Ipia Wickwoode, Somewhere in Unseely lands

Dearest Ipia,

I know not if this epistle will ever find you, nor do I even know in this hour if your heart beats in your body and if you can open my letter and read it, but nevertheless I endeavor now to make my feelings known and will put my thoughts to paper in hopes this missive will one day reach your brave hands and your discerning eyes for I have found a little bird who speaks in Unseely and claims it can pass through the veils to reach you.  While I know full well that an Unseely avian may as soon lie to me and peck at my eyes in my sleep than speak truly to me, but I yet have hope that this little creature can find you and so I write to you with a yearning and hopeful heart.

Seven and ten years it has now been since you left me alone in our camp in that forsaken wood so as to turn yourself in to he who was seeking you.  It seems to me as though it were yesterday, so strong is the vexation and disturbance of my emotions to this very day and yet in the very same moment it also seems as though it was a lifetime ago since I saw your fearless countenance which once gave me such comfort but which now I can barely envision in my memory.

It was a terrible time and also exciting for me, at my age--our exile in that wild wood after Mother's death. You were everything to me, my big sister, my teacher, and my protector. You taught me the ways of the knife. You taught me to move like a lynx. You comforted me when I was afraid. In that wilderness, you fed me wild honey and kept me safe in your arms.

On the day I woke to your note and your absence, I was beset instantly with a horror weighed heavy by grief and a driving rage all at once.  What was I?  Thirteen?  Fourteen?  I don’t even know.  We had laid together in sleep in our hideaway camp under our one blanket the night before, sister, when I was safe in your embrace, yet in the morning you were gone forever and I was alone, for the first time in my life, in the cold and bleak winter of the wood.  I could still feel your hair against my face, your thin warm body in my arms, your smell, and even your taste, but you, sister, were gone.

I knew you had gone to your certain death, or at best (or worst?) to be disappeared into an Unseely prison of nightmares.  My foresight was true and I have not heard even a rumor of you in these almost two decades.  My grief and anger weighed on me, sister.  I was so angry that you would do this to yourself–that you would do this to me.  I was a child; I had no concept of why you might have done what you did.  My anger drove me for years, but eventually subsided as I grew older and better knew what may have led you to your drastic act.  But, my grief–my heavy grief–remains to this day without surcease.  My only consolation is that they did not burn you outside the city gates as they had done to Mother.

I survived in the wood for a few more years as you knew I would and eventually was bold enough to enter the city where I was taken under the wing of a mercenary and from there I was employed by an agent of the King, learning spycraft in the world of men and had to learn how to survive all over again, and I did until I ran afoul of a certain fay agent who banished me to a forgotten and abandoned land of twilight nightmares.  I am afraid there I earned the enmity of a certain Unseely, but no matter, he is no threat to me now, and I found my escape in a new employment under a certain aunt of ours who intrigues from exile.  She favors me though her favor is burdensome, but the rewards are goodly, so I continue.

Through all of this, I think of you, sister.  Thoughts of you cut deep into my heart but also give me strength.  I can only hope you have found some happiness wherever you may be and that I will once again meet the intensity of your countenance and hold your doe-like body in my arms again, one day.

Your loving brother,  

Delvin Wickwoode

Craven Manor, 7 Olde Elfin Path, Deep in the Fairy Wood

Delvin-to-Ipia-1 | All We Love We Leave Behind

"Tua res agitur, paries cum proximus ardet."

-Orazio

"La cosa riguarda anche te, se la casa del tuo prossimo va a fuoco."

*promemoria

Bianca, come va il tuo caos vitale? Non riordinarlo troppo, perché allora ti sparirà anche l’interesse alla vita. Tienilo giudiziosamente a mezz’acqua. E se stai troppo bene a Letojanni, scappa. Non mangiare il loto.

— Cesare Pavese a Bianca Garufi, 3 settembre 1945

I realized that the mentality that makes her doesn’t set her too apart from that specific spitefulness that people flock towards

OC: Den

Invidia Siculi non invenere tyranni maius tormentum.

Nessun tiranno di Sicilia inventò mai un supplizio peggiore dell’invidia.

Orazio, Epistole, I

N.E. 01/2023 - "Maggiori testimoni del vero: la dialettica tra "vita" ed "opere" in Torquato Tasso attraverso le "Lettere"". Saggio di Francesco Martillotto

nota[1] Le Lettere del Tasso ci forniscono chiari segnali sulla cultura del poeta, confermando quella continua sperimentazione di quasi tutti i generi letterari che si ritrova percorrendone l’ opera sia poetica che prosastica. Dall’epistolario esce confermata una forte assimilazione degli autori greci e latini («me, che son quasi nutrito ne gli studi  e ne l’arte de’ greci» scrive a Giovanni…

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shoots you with my epistol and all that remains after the dust settles are a number of fictional written fragments indirectly narrativizing your exploits

Se hanno la speranza dell'impunità, non distingueranno più tra sacro e profano.

-Orazio -Epistole 1, 16, 54

-ex cult leader

-irish

-enemy of the state

-57 years old

-irish

-they/them pronouns

OC: Toska

The last line of today’s Dracula Daily, “It is coming.” He’s talking about sleep. It’s speaking metaphorically on death. And he’s unknowingly alluding to vampires. This entry alone demonstrates how good Dracula is in this daily epistolic form I’m so serious

Lucrezia Borgia, donna tra le più note e controverse di ogni epoca, nacque il 18 aprile 1480. Lei era figlia illegittima di un papa, per l'esattezza Alessandro VI, il cui vero nome era Rodrigo Borgia. Si sposò tre volte: la prima a 13 anni e la seconda a 18, dopo l'annullamento del primo matrimonio. Il secondo marito di Lucrezia fu Alfonso d'Aragona, il quale fu fatto uccidere, qualche tempo dopo le nozze, dal fratello Cesare, di cui vi ho parlato di recente. Il terzo marito fu Alfonso d'Este, duca di Ferrara. Lucrezia visse 17 anni nella città del marito, a partire dal 1502, e lì fu amata dai sudditi e circondata dai poeti di corte, tra cui Pietro Bembo, il dotto umanista, innamoratissimo di lei. Bembo aveva sentito parlare di questa donna aristocratica, intelligente, affascinante e simpatica, ma appena la vide, rimase folgorato dalla sua bellezza e dai suoi lunghi capelli biondi. Egli le dedicò l'opera "Gli asolani" e da allora, i due furono legati da un sentimento clandestino. La peste li separò, ma essi si scrissero intense epistole per ben 16 anni, tra le più belle lettere d'amore ancora conservate. Insieme ad esse, Lucrezia inviò una sua ciocca bionda, affinché lui potesse continuare ad accarezzarla. Lucrezia morì a 39 anni, dopo aver dato alla luce l'ultima figlia, e fu sepolta nel monastero del Corpus Domini, a Ferrara, dove tuttora riposa. Lucrezia Borgia ebbe fama di essere molto bella, ma dai facili costumi e spietata come il fratello. Infatti, passò alla storia come mangiatrice di uomini e avvelenatrice, per l' uso di un veleno micidiale, chiamato cantarella, con il quale lei e la famiglia Borgia avrebbero eliminato i propri nemici, versandolo nelle bevande o nel cibo altrui. Oggi sappiamo che tutto ciò è, probabilmente, frutto di calunnie e di immaginazione popolare, ma anche grazie ad esse la Borgia si è guadagnata l'immortalità nell'immaginario comune.

Sotto, Lucrezia Borgia vista da Milo Manara.

Vivian Levy

Name/Title: Vivian Levy, the Sharptongued Stormwatcher

Pronouns: They/them

Referred to as: Correspondent, Professor, "you pest", "Vergil" (in specific situations)

Profession: Correspondent (no specialisation yet, leaning Epistolant), Professor at Benthic College.

Closest to: Urchins

Ambition: Hearts' Desire (ongoing)

Associated Stats: Watchful, Persuasive, Artisan of the Red Science, Shapeling Arts

Associated Quirks: Steadfast, Magnanimous, Hedonist

Destiny: Authority

Personality

Vivian is an inquisitive, generally kind person with a sharp tongue for those who they dislike and a love for the esoteric, strange, unlovable, or terrifying. People who meet them when they're in the midst of a revel or causing a scandal often are shocked to learn they are one of the Neath's foremost minds on the Correspondence; their skill as a poet and lyricist is far less surprising. Vivian never breaks their word and often tries to be kind and generous to all around them, but crossing them is a horrible idea. They have an orphanage of sorts in their townhouse, and any threat to them that endangers the children is met with lethal force or worse. Rumors persist of the worst thing they inflict on those who hurt people under Vivian's protection: a recitation of Vivian's nightmares in exquisite, beautifully-written detail. Rare is the assailant who makes it out of that without being driven to the Royal Beth, raving.

Background

Vivian was born in 1871 as the child of a young English nobleman, currently on his "grand tour" of Europe, and an Italian woman he met while traveling. Perhaps sincerely, perhaps not, the nobleman promised that he'd marry his summer sweetheart and take care of her; however, when she -- pregnant and shunned by her family for the out of wedlock child -- made it to England, she was turned away at the family manor by her lover's father. Vivian was born soon after, to a mother struggling to make ends meet in a foreign land.

Vivian's mother didn't survive an outbreak of sickness, and Vivian -- told their whole life that their father was a lord -- did their best to seek him out afterward, only to be ridiculed and laughed off the property as a child, assumed to just be an urchin with delusions of grandeur. They were placed in an orphanage, and remained there for several years, with their oddities (even then, they were a daydreamer, and that combined with their mistrust of all adults to make a child people didn't find 'pleasant') preventing any chance of adoption.

The first major turn in their luck came when their father married another noble lady, who learned of his youthful "transgressions" and the fact that a child had claimed to be his and declared it was his Christian Duty TM to care for said child, as the repercussion for his actions. At her insistence, he sought out the child Vivian and brought them into his house.

Vivian, at the time around nine, was a living reminder of the man's more bohemian past, and he didn't like acknowledging that or them. Primarily, he dealt with this via icy silence and shipping them off to boarding schools to get them out of his hair. There, though, Vivian discovered their talent with poetry and languages -- which still got them ridiculed, some, but provided them with an outlet other than pure rage. When they completed school, doing quite well, they applied to University, which their father agreed to keep funding to keep Vivian well out of his personal sphere.

And then, when Vivian was around seventeen, their stepmother died in childbirth with Vivian's second half-sibling. Vivian was not invited to the funeral, and all funding for their education was immediately cut. Vivian was ripped away from their studies and their poetry and had to make their way on their own, with almost no resources.

Through connections of former professors and their own ingenuity, they eked out a living as a governess or tutor for some years, but deeply resented the way their life was dictated by the whims of the powerful. They had heard tell of a card game in the strange cavern London had fallen into -- one which, if won, allowed one to pick their heart's desire.

In 1894, 25 years old, they descended into the Neath and introduced themself for the first time as Vivian Levy -- an entirely fabricated name, for the person they were determined to become.

Time in the Neath

Here's where I shamelessly invoke the Treachery of Clocks because uhh, while I've been playing this game for six years, I uh. Um. Get forgetful. So while in our real world, Vivian hasn't completed their Ambition yet...they absolutely have in-universe. It probably happened sometime around 1986. I just don't know how it's shaken out yet (although I have some plans). This character sheet will definitely get updated when it does, but like. In 1899 (2), Vivian has completed their Ambition. Just not in 2023.

That said! Vivian descended into the Neath in 1895, which might be the last solidly reliable date they can cite, given that time gets strange in the Neath. Once there, they set about arranging the Marvellous, following their ambitions. However, they also quickly got sidetracked. Firstly, they had a burgeoning career as a writer and poet in Veilgarden that they took great joy in continuing -- as well as several dalliances. The freedom of the Neath, where nobody cared about what Vivian's body was compared to their pronouns, meant Vivian was far more flirtatious and promiscuous than they had been on the surface, and they discovered they quite enjoyed living life to the fullest. Secondly, they began having dreams of thunderstorms; upon leaning into these to the fullest, they grew more and more consumed by the poetry of lightning and thunder, the songs of the wind, and one day looked in the mirror to discover their previously-brown eyes had turned grey. Finally, they learned of the Correspondence, and immediately set about studying it with the fervor of one who had found a vocation.

Vivian's time in the Neath has brought them into contact with many powerful figures and dramatic circumstances. Their infatuation with Storm and study of the Correspondence has led their mental health to be unstable at best, ending with them often in the care of the Royal Bethlehem Hotel; between that and learning of the Manager's past, Vivian imprinted on him as a baby bird and is very fond of the man, who returns it in his own somewhat creepy and nightmare-harvesting way. Listen, man's a gardener of a sort, and Vivian can appreciate his gardens! It just further wrecks their already tenuous sanity. Vivian and the Manager both share the quirk of nightmare-cultivation, and the Manager is pleasantly surprised that Vivian has of their own accord stumbled upon weaponizing their nightmares against those who cross them.

Of the Masters, Vivian interacts most frequently with Wines and Pages. Pages they first met when strong-armed into finding a stolen book; upon hearing the story of the Epigrammatic Irishman and the Wilting Dandy, they hand-copied the Irishman's book to give to Pages, allowing the Dandy to leave with the original. They are fond of Pages, finding its poetry endearingly bad and finding it to be a good discussion partner when it comes to literature, but do their best not to let themself forget that at its core, it is as dangerous as the other Masters, and they're hesitant to call it a friend.

Wines, on the other hand, Vivian has a much more fraught history with and is far fonder of. Their early interactions were somewhat contentious, with Wines making Vivian fund revels and Vivian at one point (in the Empress's Shadow ES) writing a story about a royal having an unrequited crush on Wines and getting hate mail in the correspondence; however, the more time Vivian spent around the Master, the fonder they became of it and the more aware they became of the fact that Wines is uh, not doing well. Vivian is so used to what they term as "love" being overwhelming fear and awe for things larger than themself that I don't think they've clocked that that's their emotion towards Wines yet, but as their writer, they're not fooling me about this one.

A few Exceptional Stories are particularly important to Vivian's plot, mentioned down here: The Gift - Started some of Vivian's wariness around the Royal Family and their fear and mistrust of the Captivating Princess, as well as their firm belief in the necessity of giving people fully informed choices. Many of the themes in it came up again in Reunion, where Vivian befriended Albert Victor and convinced him to remain in London -- but not to side with his aunt.

The 12:15 From Moloch Street - An early interaction Vivian had with Hell, it ended in them freeing the Lily from his contract with Hell and becoming his roommate for a few years, while he got back on his feet. They're still good friends! Vivian also got a tour of hell that wasn't fantastic for their mental health.

The Tempest - The Tempest played out very differently than as written, with Storm cleaving Vivian's own childhood out from them to serve as Slivvy's helper and its new speaker (this is largely because the Tempestuous Urchin's backstory was so uncannily like Vivian's own that I couldn't help myself). During this impromptu soul surgery, Vivian lost all memory before age around 10, and much of the anger they'd carried from a young age with it -- all of it now in the person of Vivi Storm, the younger, unaging ghost of Vivian's past who haunts London's rooftops and serves as minder and mouthpiece for Storm.

Un’irrequieta indolenza ci tormenta: cerchiamo la felicità

con le navi e le quadrighe. Quello che cerchi è qui.

Orazio, Epistole

hi friend, is there a .pdf version of what manner of man completed so i can read it on a kindle instead of the epistolic way the author (you ) intended?

Ebooks are definitely planned later on this year! At the moment there's just the archive at my newsletter.