spindles

[rokberglez]

Mudroom in Boston Example of a mid-sized laminate floor and black floor entryway design with beige walls and a white front door

[minterupt]

Transitional Basement in Dallas Mid-sized transitional walk-out basement idea with a beige floor and light wood floors, gray walls, and no fireplace

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is a very interesting home. Built in 1895 in Davenport, IA, the architecture is superb. 8bds, 8ba, 4,124 sq ft, $399,900.

The foyer is interesting, as soon as you step inside. Look at the built-in hall tree on the left, and that has to be an original light fixture.

An oversized wide door opens directly to the living room. Look at the inlaid floor.

I've never seen such an unusual layout. This is a living room with a semi-enclosed staircase and a hall along the side. The stairs have a built-in bench and note the pocket doors on the right.

Down the hall behind the stairs, there's a guest powder room.

The dining room is amazing. Look at the fireplace- beautifully carved wood and bright blue tile. Plus, there's a built-in China cabinet. And the wallpaper mural is lovely.

I think that we can all agree that the kitchen remodel fits nicely. The wood matches, they left the fireplace, and there's a stained glass window. The granite counters fit much better than if they were stark white, but I don't care for the color of the ceiling.

Love the copper double farm sink and the backsplash.

Original pantry. This is wonderful.

Cute little breakfast room/every day dining room.

Next to the dining room there's a lovely pastel blue family room.

Look at how delicately carved the spindles are, and there's the beautiful bronze statue on the newel post.

Wow. Fancy primary bedroom. I like the paint and fireplace, but there's a little too much fabric for me.

This is a very nice room. I like the ceilings in the bedrooms.

Rounded wall with a pretty sink in the room.

There are more bedrooms in the finished attic.

Plus 3 modern baths up here, also.

The back of the house is nicer than the front- look at the beautiful round porch.

There's a large, shady yard. I like the lattice, too.

This rusty little gazebo has so much charm.

.28 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/817-W-7th-St-Davenport-IA-52802/76856252_zpid/

[pictureinme]

Fic idea: reader takes kitten out on a picnic for her birthday or their anniversary and treats her the way she deserves to be treated and like reader gives her all these cute gifts and treats and it's just a cute moment

thank u so much for this request !!! i felt so inspired by this ;-; it may be a bit more than you expected !

autumn breeze

patricia ‘kitten’ braden x f!reader word count: ~1.2k tags: romantic fluff, established relationship, marriage proposal, kitten appreciation hour is in full effect

(ao3)

Kitten walks blindly through the park, unaware of just how beautiful the falling leaves look across the grass. You’re guiding her through winding paths, all the way to a secret spot you paid the caretaker off to leave undisturbed.

Her outfit was as beautiful as ever, and the only criteria you gave her was to dress for the season. While she giggles incessantly, you take it in: a roomy brown sweater which nearly enveloped her hands, tucked into orange corduroy flares, paired with brown mule heels.

You uncover Kitten’s eyes, revealing the surprise she has been anticipating for a week now. Her eyes darted quickly, taking in the set-up before her: a yellow gingham blanket, and atop it was an overflowing picnic basket. She could only imagine what else could be awaiting her, but she could definitely see a familiar wine bottle and accompanying glasses.

“Oh, darling…” Kitten’s hand comes to cover her agape mouth.

You grin, hugging her tightly from behind, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

“Even bought my favorite wine…” She spins around, and her hands come to rest on your shoulders. Her eyes are sparkling, hints of tears threatening to spill. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Don’t thank me just yet!” You guide her down to the blanket, kicking off your flats before sitting. “You haven’t even seen the records I brought.”

Kitten daintily takes off her heels, grinning almost maniacally as she kneels on the fabric, “Do tell!”

“I brought all of our favorites,” gesturing to the case against your hip, she notices you had the portable record player, as well as your book of 45s. “Goldsboro, Rubettes, Sweet… even some Stevie!”

You rifle through the binder, and pull out your Bobby Goldsboro “Honey/Danny” single– something you bought for Kitten on your second date. She glowed when she unwrapped it, revealing the orange magenta label with her favorite song’s title plastered onto it.

Kitten holds the record carefully as you set up the portable player, its wood grain stark against the gingham, a holdover from your parents’ generation. She places the disc onto the center spindle, and you place the needle. The sweet, sweet sounds of adult contemporary fill the space.

The warmth of the afternoon lay dappled on the ground, wrapping the two of you in something like a yellow aura. Kitten’s nails were adorned with an orange polish, with delicate flowers– painted by you– in white. Her hand is on top of your own, and you bathe in the feeling of contentment. The autumnal breeze was cool, but welcome.

From her reclined position on the blanket, she hums, “We should probably eat before whatever it is goes stale, hm?”

“Perhaps,” you groan as you move from your own lounging, “You do tend to be the voice of reason.”

You shuffle towards the picnic basket, and hand her the bottle as well as the glasses. Opening it further reveals to Kitten the true lengths you went to for this event: cucumber sandwiches, various berries, cheeses, and crackers, and even more she couldn’t see.

“Goodness, you pulled out all of the stops, didn't you, dear?”

Laughing slightly, you take the bottle back from her and pop the cork, “I’d pull the stars from the sky if it could make you happy, my love.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as you pour the Sauvignon blanc into her awaiting glass, “Oh, such a poet you are.”

You pour your own glass as she takes out the sandwiches and charcuterie set-up. Kitten splits the sandwich triangles between the two of you.

“Thank you, my love,” Kitten bites into her sandwich, careful not to smudge her meticulously painted lips, “Truly.”

“It’s our third anniversary, and you always do so much for me,” you pop a cube of chèvre into your awaiting mouth, “You deserve so much more than this, Kitten.”

Cocking her head, she hums, “Well, you’ve certainly outdone yourself! Can’t remember the last time we could do something so romantic together in public…”

You bite your lip slightly as her lidded eyes meet yours, “Me neither, I had to bargain for this spot, you know. Sold all our assets away!”

“Shame, I was just about to blow it all at the slots tomorrow night with Charlie.”

“And you weren’t going to invite moi?” You hold your heart in faux offense, “Now I don’t feel so bad about auctioning off your precious silk slips.”

“You did not!”

Laughter erupted from your throat, “Dear, I would never do such a thing! You really must pick up a book on sarcasm.”

Rolling her eyes yet again, Kitten smiles as she tosses a blueberry in her mouth, “Silly, silly girl. On our special day, too.”

You grin widely, and the pair of you continue to eat away at your borderline rabbit food and white wine. The way her head is thrown back after a particularly raunchy joke you made, or how her blonde curls bounce when she’s truly excited, you couldn’t get enough of it.

The two of you make it through almost all of the records before you decide to reveal the true surprise of the afternoon.

“Doll, could you check the basket for me?” You coyly ask, busying yourself with cleaning the stray napkins and empty berry containers. “I’m sure I forgot something.”

She cocks an eyebrow, “You, forgetting something? Believe it when I see it, love.”

You watch as she leans over the picnic basket, moving her locks from her eye-line to properly check. As she investigates, you feel your heart begin to race. What if she said no, what if–

“(Y/N)!” Kitten practically shrieks when she finds the so-called missing item. “Is this what I think it is?”

She moves back to sit in front of you, an expression of pure joy written all over her face.

“Patricia ‘Kitten’ Braden, saint of my heart… will you marry me?”

Her hand was held open to reveal a golden ring, within the center was an oval diamond cushioned by two smaller ones.

“Oh, God, yes, yes!”

Before your hand reaches to slip the ring onto her finger, she’s caught your lips in a kiss that would’ve knocked off your feet, had you been standing. You could feel her heart beating out of her chest, and you raise a hand to cup her cheek.

“I love you more than anything in the universe, my Kitten. I know it may not be easy, getting married and all, but–”

Kitten shakes her head slightly, a tear falling from her eye, “Don’t say such things right now, we’ll be okay.”

Nodding, you smile through what you realize are your own tears, and take the ring from her still outstretched hand. You hold her left hand in yours, and slowly slip the delicate ring onto her finger. Her breath hitches, and so does yours.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming, darling,” the desperation in her eyes made that knot in your throat hurt so much more.

“Far from it,” you kiss her sweetly on her plush lips, “This is as real as it gets.”

[cjgladback]

So this blocking thing! It's good for more than just nuisances. I haven't knit a lot of garments yet with fiber that responds to blocking, and what I have has been like...socks where it seems unnecessary because the whole thing will be in tension while worn. But also I just don't have large pinnable surfaces, as one typically needs when the point is to soak a piece of fabric and then stretch it out to pose in the shape you want it to be until next soaking. What do I have? The ability to stack waterproof objects on a small patch of flat counter space. And thank goodness because that definitely saved this hat.

Anyway! I am happy to have used my extremely inconsistent first skeins of support-spindled yarn (see the post with them all laid out here) for a project I'll probably actually use once it's chilly again. It is comfortable, even if I'm a bit disappointed in the colorwork legibility. This is how the chart looks:

But I didn't quite manage matching gauge yarns, I'm low on practice/experience keeping tension for stranded colorwork, and probably just aiming for too loose a fabric anyway (should've found a path to increasing stitches and using smaller needles on that section) so it's very blobby.

I do have some of that green and "matching" oyster skein left, as well as a little of the finest oyster yarn I used for the ribbing. So if I use them together again, I'll probably hold the two oyster threads as one. Speaking of, I had way too much of the underplied lace yarn and wasn't happy with my first run at an even more open lace panel, so ended up frogging that back and making these sections with the lace yarn held double. Worth it! Much happier with this result. And I can see why underplied yarn has been said to do lace well; was cool how open it already was before blocking.

Image descriptions below:

[ID: Four photos of a slouchy, off-white beanie with some green colorwork being knit, blocked, and worn. The hat is constructed with a solid top of thicker yarn, strip of lace, a strip of green colorwork (meant to be jumping frogs), a matching strip of lace, and finally a long section of ribbing, broken into four strips by inverting the knits and purls.

In the first photo, with a blurred background, the beanie is still in process with a green string holding the live stitches while it's tried on, partway through the first section of ribbed brim; it fits like a misshapen mushroom, the top lace panel collapsing over the relatively tight colorwork, all under the lumpy increases of the densely knit crown.

The second photo also has a blurred background but shows the hat being blocked, gently stretched over a tower of stacked containers, widest at the top around the curved base of an upside down plastic coffee canister from crown to colorwork, the gradual taper of a hair bleach tub easing the lower lace panel into the ribbing before the very end hangs free around a peanut butter jar pedestal.

The third and fourth photos show the finished hat from the side and front, being worn by a pale-skinned brunette woman with a braid and orange t-shirt in front of painted wood paneling on an overcast day. The hat is slouched but not bulbous, blocking having stretched the colorwork horizontally and the lace vertically; a twice-rolled brim covers the lower lace panel but leaves the still not very legible frog colorwork visible. End ID]

[ID: Chart of green on white colorwork made in the Google Sheets spreadsheet software; a section in the middle is selected, though there are repeated motifs on either side. Every cell with an X in it is colored green and makes slightly horizontally stretched pixel art of a frog hopping from the right to the left; the rightmost frog is crouched under a flower or star made of four dots, to its left is a frog pushing off the ground and to its left a frog leaping horizontally through the air. The repeat is 39 stitches wide, 10 rows tall. End ID]

[graaaaceeliz]

I went to the medieval faire today and I have learned about:

Colour and pigment for paint

Tiles and things you can make of clay

Wattle and daub technique

Arrowheads

The process of building a bow

Medieval bagpipes

Spindle turning/wood turning

That the "best medicine" of the viking age has been recreated and proven to be such an excellent antibiotic that it kills mrsa. It is made of onion, garlic, white wine, and gall. Clinical tests for using it to treat several diseases and illnesses are underway.

I have had an awesome day.

[feverdemon]

His mother knelt every morning at the altar in the wood-paneled living room. The tabletop held a ceramic nativity even when the humidity beaded the windows in August. She pinned tracts and hung memorial flowers on the wall, but the centerpiece was a solemn painting of Christ rendered in velvet oils. Whenever Sam stood before the altar and stared at the painting, something shifted beneath his ribcage, a longing for which he had no name. The picture disarmed him with its imploring eyes. His hair swayed in soft waves, and white lilies fell around His robed shoulders. The painted sheen of light against his cheeks captured the infinite gentleness that Sam felt running through every word printed in red on the translucent paper. He stared into the luminous face until he heard footsteps. He couldn’t bear to look into the eyes of the painting when anyone stood near him, chastened by a curiosity that threatened to lay him bare. During worship, he had to be careful not to fix his gaze on the plaster cross that hung at the apex of the chapel, otherwise the same feeling would return. Its vulnerability embarrassed him, defenseless against the piercing  eyes of all who loved and hated Him alike. He only permitted the gentle grimace to return to his mind when he was alone. When he imagined the prostrate body blighted with red slits, penetrated by arrows ready to slip out and spill the savior’s blood upon the dirt, his chest felt thick and heavy. He longed to wipe away the sweat on his brow and wrap bandages around the bleeding places. He wondered if everyone else in the chapel felt this same devotion and never spoke it aloud. 

As he fell asleep, the visions came to him as they always did, of beguiling brown eyes and hands as gentle in supplication as when wrought with nails. These dreams carried him past midnight, scraps of psalms drifting across his eyelids, until he woke to the whisper of his name. He heard the thump of fluttering wings and turned, feeling a breeze on his bare shoulders. A gleaming tunnel of light shone through his window. He rose and reached out his hand, feeling the sunbeam warmth pull him in, drawing him unblinking into its path, passing through the glass as though he were another figment of light. He was standing outside in the garden now, surrounded by fruitless tomato stalks overgrowing their wire spindles. He looked to the source of the light, the beam diffusing around a long-haired figure. Christ stood barefoot in the grass before him, arms outstretched, emitting an incandescent glow beneath his skin that no painting could capture. As he felt the benevolent gaze, his awe gave way to shame, knees trembling under the weight of all he had yet to repent for. He fell to the ground at His feet, hands clasped and begging. But the Lord raised him from the dew without a word, raising his chin with His fingertips before letting them fall away. Sam drew close until he collapsed against the white robes, forehead resting against His chest. He felt the heart within beating in rhythm with his own. Peace, be still sounded through his body like a bell. He was replete, his broken pieces held together by the hand on his back, never lonely again. 

Tarry ye here, for my soul is exceeding sorrowful unto death. The voice surpassed his ears and thrummed inside his chest. He looked up and the familiar brown eyes were closed, forehead furrowed in pain. Sam reached out fearfully to take the face of his Lord in his hands. He longed to whisper I will take this cup from you but his throat was thick. Through the haze of golden light, he remembered the dirt beneath his feet and how cold it was pressed against his face on the bad days, when the clinking of a dinner plate echoed like artillery and he was the only thing left to punish. As he opened his mouth, the words fell from his mouth like tears. The world hath not known thee, but I have known thee. The warmth that wrapped around him was infinite. He was no longer doomed to wander, for the love brimming in his chest would always bring him home. I in you, and thou in me. 

He woke still feeling a heartbeat through the pillow. When the sun rose through the curtains, the purple glow brought no comfort. He wept hot tears, yearning for nothing else but to be the one God chose to die so his beloved might be spared. Breakfast was silent, school was dull, lying alone in his bed waiting for sleep was barely tolerable. Only in dreams did he allow himself to hold on as deeply as he longed to be held, and only in dreams was he able to believe he deserved it.

[igoldenlaser]

Panel Furniture Production Machine

Wardrobe Plate Furniture Production Line Description:

CNC wood working machine Furniture Production Line Wood Door Making Machine cnc wood router for kitchen cabinets.

Custom furniture CNC router with automatic nesting software has full functions of automatic uploading and downloading, automatically nesting, optimizing, vertical drilling, slotting, grooving, engraving, etc. now the nesting CNC router for sale at an affordable price.

Fully automatic loading and unloading machining center is suitable for multi-product processing, such as boring and milling, embossing, drilling, cutting and edge cutting. The fuselage is welded by high-strength thick-walled steel pipe, and the structure is stable to ensure stable operation of the machine. The use of internationally imported parts also gives the machine a longer life. In particular, the automatic loading and unloading function is more intelligent, saving manpower and improving processing efficiency.

CNC Nesting Machine With Drilling

Nesting CNC Router ATC Tool Changer With Drilling Wood Machine Features:

1. Air cooling spindle with high speed,high efficency and little noise.

2. It's with loading and unloading nesting system, so can save time and have high effiency.

3. Taiwan HIWIN square guide rails and Taiwan TBI ball screws with high precision,large load bearing and stable running.

4. Equipped with professional vaccum adsorption base with the high strength engineering plastics surface in order to ensure can bear large load and longtime working.

5. Adopt high powerful professional vacuum pump,strong adsorption capacity.

Edge Banding Machine

Woodworking Edge Banding Machines Features:

1.Automatic edge banding machine can be customized according to clients' demand.

2.The main functions of this machine include: gumming edge, trimming front and back, fine trimming, scraping, buffing. 3.The gluing mechanism uses a special structure to evenly coat the sheet and coating material to ensure a stronger bond. 4.Automatically tracking and high-frequency motor rapid cutting structure through precise guide rail movement ensures cutting surface smooth. 5.The polishing unit adopts a sheet made of cotton polishing wheel, which is polished to make the surface smoother.

6.Apply to MDF . Acrylic plate . Fiber board . Particle board . Solid Board . PVC board.

Side Drilling Machine Wood Drilling Machine For Furniture

Side Drilling Machine For Furniture Production Features :    

1. Support various docking furniture design production software with opening worktable port.

2. Simple operation. Without any software, it can directly blind play truly intelligent production

3. Zero-based staff are qualified for operation after only one hour of professional training, which saving labor costs.

4. Please notice that all the specifications can be customized according to your special requirements.

Automatic Wood Sanding Machine

Cabinet Door Sanding Machines Description:

The equipment uses abrasive cloth strips, sisal and abrasive rolls as abrasives to sharpen the edge of the workpiece, the surface burrs and the edge of the workpiece after painting; the function is complete, the processing range is wide, mainly used for the door plate and the bottom plate. Paint polishing, including solid wood doors, composite doors, sticker doors, cabinet doors, wardrobe doors, and other door panels, such as PU, paint panels, primer panels, polishing of white workpieces can be used. It can replace the polishing worker to complete the work efficiently.

Wood Brush Sanding Machine For Cabinet Door Features:

1) It is the surface processing equipment of wood CNC machine, mainly for the rough grinding and primer polishing of wood products.

2) Using frequency conversion speed regulation, the speed can be adjusted freely to select the appropriate feeding speed to ensure the polishing quality of the work piece.

3) The sanding roller is composed of sisal brush and gauze. Different combinations of gauze and brush can be provided. The gauze and brush can be replaced separately, which can effectively save costs.

Woodworking MDF Wood Door Surface Vacuum Laminated Press PVC Machine

PVC MDF Door Vacuum Membrane Press Machine Features:

1、Top-e series of special-shaped laminating machine is suitable for panel furniture, cabinet, wardrobe door, sliding door, office table and other home furnishing industries (mainly covering high-grade PVC film, transfer film and other decorative materials on the surface of wood plate).

2、The top-e series model is the latest upgraded version. After the upgraded version, it is mainly reflected in: 1. It reduces the previous tedious operation steps and saves time; 2. It reduces the traditional fault points and improves the working efficiency; 3. The high-quality re upgrading of main components improves the stability.

3、This machine is double station automatic operation mode. The left and right two stations can operate continuously. When the left platform is working, the right platform places the workpiece;when the right platform is working, the left platform places the workpiece. There is no need to wait to maximize efficiency.

4、The operation interface adopts automatic digital display control, which is easy to understand.  According to the PVC film of different materials, adjust the corresponding parameters (the factory has provided the parameter table for reference). When operating, just press the start button, which is fast and time-saving.

5、Equipped with high-speed vacuum pump, rated speed of 100m ³ / h and super large vacuum tank. It can quickly reach the required pressure in a short time, with fast pumping speed and large force. Shorten the forming time and improve the working efficiency.

[vinnysair]

Premium Chiavari Chair Supplier

About Chiavari Chairs

Chiavari chairs are elegant and stylish seating options commonly used for events, weddings, banquets, and other special occasions. They are named after the town of Chiavari in Italy, where they were first created in the early 19th century.

Chiavari chairs are lightweight yet sturdy with a classic design. They have wooden frames, often made from beech or fruitwood, and feature a curved seat and slatted or spindle backrest. Modern versions may use materials like aluminum or resin. They come in various finishes and colors, including natural wood tones and painted options. Chiavari chairs often have removable cushions for added comfort and can be stacked for easy storage and transport. They are popular for events and venues seeking elegance and practicality.

10 Best Designs of Chiavari Chairs

1 Traditional Wood Finish: This design features a classic Chiavari chair with a natural wood finish, showcasing the beauty of the wood grain. It exudes timeless elegance and complements a wide range of event themes.

2 Gold Leaf: A variation of the traditional design, this Chiavari chair is coated with a luxurious gold leaf finish. It adds a touch of opulence and sophistication to any event, particularly suited for formal occasions or high-end settings.

3 White Painted: This Chiavari chair is painted in a crisp white color, offering a clean and contemporary look. It is a popular choice for modern weddings, beach-themed events, or settings that require a bright and fresh ambiance.

4 Black Lacquer: The black lacquer Chiavari chair is sleek and stylish, creating a sophisticated and dramatic atmosphere. It is often favored for formal dinners, gala events, or settings where a touch of modern elegance is desired.

5 Vintage Distressed: This design showcases a distressed finish that gives the Chiavari chair a charming vintage appeal. The worn and weathered look adds character and rustic charm to a variety of event themes, such as shabby chic or bohemian.

6 Metallic Silver: A modern and eye-catching option, the metallic silver Chiavari chair brings a contemporary flair to any event. It reflects light beautifully and adds a touch of glamour, making it a popular choice for upscale celebrations or themed parties.

7 Transparent Acrylic: For a unique and modern look, the transparent acrylic Chiavari chair is a popular choice. Its clear construction adds a sense of lightness and transparency, making it suitable for minimalist and modern-themed events.

8 Fruit-wood Stained: This Chiavari chair is stained with a warm fruitwood finish, giving it a rich and inviting appearance. The deep tones of the stain provide a touch of sophistication and pair well with earthy or autumn-inspired event themes.

9 Silver Leaf: Similar to the gold leaf design, this Chiavari chair is coated with a silver leaf finish, exuding a sleek and glamorous aesthetic. It is an excellent choice for events that call for a contemporary and upscale ambiance.

10 Custom Upholstery: This design allows for customization with fabric or vinyl upholstery on the seat and backrest cushions. It offers the flexibility to match the chair's appearance to the event's color scheme or theme, providing a personalized touch.

 Best Material Uses in Chiavari Chairs

Chiavari chairs can be made using various materials, each offering unique qualities and characteristics. Here are the main materials used to make Chiavari chairs, described in five descriptive points:

1 Solid Wood: Traditional Chiavari chairs are crafted from high-quality solid wood, such as Beach wood or fruit-wood. This material provides a sturdy and durable frame that can withstand frequent use and offers a classic and timeless aesthetic.

2 Aluminum: Modern variations of Chiavari chairs feature frames made from lightweight and corrosion-resistant aluminum. Aluminum offers the advantage of easy maneuverability and transport, making it suitable for both indoor and outdoor events.

3 Resin: Chiavari chairs made from resin are lightweight, durable, and resistant to weather conditions. Resin chairs are easy to clean and maintain, making them an ideal choice for outdoor venues or events where frequent cleaning is required.

4 Metal: Some Chiavari chairs are constructed using metals like steel or wrought iron. Metal frames provide excellent stability and strength, ensuring long-lasting chairs that can withstand heavy use. They are often finished with protective coatings to enhance their durability.

5 Upholstery: Chiavari chairs often feature cushions or seat pads for added comfort. The upholstery material can vary and is typically chosen for its durability and aesthetics. Common options include fabrics like velvet, satin, or polyester, as well as vinyl for easy cleaning and maintenance.

Source of blog

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Wood Maiden: The Story of Betushka and the Golden Birch Leaves

As told by Parker Filmore

Illustrations by Trina S. Hyman

How about a Czech lesbian fairy tale?

This czech tale tells the story of a young girl named Betushka and her "friendship" with the beautiful but mysterious Wood Maiden in the depths of the forest, away from the eyes of the girl's mother.

It's important to note that technically this is one of the Orphean Tales as I like to call them, stories where one of the protagonists disobeys or simply doesn't hear the advice of the other causing them both to be brutally separated, either for one to try to rescue the other, or for them to never see each other again. Orpheus and Eurydice and Cupid and Psyche are examples of this type of story: Orpheus disobeys Hades' orders and looks behind losing Eurydice forever, and Psyche disobeys Cupid's orders, forcing him to go away and she to try to find him again. As you can tell, usually the characters involved in this trope are lovers, what makes Betushka's realationship with the Wood Maiden much more interesting.

Betushka was a little girl. Her mother was a poor widow with nothing but a tumble-down cottage and two little nanny-goats. But poor as they were Betushka was always cheerful. From spring until autumn she pastured the goats in the birch wood. Every morning when she left home her mother gave her a little basket with a slice of bread and a spindle.

"See that you bring home a full spindle," her mother always said.

Betushka had no distaff, so she wound the flax around her head. Then she took the little basket and went romping and singing behind the goats to the birch wood. When they got there she sat down under a tree and pulled the fibres of the flax from her head with her left hand, and with her right hand let down the spindle so that it went humming along the ground. All the while she sang until the woods echoed and the little goats nibbled away at the leaves and grass.

When the sun showed midday, she put the spindle aside, called the goats and gave them a mouthful of bread so that they wouldn't stray, and ran off into the woods to hunt berries or any other wild fruit that was in season. Then when she had finished her bread and fruit, she jumped up, folded her arms, and danced and sang.

The sun smiled at her through the green of the trees and the little goats, resting on the grass, thought: "What a merry little shepherdess we have!"

After her dance she went back to her spinning and worked industriously. In the evening when she got home her mother never had to scold her because the spindle was empty.

One day at noon just after she had eaten and, as usual, was going to dance, there suddenly stood before her a most beautiful maiden. She was dressed in white gauze that was fine as a spider's web. Long golden hair fell down to her waist and on her head she wore a wreath of woodland flowers.

Betushka was speechless with surprise and alarm.

The maiden smiled at her and said in a sweet voice:

"Betushka, do you like to dance?"

Her manner was so gracious that Betushka no longer felt afraid, and answered:

"Oh, I could dance all day long!"

"Come, then, let us dance together," said the maiden. "I'll teach you."

With that she tucked up her skirt, put her arm about Betushka's waist, and they began to dance. At once such enchanting music sounded over their heads that Betushka's heart went one-two with the dancing. The musicians sat on the branches of the birch trees. They were clad in little frock coats, black and grey and many-coloured. It was a carefully chosen orchestra that had gathered at the bidding of the beautiful maiden: larks, nightingales, finches, linnets, thrushes, blackbirds, and showy mocking-birds.

Betushka's cheeks burned, her eyes shone. She forgot her spinning, she forgot her goats. All she could do was gaze at her partner who was moving with such grace and lightness that the grass didn't seem to bend under her slender feet.

[This paints a image that is so sweet, homoerotic and sapphic that hurts. Someone knew. Someone telling this tale for the first time must have known]

They danced from noon until sundown and yet Betushka wasn't the least bit tired. Then they stopped dancing, the music ceased, and the maiden disappeared as suddenly as she had come.

Betushka looked around. The sun was sinking behind the wood. She put her hands to the unspun flax on her head and remembered the spindle that was lying unfilled on the grass. She took down the flax and laid it with the spindle in the little basket. Then she called the goats and started home.

She reproached herself bitterly that she had allowed the beautiful maiden to beguile her and she told herself that another time she would not listen to her. She was so quiet that the little goats, missing her merry song, looked around to see whether it was really their own little shepherdess who was following them. Her mother, too, wondered why she didn't sing and questioned her.

"Are you sick, Betushka?"

"No, dear mother, I'm not sick, but I've been singing too much and my throat is dry."

She knew that her mother did not reel the yarn at once, so she hid the spindle and the unspun flax, hoping to make up tomorrow what she had not done today. She did not tell her mother one word about the beautiful maiden.

The next day she felt cheerful again and as she drove the goats to pasture she sang merrily. At the birch wood she sat down to her spinning, singing all the while, for with a song on the lips work falls from the hands more easily.

Noonday came. Betushka gave a bit of bread to each of the goats and ran off to the woods for her berries. Then she ate her luncheon.

"Ah, my little goats," she sighed, as she brushed up the crumbs for the birds, "I mustn't dance today."

"Why mustn't you dance today?" a sweet voice asked, and there stood the beautiful maiden as though she had fallen from the clouds.

Betushka was worse frightened than before and she closed her eyes tight. When the maiden repeated her question, Betushka answered timidly:

"Forgive me, beautiful lady, for not dancing with you. If I dance with you I cannot spin my stint and then my mother will scold me. Today before the sun sets I must make up for what I lost yesterday."

"Come, child, and dance," the maiden said. "Before the sun sets we'll find some way of getting that spinning done!"

She tucked up her skirt, put her arm about Betushka, the musicians in the treetops struck up, and off they whirled. The maiden danced more beautifully than ever. Betushka couldn't take her eyes from her. She forgot her goats, she forgot her spinning. All she wanted to do was to dance on forever.

At sundown the maiden paused and the music stopped. Then Betushka, clasping her hands to her head, where the unspun flax was twined, burst into tears. The beautiful maiden took the flax from her head, wound it round the stem of a slender birch, grasped the spindle, and began to spin. The spindle hummed along the ground and filled in no time. Before the sun sank behind the woods all the flax was spun, even that which was left over from the day before. The maiden handed Betushka the full spindle and said:

"Remember my words:

Reel and grumble not!

Keel and grumble not!"

When she said this, she vanished as if the earth had swallowed her.

Betushka was very happy now and she thought to herself on her way home: "Since she is so good and kind, I'll dance with her again if she asks me. Oh, how I hope she does!"

She sang her merry little song as usual and the goats trotted cheerfully along.

She found her mother vexed with her, for she had wanted to reel yesterday's yarn and had discovered that the spindle was not full.

"What were you doing yesterday," she scolded, "that you didn't spin your stint?"

Betushka hung her head. "Forgive me, mother. I danced too long." Then she showed her mother today's spindle and said: "See, today I more than a made up for yesterday."

Her mother said no more but went to milk the goats and Betushka put away the spindle. She wanted to tell her mother her adventure, but she thought to herself: "No, I'll wait. If the beautiful lady comes again, I'll ask her who she is and then I'll tell mother." So she said nothing.

On the third morning she drove the goats as usual to the birch wood. The goats went to pasture and Betushka, sitting down under a tree, began to spin and sing. When the sun pointed to noon, she laid her spindle on the grass, gave the goats a mouthful of bread, gathered some strawberries, ate her luncheon, and then, giving the crumbs to the birds, she said cheerily:

"Today, my little goats, I will dance for you!"

She jumped up, folded her arms, and was about to see whether she could move as gracefully as the beautiful maiden, when the maiden herself stood before her.

"Let us dance together," she said. She smiled at Betushka, put her arm about her, and as the music above their heads began to play, they whirled round and round with flying feet. Again Betushka forgot the spindle and the goats. Again she saw nothing but the beautiful maiden whose body was lithe as a willow shoot. Again she heard nothing but the enchanting music to which her feet danced of themselves.

[In a perfect world this would be like "Hey, I'm a lesbian". to which the Wood Maiden replies "I thought you were a czech peasant girl!"]

They danced from noon until sundown. Then the maiden paused and the music ceased. Betushka looked around. The sun was already set behind the woods. She clasped her hands to her head and looking down at the unfilled spindle she burst into tears.

"Oh, what will my mother say?" she cried.

"Give me your little basket," the maiden said, "and I will put something in it that will more than make up for today's stint."

Betushka handed her the basket and the maiden took it and vanished. In a moment she was back.

She returned the basket and said:

"Look not inside until you're home!

Look not inside until you're home!"

As she said these words she was gone as if a wind had blown her away.

Betushka wanted awfully to peep inside but she was afraid to. The basket was so light that she wondered whether there was anything at all in it. Was the lovely lady only fooling her? Halfway home she peeped in to see.

[Very bad choice!]

Imagine her feelings when she found the basket was full of birch leaves! Then indeed did Betushka burst into tears and reproach herself for being so simple. In her vexation she threw out a handful of leaves and was going to empty the basket when she thought to herself:

"No, I'll keep what's left as litter for the goats."

She was almost afraid to go home. She was so quiet that again the little goats wondered what ailed their shepherdess.

Her mother was waiting for her in great excitement.

"For heaven's sake, Betushka, what kind of spool did you bring home yesterday?"

"Why?" Betushka faltered.

"When you went away this morning, I started to reel that yarn. I reeled and reeled and the spool remained full. One skein, two skeins, three skeins, and still the spool was full. 'What evil spirit has spun that?' I cried out impatiently, and instantly the yarn disappeared from the spindle as if blown away. Tell me, what does it mean?"

So Betushka confessed and told her mother all she knew about the beautiful maiden.

"Oh," cried her mother in amazement, "that was a wood maiden! At noon and midnight the wood maidens dance. It is well you are not a little boy or she might have danced you to death! But they are often kind to little girls and sometimes make them rich presents. Why didn't you tell me? If I hadn't grumbled, I could have had yarn enough to fill the house!"

Betushka thought of the little basket and wondered if there might be something under the leaves. She took out the spindle and unspun flax and looked in once more.

"Mother!" she cried. "Come here and see!"

Her mother looked and clapped her hands. The birch leaves were all turned to gold!

Betushka reproached herself bitterly: "She told me not to look inside till I got home, but I didn't obey."

"It's lucky you didn't empty the whole basket," her mother said.

The next morning she herself went to look for the handful of leaves that Betushka had thrown away. She found them still lying in the road but they were only birch leaves.

But the riches which Betushka brought home were enough. Her mother bought a farm with fields and cattle. Betushka had pretty clothes and no longer had to pasture goats.

But no matter what she did, no matter how cheerful and happy she was, still nothing ever again gave her quite so much pleasure as the dance with the wood maiden. She often went to the birch wood in the hope of seeing the maiden again. But she never did.

@natache

[writers-block-is-now-a-person]

Even Truth Lies in The Thicket

Chapter 1 | 

My name is Harper, but can’t tell you that. In fact, I’m not allowed to tell anyone anything. And there are many reasons why I can’t tell you many things, but I’m not allowed to say those things either. I’m not allowed to say a lot oft things. And I hate it. 

But anyway, I am Harper, and I can’t tell you anything else.

Except that I was kidnapped as a child.

Fingers snapped in front of me, shaking me out of my trance. Lord Bryn glared at me, his dark eyes furious as he walked past. I swallowed the sudden fear and lifted the instrument in my arms. Resting the bow on the strings, I waited for his permission to play. His silence was irritating, I waited as he settled himself on his chair, flicking out his robe and slowly lifting his goblet to his mouth. He flicked his pupil-less eyes at me. I started to play.

I moved my arms and fingers, creating a melody only known to me. This is why they stole me, for their own petty entertainment.

My arms moved on impulse, creating melodies and harmonies from nothing but the emptiness of myself. They liked my music, it didn’t matter to me how it sounded, as long as they liked it, I was safe.

My fingers began to hurt, I played slower. Longer notes with clearer sounds. My arms started to ache, sore from playing for so long. I breathed in evenly and kept playing. I was not allowed to stop until I was told.

The room around me was perfect, glowing in the light of early dusk. The walls painted in lavender, the vaulted ceiling thick with wisteria vines, the purple flowers filling the room. The floor was shining white marble, almost pure moonlight. 

They sat on low velvet couches. Picking at fat fruits and honeyed drinks. Their fingers slender and soft, their skin perfect. Lord Bryn laughed politely as his wife handed him a pomegranate, he bit into the bloody fruit.

They looked perfect, lounging and laughing in the dusking sun. There were seven of them, draped in silks and jewels that glowed in any light. Their faces painted with glitter and powder. However beautiful and stunning they appeared, they looked like monsters to me.

Fae are odd creatures, Seelie Fae are odder. They appear human, almost human. If you look at them longer, they do not seem human. Their eyes are bigger, with richer colours. Their skin is perfect, not blotchy like humans. The hold themselves in such a way that makes you feel inferior, for we are to them. Their smiles are not human either, the Fae have odd smiles.

I held the note I was playing, drawing it out for as long as I could. I lowered my instrument when I was finished. Waiting for their approval.

Lord Bryn looked at me, pale eyes blank. He nodded slowly. His wife smiled and softly clapped her hands. The others joined.

One fae leaned into Lord Bryn. “The mortal is good for their age, I’ve heard some horrendous melodies from ones twice their age.”

Lord Bryn said nothing, his wife, Lady Elowyn, answered instead. “They have a marvellous talent, they always know what to play.”

Lord Bryn seemed satisfied with me, he waved me out. I bowed deeply and left the room.

I went down the servant passageways, not daring to step into the main rooms of the house. Other servants stepped out of my way, some smiled at me. I was above them in the servant hierarchy, the Lord and Lady that owned us liked me the most, mainly for my musical talent. In the narrow passageways, we were all servants. But they were still fae, and I was still human, so no matter how equal I thought we were, they loathed every inch of me.

It wasn’t long until I had entered my room. The servants entrance to my rooms came through the bookshelf, I liked entering my rooms that way. It was like my own secret entrance to my personal space. 

There was no proper door to my main room, just an open archway that led to the main hall of the house. My main room was circular, with robins egg blue painted walls and the white marble floors. The dark woodwork of the bookshelves carved to mimic ivy covered trees. In each alcove of the bookshelves are my many instruments.

I placed the instrument in my hands gently on its pedestal, it sat there waiting for me to play it again. The rest of my instruments sat on their altars, waiting to be played. Some were metal that made bright sounds, most were wood and strings that sang like bird song. Few made deep sounds, I could create scenes of fog and forest with those. 

I looked around at my collection. All of the instruments were gifts, praises for my good work and hopes I could create more. As much as I loved playing them, creating melodies from far away, I loathed the sight of them. All of the instruments were memories of why I was caged here, proof that not all chains are metal.

The arches of the main door were similar to the arched window frames. The sun was halfway down the horizon, I only had a few minutes until I was needed again. Thankfully, there was a real door to my private chambers, the brass handle was the only comfort to me that I could create some privacy.

The Lady of the house, and my owner, favoured me in her own ways. Lady Elowyn let me decorate my room which ever way I wanted, which is why the deep grey of my walls were a stark contrast to the rest of the house. I had covered the marble floor in thick, fluffy blue rugs that I could sink my feet into like grass.

My room was messy, as I hated having the housemaids rifle through my things. I hopped over the pile of papers and books on the floor as I made my way to the deep closet. I changed quickly, from my house garb to something more refined. Still in the pale colours that Lady Elowyn favoured, but more detailed and clean.

The skirt was made of thin materials but had many layers, embroidered into the skirts were honey bees and flowers, creating a mirage of a field. The bodice was tighter but had the same flowing sleeves as the skirt. I hated the sickly green it was. What I hated more was having to change out of the boots. I don’t mind the slippers they give me, they are soft like rabbits fur, but I feel as if I am wearing no shoes at all.

I had spent too much time tying up the dress I had no time for the rest of me. My hair was already tied, that was all I could do.

I pushed open the door and closed it quickly, hoping I could make it to the main hall before she came to collect me. The guests would have left by now, Lord Bryn would be waiting to leave as well.

“No time for your hair or face?” Lady Elowyn said, voice sweet as honey.

I bit a snide comment back, I know better to hold my tongue, I bowed deeply. “Forgive me, My Lady, it seems my skills in time are less than adequate.”

“Less than adequate?” She mused, moving closer to me. Her jewelled hand lifted my chin to meet her gaze. “Less than adequate? Not quite, dear Harper, your skills lie elsewhere than in time.” She scanned my face, her eyebrow lifting in disgust. “But I will not have you leave this house without the proper preparation.”

Please don’t go in my room, I know you hate it. I tried to smile, begging her to leave. She opened the door anyway, her hesitation showed me her distaste for my room. She stepped over the scattered papers and discard clothes as she dragged me to the tiled bathroom.

Sitting me down at the vanity, she perused over the countless things piled onto the space. I didn’t know what they were, so I never bothered.

She rubbed a sweet smelling cream into my face, her spindle fingers rougher than I expected, her pointed nails digging into my cheeks. The cream seemed to blur my skin, removing its blotchy colours and evidence of humanness. I watched my reflection change in the mirror as she painted my eyelids with a green glitter. She lined my eyes in silver, my lips as well. She hung small stars along my ears, they twinkled with any movement.

I could pass as a fae child, almost. I did not have their pointed ears or thin lips or mystic eyes. My humanness was evident in my face.

Lady Elowyn tugged harshly at my hair, showing me that no matter how much she liked me, I was nothing but a doll for her to dress. She wound my hair around a pin and rested her hands on my shoulders.

Lady Elowyn looked at me in the mirror, smiling absently. “Now, you’re more than adequate.”

I whispered a thank you, I know her words were simple and stung slightly, but I felt giddy at her small compliment.

Back in my main room, she eyed the many instruments, assessing them carefully. “This one,” she pointed at a small harp, carved into a golden wood with silver strings. “I love the harmonies you create with this one.”

“Of course, My Lady,” I bowed slightly, taking the small harp off its altar and holding it carefully.

I trailed behind her as she made her way to the entrance, walking down the stairs that circled the main hall. I liked the way this house was built, similar to a beehive, with a hollow middle and rooms branching off. Lord Bryn and their two sons were waiting by the door, he smiled up at his wife. She looked at each of them carefully, all in silver and purple suits that mimicked twilight sky. She kissed her sons on the cheek and took her husbands arm, he lead her out to the heavy oak doors. I trailed behind them again, quietly with my head bowed. 

The dusk air was cold, I shivered slightly as the wind blew. The family of fae piled into the carriage, settling themselves down on the silk seats. I hesitated, unsure of where to go.

“Hurry, Harper, you must no dawdle,” Lady Elowyn called out, beckoning me in.

I hurried into the carriage, tucking myself into the window beside her. She smiled down at me, Lord Bryn ignored me.

I hugged my harp tightly and gazed out the window, we passed other mansions, glowing in the setting sun. We passed forests and ponds and clearings were simple fae danced around tree stumps and stone fountains.

I knew one son was glaring at me, I avoided his eyes and continued to study the stars. Dale had hated me since I was forced to be here. He often complained of my music in hopes that I would be removed from the house, but Lady Elowyn never listened to him.

Elm was kinder to me, he often brought me sweet cakes after a long night of entertaining guests with my music. Elm once gave me a balm for my sore fingers, I’ve cherished it since.

I ignored Dale’s fierce gaze as the carriage bumped along the road. Lady Elowyn and Lord Bryn chattered with Elm mindlessly, discussing who else would be attending the Queens twilight party. 

Few were always invited to these, it always caused such drama amongst the gentry and the Higher Courts. Lady Elowyn made me play at these, I would stand near the Queens altar and play until the revel was done.

I don’t know of Lady Elowyn and Lord Bryn’s connection with the Queen and her family, since Lord Bryn never favoured politics and Lady Elowyn didn’t seem to be the one who would wait at the Queens feet. I never asked questions, I know better than to poke into the business of the fae.

The carriage had stopped, I could hear the sounds of voices drift through the cool air. I followed them blindly out of the carriage and into the Queens oak garden.

Dale grabbed my arm harshly and pulled me into the shadows, he towered over me. “Listen here, mortal, indulge in the days you have left. Soon you will be replaced and left with nothing. I won’t stand the sight of you in my house any longer.”

I didn’t reply, I wasn’t able to. By Lady Elowyn’s command, I could not speak a word to Dale or Elm. I nodded meekly in response. Dale seemed disgusted at the action, he left me in the shadows and entered the throng of elaborately dressed fae.

“What a thorn in the roses,” a voice said from behind me.

I jumped, I was not expecting him to be here. “What are you doing here? How did you even get invited?”

Locklan smiled as he smoothed out his maroon suit. “I have my ways, dear songbird.”

I hated that nickname, I am no caged bird. “You can’t lie to me, Locklan, so tell me.”

He shrugged. “I’m afraid my lips are sealed, songbird, I am here for merriment.”

I sighed, Locklan always showed up in the least likely places, it was no surprise he would be at the Queens twilight party. I left him in the shadows as I found my place near the Queens altar, I waited for the Queen to arrive for me to play.

All the fae seemed untouchable as they gathered in their silks and gems. They dressed in the finest clothes I have seen, all colours of the rainbow and every colour in-between. Some suits and dresses changed colour with each movement, some looked as if they were growing from the fae’s body. It was a magical sight.

I knew Locklan was behind me, he may have prided himself on his ability to be silent, but even my mortal ears could hear his footfalls.

“I am not allowed to talk to you while I am working,” I said, trying to ignore him.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re not allowed to do a lot of things,” he said, sliding next to me. “So tell me, songbird, what can you do?”

I lifted the small harp in my hands. “I can play.”

His fox eyes stayed on the silver strings. “What else?”

I felt hot with embarrassment. What else can I do? Shame choked me, I can’t do anything else. Locklan didn’t move, his fox eyes shifted from the harp and trailed up to watch the party. He stayed silent.

To say I don’t like Locklan is harsh, he’s not the type you don’t like. He is mischievous and naughty, always pulling tricks and deals when you least expect it. But he is fun to be around, and is kind, sometimes. His family is somehow tied in with the High Courts, his father has a close connection with the Queen. Most fae don’t like Locklan or his family, their fox features, selfish habits and silver tongues make them hard to control. 

More had joined the party as the sky had dimmed. The Queen and her daughters were unusually late. The fae that were here chatted under the glowing lamps, not touching the food or starting any sort of merriment. That would all begin when the Queen would arrive, I still had some time until I was needed to play.

Locklan was waving someone over, I dreaded the company of another fae.

“Harper! I knew you would be here!” The voice was light and airy, I was glad to hear their voice. I haven’t seem them in a while.

Opal fluttered over to us, literally fluttered. She had thick moth wings that picked her up off the ground. Her fluffy dress floated like a cloud around her. Even though her body was small, almost all of her features were big. Big, round endless eyes, large and fluffy antenna sticking out of her fluffy hair. She jumped into Locklan’s arms.

“Hello Locky!” She giggled as her hair smothered him. Opal hesitated in touching me, no one was allowed to. Another one of Lady Elowyns rule. We had found a loophole to that rule, no fae could touch me in her presence.

Opal ogled at the harp in my hands. “Oh, what a beautiful instrument, I can’t wait to hear what you’ll play!”

I know she was just trying to be kind, but she sounded like the rest of the fae, ordering me to play for them. I smiled in response, not wanting to sour her bubbly mood. She smiled back, teeth perfectly white.

She hooked arms with Locklan and squeezed herself in between us, her fluffy skirt soft against me. “So, what do you think the drama will be tonight?”

“You tell me, O Wise One, isn’t your mother the Royal Astrologer? Shouldn’t you be able to read the stars and tell us our futures?” I teased.

Opal pouted. “Maybe, but it’s far more fun to guess.”

“I think it’s far more fun to create the drama ourselves,” Locklan said through his usual smile.

“No, Locklan, don’t you go starting anything, Evora will not be happy with you!” Opal whisper shouted, pulling at Locklans sleeve.

He just rolled his fox eyes and smiled. Of course he would never promise her he wouldn’t, he loved creating chaos. 

A hush fell over the gathering of fae. The Queen of Folkshire had arrived.

She was perfect, an image of ethereal beauty. Queen Lorvera’s beauty was stunning, everyone watched as she made her way to the throne. Her glowing dress mimicked moonlight, as if the fabric was made of stars. As Queen Lorvera walked, flowers poked out of the grass and bloomed, tree branches bent down to touch her crown. Her five daughters trailed behind her. Princess Astria, her skirts a blooming artwork of white roses. Princess Bria with her black hair in long braids down her back. The twins, Cordelia and Dahlia with their multicoloured eyes. And the young Princess Evora last. They all looked stunning, flowing dresses and silky hair and dark skin that glowed bronze in the light. All alluring, all untouchable in their beauty.

Queen Lorvera sat down, her skirts trickling down the small steps like water. She raised her hand and spoke in her honeyed voice. “Well? Let us enjoy the twilight and dance until the sun comes to join.”

Lady Elowyn nodded at me, I lifted my harp and began to play. I plucked the silver strings, creating a merry tune of birdsong and chimes. The fae began to dance and sing, their voices sounding like bells. I kept the tune light, creating an aura of enjoyment.

Locklan and Opal stayed next to me, occasionally leaving to snatch food, drinks and pieces of conversations. I felt guilty, having them next to me.

I was a mortal servant of a Lady, they were fae children of members of the Queens Court, they shouldn’t even be seen near me. Yet they stayed, knowing they couldn’t interrupt my playing, they chatted quietly and watched me.

Some other muses and artists that were invited came closer. Majority of them were fae, or half fae. Few were mortals, their rounded ears and dull coloured eyes gave me some comfort.

I should give a better explanation of why I am a servant to the fae. Seelie fae are odd creatures, as I’ve said, and some of their customs are beyond humane. Before Queen Lorvera made the law that no mortals are to be stolen, it was normal for humans to be taken from their streets and used as entertainment for the fae. The Seelie fae mainly stole artists, musicians and writers and crafters who could create pretty things for them. Those kind of people would be showed off, like me, and fae would buy and sell them from each other.

I have been bought four times, I was taken from my real family when I was young. I should have known better than to show off my music playing. Since I was young when I was taken, they replaced me with a fae child. That child now has my life, they have my face and name and even voice. But they are not me, they are not even human.

The fae artists around me criticised me, as they usually do, mainly because of my mortal blood. Some of them smiled or nodded at my playing, the mortal artists raised their glasses in honour, congratulating me. I was far younger than them, and the older fae musicians knew I was better than them. That meant I was in danger.

Thankfully, due to Lady Elowyns magic and words, no one could do me harm or use any magic on me that was weaker than Lady Elowyns. Fae magic is strange and powerful, my mortal mind could not comprehend it, so I never tried. I knew the basics of Lady Elowyns magic, her words created power itself, when written on paper and then eaten, the spells would protect whatever ingested the paper. I felt weird afterwards, dizzy and numb for hours. 

She explained the rules as she wrote them down, I could not speak a word to her sons or husband, I could not speak while playing, I could not refuse any order given to me by her family, I could not cause harm to anyone, and I was not allowed to tell any one of my past. No magic could be cast on me if it was weaker than Lady Elowyns, which is very rare. No faerie fruit, food, drink or poison could do me harm. I could see through almost all fae magic and could never be tricked by their words. Lady Elowyn said it was for my own protection, which some of it was, but most were chains that kept me bound to her.

My fingers began to sting, the silver strings feeling like lead. I slowed my tune, falling into something more slower and calm. Lady Elowyn approached me, the other fae around me dispersed, afraid of her. Locklan and Opal fell silent near me, not wanting to be noticed by her. Lady Elowyn smiled, like a mother consoling her child.

“You may rest now, Harper, enjoy some food and dances. I will find another musician for a while,” she handed me a goblet of purple liquid.

I bowed deeply and accepted the drink. “Thank you, My Lady, I am forever grateful for your kind actions.”

She smiled again, pale eyes glowing. She gently caressed my cheek. “Save your talents for later tonight, there will be a surprise.”

With that she left, her twilight dress falling like water around her. Locklan and Opal hurried up to me, smiling deviously.

“What did she mean?” Locklan asked first, fox eyes wide.

I shushed him quickly. “I don’t know! Don’t ask me!”

Opal groaned. “The one time we get some drama filled sentence and you don’t even know what it means!”

I wanted to slap her arm, but my limb felt numb at the thought. Not even Lady Elowyns magic could let me make joking movements in her presence. I brushed off the twitch as if I were smoothing my skirt. I tucked my harp under my arm and held the goblet with both hands, taking small sips. The purple liquid tasted like lavender and mint and fresh water. Fae flavours were something I would miss if I was ever allowed to go back home.

Opal and Locklan started up a quick conversation, soon I was lost in their laughter and sly jokes that I didn’t notice another fae approaching us.

“I do hope you aren’t enjoying the revel so much without me,” they spoke regally, I froze at their tone.

“Is enjoying ourselves without you forbidden? I never knew,” Locklan smiled as he bowed.

Princess Evora laughed as Locklan kissed her hand. She moved to hug Opal, with Opal’s mother having such close connections with the Queen, Opal and Evora almost grew up together. Evora moved to hug me, all I could do was bow. Another rule from Lady Elowyns magic, under no circumstances am I allowed to touch the royal family. I smiled at Evora, it was the only way I could show her affection.

Princess Evora was a part of our little group, although we only saw her on nights like these, I enjoyed her company thoroughly. Evora was the fifth and final daughter to Queen Lorvera, she had no hopes of obtaining the throne so she spent her days making as many friends as she could. Evora was the most loved princess.

Princess Evora was gorgeous, her whole family was. While their beauty was stunning, Evora’s beauty was how serene and simple she looked. Evora had the same high cheekbones and round jaw has her sisters, the same pointed ears and smooth nose. While her mothers and sisters eyes were the bright colours, Evora’s eyes were the colour of old green pine. They still glittered nonetheless. Evora was still beautiful.

Her hair was free falling around her shoulders, in thick earthy brown curls. Her ears and neck were covered in sapphires embedded in silver leaves, the sapphires matched her blue dress. Her dress looked like the ocean, deep blue and shimmering. 

“Harper? Are you all right?” Princess Evora asked, attempting to place a hand on my arm.

I hated that my arm involuntarily flinched out of her reach, I tried to smile at her to give her some comfort. “I am fine, Your Highness, I suppose I am drained from playing.”

“If you say so,” her eyes seemed sad, I wanted to make her feel better.

Opal poked my side. “Tell her what Lady Elowyn said to you.”

I didn’t think it was important, but Opal always had a deep desire for secrets. “When Lady Elowyn told me to stop playing, she said to wait for a surprise. Do you know what it could be?”

Evora smiled, her eyes glowed. “Oh, I do, and I won’t tell you.”

Locklan, as dramatic as he is, acted so hurt I thought he was going to weep. “My dear, angelic Highness, how could you be so cruel and not let us in on your dark secrets? How could you hold onto this information without telling us?”

Evora giggled behind her jewelled hand, her laugh sounded like wind chimes. “I wish I could, Locklan, but I’m afraid my mother has prohibited us from telling. We must wait until she has deiced to announce it.”

Opal nibbled on her finger. “Announce, you say? Hmm, what could she be announcing?” Opals wide eyes grew wider, she grasped Evora’s arm and jumped up and down. “I know! I know! Oh, it will be wondrous!”

“What? Now you know you have to tell us!” I said.

Opal squealed as she grasped my hands tightly. “Oh, I really can’t, but it will be wondrous!”

Locklan scoffed and crossed his arms. “Can you at least promise that whatever will be announced will cause some sort of theatrics?”

Opal and Evora exchanged looks, they smiled wildly. “Oh, dear Locklan, the drama that will unfold will be so fruitful that your family will have endless opportunities to create chaos,” Evora promised.

Locklan smiled again, showing his sharp teeth. “Well, if that’s the case, better start the warm up entertainment.”

He bowed deeply and turned towards the tables piled high with foods. He grabbed his older sister’s hand and leaped up onto the table. He twirled Volipa in his arms and they started to dance to the jumpy tune played on a flute somewhere. They kicked off platers of fruit and honeyed meats. The closest fae shrieked and moved quickly out of their range to protect their clothing.

Some fae laughed and cheered. Fae were odd like that, some craved chaos and drama so much they created it themselves, Locklan’s family was praised for the stories they created. Locklan and Volipa smiled and laughed as they danced on the table.

Evora laughed into her hand. “His desire for attention overrides his self-pride.”

“I don’t think there is anything else that can overcome Locklan’s love for attention,” I said, sipping my goblet.

“Not even his love for himself?” Opal quipped, we all laughed.

Evora hooked arms with Opal, Opal held onto my sleeve in response, Evora leaned forward. “Shall we follow his lead?”

I was about to agree when a hush fell over the party. Locklan and Volipa stopped their dancing, Queen Lorvera raised her eyebrow at them. Locklan and Volipa guilty climbed down from the table, their clothing stained with food and drink.

Queen Lorvera’s voice carried itself over the crowd. “Those young foxes, always creating some sort of ruckus when they get bored.”

The crowed laughed, Locklan and Volipa bowed dramatically, flashing their fox teeth. Queen Lorvera raised her glass at them, smiling to herself.

“What is the meaning of this party, you might ask? Well, as much as I love to keep secrets to myself, I can hold this one no longer,” everyone was hanging onto the Queens words, all silent and patient for what will be announced.

Queen Lorvera beckoned her eldest daughter, Astria, towards her. Evora and Opal bounced on their feet next to me. I could guess what is going to happen, but I was far from the truth. Queen Lorvera beckoned another fae forward, Elm walked towards her. Elm held Princess Astria’s hand and smiled brightly.

Queen Lorvera raised her goblet higher. “I am so proud to announce that we will have a wedding soon upon us. We shall celebrate the joining of my oldest daughter Astria, and the oldest son of Lord Bryn. We shall welcome Elm into my household, where he will be crowned prince, and continue the Viridishire line.”

The fae gathered erupted into cheers, they threw flowers into the air and started to dance. I had zoned out, almost on the brink of panicking.

What does this mean for me? How long will I be asked to play? Until my fingers bleed? Will I be sold again when Lady Elowyn finds a better muse to please the Queen?

A sharp jolt in my side shook me, Opal nodded in the direction of Lady Elowyn. She was glaring at me. I cleared my throat and raised my harp, I started to play instantly. The merry tune I played sent the fae into dancing circles as they congratulated Elm and Astria. Opal and Evora stayed next to me, chatting excitedly about the new wedding.

I felt sick, I don’t know why, my head started to swirl as I played. I had a bad feeling about this wedding. I wanted to feel happy for Elm, he has been nothing but kind to me. Something cold was tugging at me, my instincts trying to say something. I prayed it was fatigue as I continued to play. 

Please let nothing go wrong.

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 3

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1….You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online– or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly–I created the title art–LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go…

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies– or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair– you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 4200

Part Three: Delmar Hospitality

        Antha slowly raised her hands in surrender. It was the best she could do in this unforeseeable situation. Beads of sweat rolled down her chest and back. The searing chill sobered her instantly. “We—we—” She found her mouth desert-dry and unable to form a coherent sentence.

        “Well, are you trespassing or are you lost?” The silken voice demanded.

        “We’re—we’re lost.” Antha panted. A light tumble sounded in the wooded brush as Tessa’s mouth fell open with a gasp, only her teeth could be seen. She fainted.

        “Oh.” The voice sighed. Before Antha understood what was happening long cool fingers wrapped around her wrist and brought her up to stand. “Here.” Those same fingers handed her the gun. She violently shook, her nails impulsively tapping against the metal of the barrel.

        The clouds shifted intermittently, splashing eerie washes of light across the blackness. Long, ethereal white arms appeared out of the dark as the stranger pushed up his sleeves. These bodiless limbs wrapped about Tessa. Am I watching Fantasia? Antha thought—it didn’t even occur to her that she was now armed and could defend them, though she was hardly capable in her muddled state. She stepped back to see him lift her unconscious sister.

        The moonlight poured over something akin to a roman statue come-to-life, with a long column neck and limbs. It frightened Antha to see this otherworldly man peer down from his full height—his great silver-colored eyes burning amidst the night. Despite logic, she had the distinct feeling that he could see more of her than she could of him. “I presume you’ve spoken to the police?” He asked calmly.

        She patted her legs instinctually and realized her sundress had no pockets. Somewhere far, far away her cellphone was nestled in her messenger bag, in the back of Tessa’s car. She shook her head ‘no’ as she was still at a loss for words. “Well, come along then,” replied the stranger. His accent was clean; obviously he wasn’t born of this slower-lower side of the world but seemingly mimicked their colloquialisms.

        Like a white knight he led Antha from darkness and into a comfortably lit yard in the middle of the woods. The well-kept grass stretched in front of them toward a darling little house. There were candle lights in every dormer window, a white-slatted porch with rocking chairs and a sign that said “No Vacancy” to greet them. The stranger turned, “Welcome to Hollow House,” he stated neutrally, not exactly instilling hospitality. Antha clutched the gun in her arms, scanning her surroundings when she could manage to tear her eyes from him.

        Tessa looked like a beloved ragdoll, her long braids swinging peacefully with every step. The stranger held her tenderly as if an appendage of himself, her head cradled to his chest. Why couldn’t I have fainted? Why am I always the one to sort everything out? Antha thought. He carried her with ease up the porch steps and hesitated. He hovered over Tessa’s face for a moment as if he was going to plant a magical kiss that would awaken her from slumber. Then he turned to Antha, brows knitting together for a brief moment.

        “You’re twins.” He chuckled to himself as if something about that was charming. “Would you please?” He motioned to the screen door. She stood frozen in place as if the simple instruction was too much to fathom. “Antha,” he crooned, “when I take you inside, I will lay your sister down, get you cleaned up, and then we will call the authorities. I will help you sort everything out in no time.”

        Thick waves of auburn hair tucked behind his ears and one errant curl falling in his eye line drew her in. His excellent hair aside, he seemed normal enough. Given the monsters she encountered thus far, the normalcy of the house and this stranger were beyond comforting. Additionally, the fact that he held Tessa to his chest made him simply irresistible to deny.

        She shook as she reached for the screen door and held it for him, then he swooped Tessa over the threshold into a lovely foyer. A lean spindle-legged table held brochures for Hollow House Bed and Breakfast. The simple cottage layout and plate of cookies at the door all confirmed for her that she was in fact standing in a bed and breakfast. She followed slowly and watched as he laid her sister down in the Hibiscus Room, right off the foyer and overlooking the back patio. The peach tapestries, brick fireplace, and mahogany wooden furniture framed Tessa, making her nothing short of a sleeping beauty with her mane cascading across the crisp pillows.

        Antha paced backward as he turned to her, leaving the guest room door cracked open. “I assure you she is fine. How about we set this down?” He carefully approached her to take the gun but she clenched it as if she suddenly couldn’t imagine parting with it.

        She didn’t like how he filled up the foyer, frame blocking the dim ceiling light the way an oak tree does the sun. “I’m very sorry about how I approached you before. I heard you two stomping through my woods—and you alarmed me.” He said coolly, not an ounce of excitement in his eyes or face, not even a flush in his cheeks. “Tell me what happened.” When he asked she strangely felt beholden to him. She couldn’t help feeling that he was reading her mind—she knew that was a stupid thought—but something about the way those big eyes held her in place.

        “There was a fight, and, and Tessa ran and so I chased after her—we fell and you found us.” She spilled all of the highlights as if she were reading a teleprompter. The prying feeling lessened when he broke eye contact.

        “I see. Well, please come sit down, allow me to help.” His voice dripping like honey down the back of a spoon. He went to the small dining room off the foyer, pulled out a chair and politely beckoned her to sit. She wagered the risk for a moment but ultimately leaned the gun against the table—within reach—when she accepted the offered seat.

        Feeling naked without the weapon, she held herself as he explained he would bring water. He did everything he said he would and within seconds she found herself staring bewildered into a glass of tap water. Antha felt more at ease when he finally removed the gun from the table and promised to put it away. The kitchen was right off the dining room and she listened as he retreated to the phone, setting the gun down. “…two young women—yes, here at Hollow House. Yes, this is Mr. Smith… Mmm-hmm… No one is harmed. Yes, of course, I understand. Thank you.”

        Antha heard the click of the landline phone being holstered and thought about how long it had been since she had heard such a noise. Since her grandmother’s house she supposed. Her eyes continued their investigation as she waited. Trying to remind herself that she was just on-guard from the hellish night Tessa had put her through.

        The cottage was fine, everything in place. A fruit bowl on display, frills on every corner, the carpet vacuumed. He did everything he said he would, she reminded herself again as she sat on her shaking hands. She was fine. They would wait for the police. They would be fine, she convinced herself.

        He returned to the table with a plate and towel in hand. The plate was placed in front of her and then he bent with a damp cloth and pressed it to her forehead. For a moment Antha found herself quite overwhelmed, quaking in her seat, the adrenaline threatening to keep her on the run until her heart gave out.

        “I believe your story checks out Miss Antha,” he said humorously, “the police said that there was an awful scuffle at the bar out by the road. Once they’re done cleaning that up, they will come to get you two.”

        “Mr. Smith, how did you know my name?” She asked, just over-hearing his from the phone call.

“I could hear you calling to each other.” He explained. “You two created quite the ruckus out there.” He was leaning closer than Antha would have preferred. She never recalled Tessa calling out for her. She also didn’t think she told him about the bar either—stop being stupid Antha, the police told him about the bar, obviously, she chastised herself, her paranoia getting the better of her.

        After pulling the twigs from her braids, wiping the dirt from her forehead and neck he bent to one knee to clean her hands. She sipped her water and stared down at him. His hair was a bit longer than how most men would wear it now, wing-tipped behind his ears and lending to the romance of an Edwardian fashion. The long bridge of his nose and well-placed lips made him truly worth staring at, like the classical paintings in her textbooks.  When he wrapped the cloth over one of her palms his nostrils flared. “That’s a nasty scrape.”

        Antha didn’t realize she was bleeding from when she caught herself on the pavement of the parking lot. Before he sat, she observed his dark button-down shirt partially tucked into slacks; his musculature was not consistent with his occupation. This guy works out for serving cookies and delivering extra pillows, she thought and continued sipping her water. Those great nocturnal eyes never left her, even as he reached toward a bowl on the table, his eyes stayed with her.

        “Here, you must be starved,” he showed his hand to reveal a whole pomegranate. Before she could deny the fruit he tore it open between his large hands. The leathery skin shredded apart as the sanguine juice dotted his pale fingers, the table, and the plate in front of her. Antha could hear herself swallow as the little massacre happened right before her eyes. “Eat, Persephone, and never be released from my palace.” He laughed.

        “I know that myth,” she forced a scoff despite how anxious she felt. She was compelled to be still, attempting to plan her next moves. She wasn’t sure if she was still out of fear or if he was willing her to sit. There was this scratching at the back of her mind again, like a dog at the backdoor, relentlessly trying to get into her subconscious.

        “I had a feeling you would.” He replied knowingly. He leant into his palm on the table, as if fearing she would be too far from him. His offering seemed forced as if he had just read a beginner’s manual of cordiality. Nothing felt organic or friendly. Everything is fine, was what she thought, but something in her gut told her, but not safe. As if an ocean could not quench her thirst Antha finished the water and jolted upward from her seat.

        “I need more water,” she stated blatantly and made her way to the kitchen before he could offer. She felt she could breathe for a moment without those curious gray orbs on her. The kitchen was outdated, but appeared older due to the orange cast of the overhead fan light ticking away, struggling to cool the space. She clutched the sink as if it was her last anchor to the earth. Her eyes kept shooting upward to the dark window in front of her. All she could see was her reflection and the open doorway to the dining room behind her; she was trying to watch her back, making sure nothing suddenly moved.

        While the tap poured foggy water into her glass her eye caught a picture on the counter with a little old white-haired man and woman, their wrinkles holding their sunglasses in place, with Rehoboth Beach in the backdrop. “When are the cops coming?” She called weakly, trying to appear conversational and unsuspecting.

        “Realistically tomorrow morning, not long from now.” His voice carried. He was still at the dining table. Good, stay there, she thought.

        “Oh, we couldn’t trouble you for that long!” Her voice broke against her will, unsure why panic was suddenly rendering her immobile, holding white-knuckled to the sink. Why was there an empty room for Tessa? The sign said ‘no vacancy’.

        Staring at the picture, she saw it said The Smiths 2016. The water was streaming over her hand, overflowing from the already full cup. Her eyes found the reflection of the gun leant up against the ancient landline phone on the wall in the window; it wasn’t the phone itself that made the blood drain from her face, it was the severed phone line dangling from the receiver like a noose. Her heart plunged into her stomach as she pieced together the clues—they were in very real danger.

        “I insist you stay,” the rich-timbered-inflection was too close, and cold breath trickled down the back of Antha’s neck. There was no reflection of the man behind her in the window, all she could see was the terror on her face.

        Glass shards and water exploded against the sink as her hand lost her cup. Her feet left the ground as she found herself turned, and lifted to the counter, her back against the cabinetry. “There’s no possible way we can stay—you see—I, I have misplaced my wallet!” She stammered, attempting to rationalize the situation.

“I’m positive we can agree on an alternate arrangement.” He wedged himself between her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter, his nails growing and sinking into her lower back like meat hooks. She had never seen someone so malevolent and beautiful in equal measure as he loomed over her mouth.

        “—Please, I must take my sister home—” she begged, not knowing what was to come. “I can’t leave her—we have to go home!” Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to pull away from the stranger, but found herself latched to him with nowhere to run. His hands held strong as his lips reached the shell of her ear.

        “I wouldn’t dream of separating a pair—she will follow you shortly.” He promised. “Stay.” He told her as if commanding her soul. She found herself unable to fight, her muscles waning as if under a spell. The cold of his cheek dragged across hers as he pulled back to look over her face, his feral irises dilating, impersonal and hungry. His grin displayed a mouth-full of pearly teeth as he sunk to the floor and splayed open Antha’s legs. He hummed gluttonously when he kissed the inside of her knee. His canine teeth grew outward, revealing pristine fangs the closer he drew to her apex. This isn’t real—what is he doing? Her mind raced, her fingers searching blindly on the counter for aid. He threw one of her legs over his shoulder and Antha mustered the last of her will to kick him in the face before she could find out.

        She launched herself from the counter clumsily as the stranger recoiled, her muscles waking up from their enchantment. After snapping his broken nose back into place, he caught a second wind and lunged for her neck. Instinctively, her wrapped hand shoved the stray piece of glass from her broken water cup into the corner of his mouth. He leant against the counter, retracted his fangs and smiled through it, as if he had been pleasantly surprised.

        She snatched the gun as she darted to a nearby door in the kitchen. Her hands frantically locking the door and then searching for a light. Rickety wooden stairs bowed under her feet as she followed carefully forward, her gun-hand sliding down a railing and the other on its mission for a light switch. She could hear him groan as he pulled forth the glass and the blood spilled to the linoleum floor. “Antha, darling,” that same penetrating voice hummed above her as he gathered his bearings, “stay and fight me off—I do so enjoy this.” She could hear him gagging and spitting—she could only hope the glass shard spliced his gums.

        Finally, as if her prayers had been answered, her hand found what it had been seeking. She flipped the light switch on to find one lone dangling bulb above her. For the third time of evening, Antha’s feet left the earth and she toppled over a pile of laundry at the base of the stairs. She saw nothing to defend her, no place to hide. When she scooted back from the heap, she saw fuzzy white tufts. To her horror she recognized old Mr. Smith crumpled atop other bodies, their throats and wrists torn out, blood pooling across the floor.

        Antha covered her mouth to stop from screaming. Her tear ducts working hysterically as she distanced herself from the carnage. How did I end up here? This can’t be happening! The cautious twin thought to herself, why me? The rattle of the door knob broke through her shock as the perpetrator tried to gain access to the basement. The foundation shook as he began ramming himself into the basement door—BAM—BAM—BAM—the door and frame failing under his inhuman force, the wood splintering and the drywall crackling.

        Searching again for anything to save her, as if she was swarmed in answers that her brain could not comprehend in its panic—Antha finally noticed a cellar door. Rushing to it, she undid the inside latch and pushed upward to get out. She could hear the basement door explode, the skittle-like bounce of nails and screws as it finally gave way under his might. Throwing the door back down she jammed the handle with a nearby shim.

        Scrambling through the backyard she hid behind a tree, knowing that it was only a temporary delay for him. The stranger was much too keen for her to outrun she guessed, she definitely couldn’t fight him—perhaps hiding would give her a moment to develop an escape path back to Tessa, an element of surprise—or anything—against him. Antha’s pulse hammering, the vein in her neck thick like an anaconda as the adrenaline coursed through her. She cocked the gun blindly, praying she did it right—worst case scenario she was going to go out swinging the damn thing. How will I get to Tessa?

        Antha pressed her back into the large tree, her gun readied. Trickles of blood ran hot down her legs from his vicious claw marks. She tried to control her breath, but his fury found the cellar doors faster than she wanted. The slamming began again until one of the cellar door’s peaked upward, his elbow bending it as if mere tinfoil. Seconds later the door flew into the yard, mangled.

        “I imagined Tessa to be the runner!” He laughed as he emerged from the ground, taking his time. “Antha, come back to me.” His voice fell into a low growl as he scanned the yard. Her hands shook with resentful readiness.

        Then there was silence, abrupt and oppressive. Her ears strained but could not hear his panther like steps. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping it would aid her hearing—but she was met with complete nothingness. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer, and the faint hiss of her exhale trumpeted amongst the stifling stillness. It must have given her away as the lean, wiry fingers found her throat and ripped her up from the ground like a dandelion.

        She shoved the gun tip to his chest, ready to take out his heart. But to her unfathomable dread, the gun failed her. The dead click of an ammo less shotgun became nothing more than a toy prop in her dire moment. She did what she could to wield it like a bat, but was unsuccessful as he caught it and crushed it in his other hand. Suffocating in his grip she tried to break free.

        “You’re insufferable,” he sneered, his mouth growing its tissue back and reconstructing the damage he endured moments prior. “Did you think I would leave it loaded?” His bright steely eyes scouring over her struggling frame. “As enjoyable as this was, our time is unfortunately over. I will make you a promise.” He pulled in closer, “I will take my time with Tessa.”

        Without cue a wet, meaty sound cut through the woods. The stranger gasped, full of horror and rage as he reached to his chest. A fire iron pierced through from his back. His eyes, nose, ears, and mouth began to bleed. Antha pushed out of his grasp when he lurched forward to the ground. She was on the brink of unconsciousness as she wheezed for breath. She found Tessa was the great impaler. “I’m—not done with—you foolish girls…” He hissed like a deflating tire, his immortal sinews collapsing like a bowl of spaghetti dumped onto the lawn.

        Tessa skirted the rapid decay and pulled Antha into her arms. Stock-still they watched. They bared witness as he writhed, his porcelain skin dripped with taffy-like stretch and slid off his bones. He melted into a puddle, with nothing recognizable left except lumps of clothing and two silver eyes. Tessa reached toward the eyes, but her sister stopped her.

        All that could be heard was their panting and the fizzle of a creature dissolved. They looked to each other, wordless and beyond repair. After a moment or two they drug themselves around the side of the house and toward the driveway. Hearts still punching against their ribcages, the girls numbly followed the long-wooded drive.

        When they finally made it to the main road they found the next street lamp was another mile off. All that could be heard was the rustle of the surrounding crops. They followed the road back toward the light of civilization. Antha couldn’t shake the horror of the Smith’s being slaughtered by that thing. She shivered again, feeling the stranger’s eyes on her. She tried to push the thought down. It’s dead, she thought.

After sometime Tessa began to speak, “I woke up and saw a little old lady on the side of the bed. Her neck was covered in strawberry jam,” she paused strangely, “but I knew it wasn’t jam Ant.” She whined.

        “I know, I know.” Antha stopped to soothe her. Tessa buried her head into her sister’s neck and they held strong for barely a moment before weeping. Antha had never been so relieved to have her sister. She couldn’t believe Tessa was the one to save them. From now on she would abandon her role as the babysitter. All of her safe-keeping and methodical avoidance of danger had failed them both. It was Tessa’s wild heart that saved them.

        “I couldn’t believe you kicked him in the face.”

        “You saw that?”

        “I almost lost my shit—hey, what was he doing down there?” Tessa finally asked.

        “The femoral artery is—well and when you factor in gravity—” Antha’s analytical side kicked in but then quickly dissipated from the stress. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” She finally sighed, unable to comprehend the fact that she was almost drained by her crotch. Both of them smirked but within a breath were crying again.

        “I’m so tired.” Tessa grumbled and then called for Zoey three times, wishing she would appear to take them home.

“Doug… Doug… Doug…” Antha whispered to herself.

        Just as they thought the night would never end and their blood-stained clothes would never dry, they heard the familiar wheeze of Doug’s old Buick.

        After a deluge of crying, embracing, and the erratic retelling of the whole evening, the twins found themselves buckled in the backseat on their way to the emergency room. Tessa finally sighed when Doug stopped looking at them in his rear-view mirror. He must have mumbled to himself “…vampires?” at least a dozen times as he drove. She sidled into Antha, holding her hand with an iron-clad grip and closed her eyes. Antha couldn’t relax. Her nerves were beyond frayed and she grew uncomfortable under the weight of her sister’s weary head. Something blunt was stabbing into her backside and she shifted in her seat.

        The bright lights of the emergency room entrance burned the teary-eyed passengers. Doug pulled up and jumped out of his car, opening the door for them. “What the hell is in this car—you got rocks back here?” Antha sassed him about cleaning his Buick as she dug out the troublesome object in her seat. Tessa did the same, unbuckling herself and wriggled in discomfort.

        “I just vacuumed, like last year,” he defended, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. In the commotion of the two digging around and shuffling old coke-a-cola bottles and vintage DVDs, they suddenly ceased. A strange silence fell between them. “What is going on back here?” He stared anxiously at them.

Each twin opened a hand to find one silvery, gleaming eye.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @myraiswack @wolfpawn @plastic-heart​ @confusednerd09​

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The 1889 Hull Castle, a stone Romanesque home in Fort Wayne, IN, is a "project house," b/c it's not finished. But, it's mostly finished, and move-in ready. It has some water damage on the 2nd level from a fire in August 2020 and there's an unfinished part of the 3rd level. 4bds, 3ba, 4,419 sq ft, $949,900.

The large entrance hall is completely refurbished and has a beautiful staircase with a bulit-in bench.

The current owners installed this gold ceiling. Not sure if I like it.

It looks like they may have framed this panel that was removed from somewhere in the house.

Look at the beautiful details under the stairs.

Original stained glass window and look at the gorgeous turned spindles.

The current owners like blue and re-faced the fireplace in blue tile.

The new owner can decorate. The rooms are good to go.

Beautiful original lighting.

They re-did the sitting room in a basic way.

The dining room is too modern. It has pocket doors, that they left natural wood, but they painted all the other wood white. The inlaid flooring looks new.

It has a nice fireplace, but I'm not sure that I like the big mirror. I'm thinking that maybe they shouldn't have done any remodeling.

This is so cute. A sun room with floor to ceiling windows and they left the wood original. Look at how nice the natural wood door looks.

Unfortunately, the new owner will probably come in and finish the kitchen with modern cabinetry, etc., but I think it's perfect, so far.

They really modernized the back stairs. It needs some lovely wallpaper and paint. Again, they painted over the wood.

This is one of the bedrooms. The floor is fine and the wood is intact. I don't think it needs anything but some brighter decor.

The back porch is so pretty.

This is a beautiful terrace on the 3rd level. The 3rd level isn't finished, but the tower room is, so that's a big plus. I wish there was photo of it.

It looks like there's an apt. behind the garage. All the listing says is that there's a 2nd level.

The 3 car garage is in perfect condition.

The yard and gardens are very pretty and look at the nice fencing. This home doesn't need much more work and will be worth well over $1m. 9,147 sq ft lot

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/721-W-Wayne-St-Fort-Wayne-IN-46802/73113142_zpid/

[rv-rublev]

Rublev- Part One, Youth, Book One, The Beginnings, Chapter One, Waking

IT was eleven in the morning, when a soft trace of breeze barreled through the window, arousing quite neatly, a man's nestled heart. Thereupon the passing of this breath of spring, the man opened his eyes and set his gaze to the white ceiling bearing down upon him. He then pulled the blanket up, covering his chilled chin, wiping away a small bit of dribble that happened to run down that eve before. He groaned, and curled his toes, shutting his eyes, as that shiver of stretched skin began its symphony, once again.

The street just below his window filled every corner of his room, and thus his mind, as he were the sort of man that was perpetually made of the world immediately around him. But these noises, at this time, no longer disturbed him, no longer impressed upon him any sense of dissatisfaction, for he had quite plainly, grown accustomed to them. He was, in fact, so deeply entrenched in these sounds, of a wobbled cart full of vegetables, of a woman shouting for her son each morning, of the sounds of cold and hardened feet stomping and sludging through the cobble, that if he found himself in a place where these noises could not be heard, a certain malice would overcome him. A malice that made his eyes yearn for some image, some moving beauty to pull them away from the still air around his whole heart. Soon after, he rose. And he ran his hand through his thick hair which piled ever neatly upon his shoulders, bringing out a minute, and delicate sensation of joy. The man walked to his dresser, and pulled from the greyed wooden drawer, his clothing, so as to exchange his nearly nude nightgown, which consisted of a white button-up (albeit now mostly yellow), a pair of undergarments, and a black pair of frayed pants.

Thick and thin pants, white and yellow skin, a decent prick in my skin, something here, or there, the floor is too cold, when will the sun bless my room with his kisses?

As was with his routine, he then walked to the small table affixed below the window, and he sat. For a brief moment, his ears opened, as a sound, freshly unusual, rang out, and up to him. A sound which could only be described as a loud crack, followed by a womanly bellow.

What was that? A split and tear? A cart broke?

He leaned forward and set his soul certain to find some visual affirmation of what the noise was. But his eyes were only met with the old paint of even older apartments.

Eyes so crammed to these bricks, to these stones and walls, only the sliver, free and small, can give me a something like sky.

His eyes started once more, and each was tracing that path he so often began in those midmornings.

Window through, window black, white, reflection of sun, reflection of the soft skin like lamb, shining a fleece, up and through. These clouds, like Paris, Rome perhaps? We all see these clouds, or maybe I see only this one, right there in that window, across, and behind my room, bent on the surface, cracked, and silhouetted on that wood table, just like mine. Has a woman sat there before? Staring too, at the clouds on my window? Seeing me for a moment, maybe then we would, or could cross-eyes, a gaze. No, she’d see, me. I don’t think she would like that.

He got up and moved his seat, to the other end of the square table, so as to not be able to be seen by any who would happen to sit in the apartment window directly across from him. But he hardly knew that that apartment was for some time abandoned, the floor being caved in the area to the left of the table.

Maybe she wouldn’t not like me, maybe we would smile at each other and she would come knock on my door, later that night. She could come in, and tell me where she was from, her parents, if she knew what it was like to be in a village, about the chickens and the way the wind happens upon the wheat, bending them in unison, like a great sea of gold, wet with the wonders of sustenance, wet with the tears of God. Maybe even she would listen to me, with her eyes wide, and ears set to me, her lips bent with a smile. Then I would stop, embarrassed, and she would, draw me in, with her hands, no, no, no, she would, draw me in, with her breath, her slight exhale, going out through those, pink, those pastel lips. And maybe for a moment, we would be one, strangers a mere moment before, strangers across the window, across this cobble trodden path, but now lovers, lovers like the earth had never felt on her surface before.

He leaned back in his seat, and his eyes grew tired, and warm, as a ray had broken through the clouds, coming in bent and crooked through his tiny window, landing up on his face.

Warmth would shower us, as we would walk, we would dance deep in the fields, deep, in that earth. And it all had begun from the table, how we would tell our children, our grandchildren, and they would tell their cousins, how the author and the baker crossed their gazes from their two and tiny windows, how their one gaze led to child upon child, how their gaze led to his essays on love, to his words on marriage, to his novels on the earth and God. What would I write there, in that paper on love? Something of endurance, can it endure? Maybe we must have faith that it must, something like that, I should write, write, where is my paper?

He sat forward, pulling his legs, which were until this moment extended out, and atop his bed, down to the ground. The sharp cold stung him, and he lifted his feet straight up. He twisted his body in his chair, so to get a glimpse of every small corner of the room, in order to cross his visual path with where his notes were resting. Finally, after his adventure through the many sights of his room, he spotted the pile of writings beside his bed, having fallen off his chest in sleep, since, like most evenings, he was writing up until the very moment his soul decided it no longer wished to write, and instead, wished to slumber. After the aftermath of this “war within” the papers had flown around the surrounding area, which created a stack of confused words, of ideas now lost, each one ebbing into some foreign place, each one praying that it would one day be placed finally in ink, deep within some serious volume concerning love and mercy. But, seeing that papers were some two feet away, he decided it was not worth the effort, so, for now, these prayers would go unanswered, as his legs and bod began back to their previous positions.                              

What could I have said anyways? Where was I last? Warmth, spindling, past, tables, together with the vastness of a quieted family, our eyes, and lips, the children, images after images, where do they begin, where shall they end? Maybe it is not such a seeming curse to have this, to see well, to see unwell? Where would I be without my mind and the images it makes? In blackness? No, that would be, without any senses. There we would begin to be a man, maybe not even thus, for no skin can feel the shape of body, the flesh, and soul, intermingled in some blessing, without such ways, without such tingles, such pricks and pulls, without eyes and nose, without the ears to cling to noise, man would be, nothing but nothingness. For no image would be able to be made without the sense of what the image was, for we know a horse simply because we have seen it as a horse, simply because the eyes recall it. Without recall, there is no image, without the sound, there is no pretended shape, without scent, there is no association, what then can I know, being a being incapable of the basic place of knowledge? Maybe that is a philosopher, to Plato, this being without sense, something entrenched in this great gasping gulf of a shifting sea, something here, nor there something, not man, not woman, something, even beyond the form of forms, something which rises and smashes against the sea of being, a board to crack, a board and sea that dives below, perhaps never even beginning to dive. Oh, I should write this down!

He had now realized that his efforts to remain within comfort were detrimental to his artistic habitus, and such a realization caused him to jump from the seat, making him dance upon the frayed flooring with the fronts of his feet, working toward that tower of words. He bent down, and a lightness struck him, propelling all of the words that he just constructed a moment ago, into oblivion. Such spells of lightness were commonplace to him, yet in spite of this, all musings, which were immediately previous to the spell, would vanish. Yet, he plucked the papers from their position, and he placed them gently within the curve of his palm, so as to not damage them. He moved back to his chair, now impatient with the cold, and as such, his movements were deprived of the delicacy exhibited a moment before. Instead, his feet were reduced back to their calmness, to their apathy of treading. He placed himself within the chair and let from his mouth a deep and warm breath, one which pushed out a small cloud of white. He watched the warmth dance out of him, and he sat back, beginning again.

A castle of breath, spinning out and dancing up. How can I do such a thing?

He breathed out from his mouth; however, this breath did not produce the same effect as before.

Deeper, deep in, how can such a sightless silhouette of the soul become so visible, so prominent, merely for a moment? Maybe that is my worst assumption, the soul, that thing. Or maybe it is my best assumption. The sun will rise, the sun will set, we assume such things, yet we are not fools, but the soul, to assume of that, of it, is to be a fool to some. But, then again, the sun is visible, clear, and we all know from the natural laws, or just science, that it will act like that. The soul, however, the soul is more than that, but the fact it is more, or rather that is not visible convinces people that it is less. Perception acts as a plague that way, a thing which one lives upon, centered in. I think Paul said something of it, or even Christ, to see and believe, or not seeing and yet believing, that we are closer to Him for never setting eyes upon him, yet having faith. Where did I come from with this? Oh yes, write, I need to write. What was it before?

He sat forward, and he placed his right hand upon his face, stroking his mustache ever so slowly. His left hand reached for the ink and quill upon the desk, and finally reaching them, he readied himself to set off upon the documentation of his thoughts. But the quill did not touch the paper, he merely sat, his gaze, fixed upon that pooled blackness, his heart, fixed upon something utterly removed from him at that moment.

What will be the first word, that first draw, everything they will see, that first letter, that first image of the world, what will it be? A world made of glass, or one of stone, the dirt, made to be moss? No, no, what sense is it to start with an image. I mean it really needn’t be a rule, to be against the image, to be against the perception, but one cannot sustain one’s own self on mere perception, or at least if they live. Many people do live in spite of that, being a being, which only sees, eats, touches, a thing that doesn’t have anything below, or to the side, they become nothing more than some mark on a brick. Even then I use my perception to understand it, to understand the flaws of it, maybe the flaw of perception is that it convinces us, or trains us, into believing we can only use it to understand existence. Life is in the coin, life is in the breeze, even the poet is a thing of seeing, of singing, a thing of some order, removed from truth. But if that is the case, if perception is even present in those who claim to not be superficial, does that make perception a thing that is both superficial, and not, or are the poets, liars? Are we liars too?

He then dropped the quill and promptly set his face on the table. Looking over at the sprawl of blurred writings below his eyes, he turned his head and closed his eyes.

God, where can I begin? Maybe about a man, walking from his village and he sees a girl standing between the trees, he approaches her, and she vanishes, and then, no, no. Nothing. Nothing at all. One cannot force the mind to birth ideas, one can only hope. What use is it for me to write alone like this, here I am, not one word set down, and my head is already gone in frustration?!

He propped himself back up, and he sighed, still keeping his eyes firmly shut. He began a rhythm of breaths, deeply in, and deeply out, deeply in, and once more, deeply out. After five repetitions, he decided to open his eyes, and his gaze met the table from across the road. However, this time, nothing had enthralled him, and he merely turned away, shifting downward in his old wooden seat.

Why, again, and again why, thought after thought, in to in, everything, I think of everything but writing, women, grain, windows, the sky? I can’t sit anymore.

He stood, as his legs had run hot, and his chest began to tingle with his usual sensation of anxiousness.

What else can my flesh do, tear, and pull, it’s too hot.

The man had begun to pace, carrying his feet across the cold floor, so that the heat that was trapped in his body would vanish within the wood below. He moved in a circular pattern in the room, as a small child would when left all alone in his room on a summer day, endlessly following the same rhythm, endlessly droning on within.

The way my head spins, when my body is attached to this circle, how delightful, such a lull, slowly and slowly, round and around. And then I stop, suddenly, scraping. One day the earth must stop too, that law of sorts, a tendency. But the tendency does not mean it is forever, reaching out and going. But the earth would not halt, would it? A blue ball about a rope, staked to the middle, it would spin around the stake, and slowly, it would slow. Its patterns would give way to decay, eventually causing slack, eventually changing a path, then decay would gnaw, and decay, decay, that thing, that thing of decay would just overcome. A rotting deer, falling apart, to be eaten by the trees, by the mushrooms of white that slowly fruit out in the damp air. The universe must do the same, decay, back into growth. But what use would this planet be, or could be, in that future, when a world is made of stone and bones, nothing alive or crawling, what would eat this ball of rock? I suppose the sun would devour us, if we stopped spinning, we would just pull in. Well, wait. The earth wouldn’t be able to stop, since the earth is pulled in by the sun. Do we then descend? If we are pulled in, surely, we would move closer and closer all until everything was within the flames? How tedious! Maybe the universe does not have the harmony that we do on earth. We would tumble in that hot yellow mess, spinning about, eaten, slowly, surely, dissolving away, neither adding to the flames, nor taking away. If you throw ore within a fire hot enough, the flames do not roar. What then can the corpse of our world be, if it falls to the fate of impending nothingness. When we die, we live on, furthermore in all things, but then is such a thing true, if the universe has no use of the dead rock, of the dead ash, piled up, built and stacked, evermore to the sky? If the city gives revelation about the man, and the universe does not reuse, if destruction goes on, how can we be sure we are truly reused? If there is this flux of harmony, this deer to plant, plant to deer, and forever onward?

-Ow, shit!

Having been absorbed in thought, he had struck his foot on the corner of his bed, igniting a sharp pain that rippled upward, sparking a fire of profanity and groaning. He fell backward onto the bed and clutched his foot, as he was hoping that the pressure from his hand would wash away the now dull, and all enduring agony that simply ate away at his trembling soul.

Ow, ow, just go away! Go away! Ow, it is all, all right, all, all right, just breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. Shit! Breathing isn’t doing anything! I need to pace, perhaps pacing will keep my mind off of it.

He then had set his aims on trying to stand, but upon letting go of his foot, he had noticed a blotch of red, beginning from the nail, and running down the body of the toe itself. Upon this sight, he had let loose a sharp growl, not because the pain worsened, but because of the fact, he seemingly had nothing to care for the injury. Realizing that he did not wish to let this fluid spill about the bedding he had just received a month prior, from his aunt, of course, he stood, and scurried to his drawers, and drew out an old article of clothing, one so old, and one so worn by the frightening movements of living, that the nature of what the clothing used to be, was indecipherable. Often times, when men possess something for a lengthy period in their lives, they impart upon it some item of their soul, refusing to do away with it, for they have grown so accustomed to passing by it briefly, or setting their nimble hands on the form of the object. In these instances, they have not even attached a memory to them, nor has one been involuntarily attached to it. The item merely had become an object of pattern, a schema of repetition, one small and minute stitch in the sewn patches of living. And as such, that it is a stitch, albeit small, and albeit minute, men come to fear that this whole tapestry of living, of flow, would simply unwind itself, ultimately causing the total and complete downfall of their lives. Such a clinginess leads one to hold it until their very deaths, causing ridicule and teasing to be set upon them by their wives or brothers, “Why do you keep such a rag in your drawers? Why must you insist on keeping this broken teapot? Why must you hold onto everything? Why must you horde this dust and filth?” But such ridicule means nothing to the man entrenched in this repetition, for their words have all blurred into one small voice, one voice so indistinct that it is but a drop of moisture upon their brow, one drop so small and so seemingly infrequent, that they would rather wipe it away than move out from under the leaking roof. However, this was not one of those items. He ripped the piece of cloth and moved back to his bed so he could bandage the wound. Having thus completed the bandaging, he reclined in his bed and rested his back against the wall.

Finally, it is going away. I need more sleep, always more and more sleep. I ought to stop writing so late, but seeing the sun rising from the grave of black and white as I pen my final sentence is so wondrous. Oh yes, the sun! The sun, the city, where, what was I trying to get at?

He moved under the blankets and shut his eyes, his mind moving back into the abode of sleep that he had departed from a mere thirty minutes before.

The sun, eating away, yet revealing, a great ball of duality, something rising, and setting, yet something endlessly fixed. Could it truly be goodness? Does goodness gnaw? And eat away, or does it build, and rise, does it shine, does it fall? How can any one of us know if the sun is one thing, or I mean, if goodness is one thing, or another? Even Socrates understood empiricism, even Plato understood, to be good, is to live in goodness. But what of art? What of the sketches of stores, of the sun itself, what of the busts of him? Plato would topple his own statue, wouldn’t he? Heh. An image, lesser than all, an image now rubble, before his, his, um, his bare feet…

-Fyodor! The door flew open, and the man, Fyodor, sat up suddenly in his bed.

-Mercy! Why do you burst like that! Knock and come in slowly!

-Oh, good friend, get up, up and up, why are you still set in your prison of sleep! The sun is high, the sky is blue, the pretty women sing and dance, all for you!

-Very likely. Fyodor got out from the blanket, and stood, stretching his back, and listening to the small cracks that worked their way up into his head.

-Come, I have great news, Fyodor! The man gestured to the door, and urged Fyodor to leave with him, not noting the fact that he had hardly anything on that was suitable for public.

-Calm yourself, Rolan, let me dress, just tell me now. Fyodor chuckled, and Rolan smiled at him. Rolan then sat in the chair and rustled through his pockets. As Fyodor tried to take his first step, he recoiled silently and began to limp to where his clothes were stored.

-Are you all right Fyodor? You are limping.

-Yes, I am fine, I believe I just broke my toe, hitting against the damned bed.

-Oh well, be more careful, I beg of you. Rolan turned his head so as to finally pull out what he was grasping at.

-You needn’t tell me, what is the weather like to-day?

-Neither too hot, nor too cold.

-Mm. Fyodor started his search through his clothing, so as to dress suitably for the mild weather. What did you wish to tell me, Rolan?

-One moment, ah yes! We have received a very strange letter, you see-

-We?

-Yes, yes, we. I assume it was delivered to my house as it is more, he paused, formal.

-Ah, yes, formal. Fyodor chuckled, and finally drew out the clothing he wished to put on.

-Well, considering the state of your bedroom, it makes the most sense it would be sent to me. I still have no idea why you decided to reside here, I mean, I have noticed you are oddly less poignant when you were living with your uncle. Fyodor merely nodded in agreement, and Rolan went on. You know my invitation to come live with me with still stands, we have several rooms open, and auntie adores you.

-Yes, it is just, well thank you, but I moved not simply because I dislike my family, which I do, I moved because I need to be alone. Not that I yearn for loneliness, just time to be apart. When I am ready, I will accept your offer, don’t worry. He looked to Rolan, and Rolan smiled. So, what of this letter then!?

-Oh yes! Rolan unfolded the trifold paper that had been resting in his soft, squared hands. Do you wish for the summary, or shall it be read?

-You can read it while I dress.

Rolan cleared his throat, and began:

- “Addressed to both Fyodor Ivanovich Rublev, and Rolan Vasiliyevich Kozlov. I hope the two of you receive this letter well, and I would have rather each of you receive your own copy, but admittedly, there were some issues with finding the house of Mister Rublev, and I hope this is forgiven. The nature of this letter, is in every regard, congratulatory, namely for the play that the two of you have written, “The Words of Spring.” I shall admit that at first, I was hesitant to view this play, as an artist is when consuming the art of another. But, upon my first viewing, I was moved to tears. I do not know which of you wrote the scene wherein which Anton is left destitute after the death of his wife, clutching her lifeless hand, and weeping, lamenting over a love that he took for granted, but I will say that that scene alone shall be remembered for years to come. After that first night, I went home and did all I could to remember the play, but memory is never as grand as the true art itself, so the very next night, I returned to the theatre. And for two weeks I was there, in my seat, each time expecting not to cry, but alas, and thankfully, I was proven wrong.

Because of this, gentlemen, I extend an invitation to you, the nature of what I am inviting you to cannot be expressed here, and I pray that this not deter you from attending. I ask you both to please visit the small inn (a small map is attached to the back for sake of ease), on May 31st, of this current year, at midnight. Come in through the first floor, and, once present, simply show the man with brown hair, no facial hair, and green eyes, situated in the left corner of the inn, the small pendants I have included with this letter. I do hope that this is not an inconvenience and that you shall attend this evening (assuming this letter was delivered in the proper fashion). Signed, P.” There also appears to be Latin on the bottom of the page, but it isn’t handwritten.

-What is it?

-A stamp I believe, I think it says, “Floreamus.”

-Interesting, so tonight then? Are you going?

-Yes. And I assume you are too?

-I do not know, it could be a ruse of sorts. Fyodor sat on the bed and prepared his shoes.

-A ruse? What would they do to us? The man who wrote this clearly loves our work.

-Well, we cannot be for certain, what if they wish to rob us, or, I don’t know, I’m, I’m simply apprehensive. Rolan stood and sat beside Fyodor on the bed and spake calmly to him.

-I believe it would be a mistake to pass on this, I cannot give you rationality to support my point, but, as an artist, you must understand this “feeling”, do you not? This urging, as if something is driving you forth to keep going. Like when you would sit up at night, when we were working together, and I was already asleep. Something urged you on to keep penning, to keep on with line after line after line. Well, Fyodor, something tells me to keep on and to go to wherever this “P” tells us. Plus, look. He moved the letter, and revealed the map, pointing with his left pinky to the spot marked. See, it is just right outside a busy street, if we get robbed, or there is a commotion there are people outside. Fyodor exhaled loudly, and paused for a moment

-Yes, I suppose you’re right.

-Yes? Rolan asked. Fyodor nodded reluctantly. Splendid! Rolan leaped from his position and headed to the door. Fyodor stood, and forgetting about his toe, winced.

-Pardon, one second, I need my cane. Fyodor plunged his hand into the dark area behind his dresser, and he pulled out his slender, black cane. The two began toward the door, and as Fyodor passed the bright window, he stared out for a moment, at the empty table, across the way.

[beyondtheciouds]

.30. Part 1 of 3

Grace groaned, being over dramatic as she followed Christopher down the rotten and creaky stairs to the basement lab. She had volunteered to assist and now she regretted it. Her hair, white ash; untamed like the snowy feathers of a swan fluttered around her shoulders as she took one rotted step at a time.

Her hands; trembling pulled the heavy robe she'd snatched from a closet around her tighter to shield the cold from her body. The robe she'd realized too late was wool and a hideous shade of purple that was approximately several sizes too big. The hem dragged behind her like a veil. For once, Grace was at ease. She gave a doleful look as she opened her mouth. They'd only gone down about a dozen and already she was tired. "How many stairs are there? A thousand?"

Christopher wasn't as oblivious as he seemed. He had been paying attention; listening to her light breathing like a piece of information his brain needed to explain to his heart. He tried not to move as fast as he usually did and walked in front of Grace with a slight skip to his step. In his hand, he held a witchlight in one palm. A smile; hidden in the corners of his mouth formed. His other hand was sweating in the pocket of his trousers clutching the inner fabric nervously. He didn't glance back at Grace when he answered her. He was far too preoccupied counting her breaths. He instinctively took the narrow steps two at a time, multiplying. "Not quite, but a good guess nonetheless. One hundred and twelve to be exact."

Grace groaned again, her gray eyes on the back of his shirt and the crissed crossed brown suspenders he wore. "Seriously?"

For no particular reason, Christopher Lightwood had become a mystery to Grace in the months she'd been working with Lucie. Every now and then he would show up while Grace and Lucie were having tea, discussing the next necessary steps. He'd only speak to Lucie, never acknowledging Grace while he delicately devoured lemon tarts.

Grace Blackthorn was not used to his ignorance and the fact he was oblivious to her had Grace feeling shaken. She was not alright with being ignored.

"Yes," Christopher said, nearly tripping. He caught himself immediately and was shocked he hadn't fallen on his face.

The two moved in a new, comfortable silence until the last step when Christopher announced they'd arrived.

Much sooner than Grace expected they were at the old wooden doors. Christopher opened up the double set of doors and the creak of the hinges echoed in the underground laboratory. The basement opened up to a much larger, cleaner room.

Grace was immensely impressed. "Oh my!"

Tables and chairs scattered about; benches filled with green glass beakers and blue tubes. Images. Images not paintings carefully strung up on copper wires. Boxes and boxes full of color papers and blueprints. Foreign tools and peculiar instruments littered dusty shelves. Scientific equipment arrangements were all over the room like blooming flowers. Strange and unusual inventions and inventory were stacked in every visible corner.

Grace smiled as Christopher turned to face her. Her eyes were wide as she took in all the intense colors of the tubes and beakers.

"You did all this?" Grace asked, astonished by the multitude of items.

Christopher blushed, suddenly shy. "No, well. This is Henry's lab but don't worry. We---- I mean, I am allowed to be in here."

Grace raised her eyebrow, turning to lookat Christopher. She gasped as he pulled off his dusty glasses and wiped them on his shirt. His eyes confirmed her suspicions that he was relieved that she'd wanted to come to his favorite place in the Fairchild Manor. The irises were iridescent; a peculiar lavender shade bright enough to remind her that he was James's blood.

Neither noticed the silver eyes flaring in the shadows as they moved into the room.

Grace leaned over a mental monstrosity on the table, her eyebrows now up into her hairline.

Her features held an increasing amount of worry in the lines that appeared on her forehead. She did not admit that she might be skeptical as she eyed the entire entanglement of large nuts and small bolts; long screws and short nails holding together mismatched pieces of wood and metal. Somewhere in the middle was a control panel with brightly colored knobs, buttons and gears.

Grace continued to eye the machine suspiciously as if it would soon come alive as she moved to the other side of the table where the chairs were. "What is this terrible looking thing and why do you have it here?" She finally asked after several minutes.

For the first time in his life, Christopher felt the lightbulb go on over his head and a tingling feeling in his chest. Someone other than Henry and Thomas were interested in his passion. He now understood what James was referring to when he looked at Grace. She wasn't just beautiful he decided, she was ethereal. "Are you sure you want to know?" His voice teased lightly and surprised both of them.

Grace hesitated, feeling nervous and reached out her hand timidly to touch the gears. "Of course."

Christopher clutched the bright tube in his hand as he sat down in Henry's rocker beside where she stood. The purple liquid in the glass test tube fizzled and bubbled as he moved. "Oh! Don't touch! Sorry! That's... That's Henry's Top Secret investment."

"Top Secret investment?" Grace asked, interested and snickered. She'd wanted to press, but his eyes told her that she'd never be able to loosen his lips the way she could with James. If something was a secret in Christopher's confidence, it stayed a secret. "What does this...calamity of metal and wood precisely do?" Grace asked, her curiosity like a cat winning her over.

"Never you mind," Christopher said playfully, careful not to spill the acidic concoction on his pants. They were already stained from rain and mud. Suddenly he was once again shy and uncertain; perhaps embarrassed by his ruined clothing.

Grace suspected that Christopher was tongue tied and against the voice in her head, she let him be. She gracefully rolled her shoulder and gestured a manicured finger to the tube Christopher held instead of pushing further. The light of the candles painted their silhouettes on the ceiling and Grace wondered if Jesse would be the same when he returned from Purgatory. If. If he returned. If.

Would he still love her? Would all the pieces fit?

She hoped the spell would work as she sat down on a wooden chair. She hoped to be out of Idris soon and away from the other Shadowhunters. Everything that happened next would depend on the accuracy of the spell and of Christopher's potion Grace decided. "Can you tell me what that particular wretched smelling liquid is, Christopher?"

Grace pronounced his name so informally that Christopher blanched, then turned several shades of pink. He tried to sound more calm than he was at her attention. He wasn't even sure how he was feeling. The thing that struck him and took his breath away was that he didn't even consider that Grace Blackthorn knew his name. "Compound X. I would like to name this liquid Compound X." Christopher paused, gathering himself. "Entirely composed of natural and semi-natural ingredients; imposed crystalized crystals then liquidized arnum lily petals, crushed sparrow bones, smashed spider spindles---"

"Right. I get it," Grace interrupted with a sour taste in her mouth. She didnt need to suffer complicated details but she didn't want to be mean. She waved her hand at him as if he were a fly buzzing about her on a summer day.

Christopher laughed uneasily, not understanding the change in Grace's mood. "Sorry. Sometimes I get ahead of myself."

"What does it do?" Grace asked and raised an eyebrow. She smiled sweetly, inching the wooden chair closer to Christopher's.

Christopher grinned, his lavender eyes lightning up like moon flowers. "Hopefully it will bring your brother back."

***

James sighed, leaning against the door. He checked his pocket watch for the third time in ten minutes. "Quarter past three."

"We've got time before the Fairchild clan awakens.. and Lucie said to wait up."

"For bloody sake, the birds aren't even awake Tom. What are we even expecting to happen?"

Thomas cleared his throat, his mind already foggy from the few drinks he'd gulped down during the third and fourth rounds of gin rummy. He sat on the couch with his arm wrapped around a square pillow. "We need to call Alastair."

James felt nauseated. "No," he said, unable to convey agreement. He needed sleep not to be standing here arguing like fools. "Why? Didn't you hear what time it is, Tom? He is probably well fast asleep like we should be by now."

The maid was finally asleep but mostly passed out, drunk in a chair by the window. Her eyes were closed and she whispered unintelligible prayers. Thomas glanced uneasily at her before speaking. "We need the extra help. Lucie said we need to make a complete circle. An even number."

"Without Cordelia with us---even with Alastair there will not be enough." James argued; angry at being deprived of his sleep. This was to be the only night he'd get rest after recieving a letter from Will staying he'd found Tessa. Lucie and her mess had taken it from him originally and now Thomas was corrupting what little time was left.

He was suddenly jealous of Cordelia, sound asleep and refusing to indulge in his sister's madness.

James's nose twitched and he felt the edge of his vision blur; a voice fraying in his ear as the edges became obsolete. Belial wasn't pleased.

"Why are we helping them raise the dead again?" James asked, undeterred by the way his voice slurred, becoming distant.

He was fading.

"Because she's your sister. Obviously this means a hell of alot to her if she has convinced us to risk exile." Thomas said, his own words slurred. James was as crooked as Thomas's smile. "Besides James, you'll have to help keep Lucie safe."

James caught his breath, his lungs burning. "Exile? Lucie never mentioned Exile to me, Tom."

Thomas had the temporary choice to be embarrassed or confused. He chose confused. "I...she never told you?"

James and Thomas had been quietly arguing for the last fifteen minutes and now this new information was the icing on a very thin piece of cake. James was done talking to all of them. He wanted to get to bed before his head imploded with another rotten expose. "No, apparently I was not privy to that piece of information, Thomas but I wish I had been."

"James. James, I am sorry you did not know of the risks involved with her plans but you should have still known."

And of course, he had a faint idea of the consequences.

"Call upon Alastair if you must Tom." James said bluntly and paused, watching Thomas's complection turn white. James's gold eyes were furious and flaring. Thomas sat up straighter, expecting some imitation instruction. Perhaps his friend knew more than Thomas thought. Perhaps that was not news. Perhaps James already knew that Alastair was to be part of their group. Part of the plan. Unknowingly, Thomas's cheeks burned red as James continued on. "But if you do include Alastair in this nightmare, please do know you will be the one dealing with Math when awakes from his drunken slumber. Goodnight, Tom."

James frowned, upset with Thomas. He turned quietly on his heel and sighed. He stormed out of the room like a rotten child who wanted a piece of chocolate that was refused.

James had to get away before he dissolved into darkness.

Thomas sat on the couch quiet and more sober than he was drunk. His hazel eyes were bloodshot wide and unblinking. He was too shocked and stunned to speak.

[mellifera38]

Mel’s Big Fantasy Place-Name Reference

So I’ve been doing lots of D&D world-building lately and I’ve kind of been putting together lists of words to help inspire new fantasy place names. I figured I’d share. These are helpful for naming towns, regions, landforms, roads, shops, and they’re also probably useful for coming up with surnames. This is LONG. There’s plenty more under the cut including a huge list of “fantasy sounding” word-parts. Enjoy!

Towns & Kingdoms

town, borough, city, hamlet, parish, township, village, villa, domain

kingdom, empire, nation, country, county, city-state, state, province, dominion

Town Name End Words (English flavored)

-ton, -ston, -caster, -dale, -den, -field, -gate, -glen, -ham, -holm, -hurst, -bar, -boro, -by, -cross, -kirk, -meade, -moore, -ville, -wich, -bee, -burg, -cester, -don, -lea, -mer, -rose, -wall, -worth, -berg, -burgh, -chase, -ly, -lin, -mor, -mere, -pool. -port, -stead, -stow, -strath, -side, -way, -berry, -bury, -chester, -haven, -mar, -mont, -ton, -wick, -meet, -heim, -hold, -hall, -point

Buildings & Places

castle, fort, palace, fortress, garrison, lodge, estate, hold, stronghold, tower, watchtower, palace, spire, citadel, bastion, court, manor, house

altar, chapel, abbey, shrine, temple, monastery, cathedral, sanctum, crypt, catacomb, tomb

orchard, arbor, vineyard, farm, farmstead, shire, garden, ranch

plaza, district, quarter, market, courtyard, inn, stables, tavern, blacksmith, forge, mine, mill, quarry, gallows, apothecary, college, bakery, clothier, library, guild house, bath house, pleasure house, brothel, jail, prison, dungeon, cellar, basement, attic, sewer, cistern

lookout, post, tradepost, camp, outpost, hovel, hideaway, lair, nook, watch, roost, respite, retreat, hostel, holdout, redoubt, perch, refuge, haven, alcove, haunt, knell, enclave, station, caravan, exchange, conclave

port, bridge, ferry, harbor, landing, jetty, wharf, berth, footbridge, dam, beacon, lighthouse, marina, dockyard, shipyard

road, street, way, row, lane, trail, corner, crossing, gate, junction, waygate, end, wall, crossroads,  barrier, bulwark, blockade, pavilion, avenue, promenade, alley, fork, route

Time & Direction

North, South, East, West, up, down, side, rise, fall, over, under

Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, solstice, equanox, vernal, ever, never

dusk, dawn, dawnrise, morning, night, nightfall, evening, sundown, sunbreak, sunset

lunar, solar, sun, moon, star, eclipse

Geographical Terms

Cave, cavern, cenote, precipice, crevasse, crater, maar, chasm, ravine, trench, rift, pit

Cliff, bluff, crag, scarp, outcrop, stack, tor, falls, run, eyrie, aerie

Hill, mountain, volcano, knoll, hillock, downs, barrow, plateau, mesa, butte, pike, peak, mount, summit, horn, knob, pass, ridge, terrace, gap, point, rise, rim, range, view, vista, canyon, hogback, ledge, stair, descent

Valley, gulch, gully, vale, dale, dell, glen, hollow, grotto, gorge, bottoms, basin, knoll, combe

Meadow, grassland, field, pasture, steppe, veld, sward, lea, mead, fell, moor, moorland, heath, croft, paddock, boondock, prairie, acre, strath, heights, mount, belt

Woodlands, woods, forest, bush, bower, arbor, grove, weald, timberland, thicket, bosk, copse, coppice, underbrush, hinterland, park, jungle, rainforest, wilds, frontier, outskirts

Desert, dunes, playa, arroyo, chaparral, karst, salt flats, salt pan, oasis, spring, seep, tar pit, hot springs, fissure, steam vent, geyser, waste, wasteland, badland, brushland, dustbowl, scrubland

Ocean, sea, lake, pond, spring, tarn, mere, sluice, pool, coast, gulf, bay

Lagoon, cay, key, reef, atoll, shoal, tideland, tide flat, swale, cove, sandspit, strand, beach

Snowdrift, snowbank, permafrost, floe, hoar, rime, tundra, fjord, glacier, iceberg

River, stream, creek, brook, tributary, watersmeet, headwater, ford, levee, delta, estuary, firth, strait, narrows, channel, eddy, inlet, rapids, mouth, falls

Wetland, marsh, bog, fen, moor, bayou, glade, swamp, banks, span, wash, march, shallows, mire, morass, quag, quagmire, everglade, slough, lowland, sump, reach

Island, isle, peninsula, isthmus, bight, headland, promontory, cape, pointe, cape

More under the cut including: Color words, Animal/Monster related words, Rocks/Metals/Gems list, Foliage, People groups/types, Weather/Environment/ Elemental words, Man-made Items, Body Parts, Mechanical sounding words, a huge list of both pleasant and unpleasant Atmospheric Descriptors, and a huge list of Fantasy Word-parts.

Color Descriptions

Warm: red, scarlet, crimson, rusty, cerise, carmine, cinnabar, orange, vermillion, ochre, peach, salmon, saffron, yellow, gold, lemon, amber, pink, magenta, maroon, brown, sepia, burgundy, beige, tan, fuchsia, taupe

Cool: green, beryl, jade, evergreen, chartreuse, olive, viridian, celadon, blue, azure, navy, cerulean, turquoise, teal, cyan, cobalt, periwinkle, beryl, purple, violet, indigo, mauve, plum

Neutral: gray, silver, ashy, charcoal, slate, white, pearly, alabaster, ivory, black, ebony, jet

dark, dusky, pale, bleached, blotchy, bold, dappled, lustrous, faded, drab, milky, mottled, opaque, pastel, stained, subtle, ruddy, waxen, tinted, tinged, painted

Animal / Monster-Related Words

Bear, eagle, wolf, serpent, hawk, horse, goat, sheep, bull, raven, crow, dog, stag, rat, boar, lion, hare, owl, crane, goose, swan, otter, frog, toad, moth, bee, wasp, beetle, spider, slug, snail, leech, dragonfly, fish, trout, salmon, bass, crab, shell, dolphin, whale, eel, cod, haddock

Dragon, goblin, giant, wyvern, ghast, siren, lich, hag, ogre, wyrm, kraken

Talon, scale, tusk, hoof, mane, horn, fur, feather, fang, wing, whisker, bristle, paw, tail, beak, claw, web, quill, paw, maw, pelt, haunch, gill, fin,

Hive, honey, nest, burrow, den, hole, wallow

Rocks / Metals / Minerals

Gold, silver, brass, bronze, copper, platinum, iron, steel, tin, mithril, electrum, adamantite, quicksilver, fool’s gold, titanium

Diamond, ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz, opal, pearl, jade, jasper, onyx, citrine, aquamarine, turquoise, lapiz lazuli, amethyst, quartz, crystal, amber, jewel

Granite, shale, marble, limestone, sandstone, slate, diorite, basalt, rhyolite, obsidian, glass

Earth, stone, clay, sand, silt, salt, mote, lode, vein, ore, ingot, coal, boulder, bedrock, crust, rubble, pebble, gravel, cobble, dust, clod, peat, muck mud, slip, loam, dirt, grit, scree, shard, flint, stalactite/mite

Trees / Plants / Flowers

Tree, ash, aspen, pine, birch, alder, willow, dogwood, oak, maple, walnut,  chestnut, cedar, mahogany, palm, beech, hickory, hemlock, cottonwood, hawthorn, sycamore, poplar, cypress, mangrove, elm, fir, spruce, yew

Branch, bough, bramble, gnarl, burr, tangle, thistle, briar, thorn, moss, bark, shrub, undergrowth, overgrowth, root, vine, bracken, reed, driftwood, coral, fern, berry, bamboo, nectar, petal, leaf, seed, clover, grass, grain, trunk, twig, canopy, cactus, weed, mushroom, fungus

Apple, olive, apricot, elderberry, coconut, sugar, rice, wheat, cotton, flax, barley, hops, onion, carrot, turnip, cabbage, squash, pumpkin, pepper

Flower, rose, lavender, lilac, jasmine, jonquil, marigold, carnelian, carnation, goldenrod, sage, wisteria, dahlia, nightshade, lily, daisy, daffodil, columbine, amaranth, crocus, buttercup, foxglove, iris, holly, hydrangea, orchid, snowdrop, hyacinth, tulip, yarrow, magnolia, honeysuckle, belladonna, lily pad, magnolia

People

Settler, Pilgrim, Pioneer, Merchant, Prospector, Maker, Surveyor, Mason, Overseer, Apprentice, Widow, Sailor, Miner, Blacksmith, Butcher, Baker, Brewer, Barkeep, Ferryman, Hangman, Gambler, Fisherman, Adventurer, Hero, Seeker, Hiker, Traveler, Crone

Mage, Magician, Summoner, Sorcerer, Wizard, Conjurer, Necromancer, 

King, Queen, Lord, Count, Baron, Guard, Soldier, Knight, Vindicator, Merchant, Crusader, Imperator, Syndicate, Vanguard, Champion, Warden, Victor, Legionnaire, Master, Archer, Footman, Gladiator, Barbarian, Captain, Commodore, 

Beggar, Hunter, Ranger, Deadman, Smuggler, Robber, Swindler, Rebel, Bootlegger, Outlaw, Pirate, Brigand, Ruffian, Highwayman, Cutpurse, Thief, Assassin

God, Goddess, Exarch, Angel, Devil, Demon, Cultist, Prophet, Hermit, Seer

council, clergy, guild, militia, choir 

Climate, Environment, & The Elements

Cold, cool, brisk, frosty, chilly, icy, freezing, frozen, frigid, glacial, bitter, biting, bleak, arctic, polar, boreal, wintry, snowy, snow, blizzarding, blizzard, sleeting, sleet, chill, frost, ice, icebound, ice cap, floe, snowblind, frostbite, coldsnap, avalanche, snowflake

Hot, sunny, humid, sweltering, steaming, boiling, sizzling, blistering, scalding, smoking, caldescent, dry, parched, arid, fallow, thirsty, melting, molten, fiery, blazing, burning, charring, glowing, searing, scorching, blasted, sun, fire, heat, flame, wildfire, bonfire, inferno, coal, ash, cinder, ember, flare, pyre, tinder, kindling, aflame, alight, ablaze, lava, magma, slag,

Wet, damp, dank, soggy, sodden, soaked, drenched, dripping, sopping, briny, murky, rain, storm, hail, drizzle, sprinkle, downpour, deluge, squall, water, cloud, fog, mist, dew, puddle, pool, current, whirlpool, deep, depths, tide, waves, whitewater, waterfall, tidal wave, flow, flood, leak, drain

Wind, breeze, gust, billow, gail, draft, waft, zephyr, still, airy, clear, smokey, tempest, tempestuous, windswept, aerial, lofty, torrid, turbulent, nebulous, tradewind, thunder, lightning, spark, cyclone, tornado, whirlwind, hurricane, typhoon

Man-made Item Words

Furnace, forge, anvil, vault, strap, strip, whetstone, brick, sword, blade, axe, dagger, shield, buckler, morningstar, bow, quiver, arrow, polearm, flail, staff, stave, sheath, hilt, hammer, knife, helm, mantle, banner, pauldron, chainmail, mace, dart, cutlass, canon, needle, cowl, belt,  buckle, bandana, goggles, hood, boot, heel, spindle, spool, thread, sweater, skirt, bonnet, apron, leather, hide, plate, tunic, vest, satin, silk, wool, velvet, lace, corset, stocking, binding

Plow, scythe, (wheel) barrow, saddle, harrow, brand, collar, whip, leash, lead, bridle, stirrup, wheel, straw, stall, barn, hay, bale, pitchfork, well, log, saw, lumber, sod, thatch, mortar, brick, cement, concrete, pitch, pillar, window, fountain, door, cage, spoke, pole, table, bench, plank, board

Candle, torch, cradle, broom, lamp, lantern, clock, bell, lock, hook, trunk, looking glass, spyglass, bottle, vase, locket, locker, key, handle, rope, knot, sack, pocket, pouch, manacle, chain, stake, coffin, fan. cauldron, kettle, pot, bowl, pestle, oven, ladle, spoon, font, wand, potion, elixir, draught, portal, book, tome, scroll, word, manuscript, letter, message, grimoire, map, ink, quill, pen, cards, dice

Coin, coronet, crown, circlet, scepter, treasure, riches, scales, pie, tart, loaf, biscuit, custard, caramel, pudding, porridge, stew, bread, tea, gravy, gristle, spice, lute, lyre, harp, drum, rouge, powder, perfume, brush

bilge, stern, pier, sail, anchor, mast, dock, deck, flag, ship, boat, canoe, barge, wagon, sled, carriage, buggy, cart

Wine, brandy, whiskey, ale, moonshine, gin, cider, rum, grog, beer, brew, goblet, flagon, flask, cask, tankard, stein, mug, barrel, stock, wort, malt

Body Parts

Head, throat, finger, foot, hand, neck, shoulder, rib, jaw, eye, lips, bosom

Skull, spine, bone, tooth, heart, blood, tears, gut, beard

Mechanical-Sounding Words

cog, fuse, sprocket, wrench, screw, nail, bolt, lever, pulley, spanner, gear, spring, shaft, switch, button, cast, pipe, plug, dial, meter, nozzle, cord, brake, gauge, coil, oil, signal, wire, fluke, staple, clamp, bolt, nut, bulb, patch, pump, cable, socket

torque, force, sonic, spark, fizzle, thermal, beam, laser, steam, buzz, mega, mecha, electro, telsa, power, flicker, charge, current, flow, tinker

Atmospheric Words

Unpleasant, Dangerous, Threatening

(nouns) death, fury, battle, scar, shadow, razor, nightmare, wrath, bone, splinter, peril, war, riptide, strife, reckoning, sorrow, terror, deadwood, nether, venom, grime, rage, void, conquest, pain, folly, revenge, horrid, mirk, shear, fathom, frenzy, corpselight/marshlight, reaper, gloom, doom, torment, torture, spite, grizzled, sludge, refuse, spore, carrion, fear, pyre, funeral, shade, beast, witch, grip, legion, downfall, ruin, plague, woe, bane, horde, acid, fell, grief, corpse, mildew, mold, miter, dirge

(adjectives) dead, jagged, decrepit, fallen, darkened, blackened, dire, grim, feral, wild, broken, desolate, mad, lost, under, stagnant, blistered, derelict, forlorn, unbound, sunken, fallow, shriveled, wayward, bleak, low, weathered, fungal, last, brittle, sleepy, -strewn, dusky, deserted, empty, barren, vacant, forsaken, bare, bereft, stranded, solitary, abandoned, discarded, forgotten, deep, abysmal, bottomless, buried, fathomless,unfathomable, diseased, plagued, virulent, noxious, venomous, toxic, fetid, revolting, putrid, rancid, foul, squalid, sullied, vile, blighted, vicious, ferocious, dangerous, savage, cavernous, vast, yawning, chasmal, echoing, dim, dingy, gloomy, inky, lurid, shaded, shadowy, somber, sunless, tenebrous, unlit, veiled, hellish, accursed, sulfurous, damned, infernal, condemned, doomed, wicked, sinister, dread, unending, spectral, ghostly, haunted, eldritch, unknown, weary, silent, hungry, cloven, acidic

(verb/adverbs): wither (withering / withered), skulk (skulking), whisper, skitter, chitter, sting, slither, writhe, gape, screech, scream, howl, lurk, roil, twist, shift, swarm, spawn, fester, bleed, howl, shudder, shrivel, devour, swirl, maul, trip, smother, weep, shatter, ruin, curse, ravage, hush, rot, drown, sunder, blister, warp, fracture, die, shroud, fall, surge, shiver, roar, thunder, smolder, break, silt, slide, lash, mourn, crush, wail, decay, crumble, erode, decline, reek, lament, taint, corrupt, defile, poison, infect, shun, sigh, sever, crawl, starve, grind, cut, wound, bruise, maim, stab, bludgeon, rust, mutilate, tremble, stumble, fumble, clank, clang

Pleasant, Safe, Neutral

(nouns) spirit, luck, soul, oracle, song, sky, smile, rune, obelisk, cloud, timber, valor, triumph, rest, dream, thrall, might, valiance, glory, mirror, life, hope, oath, serenity, sojourn, god, hearth, crown, throne, crest, guard, rise, ascent, circle, ring, twin, vigil, breath, new, whistle, grasp, snap, fringe, threshold, arch, cleft, bend, home, fruit, wilds, echo, moonlight, sunlight, starlight, splendor, vigilance, honor, memory, fortune, aurora, paradise, caress

(adjectives) gentle, pleasant, prosperous, peaceful, sweet, good, great, mild, grand, topic, lush, wild, abundant, verdant, sylvan, vital, florid, bosky, callow, verdurous, lucious, fertile, spellbound, captivating, mystical, hidden, arcane, clandestine, esoteric, covert, cryptic, runic, otherworldly, touched, still, fair, deep, quiet, bright, sheer, tranquil, ancient, light, far, -wrought, tidal, royal, shaded, swift, true, free, high, vibrant, pure, argent, hibernal, ascendant, halcyon, silken, bountiful, gilded, colossal, massive, stout, elder, -bourne, furrowed, happy, merry, -bound, loud, lit, silk, quiet, bright, luminous, shining, burnished, glossy, brilliant, lambent, lucent, lustrous, radiant, resplendent, vivid, vibrant, illuminated, silvery, limpid, sunlit, divine, sacred, holy, eternal, celestial, spiritual, almighty, anointed, consecrated, exalted, hallowed, sanctified, ambrosial, beatific, blissful, demure, naked, bare, ample, coy,  deific, godly, omnipotent, omnipresent, rapturous, sacramental, sacrosanct, blessed, majestic, iridescent, glowing, overgrown, dense, hard, timeless, sly, scatter, everlasting, full, half, first, last

(verb/adverbs) arch (arching / arched), wink (winking), sing, nestle, graze, stroll, roll, flourish, bloom, bud, burgeon, live, dawn, hide, dawn, run, pray, wake, laugh, wake, glimmer, glitter, drift, sleep, tumble, bind, arch, blush, grin, glister, beam, meander, wind, widen, charm, bewitch, enthrall, entrance, enchant, allure, beguile, glitter, shimmer, sparkle twinkle, crest, quiver, slumber, herald, shelter, leap, click, climb, scuttle, dig, barter, chant, hum, chime, kiss, flirt, tempt, tease, play, seduce

Generic “Fantasy-Sounding” Word Parts

A - D

aaz, ada, adaer, adal, adar, adbar, adir, ae, ael, aer, aern, aeron, aeryeon, agar, agis, aglar, agron, ahar, akan, akyl, al, alam, alan, alaor, ald, alea, ali, alir, allyn, alm, alon, alor, altar, altum, aluar, alys, amar, amaz, ame, ammen, amir, amol, amn, amus, anar, andor, ang, ankh, ar, ara, aram, arc, arg, arian, arkh, arla, arlith, arn, arond, arthus, arum, arvien, ary, asha, ashyr, ask, assur, aster, astra, ath, athor, athra, athryn, atol, au, auga, aum, auroch, aven, az, azar, baal, bae, bael, bak, bal, balor, ban, bar, bara, barr, batol, batar, basir, basha, batyr, bel, belph, belu, ben, beo, bere, berren, berun, besil, bezan, bhaer, bhal, blask, blis, blod, bor, boraz, bos, bran, brath, braun, breon, bri, bry, bul, bur, byl, caer, cal, calan, cara, cassa, cath, cela, cen, cenar, cerul, chalar, cham, chion, cimar, clo, coram, corel, corman, crim, crom, daar, dach, dae, dago, dagol, dahar, dala, dalar, dalin, dam, danas, daneth, dannar, dar, darian,  darath, darm, darma, darro, das, dasa, dasha, dath, del, delia, delimm, dellyn, delmar, delo, den, dess, dever, dhaer, dhas, dhaz, dhed, dhin, din, dine, diar, dien, div, djer, dlyn, dol, dolan, doon, dora, doril, doun, dral, dranor, drasil, dren, drian, drien, drin, drov, druar, drud, duald, duatha, duir, dul, dulth, dun, durth, dyra, dyver,

E - H

ea, eber, eden, edluk, egan, eiel, eilean, ejen, elath, eld, eldor, eldra, elith emar, ellesar, eltar, eltaran, elth, eltur, elyth, emen, empra, emril, emvor, ena, endra, enthor, erad, erai, ere, eriel, erith, erl, eron, erre, eryn, esk, esmel, espar, estria, eta, ethel, eval, ezro, ezan, ezune, ezil, fael, faelar, faern, falk, falak, farak, faril, farla, fel, fen, fenris, fer, fet, fin, finar, forel, folgun, ful, fulk, fur, fyra, fallon, gael, gach, gabir, gadath, gal, galar, gana, gar, garth, garon, garok, garne, gath, geir, gelden, geren,  geron, ghal, ghallar, ghast, ghel, ghom, ghon, gith, glae, glander, glar, glym, gol, goll, gollo, goloth, gorot, gost, goth, graeve, gran, grimm, grist, grom, grosh, grun, grym, gual, guil, guir, gulth, gulur, gur, gurnth, gwaer, haa, hael, haer, hadar, hadel, hakla, hala, hald, halana, halid, hallar, halon, halrua, halus, halvan, hamar, hanar, hanyl, haor, hara, haren, haresk, harmun, harrokh, harrow, haspur, haza, hazuth, heber,  hela, helve, hem, hen, herath, hesper, heth, hethar, hind, hisari, hjaa, hlath, hlond, hluth, hoarth, holtar, horo, hotun, hrag, hrakh, hroth, hull, hyak, hyrza

I - M

iibra, ilth, ilus, ilira, iman, imar, imas, imb, imir, immer, immil, imne, impil, ingdal, innar, ir, iriae, iril, irith, irk, irul, isha, istis, isil, itala, ith, ithal, itka, jada, jae, jaeda, jahaka, jala, jarra, jaro, jath, jenda, jhaamm, jhothm, jinn, jinth, jyn, kado, kah, kal, kalif, kam, kana, kara, karg, kars, karth, kasp, katla, kaul, kazar, kazr, kela, kelem, kerym, keth, keva, kez, kezan, khaer, khal, khama, khaz, khara, khed, khel, khol, khur, kil, kor, korvan, koll, kos, kir, kra, kul, kulda, kund, kyne, lae, laen, lag, lan, lann, lanar, lantar, lapal, lar, laran, lareth, lark, lath, lauth, lav, lavur, lazar, leih, leshyr, leth, lhaza, lhuven, liad, liam, liard, lim, lin, lirn, lisk, listra, lith, liya, llair, llor, lok, lolth, loran, lorkh, lorn, loth, lothen, luen, luir, luk, lund, lur, luth, lyndus, lyra, lyth, maal, madrasm maera, maer, maerim, maes, mag, magra, mahand, mal, malar, mald, maldo, mar, mara, mark, marl, maru, maruk, meir, melish, memnon, mer, metar, methi, mhil, mina, mir, miram, mirk, mista, mith, moander, mok, modir, modan, mon, monn, mor, more, morel, moril, morn, moro, morrow, morth, mort, morum, morven, muar, mul, mydra, myr, myra, myst

N - S

naar, nadyra, naedyr, naga, najar, nal, naal, nalir, nar, naruk, narbond, narlith, narzul, nasaq, nashkel, natar, nath, natha, neir, neth, nether, nhall, nikh, nil, nilith, noan, nolvurm nonthal, norda, noro, novul, nul, nur, nus, nyan, nyth, ober, odra, oghr, okoth, olleth, olodel, omgar, ondath, onthril, ordul, orish, oroch, orgra, orlim, ormath, ornar, orntath, oroch, orth, orva, oryn, orzo, ostel, ostor, ostrav, othea, ovar, ozod, ozul, palan, palad, pae, peldan, pern, perris, perim, pele, pen, phail, phanda, phara, phen, phendra, pila, pinn, pora, puril, pur, pyra, qadim, quar, quel, ques, quil, raah, rael, ran, ranna, rassil, rak, rald, rassa, reddan, reith, relur, ren, rendril, resil, reska, reth, reven, revar, rhy, rhynn, ria, rian, rin, ris, rissian, rona, roch, rorn, rora, rotha, rual, ruar, ruhal, ruil, ruk, runn, rusk, ryn, saa, saar, saal, sabal, samar, samrin, sankh, sar, sarg, sarguth, sarin, sarlan, sel, seld, sember, semkh, sen, sendrin, septa, senta, seros, shaar, shad, shadra, shae, shaen, shaera, shak, shalan, sham, shamath, shan, shana, sharan, shayl, shemar, shere, shor, shul, shyll, shyr, sidur, sil, silvan, sim, sintar, sirem, skar, skell, skur, skyr, sokol, solan, sola, somra, sor, ssin, stel, strill, suldan, sulk, sunda, sur, surkh, suth, syl, sylph, sylune, syndra, syth

T - Z

taak, taar, taer, tah, tak, tala, talag, talar, talas, talath, tammar, tanar, tanil, tar, tara, taran, tarl, tarn, tasha, tath, tavil, telar, teld, telf, telos, tempe, tethy, tezir, thaar, thaer, thal, thalag, thalas, thalan, thalar, thamor, thander, thangol, thar, thay, thazal, theer, theim, thelon, thera, thendi, theril, thiir, thil, thild, thimir, thommar, thon, thoon, thor, thran, thrann, threl, thril, thrul, thryn, thuk, thultan, thume, thun, thy, thyn, thyr, tir, tiras, tirum, tohre, tol, tolar, tolir,  tolzrin, tor, tormel, tormir, traal, triel, trith, tsath, tsur, tul, tur, turiver, turth, tymor, tyr, uder, udar, ugoth, uhr, ukh, ukir, uker, usten, ulgarth, ulgoth, ultir, ulur, umar, umath, umber, unara, undro, undu, untha, upir, ur, ursa, ursol, uron, uth, uthen, uz, van, vaar, vaelan, vaer, vaern, val valan, valash, vali, valt, vandan, vanede, vanrak, var, varyth, vassa, vastar, vaunt, vay, vel, velar, velen, velius, vell, velta, ven, veren, vern, vesper, vilar, vilhon, vintor, vir, vira, virdin, volo, volun, von, voon, vor, voro, vos, vosir, vosal, vund, war, wara, whel, wol, wynn, wyr, wyrm, xer, xul, xen, xian, yad, yag, yal, yar, yath, yeon, yhal, yir, yirar, yuir, yul, yur, zail, zala, zalhar, zan, zanda, zar, zalar, zarach, zaru, zash, zashu, zemur, zhent, zim, ziram, zindala, zindar, zoun, zul, zurr, zuth, zuu, zym

A lot of places are named after historical events, battles, and people, so keep that in mind. God/Goddess names tied to your world also work well. Places are also often named after things that the area is known for, like Georgia being known for its peaches.

My brain was fried by the end of this so feel free to add more!

I hope you find this reference helpful and good luck world-building!

-Mel