A Self-Portrait’, Of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1847

White Mourning

“I always find it strange, how rarely evil comes dressed for the part. One might expect a wicked being to look like this creature—horned and fetid, unmistakable. And yet, the truest threats arrive masked as angels of light.”

Summary: In the dead of winter night, the betrothed arrives. A dragon rots in a filthy cage, brought as proof of a holy slaughter. In a castle thick with secrets and snow, the bride, haunted by the dreams of fire, begins to stray. And when the wedding bells ring, the veils will be drawn for mourning.

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And that dialogue about the Minotaur still haunts me…

knight fairy

Inspired by The Siren by J. Waterhouse

It’s been a while since I got to play my lyre. Musical instruments make the most wonderful sound when you play them out of the water, but the last time I went up, my trusty friend got carried away by waves and collided with the cliff the second I let go of it to adjust my hair. Now its pieces are resting among the debris at the very bottom of the ocean, with many other instruments I had broken over the years. To be fair, I could dive in and fetch it, but the whole ordeal of connecting the pieces together and fixing it up will undoubtedly prove to be very tedious. 

As my fingers glided along the strings, I heard a heavy splash coming from the side of the shore. In the early hours of the morning, birds and land critters are far from plentiful, and it was only natural for me to turn at the loud sound. There I saw him: a creature, blissfully splashing in the water, unaware of my close presence. He was beautiful. With a merman’s physique and masculine features, the tail was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I observed two equally long arm-like appendages, which, frankly, didn’t take away from his charming presence. It was becoming troublesome to both look and play at the same time, and so I gave up on the latter activity. The abrupt stop of music, however, hasn’t escaped the creature’s attention. He turned his head towards where the sound of my lyre was coming from, and it finally happened: I’ve been discovered. I wasn’t afraid, on the contrary, I quickly tried to present myself in the best light, adjusting my wet hair with a hand free of my lyre in an attempt to give it more volume, which proved to be quite difficult now that I was out of the water. He called out to me a few times, each time louder than the previous one, and all I could think about was how funny his voice sounded when he was yelling what I believe were various words. I laughed, and he went silent. Did I startle him? As I began to curse myself over the careless mistake, the creature dove into the waters and made a quick way towards me, working the bottom limbs similarly to a mermaid tail. Only when he arrived at my rock, he noticed our most striking difference — my tail. With childish wonder, he reached out his arm to barely touch it, sliding his hand back and forth along the scales. “Do you find it revolting?” I asked, and his hand went still, as his eyes locked on mine. His response was short, said with a low and calm voice. 

I didn’t understand his language, and he didn’t understand mine, but neither of us needed words to communicate. By sitting close to him, being in his presence, it felt like he understood me better than anyone had: my mother, my own kind. Boldly, I rested my head on his shoulder, inhaling the unfamiliar scent. We stayed still for a while, uninterrupted, until the sun has fully risen. Only then he gently pushes my head off his shoulder, giving me time to adjust to my new position. As he departed, I wasn’t afraid that I might not ever see him again. On the contrary, I could feel that he too knew of a special connection we now shared. I sat on my rock a while longer, thinking about my future, the sea-dwelling suitors, and him, him, him.

My singular contribution to the kcd fandom

April's harvest. Not much, but honest work.

Beware of Pity was an easy, effortless winner. What an amazing book, and a great introduction to Zweig. It inspired me immensely—I have pages and pages worth of notes and quotes, and I'm so very excited to read more.

Possession can easily count as two separate works, and, therefore, was twice as taxing to read. It was alright, really, and the author was brilliant for coming up with so much "lore," but it was simply not my cup of tea. Where people see great romance, I see a self-centered man whose actions are destructive to the point of ruining lives. I understand that humans are flawed, I do! But I don't like a story full of bad actions and worse consequences of those extremely flawed beings to be presented on a plate with gold rims and called something it's not.

I have the most to say about Daisy Miller, but, perhaps I'll save it for later—a long thinkpiece, likely. It's a short story, but I just adored it. I love love love a tragedy, and it really scratched all the right spots. It's a very thought-provoking piece; it had me thinking and pondering on its meaning for days.

O Caledonia was recommended to me by positively everyone, and glazed from every angle, so I will just say that I went into it with expectations raised a bit too high. It's good for what it is, but I can't call it a revolutionary work. It's a cute coming-of-age story with a great setting that I, personally, couldn't relate to, but I know many people did and will.

The Bath of Venus (1898-1904, oil on canvas) | Charles Shannon

I keep having fun with the concept of hare Henry x) He's not a big hare, it's just a hare-sized forge hahaha (and the horseshoes are probably for hare-sized horses or pony)

fucking eldritch level feelings for these two wtf

playing this game makes me feel wayy too many things