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hrhduchessoflancaster · 5 years

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Chapter Ninety: Uncharted Territory

Disclaimer: see Prologue.

A/N: I know it’s been a very long time since I posted anything but here it is.Thank you so much for all your comments!! The story is almost over. Only a few more chapter to go. xx Bea.

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The Invictus Games held in Toronto that year game Harry a purpose and a new sense of accomplishment. After all the turmoil that he and Elle had been through the last months, being able to be a part of something he was so proud of and really make a difference, shone in him a new light and perspective on what he could do now that he had more influence and power on his hands. Elle had stayed behind since Arthur was still too young to travel and needed his mother.

When he arrived in Canada, he once again met with the Trudeaus. The trio exchanged pleasantries before proceeding to the Prime Minister's home, where Harry would be a guest until they flew to Toronto on the following day.

" I'm very happy to be able to congratulate you in person on the birth of your son. We are all thrilled for you and Eleanor.", said Justin.

" Thank you. We're both very happy. Arthur really is an incredible child and truly a blessing to us both.", said Harry smiling.

"And... we've all been shocked to hear of the recent changes as well. I'm sorry if that is a sensitive topic, but I wanted to talk to you about some bilateral projects, if I may.", said Justin.

" It's somewhat delicate but I'm happy to talk about improving the relationship between the UK and Canada.", said Harry, giving a brief smile. " But for now, let's focus on the task in hand. This year's Invictus Games.", he continued and the Prime Minister nodded his head, not touching on the subject any longer.

On the following morning, Harry flew to Toronto with the Prime Minister and his wife. He was taken in a black SUV to the Air Canada Center, where the opening and closing ceremony would held. As the car approached the venue, he could hear the music and cheer growing louder and louder. Stepping out of the car, Harry waved his hand at the public gathered. He walked backstage, alongside the Justin Trudeau and waited for his queue. As the teams filled the arena one by one, Harry watched as the speeches were made, getting emotional after each story of endurance and hardships that was shared.

" Your Royal Highness, Ladies and Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to stand before you tonight and welcome our competitors to this year's Invictus Games. But before we can declare this games officially opened I'd like to say a few words. Your Royal Highness, thank you so much for your leadership, vision and strength in realising and guiding this project, which will allow so many of our brave veterans to keep moving forward and us, the opportunity to cheer them on.", said Justin and loud cheers and claps were heard from the audience.

"... and without further ado, here, to declare the Invictus Games Toronto 2017 opened, our patron and founder, Prince Harry.". Harry was then welcomed onstage and smiled at the audience.

" Hello Toronto! Merci beaucoup pour votre hospitalité. And thank you Prime Minister for this warm welcome. Invictus is about the dedication of the men and women who served their countries, confronted hardship, and refused to be defined by their injuries. Invictus is about the families and friends who faced the shock of learning that their loved ones had been injured or fallen ill - and then rallied to support them on their journey of recovery. And above all, Invictus is about the example to the world that all service men and women - injured or not - provide about the importance of service and duty. I wanted to find a way for veterans to be a beacon of light, and show us all that we have a role to play; that we all win when we respect our friends, neighbours, and communities. That's why we created Invictus. Not only to help veterans recover from their physical and mental wounds; but also to inspire people to follow their example of resilience, optimism, and service in their own lives.", said Harry.

" Sadly, my wife could not join us here since she's at home with our little one...", he said and cheers erupted from the crowd. "... but she too wanted to pass along the message of hope we all share today.", he continued and a video appeared on the screen behind him. In it, Elle was dressed in her Invictus Toronto 2017 shirt and had a little Arthur, napping on her arms, dressed in the Invictus baby grow they had been gifted a few months ago.

" Hello Toronto! Hello competitors! It saddens me not to be able to see you compete fiercely in these coming days and cheer you on as I did last year in Florida. But as you can see, I have a very small person that needs my full attention.", she joked and there was a sound of laughter from the crowd. " These games were created so that each an every one of you can see and experience change and teamwork. You are all winners for having reached this far. For cheating death and overcome emotional and physical challenges. I hope you embody the spirit of this games by showing courage and determination that will inspire generations to come. You are proving to the world that everything is possible, even under the most impossible situations. Good luck to you all!", said Elle. As the video ended, another cheer and applauses were heard and Harry grinned.

" Well, as my wife has said, I hope you are ready to inspire, to challenge, to work together, and to change your lives in the next coming days. You are Invictus! Let's get started!", he concluded, to a resounding cheer.

When Harry came back from Canada, he felt invigorated. He was ready to resume his public activities with full force. And so was Elle. With them both back at work, which had had some new additions to their normal workload since the singing of the Abdication document, Harry and Elle spent a lot of time on their engagements around London and the UK as well as working on their side projects. Elle had once again started writing her book, meeting every now and then with Melissa and Trevor to catch up and talk about academia. As for Harry, he was working on expanding Sentebale's work across other African countries.

A new Royal Tour was set for next year, on the Caribbean, which they hoped to bring their son along. Most of the times, if they’d be staying for more than a day, they’d bring Arthur with them. But he did spend a good deal of time with his grandparents, who, on both parts, doted on the little boy, dearly. Even though Charles and Camilla were estranged from Harry, Elle made a point to take baby Arthur to see them from time to time. As for her own parents, Victoria and Rupert adored babysitting their grandson and were completely at his mercy. Elle once caught her father bouncing the infant on his knee as he did with her when she was a child and it warmed her heart to see how much her son was loved by her family.

Not to mention the staff. The entire McClaire gang doted on the little boy. Brandon and Olivia were delighted to have a child on the home again and usually commented on how much they had missed the joy of children whenever Elle was around. Jane and Gregory took upon themselves to play with Arthur whenever they could. As for Margaret and Thomas, they’d school the little boy about everything around the kitchen and garden, respectively. Now that he was starting to eat solids, Maggie was particularly fond of cooking small portions of baby food for Elle to take home with her to see if Arthur would enjoy it. And it had never failed to please the infant, to the chef’s delight.

Once winter arrived, and Elle’s birthday came to pass, she received the best gift she could ever wish for: hearing Arthur properly say his first couple of words, such as mama, dada and lan, which, of course, translated to the three most import things in his life: his parents and Lancelot. He had also mastered his tummy time and could roll on it and then upwards again, as well as sitting without either Harry or Elle helping him. They had a good routine going on of naps, playtime and feeds, with now a few solids introduced as well. The new parents quickly discovered Arthur’s fondness for bananas but his distaste for papaya. Little by little, the three of them were entering new territories.

On the second week of November, Elle and Harry prepared for Remembrance Sunday, as many other members of the Royal Family. That’d be the first big and meaningful event without William and Catherine. They had moved back to Anglesey with the children and Elle had heard weekly from Kate. Dressed in a black dress and matching black hat, she stood beside Camilla, Anne, and Sophie on the balcony and watched as Her Majesty, Charles, Harry, Andrew and Edward all placed the red poppies wreath on the Cenotaph. A tear or two fell down her cheeks as she thought about all the suffering that still went on around the world; about the fight and the people, military and civilians alike that were caught in the numerous conflicts.

That day at the Cenotaph had been the first interaction Harry had had with his father since the Abdication. After the ceremony, once they were all inside, she saw them talking in hushed tones and Harry, although stone faced, was talking back to Charles and even gave a small, tight smile to his father when he showed his phone to him. Elle imagined they were talking about Arthur. On the mend… slowly, but surely., she thought observing father and son.

“ I’m so glad to see them taking again.”, said Camilla, coming to stand beside Elle. The young duchess nodded her head, agreeing with the older woman.

“ Indeed. There’s much work to be done, but the first steps have been taken.”, said Elle.

“ I hope he can do the same with his brother.”, commented Camilla. “… William… it’s been hard on him too. He misses Harry. They all do. Will you talk to him, Eleanor? See if he can, maybe, call him again?”, she asked.

“ I’ll try. I promise. I don’t like this situation anymore than you do, but Harry needs to be allowed to get over the anger and resentment he’s still feeling before he can forgive both his father and his brother.”, said Elle.

************

Long before the whole ordeal with the Abdication had come to pass, it had been decided that Harry, Elle, Arthur and Sir Lancelot would spend Christmas with her family that year, stopping by at Sandringham, to make a quick visit to the Queen and other members of the family, on Boxing Day. So when December came, Elle was more than happy to take all of the Christmas decorations from storage and start giving their apartment the very best of seasonal cheer.

As this was Arthur’s first Christmas, she had outdone herself by making sure he was featured every step of the way, dressing him in the cutest outfits: from little Elf to Rudolf, a Snowman and Father Christmas himself. Harry would often sneak on her and take several pictures of her and of Arthur and sometimes he too would get into them. The album Elle had given him years ago was filling up quickly. Soon another one would have to be bought so they could be cataloging their lives together.

When he went to their bedroom that evening to shower and change while Elle fed Arthur downstairs, he opened one of his drawers to look for that particular photo album when he saw the binder Elle had given him on their first anniversary, a few months ago. In it, there were the unopened letters she had written to him, each for a different occasion. Going through them, he found the one he was looking for: for when you feel lost. Carefully detaching it from the binder, Harry took the small envelope in his hands and opened it. Elle’s elegant penmanship came into view.

My love, my darling Harry,

If you’re reading this letter, then it means something horrible has happened in yours or our lives and you need to keep yourself grounded, to find a path to keep going forward. I may not know what it is since I’m writing this in the past with no hindsight whatsoever about the future. But, I do know that you’ll always find a way to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel. You are one of the strongest, most kind, good-hearted and positive people I know. You’ll find a way to see past whatever is troubling you because you know, deep down, that it’s not the edge of a cliff, or the end of journey. There’s so much more to be lived! You may be at a crossroads or maybe a very big challenge is what you’re facing… and although it seems like a big deal now, it will be nothing more than a little bump on your path towards a great and happy future. You can do it, Harry. You can face whatever challenge is put in front of you and you can find your path again. I hope I’m there by your side, through thick and thin, as we have vowed to each other. I hope you don’t need to read this letter because I’m going to be there by your side telling everything that is written here. But, in the case that I’m not for whatever reason or that you need to hear it again, and again, again… You can and you will be found. You will see clearer. You will overcome the darkness and the desolation you might have been feeling. Take a deep breath, focus on the good parts of your life, on the people who love and support you no matter what, find your inner strength to battle the urge to

shut everyone out… forgiven and forget, my darling. The storm is scary but it always ends. And the result is a beautiful and clear sky. You may be lost in the middle of a storm right now, but it will end. I’m sure of it.

All my love,

Elle.

Harry eyes were glossy and unshed tears threatened to fall down his cheeks as he read the letter another time. He let her words sink in his brain and heart, reassuring him yet again, that he could do the task that was set for him and that she, his wonderful wife, his marvellous Elle, would be with him, beside him, every step of the way. Sighing, Harry folded the letter and put it on his nightstand. A hot shower was in need.

He was mid shower when he heard the bathroom door open. Harry didn’t turn his back for he knew who was it. Soon, a chilly air invaded the box and a pair of arm encircled his waist. He felt Elle’s breathe on his back, her lips gently kissing his warm skin.

“ Arthur is asleep.”, she said in between pecks. He placed his hands over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning his body to face her. Looking deeply into her eyes, Harry cupped her cheek and lowered his head, molding his lips against hers. They pulled each other closer, basking in the passion of the moment, as the hot water fell on their bodies. Kissing turned into touching, pressing and gasping and soon, Elle had her back against the tiles, moaning. Their love making became more and more intense, the shower long forgotten. Panting, the entangled their bodies and leaned their foreheads together, faintly smiling.

" It's been a while since we've done that, hasn't it?", said Harry, giving her his signature smirk.

" In the shower? Most definitely.", she replied chuckling. Pecking his lips, she reached for the towel and draped around her body before exiting the bathroom. Harry remained there for a few more minutes then joined an already dressed Elle in bed. He got under the covers and pulled her against him, nesting her in his arms. Gently, he began running his fingers through her hair, which earned him soft moans of content from her. In a matter of minutes, Elle was fast asleep. Harry smiled at the sight before him and placed a peck on her temple before closing his own eyes and drifting off into sleep.

************

As Christmas week came, Harry, Elle, Arthur, Lancelot, and their RPO's made their way to Woodenford Castle. Passing through the snowy fields of Wiltshire, they drove during late morning arriving at the familiar majestic site of the 13th century stone castle on early afternoon, just in time for a healthy lunch provided by Ms. Martin, the fabulous chef. As soon as they were past the gates, Elle could see her family eagerly waiting at the front door. Once the car was pulled into a stop, they jumped out of the Range Rover, took Lancelot out and pulled Arthur from his car seat, who greeted his parents with a bubbly smile. The family was soon engulfed in warm hugs and kisses on the cheek offered by Victoria, Rupert and Edward, who soon whisked his nephew away, whispering promises of fun and mischief in his ear, while Logan helped with their luggage.

" I'm so glad you're here!", said Victoria, still holding Elle's shoulders.

"We are very glad to be here.", said Elle. " Specially since it's Arthur's first Christmas. And nothing can compare to our Christmas tree...", she continued as they stepped inside. Warmth and the smell of pine and spices filled her senses, making her instantly more relaxed and happy. As they too off their coats and headed to the Drawing Room, she held her breath in excitement. And she wasn't disappointed. The 25ft Norway spruce was up, its ornaments glistening under the lights.

" Oh wow...", said Elle in wonder.

" We haven't finished decorating it yet. We know how much you love doing it.", said her father smiling. She smiled back at him and nodded her head with enthusiasm. She walked over to the with Arthur in her arms and browsed over the many different ornaments, their shapes and colours twinkling in the light, catching the infant's eyes and sparkling his curiosity. The family around them smiled lovingly at the scene and Harry even snapped a few pictures of mother and son, who seemed to be immersed in their own little bubble of Christmas cheer. They all joined in to decorated the tree. Little by little, the magnificent decor was complete. Harry snuck behind Elle and warped his arms around her, pulling her and Arthur close to him.

" Now this... is what I call a proper Christmas tree.", he said in her ear.

" Couldn't agree more.", she replied, turning her head to the side and pecking his lips. They smiled to each other then looked down at Arthur who was looking amazed at every little thing around him. Elle kissed his chubby cheeks and Harry tickled his belly, earning them both a giggle from the toddler. His smile, a toothy one now, lit up the room. It was contagious and made everyone else smile too.

For the next few days, Elle and Harry took the time away from the city to decompress and have a few dates, just the two of them. Since the snow wasn't deep and they decided to take the horses for a small walk near the river. Bundled up in puffer jackets and very warm mittens and caps, they walked over to the stables, greeting the familiar faces they saw on their way.

" Ahh Lionheart.", said Elle stepping close to her horse's stall. He neighed and threw his mane around, reaching for her hand. She chuckled and caressed his nose. "I've missed you too, buddy.", she said to him. Harry was given Percival to ride, just like on the first time he had been to Woodenford, all those years ago when they reconnected.

They saddled up their horses and slowly trotted side by side, the chilly breeze cutting through their skin, making theirs cheeks red. "Race you to the river.", he said to her and galloped past her. Elle chuckled, remembering how she was the one to do the same last time they did that. She soon caught up with him and they laughed to each other as they reached the riverbank together.

" Even with a head start, you can't seem to beat me, Major.", she said, winking and grinning at him.

" What can I say, you've always been better at it than me...", he replied. Harry then got off his horse, tying him to a nearby tree. He then helped Elle out of her horse and did the same. Elle then picked up the the small basket with water and sandwiches she had brought and hand in hand, they walked to a stone bench that overlooked the river. Sipping on their bottles and nibbling on their snacks, they quietly observed the flow of the water and the breeze on the pine trees, listening to the sounds of the nature around them. Snuggling up to him, Elle sighed happily.

" Feels so good to be here, in the peace and quiet after the months we've had, doesn't it?", she said.

" It really does.", replied Harry. " Sometimes I can't believe all that has happened to us...", he continued, holding her close, playing with her wedding ring.

" I know, darling. It's been a crazy couple of year, filled with good and bad things, and we've faced them all together.", said Elle, looking up at him.

" I have no idea what I'd have done without you by my side, Elle.", he said cupping her cheek. "You bring out the best in me. You're my saving grace and shining light at the end of a dark and rocky road.", he finished.

" Oh Harry...", she whispered, smiling gently at him, teary eyed after his declaration. Leaning in, she pulled him closer and brought his lips towards hers. They kissed slowly, savouring the moment, but eagerness and passion flowed through their mouths and soon they were feeling much hotter than before. Once they finally pulled away from each other in need of breath, they rested their foreheads together, breathing in and out, eyes closed, feeling the heat coming from one another's bodies.

************

On Christmas Eve, the family gathered in the Great Hall of the castle for the Foundation brunch. A tradition that her parents had started as a way of thanking the staff and key members of the community who are a part of the Duke and Duchess' foundation. Cassandra was there and was delighted into meeting the new addition to the family. As were a few other staff members, coordinators and representatives of the small associations connected to the Foundation. Harry was soon whisked away by some veterans that he had met before while Elle was engrossed in talking to new mothers and their children about the literacy projects she had been developing and the work that had been done in the county. At dusk, they took part in a soup kitchen, delivering food and blankets to the homeless and less fortunate of Salisbury.

" I think that doing this, helping other people, really shows what Christmas is all about.", commented Elle as they gave out blankets to the people. Harry smiled at her and placed a kiss on her temple.

When finally came time for dinner, they returned to the castle for the much anticipated festivities. Dressed in a burgundy red dress and black pumps Elle patiently fed Arthur while Harry took shower. With only a towel around his waist, he come out of the shower and gave her a peck on the lips, walking towards the closet to get dressed. Smirking, Elle bit her lips and settled Arthur on his Moses basket. She tiptoed to the closet, finding her husband wearing only his underwear. Sneakily encircled her arms around his waist, running her hands up and down his torso, leaving a trail of kisses along his back and neck. Harry groaned and she smirked to herself, nibbling his earlobe.

" Someone's in a mood...", he said huskily.

" Oh darling... you have no idea what awaits you later tonight...", she whispered back, before leaving him alone in the closet.

" Looking forward to it... you tease!", he said, catching sight of her wink and smirk towards him just as she exited the room. Shaking his head, Harry dressed quietly, feeling a little discomfort on his trousers. That little temptress..., he thought. He heard her talking to Arthur and soon he was all alone in their room, which gave him plenty of time to get her gift from his suitcase. Smiling to himself as he looked at it, he pocked it and left the room as well, rushing down the stairs to meet the rest of the family.

The McClaire family was gathered in the Hall, the Christmas tree sparkling bright and under it, a selection of different sized boxes, mostly filled with toys and clothes for Arthur no doubt. The table was set with candlelight and ornaments along its length; a selection of roasts and mashes filled them all and warmed their bodies. At the stroke of midnight, the clinked their glasses in cheerful and joyful harmony, wishing each other a very happy Christmas. Once dinner was over, they pulled crackers and in a selections of colourful paper crowns, gave each other their gifts. As predicted, Arthur was spoiled to bits by their grandparents and uncle. Her parents exchanged comical gifts such as a new pair of glasses for her father and a new crocheting kit for her mother. Her brother gave everyone gift cards to Waterstones, which pleased most of them. Elle and Harry gave them framed pictures of Arthur with each family member, which brought her mother to tears. Finally, it was their time to exchange gifts.

" Mine is a little bit late, but with everything that has been going on, I thought it was actually fitting to give it to you now.", said Harry handing Elle a small, squared package. She tore the paper and inside she found the familiar red box with the logo of the House of Garrard in golden letters. She carefully opened it, finding an eternity band ring, surrounded by tiny diamonds. Picking it up, she noticed that on the inside that was something engraved: Little Bear it read and she looked up at her husband with misty eyes.

" I wanted to give you that for a long time but...", said Harry. Elle smiled and shook her head. "No, no... it's perfect timing... oh Harry... it's beautiful. Thank you.", she said, pecking his lips. She then reached to her side to give him his present. Similar to her own, it was wrapped in a square brown paper. He, like her, tore it to pieced and found a small circular container.

Opening the lid, he chuckled and looked at her. Elle smiled and waited for his reaction. He took the silver and leather bracelet from it and payed closer attention to the marks on it:

51°31'02.0"N 0°10'23.0"W, 19.04.17. Harry instantly knew what it meant.

" It seems I'm gonna start a collection with these ones...", he joked, pointing out to the bracelet. Elle chuckled and smiled.

" Well... it's only fitting since you have one for every part place in our shared history.", said Elle.

" I love it. Thank you, my love.", he said, kissing her cheek.

That night, once everyone was asleep and Arthur was properly placed on her old bedroom which had been converted into a nursery, Elle kept her promise to Harry. She teased him, and toyed with him until he had enough of it and pushed her against the wall, on the bed, in the shower, and on the floor. They released all their bottled up tension making passionate love to each other again and again.

************

On the very early ours of Boxing Day, they made the four-hour journey from Salisbury to Sandringham. With a sleepy Arthur in the back and Ingrid beside him, they drove to the familiar red bricked estate.

" Are you ready to see them?", asked Elle.

" I am. Do I still feel hurt? Yes. Am I going to wallow in it? No. I think I should, no, need to move forward. For my own sake.", replied Harry. Nodding her head, Elle smiled and took her hand in hers, joining their fingers.

" It will be great. And we'll start mending bridges by greeting them properly, alright?", said Elle, and Harry nodded his head in agreement. They parked outside and were greeted by William, Catherine and a very sleepy looking George. Taking a step forward, Harry smiled gently and embraced his brother.

" Hi Will. Happy Christmas.", he said. William, who was a little shocked, embraced his brother back and smiled widely at him.

" Happy Christmas, Harry.", he replied then hugged Elle as well.

" Hello all. Merry Christmas!", said Kate, hugging them. " Had a pleasant trip?", she asked.

" It was pleasant enough. Not much traffic at this hour.", replied Harry.

" How was Christmas at Woodenford? I don't think I've been there since we were teenagers.", said William.

" Oh it was great. You know hoe my mother is with decorations... Arthur was delighted to see everything.", said Elle smiling at her brother-in-law.

" I wonder where Elle gets the crazy Christmas fever from...", said Harry and the adults chuckled. The light atmosphere was enough to settle the animosities and bring back, a little of he camaraderie and love that was severed between the brothers. The sleeping toddler on her arms twitched a bit and they rushed inside, to warm themselves up. Once there, they were greeted by the rest of the family who were about to get breakfast. Charles and Camilla were among the first ones to greet them. Cautiously, Charles approached Harry.

" Son... Merry Christmas.", said Charles, smiling faintly. Harry smiled back and took a step forward to hug his father. Elle could see that Charles was visibly relieved to be hugged by his younger son.

" We're delighted that you've come here.", said Camilla, greeting them with hugs and kisses. " Would you like to have breakfast with us?", she asked. Famished as they were, they joined in and Arthur was soon whisked away from Elle's arms and passed along cousins and doting family members.

" Oh he's so big!", commented Anne smiling.

" He's gonna be a tall lad!", said Edward.

" I reckon he's gonna go into the family tradition and join the military.", said Andrew.

" Now now, he's not even a year old. Let the poor baby be.", said Bea.

The banter and conversation flew joyously and Elle took the time to look around the room. Elizabeth and Philip were still absent but, considering the time, she thought they would both be changing for church. Soon enough, they appeared on the doorstep and smiled at the sight of the new arrivals.

" About time you got here, boy. Lost your way, ye?", joked Philip.

" Let us see the baby...", said Elizabeth, taking Arthur into her arms. The baby cooed and smiled at his great grandmother. "Oh he's just as adorable as I remembered.", she said., making his parents beam with pride. " Oh, that reminds me... I have something for him. Come with me you two.", she said pointing to Harry and Elle. Following her into the living room where the Christmas tree was, she handed them a rectangular box. Opening it, they found a glass bobble with Arthur's name in it, surrounded by glittering green specks.

" Now he has one too.", said the monarch. " We've hanged yours now you can put his next to them.", she continued. Smiling to the older woman, Elle took the ornament and looked around the tree to find hers and Harry's names, placing his it just under theirs.

" Now the tree is complete.", said Elizabeth.

" Indeed, it is. Family should stick together... and I'm happier than I can possibly say to have you here, my dears.", she continued looking at the small family in front of her.

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247reader · 6 years

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Otilia Thing!

So I finally finished the Grand Otilia backstory! (Otilia being my character in our Curse of Strahd 5e game). I now present it below. Rated T-ish for violence.

Background: Haunted One. A terrible guilt consumes me. I hope that I can find redemption through my actions.

[note about the writing process: this was somewhere between fanfic and original writing, which was an interesting balance. Takes heavy inspiration from The Great God Pan, including one nearly-direct quote, but I also threw in a few references to other works and at one point Otilia also quotes Loreena McKennit]

It was the tail end of a glorious Season. For Professor Grayson, most surmised, it had been glorious indeed - two daughters engaged, his youngest to a viscount's heir! For the younger son of a baronet - for such the Professor was, the third of old Sir Henry's boys and uncle to that young Sir Henry who had been the talk of London three years ago - the thought of sitting his little Sarah in Blennox House must have been fine indeed. And yet it was the second proposal that the old man seemed to recieve with greater joy, when Reynard DuPuis, a former student and now a friend of long standing, asked him for Otilia's hand.

Otilia! She made appearances, still, at dances, and her brothers took her across the floor, but what men had been tempted by her bright eyes and blond curls enough to set aside the rumors - not only pertaining to herself, but those that still swirled around her long-dead mother, beautiful Bona Grayson, of questionable origins and questionable demise - soon sheared away from her strange habit of answering a question before one spoke it, of reciting a poem and then stopping off in the middle; from her three flint-eyed brothers; above all, from a disinterest on the lady's part that was rather more insulting than intriguing.

The Professor had married again, after Bona's death, to a woman of fine and respectable blood but no money, and Otilia had never known another mother but Anne. She had doted on her young half-siblings, and her brothers had promised her, when it seemed she was destined to the life of a literary spinster, that she and her poems would always have a place in their homes, Thomas offering his tree fort and Robert - her cheerful Robin - the manor he was certain to acquire when he became an admiral; as he was still a midshipman it seemed she would have to live with Papa and Charles for some years yet.

The thought did not bother Otilia, except for the nagging concern that she had failed them, and she set aside her wild dark poems for a few that she hoped would be publishable. She had set one of her step-mother's thousand Orllewin fairy stories to verse, and was drafting another, when Reynard DuPuis kissed her hand and asked her if she would do the honor of becoming his wife.

She said yes. There seemed nothing else to say, but she was not unhappy. She knew him but little, but he was one of her father's dearest friends, and could be nothing other than a scholarly man of kind character with that to recommend him, for her father was drawn to those most like himself - ever more, they said, since the death of his first wife, the mother she'd never known.

The voices said many things about her mother. But she was a wife now, Mrs. DuPuis, with an estate and servants to oversee, the hostess and not the guest - and perhaps the voices were things of Otilia Grayson, and would plague Mrs. DuPuis no longer.

Sally - Sarah - the future Viscountess Blennox-on-Trivers - Otilia’s Sally, still, twisted roses into her sister's hair and veil, flapping the servants away.

"What luck Mr. DuPuis is an orphan," said Sally, her face sullen. "I fear that Eddie's mother hates me." A rose slipped from her fingers and fell. "She shan't let us marry until I'm nearly twenty!"

Otilia thought of Lord Edward's mother. Of the nightmare she'd had the night after, and then again after that, a small figure in a curtained bed, pain like fire in her belly, a still white shape in the arms of a faceless man, the wait for a baby's cry that never came.

"The Viscountess adores you," said Otilia, which was a statement safe enough. "It's Lord Edward's uncles who you must be wary of."

Sally moved forward until her own dark amber eyes met Otilia's gray ones - it was her eyes, her father's oldest friends would whisper, that most resembled poor Bona. "Wary?"

"They want to see him dead," said Otlia, her eyes clouded and distant, as though she did not realize that she spoke. Not consumption then, the voices had said, taking on a strangely human, too-familiar tone. More's the pity.

"I won't let them. I'll warn Eddie -"

Otilia covered her mouth with her gloved hands, heedless of the smeared powder. Her brothers and sisters believed her, every time. They would be ever so much safer once she was gone, but she would miss them dreadfully.

"Warn him of what, Sally? That your foolish sister had a nightmare?"

Sally gripped Otilia's shoulder with her small plump fingers. "I shall watch them, then. I shan't let them have Eddie!" In the mirror, Otilia could see her sister's face, scowling and red. She reached up a hand, and laid it on Sally’s.

Gilderoy Abbey was a tall, dark house, nestled in the rolling moors. Reynard DuPuis' grandfather had paid off the debts of its former owners, and in exchange had married the daughter of the house. Someone, once, had planned out elegant gardens and a tree-lined drive, but all, now, was overgrown, cedars bowing down under their own weight, the roses gangly and sparse, the boxhedge maze a thicket.

It was beautiful, Otilia thought, in its own way, wild and strange, but her husband, beside her, apologized profusely. He had hired new gardeners, and hoped they would be better than the last, and if some things were beyond repair, perhaps she could assist him in planning new ones?

There was nothing that could have delighted her more. He asked her favorite flowers, whether she like to walk, and what she thought should be done with his father's folly, built to resemble a collapsing Aldor temple but now collapsing in truth.

Planning her first formal dinner as lady of the house was not quite so natural or pleasant as sketching columns, but Otilia, conscious of the debt she owed her husband, threw herself into it with as much fervor as any a general going into battle. The countryside was sparsely inhabited, with inhabitants of quality even sparser, but the local parson and his wife, and a few far-flung squires, could fill up the table with the aid of a few of Reynard's friends from the capital.

The servants of Gilderoy Abbey all seemed to her eyes to be either nearly children or the oldest of old retainers; the cook was of the latter sort. Anne Grayson had taken pride, and taught Otilia to take pride, in the food served in her home, but there was little in the fare of Gilderoy to excite the palate. The best dishes were those of her husband’s mother and his childhood, well-spiced cakes and strange cuts of meat Otilia had never before considered.

She sat proudly in the hostess chair in her best lace gown, a strand of diamonds at her neck, and tried with all her might to ignore that the buttery lumps on her plate had once hopped their owner through the fens.

Mr. Chester, of the West shires, was apparently among her husband’s closest friends, but he had not been one of her father’s. He was a tall man with a mustache that he clearly thought was very fine indeed, and Otilia put on her most vacant smile and murmured assent to half-understood words. This was familiar, if not enjoyable, though she felt high and lonely without Charles or Cathy by her side.

“…But that is what they said, is it not?”

Catching herself, Otilia nodded in agreement. “I suppose it must be, sir.” People said many things. The voices in the dark said things, as well, and she awoke some nights beside her husband surprised to be indoors, covered in blankets instead of vines. It was worse on the nights he didn’t come to her; sometimes then she walked, and sometimes then she didn’t dream at all.

“But Reynard, my man,” Mr. Chester continued, “I still say Wilcox found the sailor’s brother. Poor luck for us that horse, what?”

Otilia smiled distantly. Even the voices had little to say about Mr. Chester. In her mind, this was a firm point in his favor.

“What sailor, then?” One of the men lower down. He had a forkfull of meat halfway to his mouth, and Otilia reflexively scowled.

“From the Crescent, of course.” Mr. Chester gestured with a pale, flapping hand. “The one who saw poor Bona go.”

Otilia’s voice was very still. “I’m sorry?”

She lifted a hand to her mouth. Had she spoken? Had she meant to? Bona, Bona, Bona.

Mr. Chester leant over to her. His breath was too warm on her bare shoulders. “Oh, you’d know, of course, wouldn’t you!” His face bore too many smiles, suddenly, too many eyes and too many mouths. The voices clung to him, and Otlia could not breathe. Bona. “They say he went mad, after – said she walked off the ship – how was it he said? Called to the sea – or sang, something like that – and it rose to meet her.” He was smiling, still, and his chin was very large and very smug.

“Chester! I believe you are upsetting my wife.”

Reynard’s hand was on her shoulder. His voice was a bastion against the world, steep walls against the storm, and she leant into him, desperate and grateful.

The rest of the table was silent. Finally, the waves of conversation rose again, soft and smooth as though the moment of fear had never been. Mr. Chester did not speak again, and neither did Otilia DuPuis.

They did not speak of the incident at supper again. Reynard tried, hesitantly and awkwardly, to apologize, and Otilia lifted her fingers to his mouth. It was a moment better buried. Mr. Chester did not tarry long at Gilderoy, though Mr. Morley and Dr. and Mrs. Ashwood remained for some time. They were gray, quiet people, and Otilia was a gracious hostess if not a glittering one.

Dearest Mama, she wrote to Anne, and Dearest Papa. Sally and Thomas sent her scrawled letters of home, and at the edge of winter there was even a salt-stained envelope from Robin. She kept them in one of the little black wood chests in her room.

There were several of these, and only two would open. Reynard had apologized, as he’d apologized for so much of Gilderoy, the house Otilia had determined to love for all its flaws. The Abbey and its master were hers, after all, and stuck chests and locks with no keys merely inconveniences.

You should have been there, dearest, when my Horace told Papa that we were expecting a ‘sittle langer’! Poor dear, I believe he’s suffering more than I am. You must return to Greenlee in the spring – and tell me, if you can, if it is to be a son or a daughter, and if there is some way I can avoid naming the poor creature for all of Horace’s aunts.

Your most affectionate sister,

Cathy

Otilia clutched the letter to her breast for a moment. Catherine had been the first of her siblings to marry, to a gentleman of good standing – kind, stammering Horace Lee, one of Charles’ schoolfriends. Otilia and Charles had labored long for the only two creatures who seemed to enjoy a ball less than she did, carrying messages and fending off rakes. Otilia had danced with more men in Cathy’s first Season than in her own.

Her sister, a mother! Otilia put the letter down on her desk, straightening out the folds, and then moved to open the letter chest, catching a black splinter of wood to one finger in her distraction. A few drops of blood dripped down the small stack of chests. Otilia sighed, and began to wipe them up with her handkerchief. At the second swipe of the cloth, something moved.

Otilia lowered the handkerchief, and peered at the desk through her reading glasses. The lock on the lower chest had fallen. Rusted through?

She picked it up. It was tarnished, dark metal, the same as it had always been. It was simply open, now, as though someone had finally found the key for the strangely-shaped hole on its front. Otilia slipped it beneath her skirts and into her pocket, then turned back to the letter-chest, hands unsteady in her excitement.

Gilderoy Abbey was old, older than the house she’d grown up in, older even than the rambling half-timbered manor that was her grandfather’s, and now her cousin’s, seat. Otilia would have loved it for that alone, but its mysteries, its hiding holes, intrigued her like one of Sally’s novels. Two weeks ago she’d found a priest-hole behind the east-most stairs, and the smile it had brought to Reynard’s face was nestled, now, in her heart.

They’d spoken of history together, of stories, even Otilia’s poems, and he’d listened and spoke to her just as he would have to her father. Her words were not valuable because of the voices, because of the devotion her brother and sisters had to what Sally and Thomas still called her magic. Her words were valuable because he thought she was intelligent, thought she was interesting, listened to her as he would have listened to a man.

She wanted Gilderoy’s mysteries for herself. But she wanted them, too, to make Reynard look at her that way, and speak to her that way, and kiss her afterwards with a laugh until her heart swelled out of her chest.

She lifted the lid of the box, and it was empty.

The next morning, Otilia awoke in the gardens.

The air around her was the shimmering, foggy silver of the mornings. She could just see the tops of the folly’s broken pillars, and the new wooden scaffolding around them, hazy in the mist. Bare branches rose like islands in the sea that had swallowed the distant hills. The ground was cold, damp against the bare skin of her arms, through the thin cloth of her one remaining stocking.

She allowed herself a moment of despair, to gather her knees to her chest and weep. The walking had not been this bad in years. Servants had found her, twice, in the hallways of Gilderoy Abbey, but they had never ventured questions, simply helped her back to her room. One of the little kitchen maids had brought her warm, spiced cider, and that night she’d slept again, dreamless, and woken with the voices quiet, as they so often were at lovely, silent Gilderoy.

Today there could be no such rescue. She had no dressing gown to cover her nightdress, and as for her feet – one stocking!

Otilia shoved herself to her feet, wincing at the pain. She’d walked though thorns. Through thorns, and they hadn’t waked her.

She’d dreamt of a voice that wasn’t quite her father’s. Bona, it had called. Oh, Bona, Bona, Bona! She had dreamt, and she had followed. Her teeth began to chatter in the cold.

“Otilia!”

She shuddered, slipped, jumped back. It took her a moment to realize she was hearing the voice with her ears.

“Otilia!”

Her husband stood at the edge of the fog, his greatcoat hastily thrown over his shoulders. Heedless of the muddy ground, the thorns, Otilia ran towards him, throwing herself like a child into his arms.

His arms were warm, and real, and he murmured half-understood words into her hair.

“I thought we had lost you.”

Otilia pulled herself back just far enough to look into his eyes. They were a shining, honest blue, and, alone of his features, even Sally would have found them handsome. But every aspect of Reynard DuPuis, in this moment, was beautiful: his coarse sandy hair and old-fashioned sideburns, the sharp points of his cheekbones and nose, the bony strength in his arms as he held her.

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Otilia, and he kissed her hair, and led her back to Gilderoy.

He did not leave her side that morning, though he did not speak even to the servants of where or how he had found her. They lay in her bed, curled together far too closely for daytime or propriety, but when a maid came into the room, Otilia only clutched her husband more tightly. Recognizing the maid, pale and wide-eyed with red hair escaping from her bonnet, Otilia made to ask for hot cider, but Reynard forestalled her before she could speak, and requested mulled wine.

It was a better choice, she allowed, as the warmth filled her. She drank only when it could not be avoided, but, this morning, she welcomed the soft clouds around her mind. At her father’s dinner parties, wine had made the voices louder. Here, with her husband, it stilled them, wrapping them in the fog.

“Cathy is to have a baby,” Otilia said, finally, lowing the empty cup. She tried for a smile, though Reynard’s face was pressed to her neck and he would have some difficulty in seeing it.

“Oh?” She could feel something in him tense where he lay against her back. “And when is the happy occasion?”

“In the spring, she said. Not for some months.”

“I’m glad of that,” he said. “Travelling is hazardous here in winter. It would be a poor thing to lose you in a sled crash so soon after having found you.”

A twinkle of laughter bubbled up in her throat. She reached for his hand, pulled it up against her breast and held it tightly. “Greenlee is beautiful in the spring,” she said. “I cannot wait to bring you there.”

“I’m afraid that Gilderoy on the edge of winter cannot hope to compare.”

Otilia shook her head. “Wait until the snow falls, then, Mr. DuPuis.” The smile came more easily. “The peaks of the roof will look like mountains. The frost will turn it all to diamonds. And you, with snowflakes in your hair…”

“You are a treasure, wife.”

“And perhaps, next winter,” she said, quietly, “there will be three of us to see.”

If he had tensed, before, it was nothing to this. He was suddenly as still behind her as mannequin or a corpse. “…Have you,” and she felt him gulp against the back of her head. His voice was ragged, and she almost felt guilty for teasing him. “Have you had …signs?”

She felt another bubble of laughter leave her throat. “No,” she said. “Not yet.” The red bird made its perch each month, and her belly was flat. But Anne Parr had not even been married to Clarence Grayson for a year before Charles arrived, a fat pink face in the nursery for the young Otilia to dote on. Cathy had followed, right on his heels, and Otilia might have been strange but she had never been lonely. Even the voices were kinder when there was someone for her to care for and protect.

She wanted a child. A child, with her golden hair and Reynard’s bright eyes. A child, with voices whispering around it and a grandmother who had thrown herself into the sea –

It rose up to meet her –

Reynard’s arms tightened around her ribs, pulling her closer still.

“Your child will be glorious,” he whispered.

Winter came to Gilderoy.

Her husband had acquired a new book – or, rather, had pulled down from a little-used shelf a ragged ancient thing, filled with sketches of Tyrrhenian tomb inscriptions made by a nameless scholar. Otilia adored old books, but something about this one seemed disquieting – perhaps simply that she did not know the language and shivered at the thought of all that knowledge next-to-lost. She did not linger long in Reynard’s study; she could be of little help to him in his translations. She missed him, still, in her bed and at her side, but those were the dangers of marrying a scholar.

Determined not to wallow in any more self-pity, Otilia had selected a few other books from the library. Her High Altor was passable, and her Elline not atrocious, to say nothing of her modern tongues, and there was more than enough to busy herself through the long dark evenings.

Worse, though, was to come. Twelfmona had not yet ended before they were besieged by unexpected guests. A few her husband had invited, a few more seemed merely to appear, victims of the weather or distant cousins who assumed they had a standing right to trespass.

One of them was Mr. Chester.

Reynard had apologized for each guest as they arrived; for this one, he sat Otilia down on her bed and held her hands. His eyes were shadowed, his face drawn. He had slept too little, and she told him so.

He shook his head, with a distant smile that faded in an instant. “I must beg your pardon, my darling. I could not have backed out of my obligations towards him without offending his brother as well. I- “

“It’s all right,” she said, and thrusted her chin forwards. “I shan’t have you worrying on my account.”

He squeezed her hands. “If you want him gone, even so, just tell me. I’ll try to find an excuse somewhere – “

“I will be fine, Reynard.” She would not be the cause of the shadows beneath his eyes.

They arranged, even so, that Chester would be told that she was ill; this necessitated avoiding the rest of the guests as well, but Otilia could find little to complain of in that. Her dreams had been monstrous of late, and the fewer strangers, the quieter the voices.

Instead she occupied herself in the favorite pursuit of her youth: her poetry. Her step-mother had told them all beautiful fairy tales, Orllewin and Norrish and otherwise, and she and her siblings had changed them with her, adding songs and new touches and characters based on themselves – she remembered Robin’s offended insistence that Cendrillon be sent to the ball by her fairy step-sister. She wove these, then, into poems.

Her Lay of the Exiled King took form as snows buried the countryside. She expected to have an end to it by Spring, but therein had always lain the difficulty when her step-mother had told the tale: Thomas fighting for a happy ending and Charles sitting the boy on his knee while trying to draw in Cathy’s support for glorious tragedy, Sally flinging her arms about as she explained why Thomas and Robin’s hated sad ending was happy after all.

For his daughter was dead and his son was a fool, and the kingdom he’d left would soon fall, but he had climbed the cloudy mountains to his true love’s keep, and love was still the lord a’ all…

It was a new moon, in the depths of winter. Night came early, and candle smoke teased at her eyes. She had pled her false illness to avoid hosting dinner; she had not liked, the nights past, how the crowd of faceless guests had seemed to stare at her, eyes crawling on her face only to dart away.

She knew it was all in her head. Somehow, this did not make it easier. This was the rest of her life, and she was failing at it already. Perhaps in twenty years Reynard would have to hide her in the attic, locked away like the maiden aunt she should have been. He was kind, and that was the worst of it.

Otilia shook her head, fiercely, curls falling in front of her eyes. Sleep would do her good, she decided. Sleep, and summer.

She was half-dozing at her desk, still fully dressed, when a knock came at the door. Mrs. Sawley, the housekeeper, with two tiny maids at her back like pilot fish. It was unusual; Mrs. Sawley had seen seventy years if she’d seen twenty, and hadn’t been a chambermaid since her husband’s grandmother’s day.

“Poor dear,” she said, shaking her head, and helped a half-protesting Otilia to her feet. “He ought to have seen you to bed, at least.”

Otilia blushed.

She let herself be helped into her best nightgown. Mrs. Sawley tucked her into her pile of coverlets as Anne Parr had, or long-suffering Rose, as perhaps Bona had, once upon a time. She had given up on seeing her husband even before the housekeeper had spoken. He was likely in his study with the book, or cornered by one of the horde who had descended onto their home.

Mrs. Sawley closed her eyes, looking pained, and Otilia immediately tried to relax her scowl. The old woman patted her softly on the hand in response.

“Drink this, child,” she said, quietly.

Otilia took the steaming cup. The taste of the cider seemed muddled, and sickly-sweet. Mrs. Sawley took it back from her softly, Otilia’s eyes fluttering closed. Her bed was a drowning mass of warm clouds, white fading to gray in the darkness. The maids closed the curtains, and Otilia, with a small smile, faded off into sleep.

Bona, Bona, Bona…

It was not her father’s voice, this time. It was a woman’s. Otilia, dreaming, felt herself buoyed up in great arms, music playing at her ears, a choir and an Aldor lullaby.

Anne Grayson sat before her, her eyes redrimmed from tears. Thomas clung to her skirts, white knuckled and shaking. A hand stroked his back. A hand stroked Otilia’s.

“Do you know what is coming, my Lady of Spring?” Her stepmother’s beautiful low voice wavered as she sang. “Off in the distance, the funeral bells ring. And straining to hear them, the –”

Thomas wailed.

“Mama,” whispered Otilia. For a moment, tear-stained eyes locked on her own, but the moment was gone in an instant. Slowly, slowly, Anne and Thomas faded away.

Vita mia… Ah, vita mia…

Blood dripped down around her, staining her skirts, bubbling up between her bare toes. It was sharp and strong and cloying in her nostrils, sticky in her hair. Otilia screamed, and it poured across her face and down her throat.

Otilia woke.

Otilia woke, but it was not true waking. There was a sharp clarity of mind, a taste of blood on the back of her tongue, but she knew she could not be awake, because her body was lying in front of her, and its eyes were closed.

Golden hair, spilled out of its ribbons, fell in curls down the sides of a long wooden table. Otilia stepped forward. She reached out towards her own face, lighting soft hands upon one pale cheek, and shadows began to form.

Figures of irregular height surrounded her, each in a long black robe that winked with green. Their heads were hooded, and their faces masked with rough clay grotesqueries that might have been taken from some Tyrrhenian tomb.

As she stared, the shadows began to recede. As if in a painting, long stroke by long stroke, the marble floor appeared, white pillars stretching up to the gloom of the ceiling, distant high windows dripping down the walls. She knew this place. Around her loomed the old great hall at Gilderoy, now an occasional ballroom and haven for mice and spiders.

Whispers coiled around her ears, fleeing the low, insistent chanting that encircled the scene, rising and falling like a heartbeat. The body before Otilia twitched, slightly, hands rising for a moment before going still. Her breath was warm against Otilia’s fingers.

One of the cloaked men stepped forwards. He was unmasked, but his hood fell forward to shadow his face. He loomed over the waking Otilia and the dreaming both, as tall as her husband. In his hands there was a knife.

It was dark and jagged-edged, an ancient thing, and shined to a perfect mirror. Two pale faces swam reflected in the blade.

“The bride has come,” said the man with the dagger, and Otilia’s hands jerked and fell away, until she was clenching at her own ribs like corsetbone, mouth open in a silent scream.

“The bride has come,” a dozen discordant and dissonant voices, none worse than the first.

“The bride has come!” Reynard DuPuis stood above her.

The dagger gleamed red in the candlelight, dancing like fire. Otilia could not move. She felt the hard wood cold on her back, the ropes on her wrists. She was the woman on the altar, she was the ghostly form who lingered at her head. She was a heart, wrenched and torn, bleeding carmine, bleeding red –

And then the world was still.

Fog rushed in, blurring the hooded figures, the ballroom, even Otilia’s body and Reynard’s knife raised above her, inches away from her breast. Otilia floated above them, the rising mist catching in her hair.

She closed her eyes. Is this what it is to die?

“Oh, no, little one.” It was not a voice, not even one of the bodiless ones that whispered in her ears, and it was not speaking words, not as she knew them. There were raw and ragged edges to each one, each hitting her in a sudden burst of knowledge, until she knew what was being said as though looking at a painting, and recognizing her home. “This is what it is to ascend.”

The clouds rushed up around her. The air smelled of the last snowmelt, full of rot and growing things.

“You hate.”

Otilia gave a raw, short, ragged breath. Her heart was a burning coal within her chest. If she peered through the fog she saw Reynard above her body. If she pulled into her mind, locking every door behind her, she saw worse. She saw a kind man with a sharp smile, she felt his hands on her body and his lips at her ear, and she saw that she loved him.

“You hate,” the voice repeated, and trees of antler began to rise up from the ground, creaking around her. “You want to live. The little ones always want to live. Hers, Ours, Mine, they want to live. They want to live. They want to kill.”

Otilia shook. The winds of autumn rose at her back, the air full of leaf-dust and searing heat.

The knife lowered another inch.

“I can give you power, child.” The antlers cracked and groaned. Leaves rose around her, wheat fields black with blight. “We can give you power, granddaughter.” There might have been two voices, or there might have been a thousand.

The knife touched her collarbone.

You have power, vita mia.

The world twisted and snapped like a coachman’s whip. The air screamed, and tore, and a woman walked out of it, draped in pale cloth and black hair. Her eyes were blank and white, and barnacles clung to her skin.

More power than you know. A cold, dripping hand reached towards her as the clouds convulsed again.

“Bona,” Otilia whispered. Bona, Bona, Bona…

Clammy hands caressed her face. “They sing for you, after all. I had hoped there was enough of him in you that you could live.” Her voice was low and rough. Otilia stared at her, trying to commit this woman’s face to memory, trying to see in it her own. “I am so sorry, my Otilia.”

“I don’t want to die,” Otilia whispered, tears hot in her throat.

“Then live.” Bona pressed an icy kiss to her forehead.

Then live.

The air began to scream. Bona turned away, and was swallowed in the shifting shadows. The drips of seawater shivered into drops of blood, linking together and growing.

Thunder rolled. Lightning singed the air around her, turning it to smoke, and it roiled into a form too close to a woman for comfort. “You want to live? Then come to me, granddaughter!”

Beneath her, the blood had pooled into an ocean, waves rising and crashing.

“No,” said Otilia, less a voice than a ragged breath. Her eyes stung and smarted from the smoke.

Otilia looked down. The antlers rose and tangled, shedding velvet, but beneath them, the waves of blood flooded ever higher, a wild and scarlet sea.

She called to the sea.

And it rose to meet her.

Otilia screamed, and her voice was red. Her voice was red, and her eyes were red. When it faded, there were only broken bodies, slumped and squirming against the walls.

She took a heavy step forwards, and another. Her hands were red. Lightning burned down from her wrists, and it was red. The shapes it made looked almost like blades.

One of the things in robes was trying to stand up. She lumbered towards it, feet sliding in the bloodstains on the floor.

There was a bang, and a short feeling of pressure against her leg. Otilia looked down, her vision strange and triple-shadowed, to see a thin new line of blood against her skin. Pistol, suggested a distant part of her mind, and she turned to see one raised in a shaking hand.

Dr. Ashwood, offered that same distant place. Otilia stepped towards him, and the gun rattled. Her first slash severed his hand. Her second slit his throat. The small, distant place screamed. The rest of Otilia shook into a laugh.

Red, red, red. The world was red.

Something pulled her, again, back to the leftmost wall, back to the creature trying to stand. Red dripped down from his sandy hair into his sideburns, and he stared at her through cold blue eyes.

He was still holding the knife.

“Why?” She barely recognized her own voice. A weak voice, a child’s voice, thin and pale. “Why, Reynard?”

“I found you,” he said. His voice was a raspy whisper, twisted and tortured, and her hands shook, the red whirling around her and filling her lungs. “I found you, in that dusty old man’s house. A child of the Unnamed, and he thought he could turn you human! I found you, and I saved you, and I think, wife,” a harsh, rasping breath, his eyes a feverish flame, “that your life was mine, to use as I saw fit.”

Blood bubbled up between his teeth. Otilia looked down, and saw the great, gaping hole in his chest, saw her own hand. Time twisted and jumped in gashes around her. She watched him slip down, pale and lifeless.

She watched, and she watched.

And she began to scream.

The red splintered away, and she was left with herself. Left with Otilia, pale and shaking. A spectator might have thought her another corpse, leant up against the wall, her eyes pale and empty and her golden curls turned to a twisting thicket of gray.

She had killed a dozen men. She had killed them, and left their broken bodies in the old hall. That they had been in the process of attempting her own murder seemed meaningless now. She had killed them, and the wild whispering place inside of her had spilled out of her mouth in laughter. Around her, Gilderoy was bare and silent. No servants came to investigate the screams, and Otilia did not dare lift the masks from the bodies before her and see just who they had been.

The candles guttered. The silence hung. When she could bear it no longer, she ran.

The corridors were dark. She stumbled more than once on an uneven floor, ripping her nightgown and bloodying her knees. Each time, she scrambled to her feet, and hastened onwards, uncertain of her destination, knowing only the deep and primal need of prey to flee. What predator pursued her, she could not say, only that somewhere past the darkness lurked the thing that had called her granddaughter.

She was a monster. She was a murderer. She would be hanged. Tears spilled from her eyes, bloody and red. She thought of Cathy and her baby, Sally and her Viscount’s son, Robin and his ship. Her father’s face, and her stepmother’s. Her steps slowed, and her tears thickened.

The upper halls were red with candlelight, and the air smelled of burning flesh. Otilia was white mist in the hazy air, some ancient specter, longing for the sunlight to come and burn her all away. At the end of the hall, past the guest rooms where the Ashwoods had slept, she saw for a moment the antler forest, the grain, the sea of blood. Eyes seemed to open beneath her skin. The veil was thin here, she knew.

Live, vita mia.

Otilia saw the light where it tore, the darkness and snow beyond.

She flung herself through.

#writing #my fic #dungeons and dragons #i was torn between 'and caused my bridal flowers to swoon' and 'the rites of bona dea' for titles #so its a good deal i realized i didn't have to give it one

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bestfriendsonamission-blog1 · 7 years

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6 Month Update!

I know I’m a few weeks behind, but whats new?!?

This Spring/Summer has been quite the rollercoaster, I’m not exactly sure where to begin...since ya know, I haven’t been updating anything!! For starter, we will begin back in April; my birthday Month. Below is a photo of Holly and I. We went to the Melting Pot in Minneapolis for my Birthday Dinner. It was amazing - the fondue *see photos below*.

Please note, this is not my favorite photo of myself, but I am trying to be more positive about unflattering photos. It’s more about the moment anyways.

23 was a wonderful year. I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful celebration. In addition to the Melting Pot, Holly surprised me with balloons and chocolate - WAITING AT THE TABLE when we arrived. Holly also bought me my favorite perfume and a donut! And during the week, my roommate Sharissa surprised me with balloons and a vegan donut from Glam Dolls. I have two wonderful friends. Furthermore, I spent a wonderful week with Eddie. He spoiled me rotten. We went trap shooting (my FIRST time ever), saw a movie - had sex in a movie theater. SHHHHHH!!! Went to MOA, played mini golf, went out to dinner, had great birthday sex, and went trap shooting again. It was such a relaxing week, spent with the most wonderful of souls. For my birthday, Eddie bought me a 90 minute massage, a candle, chocolate, and the most precious card I have ever received. He said that he loved me in the card. Lastly, Erikka and Alexis took me to see Magic Men for the birthday. What a funny show! Definately good entertainment.

Flash forward to May! Sharissa and I went to see Wicked at the Orpheum at Minneapolis.

Preface: The Wizard of Oz is a classic in my family household, greatly due to my GG-Pa. He loved the Wizard of Oz and he definately would’ve loved Wicked AND that it was on Broadway. He was a New Yorker, ya know! My GG-Pa, loved the story, simply because he believed that everyone has kindness in their hearts, no matter how evil. I am so grateful for the short period of time I had him in my life, he taught me so many valuable lessons that I will carry with me throughout my entire life. I feel like, although my GG-Pa is no longer with me, he was present during that show.

What a beautiful story. I loved every minute of it and would definitely see it again. It was so much fun to dress up and treat myself to something, extraordinary!! I cannot wait to see Aladdin at the Orpheum in October with Sharissa, Alexis and Erikka. <3

Shortly, a few weeks later, Sharissa and I played hooky from work for 1hr on a Friday afternoon and went to Glam Doll Donuts in Minneapolis to get their one of a kind Mac & Cheese donut. I would highly recommend!

Here is a cool picture of Holly and I. We went to the Largest Candy Store in MN. It was fucking huge. It was very overwhelming and I probably would not go back. Unless it’s for pie. Their pie smelled amazing. There were just too many people and annoying children and so much fucking candy. I’m not a vintage, classic, flavor extravagant, exotic and rare exported candy type of gal. But if you are, you should check it out. The sign was cool!

Let’s talk about Olive. One of my goals for this year was to achieve potty training. Well, that’s achieved!! Olive is such a wonderful support. It’s such a wonderful feeling to come home to a pet that loves you unconditionally.

Other than the potty training, not much has changed wit her. She is still a complete badass - see image above. She loves playing at the dog park, playin’ with toys, eaten’ food, treats, and poop, and cuddlin’ with her Mama. Olive can shake, sit, catch, drop, roll over, lay down, speak, and stay. She is quite the catch!

In late May, I went back to Colorado to visit my sister and nephew for the first time since his birth in December!

We didn’t do too much on this trip for tourism, other than visit Garden of the Gods. See images below. It was such a wonderful trip to spend time with family and bond with my sister and nephew. It was a trip full of laughs, food, and marijuana. I am so blessed that my sister came into my life. My nephew is such a (cliche) bundle of JOY!

WOW! I am just realizing how far behind I am on documenting my goals and adventures. This is a lot.

In early June, Eddie and I went to a Twins Game at Target Field. I had an absolute blast. The game went into the 15th inning. We definitely got our moneys worth, that’s for sure! It was so fun to laugh, cuddle, eat nachos out of a baseball hat, attempt to caught foul balls (There was at least, AT LEAST, 20 foul balls during that particular game), and yell at the refs and teams. It was fun to go to the game with someone that actually appreciated baseball and could get into the game with me. I cannot wait to go again! We are trying to plan another time to go. Maybe in September... I cannot believe that we will have been dating for a year come September 8th!

A few weekends later, Eddie and I went to my cabin in Stockholm, Wisconsin TWICE in June. It’s along Lake Pepin. If you haven’t ventured down to that area to complete the River Scenic Drive along the St. Croix, I would HIGHLY recommend you complete it ASAP. It is absolutely breathtaking in the summer and fall, plus it is only a 45 mins drive from the Twin Cities. As an added bonus, you can stop by the Stockholm Pie Shop. Its one of the 100 best restaurants in the United States. You heard that right, one of the one hundred best restaurants! Here are a few pictures I took from our weekend together. See below. It was so amazing to have a *normal* date with Eddie. We cooked together, watched movies, went around Lake Pepin exploring the nearby cities, went for walks, ate pie, etc. I would classify it as he most normalized date we have ever had, just considering that he has a child and we usually are doing things around the cities; like baseball games. It was a nice reflection as to what could come if we ever choose to live together or go on trips in the future. I cannot wait to spend more time together in Stockholm!

Here is a photo on me, stepping out of my comfort zone! See the swimsuit image below. I was super shy and mortified to wear this swimsuit in public for fear of looking fat or not fitting into my “mold of fashion”, but I wore it and I ROCKED it. This is a swimsuit piece that I never would’ve bought, but besides for the fact that I convinced myself that I need to step out of my comfort zone this year and try new things, which includes edgy clothing. I must admit, I still feel shy rockin’ that swimsuit in public, and this photo is somewhat posed, but in my opinion; this photo represents a girl who is taking a risk and loving what she is and what she has. I was to see her more often.

Furthermore...haha. I got a new tattoo on my hip. See the image below. I’m not in love with it, but I am getting there. I don’t feel like going into the long details of what happened, because then I get all worked up *arms flailing*, but long story short; the guy didn’t do exactly what I wanted him to do in terms of shading the pieces, but I have decided that I am going to let the piece heal and then determine my next steps of action.

My current thoughts: I would like to have the bottom two leaves removed and potentially attempt to correct some shading to make it more gradual and then add more - different - flowers in the future to make it a huge piece. I am trying to let this *mistake* build character. Is it working? I’m not sure, ask me again in six months. I think this piece has potential, in many different aspects of life: healing, removal, character, adding, beauty.

Lastly, I have been researching Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome. I was dx at the age of 15yrs old and placed on birth control because I wasn’t getting a regular period for over a year and when I did get my period it would be incredibly painful. Unfortunately, PCOS is a very rare disease and many women live with it. And even more unfortunately, it is the number one leading cuase of infertility in women. At the age of 15 I didn’t care. I thought birth control was a magic pill. I thought it solved all my issues; I was getting a normal period again. I was fine, right? No!

I had never once thought that PCOS could be the leading cause of my weight gain, until about 3 months ago when I watched an instgramers youtube vlog, which detailed her life long struggle with PCOS and weight loss. It was very eye opening, enough so much so that I began to research PCOS day and night. In women with PCOS you can develop cysts on your ovaries, have irregular periods, have increased testosterone (all the reasons I was placed on birth control to begin with - to manage those symptoms), acne, weight gain, hair loss, mood swings, depression, and increased risk for diabetes and cervical cancer. Luckily I do not carry too many symptoms, but from my personal research I discovered that cutting out dairy (which I did back in October - fully) and gluten can really assist in managing symptoms of the syndrome. So, since mid-June I have been dairy, whey, soy, and gluten free. Obviously, this is incredibly difficult, but I really try to eat clean and eliminate those ingredients as much as possible.

Furthermore, I even went to see a doctor. Luckily all my labs and ultrasounds came back positive, except for the A1C - which looks at you blood sugars for the last 3 months and my fasting blood sugar. Unfortunately, this syndrome has a genetic link to diabetes. I do not know anyone in my family that has this syndrome, but there is a possibility. So, going forward, after I complete one more lab, my PCP has determined that he is going to put me on metformin to assist in managing my insulin resistance, because I am on the boarder of being pre-diabetic. I am not thrilled about being on a long-term medication, but if it’s going to keep my insulin levels regulated and assist in my weight loss and overall healthy journey; then I am interested. At this time I am not diabetic or even pre-diabetic, but the medication will assist in helping me lose weight by managing my insulin - as my body cannot do it due to PCOS. Furthermore, I must take a daily multivitamin, Calcium Cirtate - as I don’t eat dairy, and a probiotic - digestion issues. In the future I may also take Fish Oil to assist with my omega-3, which can also assist with my insulin and blood sugar levels, but I would like my body to acclimate to the other medications and vitamins prior to introducing more. I really have high hopes for this medication, food lifestyle change, and clinical monitoring. (If you have any further questions about PCOS, my labs, blood test results, how to diagnose, etc. Please ask. That was an incredibly shortened version and really was stretched out over 2 months as I am still completing lab work) :)

Now, I just need to reintroduce exercise. I have decided that I am going to complete the 21 Day Fix exercise videos for the next 21 days. After I complete that, then I will decide what I need to do next. But for now, its the 21 day fix videos. I plan on waking up at 6:15am to complete the videos. Here are my before photos:

I am currently weighting in at 196.4lbs. This year I started at 209lbs!! My current measurements:

Waist: 37 inches

Hips/Butt: 46inches

Bust: 43 inches

R Arm: 15 inches

L Arm: 14inches

R Calf: 16.5 inches

L Calf: 16.5inches

R Thigh: 25 inches

L Thigh: 24.5 inches

Neck: 15inches

Fun fact: I started therapy! I love it an plan to continue going throughout the rest of the year. I do not plan on disclosing any personal information about my sessions on this page.

Flashback to my goals - I have revised again:

-Continue to lose weight - goal 170lbs. I have lost 12.6lbs this year. I would like to weight 188lbs by the time Holly and I go to Italy.

-Olive should be potty training by the end of the year - complete

-Stop biting and picking my nails - complete (Always on going)

-Save Money - ongoing. I would like to have $3000 in the personal saving by the end of the year. (All together, personal, HSA, paying for Italy, etc. I have saved, roughly $3000 this year)

- Eliminate Credit Card debt - I suck at this. It is back up. I am disappointed in myself. But I haven’t spent on it in over 1 month and have a plan to pay it off. I’m not worried. Although I am worried about that health bills I will accumulate from the doctors visits that I had these past two months. I am hoping the amount of money that I put in my HSA will cover the entire cost.

-Read 12 books this year - HA! I will read as I fucking please. I don't like this goal.

-Research grad schools - I don't feel ready for Grad School. I feel stuck. I want more time to determine what I would like to study. I want more field experience, I NEED more money. These are all things I can work on in the next year. My original original original goal was to apply for grad school in the fall of 2018, which is still achievable, soooooo lets start there. This subject stresses me out and it shouldn’t it; it should feel fun!

-New goal: drink more green tea with cinnamon - it’s good for my syndrome!

I can't remember any of my other goals.....I will need to look back and refresh this update once I have revisited my first post. Obviously they were not as important as the ones listed above...hahahaha!

Until next time....I’ll be back!

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lisaroquin · 7 years

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Rebel Yell

for @wanderingsmithca ‘s prompt of “goody/billy- billy learns the rebel yell’

this is angsty ow bit of..yeah. warning for oc suicide. falls in the same verse as ‘when the smoke clears’ and ‘in the waiting time’ (yeah me and inability to not have a damn verse out of a one shot most of the time)

East Texas, 1872

The first time he heard it, it woke him from a dead sleep.

He'd been traveling with Goody ten months or so. Their money made more by quickdraw competitions and card games. Cray DuBois only the third bounty they'd taken--well caught. They hadn't gotten DuBois to town to collect the bounty. Billy wasn't quite sure they'd collect the bounty or not. DuBois had surrendered with "I expect you're lookin' for me, Captain." when they road up to DuBois' camp. "Heard tell you were collectin' bounties."

"That I am, Cray. You done?"

"I'm done."

"All right. I have me a couple bottles of whiskey. Care for some?"

"That would be mighty fine, Captain." DuBois smiled. "Got enough for you and your Celestial there to share." he motioned at the two rabbits roasting on a spit over the camp fire.

"Don't mind if we do."

Billy took care of their horses, put out their bedrolls. Eyed the area for any sign of another. Though Goody had said Cray was far too good a tracker and hunter, not to have realized they were behind him, following and had to be waiting for them as they approached the fire.

"Thanks for comin' for me, Sir."

"I'd have it no other way. Still have to take you in, Cray."

Cray merely nodded and accepted the bottle of whiskey Goody gave him. They settled down and started talking like old friends. Goodnight Robicheaux could talk to anyone, charm anyone, but this wasn't his usual. This was tired and echoes of pained and shared memories. The younger man had fought wtih Goody during the War.

Cray DuBois didn't look old enough to have fought in a war that ended almost seven years before, started over a decade ago. He wasn't. Goody tilted his head and asked how old Cray was now--twenty five? Twenty-six?. "No sir, twenty four last month."

Cray DuBois was wanted for the brutal murders of a dozen men from Ohio to California. He'd started in Ohio, the last was in West Texas, a massive circular path that now seemed to be heading back to Louisiana. Not the path of a man who didn't want caught. Men who wanted to disappear generally didn't go east.

He asked after Del, and Phin and Jenny.

Jeanette--Jenny--hadn't married. Goody rather thought she wouldn't now. She was at Belle Reve. Taught at the Negro school there. Phin was up North--at Harvard. Had a year of schoolin' left and he'd be home. Faith's girl Susannah married Henry Gardener. Charity was back in Washington with Edward. And on it went. Telling stories of what Billy was sure was Goodnight's family mostly. He knew Del was Goody's brother. Faith and Charity his sisters.

"Jenny...tell her...."

"I will, Cray. I expect she knows anyway."

Talk moved on to different men that seemed to be part of their unit? Billy watched more than he listened. Cray's accent thicker than Goody's. Less refined, less deliberately smoothed away into the sounds of the gentry.

The rabbits were surprisingly well done. Truthfully Billy was getting sick of rabbit which made up the bulk of their fresh meat the last couple months. But they were cooked well and he was hungry. He had never had the luxury or turning his nose up at lack of variety in his diet any way. By the time they were done with their meal it was obvious that Cray DuBois wasn't going to try to run, or kill them and run. He settled down to sleep and left Goody and Cray to their conversation and whiskey.

“WAAaaOoooEee OoooEeeee” was screamed out, a crazed demon shattering the silence of the night. Followed by a single gunshot. It took a second to shake off the dream of Ting and realize where he was and..

“Oh Cray,” Goody whispered with a broken half strangled sob, scrabbling over to the body lying on the other side of the fire. Cray DuBois had shot himself in the heart, or close enough, after that unearthly yell.

“Wanna go home, Cap'n.” Words pained, gasped out around chokes and splutters, blood filling his lungs, drowning him. His hands shook, or the gun not quite where it should be, internal bleed out rather than instant death.

“I swear, I'll take you home, Cray.”

“Money. Collect it. Jenny...Jenny can use it for whoever needs it.”

Goody nodded. “I'll see to it.”

“Had to.”

“I know. I know. Be all right now, you go on and get some rest, I'll tell Jenny,” Goody soothed, carefully shifting the younger man to half sitting, held in tight Goody's arms as he died, and a good two hours after Goody holding the young man's body, howling out his grief in curses and shattered sobs.

Goody was silent for most of the next day. They collected the bounty but kept the body, getting a pine box coffin and train tickets. The Marshall's office in Houston hadn't argued when Goody said the boy had been one of his men, that he'd sworn to them all to take them home if he could, one way or another, during the war. Goody wasn't going to break that promise if he could help it even if the war was over.

“I think Cray and Jenny were sweet on each other from the day Jenny was born.” Goody said finally the next night, in their rented room waiting on the train coming the next day.

“Jenny?”

“Del's daughter. My niece. Cray's daddy was straight out of the swamps. Tinker and actually a damn fine blacksmith. His mama taking u p with his daddy and marryin' him was a scandal. 'Specially how quick after the wedding Cray was born, not even a full five months. He was awful small, like as not did come a bit early, maybe as much a month early but no more than that. Likely was just a bit early. Six of them and I don't think Carrie DuBois carried a one of her children to term way Tante carried on. Tante was a midwife and tended plenty that couldn't afford a doctor that had trouble. Tante was like to swear a blue streak every time she heard tell of Carrie DuBois carryin' another. Two came far too early to survive more than a few breaths, but even the four that grew up came early, if not worriesome early. He was a good boy, Billy, a real good boy. His sister Evie, she was...she was attacked, raped by a bunch of Yankees that occupied the town for a bit. Doubt Evie was the only one but...I'll swear whatever the crimes on his warrant, he didn't kill a one that didn't need killin' Cray was a good boy.”

“That yell?”

“Rebel Yell, war cry our boys gave riding into battle.” Goody smiled. “Teach ya it. You can help give Cray a proper send off when we get to Belle Reve.”

~*~

Billy was one of some forty voices raising that cry as Cray DuBois was buried under a magnolia tree on the edge of the Robicheaux family cemetary on Belle Reve. Jenny Robicheaux tucked tight under her father's arm, tall slender beautiful girl who favored her father—and her Uncle Goody—in looks added her voice to the defiant unearthly cries as well. Billy had never heard anything more bone-chilling in his life.

~*~

He didn't hear that Rebel Yell again until Rose Creek. And then it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and all he could do was grin and laugh. Soon enough after that yell, Goody was in the church tower with him.

#my fic #prompt request fill #goodnight/billy #mag7 #wanderingsmithca

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anneedmonsonus · 4 years

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How to Work From Home With Little Kids

Wow – how things have changed lately. Without going on too much about all the negative things about COVID-19 – I know we all know it by now! – what it means for a lot of people is that we are working from home… and many of us with children home too.

For me, having to stay home with the kids because of coronavirus doesn’t really feel like a huge change or adjustment, more like a sort of resigned return to the familiar. I’ve worked from home for ten years now, and five of those have been with kids. So lately life sort of feels like a surreal version of school summer holidays, one without playdates and play centres and playgrounds and outings and the usual distractions I would ordinarily try to busy our days with.

Both kids have been coping better than I had thought they would (so far). Little Nerd, who is almost five, was disappointed when I said he wouldn’t be going to pre-school any more, which he loves, but he’s been good.

It was harder with Miss Nerd – but more for us than for her, I think. She is 18 months old now, and she had FINALLY got a two-day-a-week place in daycare two months ago. We were loving having more structure and kid-free time in our routine (me especially, as it made work so much easier) and then she finally got to that sweet spot where those heart-wrenching teary drop-offs were subsiding. She started to get excited about going and now she’s not going any more – that is hard. It’s a bummer but it is what it is. I’ve been trying to look on the bright side of the situation, because what else can you do? I think about things I’m grateful for – how lucky are we to have a big, messy garden (I’ve never been so grateful for all these weeds to pull up before!) our cubby house, two happy healthy kids, nice weather, things to paint, nature reserves to walk the dog, birds (little things can be big things). Working from home.

I’ve worked from home since I ‘fell into’ freelance when I was 23. I had a job at a couple of magazines, which I initially loved, then began to hate. I felt really depressed there and had already been job-hunting for a couple of months. I was going to wait to leave until I had something else to move onto, but then one day I ended up snapping at the CEO and quit on the spot without giving it more than about two seconds thought other than knowing I was done. It felt like the BIGGEST weight off my shoulders. I was already freelancing on the side while I worked at the magazines, and decided to pick up more freelance feature writing while I continued to look for another full-time job. I got so much freelance work that I realised I could write full-time. A year later, I backpacked around Europe with my best friend and then I bought the house.

Sometimes I think ‘Ten years of freelance… that’s embarrassing.’ That’s a lot of alone time and conversations with my dog that I often muse have probably stunted my emotional maturity and made me (more) weird. But the introverted part of me really enjoys working from home and the quiet. I like the work-life balance, not being stuck in traffic, the flexibility working from home affords. There are cons, but there are so many pros.

For a good few years, my daily freelance schedule would usually go like this: I’d wake at 7.30, perhaps 8. I’d make my bed, breakfast and coffee, and shuffle to my desk overlooking the garden, where I’d sip coffee and answer emails in my pyjamas, then shower and get ready for my morning house walkthrough, if I had an appointments day. To avoid getting stuck in morning traffic, I’d only time all my appointments to be from 10am onwards. If I had a writing day, I’d write stories until 11am, then change into my exercise clothes and take Nala for a run. Come home, shower, make lunch. Evening – knock off at 5.30, take Nala to the dog park. Come home, cook dinner and watch a movie with Mr Nerd. Or I’d get ready to go out for dinner and a drink with a friend, then do a little bit more writing before bed. Or I’d go to indoor beach volleyball, or perhaps a Zumba class. The evening was my oyster.

And then I had kids.

Working from home with little kids is possibly one of the biggest PAINS IN THE ARSE you could experience. (I try not to swear on my blog, otherwise I would have used a choice swear word there).

But trying to be productive and lucrative while you have a really small, irritating version of yourself glued to your side asking inane questions or doing destructive things can be almost impossible.

I think most parents will understand that feeling when they’ve finally settled the baby down for a nap and thought, “Right! Now I can quickly get to x,” only to have the baby declare catnapping is trendy and wake just 20 minutes later, spoiling all your plans. Or maybe you’ve felt the fatigue as you’re typing a Very Important Email while gritting your teeth at the 498th, “Hey, Mummy…?” of the day. Or perhaps you could just about cry because it seems like your children are diabolical, deliberating trying to sabotage your career… surprisingly, they’re not. But it feels like they are.

Doing a job with kids at home is bloody HARD. No matter how organised I try to be, every day, there are still tasks I need to do, emails to be answered or calls to return, that require focused time at my desk, ideally without bloodcurdling screams and wails in the background. My husband is often on work trips, so I’ve always been extremely grateful to my mum, who helps me out a LOT with the kids, not to mention family, aunties and aunty-figures who also give me a hand. I have a lot of help. I also have a lot of wine Because juggling a job and trying to be a good parent can be really hard.

And now that I’ve said it, let’s move on to how we can manage it and try to make working at home with children work for us.

I’m going to use this highly idealised photo of me and Little Nerd that was taken for an online magazine a few years ago to illustrate this. IT’S NOT LIKE THIS AT ALL NOW I HAVE TWO KIDS so this pic makes me laugh.

Work in nap times.

I know this is so obvious that it probably doesn’t need stating, but if your little one has nap time, you get your coffee and you work. Don’t procrastinate and do household tasks. I know it’s SO tempting to tidy up the house first, maybe dawdle a little, check Instagram… don’t. Look, I am a Virgo, and a procrastinating one at that. NO-ONE understands the NEED to have a neatly colour-coordinated sock drawer before addressing that urgent deadline due at 5pm more than me. It’s very tempting to have a perfectly tidied, clean house before you sit down to work and to get that done while the baby is asleep, but I have lost count of the number of times I have thought, “I’ll just tidy up the kitchen…” and you’ve only just settled into your desk chair and the baby rouses and it’s game over. I try to do as much ‘brainless’ stuff as I can (like cleaning and folding laundry) when the kids are awake.

If you have toddlers, give up on the idea that you can do your best focused, productive work while they are awake.

Look, I know some people can do it – I don’t know how – but personally I find it SUPER difficult to try to get any REALLY focused work while the kids are with me. I can’t write while someone is yapping in my ear. So I don’t. Little Nerd is 4, and not SO bad, but at one-and-a-half, Miss Nerd is definitely too young to understand. I very rarely try to work while I’m looking after them. They’re not happy, I end up snipping at them, I can’t give my all to my work either, and I hate myself for being a snappy parent. I only jump onto my computer while they’re awake if I absolutely HAVE to. I just give in to spending time with them and busying ourselves while they are awake.

Plus, I think you will get MUCH more done in one hour of truly focused time than you can in four hours of trying to work while the kids are clawing at you and you want to rip your hair out.

Photo by Heather Robbins.

See if you can tag-team.

If your partner is also working from home, perhaps you can work out a routine so you each get focused time to work while the other distracts the kids.

Be nice to yourself.

“Be gentle to yourself”. “You are enough”. “You got this Mama”. Sometimes the clichéd Instagrammy affirmations make me vomit in my mouth a little, sometimes they make me burst into tears (this REALLY depends on what kind of week with the kids I’m having) but it is important to be kind to yourself, don’t stress the small stuff so much. When you’re upset, ask yourself, will this matter in a year? Probably not. You’ll have good days and bad days, but on the plus side, thousands of people are in the exact same boat as you.

Get outdoors and get fresh air every day – you and the kids.

Yes, even if it’s cold. (Although, we seem to be having the longest summer EVER in Perth, and it’s still not cold). This is the German side of me speaking. German people know the value of sun and fresh air, even when it’s freezing.

My mum, who hails from a tiny country town south of Bremen, always told me about how in Germany people bundle up the babies snug and warm in their prams and take them for a walk or just pop them out by the front door. “And at crèche, even when it’s cold, they put the thick jackets on and the boots and the hats on the kids, and they send them out to play in the woods,” my mum says sagely, and I’m like nodding enthusiastically about this slightly disconcerting woodland daycare: “YES, YES. PUT THE LITTLE BABIES IN THE WOODS.” Ok, I sound psychotic, but I am a freak about fresh air and some sun. It’s good for everyone, they’ll sleep better, you’ll sleep better and you’ll ALL feel better and less cabin-fever-y every day if you can get outside every day as much as you can.

I know I’m not the only one who often finds themselves having a bad day, but then you get outside in the fresh air and start moving and automatically you start to feel better. The staying at home rules have clamped down recently but at least in WA we are still allowed outside to walk the dog, run or ride bikes – make the most of it and do it every day, at least once a day. The moment you start you’ll feel so much better.

The kids were kindly gifted these amazing Globber scooters and as you can see they are a hit! They never need any encouragement to go outside. You can use the code word NERD for 15 percent off them from their site here.

Take care of your mental health.

Binge on Netflix. Do puzzles. Read. Work on projects around the house. Garden. Walk or run. Whatever it is you like to do that takes your mind off all your corona worries. Even juggling work at home, you can still ‘make the most of’ the time we’re having at home; and your mental wellbeing is paramount right now. If you have little kids at home and you’re still trying to juggle your own job, don’t stress too much about giving them this perfect, highly creative home schooling experience right now. I feel like there’s so much ‘social expectancy’ right now on often already-stressed out, anxious parents to be filling their kids’ days with all kinds of creative and fun and interesting educational activities while juggling their own jobs too. I’m impressed by people who can do it, but give yourself a break. All the kids will be fine.

A loose routine can be a good idea for your sanity – also, always try to start your day on a good note.

At this point I feel like I’m getting wary of sounding like another one of those people saying, “WHAT YOU SHOULD BE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW” because we all have enough on our plates right now than to worry about what we “should” be doing (other than staying home as much as possible). You only need to heed this if you feel like you are struggling to manage the chaos of working from home with kids. I’ve always been one of those frenetic, “I MUST BE DOING THINGS, the house must be tidy or I’m going to scream” people and so for me ‘doing things’ is my way of feeling ok. It might not be yours and that’s ok.

You don’t need to have a super-strict routine in place (unless this suits you and you enjoy it). But getting into a loose routine can be a good idea and for me anyway, I’ve always found it eases some of my stress, because then I know when I can get my work done. Like these days, I KNOW that when the baby naps at about 11am I will be able to head to my desk and get some work done and I should have at least two hours of focused time, and that makes me feel more in control.

Also, try to set yourself up to win. Do little things all the time rather than letting them pile up too much. With my hubby away quite a lot for work I’m often on my own with the kids. When he’s away every night I clean up the kitchen and try to do a quick tidy up and wipe down before I go to bed – no matter how tired I am. I am NOT a morning person, so the idea of doing this in the morning, with the kids yapping at me, makes me even more grumpy. Plus, I’m slow and stupid first thing in the morning, much more likely to break my favourite mug as I’m packing it into the dishwasher – or my ‘mother elixir goblet’ (*cough wine glass*). Do a load of laundry every day. Every time you leave a room take one piece of random crap with you and put it away. Have them do their schoolwork at the kitchen bench while you clean up and talk to them at whatever time in the day. Look for these small things that you can do so you don’t feel like you’re losing your mind.

Remember the dog rule – a tired dog is a happy dog.

One of my mates (hi Gabby!) runs her own business from home and juggles this around two little boys. I still remember her telling me, when I was pregnant with Miss Nerd, that the trick to managing two little kids is to treat them like dogs. “You need to run them hard, TWICE A DAY.” “The playground twice a day?” I groaned. “Every day,” said Gabby sagely. At present, we can’t go to the playground, but that doesn’t mean you still can’t get them tired in the garden – send them off on their scooters or bikes, put on the sprinklers, have a scavenger hunt through the house and make them find things of different colours, put washi tape on the floor through the house and have them do an obstacle course around the house, or play a fun game where they climb onto and jump off their toy trunk 35 times while you shout, “AGAIN” like a deranged ringmaster (not that I’ve done that).

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Work off somatic anxiety.

If I’m trying to work but I’m finding in one of those edgy, anxious moods and not really getting any writing of substance done – I don’t fight it. I stop and do something else. Honestly, sometimes it’s just NOT going to work, you’re not going to be in the right headspace, sometimes everything I try to write is complete shit. Rather than trying to force it, take a break (if you can).

I either do ‘admin’ with my brainless time – I send out invoices or answer emails. Or I give up on work entirely and go for a run to clear my head or I clean up, do household tasks or start dinner – basically anything that keeps you busy so you get rid of that nervous tension. You can come back to it later – often I stop and return when the kids are in bed and I feel so much better. Or make the next day your clean start.

Eat well and keep exercising.

I know this is also obvious, but I have learned, the hard way (and several times, over and over… because I clearly don’t learn lessons the first time round) to prioritise my own health and fitness as a working parent. So many people prioritise the kids and I’m guilty of this too – for example, making them a healthy balanced meal then being so tired once they’re in bed you fall into the mistake of eating crap . But when you are healthy and mentally you’re in a good place, you can look after your kids better. YOU are number one.

My new painting from Gail Dell.

Resist the lure of the couch!

The kids are down, you’ve closed their bedroom doors and breathed a sigh of exhausted relief – now I know you’re tired and that it’s SO tempting to collapse on the couch and watch something mindless on Netflix while simultaneously scrolling and messaging friends, but once you do that, it’s going to be even harder to prise your butt off the couch and go to your desk. Trust me – I’ve made that mistake many, many times.

Don’t sit there! If you are really knackered, go to bed (I have to admit this is what my husband is always telling me, “Just go to bed! You can do it tomorrow when you’re fresh!”) but if you have some energy left and you know you could get a bit of your work done, you might feel better for it tomorrow. I know it’s not what we really want to be doing, but I often get a lot done at night when the kids are down. I used to do it a LOT when we only had one kid, but I find having two kids so much more exhausting than one, so I don’t as much any more (and I don’t really like to) but sometimes it’s the only way. You might only need to sacrifice a few nights in the week to make a dent in your work, and you can reward yourself the other nights with a Netflix binge.

To console your broken heart that really wants to be living its best iso life watching Tiger King and eating Twisties, make working at night as pleasurable as you can. Pour yourself a little wine, light a nice candle on your desk, or make yourself a cup of tea and get a chocolate-covered cookie from the secret place you’ve hidden them from your husband (please. Like I’m the only one who does this). It’s just like when you were a kid and it’s the weekend but you have a project due – you’ll feel so much better when it’s done, rather than it bugging you. Last night I knew I wouldn’t be able to work in the morning with the kids up, and I had a deadline this morning, so after the kids went to sleep, I worked til 11pm. Not what I wanted to do, ideally, but the other option would have been trying to do it in the morning with them both awake and annoying.

If your partner is also working from home, see if you can organise ‘shifts’ to swap childcare and work.

I long ago gave up on the idea of trying to get real, focused work done while I have a person under three awake and with me. Kids have a knack for just SENSING when you’re trying to do something important and will do whatever they can in their power to harangue you. I swear, I feel like mine could be happily playing some make believe game in their own little world for 40 minutes and I’ll think, “Ooh, maybe I’ll just quickly sit at my desk and sneak a little work in while they’re happy and engaged,” and the MOMENT I sit down, they both stop playing, the bigger one is asking some inane question like how many pockets does the moon have, the little one is clambering up onto my lap pretending she wants a cuddle while really she’s stealthily perma-deleting half my emails while I’m distracted by the big one asking me how many farts are in a cow’s bum.

Your kids might be old to start understanding why working, in peace, is important. I try to explain to our four year old the importance of Mummy and Daddy working because it gives us money. “Ooooh, for more toys?”

Get a police jacket.

My husband just last night told me about a colleague who now has to work from home. The kids bugged and interrupted him so much that he bought a police-uniform-like jacket. Then he informed the kids that when he was wearing the police jacket, he was doing very IMPORTANT work and he was NOT to be interrupted. Anyway, it worked. Now they tiptoe into his office, see him in the jacket and quietly walk out, I imagine in awed, respectful silence. GENIUS.

Also see if you can set up your home office in a space where you have a door. And a lock.

Scare them, bribe them, lie to them, whatever you need to do.

Currently, the Easter Bunny is my savior for encouraging good behavior. “Remember, the Easter Bunny is watching.”(The Easter Bunny is clearly like God, or Santa Claus).

I’ve also told Little Nerd that now he is doing school from home, his teacher has asked that I text her photos and tell her what we’ve been up to through the day. This is a lie, but he’s been very well-behaved (thank you Miss Whitehouse).

The other day he got stroppy when I asked him to put his jumper on for the fifth time and I sighed and picked up my phone and he shouted, aghast, “Don’t message that to Miss Whitehouse! I’ll put my jumper on!” I wasn’t texting Miss Whitehouse, I was planning to escape to Instagram, but I went with it and sighed, “Fiiiine. I won’t text her…. THIS TIME.”

Get your kids to pitch in with household and garden tasks.

I’m totally okay with sounding like a crazy slave driver. I know that sometimes kids do such a bad job of something, or take so long, or whinge so much about being asked to do something, that it’s easier to just think, “Ugh, I’ll just do it myself”. But I think if you can do your best to get them doing things, it will pay off in the long run. It will distract them in the meantime and one day they won’t be shit at it.

Make them do things around the house to help you out. Little Nerd is four and he is perfectly capable of helping me fold and put away laundry. If he wants to watch ABC Kids, he knows he has to pick up his toys, tidy his desk and maybe help me put away some laundry first. The other day his sister was napping and he kept complaining, “What can I DO? What can I DO?” Nothing I suggested appeased him and I was becoming more and more irritated until I suggested he cleaned the windows, which he enjoyed. Did he do a perfect, completely streak-free job? No. Were they still much cleaner than they were before he started and did he not bug me for a full 15 minutes? Yes. You have to count the little wins.

His little sister is 18 months and still useless, except for that one time she put her empty chip packet in the bin.

Try to keep TV as the ultimate bribe and distraction.

Ahhh, the electronic babysitter! My dear friend.

As much as I love the first few blissful minutes of uninterruption I get from turning on ABC Kids, Mr Nerd and I have always found that TV can be a slippery slope. With our two, the less TV they get, the less they ask and whinge for it. The more TV they get, the more it seems to sort of compound. You might get that initial peace and quiet while they’re watching, but after TV they are ALMOST ALWAYS EXTRA-ANNOYING, which is when I try to herd them outside again in the hope they’ll stop killing each other. I always weigh up the butthole factor – is it worth them watching TV so I can get something done, like meet my deadline or cook dinner on a stovetop without someone attached to my leg trying to bite me through my Lorna Janes? It often is. But to keep TV feeling like ‘a special treat’, don’t have it on all day; keep it as a lifeline so that when it’s on, they are GLUED to it, which will give you hopefully 20 minutes of focused time before they inevitably start annoying you again. Also, the rule is Little Nerd has to tidy up all his stuff if he wants to watch TV, which gives me one less thing to do. Crack that whip.

I feel like right now we all need TV, so use it and don’t feel guilty. No-one needs more parental guilt, especially now when lots of us already feel edgy!

Don’t forget! This is temporary.

It’s only a stage, and if you don’t ‘master’ working at home with kids (and I STILL haven’t after FIVE years!) – that’s ok, and normal. Even if it lasts for months, this stage is only a relatively short part of your life in the whole scheme of your life. It will pass.

I hope you’re all doing ok. Maya x

The post How to Work From Home With Little Kids appeared first on House Nerd.

from Home Improvement https://house-nerd.com/2020/04/02/working-from-home-with-kids/

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we-rolling-stones · 6 years

Text

Easy on the Zambezi

Crossing the border into Zimbabwe - like the majority of our crossings, a remarkable and chaotic experience. We've chosen the Mutare/Forbes post which, compared to the Beitbridge post between Zim and SA, is by far not the busiest crossing. Still: overwhelming. On the Mozambique side, 3-4 guys come close up to the car as we park, just about pressing their faces against our windows, and follow us through the immigration office. We're a bit more insistent this time about not needing help, though, and they drop off by the time we leave the Mozambican border and head through the no-man's land.

On the Zimbabwean side, we face other obstacles: trucks! Trucks everywhere. So many trucks that you can't see the office where we're meant to go. We barely manage to squeeze Stoffel between two of them to park and go into the immigration office. It's packed. We need to fill out forms, and no one has a pen. I run to the car to grab one and on my way back in, a robust older lady demands to know where I bought it. I promise she can use it when I'm done filling my form. She hovers over my shoulder and attempts to grab it every time I pause to read the next section. "I won't take long!" she complains. "It's my pen!" I reply. At last we finish the forms and I hand the pen off to the lady, who doesn't thank me. Believing her claim that she wouldn't take long, I hover for a while hoping to retrieve it from her when she's finished (pens are valuable commodities for occasions like this), but she takes her sweet time and after a while I give up and join Matt in the queue. (Maybe she'll find me when she's done and return the pen? She doesn't.)

Being a South African, all Matt needs is a stamp in his passport but I, the American, need to buy a visa. I'm pointed to the next window over. He fills out one form and shuffles me back to the first window. She looks over my documents, nods, and shuffles me to another window to pay USD 45 for a double-entry visa. Once that's done I'm shuffled back to the first window, but that lady shakes her head and points me to the second window, where I ultimately get my sticker. Meanwhile, Matt waits in a very long line to fill out customs forms. We forget that we have a document allowing us to bypass import duties on the car and pay USD 50 more than we need to. On the way out our car is searched - they're mainly looking to make sure we're not smuggling in fish from Mozambique, but we are grateful they don't discover the bag of whiskey and wine in the backseat, which is probably more than the letter of the law allows us to bring in. We've been told that wine and spirits are really expensive in Zimbabwe at the moment, so we stocked up at the border's duty free store before leaving Mozambique.

All told, the process takes around 2 hours before we drive into the sunset into Zimbabwe. We are headed for the Vumba, a lush forest region close by the border where our friend Jamie's mother lives. It's full of steep hills overlooking verdant green valleys, which are stunning against the sunset. We arrive after dark at the house of Jamie's mom Sue and her husband Mal, who live just across the road from the Vumba Botanical Gardens, and are welcomed warmly. We're shown to our own bedroom and bathroom at the back of the house; we sit for a while drinking wine in front of the fireplace and chatting, and Sue+Mal round off the evening with a succulent meal of local tilapia and sweet potato fries. The house has WiFi and, when we wake up the next morning, the most STAHNNANG view of the Vumba.

...we decide to stay one more night. We are pampered the whole way by the utmost generosity of the fabulous Sue and Mal, who take us on a hike up Leopard Rock:

Treat us to the best cheesecake we've ever eaten at Tony's, a local cake and coffee restaurant:

And ply us with food and drink. Fry-ups for breakfast, with home-grown eggs and local Vumba honey and coffee. We contribute a bit with some of the giant avocados we bought on the side of the road in Mozambique + steak we picked up while staying at Island Rock. Matt tries out a new recipe: Chinese 5-spice and orange zest to marinate the steaks, which turns out to be a hit. It also turns out that Mal is interested in drones (for animal census and anti-poaching patrol purposes, which he is involved in locally), and so I'm able to give him a whirl with mine, which looks to be the most gleeful 10 minutes Mal's had in a while! All in all, Sue and Mal were the kindest and most accommodating hosts to us - total strangers who are just friends of Sue's daughter - and we leave regretfully the next morning, feeling as if we're driving off from a surrogate home.

Leaving the lap of luxury, we head to Nyanga National Park nearby. It is the home of Mutarazi Falls, Africa's second-highest waterfall. It's possible to do a SkyWalk on a bridge spanning the top of the falls, as well as a zipline from one side to the other, but when we discover that these cost USD 40 and USD 70 respectively, we decide that "just a walk along the side of the falls will be really nice, right? Let's just do a walk."

Well, of course, the walk along the side of the falls is REALLY NICE. We are the only people there, and we enjoy a beer on the side of a cliff watching the sunset.

We camp that night at Far n' Wide nearby, and start driving the next morning to Harare: the capital of Zimbabwe.

At this point I should explain that Zimbabwe, politically, is currently at a crossroads. The county's ruler for the last 3 decades, Robert Mugabe ("Ole Bob", other Zimbabweans later tell us), was deposed in a coup last year. The presidency has been taken over by Emmerson Mnangagwa, a member of Mugabe's old guard who is currently serving on a temporary basis. National elections to chose the next permanent president are being held next month: meant to be free and fair and "harmonised" (peaceful), there are 23 candidates running but only 3 of them (including Mnangagwa) are very well known and the incumbent seems sure to win.

The overthrow of Mugabe has brought some changes and optimism to Zimbabwe: for the first time in decades, there's opportunity for improvement and in some respects there has been. Zim used to be infamous, for example, for its police roadblocks - every couple of kilometres along any major road you'd be stopped and your car would be searched for some minor vehicle violation (anything from having your headlights too high, having a fire extinguisher that hasn't been tested recently enough, or having your emergency triangles the wrong width) in order for the police to try and extract a bribe of a few USD. Mal tells us there used to be 19 roadblocks on the road between the Vumba and Harare. Mnangagwa has made an effort to clean up police corruption and boost tourism, though, and we don't encounter a single roadblock on our journey.

But there's still a fair amount of cynicism about the real potential for change, in part owing to Mnangagwa's status as the old guard of Mugabe. How much can the country change when it's still being run by a member of the same group that's run it into the ground over the last several decades? Every Zimbabwean we ask about it (admittedly a small sample size of about 7) says that they're not actually planning on voting in the election.

The most immediate problem facing Zimbabwe is its financial system. Zim's own currency collapsed a decade ago and since 2009 the country's been using US Dollars as its official currency. Zim obviously can't print its own US Dollars, so it's introduced another paper note - bond - which is meant to be a USD subsititute. The government can't print too many of these without drastically devaluing them, though, so there is a third tier of exchange - various forms of electronic money, the most popular of which is EcoCash. Officially, 1 USD in cash equals 1 USD in bond and 1 USD in EcoCash; in reality, there is a massive shortage of cash in Zimbabwe and so cash (in bond but especially in USD) trades on the black market at a premium to EcoCash and its other electronic equivalents. This works out well for us: we initially trade some USD into bond notes with a guy on the street outside a Harare mall and get a rate of 1.25 bond to 1 USD. Later, a friend helps us set up an EcoCash account, which - again through unofficial exchanges with "contacts" that all Zimbabweans with access to real USD have developed - can get us a rate of about 1.56 electronic dollars to every 1 USD in cash. It's ridiculous and complicated, but making the effort to convert our cash to electronic money saves us hundreds of dollars over the course of our time in Zim, making what is (on paper) an extremely expensive country a bit more affordable.

Anyway, once in Harare, we have a blast. We stay at a backpacker's called It's a Small World, where for approximately the same price as roof-tent camping in the parking lot (not too desirable) we stay in a flat-tired camper van parked in the corner.

Cozy, our own space, and good WiFi - we loved the van. Even if it was a little tricky to get in and out of...

We take a walking tour of the city with Lynette, a local whom I found on CouchSurfing. She shows us the sites, explains a bit of the city's history, and takes us out for some local Zimbabwean food after the tour.

We are even honoured to be joined on the tour by her mom, Mama Lucie - in the several years that Lynette's been running walking tours, this is the first one she's been on!

We attempt to have a few beers and watch a World Cup game at the Jam Jar, a popular restaurant, but the place is hit by a power outage in our first 20 minutes (blackouts are still common across Harare) and so we finish our drinks in the darkness.

Lynette recommends us a few other things to do, including heading to Mareki, which is a BBQ spot popular with locals at a nearby park. Mareki's set up in a dusty parking lot, lined with bottle stores and butcheries on one end and a line of stalls for cooking meat down the middle. You drive in, buy your meat from the butcher, and for a dollar the ladies working the stalls braai it for you for and give you sadza and tomato-onion salad on the side. Delish.

We get our meat braaied by Mai Funghai, a friendly woman who holds my hand and says she'll give me a second salad for free. Sold!

As the only whities wandering around Mareki we attract a fair bit of attention and we end up being chatted to by Gilbert, a friendly Zimbo who clearly wonders what on earth we're doing there. Gilbert introduces us to his friends Simba and Leo, plus Leo's wife Pride and her sister Dorothy. They invite us to come hang out with them and before you know it, we're hanging out in the parking lot with everyone, eating meat and salad off trays set up on the back of Leo's car, drinking Zambezi beers like no one's business into nighttime.

Leo invites us back to his (huge, beautiful) house for drinks (at his in-house bar), where we stay chatting to him and his Zambian friend Jerrick till the early hours of the morning.

We were meant to leave Harare the next day, but our late night has robbed us of the willpower. We end up meeting Leo and Pride for a Nando's lunch before going out to the movies. Leo and Pride spend an hour or so of their time helping us set up our EcoCash account and putting us in touch with their contact to get a good USD/EcoCash exchange rate. When we say goodbye to them, they tell us to call them if we have any problems whatsoever in Zimbabwe, and we are again struck by the friendliness and generosity of the Zimbabweans we've been lucky enough to meet.

Saying goodbye to Harare, we drive northwest. We spend a few hours at Chinhoyi Caves - a system of caverns hovering above the deepest, most crystal-blue pool you've ever seen in your life.

No one knows how deep it is - divers have explored to 80 metres down and been unable to detect the bottom. It's possible to go diving in the pool, which we fully intend to do the next time we're here.

Our subsequent destination is Mana Pools, a national park on the edge of the Zambezi River between Zim and Zambia where we'll spend three nights. Priced at between USD 90 and 115 per night to camp, plus VAT and conservation fees and a vehicle fee, Mana Pools is a huge splurge for us. But all of the Internet says that it is the best most fantastical Disneyworld of national parks, so - bolstered by the money we've earned by converting to EcoCash - we take the plunge.

Inside the park, halfway to our first camp, we get our first flat tire. This is a problem for us as a) due to Stoffel's big tires and modified suspension we need to use our Hi-Lift jack to change it, which we have never done before and has a reputation for being really dangerous, and b) like fools we haven't verified before we left Cape Town that the spare tire fits and isn't flat itself!

We make one attempt to jack up the car, using the center of the back bash plate as our leverage point to lift (essentially, because of the car's suspension) the entire weight of the car onto a three-inch square plate of metal. The jack isn't quite positioned right; it slips out and the car falls. The second attempt works. We can't find the specific allan key needed to get the branded hubcaps off, so we jerry-rig a solution with a Leatherman. We forgot to loosen the wheel nuts before jacking up the car, but with some twisting and turning (very gingerly, because the entire car literally hangs in the balance) we get them off and the spare on.

The spare fits! It's not flat! Thank God....

We drive the last 40 kms and check in at camp. We're spending two nights at Nyamepi on the banks of the Zambezi. Ten minutes after we arrive, enjoying beers while watching the river go by, we are joined by a male elephant who wanders through the camp tearing leaves off trees, takes a dip in the river, and spends the next few hours grazing the grass growing in the river shallows in front of us.

It’s early to tell, but Mana Pools strikes us as a special place.

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