#a realm reborn retelling
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LAURENT OF VERE AS LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD
Fairy tales have long served as vessels for conveying profound truths and universal themes. Among these timeless tales, "Little Red Riding Hood" stands as an emblematic narrative, exploring the loss of innocence and the perils of deception. In the Captive Prince trilogy, Laurent of Vere emerges as a fascinating counterpart to Little Red, encapsulating themes of shattered innocence, cunning and wit, unorthodox coming-of-age, and self-empowerment. Laurent's transformative journey is explored in this essay through the intriguing parallels between his experiences and those woven within various iterations of "Little Red Riding Hood."
INNOCENCE SHATTERED
"Little Red Riding Hood" unveils the dangers of manipulation, sexual predation and the inevitable loss of innocence. The tale follows the young protagonist's encounter with the deceptive wolf, exposing the vulnerability that accompanies trust. This metaphor of innocence shattered finds a meaningful resonance within Laurent's narrative. As Little Red falls prey to the wolf's deceit, Laurent, too, becomes ensnared in a web of manipulation orchestrated by his uncle, the Regent. Initially a figure cloaked in apparent benevolence and reason, the Regent conceals his true nature—a pedophile, murderer, and manipulator. Like the wolf, the Regent preys upon Laurent's vulnerability, masquerading as a protector while corrupting his innocence. This traumatic experience irreversibly transforms Laurent, birthing within him a shrewd, cold, and strategic individual who perceives the Regent's true nature and resolves to break free from his clutches.
CUNNING AND WIT
Throughout different retellings of "Little Red Riding Hood," feminist critiques have often cast the young girl as a cunning and clever protagonist. She deftly outwits the wolf, employing her wit as a shield against danger. Laurent, too, exemplifies remarkable cunning and wit as he maneuvers through the treacherous realms of the Captive Prince trilogy. Mirroring Little Red's resourcefulness, Laurent utilizes his intelligence and strategic acumen to outmaneuver adversaries, ensuring his survival and protection. Both characters embody the radical power of intellect, demonstrating that even in the face of adversity, cunning and wit can be wielded as potent tools.
UNCONVENTIONAL COMING OF AGE
Little Red's journey is frequently interpreted as a coming-of-age tale, marked by the transition from childhood to adulthood. As the young girl confronts the dangers lurking within the woods, she emerges with newfound wisdom and resilience. Laurent's journey echoes this metamorphic process but deviates from traditional narratives of coming of age. Rather than experiencing a conventional transition, Laurent's maturity is catalyzed by his harrowing experiences of abuse and trauma at the hands of the Regent. Like Little Red's symbolic death within the belly of the wolf, Laurent undergoes a metaphorical death of his innocence and emerges reborn—a more astute, calculating, and self-possessed individual. His journey mirrors the unorthodox paths of personal growth, illustrating that transformation can arise from the darkest depths.
RED HOOD AND SYMBOLISM
In the original tale, the eponymous character's red hood serves as a potent symbol, often associated with menstruation and the onset of womanhood. This crimson emblem signifies a rite of passage and the navigation of newfound responsibilities and dangers. Laurent's own journey intertwines with this symbolism, albeit in an untraditional manner. Within the treacherous court of Arles, which serves as the equivalent of the dangerous woods Little Red traverses, Laurent grapples with complex power dynamics and manipulations. As he confronts these challenges head-on, his metamorphosis into a more formidable figure parallels the symbolic transition represented by Little Red's red hood. Both characters navigate treacherous territories, embodying the trials and tribulations inherent in the process of growth and self-discovery.
THE HUNTSMAN'S ROLE
In Laurent's story, the character of Damianos of Akielos mirrors the role of the huntsman, traditionally depicted as a protector and savior figure. While the huntsman embodies patriarchal notions of male protection in the original tale, Damen challenges and subverts these roles by redefining the traditional role of a protector and challenging the power dynamics associated with it. While the huntsman in the original tale embodies the concept of male protection within a patriarchal framework, Damen's actions and motivations deviate from this narrative. Unlike the huntsman, Damen's protection of Laurent is not driven by a desire for dominance or control. His unwavering commitment to Laurent stems from genuine care and concern, rather than a sense of entitlement or superiority. By prioritizing Laurent's well-being and respecting his agency, Damen establishes a relationship based on equality and mutual support, rather than one rooted in traditional gender roles. He disrupts expectations of masculinity and demonstrates that men can play supportive and nurturing roles without reinforcing patriarchal power dynamics. By redefining the huntsman's role, Damen fosters healing and self-empowerment in Laurent. He encourages Laurent to reclaim his agency, challenge oppressive systems, and find his own path to justice. In this way, Damen's actions and their life-altering impact on Laurent's growth and transformation serve as a powerful subversion of patriarchal notions, offering a more progressive and empowering narrative within the story.
In conclusion, the parallels between Laurent's character and the themes embedded in different renditions of "Little Red Riding Hood" offer an evocative analysis of innocence shattered, cunning and wit, unorthodox coming of age, and self-empowerment. Laurent's transformative journey not only reflects the timeless lessons ingrained in the fairy tale but also explores the complexities of power dynamics, manipulation, and personal growth. Through Laurent's trials and triumphs, we are compelled to contemplate the indomitable spirit that resides within us all, echoing the enduring allure and relevance of "Little Red Riding Hood."
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Monkey King Reborn (2021) 西游记之再世妖王
Director: Wang Yunfei
Screenwriter: Wu Xiaoyu / Wang Yunfei
Starring: Bian Jiang/Zhang Lei/Cai Haiting/Su Shangqing/Zhang He/Lin Qiang/Liu Sicen/Wang Chenguang/Baomu Zhongyang/Zhang Bin/Chang Jin/Tut Hamon/Zhang Yaohan/Bai Xuecen/Qiu Qiu/Chang Wentao/Li Jiaxiang
Genre: Action / Animation / Fantasy
Country/Region of Production: Mainland China
Language: Mandarin Chinese
Date: 2021-04-02 (Mainland China) / 2021-08-07 (Re-release in Mainland China)
Duration: 95 minutes
Also known as: Journey to the West: Ginseng Fruit / Monkey King Reborn
IMDb: tt14391088
Type: Retelling
Summary:
When chaos first emerged, the world's first demon came into the world, named Primordial / Yuan Di (voiced by Zhang Lei), and was regarded as the ancestor of the demon. Millions of years later, the former demon king Sun Wukong (voiced by Bian Jiang) was rescued from the Five Elements Mountain by Tang Seng (played by Su Shangqing). Wukong promised to protect Tang Seng and go to the West to learn scriptures. The legendary demon ancestor Yuan Di appears again, and the Three Realms are in danger. Two generations of demon kings are destined for a final battle, but this time, Sun Wukong meets a real powerful enemy.
Source: https://mov-20.chinesemov.com/2021/Monkey-King-Reborn
Link: https://myflixer.pw/watch-movie/monkey-king-reborn-75178.5590519 https://www.bilibili.tv/en/video/2008955865
#Sun wukong#jttw media#jttw movie#movie#animation#retelling#addition#sun wukong#zhu bajie#sha wujing#tang sanzang#monk tripitaka#bailong ma#fruit demon#fruity#Clear Wind#Bright Moon#Immortal Zhenyuan#earth gods#mountain god#White Browed King#Yellow Lion Spirit#Tawny Lion demon#Nine-tailed Fox#Golden Horned King#Silver Horned King#hundred eyes demon king#Hundred-Eyed Demon king#golden cicada
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I once saw an ask for Scions reacting to WoL who doesn't return from the fight in Endwalker. So might I request the Scions reacting to finding the WoL's personal journal after they don't return? It's log entries and drawings from all the expansions from A Realm Reborn up until Endwalker. It tells things like their carriage ride to the city state they resided in, the first time the heard Hydaelyn/when they got the Echo, to meeting the Scions and by association the twins. Just personal entries of everyone they met and everything they did. There's even little charms and gifts from some of the people and little portraits of the people they've encountered and the places they've seen.
I just need the Scions to react to the final message, presumably written preemptively before the final fight, as the WoL contingency and final words should they not make it out in the end. It states how happy they were to have met all of them, how they changed their life and had the chance to change theirs. And that they will meet again, either in this life or perhaps the next. And that they were honored to have been the Scion's very own Warrior of Light.
I hope this isn't asking too much.
Scions React to the journal you left behind after you didn't come back from the fight in Endwalker
A/N: Damn. So we are breaking hearts and causing tears today, eh? Alright, I'm down with that. My heart is shattered on the floor. Excuse me as I put on my 'Sad songs playlist'
Honestly though, thank you very much for this ask, Anon! ^-^
As they're connected, you can find the previous ask here :
WoL doesn't return after the final fight in Endwalker
Warning: ANGST, Heartache, already established character death, mourning, breakdowns
FFXIV taglist: @missnella-nova @shippyprincess @healersadjust @thai @lumeriadeborel @obscene-tevene @losingmymindinglitter @gudaworks @midromiell @kanouizumi3104 @msrussian
If you'd like to be added to the taglist, you can comment here on the original post !
Alisaie
She would not want to touch the book. She hated that you were gone. She hated that she couldn't save you like you had saved her so many times. It would take her months for her to even hold the book in her hands before setting it back down. She was not ready yet.
When she was finally ready to see what you had written, she would decide to pace herself. She could only read so much before she'd breakdown into tears. Once she got to the end, reading your last message, she would scream out a painful cry. Alphinaud would be beside her in an instant, lending his shoulder for her to cry on.
Alphinaud
He needed to read the journal. For him, it was as you were still with him. But yet it was a like a final goodbye. He would find comfort in the telling and retelling of your adventure. Despite the tears in his eyes, he'd smile when you'd say how proud you were of him. To mean so much to you, it was truly an honor.
"Goodbye, my friend."
Estinien
Once he had his hands on the journal, he went where no one else could find him. He just needed to be alone to mourn the loss of you. To know of your journey from beginning to end by your words written meant everything to him. With every word, he could hear your voice in his head as if you were telling him yourself. It was amusing to see your entries of when you met him. Ever the shining light, you were. His hand would grip the pages when he'd read your last entry, where you expressed how much he meant to you. When he heard the sound of tearing, he loosened his grip and checked for the damages.
G'raha Tia
He would know of your journal as you told him where it was before you both had left on your journey. It's as if you'd known all along what would happen. You knew you weren't come back. His heart hurt at the mere thought. But you had wanted him to take the book. And though it was in his hand, he would hesitate to open it. But eventually, he would and he would cry when he reads each and every page. His fingers would trace the letters on the pages where you mention him.
When he'd get to your final page, his hands would be shaking. To have been so important to you, meant to much to him. He was just thankful that he got to be apart of your story. And he'd make sure your memory would live on through him and your stories.
Thancred
He wasn't sure if he could read your journal. It was painful enough to know that you were gone. But after talking with Y'shtola & Urianger, he would decide to read it. Reliving some memories of you were comforting. You always had this ability to make him smile, no matter what. It gave him the strength to continue on, to fight on. He'd carry your memory with him forever. And no matter what, you'd be right in his heart.
When he'd read the last page, he let out a side and a chuckle. You had a way with words. And to know that he was everything to you as you were to him, he was thankful.
Although you will not be able to see me, just know that I will forever be by your side. Fight on, my lights.
"Even in the end, you are the hope that we need."
Urianger
When he's given your journal, he holds himself up in a room in the Waking Sands to read passage by passage. And before he could get to the very last page, he would close the book. All he has left of you is here in his hands. He just wasn't ready to let you go yet. And thus he'd re-read story after story. However, one day he would decide to brave the last past. His heart would ache as he read that he and the others were your light that kept you going.
And with a shaky breathe, he'd whisper, "Thank you, Y/N."
Y'shtola
Once she'd cease her work of trying to find a way to see you again, she would read your journal. She would read section by section over time. While a book could be re-read many times, she didn't want to do that with your journal. Perhaps she knew that it meant truly that you were gone and there would be nothing more. Your story would end.
No matter how long it would take, she would eventually make it to the final passage in your journal. She'd take a deep breath and brace herself. As she would read your words of how much she and the other Scions meant to you, tears would slip down her cheeks.
#ffxiv#ffxiv reactions#alisaie leveilleur#alphinaud leveilleur#estinien varlineau#g'raha tia#thancred waters#urianger augurelt#y'shtola rhul
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Do you think that if the latest live action version of the games comes to be, they’d be a bit more open about the queer characters being queer? Not anything direct but not as vague as some of them are in the games?
I also wonder if they wouldn’t be held back by some of the same things the games are, would characters who receive less screen time get more of that. Really, I don’t know why I’d bother thinking about it so much right now but I must W o n d e r
Oh, like the Hollywood movie that was in the works a couple years back? I'm not entirely positive that one in specific is still going through, since Nagoshi was the one overseeing it and we haven't seen any news in years, but I suppose worst case scenario they could always do other live action adaptations.
RGG adaptations historically have next to nothing to do with the games or have any real supervision, so it depends on who's behind the wheel. Any opportunity to shake up and retell the existing stories does have potential. The original Like a Dragon movie and the stage show had Majima be a lot more forward than almost anything that was actually in the games at the time, for example, but they were still in the realm of plausible deniability.
So it'd be heavily dependent on the chosen plot, format, and priorities in the script and direction. If it's an all-new story and/or cast, well, I haven't seen Poetry of the Soul or the Yakuza prequel, so I'm not sure what the precedent is. But if it's a proper adaptation, which game/era is being adapted matters hugely for potential representation. And the format and priorities matter because a stage play, one-off film, a series of films, an average drama, and a miniseries all have vastly different amounts of time to dedicate to plot and characterization.
For example, one would expect no adaptation of Yakuza 3 would just Leave Out Mine's Motives Entirely and reduce him to a monster who wants all orphans dead, right? But the comic adaptation did exactly that. Of course, it was from Haruka's perspective and she has every right to think so, but considering the comic was specifically meant to summarize the whole of Yakuza 3 as a replacement for the wiki, choosing Haruka as the viewpoint character was a mistake from the beginning. But that's how it happened with only a few panels to tell the story, and a "plot-focused" Yakuza 3 film adaptation may make the same mistake.
In all honesty, though, I think the games have waaay more opportunities to make it work. A show might have a fighting chance, but the average RGG game now is about 48 hours, which would be grossly long for anything other than the annual NHK taiga drama (and honestly, those are still grossly long).
I personally think Yakuza: Like a Dragon is the queerest game not by virtue of having anyone declare their love but by having a host class that relies on charm in a game with only male enemies, having Essence of Titillation and Essence of Restoration work on female party members, having Ichiban get a honk-honk from a guy and it giving him the biggest stat boosts in the entire game, having those teasing hints about Nanba and Ichi or Zhao and Ichi, Having Nick In The Game Period, having the plot center around a family with two dads, having one of said dads' gender nonconformity be the most respectfully-depicted instance in the entire series (and referring to him as an actress and mother), having Ako in the game and both treating her normally and having her be voiced by a woman in the dub, having NPCs express wanting to be reborn as the opposite gender.
Like... that's the run-on sentence to end all run-on sentences, but I could go on. These Bitches Queer.
#long post#asks#my analysis#anonymous#yakuza#yakuza tv series#yakuza 3#yakuza like a dragon#yoshitaka mine#haruka sawamura#ichiban kasuga#yu nanba#tianyou zhao#nick ogata#ako okano#SORRY TO EVERYONE WHO'S SENT ME ASKS I'VE BEEN TRYING TO RESPOND BUT WHAT I HAVE THE ENERGY FOR IS UP TO RNGESUS#speaking of grossly long. jesus christ that sentence is way too long#and also like#the studio has full control over the games. they don't have anyone to answer to except idk yokoyama#who is incredibly comfortable with same-sex attraction#and has grown a great deal with regard to gender nonconformity and trans people#with the film industry it's like.#if it's hollywood yknow queer people may be Profitable Right Now but there are just as many stories of censorship#but with japan's film industry we very recently saw the most prominent animation director get barred from making a movie with queer girls.#so i'd be more than happy with the games staying on the track they are now#i don't think we need to rely on adaptations and such to get us there because We Are Already Here Babey#i aint tagging all the shit i mentioned btw good luck
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Hmm...Endwalker is technically a tribute to each previous expansion. Sharlayan, A Realm Reborn with the Students of Baldesion adding the Scions. Thavnair, Heavensward with a retelling of how life might of been for Ishgard if they had been less greedy to take the dragon's eye and live in peace with their great wyrms. Perhaps they would find companionship and peace to face the Final Days with Nidhogg and Hraesvelgr as strange as that sounds. And true to the naming of his armor, Estinien spends his time dragging the truth of Thavnair's workings out into the light just as Lady Iceheart had. Garlemald is a sort of Post-Heavensward and Stormblood affair, working with Emmalleinn, Alisaie and Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light. Lucia, Maximus, "Asahi" and Zenos are all major players in the region and Krile too to an extent. Magnai, Cirina, and Sadu representing the Eastern factions of the expedition. Then we pause on the moon and return to Thavnair in the midsts of the Final Days. Before literally jumping back to the First Shard to check up on those we made connections with for Shadowbringers. Complete with Elidibus being instrumental in our progression towards peace for the Shard once more sending us back to Elpis, the forgotten floating paradise. Akin to Amaurot and just as Emet-Selch narrated the destruction of his city, we see Elpis unravel and lead to the doom of all. Meeting with Venat as well as Hythlodaeus and a slightly less antagonistic Emet-Selch. But learning of Hermes and Meteion, two players we hadn't even known of before finally returning to the Source with knowledge in hand. And just like Post-Shadowbringers, we bring together all the factions of the Source to face down the final days, delving into the Aitiascope and meeting with a Lady in White before flying off to become our own Endwalker.
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Tales of an Auri Shepherdess
Welcome to my Story Blog, A complete top to bottom retelling of Final Fantasy XIV for the perspective of Jefara, an auri Mol from the Azem Steppe
Joined by a mix of Companions, Inga [F!Hyur] a conjurer, Jelly [F!Miqo] the warrior, Freya [F!Viera] a former assassin and G'intamor [M!Miqo] a humble artisan.
Our Journey begins with A Realm Reborn.
Pulled from the only world she has known into the hustling world of Eorzea by a Force unknown, Jefara must navigate these strange lands as she uncovers the power lying dormant within her.
The Story continues Heavensward.
Alone and stripped of her blessing, Jefara must survive in the frozen lands of Cohertas, where her life and her heart are at risk amidst the worn torn nation.
#ffxiv#final fantasy xiv#ffxiv screenshots#ffxiv gpose#ffxiv screenies#final fantasy gpose#ffxiv aura
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My current WIP list
Warhammer 30k/40k:
Alternate take on conclusion of Melchior (first draft finished, needs heavy editing)
My attempt at writing some humor for Guilliman fails on a monumental level and the piece is actually angsty/tragic (this is Guilliman in 40k) (first draft almost finished, I don’t know how to end it, still needs to be edited)
Nathaniel/Euphrati a/b/o fic for the #knotinmyname initiative (not done, a little worried about this, hoping to have it done by the end of the Initiative)
Sanguinius/OC fic that I’m not even sure if I’m going to post on Ao3 since it’s related to the Rogue Traders game I’m in. (lots of random bits of dialogue)
Final Fantasy XIV:
Estinien/Zero fic where they work out together and also spar, and maybe even “spar” (we’ll see how that pans out) (so far only an outline and random bits of dialogue)
What We Do In The Shadows:
Lazlo and Colin decide to make a podcast together, with mixed results (only has an outline so far)
Crossover:
Warhammer 30k/40k / Final Fantasy XIV / World of Darkness (Potentially also Age of Sigmar and more Final Fantasy VI than is already in XIV) - AU/AR where at the start of A Realm Reborn, Hydaelyn casts a bit of a wider net to get more Warriors of Light to aid Etheriys. If the realm of 40k is to be saved from Chaos, the Imperium of Man will need leaders able to rise to the occasion, and to work with Xenos races. Human Supremacy will only spell doom for the galaxy. AKA: What if Sanguinius were a Warrior of Light? This is going to be a very long piece. I’ve gotten a decent outline for the first story, which I hope will be at least 8 chapters. (It should take through Irifit. A lot of things change.) ARR and post ARR should be around 3 stories I hope, I’m not sure yet if the Alliance and Normal stories will be in those or their separate stories. Hoping to take this retelling all the way through Endwalker.
This doesn’t even count all of the vague ideas of things I want to write but don’t have concrete ideas for yet. I have too many pairings that have almost no fic for them or no fic at all.
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About Me
Call me Swan, pen name is J.D. Swan
Aspiring author and librarian
Love writing fantasy adventures stories, POC, queer characters, and complicated relationships (platonic, romantic, familial, etc.)
Note: this is not my main blog
My Writing
I have a lot of writing projects but below the cut I'm only going to list the few I'm currently working on right now
Tale of the Four Realm Jumpers
A mass retelling of The Wizard of Oz, The Nutcracker, Peter Pan, and Alice in Wonderland where the four main girls become protectors of their respective realms.
coming of age / young adult / gaslamp fantasy / adventure fantasy
The New Legend of King Arthur
Devon Flanagan learns that Arthurian Legend is real when they become apprenticed to Merlin and must learn magic in order to protect the reborn King Arthur.
middle grade / arthurian legend / contemporary fantasy / adventure
Power of the Beginnings
When Lily Albright learns the truth of her Faeling ancestry, she must attend a school to strengthen her powers and learn secrets of the strange magical world she is now a part of.
young adult / contemporary fantasy / magical academia / fae
The Legend of Sleeping Beauty
After a hundred years, Princess Dawn wakes to discover the peaceful world she left behind no longer exists as a war wages across the Enchanted Forest and she may be the only person with the power to stop it.
fairy tale retellings / high fantasy / adventure fantasy / found family
#swan speaks#writeblr#writeblr intro#about me#writers on tumblr#fantasy#writer#writeblr community#i cant believe ive waited 8 years to do an intro
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ii : a shadow in dappled green
AO3 link HERE
More below the cut.
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To the somewhat prosaic Aurelia - whose healthy wariness of magic was a product of her imperial education - the Stillglade Fane carried about it a mysterious air. Much like the Black Shroud and its eternally youthful shepherds, it seemed to move on its own and in its own time, observing the world around it as time passed but almost untouched by change. Seasons came and went and with them the cycles of novitiates, marked by the fall of leaves to give way for the growth of the new. All moved in their turns beneath the boughs of the great old-growth tree.
As ever, entering the grove felt like stepping into another plane of existence. Aside from the odd figure in hempen robes and wide-brimmed hat making the rounds between patients, it appeared as solitary and peaceful as ever.
Brother E-Sumi-Yan awaited her arrival at the guild hall entrance with a pleasant smile and the usual air of serenity about his soft and regular features. The old Padjal had never given his true age and Aurelia had never asked, though it was not necessary: she knew from his manner and from some of his recollections that he had a good century on her at least. As with all of his novices, he treated her with the amiable familiarity an old man might bestow upon a favored granddaughter.
Truth be told, it was why she looked forward to their visits.
"Well met, Aurelia. Punctual, as ever. I thank you."
"Guildmaster." She bowed from her waist, just a few ilms, enough to show a student's proper deference to her teacher. "Mother Miounne said you had need of me. Something about a request."
"I do, but it can wait for the time being. Will you take tea with me?"
“I suppose I can hardly say no if you went to all this trouble.” The modest service, Aurelia noted, was already laid out with two cups at the ready. She made her way to the empty seat at his gesture. “Please don’t say you held up your breakfast to wait on me.”
“Not at all. Please, sit. I’ll pour.”
Tea was the customary herbal offering, paired with a small plate of lavender scones and a little tin of something she thought was butter but appeared to be lemon curd upon closer inspection. Aurelia patiently cut open a pastry and helped herself to a small dollop which she spread as he filled her cup. It was a few degrees cooler here within this shaded bower than the rest of the city, and she was grateful for the boon.
“Now then,” he reached for his own cup in turn as she sipped, “how did your morning meeting fare?”
Ah, she thought. He already knows. I suppose I should have assumed as much. “I’ve been pardoned-- over the incident in Willowsbend, so Commander Heuloix said. The Elder Seedseer had them make a citizen of me. Frankly, I had all but assumed the matter forgotten.”
The words felt as strange on her tongue as they sounded in her ears, as if she were attempting to speak a language she did not recognize. But he merely nodded, not seeming even the slightest ilm surprised.
“We can be very slow and deliberate at times, but rest assured no one here would have forgotten your service. Least of all Kan-E-Senna.” Smiling, E-Sumi-Yan reached for a scone of his own. “Citizenship is among the greatest rewards in her power to bestow. In truth, I can think of precious few I would consider more deserving of it.”
“Thank you, Guildmaster.”
He made a hum of acknowledgment and took an experimental sip from his cup. For a few minutes neither spoke, busying themselves with their tea and taking in the deep quiet of the grove. She could hear the warbling of wood thrushes among the melancholy whicker of cicada calls, and the occasional warm breeze stirred the branches high overhead. Beneath the fragrance of her tea were the distinctive scents of river water and damp soil, scents and sounds with which she had grown intimately familiar in the past four years.
“The wood is recovering,” she said aloud.
“Hm?”
Aurelia set the cup aside with a small clatter. “Guildmaster, I’ve been... thinking. For a while now, if I’m honest.”
The Padjal remained silent, the tilt of his head an indication that he was content to listen. A sharp gust blew a stray wildflower, stem and all, onto her dalmatica; one of the children playing along the lanes without must have picked it and discarded it before an adult could stop them. Gently she plucked the flower from her chest and held it betwixt her index finger and thumb as she stared down at it.
“I’ve had my entire life dictated to me as far back as I can properly remember.” The star-shaped petals spun with the motion in a tiny burst of color, white tips with a red throat. With great care Aurelia tucked the wildflower stem behind one ear, where its little blossom peaked coquettishly over linen darts and golden hair. “I think the last choice I made for myself was to request a provincial posting when I enlisted, and that was a rare allowance. My family always made all the important decisions.”
“You needn't explain yourself, Aurelia. I understand your position. More than most, I believe.”
“Do you?”
“As you know, the Padjal are born to serve the needs of the forest and to act as its intermediaries. In the most literal of senses.” E-Sumi-Yan lifted his right hand to brush one of the horns that crowned his head, curving upwards from his mop of sand-colored hair. “My parents surrendered me to my compeers shortly after my birth, in order that I might learn as soon as possible those sacred duties which were expected of me. We are not given a choice in the matter. Sooner or later, we must all obey what we are called to do.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her gaze traveled downwards into her emptied teacup. “I had forgotten,” she said. “Pray forgive my selfishness.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” He reached across the small stump that served as their table to pat her hand. “Most of us reconcile ourselves to our fate early in life and find acceptable outlets for our energies - personal pursuits that will not interfere with our charge. For you, there are no such limits.”
“That’s just it. I don’t know if I would be able to do what I want to do, if I remain here.”
“Had circumstances not conspired to bring you to Eorzea permanently, what would you have done then?”
“I suppose I would have finished out my enlistment, barring further misadventures. After that, I wanted to go... oh, I don’t know. East, perhaps, to Othard. Or south." She chewed on her lower lip in thought. "Actually, I would have liked very much to go to the southern provinces. If not Ala Mhigo then somewhere nearby- Werlyt, perhaps. I confess, I hadn’t thought too far beyond the end of my tour.”
“You have the freedom now to decide for yourself in truth,” he said gently. “A life spent healing others is a noble pursuit. There are certainly no lack of opportunities here.”
If he only knew how close his thoughts were to Keveh’to’s. She allowed herself a chuckle.
“That much is certainly true.”
“But?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean precisely what I said, Aurelia." He folded his hands in his lap, calm grey eyes fixed on her face. " 'Tis quite plain to me that you harbor doubts. Are you not content to remain in Gridania?”
Unbidden she thought of her mother’s parting words. Take the new life you have been granted, Vittora cen Remianus had said, and live it.
What shape, then, should that ‘new life’ take--
"I will take no offense if your answer to this question is 'yes,' you know. You would hardly be the first young person upon the star to be afflicted with wanderlust."
“In truth, I would like to continue my studies,” she admitted. “I’ve learned much more about botany in my time here than I would have expected, and for that opportunity, I am immensely grateful. But the gap in my education is a weakness. Eorzean alchemy appears to involve the synthesis of aether housed within appropriately aligned crystals, not only in regards to reagents but to the tools themselves. Neither of which I possess. Nor do I yet have the understanding necessary to attempt it, even if I did.”
E-Sumi-Yan’s brow knitted thoughtfully. “You raise a good point. The Twelveswood boasts skilled hedge witches and amateur apothecaries in abundance, but few alchemists of mention. If you seriously mean to enrich yourself-”
“I do.”
“-then you could do worse than to make inquiries with Frondale’s Phrontistery. They are the foremost institution of such learning here, and even if they cannot take you the Alchemists’ Guild might still prove a fount of useful information. Both are located in Ul’dah, far to the south and across the Thanalan scrublands.”
“Would they accept a late enrollment, do you think?”
“I cannot say.” He spread his hands as if to say these are not questions I can answer. “But so long as you were capable of aught your studies would require, I cannot think it would serve as much of an impediment.”
“If you think they might allow me to enroll, then I would very much like to do so.”
“You are a talented healer and I would much prefer you remain here with us- but that is not my decision to make.” His smile took on a rueful cast. “If memory serves, you will require letters of recommendation and introduction in order to enter the Phrontistery-”
“That is the way of things in the Garlean Empire as well,” she said, trying and failing to keep the eagerness from her voice. “If you would be willing to vouch for me, that is.”
“I am. If your mind is set, say the word and I shall make the necessary arrangements.”
For the first time in a very long while, Aurelia felt something in her stir with genuine excitement at the idea. Ul’dah! New sights. New land and a new city. A new school, with all the untapped possibilities that would bring.
“Before we discuss this matter further there is a small favor I would ask of you, which brings us to today’s business. The guild has had a request from the Bannock.” E-Sumi-Yan reached into the sleeve of his robe and withdrew a neatly folded square of parchment. “A missive arrived this morning from Galfrid, one of the Twin Adder’s drill instructors. There has been suspicious activity around Lifemend Stump as of late.”
“The moogles’ glade?”
“The very same. Due to its sensitive nature, I would rather not send it to Miounne. I was hoping you might be able to see to the matter in my stead."
"Of course. Should I go to the Bannock first?"
"No need. There is a witness who has been in touch about the same issue, and he should be able to provide more information directly.” He handed the parchment to Aurelia and stood from his seat, indicating their meeting was over. She took it and tucked it into her belt as she followed suit. “Should you find anything which merits further investigation, pray report to the Bannock and relay it to Galfrid before your return.”
“I will.”
“And be on your guard. Even so close to the city, the wood often cannot tell friend from foe." Abruptly, E-Sumi-Yan's easy smile faded to take on a most serious cast indeed. "Even its shepherds.”
==
The Lifemend Stump lay perhaps a half-league to the southwest of the city, nestled within the central Shroud. Despite the heat of the day, the greenery and the rushing sound of water from the nearby river made the journey a relatively short and peaceful one, and she took the opportunity to sort through her thoughts as she walked.
Aurelia thought she had made peace with the notion that her homeland was lost to her. But once one came down to it, she wasn’t sure that a quiet life in the forest was truly what she wanted. At least not for the rest of her days. Gridania was a lovely place, but she had come here as a prisoner, after all. Perhaps that circumstance was the core of her conundrum.
Just this once I would wish to be the captain of my own ship.
To her mind, E-Sumi-Yan’s very lack of resistance to her wanderlust spoke volumes. Perhaps he simply thought that some time spent away from the forest broadening her horizons in Ul’dah would change her mind and convince her to stay- or at the very least dispel any grand illusions she might have of the world without the Shroud, once the novelty of it all had worn off.
“What have we here, kupo?”
Aurelia drew short so abruptly that she nearly tripped over her own feet and over the edge of the riverbank into the water in an attempt to correct her balance. The familiar round form of a moogle floated perhaps a fulm away from her face. Its tiny leathery wings fluttered furiously, the most immediate sound by far in the still summer air. They were much smaller than the fluffy body they held aloft, and as the moogle studied her with open curiosity she watched it list to one side under its own weight. Its bright orange pom twitched atop its head.
“Good morning,” she managed. “Um…”
“So Kupto Kapp was telling the truth, kupo!” the moogle performed a triumphant spin midair, “You can see us!”
“Ah... yes. I’m- that is, my name is Aurelia. Are you-”
“Oh, I mean you aren’t supposed to be able to see us. Not unless we let you, kupo. But I guess it’s all right since he said the Elder Seedseer asked you to come here and help fix the Twelveswood and all. Usually the only ones who talk to us around here are the Padjal so this is a fun change! ...though this means I did lose my wager with him, kupo…”
“I’m sorry,” the Garlean attempted to (politely) interrupt this cheerful outpouring of words, “but I really must be on my way. I’ve been asked to-”
“Come to the Lifemend Stump! Yes, yes, I know all about it. Brother E-Sumi-Yan told me I should expect someone, kupo. If you’ve come to have a look for yourself, I can be your guide!”
“That’s very kind of you-"
"You're Aurelia, you said? I’m Kuplo Kopp! Pleased to meet you, kupo! This way, Miss Aurelia, this way!”
Once again her reply went nigh unheeded as the creature performed another circular turn of joy, this time about her head. This was clearly going to be one of those moments in which any response she might give would be meaningless, and it was just as obvious that she had a companion now whether she liked it or not.
Just as well. The entire endeavor would give her something to do other than ruminate.
So thinking, Aurelia let Kuplo Kopp take the lead. The path diverged at the river’s edge, snaking into a small cavern next to the waterfall. The well-worn rocks magnified the rush of the current into a grinding roar that drowned out all other sounds. Cool spray struck her cheeks and dewed her clothes on her passage, a welcome respite from midsummer heat- though she knew she could not linger, as tempting as the thought might be.
Beyond the rush of water upon rock the rustle of leaves reaching her ears once more. Before they could draw closer, she reached for the moogle and grasped the pom antenna on his head. The moogle let out a startled yelp.
“Ow! That hurts, kupo!” His tiny wings fluttered with wild indignation. “Didn’t E-Sumi-Yan teach you any manners? You aren’t supposed to pull on a pom like-”
“Hush,” Aurelia interrupted. She let her free hand drop to her belt. Her fingertips brushed over the stem of her wand, registering the slightly roughened texture of its bark before closing about it in a ready grip. “Let me make certain the area ahead is clear.”
“Clear?”
“Just be quiet.”
Stealthy movement was not precisely what Aurelia would have called her strong point. She was a healer, not a skirmisher. Even during the Willowsbend incident, she had relied upon her wits as much as what paltry magic she had at her disposal. But she had learned while foraging in the depths of the forest how to move quietly and avoid the notice of poachers and bandits, and she put that knowledge to use now. Each step she took, she did so at a slow and steady pace, in order that the wooden clack of her pattens upon stone would not alert a potential intruder.
Leaf-shaped patterns of shadow dappled the sun’s glare at the far end of the craggy tunnel, and Aurelia slipped past and behind the tree’s trunk to survey the area more closely. It didn’t take long to dispel her worries: the glade lay still and pristine, by all appearances undisturbed.
She let her hand fall back to her side, posture relaxing somewhat as she took in the natural beauty of the place. Shafts of sunlight poked holes in the canopy high above to shine down upon wildflowers and tall grass in the places it could touch, and small yellow butterflies drifted from bloom to bloom. Somewhere not too distant she could hear a thrush’s call.
And at the center of the clearing---
The massive breadth of the Lifemend Stump lay at the glade’s heart. Though Aurelia herself believed in no gods, she had learned much of local custom and folklore over the past handful of years, dwelling among the people of the Black Shroud in more remote settlements. This place, one the Padjal called “branch of rebirth,” was sacred to the moogles. The smallfolk left items here to be mended, usually things with deep sentimental meaning. People rarely lingered, for it was considered extremely ill fortune to do so, though on occasion some souls tried to catch a glimpse of their benefactors.
There was a blade, a very crude one, stuck into the center of the stump. Aurelia’s brow knitted into a deep frown.
This is surely not one of the locals’ doing.
Her sense of caution renewed, she drew closer to have a better look. Whomever had done the work had done so with violence and purpose; a segment of the leaf-and-acorn resin mosaic so artfully impressed into the stump’s surface had cracked beneath the force of the blow and defaced it. Broken pieces lay in sad and cracked fragments around the point of ingress.
Who could possibly have done such a thing? Surely it would have been no one from the city. She could hardly imagine the Coeurlclaws or really anyone from the local Keeper communities defacing something that belonged to the moogles. The hunters and trappers among them quite often depended upon the creatures’ largesse themselves. And precious few of the bandit crews that called the forest home would dare venture this close to a Wailer outpost, for fear of--
“Oh, look! There’s someone else here ahead of us!”
Aurelia startled at the cheerful trill. She righted herself and turned in the direction it had come: not from the mouth of the cave, but from a small stand of nearby ash saplings. The voice’s owner was waving at her: a young Hyuran woman, perhaps a year or two Aurelia’s junior. Everything about the stranger’s attire lay open and loose, from her shirt and very short pants to bright crimson plated thigh-high boots. But the most remarkable thing about her was the strange contrivance which sat atop her head and over the half-mask she wore. It looked almost like a magitek device, Aurelia thought, something an army engineer would wear. Like safety goggles, only more ponderous.
Kuplo Kopp fluttered anxiously about the woman’s willowy frame, and the movement of his wings drew Aurelia’s attention to the Lalafellin man who trailed behind. He wore the robes of a mage and the same curious headgear as the woman. His lips were pursed with something akin to displeasure.
“Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we might resume- oh dear.” He drew towards the center of the clearing, brow as deeply furrowed as Aurelia’s own. “Is that-”
“A sword in the stump? Oh. That’s… bad. Really bad.” She turned her attention away from her companion to settle upon Aurelia- or, rather, it seemed that way from her body language, given all of her face that was visible under the heavy headgear was her lips. Her chin tilted from side to side in a way that felt oddly birdlike. “Um, you weren’t… responsible for this, were you?”
Aurelia opened her mouth to answer, but in the same instant found herself surrounded by glowing pom and cloudlike fluff.
“What? Oh, no no no, Miss Yda, not even close!" cried Kuplo Kopp, with a flurry of his wings and another spin about her head for good measure. "Miss Aurelia would never do such a thing, not at all, kupo! The stranger I saw wore dark robes, and anyway, she’s been sent by Brother E-Sumi-Yan!”
“Hm,” the mage grunted. He leaned forward to peer at something through his goggles; clearly, he had taken the moogle’s denial at face value. Aurelia was relieved to find herself no longer the subject of the pair’s scrutiny for the moment. Even the girl’s attention had turned back to her diminutive companion, who now busied himself with some sort of adjustment to his goggles while he muttered under his breath.
“...How are the readings, Papalymo?” The woman Kuplo Kopp had called Yda was fidgeting, rocking idly from heel to heel in a manner that indicated she was not accustomed to standing still for long periods of time. “Do you see any disturbances?”
Papalymo tapped a small button on the outer rim of his headgear. The bottom half flipped upwards on a hinge--- not goggles, then, Aurelia amended; some kind of visor. “Yes, in fact, I do. This one is exactly the same as the last. Newly manifested, mind, but quite visible. At this rate-”
An icy chill ran down her spine in the moment before the air in the glade seemed to turn thick and heavy. Through the screen of the canopy a cloud blotted out the sun and the wind began to stir itself into a gale with increasing speed- no mild summer breeze, this. It lashed at her clothing and skin as if it were throwing handfuls of invisible needles.
“Oh hells,” she muttered, unslinging the wand from her belt.
In the moment the other two moved to react in kind, the wind became a loud and throaty roar that drowned out the sound of falling water: one echoed by the lumbering movements of a large treant. The seedkin crashed into the clearing with an angry bellow. Its cry shook the surrounding leaves and rattled the broken pieces of resin upon the stump’s surface, and the grinding sound of the wind seemed now to rumble into their very bones.
Papalymo shrugged the carved bone staff from his back and offered Aurelia a briefly questioning glance. “Kuplo Kopp seems convinced of your innocence,” he said. “Thus I shall take him at his word and trust that weapon of yours isn’t ceremonial.”
“No more than is yours, I should think.”
“Excellent. Then you can watch our backs, if you would be so kind. Yda! Draw that blasted thing away from the Stump! No point in making matters worse.”
“On it!”
Yda took a running leap towards the rampaging creature without hesitation, her position marked with a bright flash of crimson and gold as her body twisted midair into a hefty kick that connected with a sound thwack against the treant’s trunk.
"Over here,” she called, dancing into stance after stance with each pace that lured it away from the center of the clearing- in time for a cluster of other, smaller seedkin to spill from the trees. They made a beeline for Papalymo, only to find themselves caught in the sudden magical pyre that surrounded him.
“Hurry up and take that thing down,” he shouted at his partner, drawing his staff back for another cast, “unless you want to be eaten!”
“All right, all right! I’m trying!”
Determined not to lag behind either of them, Aurelia called forth a condensed handful of wind-aspected aether to dance at her fingertips for a brief moment, before spinning the globe into its branches to rip at its leaves and splinter its branches. The treant yowled its rage to the skies, gnarled hand-like branches thrashing wildly. Yda wove through each attempted blow with the sinuous grace of a serpent as her brass-clad knuckles landed hit after hit.
Another burst of flame made short work of the smaller creatures, and as they fought she could see the treant’s swipes begin to slow: its wrath, for a small mercy, was now all but spent. Aurelia duly turned the earth against it as Papalymo did the same with fire, stones and flame smashing and scorching trunk and branch alongside Yda’s swift fists.
Between their combined efforts, the creature finally crashed to the ground with a heavy groan and lay still. The trio stared at each other, each in various states of singed, bruised and sweaty. Without a word Aurelia reached for Yda with an outstretched hand. Cool aether suffused her skin like water as her wounds - mostly superficial - closed in the next instant.
“Thanks,” the pugilist panted, wiping at her brow with one forearm. “Erm. ...Sorry about all this.”
“It’s nothing I’ve not seen before.” After assuring herself that none of them had suffered any grievous injury, Aurelia tucked the wand back into its leather loop on her belt. “Unfortunately, the forest has been rather sensitive.”
“Ugh! I know. It’s bloody hideous.” Yda braced her hands on her hips. “One little fluctuation in the aether and you get something like this. We’re lucky you came along when you did.”
“Likewise. What brings you and your friend to Gridania?”
“Hm? Oh, we’ve come here lots over the years!” Aurelia did not miss the brief glances exchanged between the two strangers before Yda replied, perhaps a little too brightly: “...That is, we’ve come from Ul’dah-”
“Yda,” Papalymo began, his voice sharp, but she barely glanced at him before plunging on ahead.
“-to conduct our annual aetheric survey in the Twelveswood!” The fists made a clanging sound as she hastily hooked them back onto her belt before thrusting out a hand in greeting. Bemused, Aurelia accepted her vigorous handshake. “I’m Yda Hext and this is Papalymo Totolymo. Nice to meet you!”
“Yes, yes, very good,” Papalymo huffed an impatient sigh, “Now that we’ve introductions out of the way and we are no longer in immediate danger of being devoured by the local flora, might I suggest we do what we came to do and go before we press our luck?”
“Right! Right. Sorry.”
As the pair argued, Aurelia had caught the flutter of something out of place from the corner of her eye-- a feather, split and ruined at the ends, bending listless and forlorn in the cooling breeze that whispered through the cavern and into the glade. She knelt to study the corpse which the feather crowned. It was an Ixali warrior, adorned in trappings much more elaborate than she had seen before.
There were footsteps crunching through the grass at her back. Aurelia stood, dusting her hands off on the front of her dalmatica at Yda's approach.
“Oh, you've found something!"
“Yes,” Aurelia said. "Our culprit, I don't doubt."
She caught the yellow of Papalymo's robes as he joined them, squinting at the corpse through his visor lenses. “So it would seem- and that is not just a scout, either. That is a chieftain." He let out a soft whistle from pursed lips before adding: "I don’t suppose you might be able to tell us what killed him?”
“Not at a glance, no.” She looked back down at the dead Ixal. “I suppose the wood might have retaliated against him, but to be certain of that I would have to take a closer look with the proper tools. Which I do not happen to have on hand at present.”
“Pity. ...Well, I don’t suppose that is as important as the obvious fact that their war bands have ventured far too close to Gridania for anyone's comfort," Papalymo said. "It’s quite possible they’re acting under orders. Of course, that begs the question as to whose…”
“A question which I am sure the Twin Adder will be most anxious to investigate themselves,” Aurelia interjected, keeping her answer polite but brisk. This encounter was growing stranger by the moment, and as curious as it all was she knew a report would be expected soon. “Would either of you mind terribly if I take that sword back to the Bannock with me? I'll tell the Grand Company they’ve got a body to collect.”
“Hm? No, by all means.”
The Ixal's ritual blade was embedded a good few ilms into the stump’s surface, but it was not a stout thing and one good yank was enough to dislodge it. Aurelia hefted it over her shoulder; it was a bit heavier than she had expected, but she had run enough minor errands in this part of the wood on the guild’s behalf over the last few years to have a rough idea of where things were. The Bannock wasn’t far and the extra weight wouldn't slow her enough to matter.
“Please take caution while traveling through the wood,” she said. “It isn’t always welcoming to outsiders.”
For the first time since they had met, Papalymo finally offered her a genuine smile. “No," he agreed, "it isn’t.”
Aurelia raised her free hand in a friendly wave and crossed the glade towards the cavern. Had she chanced to look over her shoulder, she would have seen that the pair lingered to stare after her long after she was out of sight.
#upon pale dawns#chrysalispen writes#aurelia laskaris#yda hext#papalymo totolymo#a realm reborn retelling
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July felt like an eternity! I made good use of the time, though, and finished a book with 600 pages! I haven't been reading big books so I'm glad I didn't dfn it. Overall, July was a mix of lightheaded reads and some dark ones.
Talking about all the books I read in July under the cut!
Hide and Seeker by Daka Hermon
Spooky! I liked the concept of the story, and the execution was pretty good. I can't get tired of kids saving the day and fighting the monsters and their fears. I was pleasantly surprised by all the turns the story takes and the end as well.
Read if you want: middle-grade horror, kids saving the day, a harmless play turned dark.
The Misadventures of an Amateur Naturalist by Ceinwen Langley (x)
I didn't like the first part of the book because of the pacing and lack of the magic and romance I was hoping for, but the second part is great! See my complete review of this book here.
Lady Killer Vol. 2 by Joëlle Jones and Laura Allred (x)
It's super fun! I loved the thriller and dangers that came with Josie's new situation and was shocked at the end! I'm even more curious to see where the story will head now.
Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas
I loved the gothic atmosphere of the story, the seclusion, the cult things, the mysterious deaths. The dark academia vibes are on point! Nevertheless, I didn't feel hooked up in the mystery, and I didn't particularly care for the main character.
The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian
Oh, this was lovely! I loved the romance, the characters, and their backgrounds, and all the action of it. I liked the plot twists and the ending was really sweet.
Read if you want: adult mlm romance, historical fiction, planned thefts.
The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo
It's been a long time since I read The Great Gatsby, so I vaguely recall what happened to compare with this book. Anyway, I liked that the protagonist is a Vietnamese girl and all her inner conflicts. The magic and its repercussions on the world were interesting, but I was not that interested in the story. Apart from Jordan, I thought the characters were annoying and didn't care for their conflicts. Also, the magic is sl fascinating but in was not a major focus.
Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis by Anne Rice (x) (x)
So, I think I disliked it less than Prince Lestat because many things happen in this book. But I'm baffled by the new additions to the vampire lore. The consequences to the vampire as individuals are interesting, at least. I'm glad Lestat and Louis had a moment, in the beginning, to talk things through and are on good terms again.
Sasaki and Miyano Vol. 2 and Vol. 3 by Shou Harusono
The romance is super fluffy and lighthearted, and I needed something between some heavy reading. Super excited to read the next volume!
Read if you want: fluffy bl manga, school romance.
Crota by Owl Goingback
Scary! I haven't read a lot of horror about monsters but this one was super cool. It deals with indigenous legends and the cave hunting part was suffocating and scary! Just not a big fan of a disabled child getting cured at the end of the book, the kid is not the main character but it kind of put me off in the end.
Read if you want: horror with monsters, police procedure, indigenous legends.
As I Descended by Robin Talley (x)
This was pretty dark! The arc of corruption and madness was pretty well-done, and the characters made me want to read more and more. I read it for Disability Pride Month as the main character is disabled. I was glad that her arc isn't only about her disability while also mentioning her difficulties and people's prejudice.
Read if you want: spooky YA, queer retellings, Shakespeare retellings.
The Devotion of Suspect X by Keigo Higashino, tr. Alexander O. Smith
I'm not a big fan of police procedure, but this story is full of twists and turns that made me so curious about what would happen next! It's more of a mind game between the police and the killer than a thriller full of action, but it was an enjoyable read.
Read if you want: psychological thriller, police procedure.
Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows By Balli Kaur Jaswal
Super fun and thought-provoking! It deals with stories bringing a community together, women finding a space to share stories, and also a mystery in the middle of everything. One of my favorites of the month!
Read if you want: fun stories, book club books, contemporary fiction.
Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie (x) (x)
I took my time to read this book as it's a literary work, and it's very experimental. I liked the narration and the flow of the story. There're so many fascinating things about the story, the magic, the culture, India's history, and many others things. However, it's a long book. I was a bit tired at the end, but still, a great read.
Read if you want: literary and experimental fiction, magical realism.
The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris
The pacing of this thriller was slow, but I was interested in the diversity drama in Nella's work, so I was not bothered at first. But most of the main events happen right at the end, and the known villain does a "villain explaining their plan" that was a bit cartoonish. Also, the villain was only a part in the big scheme, and we don't get answers about this big thing happening. Still, there're some thought-provoking topics in this book, and the more "fantasy" aspect of it was super spooky.
Read if you want: slow-paced thrillers, psychological thrillers.
Ariel by Sylvia Plath (x)
I want to read more poetry, so I chose this one from the library. I enjoyed some poems and the images the writer created, but most of them fell flat for me.
Rereads:
Reborn! Vol 1 by Akira Amano, Frances E. Wall (translator)
Livros disponíveis em Português:
Links para os meus reviews no skook!
Baú de Sonhos Impossíveis de Filipe Bedendo (x)
De Repente Adolescente de vários autores (x) (x)
A Botija do Fantasma de Pablo Praxedes (x)
And feel free to talk to me about the books of this list :)
Read in: Feb | Mar | Apr | May | June |
☆Book Photography ☆ Storygraph ☆ Scribd ☆
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FFXIVWrite ‘21 24
Never did the Garlond Ironworks’ remaining members remain in one place for long - safety and research both compelled the scholars to be ever on the move. Thus did they travel as light as they might dare. Yet one text, bound tough to ensure its survival unto perpetuity, was never far from the reach of those who wished to consult its contents:
The Illustrious Lineage of the Spellgrave Family
~An Incomplete Compilation of Historical Texts and Firsthand Accounts~
Accounts of the Spellgraves’ renowned aptitude for magic are quite numerous, but very few possess concrete information regarding the origin of such noteworthy natural potential. It is the author’s opinion that the theory outlined in these pages bears the most credibility when cross-referenced with information offered by individuals who were known to be companions of Eryna Spellgrave (known to many as the Warrior of Light) and her husband Caranar.
During the Fifth Astral Era, at the climax of the War of the Magi, fragments of each warring nation began to splinter into small factions that were opposed to the war effort. Among those factions were the earliest known members of the Spellgrave line. One White Mage of Amdapor, and one Black Mage of Yafaem. The lovers condemned the actions of their respective brethren, and along with an ally of Nym, set out to escape the maelstrom of blood and death that their homes had become.
However, though their bonds ran deep, their journey was short-lived, as the Sixth Umbral Calamity saw fit to wipe away their path. As the churning waters rose, the marine chose to give their life that the lovers may escape to safety. The two went on to have a hand in the establishment of the Crimson Duelists as well as the school of Red Magic, and set about remapping the broken realm, aiding survivors as they traveled. These accounts are made particularly compelling due to a set of treasured heirlooms passed down among the Spellgraves’ heirs - one Soul of the Black Mage, one Soul of the White Mage, and one Nymian codex of remarkably ancient pedigree - all currently in the possession and employ of one Cirina Spellgrave.
The accomplishments of the contemporary Spellgraves and their companions are well-known and well-loved in this era of deep shadow. Eryna Spellgrave was born to retired adventurers who had chosen to live the rest of their days peacefully on a humble farmstead in Vylbrand. She inherited her parents’ talent for magic, and though she mastered the schools of Black and White magic at a remarkably young age, it was not until she set out for Limsa Lominsa to train in Arcanima that she truly came into her own. In time, her repertoire would expand to the titles of Summoner, Scholar, and Red Mage as well. The sight of a champion who was not only immune to primal influence, but bent such dangers to her own will was a salve upon the newly reborn realm, one I am grateful to have witnessed firsthand.
Of course, her exploits in Central Eorzea were but the beginning of the story. Heavensward, the memoirs of Lord Edmont de Fortemps, remain the most faithful account of those events that put an end to the Dragonsong war. For a blessing, the Skysteel Manufactory was able to complete work on their printing press and distribute the work far and wide. It is the ingenuity of Stephanivien de Haillenarte that you have to thank for the surviving copy you may read from around your campfire. Eryna and Caranar scarce had time to marry before they once again thrust themselves into the cycle of conflict. With each retelling our champions’ role in the liberation of Doma and Ala Mhigo grows - but if the written records of my late colleagues are to be believed, the truth is even more grand than the legends. Indeed, ‘twas their storied bravery that led Eryna, Caranar, and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to fall while leading the offensive. But that tragedy is one we all feel keenly.
The story you are likely not acquainted with is that of the Spellgraves’ living, breathing heirs. Though the Warrior of Light is no longer with us, her children carry her legacy unto the next dawn. U’bifu Tia, more popularly known as Beef, was the first of Eryna and Caranar’s children. His role in the aforementioned tales will ring familiar to many, but many more will be shocked to learn that U’bifu narrowly escaped the effects of Black Rose with the aid of his familiar Gale. It was, in fact, his firsthand account that served to confirm his parents’ passing. U’bifu and the Spellgraves’ closest ally, L’kozu, were forced to retreat from Gyr Abania in a desperate bid to safeguard the lives of the Spellgraves’ infant twins, Cirina and Khojin. According to U’bifu, L’kozu’s passing was not caused by Black Rose, but from the exhaustion they suffered by staunching a number of their own grievous battle wounds via conjury. The monumental loss of the beloved philanthropist, the ‘Saint of the Firmament’, was a price they chose to pay in exchange for the lives of their comrades’ children.
With L’kozu’s death, U’bifu, Khojin, and Cirina were able to rendezvous with representatives of Garlond Ironworks, and between U’bifu and Cid Garlond himself, the twins were raised in secret. U’bifu came to study the tradition of his fallen home, Ul’dah, and follow the path of a Paladin. According to Cirina and Khojin, their elder sibling made the change in discipline because he ‘found something he could not bear to lose’. Indeed, the potency of both his blade and his healing magic earned him the title ‘The White Wind’, and were it not for his noble sacrifice, the twins would never have survived the raid on Garlond Ironworks’ main encampment during the fall of Ishgard.
But do not despair to learn of so many fallen heroes, dear reader. Though they remain unsung, the scions of this story yet travel the realm, and together they continue the tradition of selfless courage that defined their parents. Cirina, a peerless healer dedicated to easing your suffering; Khojin, a tireless knight bound by blood to shield the weak from the wicked. Though their road be endless, ever will they walk. For those they have lost, for those they can yet save.
On the inside cover of the tome’s timeworn binding, one finds the following dedication - brilliant crimson ink still shining brightly as the day it was penned:
Cirina, Khojin,
I gathered these texts for the sake of any who struggle to hope that this realm is yet blessed with heroes, and you serve as the core to that belief. I hope that should you ever find yourselves wanting, you too may seek comfort in the truths contained within these passages.
If you lose sight of your path, look to those who walked before. Doubt not that the thread which bound your parents to this wounded world’s hope has continued, unbroken, unto you.
May their love and my departure prove as much.
G’raha Tia
#FFxivWrite2021#Eryna Spellgrave#Caranar Bairon#L'kozu#Beef Broganoff#Cirina Spellgrave#Khojin Spellgrave
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Tale as Old as Time, Song as Old as Rhyme (Beauty and the Beast)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Whouffaldi
Length: 5,000 words
Rating: G
Also on Ao3
Summary:
Beauty and the Beast AU, or: a fairy tale retelling of the episode ‘Deep Breath.’
There is a prince, the villagers say, who is all things great and terrible. He has a voice that sounds like winter frost and a temper like a burning star. He is older than half the universe, has seen stars be born and civilizations fall, and thinks of a century passing as nothing more than a span of breath.
According to legend, the best part - or maybe, maybe it’s the worst part - is that when he reaches the end of one life, he can go on to the next. He can burn himself up with golden fire, the stories say, and be reborn with a different face, like a phoenix cheating death and rising from the flames, shaking off the ashes of its old self.
He’s a monster, some villagers say. A beast. A madman.
A fairy tale.
#
Clara Oswald (twenty-six and a governess, with far too many books and far too little patience for provincial life) likes to think she’s practical, and practical people don’t believe in silly things like celestial princes who can transform their face. They simply do not waste their time with bedtime stories meant for children.
Which is why Clara won’t admit to anyone that she believes in them, believes they’re as real as the lake that winds through her small, sleepy town or as real as the four walls of her tiny room at the Maitland’s.
If she tells anyone, they’ll tell her that all her reading has ruined her mind, that fantasy and reality don’t bleed together like watercolor paint on a canvas, but Clara knows better.
She knows better, you see, because she’s actually met the prince.
He is the stuff of legend, with stardust in his eyes and eternity in his soul, a high born Gallifreyan, the eleventh prince of the realm, and she is a girl from a small village, who works both as a barmaid and governess and waits and hopes and dreams for the day she can leave and see a world beyond her village. Their paths should never have crossed, and yet they keep meeting, again and again and again, like the universe has decided that their fate’s intertwined. And Clara doesn’t mind, doesn’t mind a bit, because he has a soft voice and a kind smile and gentle hands that somehow always find their way to hers.
She doesn’t truly know him she supposes, their chance meetings are always touch and go, like a brief ripple in a lake, and yet she’s already (hopelessly, desperately, breathlessly) half in love with him, and whenever she looks into his eyes, she swears he’s half in love with her too.
So, no, Clara doesn’t know everything about him, but she knows what sort of a man he is (a good sort, the kind you’d die for, but the kind who’d rather die than ever let you). Which is why she can’t quite believe it when the news reaches her that the ’beast’ in the blue castle up on the hill (how dare they, she thinks when she hears it, how dare they call her prince a beast) has captured her employer, Master Maitland, and is holding him prisoner just to be cruel.
Clara knows that there must be a mistake, that the prince - her prince - would never do a thing like that. So she lays down her book, pulls on her boots, and tells the two frightened Maitland children in her charge that she’s going up to the castle to bring their father back.
#
(She’s never been to the prince’s castle before, but despite this fact, finding her way up to it is not hard. Neither is finding its dungeon.
What’s hard is what happens next.)
Clara‘s fingers are wrapped around the bars of the castle’s prison cell, and she‘s staring at Master Maitland sitting inside. He looks dazed and half-mad, and he’s ranting and raving about incredible things, about a golden glow and a red rose, about how the castle’s bigger on the inside and how there’s a beast there who haunts it and Clara can’t follow it all.
“You stole a rose?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing, mind ticking away like a clock, trying to make sense of this tangled mess of a story he’s telling.
“Not just any rose,” a new, monstrous voice says from somewhere behind Clara, and she recoils against the grey stone wall, cold seeping in through her shawl. The voice that‘s speaking comes from the shadows, curling out from the darkness like mist, and she can’t see the speaker. “It was the last rose of Gallifrey.”
The words register, and the situation hits Clara like a wave upon the shore.
“No,” she whispers, “no, Master Maitland, tell me you didn’t.”
“I didn’t know,” her boss sobs, bending his head and dragging it down the bars, “I didn’t know.”
Most people didn’t, Clara supposes. The story sounds like a fairy tale, all fantastic and fanciful: that the last rose of Gallifrey and the prince are connected, that each red velvet petal on it was a life to be lived, and to cause a petal to fall would be to cause the prince to die, to burn himself up and emerge anew.
Regeneration, it’s called. A fancy name, a pretty thing.
It still means death.
“Tell me a petal didn’t fall,” Clara begs the darkness, but even as she says it, she knows that it’s hopeless, that it’s already happened. And yet she can’t help but plead anyway, “Please, please tell me he didn’t change.”
There’s silence from the shadows, and then that voice again, all stoic and sharp like pointed arrows and jagged glass and it cuts her to the core as the voice says, “I did change.”
Stars. He’s...the voice is...
The voice belongs to him. She’s been talking to him without even knowing it.
And why didn’t he correct her until this moment? Why did her prince not greet her?
Clara says nothing for a minute. It feels as if the air’s getting thin and the walls are closing in, like the ground is crumbling beneath her feet and she cannot find a safe place to land. Clara tries to trace the silhouette in the shadows, tries to piece together a picture of this new man, but she cannot.
“Step into the light,” she says.
Her words hang in the air, half a command, half a dare, and then a man she doesn’t recognize emerges from the darkness.
He has grey hair and anger-filled eyes, and his face is all sharp angles and hard lines. It’s not his change in appearance that makes her heart twist all raw and painful, it’s his demeanor. He stands there, squinting at her, arms stiff at his sides, and the prince, the prince Clara knows, (her prince, she thinks rather possessively), would run to her, kiss her forehead, take her hand. Her prince had sparkled with energy, like a shooting star, all bright and glittering and always in motion.
But even shooting stars fade to nothing eventually.
“Strax?” the man asks, glaring down at her, like she’s some sort of puzzle he can’t figure out.
“Clara,” she chokes out. She can’t believe he’s getting her mixed up with one of his odd servants, let alone the one that resembles a rather angry, enchanted potato. “It’s Clara.”
He shrugs. “It might be, you two are very similar heights, so I’m not sure.”
“It is Clara,” she snaps, and her voice comes out angrier than she intends it too, all loud and hard, but she can’t help it, can’t help it that she’s trying to grasp the fact that the man she loves is dead, and yet he still stands in front of her. Insulting her, of all things.
“Well, Clara,” he says, saying her name in a beastly growl, as if it might not really be her name at all, ”the pudding brain in the cell over there stole the last rose of Gallifrey, killing one of my lives. According to the ancient law of my kingdom, the murderer must die too; a life for a life.”
Clara shakes her head in disbelief, in outrage, “That’s stupid.”
“I agree,” he replies, and Clara feels a glimmer of hope that maybe, maybe, maybe her prince is still in there somewhere, buried beneath the grey hair and gravely voice and rude insults. “However, I cannot completely circumvent ancient law without consequences. I can save him from death, but a life still has to be exchanged for a life. He has to remain here as a prisoner.”
Clara glances at Master Maitland, alone in his cell, sentenced to be there forever, and she thinks.
She thinks of her book, 101 Places to See, stuck snug in her shelf, pages unopened and list uncrossed. She thinks of her grand plans and the maps she’s poured over, of adventure in the great wide somewhere and how she wants more, more, more. More of the world and more of the wonders that exist beyond the pages of her books and so much more than this provincial life.
But then she thinks of the two children back home, who only have one living parent left, who have already known far too great a loss at far too young an age. It’s a feeling Clara knows all too well, and there’s still grief from her own loss etched into her memories and onto her skin. She won’t let anyone on this Earth go through what she went through, she decides, not if she can help it.
Which is why she says, “Take me instead.”
#
Clara expects to stay in the prison cell, but Strax (Odd and brown and round and surely enchanted and how, how, how did that beast ever mix her up with him?) leads her down the halls of the blue castle that somehow really does seem bigger on the inside. Whenever Clara thinks that surely, surely they are on the lowest floor, or that they have reached a wall, there is still another spiral staircase downward, or yet another corridor, and the passageways shift and change and shimmer with starlight.
She should be scared, she thinks, she should be absolutely terrified. Clara has always fancied herself as a practical person, and practical people should be frightened of things like glowing walls that rearrange themselves.
But she is not. For once, she thinks, this is something new. This is something brilliant and spectacular and something so, so much more than her sleepy little village with its sleepy little people.
Clara almost forgets that she is being led somewhere and not just exploring (and really, that’s what she’d like to do, push the boundaries of this strange castle just for the fun of seeing how far she can push), when Strax stops abruptly at a door.
“I suggested we disintegrate you in acid,” Strax tells her, plainly and rather pleasantly. “But the Master insists that you are his guest, and that I put you here, in the Belle Room.”
Strax opens the door and a gasp of oh my stars leaves Clara’s lips, because she can see why it’s called the Belle Room. It has marble columns and etched carvings and gold leaf, and stained glass that sends mosaics the colors of rubies and sapphires across the floor.
“He also demands I tell you that you are free to go wherever you like in the castle,” Strax says, and he looks utterly disgusted, like the very idea of letting her wander about instead of locking her up is repulsive. “Even the West Wing, if you can find it. But the castle itself is very peculiar about that wing, probably won’t let you near it anyhow.”
And, yes, Clara could be scared, but all she can think of is how this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her in all her life, that here, there are enchanted corridors that lead to who knows where and the promise of something exciting, something dazzling, and back home...back home there are only orders and lessons and laundry and the same few books she’s read over and over again.
101 Places to See, she thinks. She’ll come for them all, one day, she can swear to that, but for now...this is a promising substitute.
#
His eyes are as blue as a clear winter sky, but his voice is as cold as one. If he’s snapping or snarking at her it’s fine, because Clara has always been able to give as good as she gets. Their fast chatter, their back and forth banter, is a dance she’s familiar with, one that reminds her of her old prince. But him ignoring her, or treating her as if he’s indifferent to her, hurts in a way she can’t quite explain. They used to talk endlessly when they met, packing in a month’s worth of conversation in minutes as she talked about all the places she wanted to go and he told her about all the places he’d been.
But now the only time he bothers to talk to her is when he asks her to dinner.
(“No,” she snaps at his invitation - if you can call a single word said in a flippant manner an invitation. And No is what she always says, because really, how dare he disappear on her all day, every day, and then arrive at her door without so much as a ’Hello’ or ‘Sorry I got you mixed up with an enchanted potato man,’ and pretend he’s a civil person who can eat a civil dinner?
“Impossible girl,” he snaps back at her, which is what he always does.
At any rate, she thinks it’s better that he calls her that instead of calling her Strax.)
#
Clara seeks him out one day. She doesn’t even realize she is, but when she lays eyes on his form - with his coat as black as night with its flashes of red as bright as rose petals - Clara cannot deny that it was him she was looking for.
He’s in the West Wing, which she swears the castle rearranged on her because it’s most definitely not in the West, and she’s not even sure if the small circular room could even be considered a wing.
And it took her nearly three weeks of wandering to find it. (The castle, she thinks, much to her annoyance, doesn’t like her. She wonders if it’s owner feels the same.)
And speaking of it’s owner: his back is to her, and he’s writing on a chalkboard, his long, clever fingers drawing intricate spheres across the black, and the words look like bright white stars bursting forth out of the darkness.
(He writes in a long-dead language, one Clara can’t read, but she thinks...she thinks he’s writing something that’s half poetry, half arithmetic.)
“We used to meet,” she starts off saying, and then she laughs, backtracks, realizes what an understatement that is for whatever really happened between them. “I mean, we’d meet again and again and again, by a pond, behind a pub, in the snow, anywhere. Everywhere. And always on a Wednesday. Why?”
He shrugs. “Wednesdays are nice.”
“Yeah, but he sought me out. Why?”
“I,” he corrects her, and beneath his calm demeanor, there’s something like a beastly growl to his words. “I sought you out, Clara. I’m still the same man underneath.”
”Sorry,” she says, and she is sorry, she doesn’t want to hurt him. “I know you’re the same.”
It’s a lie. They both know it. But for now, he lets it slide.
“I was going to ask you to travel with me,” he admits quietly, back still to her.
The idea of him ever offering that to her makes Clara’s heart beat fast, fluttering out a melody against her ribcage. ”Why?”
“I travel frequently, and always with a companion.”
“No,” Clara shuts her eyes, lets out a breath. “No, that’s not what I meant, why would -“ the word he is on the tip of her tongue, but she catches it, changes it, “why would you ask me?”
He laughs, “Clara Oswald: Too big of a mind for so small of a town. A governess and a barmaid, with so much practicalness in her actions and yet all those dreams in her mind, so many contradictions all wrapped up in one person. How could I resist?”
Show me the stars, her mind begs him silently, offer to take me away and give me adventure in the great wide somewhere. I’d say yes.
“It's a pity you never offered,” she says. She’s testing him, baiting him, and somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks she should feel self-conscious and ashamed, but she doesn’t, because never has she ever wanted anything so badly.
“Yes,” he says, a bit stiffly, “it’s a pity.”
He says nothing more, silence stretching out between them, and though they stand a few feet apart, though Clara is close enough to reach out and take his hand, the divide between them seems to be as wide and fierce as a black hole that can suck down burning stars and swallow entire planets.
Clara steps away, face falling, silently nodding. He says he’s the same man, says he was going to offer to travel with her, but he doesn't offer now. He must not feel the same way about her, she realizes, not anymore.
(She never stops to think that maybe he doesn’t offer because he’s afraid she’ll say no.)
#
And this is how they are: three steps forward and two steps back. But they keep being drawn to each other, like there is something tying the two of them together.
It’s as if the universe is saying, these two, it will always be these two. Stars may fall and planets may burn, times will change and people will too, but it will always, always, always be them together: Clara Oswald and the last prince of Gallifrey.
Even if they don’t know it yet.
#
“You’re free to go, you know,” he says out of the blue one day, all sudden and Scottish and abrupt, and Clara can’t help but think he’s trying to kick her out. He still hasn’t extended that offer to travel with him, much to her disappointment, and now he’s saying that she can leave. She wonders if he’s gotten tired of having a short, stubborn girl meander about his castle walls (insulting them more often than not) in search of something dazzling.
“You’re no longer my prisoner. You never really ever were,” he admits.
“Never really thought I was,” Clara replies. “Most prison cells don’t look like my room here.”
There’s more to say. That she knew that he may be cold, but never cruel, that she had guessed his blustering and flippancy hid someone who cared. That she’s not scared of him, she’s just...well, she doesn’t think she really knows who he is anymore. Or what he thinks of her.
But she says none of that. Instead, she settles for lifting her chin and saying, “Besides, I could have escaped any time I wanted.”
He arches an eyebrow at her.
“I’m very clever you know,” Clara continues, unfazed.
Seconds pass as he stares at her, and then there’s a smirk on the corner of his lips. “Oh, Clara Oswald, I know you are.”
And for the first time since she’s arrived, for the first time since he’s changed, they share a smile.
And Clara swears there might be something there that wasn’t there before.
#
It is a warm summer night with a sky full of stars right outside the windows. There is music playing in the background and this magic, mad, impossible man is rambling on about Beethoven and something called a bootstrap paradox, and so he doesn’t even notice that Clara’s dragging him to the center of the ballroom until they're in the middle of the dance floor.
He pauses in the middle of his spiel, his hypothesis about time streams and melodies stopping mid-sentence as he blinks owlishly at his surroundings and then down at Clara.
“I don’t think I’m a dancing man,” he says, very decidedly.
“I don’t think you get a vote,” she says, pulling him closer.
It is not a waltz, and maybe it’s not even a dance. Because, no, he is not a dancing man, but he does temper his ramblings so they keep in the four-fourths time of the waltz, and he does sway a little from side to side, because Clara insists he try, and he can’t say no. He can’t ever say no to her.
(He almost asks her to travel with him then, she thinks, but he doesn’t. She won’t know why until later.)
#
Because he finally asks her civilly, Clara finally says yes to dinner.
It’s a mistake.
There are automatons, automatons made of clockwork and bone, of cogs and flesh, who hiss out “be our guest,” and trap her and him in their restaurant of death.
But that’s not the worst part.
No, the worst part is when he manages to wrench himself free from his chains while she’s still bound, and with one foot out the door, he turns and tells her, “Sorry, they’re coming. No point in us both getting caught.”
And then he disappears, and she is alone, and all she can think of is:
Her prince wouldn’t have left her.
#
The automaton is made of copper and stolen skin and is staring down at Clara through eyes that don’t belong to it.
There are other automatons all around her, with their stolen, sawed-off parts, encircling her like a pack of wolves closing in on their prey and part of her mind is screaming, wondering if they’ll rip out her throat like wolves would too.
She tries to ignore that screaming, terrified part of her mind.
“Where is he,” the automaton ticks out, in a voice that’s both dead and alive. “Where is the prince?”
“I don’t know,” Clara gasps out, “I don’t know.”
“But you know him.”
Does she? she wonders, and the question echoes around in the cavern of her mind over and over again. Clara knows he is wonderful and terrible, both warrior and peacemaker, monster and sanctuary. She knows that, once upon a time, he cared about her very much. She thinks that maybe, just maybe, he still might even if he doesn’t show it.
(Clara can’t be sure though, every day she waits for him to extend the invitation to travel with him, and every day he doesn’t, and so every day she dies inside. He can’t truly be her prince, not if he never asks like he once said he wanted to, not if he doesn’t care to travel with her any longer.)
“I don’t know if I still know the prince,” she says, “but if I do, then I know where he will be, where he will always be.”
Clara holds out her hand in the air, palm up, as if she can summon him to her side, as if, out of anywhere in the world he could be, out of every choice he has, he will always choose to be next to her.
And maybe he will, she thinks, (oh, he always will, oh, if only she knew,) because the next thing she knows, she’s no longer alone. He’s there, by her side, taking her hand, and pulling her with him to safety.
#
The automatons of death are defeated, and now Clara is back in the castle with its shifting, magic walls, and this impossible man is leading her down one, to a set of doors she’s never seen before.
“Got a present for you,” he tells her, in that gruff growl of his, only this time, it sounds warmer, happier, less beastly. “To make up for the ruined dinner.”
Clara breathes out a laugh, raises an eyebrow, “And for the almost dying?”
He sniffs imperiously, bats his hand dismissively, as if death couldn’t compete with the undignified atrocity of ruined dinner plans. “That too, I suppose.”
He opens the double doors in front of him, and the sight inside nearly leaves Clara breathless. She is staring at a library that looks as if it goes on forever, with books as far as the eye can see. The shelves full of leather bound volumes start at the floor and go on til the ceiling, and Clara steps inside, mind spinning, breath catching, nearly crying because she’s seeing more books in one room in this one moment than she ever has in her entire lifetime.
”How did you know?” She asks, ripping her eyes away from the beauty of the books and back to him. She can’t recall ever talking to him about books since she’s come here, doesn’t think he’s ever caught her reading. “You chose this for me, but how on Earth did you know? That out of every room you could have shown me, that this is the one I’d like?”
He stares at her, and the expression on his face is lonely and lovely and longing and sad, like he’s looking at something he can’t have. “You told me already, explained how you loved books because they were like being able to hold a slice of the universe in your hands. You told me that, the day in the snow, remember?”
Clara blinks, and ever so slowly, the memory comes back to her: Him, with the brown hair and long limbs and different face, listening to her talk about both the books she’d already read and the ones she still wanted to read as the gently falling snow glittered in the streetlights and dusted the pavement.
“That was me you told all those things to,” he says now, and he laughs, and it sounds wistful and bitter and broken. “You can’t see me, can you? You look at me, but you can’t see me. I’m not in the past, Clara, I’m not dead, I’m here, standing in front of you. See me. Please just see me.”
She steps forward, studying at his face, searching for her answer, and it’s like whatever spell between them that has kept her from seeing him finally breaks, because suddenly she sees him, really sees him.
His hair is grey, his skin is lined, and he scowls more often than not. But his eyes are still the same. Not in color and not in shape, but, oh, how had she not seen it there before? He still looks at her like how he always looked at her: like she is the stars and the moon, the sky and the sea. Like she is everything in his world. He reaches for her less, sounds rougher and sometimes ruder than he ever has, but he still loves her, she realizes.
I loved you in my last life, his eyes tell her, I love you in this one, and whoever I am in my next life, I’ll love you in that one too.
Clara reaches out for him, all but collapses against him as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug, and it feels like coming home. This is her prince. He’s always been her prince.
His arms stiffen - he’s not a hugger, this new man - but she hears an almost inaudible exhale, like he had been holding his breath waiting for her verdict, and it sounds like a soft sigh of tired relief, as if he’s relieved to find sanctuary in a place he thought there might be none.
It’s him, her mind chants in time to the rhythm of his two heartbeats, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him. He hadn't changed completely, not in any way that truly counted.
And since it’s him...
“You once told me that there was an invitation you were going to offer me,” Clara whispers, face still pressed against the soft velvet of his coat. “Why didn’t you ever actually ask me?”
“I thought you’d say no.”
“I would never say no to you.”
(And she won’t, not to him.)
“Well then, Clara Oswald,” he says, and she pulls back to peer up at him and ah ha, there it is: the smile she’d recognize anywhere, the magic one that’s made of madness and mayhem and glows like every star in the galaxy all at once. “How about adventure in the great wide somewhere?”
She grins back at him.
“Show me the stars,” she says.
(And he does.)
#
There is a prince, the villagers say, who is all things great and terrible. There is girl who is the same, and they rule together. The first time you see them, people say, you think the two of them couldn’t be more different, like they are light and darkness, fire and rain. But the second time you see them, you realize that they couldn’t be more alike, that they are both brilliant and mad and filled with stardust and wanderlust, and that they shine together like they’re two halves of the same star.
Beauty and the beast, some call them. Mad travelers.
A fairy tale.
The tales always change, the gossip shifting as it passes from villager to villager, but when it comes down to it, the facts are these:
In whatever form, in whatever way, in whatever end of history they’re on, and whatever alternate universe they’re in, they will find each other, her and him. It will always, always, always be them: Clara Oswald and the last prince of Gallifrey.
Some people are just meant to be in each other’s lives.
#whouffaldi#whouffle#doctor who#twelfth doctor#clara oswald#twelveclara#twelve x clara#clara x twelve#the doctor x clara#clara x the doctor#twelve#twelfth doctor x clara#clara x twelfth doctor#whouffaldi fic#whouffaldi fanfic#whouffaldi fanfiction#beauty and the beast#doctor who fic#doctor who fanfic#my fic
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Preview For an Upcoming Project: Star Wars/Legend of Korra Crossover
As some of you may know, I was not exactly pleased with the Star Wars sequel trilogy, so I’m coming up with my own take on what I would do with the sequel trilogy, with the help of my friend, @dildoteamtaskforce, combining it with elements from both the post-Disney buyout and the old Expanded Universe to create a sort of “Aligned Continuity”, similar to the Transformers (I call it the “United Continuity AU”).
However, I’ve also recently had a few ideas for a story which crosses over this little “Fan Continuity” of mine with another property I have mixed feelings towards. Specifically Avatar: The Legend of Korra. This crossover is going to be a retelling of the story of LoK, while also taking place in a new era 500 years after my take on the sequel trilogy. It’ll also take elements from the infamous animated Star Wars ripoff, Starchaser: The Legend of Orin, because I feel some of those characters and locations could work well with Star Wars, if tweaked a bit (for example, the main villain of this story is a reworked version of Zygon/Nexus from that movie, but his backstory has been drastically changed).
And, like my own take on the sequels, there’s gonna be a few OCs thrown in as well, but as always, I’ll give equal importance to both them and the actual characters.
I bring this all up because while I’ve still a long ways to go in completing both the Rewrites and the Crossover, I would still like to share with you all the “opening crawl” for the crossover, just to let you all know what to expect.
I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it piques your interest in what I have planned:
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.... as well as another galaxy, closer than one may think....
Earth... Fire... Air... Water... Light... Darkness... Balance....
It has been five centuries since the last vestiges of the tyrannical Galactic Empire were swept away, and with it the destruction of the long line of the Dark Lords of the Sith. In the time which has passed, the New Republic and the reformed Galactic Confederation, along with the many other governing bodies of the galaxy, have formed the GALACTIC ALLIANCE, ushering in a new era of unity and peace to the galaxy.
Alongside the creation of this new Alliance, the fully reborn JEDI ORDER continues to protect the weak and defenseless throughout the galaxy, spreading and sharing their knowledge and wisdom of the Force as their numbers continue to grow, even having species from the previously unexplored reaches of Unknown Regions join their ranks. As they maintain the hard-won peace their throughout the galaxy, the Jedi also uphold the task of maintaining the delicate balance of the Force itself, even as other forces of the Dark Side desperately try to tip the scale in their favor.
Meanwhile, on a planet light-years away from the Galaxy of the Alliance and the Jedi, another war had come to an end, also bringing in age of peace and prosperity. Upon this isolated world, its inhabitants have the power to control the very elements themselves, through the art of an ability known as “Bending”. Among this group of Benders, there is always only one person who could master all four elements of Water, Earth, Fire, and Air; the AVATAR, the one who maintains peace and balance on their world, and serves as the bridge between the physical realm and the spirit realm, who is reincarnated with the passing of each previous Avatar.
It has been around 70 years since a devastating century-long war, which saw the near genocide of the Air Nomads, was finally brought to an end by AVATAR AANG, the last of the Airbenders. With the help of his friends, Katara and her brother Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, Toph Beifong of the Earth Kingdom, Suki of the Kyoshi Warriors, and Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, they defeated the wicked Fire Lord Ozai, and thwarted his plans to conquer their world.
After the war, Avatar Aang and the newly-crowned Fire Lord Zuko began work on transforming the colonies created by the Fire Nation into a just society, where Benders and Nonbenders alike could live in peace and harmony with one another; the UNITED REPUBLIC OF NATIONS, naming the capital of this great, new land Republic City.
Avatar Aang had accomplished many remarkable deeds in his life, but sadly, his time in the the world of the living would come to an end, and like the cycle of the seasons, the cycle of the Avatar would begin anew with his successor, a young woman of the Southern Water Tribe named KORRA. Already skilled in the physical arts of Waterbending, Earthbending, and Firebending, Avatar Korra has left the comfort of her home in the South Pole, and has journeyed to Republic City to train with Tenzin, son of Avatar Aang, to master both Airbending and how to tap into her own spiritual energy.
The world of the Avatar and the galaxy of the Jedi, so different in many ways, and yet alike in just as many, both exist blissfully unaware of the other’s existence, both going on their own separate paths... however all of that shall soon change, as unbeknownst to both parties, a sinister presence has been slowly gathering power, and this emerging evil could very well prove itself to be a danger not just to the Jedi, the Galactic Alliance, and the world of the Avatar, but also a threat to the very fabric of the Force itself....
And that’s pretty much the set up with the opening crawl/prologue, and though I borrowed some of it from LoK’s prologue, I also put in more detail of what events have already happened, to give you an idea of where the story of LoK currently is.
Again, I hope this makes you more interested in the upcoming projects me and my friends are working on.
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“38. A hall I saw, | far from the sun,
On Nastrond it stands, | and the doors face north,
Venom drops | through the smoke-vent down,
For around the walls | do serpents wind.
39. I saw there wading | through rivers wild
Treacherous men | and murderers too,
And workers of ill | with the wives of men;
There Nidhogg sucked | the blood of the slain,
And the wolf tore men; | would you know yet more?”
Voluspa, stanzas 38 and 39, Poetic Edda.
The Voluspa is the first poem in the Poetic Edda compiled in the Codex Regius in the 13th century. This Icelandic codex contains a collection of poems in Old Norse which some scholars argue are retelling stories from the 10th century or even earlier times. Written in the 13th century, discovered in 1643 and translated several times over the years, one should approach it with an open but critical mind. Among the several Christian motifs we can find in not just the Poetic Edda but in other sources of Norse mythology too, the quoted stanzas above seem to be the most problematic to the point of being directly discarded at times under the idea that it's a fully Christian addition to the poem. My argument is that past the Christian gloss, between its lines, and with support from archaeological evidence (and even biology), we can get an idea of what Christianism concealed and distorted from pre-Christian Norse belief.
The very first lines describe the hall and its situation, far from the sun, underground; facing north, to the unknown; and snakes crawling around, surrounded by primal energies of chaos. Nastrond (Corpse strand) is the shore in Hel's realm where the corpses arrive and are eaten and tortured by wolves and snakes, Nidhogg, a big scary dragon, sucking their blood... this is the place and punishment for oath-breakers and murderers. This is the equivalent to Christian hell. However, if we look beyond the Christian filter, something different starts to appear. The hall becomes a burial mound, the snakes become worms eating the rotten flesh, transforming the corpse and freeing the soul. The wolves become scavengers that may sneak into the burial chamber but also guardians of Hel's gates and guides for the dead in their journey, helping them to detach from their physical life and moving to the Afterlife. The venom and smokes become the juices and gases resulting from the decomposition process. Further to this, the Norse associated death with the colour blue, especially darker tones. Corpses turn bluish during decomposition just before they swell with gas and explode.
Many scholars have tried to figure out what was the Norse Afterlife like and there's no definitive conclusion. To further complicate the matter the ancient Germanic tribes seemed to have a very different conception of the soul/self from what we usually find in mainstream religions. Rather than identifying body and soul, they would believe in several parts making up the self. That could explain why in Norse sources a deceased could become an elf and/or move to an Afterlife in the hall of some deity. Different parts of the self had different functions and they would separate after death. I believe it's this process of final separation of the different soul/self parts and their transformation(s) that these stanzas and archaeological evidence can help us to unravel.
People buried in burial mounds, when not previously cremated, were placed in a fetal position. This is suggestive of a belief in the deceased going back to the Mother, back to the source, after death. Burial mounds were also shaped to resemble a pregnant belly protruding from the earth's surface, and serpent decorative motifs and even real snakes and their eggs have been found inside them. If we take into account serpents are symbols of feminine sexuality, of the life force of the Earth, death, and transformation (regenerative chaos), and some very suggestive stones, such as the Smiss stone in Sweden, also called the “snake witch” stone, depicting a woman holding two snakes and sitting with her legs apart. Or the rune stones which were memorials to the dead dated from early Christian Scandinavia but also depicting snake motifs. If we take all this into account, we don't only find a positive symbolism for the snake connected to the dead, but we can also move beyond the decomposition of the corpse, to the next stage, being reborn in the Afterlife, being transformed. The dead were buried inside the Mother's womb and they found themselves swimming in an aquatic, amniotic, environment, back to the primal (re)generative waters of Hvergelmir. Nidhogg chewing Yggdrasil's roots is a very evocative image of the umbilical cordon being connected to the placenta. At the same time, we can see Yggdrasil, the world tree, in the placenta and the umbilical cordon too.
We know the goddess Hel was the personification of death, she ruled the Norse underworld and had power over all the nine worlds. She's described as being half alive, rosy and healthy, and half blue, dark, dead and putrefact. We can see both faces of life/death reflected in Hel and we should notice she's the sister of Jormungandr, the giant snake that encircles Midgard, the Earth, and the giant wolf Fenrir. Some scholars argue Jormungandr is the same as Nidhogg, and Fenrir the same as Garmr, the wolf that guards Hel's gates. It's quite evident Scandinavians had a Great Mother Goddess of life and death* before the Viking Age, before the rise of the warrior culture and, perhaps, even through it. The demeaning of such a goddess most likely happened before the conversion of Scandinavia to Christianism. The new religion, probably, just finished the demonization of the feminine as a whole. In this way the welcoming earthly womb became a Christian hell full of monsters and suffering.
To sum up, despite the Christian influence and bias at the time of the collection of the old Norse myths, stanzas 38 and 39 from the Voluspa contain valuable imagery and information with regards of the ancient Norse conception and understanding of death. This understanding was one of finding life within death, and death within life. Closely related and never fully separated, opposite twins in a sense. Life and death were seen as manifestations of chaos. Nidhogg and Hvergelmir are forces of chaos and as such their powers are not solely destructive but creative and regenerative too. The fact the very same symbols and images of putrefaction outlined in the stanzas are also symbols and images of gestation and birth just proves this dichotomy. I believe it's safe to say death was seen as a transformational process of the self. The body would rot and nourish the soil in an inverted gestation freeing the soul/self parts that had attached to the body during the first gestation and at the moment of birth, these parts then would be transformed, even birthed again, according to their functions or nature.
*As an example, the Smiss stone, dated from ca. 600 AD, depicts the Great Goddess, primal mother with power over the three worlds represented by the animals above her, the fertility boar from the middle world (Earth), the wolf from the underworld and the eagle from the sky. The snakes on her hands are a symbol of her power over the life force of the Earth and all living beings.
**Image by Phoenix Folk Artist (Pinterest).
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I had Thoughts earlier. I’m sharing them beneath the Read More cut.
The legends of Eorzea state that Silvertear Lake was created by the gods as the source of all magic on Hydaelyn; Mor Dhona’s name comes from draconic language, roughly translating into a defiance of death. Fitting, not only for it to be the center of Emperor Xande’s obsessions, but also the resting place of the immortal Midgardsormr--the Keeper of the Lake, charged by Hydaelyn to guard the seals and await Her Champion.
A grain of truth, to the legends of magic’s source in the aether-rich land and the name of the region.
That’s the way many old stories, legends, myths work; a grain of truth, distorted by time and retelling. Some things added, some taken away. But the core of the plot remains.
We saw a vision of the darkened Crystal at the end of A Realm Reborn, when Bahamut’s roar shakes the realm and the Ascians continue their schemes, praising Zodiark.
But while Hydaelyn no longer speaks directly to the Warrior of Light, our glimpses of Her in Heavensward’s patches show the same brilliant Crystal, still a beacon of Light in the aetherial sea.
So was the darkened Crystal Her counterpart? Was Zodiark Himself trying to contact us? Will we speak to Him in Shadowbringers, the way we once did with Her?
I had More Thoughts.
The Oronir legend of Au Ra creation, and the war-turned-romance of Azim and Nhaama parallels the story of Hydaelyn and Zodiark. Once together, now forever apart, their interactions only occurring through their children, the avatars and champions they choose to carry out their will.
Maybe there’s a grain of truth to the legend.
Now the Warrior of Light is expected to champion Darkness, to stop the fall of a world so out of balance that the Light is wiping away all existence. We are told Zodiark “longeth to be made whole.” What if it’s not so much a power grab, but the need for balance, the need to be with His other half? What if the Ascians are warping their god’s message and desires in their own lust for power and control? It wouldn’t be the first time, knowing how the Warriors of Light on the 13th were corrupted to the point of becoming monsters, letting that world fall to Void.
I also don’t trust the EN translations of the WoL going all villain, as that’s not the terminology used in the other languages, and it wouldn’t be the first time the EN team has tried to add Edginess to the story--making characters like Midgardsormr and Estinien less friendly, and Fray in the DRK chains far more violent-angry. It will be interesting to see how far they pull the story from what’s told in the original, or if there are tighter controls on that since the fallout of Haurchefant and Fray’s personality changes (not to mention the mess with Nael van Darnus and the assumption of her gender, leading to the whole retcon/Eula story).
Anyway, I was thinking about Hydaelyn and Zodiark as split lovers, set at odds by their very natures, but the conflict is mostly told by their children and champions, changed over the years until truth and history become legend, and even religion, with the adherents fighting bitterly for their perception of the story.
Maybe we’re the kids caught in the middle of a messy, justifiable divorce, that happens to shape the entire cosmology. Maybe it all boils down to a tragic love story (maybe that’s just the romantic in me).
It should be interesting to see how it plays out in Shadowbringers, as Yoshida has stated we will be getting to the truth of the Crystal’s split and the conflict with the Ascians. A month and a half to go, and then we shall find out what truths the First has in store for us.
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• february book recommendations
Since we went on hiatus during the month of February and didn't get to post it then, we're posting last month's second book rec list now with March's one. This list is for fans of mythology who - like me - are always looking for new stories to read about either Greek, Egyptian, Celtic, or Norse mythology that is simple enough to read and understand.
Also, sorry for the delay in updating this week guys. Tumblr is being tricky with us and my grandfather just passed away so it’s been pretty tough to stick to the schedule, but since I already had this done a while back, I just decided to go ahead and post it today.
1. “Circe” by Madeline Miller
In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child—not powerful, like her father, nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power—the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves.
Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea, and, of course, wily Odysseus.
But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from, or the mortals she has come to love.
2. “Norse mythology” by Neil Gaiman
Neil Gaiman, long inspired by ancient mythology in creating the fantastical realms of his fiction, presents a bravura rendition of the Norse gods and their world from their origin though their upheaval in Ragnarok.
In Norse Mythology, Gaiman stays true to the myths in envisioning the major Norse pantheon: Odin, the highest of the high, wise, daring, and cunning; Thor, Odin’s son, incredibly strong yet not the wisest of gods; and Loki—son of a giant—blood brother to Odin and a trickster and unsurpassable manipulator.
Gaiman fashions these primeval stories into a novelistic arc that begins with the genesis of the legendary nine worlds and delves into the exploits of deities, dwarfs, and giants.
Through Gaiman’s deft and witty prose, these gods emerge with their fiercely competitive natures, their susceptibility to being duped and to duping others, and their tendency to let passion ignite their actions, making these long-ago myths breathe pungent life again.
3. “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller
Greece in the age of heroes. Patroclus, an awkward young prince, has been exiled to the court of King Peleus and his perfect son Achilles. By all rights their paths should never cross, but Achilles takes the shamed prince as his friend, and as they grow into young men skilled in the arts of war and medicine their bond blossoms into something deeper - despite the displeasure of Achilles' mother Thetis, a cruel sea goddess. But then word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped. Torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus journeys with Achilles to Troy, little knowing that the years that follow will test everything they hold dear.
Profoundly moving and breathtakingly original, this rendering of the epic Trojan War is a dazzling feat of the imagination, a devastating love story, and an almighty battle between gods and kings, peace and glory, immortal fame and the human heart.
4. “Mythos: The Greek Myths Retold” by Stephen Fry
The Greek myths are the greatest stories ever told, passed down through millennia and inspiring writers and artists as varied as Shakespeare, Michelangelo, James Joyce and Walt Disney.
They are embedded deeply in the traditions, tales and cultural DNA of the West. In Stephen Fry's hands the stories of the titans and gods become a brilliantly entertaining account of ribaldry and revelry, warfare and worship, debauchery, love affairs and life lessons, slayings and suicides, triumphs and tragedies.
You'll fall in love with Zeus, marvel at the birth of Athena, wince at Cronus and Gaia's revenge on Ouranos, weep with King Midas and hunt with the beautiful and ferocious Artemis.
Thoroughly spellbinding, informative and moving, Stephen Fry's Mythos perfectly captures these stories for the modern age - in all their rich and deeply human relevance.
5. “Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to Gods, Goddess, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt” by Geraldine Pinch
From stories of resurrected mummies and thousand-year-old curses to powerful pharaohs and the coveted treasures of the Great Pyramids, ancient Egypt has had an unfaltering grip on the modern imagination. Now, in Egyptian Mythology, Geraldine Pinch offers a comprehensive introduction that untangles the mystery of Egyptian Myth.
Spanning Ancient Egyptian culture--from 3200 BC to AD 400--Pinch opens a door to this hidden world and casts light on its often misunderstood belief system. She discusses the nature of myths and the history of Egypt, from the predynastic to the postpharaonic period. She explains how Egyptian culture developed around the flooding of the Nile, or the "inundation," a phenomenon on which the whole welfare of the country depended, and how aspects of the inundation were personified as deities. She explains that the usually cloudless skies made for a preoccupation with the stars and planets. Indeed, much early Egyptian mythology may have developed to explain the movement of these celestial bodies. She provides a timeline covering the seven stages in the mythical history of Egypt and outlining the major events of each stage, such as the reign of the sun God.
A substantial A to Z section covers the principal themes and concepts of Egyptian mythology as well as the most important deities, demons, and other characters. For anyone who wants to know about Anubis, the terrifying canine god who presided over the mummification of bodies and guarded burials, or Hathor, the golden goddess who helped women to give birth and the dead to be reborn, or an explanation of the nun, the primeval ocean from which all life came, Egyptian Mythology is the place to look.
6. “Celtic Myths and Legends” by Peter Berresford Ellis
This is an enchantingly told collection of the stirring sagas of gods and goddesses, fabulous beasts, strange creatures, and such heroes as Cuchulain, Fingal, and King Arthur from the ancient Celtic world. Included are popular myths and legends from all six Celtic cultures of Western Europe-Irish, Scots, Manx, Welsh, Cornish, and Breton. Here for the modern reader are the rediscovered tales of cattle raids, tribal invasions, druids, duels, and doomed love that have been incorporated into, and sometimes distorted by, European mythology and even Christian figures.
For example, there is the story of Lugh of the Long Hand, one of the greatest gods in the Celtic pantheon, who was later transformed into the faerie craftsman Lugh-Chromain, and finally demoted to the lowly Leprechaun. Celtic Myths and Legends also retells the story of the classic tragic love story of Tristan and Iseult (probably of Cornish origin-there was a real King Mark and a real Tristan in Cornwall) and the original tale of King Arthur, a Welsh leader who fought against the invading Anglo-Saxons. In the hands of Peter Berresford Ellis, the myths sung by long-dead Celtic bards come alive to enchant the modern reader.
Summaries were all found on https://www.goodreads.com/ if you want to check out that site for any more book recommendations
#books#booklr#book blog#litlogical#book recs#book recommendations#read#bookworm#bibliophile#tbr#to be read#myth#mythology#mythology books#norse mythology#celtic mythology#egyptian mythology#greek mythology
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