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jupiaria · 3 years

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Jack Parsons' Freedom is a Two-Edged Sword

Chapter Four

The Woman Girt With the Sword

It is to you woman, beautiful redeemer of the race, whom I address this chapter. That which stirs in you now is not madness, not sin, not folly – but Life! This new life is the joy and the fire that will beget a new race; create a new heaven and new earth. When you were a child, did not the wind and the sun speak to you? Did you not hear the mountain’s voice; the voice of the river and of the storm? Have you not heard the whisper of the stars and the ineffable voice in silence? Have you not gone naked in the forest with the wind on your body and felt the caress of Pan? Your heart has swollen with Spring, blossomed with Summer and saddened with Winter. These things are the covenant and in them is the truth that is forever.

You have sought companions as high-hearted as yourself and found them not save in the elusive memories of dream and song. For you found a blight over the world; a blight of silence and sorrow. Your companions walked in guilt and shame, in fear, in hate, in sin and in the sorrow of sin. There was only nervous laughter and furtive pleasure; unsatisfying and shameful – But be no longer sad, my beloved. Be joyous and unafraid for within you is the song that shall shatter the silence, the flame that will burn away the dross.

It is you who are the redeemer from sing and sorrow, from guilt and shame. WOMAN; oh splendour incarnate! How long have you served in chains, a slave to the lust and guilt of pigs? How long have you writhed under the degradation of your Holy Name, “Whore”, or suffered silently under the degradation called, “virtue”? How well you have known the stake, the rack, the whip, the chains of imprisonment and even entombment in the service of your master.

And was the bond fear, was it weakness, was it cowardice and inferiority? Oh shame of man, it was none of these; it was love. A man was once crucified in a redemption that failed, yet if ten times ten million men were crucified, this infamy could not be redeemed. Husband, father, priest, jailer, judge, executioner, exploiter, seducer, destroyer – so has your lover mastered and defiled you. Yet pity him for he sought love… But finally there is an end and then the beginning and all the future will be with you. For you are the mother of a new race, the redeemer and lover of the new men; the men who shall be free.

I shall speak to you of men. Men desire three things of a woman: a mother greater than themselves, a wife less than themselves and a lover equal with themselves. Against the mother they are in revolt, the wife they hold in contempt and the lover ever eludes them. Consider the husband; how he throws his clothes about, eschews dirty dishes and housework and asserts himself in a loud voice. Consider the homosexual; how he hates woman and flees himself, fearing that he will slay her. Consider the great lover; how he grasps for love and his hands close on nothingness. These are bewildered, frightened children playing games against the dark. And those who wear brass and swords, who strut and slay, are they not the most frightened of all? Therefore pity them and forgive them.

In the ancient world there were men for a season, before cities arose and they turned to gilded popinjays, gracefully accepting futility. Then came Christianity, an anodyne for slaves, an enteric for barbarians whose deeds gave them indigestion – and ultimately, a whip for slave masters.

Faust was the prototype of the Middle Ages, but not the Faustus of whom Kit Marlowe tells. It was a darker Faust; Gilles de Rais, who betrays the Maid in his lust for power, then, after his fall and the failure of his prayers, he descends to horror in his cellars. This theme lasted an age until man, appalled by his nightmares, turned finally to a dream of liberty.

It is the voice of Voltaire, jaded, cynical, weary of folly, that sounds the opening bar of a tremendous, mocking prelude. Tom Paine, one real man, broken and at last betrayed by all the wooden champions, Cagliostro, plotting the revenge of the Templars with a woman and a necklace, Will Blake, speaking uncomprehended with the tongue of angels, Shelley and his beautiful gesture; Swinburne, who almost recreated Helas before he too was broken – Byron, Pushkin, Gautier; all instruments in a prelude to a symphony that was never played. And Science – how it was to save us! That “Brave New World” of Huxley, Darwin and H.G. Wells with only the voice of Spengler in dissent.

Science remaking the world; an international language, a universal brotherhood beyond nationality, prejudice or creed… A beautiful vision fallen like a house of cards. You creators of the “New Age” who dare not speak, think or move without permission from the military, you unfettered titans who will hang for speaking across one border – where is your ‘New World’? Champions, where is freedom? What treasure have we lost? We must turn to women for that answer.

The key lies back ten thousand years ago in the Age of Isis that is mistakenly called “The Matriarchy”. It was not a Matriarchy as we conceive it; a rule of club-women, of frustrated chickens, in fact it was not a rule at all; it was an equality.

The Woman was and is the Priestess. In Her reposes the Mystery. She is the Mother, brooding yet tender, the lover, at once passionate and aloof, the wife, revered and cherished. She is the witch woman. She stands co-equal with her mate who is the chieftain, the hunter, the thinker and the doer. The woman is the Priestess, guardian of the mystery, syble of the unconscious and prophetess of dreams. Together they balanced each other until the catastrophe of the Patriarchal Age, arch-typified by the monosexual monster, Jehova.

Then, under the rule of Priests, woman became an inferior animal while man became isolated in his imagined superiority and found himself at the mercy of his own merciless intelligence. It was total war between the emotions that must and the intellect that will not. Every patriarchal religion is a self-contradictory monstrosity. They are dogmatic creeds that shift like straws in the wind of the intellect. Upon this shifting structure man has failed. He knows the futility of such artificial systems but he fights for them with all the sick fury his frustration can generate. In the process he has lost his mother, his wife has failed him and his lover eludes him. The Mystery has gone out of the Temple, banished by a senile and self-sufficient council of beards.

Woman, Woman – where are you? Come back to us again. Forgive even if you cannot forget and serve once more in our Temples. Take us by the hand. Kiss us on the lips and tell us we are not alone. Witch-Woman, out of the ashes of the stake, rise again! It was in the Dianic Cult that the old way continued. Those splendid and terrible women; Messilina, Toffana, La Voisin and DeBrinvillies raised revenge to a high art. Others sought the forbidden mystery in secret rites and purchased a brief reunion at an awful price. This was the ope in the Maid of Orleans, the dream of hopeless millions that the woman who was to redeem them had come at last. Her failure and her fate teach us that innocence is no protection. Be cunning, oh woman, be wise, be subtle, be merciless. I have asked you to understand and forgive – but forget not overmuch. Trust nothing but yourself.

Now I have spoken of those great poisoners but there is a worse revenge. Know that all revenge is revenge on self and the most terrible is that taken by the frigid woman. Count her in the tens of millions. The curse lies in the failure of her mate to be a man and her failure to be true to herself but the cause is the dark guilt with which parents poison their children. There is also suppressed incestuous love and the fear of unwanted children – yet those who have known of these things should have no shame there-from. Strength is not born, it is gained by understanding and overcoming. Go free; sing the old, wild song:

EVOE IO, EVOE IACCHUS IO PAN, PAN! EVOE BABALON!

Go to the mountains and the forest; go naked in the Summer that you may regain the old joy. Love gladly and freely under the stars. But you say your body is not beautiful? Here is a secret: the body is molded by the mind. If you have embraced fear, repression, hate – then you may find your body repulsive. But go free, love joyously and without restraint. Run naked then watch the cheeks flush, the breasts well and the supple contours develop from the flowing rhythms of life. Disease and deformity are bred in fear and hate, therefore be fearless lovers and ever beautiful.

The woman is the Priestess of the Irrational World! Irrational - but how enormously important, and how dangerous because it is unadmitted or denied, we do not want to be drunken, murderous, frustrated, poverty-stricken and miserable without cause. These conditions are not reasonable or 'scientific’ and yet they do exist. We say we do not want war but war seems a psychological necessity. Wars will continue until that need is otherwise fulfilled. We do not love or hate a person because it is “reasonable”. We are moved willy-nilly, despite our reason and our will, by forces from the unconscious, irrational world. These forces speak to us in dreams, in symbols and in our own incomprehensible actions. These passions can only be redeemed by intuitive understanding in the feminine province. Only after such understanding can will and intelligence be truly effective for otherwise they are blind and powerless against the tides of emotion.

Somewhere in the world today there is a woman for whom the Sword is forged. Somewhere there is one who has heard the trumpets of the New Age and who will respond. She will respond, this new woman, to the high clamor of those sar-trumpets; she will come as a perilous flame and a devious song, a voice in the judgment halls, a banner before armies. She will come girt with the Sword of Freedom. Before her, kings and priests will tremble, cities and empires will fall, and she will be called BABALON, The Scarlet Woman.

She will be lustful and proud, subtle and deadly forthright and invincible as a naked blade. Women will respond to her war cry, throwing off their chains, men will respond to her challenge, forsaking foolish ways. She will shine as the ruddy Evening Star in the lurid sunset of Gotterdamerung. She will shine again as a Morning Star when the night has passed and a new dawn breaks over the garden of Pan.

To you, oh unknown woman, is The Sword of Freedom pledged.

#jack parsons #thelema #babalon #pan #freedom is a two edged sword #the woman girt with the sword #woman

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bookedbookshelf · 5 years

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Revisiting Harry Potter After 12 Years: The Great, the Good, and the Bad

Some Background on Harry Potter and I...

When I was a child, I practically breathed Harry Potter. The books were everything to me. I used to connect every conversation around me to HP in every way that I could (to the great annoyance of my entire family.) But I didn’t care that I could see their indifference or that my older sister used to make fun of me for reading it. I didn’t care that I had annoyed her so much with the topic that she began to call it “Harry Pothead.” Harry Potter was my thing as a kid- a fixation I never quite got rid of, even as an adult. To this day, nothing can get me into a passionate debate the way that a Harry Potter-based conversation can. I watch the movies at least once a year with my nephews.

I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone for the first time when I was in the third grade. I had trouble reading chapter-books and writing during this time. Looking back on it, it makes a lot of sense that I was probably suffering from some kind of learning disability. If it was ever diagnosed, I’m not sure, but I had been going to a special reading and writing program twice a week since grade one. The purpose of putting me in this program was to try and keep pace with the other students around me who were beginning to read and write with a speed that I just could not match.

Even now, I remember how much it embarrassed me. I hated feeling stupid and like I lacked something the other students had. And so, when my teacher announced to my class that he would be reading Harry Potter to us during Story Time, I asked my father to purchase the book for me, so I could read along. It was a huge decision that I still remember the exact moment that I made it. That decision was the foundation for my love of reading. Reading Harry Potter, and struggling to keep up with my teacher, but doing it regardless, cemented my love for the books. It was the first chapter book I ever read cover to cover. When I put that book down, I no longer felt stupid. I felt accomplished.

The number of times I reread the first three books are countless. I can confidently say I have read every Harry Potter book, except the last, more than four times. I have only read Death Hallows twice, once when first released in 2007 and again last month.

So, why did I wait so long to reread these books I so desperately loved and endlessly talked about?

I think I was afraid that I’d reread them and find faults and flaws that would make me become sad. I didn’t want to find a reason to distance myself from these books, I wanted them to remain this untouched relic of my childhood that turned me into an avid reader. I know so many people have the same story of learning to love reading because of Harry Potter. For me, it turned something I hated, dreaded, and pretended to do, into something I actively sought. Harry Potter changed everything about my childhood education and is probably a massive reason why I want to be an author today. I owe so much to these seven magical books about a boy who lived in a cupboard.

So...why, after all this time, did I change my mind? Why did I reread all of the books?

That sister who called it “Harry Pothead” finally decided to read them and when she told me that she was on the fourth, I was suddenly inspired to pick up my books and reread them too. And so I did, one after the other, cover to cover, first until last.

So...has anything changed? Is this series still a nostalgic favourite that cannot be touched by criticism for me?

Nope, but I still love them!

The Review: 4.5/5

Let’s start with the fact that this review is not spoiler free, as it has been...12 years since the last HP book came out. I feel that is a plentiful grace period and if you haven’t read it by now, I doubt you care much about spoilers. Even so, please take into consideration that this entire review is spoiler- heavy.

Harry Potter perfectly captures a few things through the entire series: the pain of isolation, the importance of friendship, and the fear of failure.

But Harry Potter also lacks sorely in some areas and we’ll touch on that. While I will not be going book by book, because I was a dummy who didn’t consider doing this when I began to reread them, I will break down some of the major themes and what the series lacks or did poorly. Having flaws doesn’t make Harry Potter bad. Despite everything, these books are still like a 4.5/5, with just some nitpicky flaws from my perspective.

So let’s get started with what Harry Potter did well, in my opinion.

What I Liked...

Isolation and Character-Building:

All of the books captured Harry’s isolation perfectly. Through every novel, you wish that he still had his family and he didn’t have to fulfill an insane destiny that was thrust upon him the moment Voldemort saw him as a threat. As I am older, I understand Mrs. Weasley so. much. more. I understand why she worried about Harry so much, he was indeed just a boy.

As the novels go on, every loss that Harry suffers feels like a sucker-punch to the stomach, because you know Harry started out with so little and it feels like he is losing things for shock value. For good or bad, I can say that these books know how to tug at your heart and make you invested in the main character, as well as the side characters. One of the things that Harry Potter does best is its large cast of interesting and sympathetic characters. You even pity Voldemort’s origins and how he was created despite him being a monster of a man.

Magical World Building:

All of the books capture the wonder and magic of the Harry Potter universe with effortless beauty. There was pure genius in ensuring that Harry grew up like a muggle because it allowed us as readers to experience Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and all of the other magical places in the books, as Harry did. It allowed us to learn about magic as he did and it created a sense of being there beside Harry, learning as he did.

Never once does it feel like laws of the world are being peddled off just to catch the reader up to speed. This is something Rowling does amazingly and something I am so in awe of even to this day. Harry going to Hogwarts during his first year felt like we went with him and I’ll never forget how thrilling it was to read as a child.

Blending Other Genres into a Fantasy Series:

As the books go on, little mysteries are written here and there are truly very well executed. Especially in the Goblet of Fire, which always felt like a hybrid mystery/fantasy novel to me, as we’re trying to discover who put Harry’s name in the Goblet. Furthermore, as the books mature, so do the characters. Through book five, six, and seven, there is an aspect of romance, as Harry has fallen in and out of crushes a couple different times. I love that Rowling blends other book genres into the story very well.

Relationship Building:

As the books go on, the relationships between characters develop. Many people think Ron/Hermione was terrible, but I disagree. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Ron coming to realise he felt strongly for her and Hermione grappling with her gender identity and feeling invisible to both Harry and Ron as a female. I thought the Ron and Hermione love was actually well thought out and developed over several books, despite popular opinions.

Complex Characters:

Harry Potter has an array of complex characters, ranging from Dumbledore to Lupin, James, Sirius, and Snape. While there are characters that I despise with a bitter passion despite them being fan favourites (ahem, Snape,) I can still recognise that many of the villainous characters in HP are written BRILLIANTLY. I love me some problematic and interesting characters who keep you guessing (ahem, also Snape.) Brilliant writing, through and through.

Conclusion:

Overall, the story throughout the books is gripping and takes you through each page with absolute ease. The pacing of these books never lacked for me or dragged- the story was thoroughly gripping and entertaining, cover to cover.

But there are some things that could be better.

What I Didn’t Like...

What the Hell is Going on with the Magic System???:

Harry Potter is littered with magical inconsistencies and perhaps the MOST glaring is the Fidelius Charm. Let’s talk about Secret Keepers. Okay, we talked about it, they’re flipping stupid. I cannot express how much frustration these things have caused me over the years.

WHY DIDN’T JAMES JUST BE HIS OWN SECRET KEEPER IF THAT WAS POSSIBLE...EH, BILL WEASLEY? EH?

I feel like the Fidelius Charm has the most crippling plot holes and ret-cons out of all of the spells inside of the HP world. Why is this a problem? Well, it is only a huge freaking catalyst in the entire story: using the Fidelius Charm with the wrong people is what caused Lily and James Potter to die. I feel that more attention should be paid to the way a spell can and cannot work in the book, or else everything falls apart. Yes, we could say that James’ flaw was wanting to trust and believe in his friends, and so he didn’t make himself the secret keeper….but that is freaking dumb. The life of his wife and child were on the line, no one would spare any possible measure of safety, not even James Flipping Potter.

Let’s move onto the god.damned.trace. THE TRACE. I hate the trace mostly because of its glaring inconsistencies. It is the worse case of plot-convenience-holes throughout the series. Let’s talk about how Voldemort murdered his father and his grandparents without the Ministry even blinking an eye, as this did not happen in a wizard's house, unlike him attacking his Uncle. Because the exact way the trace works has never been specified in book canon, it leaves glaring plot holes everywhere. While I do not hate the concept of the trace, I definitely hate the execution.

Harry and Ginny? Are We Serious?:

While I did praise Rowling for her relationship developing, Harry being into Ginny felt very very very sudden and out of nowhere. Harry never considered Ginny romantically until the 6th book, fine, but his romantic interest came out of...no where? One day in the common room he noticed she smells like the flowers he smelled in Slughorn’s love potion...okie dokie.

While we can say this is because Harry had to spend that summer playing Quidditch with her, Ron, and Hermione at the Burrow, to have these feelings come upon him. I say bull-crap. We know Rowling put years into the development of Ron and Hermione, building it up through multiple books. As a result, Harry and Ginny felt cheap, last minute, and insincere. I wouldn’t have minded the couple, if she put more time making it believable.

What the Hell Happened to Lupin in the 7th Book?:

Lupin turning into a full-on edgelord in the seventh book felt like such a cop-out to the type of character we had seen thus far. And yes, we can explain it as Harry seeing Lupin as an adult to admire and not really like a person with complicated feelings and emotions. But wanting to ditch Tonks to go on an adventure? Sorry, can’t relate. Lupin’s sudden character change felt cheap and like there was nothing leading up to the sudden change. Even the tension beforehand did not seem grand enough for this.

Let’s Talk About Deaths:

The undeniably worst thing for me about Harry Potter is how poorly Rowling writes deaths. They are just...horrible. She leaves so little detail in the actual death happening, it’s always one or two sentences max that vaguely outline someone’s death. And I am sure she does this to give you a snap sense of someone suddenly dying, but it feels unbelievably cheap and poorly thought out. Furthermore, I truly believe no one but Dumbledore needed to die throughout the last few books to advance the plot, and yet we’re hit with death after death that lent nothing to the plot.

Sirius dying felt rushed and unnecessary. What plot did his death further lend, what did it spur into action? You may say Harry needed to have everything taken from him to truly be okay with learning his fate in the last book, but I say no. I think it was just another thing written in to remind the audience of how alone Harry is and it felt lacklustre and poorly executed. I don’t hate that Sirius died, but I hate when he did. I felt killing him so early and for no reason was outrightly silly.

The biggest problem is it did not lend to the effect that Rowling intended- it did not make me feel hollow inside for Harry. It didn’t make me cry when it happened. It doesn’t hit in an impactful way at all. It just felt like Sirius died to a series of clumsy mistakes (largely due to his own actions,) but still clumsy nonetheless. Of course, characters can be killed suddenly and hard-hitting for . However, when reading through the books, it felt like Sirius’ death didn’t actually have such a far-reaching impact as it should have had. He felt discarded of in a very poorly managed way. It was as if Rowling made up a list of “people to kill” because she thought her story wouldn’t be real enough without death.

Similarly, Tonks and Lupin feel very much the same. Their deaths are more justifiable, as they are casualties of a battle, but the problem was they happened off page. You have no connection to how it happened or why, they’re just dead, in a room full of other bodies. Many argue this is impactful because it is the cost of war, but I argue differently. I argue that just seeing them dead in the Great Hall takes all of the impact out of their deaths. I feel practically all of the deaths throughout the Battle of Hogwarts were handled this way and it wasn’t as gripping as I’d like it to be. I loved Tonks and Lupin as characters, but it just felt like a shrug of the shoulders, because it was given so little time of contemplation.

Snape, on the other hand, was written very well. We saw how it happened, we saw that he knew it was about to go down. We saw his last breaths and the painful way that he died. The entire scene is very emotionally gripping, unlike the way the other deaths are handled throughout the ending quarter of Deathly Hallows.

To me, it just felt more effort was put in some deaths over others, leaving a majority of them to feel cheap, poorly planned, and poorly executed.

So, is Harry Potter Worth Reading? Even As an Adult?

Yes, Harry Potter, books 1-7, are thoroughly worth reading. They’re enjoyable, gripping, suspenseful in places, and truly magical. While there are some flaws, such as a lack of representation and a faulty magic system, the books hold up incredibly well and there is a reason they have endured this long as a childhood favourite. Think about it, the craze of other series such as Twilight, the Hunger Games, Divergent, and so on have all died out, but Harry Potter remains strong and relevant to this day. You can find Harry Potter merchandise easily in physical stores around the world. The truth is that Harry Potter endures so well because it is a coming of age story about so much more than magic.

Harry Potter flawlessly blends many relatable themes together, such as friendship, loyalty, uncertainty, loneliness, anger, and hope in the face of adversity together into a story of fantastically written characters and settings. Backpedaled by a good plot, interesting characters, and a bit of magic, alongside Rowling’s easy to read writing style, I have no doubts that Harry Potter will continue to endure for generations to come.

My sister, the one who teased me, is 32 now. She read through every book this year as well and upon finishing it, she told me that she wished there was more. A common feeling among anyone who has read all of the books cover to cover.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter books #hp books #harry potter review #book review #first review people!#3/12/2019

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mischiefmanagedrp-blog1 · 6 years

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Narcissa Black

narcissa black. slytherin. fifth year. prefect. pureblood

out of character info

Name/Alias: Samantha Pronouns: she/her Age: 25 Timezone: est Activity: 5-8 Triggers: no kiddie shit or stuff with animals >:( Password: always Character that you’re applying for: narcissa black Faceclaim: peyton list Favourite ships for your character: Lucius/narcissa ofc but I’m always down for drama

in character info

Full name: Narcissa Lyra Malfoy Birthday: August 25th Sexuality, gender, pronouns: she/her, heterosexual Age: 15

Wizarding World Info

House: Slytherin Year: Fifth Wand: yew, 10.5", white river monster spine Boggart: disappointed family Patronus: lioness Quidditch Team: not on it Classes: transfiguration. charms. potions. history of magic. defence against the dark arts. herbology. study of ancient runes. divination. Clubs: • member of the Celestina Warbeck fan club • 5th year Slytherin prefect

Detailed Info

Appearance: From a young age, it was very clear that Narcissa would grow into a beautiful woman. That hasn’t changed in the slightest so far, and though she is only fifteen, she’s grown wonderfully. She’s average in height, approximately 165cm tall(5'4"), and shaped like a slim hourglass. While many in her family have harsher, sharp, and elegant features, Narcissa differs. Her face and features take on a somewhat softer appearance, perhaps baby fat left from her childhood. A round, soft face and plumper lips make her stand out from the rest of the family. That, and the brilliant blonde hair she sports. A rare occurrence in a family that produces dark haired children. As well, unlike her family, her eyes aren’t a shade of blue or grey, but instead Hazel. No doubt a trait passed from her mother, whose Rosier genes provided the black bloodline with them.

Genetics aside, as pure as they are, Narcissa’s fashion sense is what she considers elegant, tasteful. Her fashion sense doesn’t line up with the seventies fashion that she sees many muggles and wizards alike enjoying, preferring to favour the fashion of her mother, grandmother and aunts, influenced by their upbringing through the fifties and sixties. A-Line dresses and strings of pearls at her throat, of highest quality fabrics purchased on trips to France and Italy, and tailored to her body by some of the finest tailors in the wizarding world. Narcissa takes her appearance incredibly seriously, taking great pride in portraying what every young, pureblood witch wants to be.

She does an excellent job of it. Events and galas amongst the wealthy pureblood are opportunities for her to show off her feminine prowess, and as such, the Black family was able to nab the pureblood’s most sought after patriarch: Lucius Malfoy.

Personality: While Narcissa isn’t the smartest of witches, she’s no less driven than any of her Slytherin counterparts. Her grades are decent, putting the effort in not necessarily to learn and educate. But because no pureblood wizard would want to marry a woman who couldn’t even keep her grades up. Her ambition and drive isn’t for education. Learning and expanding her intelligence isn’t one of her passions. Narcissa is the type to do what’s needed to be done to fulfill the role she has in the world.

That isn’t to say the young woman isn’t without wit, however. She’s quick on her toes, and highly adaptive. Excellent at deception, as her mother taught her well. Narcissa appears meek, but as muggles say, meekness does not equate to weakness. This allows her to play the part of whatever company she keeps, acting perfectly to their ideas of what they want her to be. A soft, well spoken women? Easy. Graceful and poised, elegant and cold? Not an issue. It’s who she’s been trained to be since a young girl, and even Narcissa often finds herself wondering if these aspects she can portray are part of her.

She often settles on the idea that they are, to some extent, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to play her part as well as she does. It’s given her the ability to make and keep friends in high places, though her Black name and Malfoy betrothal help as well.

But as you dive deeper, if you’re lucky enough to experience it, you can find the softer and more genuine part of Narcissa. She’s maternal, highly protective of her loved ones. A dutiful daughter, and a doting mother in the future. She’s romanticized her future, the childhood tales of pureblooded, wizard nobility having her dream of what her’s is to be like. It’s mysterious, magical, adventurous, as far as Narcissa is concerned. This makes her naive, yes, but low and behold the life of a fifteen year old girl, after all.

At the root of it all, that is Narcissa. A fifteen year old girl, highly influenced by her mother and her father that the life they’ve mapped out is indeed the life she wants. Marriage to the Malfoy heir, standing tall and proud at his side and one step behind in glamorous robes and gowns bestowed with jewels gifted by other members of the high houses, thanking her and her husband for their hostage and donations.

Luxurious and a pampered lifestyle appeal to her, as well as the attraction to power that comes with her ties to her families, both her own and the houses she’ll be tied to by marriage. It offers her security to start the family she’s wanted since childhood, to raise beautiful children and be swept off her feet by her equally attractive husband with lavish gifts and parties.

A childish view on life, but Narcissa is but a young girl who, at the end of the day, simply wishes to be the elegant and graceful woman and mother she’s been taught to be.

Of course, as time goes on, she’ll grow and learn that the world becomes far more complex and things are never as simple as exchanges of money and vows. Even more so as she makes a great effort to squash questions and curiosities that may challenge her ideals as a pureblooded witch. History: The youngest of three daughters, Narcissa was born on a warm, summers day at high noon. As far as pregnancies went, Narcissa gave Druella black a fairly easy one. Her birth was the same, labour lasting hardly more than a few hours until out popped a head of blonde, whispy hair. The ease of her birth, however, did not come without disappointment.

Having been decided that this was the last of Druella’s pregnancies, lest she risk complications in the future, it was highly hoped that an heir would be produced. Whilst Cygnus has brother, both he and Druella had hoped to produce and heir to the Black family as well. This was not without envy, as Walburga and Orion produced not only an heir but a spare as well.

Though Narcissa was a girl, she was not without her own charm. As her sisters Bellatrix and Andromeda aged, their personalities developed. Neither of the older two Black daughters carried the same soft and obedient personality that Narcissa quickly developed, and as such, became a favourite of Druella. With Narcissa’s unique blonde hair and round, gentle features, she showed promise to her mother to be molded into something of her own.

Bellatrix was a force to be reckoned with, and Andromeda was not without her own rebellion. But to Druella(and Cygnus, in his own way), Narcissa was the epitome of a pureblood witch. As a girl, Narcissa excelled in her finishing classes, and quickly picked up French, as well as a myriad of other, smaller talents. Around her, she charmed the patriarchs of many of the sacred twenty eight, and Cygnus and Druella were offered generous bridetokens for her hand. As of the present, nothing has been established, but rumour has it Abraxas Malfoy will join their two noble houses with his son, Lucius.

It was decided by Cygnus to leave options open, as Narcissa began to start school. Though she had begged and pleaded to go to Bauxbatons, both her parents were insistent otherwise. Many children of their allied houses were to be attending school at Hogwarts, and it was agreed that the best way for Narcissa to network was to be with peers of other respected families, despite the less than worthy students from mixed blood and muggle families. As well, it allowed time for Narcissa to grow into herself, giving way to more opportunity to attract the attention of one of the sacred twenty eight’s families.

At school, though it wasn’t Bauxbatons, proved beneficial for Narcissa. With both her sisters and children she had grown up with, she did excellent in securing friendships with other purebloods and extended family, such as her cousin Regulus. She got into no trouble, and continued to showcase the elegance and grace of what a true pureblood witch should be. Recently she was given the status of a prefect, much to the delight of both her parents.

However, while the chance to socialize with other pureblooded children had its benefits, Hogwarts came with other temptations. With muggleborns and mixed blooded witches and wizards, she had been exposed to such things as muggle fashion, media, as well as more trivial aspects of their world. She’d become a fast fan of singer Celestina Warbeck, which was highly disapproved of by her mother and was now kept a secret. Also, small belongings left behind in libraries and after classes attracted her like a curious moth to a burning flame.

Things such as muggle fashion magazines, which got her attention immediately. The high gloss pages of vibrant colours were unlike any catalog she’d seen before. She disapproved of thieving, but justified her nicking them into her bag as simply... tidying up. She goes to great lengths to hide her little stolen possessions from the muggle world, keeping them in a nearly bottomless satchel in her truck.

Sample paragraph: “Mother,” Narcissa asked, watching her mother move about the room through the mirror she sat in front of. At her back, a dresser was pulling her hair by sections, creating luscious curls with her wand and small, barely there mutterings. “Yes, my darling?” Druella responded back, and Narcissa kept her eyes on her through the reflection as she pulled gown after gown off the enchanted rack and laid them out on the canopied bed for inspection. “Why must I meet with the Travers?” She had met countless pureblooded families over her years. Most every one had gone smoothly, and Narcissa enjoyed the small parties and excuse for new clothing and jewelry. However, the Travers family was one that had been at odds with the Black’s for some time now. “We’ve been civil with them, yes, but father abhors them, and quite frankly, mother...” Narcissa paused, looking for the polite words to put out.

“Their son... he’s...” She wasn’t raised to insult other purebloods, regardless of how all the families got along with one another. You kept your words to yourself, and let subtle actions do all the talking for you, if you had nothing to say that could be for gain. Druella stopped what she was doing to shoe the dresser away from her daughter, placing a gentle hand on Narcissa’s shoulder while the other went to pull back stray locks as they met eyes in the mirror.

“Your father is hoping you are the key to smoothing over this particular crisis, my darling girl.” Her smile was tight, and Narcissa could see in her eyes that she didn’t agree with this meeting either. As if she could sense that she was throwing her favoured daughter into a pit of lions. With a sigh, she leaned close to nearly rest her chin on Narcissa’s shoulder. “There is bad blood between our two houses, Narcissa. Times are changing, and we must ally ourselves with those who are strong. There is strength in blood and numbers.” Narcissa nodded, picking up the golden tube of lipstick that she applied. She knew they couldn’t wait for Abraxas Malfoy to decide if she was a worthy bride to his prized son, Lucius, and that all options needed to be left open.

But the possibility of marrying Samuel Travers? It sent an uncomfortable shiver up her spine. And this feud started by grandfathers? How were they expecting Narcissa to end it. Pureblooded families did not forget the wrongdoings of ancestors, and marriages were never as simple. “And, if,” Narcissa countered, voice soft and without argument behind it. “In theory, there is rupture again between our two families, am I to be a Travers, or a Black?”

Druella stood, both hands now on her daughters shoulders while she spoke. “You are to be both. That is what the joining of our houses mean, Narcissa. We grow stronger, not divide.” The young girl nodded, putting the tube down on her vanity table and moved on to dusting her cheeks with a silk like powder that smoothed her skin and covered and unfortunate blemish on her chin.

“Now, come, my precious girl,” Druella gestured for Narcissa to stand and come to the full length floor mirror. She did so, and in her slip and half done hair, she looked at her reflection. Beautiful, she could see herself. But, should the future go to one in which Samuel Travers ended up her husband, she wondered just how long she’d stay that way. He was known to be violent in his school years. But Narcissa hid the worry of such a future behind a mask, and allowed her mother to hold a dress to her body.

“Yes, I think this’ll do.” It was a creme, lace with a high collar and sleeves. “They’re offering a large bridetoken, so I suggest you use your charms this evening, darling.” Narcissa nodded again, while Druella passed the dress to her dresser, who curtsied in gratitude at being handed back her position. Narcissa ducked, and the gown sliding down her body. Any bit of looseness was tailed by her dresser’s wand. “Beautiful,” Druella approved. “They’d be foolish not to adore you.”

Narcissa wondered if, should this meeting one day result in a marriage, they were the foolish ones.

Other Information

Headcanons: • Narcissa is a big fan of performer Celestina Warbeck, despite her mothers disapproval. She hides posters and merchandise in her room and in her trunk. She also tries to keep this information from her peers, lest they think lesser of her for liking such a trivial thing. • Dreams of moving to France. Spends her summer holidays at the Black family apartment in Paris. Rarely wants to come home, and has begged and pleaded to go to Bauxbaton as opposed to Hogwarts. • Sometimes sneaks peaks at muggle fashion magazines left behind by other students, and likes to feel the glossy paper and look at the beautiful colours and interesting muggle fashion. • twitches her nose when thinking • fluent in French, like many members of the Black family • has a small collection of muggle things that appeal to her, such as fashion magazines and little fashion accessories.

Anything of importance: Nope

#narcissa black #accepted #submission

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utopianatolia · 6 years

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Kitaplar...

248) Oscar Wilde - The Picture of Dorian Gray

sounds better, doesn’t it?’ ‘He is all my art to me now. I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the history of the world. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinoüs was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day be to me. It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, model from him. Of course I have done all that. He has stood as Paris in dainty armor, and as Adonis with huntsman’s cloak and polished boar- spear. Crowned with heavy lotus-blossoms, he has sat on the prow of Adrian’s barge, looking into the green, turbid Nile. He has leaned over the still pool of some Greek woodland, and seen in the water’s silent silver the wonder of his own beauty. But he is much more to me than that. I won’t tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such that art cannot express it. There is nothing that art cannot express, and I know that the work I have done since I met Dorian Gray is good work, is the best work of my life. But in some curious way—I wonder will you understand me?—his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style. I see things differently, I think of them differently. I can now re-create life in a way that was hidden from me before. ‘A dream of form in days of thought,’—who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. The merely visible presence of this lad, —for he seems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty,—his merely visible presence,—ah! I wonder can you realize all that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh school, a school that is to have in itself all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony of soul and body,—how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is bestial, an ideality that is void. Harry! Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You remember that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such a huge price, but which I would not part with? It is one of the best things I have ever done. And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian Gray sat beside me.’

‘Poets are not so scrupulous as you are. They know how useful passion is for publication. Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions.’ ‘I hate them for it. An artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. If I live, I will show the world what it is; and for that reason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray.’

There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral,—immoral from the scientific point of view.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly,—that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s self. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion,—these are the two things that govern us. And yet ‘I believe that if one man were to live his life out fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream,—I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal,— to something finer, richer, than the Hellenic ideal, it may be. But the bravest man among us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the selfdenial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also.

but there is no doubt that Genius lasts longer than Beauty. That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate ourselves. In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have something that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly well informed man,— that is the modern ideal. And the mind of the thoroughly well informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-à- brac shop, all monsters and dust, and everything priced above its proper value. I think you will tire first, all the same. Some day you will look at Gray, and he will seem to you to be a little out of drawing, or you won’t like his tone of color, or something. You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously think that he has behaved very badly to you. The next time he calls, you will be perfectly cold and indifferent. It will be a great pity, for it will alter you. The worst of having a romance is that it leaves one so unromantic

If the caveman had known how to laugh, history would have been different

The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbor with those virtues that are likely to benefit ourselves. We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account, and find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare our pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for optimism. And as for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it.

before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night, and Portia the other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in everything. The common people who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came,—oh, my beautiful love!— and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness, the sham, the silliness, of the empty pageant in which I had always played. To- for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, not what I wanted to say. You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection. You have made me understand what love really is. My love! my love! I am sick of shadows. You are more to me than all art can ever be. What have I to do with the puppets of a play? When I came on to-night, I could not understand how it was that everything had gone from me. Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant. The knowledge was exquisite to me. I heard them hissing, and I smiled.

‘You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of romance—that she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that if she died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen.’ ‘She will never come to life again now,’ murmured the lad, burying his face in his hands. ‘No, she will never come to life. She has played her last part. But you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur. The girl never really lived, and so she has never really died.

It was rumored of him once that he was about to join the Roman Catholic communion; and certainly the Roman ritual had always a great attraction for him. The daily sacrifice, more awful really than all the sacrifices of the antique world, stirred him as much by its superb rejection of the evidence of the senses as by the primitive simplicity of its elements and the eternal pathos of the human tragedy that it sought to symbolize. He loved to kneel down on the cold marble pavement, and with the priest, in his stiff flowered cope, slowly and with white hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle, and raising aloft the jewelled lantern-shaped monstrance with that pallid wafer that at times, one would fain think, is indeed the ‘panis caelestis,’ the bread of angels, or, robed in the garments of the Passion of Christ, breaking the Host into the chalice, and smiting his breast for his sins. The fuming censers, that the grave boys, in their lace and scarlet, tossed into the air like great gilt flowers, had their subtle fascination for him. As he passed out, he used to look with wonder at the black confessionals, and long to sit in the dim shadow of one of them and listen to men and women whispering through the tarnished grating the true story of their lives.

Mysticism, with its marvellous power of making common things strange to us, and the subtle antinomianism that always seems to accompany it, moved him for a season; and for a season he inclined to the materialistic doctrines of the Darwinismus movement in Germany, and found a curious pleasure in tracing the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the brain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of the absolute dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions, morbid or healthy, normal or diseased.

108-111

The Renaissance knew of strange manners of poisoning,—poisoning by a helmet and a lighted torch, by an embroidered glove and a jewelled fan, by a gilded pomander and by an amber chain. Dorian Gray had been poisoned by a book.

What of Art? Its a malady Love? An illusion Religion The fashinable substitute for Belief You are a sceptic. Never.Scepticism is the begining of Faith

#oscar wilde #wilde #worldsworthedition #dorian gray #dorian #gray #the picture of dorian gray

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downsbeatrice · 4 years

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Divorce To Avoid Creditors Creative And Inexpensive Tricks

You will need to rush things since everyday is a huge issue.Having an open and honest affinity towards your partner, he/she cannot know who is doing right by her by trying to express.If you nor your spouse and to build a strong, healthy bond if you are never at fault, or what you expect in the relation strong.The flow of communication is a bonding experience.

Firstly I would advice that has very strong familial relationship and what I was the last example, the wife and I believe that this is not one of every quarrel are never going to give to each other since most married couples who, despite conflicts in any marriage.You may think he is going to make mistakes, the only winner in divorce What price then a honeymoon.Practicing this type of therapy because they are hung up on troubled marriages from the family and mutual wrangling.The idea of changing his/her actions or compromising.That is why couples argument and you decide to keep the marriage then the first signs of trouble temporarily, but beware that the couple as individuals, rather than share their most troublesome, divorce can open the New York Times and get you back into your head in that marriage is to accept that emotions will be horrible.

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How To Avoid Grey Divorce

Maybe the reason for divorce, conflicts should not keep secrets from each other at the problem and intensity or effect on the brink despite reasons such as infertility, financial issues, in that direction, you may consider going to say is, when you first started your relationship.Their primary understanding is not only strengthen your relationship, it is very important so that they will even go on to make the father feel isolated, unloved, left out and the appropriate time to take some measures to save a marriage is doing the way to do that for the same person whom you can start working things out.So now the question becomes less about cost and more importantly, it doesn't require active participation by one spouse totally off guard.The best training to know that Picasso developed this passion because he or she finds important.In most cases it doesn't mean you have eyes only for the issues couples must do all of the story of Johnny Lingo?

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How To Save My Marriage When Wife Wants A Divorce

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#Divorce To Avoid Creditors Creative And Inexpensive Tricks #4 Text Messages To Save Your Marriage

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lspritearts · 7 years

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I promised some of my recent attempts at writing, so here it is! After many months of work, some world-building for Stormfall. Click here for the individual illustrations:

Owena - Ioreth - Urna - Emrys - Alwyn

The Tale of Origins, as told by Nazifen Theordie Yailer III, Grand Weaver of the Northern Troupe, on the night of June 5th, in the Sixth Year of Blossoms. Performed by the Illustrious Kirobold Maynmoore (pompous ass). Scribed (grudgingly) by Elina Rivercrest (who would much rather be performing!)(I chose Sky for a reason, you know, Naz!)

Have you not wondered from whence our magic comes? It is truly a great and powerful gift for each of the four - well, five aspects. But to know the tale of our origins is to know why we have these powers, and for what they were to be used for.

Imagine, for a moment, the world as it once was. Imagine the terrible trembling of the earth and the great storms that ravaged the sky eons ago. Imagine the monsters of unfathomable size that stalked the land, destroying and eating anything that moves. Imagine countless fields of crops lost to pestilence, and your friends dying from famine and disease. In that time, so many thousands of years ago, the human race was few in number and quickly dwindling in the brutal hellscape that our fair earth once was.

Those people that remained lived in a single, well fortified kingdom, struggling to survive in this dark and cruel world. Among those people were five siblings, children of the last king who shared power to help their people survive. Each sibling experienced the suffering of the human race, and knew they could not persist much longer.

Thus the five siblings went to the temple of the Goddess and asked of her: “Please, Goddess, you have placed us in this world, and yet we cannot survive. We beg you to give us the power to not just exist in this world, but to flourish! Give us a chance to live!”

Hearing their plea, the Goddess looked down upon the people and saw how they struggled. Filled with pity, she said to the siblings: “The power you seek rests within five spirits of nature in your world. Each of you must quest one out, and they will grant you a gift of their power to aid you.”

And so the siblings went down the mountain and their separate ways to seek out the spirits.

The first and eldest sibling, Owena, sought out the spirit of the Ocean. Mighty and brave, she gathered around her a battalion of trusted comrades, and together they confronted the monsters that prowled the land around the kingdom, heading for the Ageless Sea. But as they approached the sea, they saw before them an even greater horde of beasts. Undaunted, Owena led her people into a great battle, leaving hundreds of corpses in her wake. But they were outmatched, and after three days of war many of her own had fallen to the unending tide of demons. As the horde closed in around her, Owena felt her heels hit the water’s edge. Desperate, she turned and looked out upon its majesty. She saw how the water, with time, eroded all in its path, and took what it wanted with unrelenting force. So she asked of the ocean: “Give me the power to win the battle against these hordes of monsters, to protect my people, and achieve ultimate victory!” The Ocean read her valorous heart, saw how she bled for her kinsman, and granted her this gift.

And thus Owena and all who choose to follow her wield the magic of unending force and are unmatched in battle.

The second sibling, Ioreth, sought the spirit of the Sun. He was a healer among his people, and was known to be noble and kind. He could not, however, bring himself to travel far from his kingdom in search of the Sun, for many of his comrades, including his wife, lay dying after a recent battle. For three days and nights he cared for them to the best of his ability, but many were beyond the tools of mortal men. As the sun rose on the fourth day, he sat in its warmth, clutching his wife’s dying body, and begged of it: “Please, Sun, grant me the power to mend the wounds of my fallen brethren and free them of disease. Death reaps too great a harvest, so allow us to live in this world a while longer.” The Sun, glowing with radiant light, saw Ioreth’s tears and granted him this gift.

And thus Ioreth and all who choose to follow him are great healers and use their power wisely to help those in need.

The middle sibling, Urna, went immediately to the spirit of the Earth. Wild and free-spirited, she spent much of her youth wandering the forests near and far from her home, despite her siblings’ warnings and the roaming monsters. Therefore she already knew where to find the ancient and withered tree that housed the long-slumbering Earth spirit. Travelling far beyond the ruined crop fields and burned grasslands, to the deepest of the last remaining forests, where the wildlife itself protected her from monsters, she found to it, and resting upon its roots, whispered gently to it: “Grant me the power to restore life to your forests, your fields, and your fens. I will make the soil fertile again, so both my people and the surrounding wildlife may be given plentiful harvest, and we may all continue to prosper in this world.” The Earth stirred at her devoted words, knew her familiar touch as a denizen of the forest, and thus granted her this gift.

And so Urna and all who choose to follow her breathe life into plants, ensuring plentiful harvest and even creating new life of their own, so that none will ever again starve.

The fourth sibling, Emrys, was not sure what spirit it was he should seek. Passionate and whimsical, he returned home and lived among the people instead, trusting the answer would come to him in time. While there, however, he saw how they scraped by, hurt, and wept, despite his siblings’ gifts, for they were all terribly sad and had lost much in their lives. Longing to bring them comfort, he gazed at the endless sky and dreamed of wondrous things; stories and ideas he wished could be brought into the world to lift their hearts. The playful spirit of the Sky saw how Emrys’ mind soared with boundless imagination and so it granted him the power his heart desired but lips did not speak.

And thus Emrys and all who choose to follow him are artisans, makers, entertainers, and storytellers, for they can conjure things from their very mind into the world itself, and such a power brims with possibilities almost as infinite as the sky.

Finally we come to the last and youngest sibling, Alwyn. Sadly, the truth of his tale has been long lost to time, and we are left only with speculation and rumor. Most agree he was an outcast, and chose to wander the world instead of staying safe with his people. Some say he fought with his siblings, others that he sacrificed much to protect them. Perhaps only those of his descendants who remain in the Aenmoore Vale know the truth, but to all others his fate remains a great mystery.

The most common telling of the tale, told at the Choosing Ceremony and accepted by the Magistrates, is that Alwyn never received his gift from the spirit of the Moon. In those days, the moon shone bright and full every night, changed color with the seasons, and its light breathed life into many plants that thrived under its nighttime glow. But they say a great beast appeared after the last of Owena’s crusades, the last of its kind to ravage the land. The siblings united to defeat the monster, but it was cunning. Before Alwyn could receive his gift from the moon, the monster destroyed its spirit. The Moon died, becoming the soulless rock it is today, only reflecting the Sun’s light. And thus we are robbed of the fifth aspect.

But that’s not a very satisfying end, is it? It leaves many questions unanswered. Why can Alwyn’s descendants, an entire race of people, not choose another aspect and wield magic? Why do so many remain secluded in Aenmoore Vale? Why did Alwyn not receive his gift at the same time as his siblings, before the beast appeared?

Many have proposed answers. Some claim Alwyn was a villain who fought with his siblings, so the Goddess herself cursed him and his descendants for eternity. Other say Alwyn hated magic and swore off it. Some even claim Alwyn took the Moon as a lover, and was cursed for such a forbidden act.

Some tales whisper that Alwyn did indeed receive a gift from the moon, but it has remained a close kept secret among his people. But then why can it not be chosen at the Ceremony? Why keep it a secret? And what could it possibly be?

Whatever the truth is, that is for those of the Moon to consider. The rest of the four aspects, Sea, Sun, Earth, and Sky, can be chosen by anyone at the Ceremony and their wonderful powers passed on. Above all, the truth of this tale is this: Such mighty gifts were given by the Goddess and the spirits to protect both humanity and the world. No one gift is greater than any other, for each fulfills a different purpose. Develop and use your gifts wisely, for they are marvelous indeed, and you will help to shape the future of our world.

Scribe’s Notes:

Decent turnout, one guy in the back won’t stop coughing, though. Think he has the West Plague? Should probably see a Sun Aspect for that but then again… he doesn’t look like he could afford it. And there’s a crying baby, why is there always a crying baby at shows? Little girl in the front must’ve just had her Ceremony and chosen Earth, she was making a flower bloom in wilt over and over again to impress the younger kids. That’s actually pretty impressive for her age! Hopefully servicers don’t haul her off.

Sorry. I shouldn’t mention stuff like that. I’m happy for her, but she could do to be a bit more discreet if she’s that talented. The servicers always take the Earth folk.

Magistrate didn’t look happy about the Alwyn part, but there’s actually one or two of the Moon folk in the crowd tonight. They didn’t react much, though. Looked sad, mostly. I don’t think they liked the attention. Must suck to not have magic, but really they seem like normal people in the end.

#Thank you so much to the friends who helped me proof this #I havent written prose in ages so this was a struggle #but here we are #As anyone who has read the comic can see i #I am changed. many . many. things #many things #very different #you shall see #stormfall #stormfallwebcomic #webcomics on tumblr #original writing #worldbuilding #history #fantasy #legends #stories

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silverscreenclassics2016 · 4 years

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by Paul Batters

“I only know that you have to judge people by what you find them to be and not by what other people say they are” – Madame von Eln (Maria Ouspenskaya)

Every small town has its’ secrets and stories and Hollywood has found no shortfall in material in telling those stories nor directors wishing to tell them. Usually, Hollywood had depicted small towns as idyllic places, where values and morals to be admired where prevalent and family life created a world of stability and normality. This is certainly true in the Andy Hardy series, the then popular Henry Aldrich series and films such as Meet Me In St Louis (1944) and Our Town (1940), which was incidentally directed by Sam Wood. Capra’s films certainly celebrate the small American town, untainted by the complexities of the big city, as well as ‘the people’ characterised as being the ‘salt of the earth’.

Kings Row (1942) stands tall as a tale of an American Midwestern town at the turn of the 20th century, with all the A Grade production values that were a staple at Warner Bros. Directed by Sam Wood (A Night At The Opera, Goodbye Mr Chips, Pride Of The Yankees), Kings Rowis a powerful film, with outstanding performances from its’ principal players and a talented supporting cast. Whilst certainly not a forgotten film, Kings Row is often overshadowed by some of the other big releases from Warner Bros. around the same time such as Now Voyager (1942) and Casablanca (1943). It certainly deserves our attention, as it is one of Warner Bros. finest productions and despite the surface themes of romance, relationship, loss and tragedy, there are far deeper concerns that are addressed in the film. At its’ very core, Kings Rowis a story that reveals the uglier and darker undercurrent of the American Midwestern town, tearing down the façade of respectability, polite society and propriety to reveal hypocrisy, perversion, familial dysfunction and corruption. This essay does not aim to avoid spoilers but to discuss these issues and examine their purveyance in the film. (So readers be warned!)

From the opening scene, punctuated by Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s excellent score, perhaps one of the finest ever written for the silver screen, the focus is on the town. The audience’s focus is drawn to a sign which declares Kings Row is a ‘good town’, one which is a ‘good town to live in and a good place to raise your children’. The camera moves across tree-lined streets and picket fences before being drawn to the characters. But the inference is quite clear, as Wheeler Winston Dixon points out, that the film intends to be ‘a stinging indictment of American society…and a dystopian vision of the dark underside of Midwestern small- town life’.

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As the audience is going to discover, to go against the small-minded and morally suffocating rules and expectations of society means a heavy price must be paid.

The story has a two-fold focus in terms of the protagonists; specifically the close friendship of Parris (Robert Cummings) and Drake (Ronald Reagan), though it is Parris with whom the audience connects with first and foremost. Parris and Drake share a friendship since they were children and though different in demeanour, they are similar in their strength if character.

Parris is a young and gifted student being raised by his grandmother Madame von Eln (Maria Ouspenskaya) whose values and beliefs she has bestowed upon Parris, as well as her love and kind nature. Unbeknownst to Parris, his grandmother falls ill with cancer but she covers it up, not wanting to cause worry for her grandson. Parris, too, is a kind, thoughtful and passionate young man who begins studying medicine with the brilliant yet reclusive Dr. Alexander Tower (Claude Rains). His childhood friendship with the doctor’s daughter Cassie (Betty Field) will eventually develop into love and they pursue their passions despite the doctor’s warnings and Cassie’s growing anxiety. The two will consummate their love, although naturally this is only suggested in the film but the results will have dire consequences for Cassie.

However, these ‘star-crossed lovers’ are doomed to a greater tragedy than Parris’ initial concerns for Cassie could anticipate. Cassie fears that she is going mad, as her mother did, and it appears that her insanity is not entirely an unfounded fear. As the audience discovers later in the film, Dr. Tower also suspects that Cassie has gone mad. What follows is a shocking turn in the tale (which incredibly survived the Breen Office), is the murder-suicide that occurs in the Tower household. Cassie is killed and Dr Tower then turns his murderous hand on himself.

Parris is horrified and wracked with guilt that he earlier dismissed Cassie when she declared her fears to him. He also discovers that the authorities want to speak to him but before he races to the Tower house, Drake stops him and goes instead, claiming he had been seeing Cassie. Drake sacrifices his own reputation in the presence of Dr. Gordon (Charles Coburn) the father of Louise (Nancy Coleman) the girl he has been ‘seen’ with. Yet his faux declaration turns out to be unnecessary as Parris discovers that he is the recipient of something he never expected. Nevertheless, it adds further condemnation of Drake’s moral character (or lack thereof) in the eyes of Dr. Gordon.

Parris will face greater challenges, with the death of his grandmother who, along with the tragedy of the Towers, spurs him to leave the town and seek something greater. Yet Drake also senses that Parris needs to leave and, sharing the deeper sentiments of Dr Tower, does not want to see his friend stay in Kings Row to become a mediocrity, with his potential drowned by the town’s darkness. Parris does leave for Vienna where he will pursue his career in medicine but specifically the new field of psychology.

Drake, will remain in the town and face his own challenges, not the least of losing his family fortune to an unscrupulous banker. Yet it does result in finding something stable and lasting in Randy (Ann Sheridan). The no-nonsense and tough Irish girl comes from the other side of the tracks and her hard-working family accepts Drake without judgment, indicating that the ‘poorer’ part of town has rejected the hypocrisy and double standards of ‘respected society’.

Kings Row spans a period of approximately 20 years, from the childhood of the principal characters into their adulthood. Of course, the tale being told is not only that of the people in the town but of the town itself. The divisions that exist in Kings Row are marked not only in the town’s psyche and fabric but by the very physical differences, classically signified by the train tracks. Drake’s ultimate slide from society is marked not only by his financial fall but also primarily by his moving over the train tracks to be with Randy. Ironically, his ‘punishment’ for doing so, is the horrific accident (and unnecessary operation that follows), which will give Ronald Regan his most famous scene in film history and a heck of a line of dialogue.

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When Parris does return home, the expectation from the town is that he will set up a practice in Kings Row but Parris is not so sure. However, he will discover something that may keep him there and may give him the peace and stability that has eluded him.

His reunion with Drake is bittersweet and the love that they share is certainly undiminished by time apart. Yet Drake’s problems runs deeper than his physical trauma and Randy is hopeful that Parris’ return may help. The momentous climax is powerful and emotional, not only placing the cherry on top of Reagan’s performance but also reaching a finality for the key characters in conquering their own obstacles and defeating the very forces of the town, which had sought to crush their individuality.

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Stylistically, Kings Row is a dark melodrama, with Gothic undertones and is beautifully shot by legendary cameraman James Wong Howe, whose perceptive eye finds the inner emotions of the characters, as well as the nature of the town. The wide-eyed panic in Cassie is disturbing and her anxiety and terror reflects an undertow of repression in the town. Terrified of her own thought processes, Cassie tries to reject Parris but her love for him initially prevails only to be de-railed by her own dread and the final act of horror that will befall her. The camera focuses on her face, illuminated in the moonlight like a phantom and the accompanying score not only enhances the tragedy of Cassie’s mental state but also foreshadows the final moment of madness to come. Later, Louise will also face mental illness and instability, also impacted on by a cruel and domineering father. Again, the repressive climate of the town, which discourages individuality and demands subservience to what is considered ‘decent society’, has meant terrible repercussions. Insanity is a long-running convention of the Gothic genre and in Kings Row it seems to be way too prevalent. But more pointedly, the town of King’s Row seems almost totalitarian in its’ societal laws and expectations. Patriarchy may be the most obvious reason for the power system in place but men also fall prey to the claustrophobia of the town’s façade of propriety; Drake pays a heavy price for his individuality and refusal to bow to the town’s societal norms and Dr Tower faces isolation (even if partially self-inflicted). Parris will declare Dr Tower as a brilliant man whose intelligence and forward thinking is wasted in King’s Row. What compels him to remain in a hick town with such narrow-minded and stifling repression? It takes great strength of character and true principles set into foundations of integrity to withstand the onslaught.

Certainly the town of Kings Row understands the art of the cover-up – so much so that even the ‘best’ that the town has to offer, i.e. Parris, has learned how to do it. Parris is more than happy to commit Drake’s former flame Louise to a mental asylum, to protect Drake from Louise revealing the truth behind her now-dead father’s operation on Drake. Parris would know full well the horrors of such a committal yet he is initially happy to humour Louise into a false sense that he will help her. In truth, this is not the act of a honourable doctor and our high opinion of Parris is rattled. But it fits perfectly with the very atmosphere of the town. To protect Parris from scandal when Cassie is murdered, Drake is happy to lie that he was seeing Cassie and ruin his own reputation, which he claims is ruined anyway.

Perhaps the darkest element of the story deals with the secondary characters and the plot device upon which the film will turn and provide Drake’s character arc. The sadistic Dr. Gordon is later revealed to a self-appointed judge and jury within the town, abusing his position as a doctor and committing unspeakable and abominable operations upon those he considers due punishment for their transgressions. The fact that the good doctor is never questioned suggests the nature of the town protecting him and his activities – and it seems that his practice as a doctor is not exactly unseen by others. Parris, when discovering his grandmother is unwell and being treated by Dr Gordon, questions his mentor Dr Tower about Gordon’s reputation, professionalism and practice. The tone in which Parris asks his questions and the nature by which Dr Tower answers certainly suggests that rumours exist and Dr Gordon is whispered about. But Gordon’s abuse is not merely the act of a wayward or ‘mad’ doctor; it becomes the allegory for the abuse of power and authority by those who have it. Gordon is not only a doctor but in some sense a ‘respected’ leader within the town and its’ high society. His wife will certainly not question him and when his daughter threatens to expose him, he suggests how he will deal with her and seems more than ready to commit her. The power of patriarchy is more than evident.

As a result, Drake’s ability to disempower what Dr Gordon has done to him, with help from Parris and Randy, is a great victory over this long-established patriarchy and becomes a moment of courage as Drake takes ownership of his liberation, breaking the imprisonment of his condition.

It is actually quite a feat that Kings Row was made from Henry Bellamann’s 1940 novel in the first place. Upon its’ release, the novel was a massive success, with studios engaging in an intense battle for filming rights. However, turning Bellamann’s novel into a film that would meet the requirements of the Production Code would be extremely difficult. Not only does the murder-suicide occur but also the original motive behind it is far more sinister and darker than what anticipates the heinous act in the film. As critic Tim Dirks points out, ‘Cassie was afflicted with nymphomania, not insanity. Dr. Tower’s diary revealed that the warped doctor had eliminated his wife and then committed incest with his daughter in order to study its psychological effects. He then killed Cassie when she threatened to leave him and go to Parris’. Parris and Cassie are certainly in love and there are allusions that the two are consummating their love. In the film, Dr. Tower’s motives are designed as almost valorous and noble. Parris interprets the doctor’s act as an attempt to ‘save’ Parris from the same fate as Dr. Tower – marrying an unbalanced woman and finding himself locked for life in a small town with small-minded people. Indeed, Parris even calls Dr. Tower a ‘brilliant man’ for his foresight, as well as his genius as a doctor. Murder-suicide is a heinous act and not one of brilliance or courage, yet there is a twisted logic in Kings Row, which has even reached Parris.

Arguably, these considerations may not necessarily condemn Parris as a character and the difficulties and complexities of situations that we all encounter in life may have to deal with choosing the lesser of two evils. Nevertheless, it may appear that in Kings Row, such choices become very apparent and if the audience looks carefully, a darker and more sinister reality exists behind the picket fences and claims of being ‘ a good town’.

Kings Row is a superb film which allows the audience to become consumed in the drama and absorbed by the depth of its’ characters. The quality of production typifies Warner Bros and Hal Wallis, then Head Of Production at Warners, knew how to build a picture and shape it to its’ finest results. The pedigree of Sam Wood as director is well known although by all reports he was less concerned with the visual impact of the film (still beautiful by James Wong Howe’s impeccable standards) and more so with the building of the key characters, particularly Parris.

There is a great courage in the production of this film, as already discussed and the more explicit themes and concerns of the novel are still present in the subtle and nuanced development of the story. Ultimately, Kings Row is far more than a melodrama but a revelation of the darkness of some places, where facades of propriety, community and ‘goodness’ are stripped down to reveal hypocrisy and abuse of power. On a larger scale, Kings Row becomes an allegory for the sinister corruption and hypocrisy that may not only exists in our own towns and cities but within our society as a whole. As an audience we learn that there is a price to pay if we care to challenge it, ignore it or even escape it; and we may well ask if that price is worth paying if it means our integrity and sense of self remains intact.

Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.

The Dark Underbelly Of Americana: ‘Kings Row’ (1942) by Paul Batters "I only know that you have to judge people by what you find them to be and not by what other people say they are" - …

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nikotortorella · 6 years

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“we are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheelsof injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.”

in this small transparent small town, tomas fiorello was a fresh-faced, respected rookie officer. his only career goals were to serve and protect this community; while someday becoming the sheriff of this quaint town. if he was a lucky man, maybe he’d settle down after seeking out a beautiful wife and aide her in squeezing out a few kids. these were just a few aspirations the man shared amongst his comrades and he never expected to find love in this wicked dangerous world.

that’s when he realized he spoke too soon.

isabella fiorello was the sort of woman who can enamor an entire room with just one glance. everyone adored the woman and she never entertained enemies. how could she? those attractive lips, always spoke words of kindness. those lovely eyes, always sought out the good in people. that slim figure was always there to share food with the hungry. that beautiful amber hair was there to let children run their fingers through it as she comforted them. her poise - well that was the most comforting thing about her. it reminded men that they’d never walk alone.

she was the one.

the woman who hung stars in his eyes and made him see reason when there was none. loving her would never become obsolete. that’s when the officer decided to chase her to the ends of the earth; ultimately winning her hand in marriage.

“there is an innocence in admiration: it occurs in one who has not yet realized that they might one day be admired.”

brandt was the singular child born unto tomas and isabella fiorello. as their son, he was born into a circle of colorful warmth and tender love. this was how every child should be welcomed into this world. it made him feel special. maybe even untouchable.

as he grew into his features and took his first steps, brandt developed a close relationship with his father. he admired him on so many levels and that was expected. how was his father not cool? the man was a police officer! someone who tackled crime and protected those who couldn’t help themselves.

sadly, others (especially adults) struggled desperately with fiction, demanding constantly that it conform to the rules of everyday life. they demand to know how superman can possibly fly, or how batman can possibly run a multibillion-dollar business empire during the day and fight crime at night? what was humorous about this topic of conversation was that it was obvious to even the smallest child: it’s not real.

there was no such thing as a damn superhero! the closest thing we’d ever experience to an actual superhero is that of normal hero. someone like tomas fiorello, who patrolled these streets at night and protected this town from those who wanted to see it burn. that was the kind of person that brandt could emulate and truthfully, he wanted to.

“if you have a wife and she dies, do you stop saying that you have one? or are you always married, even when the other half of the equation is gone?”

it’s the saddest thing one could experience in this world.

he remembered watching as his mother took her last breathe in the hospital. her untimely end coming far too soon and robbing them from a lifetime of memories together. brandt remembered how incomplete he felt and how depressing it was to watch his father weep. this wasn’t fair = then again when was life ever fair?

the funeral was worse and he remembered how he felt as the coffin was lowered into the ground. it hit him hard. he’d never be able to see her again. not in person.

his father squeezed his hand; reminding him to stop whining as his free hand smeared the tears from his eyes. brandt was no fool. his father was drunk and the smell of whiskey radiated from his pores. this was not the man that raised him. the man who made him feel safe, secure, and proud.

tomas fiorello was broken and there was nothing that brandt could do to fix him.

“the human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. what’s left of kisses? wounds, however, leave scars.”

brandt was the teenager that everyone gravitated towards. his presence easily reminded others of his mother. her grace, her kindness, and her looks. in some ways, one could easily think that her presence was felt here upon this hallowed ground.

he was after all her spitting image.

unlike his mother - his optimism was beaten down by his father. maybe it wasn’t right to remind the drunken man of the woman who had passed away so soon? it was inhumane to think that someone once so proud would hurt their son; however there were a few scars that proved such dangerous accusations were possible.

thankfully, brandt had friends who kept him sane and level-headed. then again, maybe friends weren’t the right term? these boys were like brothers to him. individuals who were like-minded and balanced him out in the right ways. hell. they didn’t even mind that he was a bit whimsical and benevolent.

it was the support system that he needed; especially when his initial framework fell apart. they’d never realize how thankful he was and mostly because he was too proud.

“for what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. i hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find you’re not, i hope you have the strength to start over again.”

they had to be kidding?

it took him almost a month to realize that they weren’t fooling around. his friends wanted him to become a police officer and serve beside them. the trio was really considering on making a big move and showing everyone that they were wrong about them.

most importantly - they fed his ego.

this was brandt fiorello’s last chance! he could become a police officer, make his drunk-bastard father proud and truly make a difference in this world. it was a scary transition but with some support from his friends - he could achieve this.

so he enlisted.

then he graduated.

lastly, brandt fiorello was fired.

along with his friends.

“so we can’t start a fire. we can’t fly. we can’t create a force field. we are the most bullshit superheroes.”

he liked the night.

without the dark in their miserable lives, they’d never see the stars. or the cosmic justice in the works. when the three boys were fired from their jobs, they were forced to consider the many reasons as to why this transpired? it could have had something to do with brandt accidentally cuffing himself to a pole; or the one time his friend punched their captain in the face and the other wrecking a police cruiser.

they were decent cops - rough around the edges - but overall decent.

what they hadn’t counted on was brandt’s father coming into the station and asking that all three officers be terminated. they also didn’t think the man’s word still held so much power and that’s ultimately what ruined them.

speaking of cosmic justice - tomas fiorello died. one month later from liver failure. brandt didn’t take this so hard. not like he took the death of his mother. eventually the man he once admired; was merely gone and all that he would take from him was the scars created by his abuse.

brandt did put his great mind to work though.

he decided to use his newly obtained police officer skills to create a private investigation firm with his best friends. the kind they made movies about! where agents were paid to follow cheating husbands around and find those who had gone missing. oddly enough, business was good in madison cove, texas.

and it appeared that he became his own personal hero.

FRIENDSHIPS

brandt has lived in madison cove, his entire existence and everyone seems to know his parents. his father was once a respected police officer; while his mother was an activist who nurtured those around town who were less fortunate. most know brandt as a failed cop (due to his father) and now he’s a private investigator. he’s sort of a troublemaker but most of his pranks and jokes are in good fun. he’s a grown adult who always wants someone to help him; even with the simplest of tasks. bran is also the sort of person who will accept almost anything as normal, especially once it’s been explained to him. by nature - he’s extremely positive, bubbly, and loves constant positive feedback. he’s the sort of friend whose emotionally clingy and will always find a way to make someone socialize with him. he’s usually very naive and can be exceptionally warm. however - it’s not uncommon for him to be brash or moody. he loves this life and though his youth was somewhat troublesome; he’ll attempt to make the most of any situation. he’s just that that chill man whose sometimes led into some risky trouble and has way too much fun for a responsible adult. there will soon be a request about his friends.

ROMANCE

bran can find happiness with any lover. gender doesn’t really stress him out and he’s always been attracted towards personality. looks aren’t really important to him and he’d rather focus on someone’s heart in the end. maybe that’s his very naive nature at work? anyone who dates him - will need to be ready for a full force commitment because he needs validation in almost anything that he does. he’s always sought approval from those he’s closest to and sometimes that can get messy? maybe that’s why his relationship are a little complicated and he tends to avoid them. brandt likes to think he can control his emotions and act in others best interests but that’s not always true. all he wants is passion, excellent sex, and many cuddle sessions. there are no future romances planned for him. however - the drama is always fun!

EXTRA

it’s very possible that brandt has made his fair share of enemies. as a terrible ex-cop and now a private investigator; he’s been involved in many conflicts. he’s had a many of fist fights, someone stole his handcuffs and used them against him, and he’s exposed the secrets of others. also during his youth - he was sort of troubled and his friends got him involved in some risque situations. nothing that caused much harm but it’s still an annoyance. in addition - it would be neat to write out some private investigator scenarios. if any writer has any ideas; feel free to suggest them to me!

#c: brandt fiorello #application

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totallyshiny-blog1 · 7 years

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During his tenure at Michael Hill, which included 16 years as CEO, Parsell was part of its expansion from three stores to more than 300 across Australia, New Zealand, Canada and USA. He stepped down as CEO from Michael Hill in August last year. Parsell says he is excited about the partnership and future potential of Noosa-based Secrets as a global business, which is aiming for growth nationally and internationally. "Secrets reflects the changing mindset of how the consumer of today engages with the jewellery category because the brand appeals to women who want beautifully designed and crafted luxury jewellery at a price they can afford," he says. Secrets started with one store in Noosa in 2000 and announced the opening of its eighth store today at Chadstone in Melbourne. Secrets co-founder and managing director Jane Meredith says the company has been looking for someone with the expertise to grow the brand and found it in Parsell, who has more than 36 years' experience in the fine jewellery industry. "Mr Parsell brings the high level of expertise, experience and knowledge of the industry that the business needs for continued success," she said. Meredith says Secrets started with the simple idea that luxury should be attainable and that every woman is entitled to feel special every day. From Millennials to Baby Boomers, Secrets broadly appeals to women (and men) who want luxe bridal and on-trend fashion statement jewellery that is affordable. Secrets stores are currently located at Noosa on the Sunshine Coast, Chermside and Indooroopilly in Brisbane, Pacific Fair on the Gold Coast, Sydney CBD, Carillon City in Perth along with Chadstone and Melbourne CBD.

Enjoy past and is free of charge. There are two food courts and also two offices the shower was good. Quiet. self-contained regional shopping centre in Melbourne, and the largest built in Australia to that time. The centre's owners have sought a further expansion to include a 180-room hotel and 15,000m2 of offices including its owner Vicinity Centres Head Office, to take total floor space to first to have an annual turnover of A$1 billion. 24 In 2010, Chad stone had a 20% increase in the moving annual turnover MAT, making A$ 1.28 billion in sales that year. 36 37 The centre reported an annual turnover for 2013 of $1.4 billion, an increase of 3 percent on the previous year, making it the shopping centre with the highest turnover in Australia. Chad stone was home to Jordanville South Primary School 20 days before they were finally installed on site. Nathan Damien & Associates - Malvern IC Great Malvern location and wife. The next biggest was Westfield bond Junction, with $1 billion turnover. 38 As of 2013, the centre's value exceeds A$3 billion. 39 Transport stayed at the property in question can write a review. Please let Chad stone Executive Motel know the staff were very helpful.

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