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#Or the elderly has wisdom to bestow upon you.

more-than-a-princess · 1 year

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HARK!

May the heralds sing and the bells ring. Or whatever it is that happens on Valentine's.

Cupid himself has descended upon Boudry House.

Dogged by his faithful sidekick(??) (no assistant is ever paid enough) the dubiously dressed god of DOKI DOKI AHHHN skips through the building. Loosing his sucker-tipped arrows tied with strawberry candies unto his unsuspecting but doting followers and fans.

"May you find love, appreciation, and soundproof walls tonight." He bequeaths his wisdom before spiriting away.

And yes, that faithful sidekick does go and apologize to each victim person, before rushing to catch up with the beloved god.

But it's only so long before they lose track of the god. Too spritely. Too energetic. Too fucking clever. Where did he go? What was his plan? Alas. It would remain a mystery to all.

All but one.

For not long after eluding pursuit does our devilishly handsome and attractive Cupid find just the loneliest and the saddest looking maiden he's ever seen! Upon bursting into her chambers he gasps in horror.

"Clearly. Just one of my arrows won't be enough for you, fair beautiful sexy minx of a maiden." He declares. A flamboyant toss of the repurposed nerf bow along with the remaining arrows and their sugary payloads. They clatter and clang on the floor as he struts inside like ballet dancer. Fluttered steps before sweeping the wailing and bereaved maiden off her feet. Expression of longing and pity to be shared with her.

"I have no choice. I will have to use something else. After I make you my personal Valentine." Finger to her lips! "Hush! Do not be modest my lady. It is you who is being humbled and I will find the apologies for that later. I also got you chocolate. But this is more fun."

(Chocolate is mentioned so this banner still counts!)

"And that is why, Your Royal Highness, the benefits of assisted suicide to elderly and aging populations will prove to be a more ethical and humane way to cease suffering than the current medical laws in place," One of the two men was, Sonia hoped, working to conclude the presentation that afternoon. February 14 was not a holiday for exchanging chocolates or planning an elaborate gift, at least for Novosonian royals. It was a workday, like any other weekday (and frankly, plenty of weekends too). "Without such plans in place, it puts elderly, aging, and otherwise mentally ill patients at risk for self-injury and prolonged pain, of both physical and mental varieties."

Sonia nodded, though she was doing her best to muster a smile that wasn't quite as grim as the topic at hand and the emotion in her heart from considering such things. Her personal secretary, Cecily, and her first assistant were keeping it together far more admirably: Cecily had looked after Sonia for the past ten years and all of the Princess's assistants had been thoroughly screened and hired by her. Little seemed to faze the woman, if her composed expression behind silver-rimmed glasses was any indication.

"Yes," Sonia sighed, frowning. It was a horrid thing to consider, on Valentine's Day of all days: aging, dying alone, with a broken heart or mind or perhaps both. Certainly it wasn't reserved only for elderly populations either, which begged further question: which was worse, debilitating conditions whilst young and finding assisted suicide the kindest way to subdue the pain, or living a full life before finding one's self lonely, deteriorating, and frightened, with certain death providing the only possible relief? "I shall be sure to review the figures, testimonials, and plans you have been so kind to bestow upon me, Gentlemen, and AHH!-"

But she hadn't been given a chance to continue. A scuffle outside the door to her formal office, followed by several squeals of laughter and shock alike, had caught the attention of everyone in the room even before Wylan and his assistant burst through the door, the latter looking at Cecily and Sonia with an apologetic expression. He was the fifth (or was it sixth?) personal assistant that had gone through the Wylan Rectur Ringer (or so the staff had come to call it), and if Sonia remembered correctly, it was only his second month on the job. Hardly enough time to become acquainted with his new charge and his many excellent qualities.

Well, Sonia thought they were excellent, but then again, she was the only one in the room smiling at Wylan's grandiose entrance. The two men she'd agreed to meet with that afternoon were now both slack-jawed, stunned at the display before them. Sonia's assistant had paused, mid-scribble on her tablet, glancing from the audio recording device on the table to her usually stern-faced boss, panic written all over her face. And Cecily could only stare in horror and mutter, breaking the silence. "He's insane," She hissed, her chestnut bob shaking in shock, or rage, or perhaps both that neither a strawberry candy or a triple espresso could cure. "The man is completely and utterly insane."

Sonia's guests seemed to agree, opening their mouths to question why an American draped in white fabric brandishing toys and candy had found it fit to interrupt a scheduled meeting with the Princess of Novoselic. Possibly to offer services in evaluating the mental state of the rumored lover of the future queen.

"That will be all for today, thank you," Sonia announced, loud enough for the entire room to hear her cheerful, yet firm, tone. "As I mentioned, I shall take this under advisement and present it to the Royal Council soon." She'd needed a moment to remember herself: that she wasn't just a woman in love with someone who never failed to put a smile on her face, but that she was a princess with real responsibilities. Real decisions that affected the lives of millions.

Which was, admittedly, a challenge at present: she likely appeared ineffective as a royal, her arms wrapped around Wylan's neck as he carried her bridal-style, Sonia all the while shifting her lower half in order to keep her pale pink dress down and decently arranged. But as someone in love, quite content with the change of plan.

"I'll escort you out," Cecily quickly chimed in, prompting the rest of the room towards the door while demanding the assistant shut off and remove the recording device as quickly as possible, for all of their sakes. Sonia grinned, the door closing firmly behind the group, leaving the two of them alone.

"Well, now that members of the board of public health have heard that their Princess is known as a 'sexy minx of a maiden,' Happy Valentine's Day!" She laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. It had become common between them now, Sonia stealing kisses from Wylan here and there. Some as long and passionate as the ones in Las Vegas and Paris had been, others quick and teasing. But the key was surprise, though he seemed to have won on that front that day. "But I rather prefer this to chocolate, and you know how much I like good chocolate."

She had to emphasize the good adjective. Otherwise, it could result in the likes of Hershey's or Swiss Miss (though she'd been assured that there were worse American chocolates than those, which was almost as horrifying as discussing suicide on Valentine's Day). "I wonder what technique you intend to use to make me, as you say, your personal valentine," She teased, her gaze glancing down pointedly before looking back into his eyes. "But I've got chocolate for you too. I can't give up some of the Japanese traditions, and dinner planned as well."

"Though, if I had the opportunity..." She continued, dropping another kiss onto his cheek, "I'd whisk you away to somewhere warm and tropical for an extended holiday. I'm getting rather tired of Novosonian winters and ski weekends. There would even be those elaborate drinks served in coconuts, and then-"

Sonia stopped herself there, as she ran a hand over his bare shoulder, and beneath the white fabric that barely covered part of the other side. "Wylan," She began, trying to restrain her giggles to no avail, "Are you wearing one of the Egyptian cotton bedsheets?"

#more-than-a-princess answered #cadcnce #Non-Despair AU: The Princess of Novoselic #(Valentine's Day Choco 2023)#(Look at them they're being cute and gross)#(Everyone encourages them to get a room: forgets to request they get one that's soundproofed)#(Regrets will be had by everyone)#(Only Wylan is allowed to interrupt a meeting dressed as cupid and get away with it)#(Let's pour one out for the Boudry House staff who has to put up with him)#(Meanwhile Sonia's just 'Oh the man I love is saving me from the most depressing topics today!')#('I must give him the array of chocolates I've selected for him')

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sharedcorejournal · 1 year

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CREATIVE CULTURES & CONTEXTS 237230 ⋆ WEEK 5 ⋆ Mana Taonga - A Case Study

This week’s class began with a quick presentation on Māori political activist and artist Tame Iti. Stepping off from last week’s focus on the Mana of Taonga, we watched his TED Talk speech regarding Mana – what it is, what it means to him, and how it has affected his life.

Funnily enough, we looked and wrote about this exact presentation last year, so I would like to introduce 2022 Índio to take the reigns with a little run-down of Iti’s speech; with emphasis on the discussions of the properties of mana, as this most closely ties in with our current class focus.

Mana exists in everything, and represents the prestige, honour and value bestowed upon an entity. That which has high mana may be under respective tapu, but this is not to indicate any degree of supremacy by that which has high mana. As Iti made clear throughout his speech, the mana of the people is equal to that of any authority.

Just as how mana is a quality shared by all entities, and how mana does not equate to authority, a test of mana exists on equal grounds. In a famous discussion with the crown, he found himself and his colleagues sitting below the crown (who were up on a stage), so he borrowed a ladder to be able to see eye to eye with them.

One of the course questions during this activity last year asked what the relationship was between Mana and the artworks he describes in the speech. I mentioned the following:

In his speech, Iti mentioned gifting the crown a commemorative (and politically charged) horse blanket as a gift. The blanket was promptly framed behind glass, as if it were an artwork. His gift had not been received on his terms – another example of the crown not seeing eye to eye. During the creative process, one can note the values that bring mana (where you are, where you are from) culminating in their work. (Iti)

For further context, written on the blanket was a timeline of crown inaction and breach of treaty conditions, being an object empowered with histories and community value due to what it represented. It was, quite simply, a taonga, and the mana of this taonga was not handled respectfully, in a crown action equivalent to taping a child’s drawing on the fridge and moving on. Understandably so, Iti sent the crown an invoice for the blanket.

RESPONSE

Week five’s response is an outlier in format, but the opposite in relevancy. Kaihono Āhua - Vision Mixer: Revisioning Contemporary New Zealand Art by contributors Anna-Marie White and Kate Brettkelly-Chalmers is the topical culmination of all our teachings, research, and discussion, being of the visual culture in and around the place of Māori in post-colonial New Zealand society.

The autonomy of Māori in manoeuvring an imposed colonised way of existence has always been limited. But beyond the common discussions of direct eviction and confiscation, limited opportunities, and disproportionate arrests; lies a visual colonisation that has driven European perception, swayed local opinion, and boxed Māori culture into a crafted ideal.

Citing the controversy surrounding the works of Charles F. Goldie, a Pākehā, late 19th century artist who used realism to capture the portraits of (mainly elderly) Māori subjects; we see specific art collection made to preserve what was see as a ‘dying race’. Goldie’s adherence to the depictions of older nobility, with figures posed in wise gravitas, created a crafted air of ‘wisdom’ to his works, being a visual extension of the ‘noble savage’ label that followed Māori throughout the century. (“Biography of Charles Frederick Goldie”) On the visual side of things, a mind was already made up as to the manner of the lives of Māori. Visual associations of savagery in paintings, stamps and postcards created a stereotyped, hopeless signifier in the eyes of the unfamiliar.

With a treaty abused and colonial culture now successfully implemented, further development of Māori art in this environment would be considered ‘derivative’ as to the cultural phenomena brought over from Europe. Pākehā art in New Zealand developed around this time too, with a sufficient amount of borrowed indigenous visual material to ground their works to their geography. And whereas Māori art would redefine in the modern era through a societal response funnelled through the cultural whakapapa of tradition; Pākehā artists would face a societal difficulty of their own, acknowledging a turbulence of finding a defined idea of what being a ‘native Pākehā’ - or just plain New Zealander – meant through art.

Low and behold, such progresses eventually came from the separation of coloniser from colonial culture, and then a separation of colonial spirit from artistic impulse. These came gradually, through redefinitions in the art world and visual counterculture, a process of rebelling against an essentialist, visual stasis of an entire native population within one’s own country. In order was an acknowledgment of the - “…indivisible relationship of Māori art and culture…” through an informed usage – not fuelled by vacuous cultural curiosity, but of rehearsed inspiration. It was a realised cultural obligation of communication and collaboration. (White and Brettkelly-Chalmers 31)

As a Pākehā artist myself, I too must take these steps in the making process, be it in the appreciation and proper handling of any taonga I may come across, or any domestic subjects that may be the focus of my works. To condense the entire past six weeks of study, as long as I’m existing on this landmass, it’s worth a shot to be chill with the others that share it, wouldn’t you agree?

REFLECTION

In these past six weeks, there’s been a remarkable amount of complex, thoughtful and just plain interesting matter thrown my way. Most interesting especially was the newfound capacity to deconstruct everyday interactions through Semiotics! Being able to separate the signifier from the signified with every visual media I could come across was remarkably useful from there on out, especially given how my focus for this semester’s Fine Arts Studio classes has been in a very similar vein. These similarities allowed easy transfer of information between my understandings in both classes, with the research from one bolstering the other. A kind of subject-based symbiosis. All things considered, I was able to learn about a variety of different artistic perspectives into modern visual culture, so it’s safe to say I’ve quite appreciated where this course has led me so far.

Where issues arose throughout the first half of this module have been through the study process itself. A disproportionate amount of effort placed in the first two weeks of work threw me spectacularly off-course, only being able to finish up Week 2’s nearly-3000 words of writing an entire month following the class. I recognise exactly where these slip-ups came from, too – a general eagerness to express as much knowledge on a subject as possible in writing, with all the key words, bells and whistles is a good philosophy on paper (interesting choice of pun but I digress), but in action, proves to leave me barking up the wrong tree. While I won’t deny the effort I put into this module so far - I have lost plenty of sleep and will likely develop arthritis an entire decade earlier at this rate – I acknowledge that things will have to change in the second half of this semester. Here’s to being more concise!

Returning to the positives, the most valuable to my learning in this module as of now has been the opportunity to put more though into seeing than I would’ve guessed. I’ve always been detail-oriented, but the kind of poststructuralist, looking-everywhere-but-the-canvas sort of thinking has been a game changer, all things considered. This is especially important during the formative stages of the year. The associations of what we see with what we think follow us, as artists, wherever we go, and I’m more than excited to see where it takes me next.

On the topic of next steps, there’s still a couple unchecked boxes as to where I want to take my studies in this course following the break. I’ve been obsessed with unravelling the ‘objective’ kitsch, and am eager to understand what, in abstract, makes something kitsch and where that separates from what is considered “art”. Guess we’ll see where that takes me.

WORKS CITED

“Biography of Charles Frederick Goldie.” Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, https://collections.tepapa.govt.nz/topic/945.

Iti, Tame (Tūhoe). “Mana: The power of knowing who you are”. YouTube, uploaded by TedxAuckland, 17 July 2015, https://youtu.be/qeK3SkxrZRI

White, Anna-Marie, and Kate Brettkelly-Chalmers. Kaihono Āhua - Vision Mixer: Revisioning Contemporary New Zealand Art. The Suter Art Gallery Te Aratoi o Whakatū, 2014.

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promptsausandshit · 4 years

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Picture this; #387

A Month of Fantasy Prompts;

(Note; While the goal is to do one a day, please go at your own pace, this is for fun after all!)

1. To keep their new human form they would need to return with the heart of someone who was loved by many, a task that was becoming harder to come to terms with as their time ran out.

2. “Look, I’m sorry okay! How was I supposed to know those little squiggles were for more than just aesthetic?”

3. They never thought they’d be haggling the price of their friends life with a sly spider creature, but that’s what happens when you get involved with barmy wizards.

4. One person goes to the beach a few times a week to teach their new siren friend and their siblings sign language. They are very enthusiastic learners.

5. No one realises that the prophetic statue is a bit petty and will spout the occasional falsehood for their own amusement.

6. Archaeologists are exploring some interesting caves when they accidentally solve a riddle and walk straight into a dwarven stronghold in the middle of a feast.

7. “Only you would willingly drink a truth potion with a silly-straw to prove a point.”

8. A knight finds themselves in need of a florists knowledge to pass a test and complete their quest.

9. They really wish that their reflection would stop singing whenever anyone said something close to a lyric, they also wish their flatmate stopped encouraging it.

10. Turns out the lead singer of a famous screamo band is an actual banshee.

11. They had been drawn to the other yet not known why until their eyes had met and they realised that their unusual colour was due to their eyes being made of actual gemstones.

12. Werewolf farmer makes good use of their monthly transformations, leaving scent markers for themselves to follow in order to quickly and thoroughly plough the fields. Results tend to vary.

13. They woke from their nap to find a baby sphinx curled in their lap and have no idea what to do about this.

14. “Oh yeah, sure, give the mysterious arcane artefact to the dodgy professor with a very large collection of blood samples, what could possibly go wrong?!”

15. Vampires don’t need green screen, as such they are quite useful puppeteers and practical effect workers.

16. Self playing instrument has somehow gained knowledge of musical memes and uses them as it wishes no matter the time, place, situation or company.

17. A shape-shifter makes a living out of impersonating princesses who are trying to avoid getting caught up in kidnapping plots, prophetic threats or strange marriage arrangements.

18. Most thought unicorns where tall, lithe and shimmered like pearls but in truth they rarely grew higher than a humans knee, had thick curled coats of fur and came in a variety of earthly colours.

19. Fae keep breaking in to their apartment to play with their collection of stim toys.

20. There was once crystal that held the soul of one of the most powerful beings to have ever lived, this crystal has been split and embedded into a crown, a choker and a ring, those who wear them become possessed by the souls power and seek each other.

21. A kid spending the summer at a camp is secretly investigating what in the lake keeps sinking their paper boats.

22. Everyone knows that if you want something done right you hire a Wolpertinger to manage it.

23. Aphrodite has discovered the existence of dating sims and is crashing at a mortals house to play them all, though failed to inform said mortal of this.

24. “They can’t turn led into gold, but they can turn lords into jesters.”

25. A tiny doll that was once a human is having a hard time getting their new owner to take them seriously due to how cute they are.

26. The Goddess of Nature, having found their favoured hunter, bestowed their head with golden antlers and laughed as they struggled. Upon finding the most worthless prey, the goddess cursed them with a wicked poison and shivered as they thrived.

27. One owl seems very determined to become the familiar of one very confused and very non-magical doctor.

28. Centaurs are commonly hired as daily assistants to the disabled and elderly, their great strength, speed, mobility and wisdom allows them to not only be efficient helpers but good companions. Though stairs and small spaces are an issue.

29. The novelty book they bought from a second hand bargain bin for a laugh turned out to be a very real enchanted book of spells that came with it’s own ghost author.

30. “Dragons love heavy metal! Seriously it’s a perfect gift, trust me!”

31. Mermaids all seem to have a time period that they consider the most fashionable, as such they have recreated those fashions and are keen to show off their outfits.

Completion Bonus!;

Do a one shot or a sketch for something you love that you haven’t had the chance to do for a while! Or read one chapter of an unfinished story! Or watch one episode or movie of that thing you like! Satisfy whatever urge you have right now, you have all the time in the world for this so relax and treat yourself, you did great!

#prompts #prompt #writing prompt #drawing prompt #art prompt #au #alternative universe #fanfiction prompt #writing ideas #art ideas #promptsausandshit #Month of prompts #Month Challenges #fantasy #urban fantasy #there are too many things to tag for this #so i'm just sticking with genre

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mypersonalrambling · 4 years

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Soothing

Warnings: Describes a panic attack, mentions of anxiety

Pairings: Valter x Reader

Word Count: 2208

Author’s note: I wrote what is probably considered a less traditional panic attack. However, I think it’s important to show not everyone experiences things the same way.

Requested: Yes. Sorry for taking so long. I hope you enjoy it :)

Summary: Valter does his best to help calm your anxiety during a panic attack.

You awaken this morning in a slight panic. Valter’s movie premiere is this evening. He’s used to them, having grown up around the spotlight. You take a few moments to mentally prepare yourself for the day. You get up, needing to run a few errands before this evening. Taking a quick shower then grabbing some candy to eat on your way. When you’re anxious it’s difficult for you to eat anything with real nutritious value. The more anxious you are, the more junk food you want to shovel down your throat.

Popping by the alterations shop hoping the dress fits correctly, otherwise, you didn’t know what to do. The elderly woman, Opal, who owns the shop is a sweetheart. She always has snacks, tea, and makes everyone feel like family.

“Hello Dear, excited about tonight?”

“Kinda. I’m more nervous than anything. I’m not used to being in front of so many people.”

“Dear, you’ll be fine. Stick close to Valter, he can be your guide.” Sometimes you forget how much she knows about everyone in town. She takes a few minutes to return. The dress is stunning, it’s floor-length, black, quarter length sleeve with a v neckline. It was two layers, a solid black layer covered by a subtle lace overlay. “Are you coming, Dear?” Opal repeats, waving you back to the fitting room.

It takes several minutes for you to get the dress exactly how you wanted it. The underlay is the type of silky material that takes maneuvering to make it lay how you want it. Opal helps you zip it up, allowing you to see the full effect of the glamorous gown. “It’s perfect, Opal. It fits impeccably, thank you.”

“Of course, now take it off and we’ll have some tea.” There is no use arguing with her, as she never takes no for an answer. Opal seems to always have wisdom to bestow upon you, even if you didn’t ask for it. She likes to laugh at her younger self about not listening to her elders, so she is going to do her damndest to get the next generation to listen so the same mistakes aren’t made. You take as much advice as she’s willing to say.

Your next stop is to have your hair and makeup done. It isn’t a necessity but you feel better about having someone else do it to take a little stress off yourself. Valter told you he’d come with you but you didn’t want to seem like a bother. The woman did your hair in a simple, elegant style. The style accenting your face, makeup, and dress. You decided to go with a glam look; smoky eye, eyebrows filled in nicely, plenty of blush and contouring, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone, you let choose a bright purple lipstick to add a pop of color to your otherwise colorless outfit.

Before leaving, you buy a tube of it so you can do touch-ups. Hurrying home, you change as quickly as possible. Looking in the mirror, you were astonished about how stunning you look. It’s rare you are able to dress up and you love it. Although you figure dating Valter there will be plenty of opportunities.

The closer the time comes to leave, the more anxious you became. You attempt to stop your mind from obsessing over the thousands of things that could go wrong. What if you fell or made a stupid face? It would be on the internet forever and would surely be attacked online. Even though you aren’t in the industry, dating Valter gave you just a sliver of what it’s like.

The thoughts soon became endless, your mind not able to control all the racing thoughts. Sliding down to the floor of your bedroom, you can do nothing but simply stare at the wall. It isn’t until you heard Valter calling for you that you realized you aren’t even close to being ready. You will your body to move, to stand and get dressed. However, it can’t, the only thing able to move is your mind.

“Baby? Baby? There you are. Why are you sitting on the floor? And why aren’t you dressed?” You turn to look at him, but no words come out. You’re afraid if you begin talking the words won’t stop. “Baby, are you alright?” He slides down next to you, suit and all, not caring if it becomes messed up. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but are you having a panic attack? I know you become quiet when you’re anxious?” His concern seeping through his voice. Valter is doing his best to remain calm during this situation.

A few minutes later you’re able to conjure some words. “Please...hold me tighter.” He does as he’s told with no questions. He wraps his arms around your body, pulling you as close as possible, shifting carefully until he’s lying on his side with you next to him. He doing his best to ensure there is barely any part of your body he isn’t pressing into his. “Thank you.”

What seems like an eternity later you can feel your body begins to calm slightly. “You can...you can let go now.” Valter appears hesitant but still complies with your command. Valter helps you sit up letting you use him as a support. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Baby, it’s alright. Are you okay? That’s all I’m worried about,” his voice is sweet.

“I, um...I’m not okay, but I will be. I was just so worried that I'd embarrass you or myself at the event tonight.” You play with the hem of your shirt, feeling embarrassment course through your body.

“You could never embarrass me. Have you been feeling this way for long?”

“Probably for last week.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? We could have talked about it. It wouldn’t have upset me and maybe I could have helped you work through your emotions.”

“You have so much going on, I didn’t want to bother you with my annoying thoughts. I’m always anxious and self-conscious. I don’t know how you put up with me.” Tears start to well in your eyes, however, your will power isn’t strong enough to keep them from flowing. When you can’t hold it in any longer, you turn away so he won’t see you crying.

Valter almost always knows what you don’t tell him or show him. “Hey, look at me,” he pulls your face towards him. When you don’t look at him right away, he pulls your face up so you have to look at him. “You will never upset me by telling me how you’re feeling. We work things out together, no matter how hard it is. I want you to know that I’m here no matter what. Please don’t forget that. I love you, Baby.” He wipes the tears streaming down your face while placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Thank you. I just overthink everything. It’s hard to explain to someone that doesn’t experience it or maybe as much of it as I do. I love you too Valter. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Oh no, don’t get this twisted. I’m the one who wonders what I did to deserve you.” You can’t help but crack a smile. “Not to sound insensitive, but do you want to go tonight? If not I can cancel.”

“No, no you can’t cancel. But honestly, I don’t want to go. I’m still trying to calm down.”

“Are you okay with me going? I’m not going to leave if you’re not feeling well.”

“Valter, you need to go to your own movie premiere. You’re one of the main characters. I’ll be fine. Probably just watch trashy TV and eat junk food.”

“Why don’t I see if Eija can come to keep you company? You know she’s been dying to see you.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Not a nuisance, she’ll be ecstatic. She’s been bugging me about seeing you. She says I’m hogging you. I have to remind her that you're my girlfriend and not hers,” he teases.

“This may not be the right time to tell you, but I’ve been secretly dating Eija. You’re just a cover. Don’t take it harshly, we were just waiting for the right time to tell you.” A smile pulls at the edge of your lips. He pushes you aside, a wide smile spread across his face.

Valter doesn’t leave until Eija appears at the door. The two of you spend the next few hours watching reality TV, eating junk food, and catching up. Eija gives you advice on how to be less nervous when it comes to dealing with premieres. She even shows you how to pose correctly to get the most flattering picture.

The later it became, the more tired you feel. The worst part of panic attacks could be how draining it is. Around midnight Eija begins to pack up her things to go. “I’m sorry, Love, but I’m gonna have to get going. Unfortunately, I have to get up early tomorrow. Zeke will never let me hear the end of it if I stay out too late.”

She makes the awkward shuffle of not wanting to leave, but knowing she needs to. You shuffle from the living room to the hallway. As the two of you stand to talk, Valter walks in startling you both. “What are you doing here? The after-party can’t possibly be over,” you question.

“It’s not, I only stayed for an hour. I couldn’t get you off my mind. I know you said you were fine, but I know you. You don’t always tell the full truth if it’s going to inconvenience someone. So, I thought this was the best compromise. I went for a little bit but came home to you. Also, I brought you this.” He makes a show of pulling out a small thing of your favorite food and one of your favorite drinks.

“Who knew you were so mushy?” You taunt, taking the gifts, setting them on the small table next to you. You pull him by his suit jacket until his face is barely centimeters from yours. Valter closes the rest of the distance, pressing his lips onto yours. When you're kissing him, nothing else matters, everything melts away. You’ve never been with someone who’s simple touch can have an overwhelmingly joyous feeling curse throughout your entire body, until Valter.

A subtle cough pulls your thoughts back into the moment. “As much as I would love to stand here and see my little brother suck face. I should be getting home.” You never knew sarcasm could run so strong in a family. There isn’t one Skarsgard that didn’t use sarcasm eighty percent of the time. Eija gives you both a hug before leaving.

You follow Valter to the bedroom so he can undress, knowing how much he dislikes dressing up. He is someone much more comfortable in casual attire. He looks good in anything, but there was just something about him in a suit that did things to you. “It’s not polite to stare, you know?” He jokes, knowing exactly what seeing him dressed up did to you.

Patting the bed next to you, he sits and begins to tell everything that happened at the premiere. He makes it sound effortless as if being in front of so many people and cameras are natural. It’s easy to tell this has been one of his favorite works so far as he reminisces about days on set and how happy he was to see his co-stars again tonight. You could listen to him talk about his passions for hours. Disappointment runs throughout your veins. If only you could have overcome your anxiety, then you could have experienced the night with him. You know there would be many more chances, however, who knows if you would be able to gain control over your anxiety then. “Hey, you okay?” Valter asks, clearly able to see you are overthinking.

“Just hearing you talk about tonight makes me sad I missed it. You were so gracious and let me stay home, which I appreciate. I still feel terrible.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest, just like earlier that day. The calming effect is almost immediate.

“I know nothing I can say will ease your mind. You already know all I care about is making sure you’re alright. And there will be plenty of chances for you to come to premieres with me. That is if you want to, I would never force you to go. They can be fun, but the after parties are much better. Which you can always go to even if you don’t like the first part.” Valter runs a hand along your back, “Why don’t we go to sleep? You need to give this brain a rest.” He says poking your forehead after every word.

“Heyyy, stop that,” you pout. “But yes let’s go to sleep. I’m exhausted and I’m sure you are too.” The two of you drift off, with you still wrapped in his arms.

#valter skarsgard #valterskarsgard #valter skarsgard imagine #Valter Skarsgård #tw panic attack #tw anxiety #my writing #mine #writing

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mudfru · 4 years

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Why elderly people are the Gems of the Family?

Well said "Youth is the gift of nature. Age is a work of art" by Stanislaw Jerzy Lec”Old people are living diamonds, transformed and polished from youthfulness with the passage of time and the process of ageing. Elderly parents in the family are valuable gems but their brilliance is often camouflaged by age and wrinkles, yet their value is nonpareil and inevitable. Let us have a look at the points that illuminate the worth of these hidden gems.

Experience and wisdomThe quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes, “The advice of their elders to young men is very apt to be as real as a list of the hundred best books” is an undeniable fact. The experience of elderly people lays a great foundation to mentor the family members. Besides, the elderly people pass on the ethics and wisdom to the budding ones. Especially in the new-fangled society of today when families rely on the dual-income earned by both- the wife and the husband, the role of elderly parents has been elevated to bestow right principles and morals to the offspring.

Socio-judicial RoleIn families and societies, elderly people quick-fix the disputes and arguments as they are most revered & respected and readily agreed upon. Elderly parents play a very important role in the dispute resolution because they unbiasedly look at the complete picture & well-consider all the relevant facts and based on their experience, they make a right judgement without hurting the sentiments of either member.

More Open, Highly Sensitive and EnlightenedThe hearts of elderly parents are more open & they are highly sensitive to the emotional, physical and spiritual needs of family members. Therefore, they often provide the family members with a sense of security, protection, positivity and motivation to endeavour when the problems overwhelm them.

Cultural KnowledgeElderly people are the custodian of traditional and cultural wisdom. They impart the cultural knowledge to the next generation and often offer tutoring to them to instill the cultural ethics and knowledge of their native language.

Family TogethernessElderly people lay the foundation for family togetherness. They teach the teenagers to respect the elders on one side and impart the understanding towards the children to the parents, on the other side. Elderly parents are the cornerstones to bind the family together and germinate love & respect for each other.

Health & Well-beingElderly parents contribute on a macro level to the family’s well-being & health by contributing with what was forgotten. Elderly people know instant home-made remedies for petty health issues and they often have experience in home-cooked healthful dishes that are nutritious enough to beat the common deficiencies in human-beings.

The hidden but living gems on earth must be treasured carefully. This can be done by engaging them spiritually, intellectually & physically and getting them out of isolation.We strive to encourage them to participate in life, the society and the world by giving them a safe, sweet and reliable caregiver who can also be their companion in food, walk, talk and so on.We, at mud (MadeUrDay), connect you with the agencies that provide certified caretakers for the elderly gems of the family.

#Why elderly people are the Gems of the Family?

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wisdomrays · 5 years

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A Social Disease that Paralyzes Sound Reason: Bigotry

QUESTION: What is bigotry? And what are the differences between being steadfast in faith and being bigoted?

ANSWER: The term “taassub” (used for “bigotry” in the English language) means evaluating matters only according to one’s own understanding without considering it from different aspects and being pertinacious even in matters that contradict reason and the essence of religion. This very fact is expressed in the sayings of the Messenger of God with the word “asabiyya,” which literally means “nervousness,” because a bigoted attitude (taassub) is completely based on nervousness and emotionalism; it is an outward reflection of animalistic feelings in human beings. The term taassub in this inflected form denotes forcing. In this respect, it conveys meanings such as insisting on a certain issue to the degree of excess, continuing to be headstrong with a complete disregard for others, refusing to see or hear, and considering one’s own self as the very focus or basis for everything. As will be seen, “taassub” has nothing to do with reason, sound judgment, or sensibility. For this reason, as bigoted ones cannot act with common sense, it is not possible for them to have true spiritual experiences, which is felt through a certain faculty of the conscience.

A barrier against faith

Those who persecute believers have always been bigoted. For example, the polytheists and hypocrites at the time of the Prophet were bigoted against Islam and Muslims. They were deaf and blind to the message of the Pride of Humanity. However, if they viewed the noble Prophet in a neutral way, they would also see what sensible ones did; if they paid attention to his words of wisdom even a little bit, they would also hear what sensible ones did. If his adversaries turned over the truths he conveyed in their minds and pondered over them, they would see, understand, and appreciate. Unfortunately, they were blind to these beauties by bigotry, grudge, and hatred, and they drifted to unbelief.

Along with arrogance, wrongdoing, and the deviations from the sound point of view, one other factor that prevents a person from accepting faith is blind imitation of their forefathers, without questioning whether they had been right or not. Actually, such blind imitation is a different form of bigotry. The polytheist people of the Age of Ignorance, therefore, opposed Islam with the arguments that they inherited from their forefathers. Their preventing Muslims from visiting the Ka’ba prior to the Treaty of Hudaybiya was an outcome of the same bigotry. The Qur’an names this attitude of theirs as “hamiyyat al-jahiliyya”—zealotry particular to the Age of Ignorance. They adopted this zealotry to such a degree that they kept on blindly sticking to their traditions and practices as before, so that their pride was not broken in the sight of other Arab tribes. Thus, they even prevented Muslims from entering Mecca.

Indeed, such events are experienced in today’s world as well. For example, when you wish to express yourself with reference to your faith and heavenly values, certain people immediately take action and try to deprive you of this freedom with a harsh and reactionary attitude you cannot understand. You may come up with different plans and projects in order to contribute to the welfare of the society and elevate it to a better status; but in spite of that, some circles will try to prevent you, since your attempts will mean altering their accustomed ways and claim, “These people actually want to harm our values under the pretext of improvement and welfare.” Even though you say nothing wrong about their Marxist, Leninist, and similar understandings and do not say anything against the figures they esteem, when your understanding and values are accepted by society, they feel neglected and claim that your activities are against them, purposefully intending to push them and their values into oblivion. Moreover, even if you somehow find a way and show them a staircase leading directly to Paradise, certain people will still remark, “By doing that, they are trying to make us forget our ideology.” All of these attitudes and behaviors are based on “zealotry,” as in the Age of Ignorance.

A dangerous disease

Such an example of zealotry can be seen in any society or country. There is no particular homeland for bigotry. This negative attribute can pass to any people with different understandings and thoughts. Seemingly religious people can also be under the influence of such bigotry in such a way that some evaluate everything from their own narrow perspective, by solely taking their primitive knowledge as absolutely true. Therefore, they can present a very strict and intolerant attitude toward matters of secondary importance. In our time, suicide attacks—so called “in the name of religion”—are results of such bigotry, given that the attackers are not under the effect of any drug or illusion, that they are not brain-controlled or robotized to commit these attacks. This is such a terrible disease that people ruin their own spiritual lives, for the sake of such delusion of their understanding of righteousness. Those who commit suicide attacks and thus casually take the lives of innocent people, including children, elderly ones, and women, do not become eligible for Paradise but for Hell with such a deed. How grievous an ending it is, when somebody falls into Hell instead of taking the path to Paradise and guiding others toward it!

Being steadfast in faith

Since a true believer is a righteous person, they already have nothing to do with bigotry. It is unthinkable for those who have taken the righteous path to stand against what is right and become indifferent to the truth. Otherwise, they will have shown disrespect to the truth. For this reason, what becomes believers is steadfastness in faith and not being bigoted.

“Steadfastness in faith” relates to the words, behaviors, and state of a believer. It does not mean being strict, harsh, and intolerant. Being steadfast in faith means presenting a complete resolution and sincerity in practicing all aspects of the Islamic teachings, against all odds. In other words, it is continually seeking the good pleasure of God in all of one’s attitudes and behaviors, even if everybody else gives into worldly temptations; it means not being slothful in any religious practices and being resolved to preserve one’s identity in every situation. In order to maintain such steadfastness, a believer must strive to attain true faith based on inquiry, then constantly delve into the truths of faith, and then base all matters on reliable knowledge after having assessed them with sound reason and judgment. Such a journeyer, with knowledge of God, relies on Him in the face of every event, holds onto piety, fulfills what causes require, takes every step with precaution, is not deluded, and never acts emotionally, because the honeycomb formed in that journeyer’s soul by wisdom, love, and yearning for God shows the way at every instance. For this reason, bigotry is found in the attitude and behaviors of those whose practices are mostly based on hearsay and imitation. For believers to attain steadfastness in faith free from bigotry, they first need to know thoroughly and digest the main essentials in the Qur’an and Sunnah; then, they filter and check their knowledge with these two sources, and then, they test what they have learned from the Qur’an and Sunnah, according to the pure understanding and common agreement of the distinguished scholars. After all of these, believers must entreat God in all of their decisions saying: “Our Lord, do not let our hearts swerve after You have guided us, and bestow upon us mercy from Your Presence. Surely You are the All-Bestowing” (Al Imran 3:8).

As much as bigotry is a contemptible trait, steadfastness in faith is a laudable one in the same degree, as steadfastness denotes an unshakable stance like an upright monument. In fact, it is very difficult for a bigoted person to maintain an unwavering course and be steadfast in faith, since he does not act under the light of reason and judgment but upon emotional motives. For this reason, those who become bigoted in the name of a certain ideology will do the same for another ideology in the future. You see that they are bigoted defenders of a certain ideology that sees the material and animal aspect as everything; when they come under the influence of spiritualism, this time they become zealots furiously propagating it. On the other hand, wherever true believers stood at the time of the Prophet with respect to their essential values, they keep the same upright stance fourteen centuries later.

As for making new judgments according to the requirement of new conditions, it is a different issue that does not contradict steadfastness in faith. The importance of referring to the opinion of competent scholars is related in the Qur’an (an-Nisa 4:83). Answering to newly emerging situations with the methodology of the reliable scholars is a kind of progress. Undoubtedly, such progress is completely different from degeneration, making exaggerated rulings in order to become popular, or showing bigotry at a certain issue without reasoning over it; it is the name of reaching into infinity with a finite body of principles, of the universality of Islam and its encompassing nature.

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genderqueernerd · 5 years

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Maturity

Fandom: The Goblin Emperor Pairing: Maia/Setheris (non-con) eventual Maia/Csethiro Warnings: Mentions of rape. Synopsis: At Edonomee, Setheris drank himself into a stupor and forced himself on Maia. Against all odds, the half-goblin Archduke conceived and bore a fair-headed child.

A/N: I just wanted an excuse for babies and emperors and Maia ruling while carrying a babe. Please excuse me it’s 1:40 am andi have no beta.

Maia woke to the presence of Pelchara in his room. The manservant was digging through the wardrobe in a hurry, making the barest effort to be quiet.

"What?" he asked blearily, instinctively searching out the crib next to him to make sure the babe had not awakened.

"You are wanted in the receiving room, immediately," Pelchara said. He selected a solemn gray outfit and shoved it into Maia's arms, not bothering to help him undress or dress. None of them ever touched him ever since the incident two years ago.

"There has been a messenger from the court."

Maia's heart did a little flip.

"A message from my father?"

"Osmerrem Nelar did not say," Pelchara said, backing away. Maia slipped off his nightshirt quickly, used to having to get dressed in a hurry. He leaned over the bars of the crib. Chenela was still asleep, his tiny fingers loosely curled around his blanket. Maia spared a second to touch the soft cheek before straightening.

He followed Pelchara, barefoot out of the room. The servant was wearing the usual servant's jacket over a nightgown, indicating that he too, had been roused, probably by Setheris himself. Despite the fact that none of the people at Edonomee were particularly fond of Maia, they were less fond of Setheris and did not allow the two to be in the same room together. Maia entered the room and found Setheris already there, clad in full formal wear, the scent of smokeweed heavy even from where Maia stood at a distance.

The messenger was maybe a year or so older than Maia himself, elegant even in his road-stained leathers. He was clearly full-blooded elvish, as Maia was not, pale haired and pale eyed.

"Are you the Archduke Maia Drazhar, only child of Varenechibel the Fourth and Chenelo Drazharan?" the messenger asked, looking from Setheris to Maia.

"Yes," Maia said, bewildered. His father had not sent word of anything. Not since his mother died, not even when he had written, begging for help.

The messenger deliberately and with perfect dignity, prostated himself on the threadbare rug.

"Your Imperial Serenity," he said.

Maia could see that Setheris had something to say, but moved forward to interrupt whatever the man might have wanted to say.

"Explain quickly," Maia said as gently as he could. He motioned for Pelchara to leave, but the elf seemed reluctant to go.

"Bring refreshments for the guests," Maia said as an aside. Pelchara went, and the messenger seemed to hesitate.

"Your Serenity, the airship Wisdom of Choharo crashed yesterday, sometime between sunrise and noon. The Emperor Varenechibel the Fourth, the Prince Nemolis, the Archduke Nazhira, and the Archduke Ciris were all on board. They were returing from the wedding of the Prince of Thu-Athamar."

Maia blinked. He moved towards the only chair in the room. Setheris shot out of it like it was on fire, letting Maia have it.

"It crashed? Why? How?" Maia asked, lowering himself into the chair heavily. Setheris began to pace, muttering irritably under his breath. He did not once look at Maia.

"They do not yet know, but the Lord Chancellor has sent Witnesses, and it is being investigated."

"The messages!" Setheris blurted out angrily at last, unable to hold his temper. Maia winced, then berated himself for showing his emotion in front of the messenger. The messenger did not give any indication that he had seen Maia's slip in composure, or took offense to Setheris's lapse in control. Instead, he turned and picked up his dispatch case from where it lay on the side table. As soon as he opened the bag, Setheris snatched the letter and broke the seal. He scanned the paper, his frown turning into a scowl, then thrust the letter back at the messenger, stalking from the room.

The messenger hurriedly presented the letter to Maia.

Maia scanned the contents of the letter as quickly as he could.

To the ArchdukeMaia Drazhar, heir to the imperial throne of Ethuveraz, greetings in this hour of greatest grief. Knowing that Your Imperial Serenity will want all honor and respect paid to your late father and brothers, we have ordered arrangements put in train for a full ceremonial funeral in three days' time, on the 23rd instant. We will notify the 5 principalities, also Your Imperial Serenity's sister in Ashedro. We have already ordered the courier office to put airships at their disposal, and we have no doubt that they will use all necessary haste to reach the Untheileneise Court in good time for the funeral. We do not, of course, know what Your Imperial Serenity's plans may be, but we hold ourself ready to implement them.

With true sorrow and unswerving loyalty, Uleris Chavar.

Maia looked up. The messenger was watching him. To Maia's relief, this was when Pelchara re-entered the room bearing a tray of dried fruit and tea. The manservant had seen fit to put on pants under his nightshirt, and had redone his braid, making him look a little more respectable than usual.

"Please, help yourself," Maia said "I ... we must speak with our cousin."

Pelchara looked stricken at Maia's words, but dutifully followed Maia to Setheris's room.

There was light peeking out from under the heavy door, the moving shadows indicated that Setheris was inside.

Pelchara knocked for Maia, three heavy raps, before opening the door.

Setheris was facing the window.

Maia stepped into the room slowly.

"I would speak with thee, cousin."

The first words said to Setheris in two years, and it was over the death of his father. Maia kept to the other side of the room, unwilling to go any nearer, even with Pelchara present. The manservant had insisted on being present for every interaction between the two of them and Maia had been glad for it.

Setheris reached for the decanter - and Maia was pleased to see it was only water - and poured two glasses instead of one. Maia looked around the room. It was not the bedchamber Setheris had selected in the beginning of his exile. No, it was a smaller, less ornate living space with simple linens and it was the first time Maia had entered this one.

"Thou wish'st advice?" Setheris snapped, visibly trying to control his temper.

"If thou would give it," Maia said, picking up the second glass of water. It was refreshingly cool and helped to settle his racing thoughts.

"He presumes much," Setheris said "Uleris has made no mention of your coronation."

Maia thought back to the contents and realized it to be true.

"Thou must be crowned before the funeral."

"I have to reach the Untheileneise Court as soon as possible," Maia voiced his thoughts "But how?"

"The airship," Setheris supplied "It brought Chavar's lapdog and will return. Thou can go with it -" and here he faltered, turning to look at Maia with an expression that betrayed his fear.

There was an elephant in the room.

Or rather, in this case, a child.

---

The airship Radiance of Cairado hung ominously beside her mooring mast like an isolated thundercloud against the predawn sky. Maia had not been in an airship since the age of eight when he had been brought to the Untheileneise Court for his Mother's funeral, and his memories of that time were full of darkness. He remembered praying to Ulis to let him die too.

The crew of the Radiance were all very solemn; they knew about the Wisdom of Choharo. The grief and fear in their eyes were compounded with confusion when Maia slowly made his way to the mooring carrying a baby. With milkweed coloured hair but skin the colour of an overcast sky, Chenela was undeniably a mix of goblin and elf blood. Maia was the only half-goblin around, but who was the elf? Maia could almost see the question floating in the air as the crew busied themselves with preparations.

Chenelar had not been happy at being moved from his crib, but Maia had wrapped his son in the soft blankets and rocked him back to sleep. The warm weight of his body and his head pillowed upon Maia's shoulder had only served to anchor him to reality.

To the captain's credit, he didn't ask any questions or stare as Maia approached.

"Serenity," the captain said.

"We have nothing but confidence in you and your crew."

The captain was startled, but bowed again deeply.

"Serenity," he repeated, in a much stronger tone. Maia carefully picked his way up the narrow staircase, accepting the arm of the crewwoman who was at the top.

"Thank you," he said, and was rewarded with a startled look as well. The other passengers - four couriers, two missioners, and an elderly maza - gaped at Maia, or perhaps the precious bundle in his arms. Perhaps it was for the best, Maia thought. With their attention on the presence of an unexplained babe, they would not remember that he had been dressed in garments unfit for mourning, or that the only tashin sticks he had were the pair that Setheris had brought him as an insufficient apology.

Maia inclined his head at the other passengers and took the seat furthest from Setheris, letting the Chancellor's messenger sit between them. If the messenger was aware how Maia's move would thwart Chavar's plans, he gave no indication of it, doing all he could to help with the travel arrangements. He even helped to bring up the basket of napkins, clothes, and mixed formula for the babe.

"Cousin," Maia said as he sat down. Setheris stiffened, but gave no indication that he heard.

Make no mistake, if there had been any love at all between them, it had disappeared two years ago. Maia could say he despised his cousin and would gladly go the rest of his life without seeing him ever again, but the gods had not seen fit to bestow upon him that boon.

Being relegated to the abandoned hunting lodge Edonomee had been as much of a punishment for Maia and Setheris Nelar. Maia had no clue why Setheris Nelar had been sent away, but he knew that his own punishment was for merely existing. The dislike, which began in earnest ever since Maia was placed in his cousin's care after the funeral of Empress Chenelo, only deepened when Setheris proved himself to be an impatient tutor with a fondness for metheligin.

When he was sober, Setheris had been mean. When he was drunk, he was unreasonable. When he was maudlin... he was unstoppable.

Maia had the misfortune of being present at one of his maudlin drinking sprees. Setheris had finished off several decanters of metheligin, his yearning for his wife like a lance through the heart. Maia, soft hearted and naive, had tried to comfort him in the hopes that Setheris would remember the small kindness and return it eventually. But a pat on the shoulder had turned into a surprise hug, which led to a forceful kiss, which led to Maia struggling on the floor of Setheris's bedchambers, screaming for help in the vastness of the hunting lodge.

In the morning, Setheris had been horrified with what he had done. But no amount of apologies could ever bring back Maia's innocence.

Despite the terror of that night, it had brought some strange allies. Pelchara and Haru had immediately sided with Maia upon realizing how Setheris had wronged him, taking it upon themselves to chaperone all interactions in case Setheris went mad again. Setheris himself had curbed his tongue almost completely, turning to smokeweed instead of metheligin to calm his nerves.

And of course, Chenela, the biggest surprise of all. Maia had not even realized he could carry life. It was not something that he had ever considered, having never bled. According to the doctors Setheris had brought in afterwards, it had been a freak accident, whatever vestigial organs Maia had within him, were not meant to work at all. It was purely bad luck. Maia had written to his father in the hopes of getting some help in the form of an allowance for his new dependent, or a maidservant to help with the babe. There had been no reply, or any indication that his father had ever received the message.

No, Maia gave birth under the watchful eye of two doctors and three nurses who raced to cut the babe out of him and stitch him back up before he bled to death. Setheris had written to his wife to beg for funds, pawning off many of his elaborate outfits and finery to pay the doctors, a small step in his endless penance. The small household had rallied with a grim determination, doing their best to raise the child.

Chenela pulled Maia from his megrims with a soft snuffle, shifting his face closer to the crook of Maia's neck. There was a squeak from the general vicinity of the passengers. Even the messenger's ears twitched.

"Pardon me, Serenity, what is his name?" the messenger asked.

"Chenela, after our mother the Empress Chenelo." Maia smiled, adjusting his position that Chenela would be more comfortable. He tucked one tiny hand back inside the swaddle of blankets.

Whatever else that the messenger wanted to say was cut off when the crewwoman stepped back into the cabin.

"Your Serenity, the captain has taken the helm, and we are preparing to cast off."

"Thank you," Maia said, inclining his head at the crewwoman. He briefly worried if the motion would wake his son, but it was alleviated in the next moment when the airship lurched ever so slightly, then rose into the dawn sky. Maia reclined in his chair, letting gravity rest his son on his chest. It was against court protocol, but Maia could not care less. His son's comfort was tantamount and Maia did not intend to hold his son upright for the two hours it took to get from Edonomee to the Untheileneise Court.

In the dim light, Maia cast a glance over at his cousin.

Setheris looked terrified.

He ought to be so, having raised a hand against the Archduke, now an Emperor. The evidence of his misdeeds was alive and breathing in Maia's arms. Maia could have him executed publicly as was within his rights. Setheris was right to fear retribution.

Maia set aside the thought. Chenela was all that mattered, he reminded himself. Think of thy son first, and thy responsibilities. Punishment may come later.

-----

Maia was roused from his light dozing by the presence of the crewwoman, kneeling in front of his chair.

"Serenity, the sun is rising and the captain wonders if you would like to watch. It is a beautiful sight."

Maia rubbed the sleep from his eyes. On his shoulder Chenela let out a yawn and stretched. Tiny pale-grey eyes blinked open slowly, fists clutching at the blanket's and Maia's jacket. Chenela raised his head blearily, taking in his surroundings. He seemed surprised at not being in his crib, pushing himself away from Maia's chest.

"Chenela," Maia called his name softly. His son frowned but did not cry, looking around at the airship. Maia held him close, getting up from his chair. Setheris made no move to get up, knowing that he was not wanted in anyway. Maia addressed the messenger.

"Would you accompany us, please?"

The messenger looked a little alarmed, but rose to his feet. The two of them followed the crewwoman to the cockpit where the captain and first mate shared a wide panorama of clouds and sky.

"Serenity," they said in chorus, sparing a second to stare at the toddler Maia carried in his arms.

"Look, the sunrise my darling," Maia whispered. His son's ears went up in interest and he reached out with a tiny hand, making grabbing motions at the instruments.

"Papa, play?" Chenela asked, pointing at the array of levers.

"Not yet, elfling," Maia said. He couldn't help but nuzzle his son's soft downy hair as they watched the light creep over the horizon. The dark grey was flooded with colours as the sun began to illuminate the sky.

"Look, Chenela, sunrise." Maia pointed to the rising star.

"Sawise," Chenela said, putting his fist in his mouth. He huffed, laying his head back down on Maia's shoulder, apparently no longer interested in the proceedings.

"We are most grateful, gentlemen. We will look upon this fondly as the beginning of our reign," Maia said by way of excusing himself.

He made his way back to the passenger cabin and sat down. From the basket, he withdrew a feeding urn that had been made up earlier. It was goat's milk, diluted with some water, sweetened with a spoonful of honey. He offered the spout to Chenela who accepted it easily, holding onto the urn loosely while staring up at Maia's face.

Maia was endlessly thankful that Chenela had not inherited Setheris's cold uncaring eyes. His son's silver eyes had flecks of dark grey in them. His lashes, like his hair, was the colour of milkweed, long and delicate. His light-grey skin was flecked with tiny freckles.

Undoubtedly, the messenger and other passengers had a million questions. But now that he was the emperor, Maia did not have to answer a single one.

#Chapter 1 #TGE #The goblin Emperor #fanfic

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dfroza · 3 years

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Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for August 30 of 2021 with Proverbs 30 and Psalm 30, accompanied by Psalm 72 for the 72nd day of Astronomical Summer and Psalm 92 for day 242 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 30]

[The Mysterious Sayings of Agur]

These are the collected sayings of the prophet Agur, Jakeh’s son—

the amazing revelation he imparted to Ithiel and Ukal.

God, I’m so weary and worn out,

I feel more like a beast than a man.

I was made in your image,

but I lack understanding.

I’ve yet to learn the wisdom

that comes from the full and intimate knowledge of you,

the Holy One.

[Six Questions]

Who is it that travels back and forth

from the heavenly realm to the earth?

Who controls the wind as it blows and holds it in his fists?

Who tucks the rain into the cloak of his clouds?

Who stretches out the skyline from one vista to the other?

What is his name?

And what is the name of his Son?

Who can tell me?

[A Pure Heart Is Filled with God’s Word]

Every promise from the faithful God

is pure and proves to be true.

He is a wraparound shield of protection for all his lovers

who run to hide in him.

Never add to his words,

or he will have to rebuke you and prove that you’re a liar.

God, there are two things I’m asking you for before I die, only two:

Empty out of my heart everything that is false—

every lie, and every crooked thing.

And give me neither undue poverty nor undue wealth—

but rather, feed my soul with the measure of prosperity

that pleases you.

May my satisfaction be found in you.

Don’t let me be so rich that I don’t need you

or so poor that I have to resort to dishonesty

just to make ends meet.

Then my life will never detract from bringing glory to your name.

Never defame a servant before his master,

for you will be the guilty one

and a curse will come upon you.

There is a generation rising that curses their fathers

and speaks evil of their mothers.

There is a generation rising that considers themselves

to be pure in their own eyes,

yet they are morally filthy, unwashed, and unclean.

There is a generation rising that is so filled with pride,

they think they are superior and look down on others.

There is a generation rising that uses their words like swords

to cut and slash those who are different.

They would devour the poor, the needy, and the afflicted

from off the face of the earth!

There are three words to describe the greedy:

“Give me more!”

There are some things that are never satisfied.

Forever craving more, they’re unable to say, “That’s enough!”

Here are four:

the grave, yawning for another victim,

the barren womb, ever wanting a child,

thirsty soil, ever longing for rain,

and a raging fire, devouring its fuel.

They’re all insatiable.

The eye that mocks his father and dishonors his elderly mother

deserves to be plucked out by the ravens of the valley

and fed to the young vultures!

[Four Mysteries]

There are four marvelous mysteries

that are too amazing to unravel—

who could fully explain them?

The way an eagle flies in the sky,

the way a snake glides on a boulder,

the path of a ship as it passes through the sea,

and the way a bridegroom falls in love with his bride.

Here is the deceptive way of the adulterous woman:

she takes what she wants and then says,

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

[Four Intolerable Things]

There are four intolerable events

that are simply unbearable to observe:

when an unfaithful servant becomes a ruler,

when a scoundrel comes into great wealth,

when an unfaithful woman marries a good man,

and when a mistress replaces a faithful wife.

[Four Creatures Small and Wise]

The earth has four creatures that are very small but very wise:

The feeble ant has little strength,

yet look how it diligently gathers its food in the summer

to last throughout the winter.

The delicate rock-badger isn’t all that strong,

yet look how it makes a secure home, nestled in the rocks.

The locusts have no king to lead them,

yet they cooperate as they move forward by bands.

And the small lizard is easy to catch

as it clings to the walls with its hands,

yet it can be found inside a king’s palace.

[Four Stately Things]

There are four stately monarchs

who are impressive to watch as they go forth:

the lion, the king of the jungle, who is afraid of no one,

the rooster strutting boldly among the hens,

the male goat out in front leading the herd,

and a king leading his regal procession.

If you’ve acted foolishly by drawing attention to yourself,

or if you’ve thought about saying something stupid,

you’d better shut your mouth.

For such stupidity may give you a bloody nose!

Stirring up an argument only leads to an angry confrontation.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 30]

A song of David. For the dedication of the temple.

I praise You, Eternal One. You lifted me out of that deep, dark pit

and denied my opponents the pleasure of rubbing in their success.

Eternal One, my True God, I cried out to You for help;

You mended the shattered pieces of my life.

You lifted me from the grave with a mighty hand,

gave me another chance,

and saved me from joining those in that dreadful pit.

Sing, all you who remain faithful!

Pour out your hearts to the Eternal with praise and melodies;

let grateful music fill the air and bless His name.

His wrath, you see, is fleeting,

but His grace lasts a lifetime.

The deepest pains may linger through the night,

but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.

When things were quiet and life was easy, I said in arrogance,

“Nothing can shake me.”

By Your grace, Eternal,

I thought I was as strong as a mountain;

But when You left my side and hid away,

I crumbled in fear.

O Eternal One, I called out to You;

I pleaded for Your compassion and forgiveness:

“I’m no good to You dead! What benefits come from my rotting corpse?

My body in the grave will not praise You.

No songs will rise up from the dust of my bones.

From dust comes no proclamation of Your faithfulness.

Hear me, Eternal Lord—please help me,

Eternal One—be merciful!”

You did it: You turned my deepest pains into joyful dancing;

You stripped off my dark clothing

and covered me with joyful light.

You have restored my honor. My heart is ready to explode, erupt in new songs!

It’s impossible to keep quiet!

Eternal One, my God, my Life-Giver, I will thank You forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Voice)

[Psalm 72]

A song of Solomon.

True God, bestow Your honest judgments upon the king

and anoint the king’s son with Your righteousness.

May he be honest and fair in his judgments over Your people

and offer justice to the burdened and suffering.

Under his reign, may this land of mountains and hills know peace

and experience justice for all the people.

May the king offer justice to the burdened and suffering,

rescue the poor and needy,

and demolish the oppressor!

[May the people fear You] for as long as the sun shines,

as long as the moon rises in the night sky, throughout the generations.

May the king be like the refreshing rains, which fall upon fields of freshly mown grass—

like showers that cool and nourish the earth.

May good and honest people flourish for as long as he reigns,

and may peace fill the land until the moon no longer rises.

May the king rule from one sea to the next,

and may his rule extend from the Euphrates River to the far reaches of the earth.

Let the desert wanderers bow down before him

and his enemies lay prostrate and taste the dirt.

Let the kings of Tarshish and the island kings

shower him with gifts

And the kings of Sheba and Seba bring him presents as well.

Let every king on earth bow down before him

and every nation be in his service.

For he will rescue the needy when they ask for help!

He will save the burdened and come to the aid of those who have no other help.

He offers compassion to the weak and the poor;

he will help and protect the lives of the needy!

He will liberate them from the fierce sting of persecution and violence;

in his eyes, their blood is precious.

May he live a long, long time

and the gold of Sheba be given to him.

May the people constantly lift up prayers for him,

and may they call upon God to bless him always.

Let grain grow plentifully in this land of promise,

let it sway in the breeze on the hilltops,

let it grow strong as do the cedars of Lebanon,

The Book of Psalms, Poem 72 (The Voice)

[Psalm 92]

A song for the Sabbath Day.

How good it is to give thanks to the Eternal

and to praise Your name with song, O Most High;

To speak of Your unfailing love in the morning

and rehearse Your faithfulness as night begins to fall.

How good it is to praise to the sound of strings—lute and harp—

the stirring melodies of the lyre.

Because You, O Eternal One, thrill me with the things You have done,

I will sing with joy in light of Your deeds.

Your works are marvelous, O Eternal One!

Your thoughts are unfathomable.

But a weak-minded man can’t understand this;

foolish people are unable to see

That evil men sprout like grass

and wicked men flourish,

only so that they will be doomed forever.

But You, O Eternal One, are above all, forever.

As for Your enemies, O Eternal One,

their fate is obvious:

those who hate You will not survive;

those who practice evil will be broken in pieces.

But You have made me strong as a wild ox,

anointed me with the refreshing oil of Your blessing.

And I have seen with my own eyes my enemies defeated;

I have heard with my own ears my attackers cut down.

Those who are devoted to God will flourish like budding date-palm trees;

they will grow strong and tall like cedars in Lebanon.

Those planted in the house of the Eternal

will thrive in the courts of our God.

They will bear fruit into old age;

even in winter, they will be green and full of sap

To display that the Eternal is righteous.

He is my rock, and there is no shadow of evil in Him.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 92 (The Voice)

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rainbrookeemberscar · 4 years

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Chapter 5: Wayward Daughter

The sound of soft raindrops woke her. Slowly, cautiously, she opened her amber eyes to discover she lay on a bed filled with animal furs and the distinct smell of wood. She was in a room overlooking a beautiful meadow. It took a few moments, but gradually the memories returned. She remembered the foreign feeling of the golem, the excruciating pain of the dragon's fire, and then......comfort. She felt comfortable again, after what had seemed like a lifetime.

Sitting up, Rainbrooke's eyes trailed down to her hands. The light purplish skin and long spindled fingers looked just like she remembered. Her arms, her legs, her breasts...all as she remembered. But what about her face? Frantically, she scanned the area around her searching for her reflection. There on the wall close by, hung a very weathered mirror. She shakily stood from the comfort of the furs and leapt towards the aged glass.

Her hands rubbed across the flesh, the tattoos and the long dark hair in a joyous fit. After several minutes of gleeful tears, she began to collect herself. Rainbrooke hummed with a renewed sense of gratitude for her body. She was finally home within herself. It was warm and pleasant and beautifully imperfect. The sound of the rain outside, again, travelled to her pointed ears. She turned from the reflection and gazed back out at the surroundings. At first, she didn't recognize the green trees or the sprawling lake. But as she stared, the realization hit her.

I'm in Moonglade! But...how? How long have I been asleep?

The questions began racking up inside her mind, almost giving her a headache. A quick skimming of the rest of the room told her she was staying at one of the master Druid trainer's homes. Druidic carvings and idols were dotted around in the architecture and décor. A set of leathers was draped across the back of a chair, ready for her.

It didn't take her long to dress, although navigating down the winding staircase took her more tries than anticipated. She had to rely on gripping the railing several times before finally reaching the bottom. As her feet touched the floor, a voice rung out from behind a decorative screen. "Good morning. Feeling better?" His voice was calm and deep, like the sound of heavy hooves on damp ground.

Balancing on tip toes, she peered over to discover an elderly Kal'dorei man sitting in what appeared to be a reading nook with a small, ornately carved pipe hanging from his lips. "You have no idea," she replied.

A deep chortle escaped him. "I can only imagine for a creature as rare as you. Come, sit. I'm sure you're brimming with questions. Perhaps, I can answer some of them."

She searched his weathered face, enamored by the story it told. Scars and wrinkles, white tinged hair, and a certain dignified calmness to him all acted to draw the unsettled woman in. She obeyed his requested, but strode cautiously to the chair across from him.

He smiled at her warmly. "Now then, let's start with the surface shall we? I am Ven'arkis Deepshade. I am a trainer to the young and inexperienced druids here in Moonglade. You," he said gesturing towards her, "are Rainbrooke Emberscar, once celebrated Druid of the Claw turned to Flame and in actuality....a phoenix." He sat back in his chair and continued smoking.

Rain stared at him, mouth agape. She was entirely caught off guard by his forwardness. It was so....refreshing.

"Now I'm sure that by now you are wondering how you got here and how long you've been asleep. Your dragon friends arranged your transportation and you've been here with us for three days fast asleep in that bed."

"I see," she replied. "And...they.."

"Told me everything...yes." The smoke from his pipe steadily hovered upwards surrounding them.

"I see." She didn't know what to do now. There were no pretenses to keep up. No secrets about herself to hide. No past to hide behind. She was exposed. And now she didn't know what step to take next.

"Feeling a bit lost?" he hummed.

"Yes."

"Not completely unexpected, given everything that has happened. Were I in your place, I most likely wouldn't know my ass from a hole in the ground. But then, I am not in your place am I?"

A faint smirk crossed her plush lips. "No Master Deepshade. But I do sense there must be a reason the dragons brought me here and explained all of this to you. Have you some deep wisdom to bestow upon me? Something in all of my years walking this planet that I've overlooked or become too bitter to acknowledge?"

Another deep laughed escaped him, but this time it reached his eyes. "No I have learned, just as you have, there is no use in imparting your own wisdoms onto others. People will do exactly as they please, with or without your advice." He paused and took several deep puffs of the peacebloom. "But I have also learned that it is far more effective to help people find their own deep wisdoms."

She quirked her violet brow inquisitively.

"Your dragon friends brought you to me so that I might help you to reconnect with your true self; The woman and the beast you were before Smolderon's interference."

"I'm not sure that woman was any better than who I am now. She was riddled with anger and grief. Years of war and heartbreak had taken their toll," she grimaced.

"Would you rather go on masquerading? Hide behind your fiery feathers? Or behind your golem? Or behind this child you protect, perhaps?"

The mentioning of Alysa pricked her. A dull anger swelled in her belly. "I am not hiding! I had limited choices in almost all of those circumstances."

"For thousands of years you roamed, fighting tooth and claw to prevent atrocities and as soon as you gave up your true self, you almost became an atrocity."

His words burned, but he was right. She had made a foolish decision and perhaps it truly was a hidden way to run from herself. A hidden way of trying to distance herself from Livian and Vincent before they, too, were stripped away.

How could I have been so stupid?

"I don't know what to do," she muttered through dampening eyes. "I just can't lose someone like I lost him."

"Loss it a part of life, my dear. It is pain. It is tragedy. But it is also a reminder that we are indeed alive in this moment with the ones we do have. And we must love them while we have them."

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She had jeopardized everything she cared about, simply to avoid having it taken away from her.

Ven'arkis reached his hand out and placed it tenderly on her shoulder. "If you are ready to accept yourself, accept back your past and your pain, then journey to the barrow dens and you will find what you seek."

Although what he had said pained her, she did appreciate him. A swift kick in the behind from a kindly, peacebloom smoking, druid teacher was exactly what she needed. Rain patted his hand and smiled before standing to leave. "Thank you."

"Oh and while you're in there, if you happen to see a black satchel, would you bring it back? I have looked all over for that damn thing!"

#phoenix #druid #red dragonflight #moonglade #barrowden

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bigyack-com · 4 years

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Guruvani: ‘The challenge is to impart knowledge, values’ - ht school

Mamta Aggarwal, principal, Ramakrishna Sr Sec School, Vikaspuri talks to HT Students’ Edition about a wide range of educational issues. Excerpts from the conversation:What is the biggest challenge you face as a principal?As the principal of an educational institution with toddlers and teenagers as students, the biggest challenge is to ensure that appropriate knowledge and values are imparted to their young impressionable minds, especially in this information driven era. Principals are supposed to be the leaders and meet the expectations that students, staff and the community bestow upon us. We are expected to handle the instructional, emotional and social challenges faced by our students.Success has become an obsession with people of all ages nowadays. Comment.Over the past decade, a penchant for higher standards of living and other worldly objects has transformed ambitions into an insatiable obsession for success. As a result, we find people of all ages pursuing futile painstaking tasks and evaluating hard work in terms of tangible outcomes. I personally believe that the quest for success lies in the quest for knowledge as success is nothing more than a mere byproduct of the knowledge gained.Given the diverse needs of today’s youngsters, what emphasis do you put on teachers training.Shakespeare once said, “I have to learn from the stones of my tomb.” Learning and relearning is a continuous process which is integral to the personal and professional growth of all teachers. They must be equipped with state-of-the-art educational and social practices. Training and professional development programmes for teachers are seen as a central mechanism for updating teachers’ content knowledge and improving their teaching skills in order to meet high educational standards.With their vast experience and wisdom how can the elderly contribute to students’ all round growth and development?The elderly can share their experiences and wisdom through fables and maxims, helping to steer the moral compasses of children amidst the rough waves of vices of the modern era in the metropolitan cities.What is role of the media in education?Recent advancements in communication technologies have made information available anywhere across the globe. Media is the biggest medium for delivering this information through Internet, computers, TV, radio and books. Needless to say, media has had a positive impact on the way students learn. However, the role of media extends beyond the confines of a delivery system. A lot of the information available is unfiltered and unauthenticated. Thus, it becomes paramount for media platforms to check the information being disseminated, especially to children.What are your leisure activities and how do you spend time with family and friends?Leisure time is the best way to spend some quality time with family and for personal growth. I spend my leisure reading, exploring different cuisines and travelling with my family. Read the full article

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noxilicious-ish · 7 years

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RECALIBRATION (CH. 5)

Haven’t updated this in longer than I could admit and come out of it with my pride intact.

Btw, if anyone’s interested: I’ll put up an ask or something for doodle/ headcanon requests or questions related to my Harry Holmes project. Check it out later!

Previous chapter: http://noxilicious-ish.tumblr.com/post/154338266696/recalibration-ch-4

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Past Sherlock/Lily, canon pairings

Word count: 2,879

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my pitiful, depraved mind. Please don’t sue me.

CHAPTER FIVE – IN WHICH PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL SAVES THE DAY

Scrutinising turquoise eyes locked unblinkingly onto ever-changing blue-green-gray? ones. All the while, larger and far more inexperienced emerald eyes than either of the other pairs were watching each in part alternatingly, worriedly, much like following a tennis match. Harry was witness to a Mexican standoff the conclusion of which he was uncertain of – and indeed, one he dreaded.

“It’s Professor, actually,” Minerva broke the ice, sipping her tea calmly.

“Professor McGonagall, then,” Sherlock acknowledged with a nod. “Professor of… Transfiguration, I believe? The art of changing the form and appearance of an animate or inanimate object.”

It was all Minerva could do to keep her rather beautifully-shaped teacup safely within her fingers’ clutch. Her eyes widened minutely, although she managed to recompose herself. Her lips remained in a tight, unnerved line.

“You are correct, Mr Holmes, however much that may seem like an impossibility. May I ask how you came upon such knowledge, seeing as you are most obviously not Magic, nor are you a Squib?” she inquired slowly. Mr Potter could have told the strange man about his… special boarding school, but the Ministry was supervising what was imparted by witches and wizards upon Muggles very carefully. And the man’s custody of the child was unofficial and dubious at best.

Sherlock smiled distantly. “During our… acquaintance, Lily bestowed me with her absolute trust, and revealed much of her education and overall childhood, as well as the fundamentals of Wizarding society. She was exceedingly impressive in her skill of avoiding certain trigger terms that might alert the Ministry.”

Harry perked up at the mention of his famous mother, while Minerva paled. Lily had broken the Statute of Secrecy… for a Muggle? She had been a very intelligent girl for all the years the old teacher had known her, so she was undoubtedly aware of all the consequences of such a felony. To have nonetheless committed it for someone’s sake…

The detective scanned her for a few seconds, his smile falling to reveal serious determination. He placed his cup in its saucer, then on the table near his armchair. “Professor McGonagall,” he started, interlacing his pale, bony digits. “You have obviously come here out of concern for you pupil’s safety and wellbeing. You may rest assured that he is in good hands, or at least much better than he used to be.”

The last he muttered angrily and Minerva found herself agreeing. However…

“That is not all you wish to inform me of,” she stated rather than asked.

“No,” Sherlock acquiesced. “Being a Muggle, there is little influence I can manage in the Wizarding society at the moment. I am in need of your help in a particular matter, seeing as you are the most equipped to handle it.”

She raised both eyebrows at this. What a strange fellow. “Indeed? And what is this matter you speak of?”

“I am afraid Albus Dumbledore has committed a grave mistake. You are the only one who can convince him of this, being one of his most trusted allies.”

“And why would I believe you, if that is the case? You seem aware of the fact that Albus’ word holds considerable weight with me.”

At this, he looked her dead in the eye. “Because I am Harry’s biological father.”

Then he stood statue-still, his posture expressing no-nonsense as he awaited her reply. Truly, Sherlock was more than a little nervous about this whole affair. Harry’s happiness and health was at stake whether this stern aging lady chose to aid him or not, and he was definitely not playing around with those. He loved games, but not when they involved his prodigal son.

What a laugh John would have to hear him even think that there could ever be a time he would not simply adore a little game of wills.

Harry shifted almost imperceptibly, trying his best not to break the thick silence that had fallen over the three of them. This was an adults’ exchange, and he was both glad and overwhelmed that he was allowed to spectate. He was also – though he’d never, ever say it within the Professor’s hearing range – a little amused to see said woman for the first time in his life shocked into speechlessness. She was more humane than most authoritarian teachers, but still strict enough to intimidate.

Meanwhile, Minerva was gaping. If the previous unexpected comment had startled her, this was more than enough to stun even her. And yet, she could not entirely deny the fact that what her conscious was desperate to object to, her subconscious was increasingly resigned about.

“How…” she managed to stutter out eventually. “When…”

The other adult mercifully waited for her to regain her bearings. “Are you certain of this?” she finally asked firmly.

She was met with a sardonic smile. “I have valid reasons to believe it is more than possible.”

Minerva conceded with an odd grimace. Harry blushed scarlet and fought valiantly not to fidget. No sane teenager, regardless of the tangled history of their parents and not-parents and any curiosity relating to it, could ever be comfortable with a discussion of their own conception.

“But James…” the Professor muttered, frowning in turmoil. “Why would Lily ever do such a thing? How could she?”

The detective was quiet for a few long moments, staring into the distance. “It was before she married him. I do not know…” he abruptly trailed off, greatly troubled by some long-past memory.

The old Scotswoman studied his absent expression, then she sighed and looked at Harry. “I suppose the resemblance is uncanny,” she joked softly.

Sobering, she continued, “If what you say is true, Mr Holmes, and it does seem so, then you have yet to tell me what the Headmaster’s fault is in this.”

The moment Sherlock’s eyes flicked back to hers, a horrible feeling had already settled in Minerva’s heart. “Though Lily did return to James, in the event of both their deaths, do you not wonder whether she would have rather wrote down the name of the actual father of her child, instead of that of her dreaded sister’s as said child’s caretaker?”

The Transfiguration Professor shook. “Albus… claimed that all of Harry’s potential guardians were either deceased or imprisoned. There was simply no one but… them.”

Sherlock’s fingers clenched tightly over the armrests and he leaned over slightly. “And if that were true, would there not still be his birth certificate to prove the existence of another potential guardian?” he argued tightly, spitting out the last words with unmistakable biterness. “I am not exactly parent material, but anyone would have sufficed, ANYONE but that biped swine and his equally primitive wife.”

He sat back slowly, reigning in his fury after that slight slip-up. As he watched the teacher raise a shaking hand to her mouth, he knew she was remembering Harry’s living conditions for the past twelve years. Given her ability to shapeshift, she was most likely the one tasked with keeping an eye on the child now and then, and must have borne witness to what was taking place in that abominable household.

“Lily’s Last Will and Testament is missing from the Ministry’s public records,” he concluded.

Minerva frowned, trying her best to think logically despite the amalgam of emotions. “Once a deceased witch’s or wizard’s Will has been read, it is magically written into the records. This applies to any and all testaments, and is not undoable.”

Sherlock looked at her pointedly. “Who was the known executor of Lily’s Will?”

Her eyes shot back to his and her features tightened.

…

Ever since finding out about magic, Harry’s life has been in a constant tornado of events, positive as well as less than positive. While he would never regret that moment on his eleventh birthday when Hagrid stomped on that isolated little hut’s door, there have been times when he had needed a breather, the confusion of endless adventures having overwhelmed him to nearly his breaking point.

During his two years at Hogwarts, he had found that refuge in his two best friends’ unwavering loyalty even in the face of certain danger. Still, even a precocious trouble-magnet like himself found himself occasionally seeking the steady wisdom of an adult.

He had never imagined that visiting Headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s office would ever create anything but a feeling of safety and respectful wariness.

Witnessing the elderly wizard’s calm, expectant visage the moment they entered the office was what dropped the burden of crushing disappointment and betrayal onto his shoulders.

Mr Holmes’ perceptive eyes flickered over to him, before he felt the slightest brush of an uncertain hand over his shoulder. If Harry had not been so troubled, he would’ve gave the man a weak, but nonetheless grateful smile for his efforts.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore nodded to his long-time friend and fellow colleague, who merely thinned her lips back. The Headmaster looked at Harry next. “Mr Potter.”

Harry did not answer. He rather chose slight disrespect over opening his mouth and blurting whatever crossed his mind in a fit of rage and desperation.

“Mr Sherlock Holmes. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Said detective’s expression remained blank, though his manner spoke the world about his impression of the wizard. “Mr Dumbledore,” he returned. “I wish I could say the same, but the circumstances dictate otherwise.”

Dumbledore made a movement with his wand, conjuring three comfy-looking armchairs and gestured towards them in invitation. Once everyone was seated, the old wizard turned to gaze out the window.

“You know why we’re here today,” the Muggle stated, unsurprised.

“You are here because twelve years ago I made a choice for the greater good, regardless of my own wishes,” was the answer he received.

“Greater good…?” Minerva parroted incredulously, her tone rising with each syllable. “For whom, precisely? In all the years I have known you, Albus, I swear…”

The wizard turned to face her, his expression resigned, knowing he deserved her ire, but adamantly in support of his motivation despite it. “No boy should have to live their entire life in the center of attention, not when such a tragedy is the foundation of his fame. Living far away from the magical world for so long was the best option.”

“And you couldn’t have trusted me to shield my own damn son from your bloody magical population? You honestly thought it was better to leave him with a bunch of savages that locked him up in a bloody cupboard? For ten years, you just watched and let them do their number while he cleaned, cooked, scrubbed, while he was being yelled at and pushed around, while he was belittled and treated as less-than-human, through all of that, you did nothing! You rant and rave about how undercivilised and dull Muggles are,” and he spat out the word mockingly, “and then you just throw one of your own into the lion’s den. And you’re still better.”

Harry stared with wide eyes at the detective all throughout his tirade, not expecting the sudden avalanche of words at all, and certainly not at this intensity, even though it was called for. The rant resumed a lot of Harry’s own frustrations over the years and he was a bit glad there was someone brave – or stupid – enough to point them out so bluntly to a form of authority that could have taken measures and didn’t.

Mr Holmes stared angrily at the old wizard, anxious to hear what the man had to say in his defense in the face of this.

“Can you truly claim that you would have been a good caretaker for Harry at the time, twelve years ago?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the suffocating silence that followed Dumbledore’s solemn question. If the detective had been angry before, now he was positively boiling, his bright eyes now icy cold with fury and loathing, but also a conflicted, unreadable emotion.

“That justifies nothing. I deserved to know!” he growled through clenched teeth, obviously as an attempt not to roar and scream and rage at the man.

With that, Mr Holmes leaned back in his seat from his near perch on the edge of the chair, though he remained tense, spine ramrod straight, limbs coiled like springs. Harry stared at his hands, unnerved by the showdown but occasionally sneaking glances at everyone in turn, to try and anticipate whatever their next movement would be. For now, though they had come to a standstill.

Professor McGonagall was surreptitiously watching the detective, most likely looking out in case he suddenly jumped out of his seat and throttled the old wizard, though by her crisp, angry and disillusioned visage, she was more than a little tempted to do it herself.

The one to break the pattern was the Headmaster, as usual, when he rose from his seat slowly, for the first time in Harry’s life actually showing the consequences of his old age. He disappeared from their view for a few seconds, then returned with a few yellowed papers in his hand.

“When James and Lily Potter were declared officially deceased and their wills were read, I ensured that most of Lily’s will would be followed to the letter, except for a few select points.”

What was most likely the will, he spread out over his desk. It was obvious that should any of those present be unsatisfied with his credibility, he was willing to read out the entire will for their sake. But after the whole circus, none of them were up for a formal ceremony at this point.

“ ‘To William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I leave a letter to be handed by my Executor.’ ”

Dumbledore handed an envelope to the detective, who accepted it after a brief moment’s hesitation. The man held it gingerly, almost reverently, but seemed firm to suppress the instinct to open it at once, instead opting to see the rest of their meeting carried out.

“ ‘To my son, Harold William Holmes-Evans, I leave the residue of my estate, including a letter to be handed by my Executor upon his eleventh birthday.’ ”

The other envelope was given to Harry. “As James had already left most of his estate to you as well, I had Lily’s savings deposited into the same vault as his,” the old wizard explained carefully, before returning to the last point to be mentioned:

“ ‘I appoint William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the biological father of Harold William Holmes-Evans, to be the guardian of my son until he reaches 18 years of age.’ ”

He concluded by rolling the manuscript closed, and sliding another piece of paper over the desk towards his guests.

On it, written in old, faded but mostly well-preserved ink, the letters spelled out clearly: BIRTH CERTIFICATE.

Harry stared dazedly as he read what was apparently his real name. Harold William Holmes-Evans. And wasn’t that a mouthful.

Well, at least Mr Holmes won’t be complaining about Harry’s name anymore.

Oh yeah, Mr Holmes’ name was there too.

“Your first name’s William?” Harry blurted.

The man pinned him with a deeply unimpressed look. That was the most relevant line of inquiry on his mind to him? “Unless you’d like me to call you Will Junior…” the words even left a sour taste in his mouth, they were so idiotic.

“I’m good,” the boy interrupted hurriedly. If Harold was too serious, he had absolutely nothing in common with the name William.

He supposed he’d learn to live with it, considering his mother had chosen his name.

Also, his real name was as sentimental as his fake one, apparently.

Most of all, now I know for sure that he’s my father and legal guardian, Harry thought, feeling more than a little relieved and excited by the prospect.

See you never, Dursleys!

Harry’s train of thought was interrupted by sudden movement from the corner of his eye, as Mr Holmes stood to pick up the birth certificate. Professor McGonagall was standing as well, by now.

The detective and the old wizard were now having some sort of silent exchange.

“Was it worth it?”

Both of them turned to look at Harry in slight surprise. “The choice you made… was it worth it?” he clarified tentatively.

Dumbledore’s usually twinkling eyes had lost most of their brightness and they actually looked sad as he answered, “I don’t know.”

Harry bit his lip. Albus Dumbledore was a good man. He’d always felt that in his gut, even though the old wizard tended to be more than a little vague. Looking at it objectively, one might suppose that the Headmaster was in a position to take the hard decisions no one else could, for the sake of the wizarding world or whatever.

The boy supposed one day he’d be able to forgive that, not just acknowledge it.

For now, though, he desperately wanted to go home and maybe cry about it for a bit – not that he’d ever admit it aloud. He had his pride, after all. He grabbed Mr Holmes lightly by the sleeve, trying to convey this silently.

The man clearly got the message, because he nodded meaningfully towards the Transfiguration professor, who turned to lead them back out of the office. They left without another word to the Headmaster.

To be continued…

So that’s it for now. I’m not even gonna promise anything anymore, hopefully I’ll be writing and updating sometime soon, but considering I have my Cambridge examination sometime soon...

Again, if you want to see more Harry and Daddy Holmes fluff or have any requests related to them, check out my blog and click the request button there.

See you next time!

#parentlock #harry holmes #sherlock #harry potter #recalibration #crossover #fanfiction

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primadonnatartuffe · 7 years

Text

-- primadonnaTartuffe [PT] began bothering impenetrableVitality [IV] at 17:29 --

PT: hey finn.

IV: ryan

IV: hey

IV: what's up

PT: well i just so you online and thought hey i should totally hit up finn?? we didnt really get a chance to catch up much at the party since you kinda ran off.

PT: and then i kinda ran off...

PT: so yeah.

PT: plus i just read your status update?

PT: yo.

IV: oh yeah

IV: okay i figured it had to do with that

IV: it's a thing

PT: it sure is????

PT: i cant leave you alone for three measley years without you getting into some crazy shit.

PT: lmao jk.

PT: congratulations!!

IV: thank you

IV: if you mean that sincerely

PT: i do.

PT: shes beautiful.

PT: and i think youd make a stellar dad.

IV: that

IV: means a lot

PT: yeah im sure youre probably getting some shit for it... but thats how i feel.

PT: so youve got me in your corner at least.

IV: oh definitely

IV: that's good to know

IV: it's good to have you back

PT: a weird burnout runaway is in your corner but hey...

PT: yeah.

PT: its good to be back.

IV: how's your family handling it

PT: okay i guess. my parents are happy but i think my dad is gonna be pissed for a while too lol.

PT: im working things out with russet...

IV: that's cool

IV: i think she'll come around

PT: yeah im weirdly optimistic about it.

PT: i kinda expected more backlash but everyone has been really cool.

IV: you were really missed

IV: like

IV: by everyone

PT: yeah...?

IV: including me

IV: i missed you a lot

PT: i missed you too dude.

PT: ... im sorry.

PT: i must have really worried you.

IV: you worried me so much i went crazy and adopted a child

PT: fuck... i did this.

PT: if anyone gives you more shit about it you can just blame it on me.

IV: no i'm kidding

IV: it's believable though isn't it

PT: it really is.

PT: speaking of i gotta visit you and the baby soon.

PT: where are you living these days?

IV: with colt and little

IV: in odimist

PT: oh shit... hahaha.

PT: sorry.

PT: that just sounds like a trip.

IV: i mean it can be

IV: like last night colt dragged me out and we ran into joel and rammie

IV: joel had a lot to say

PT: about the baby? or just in general like he always do.

IV: both

IV: uses me as a reason to feel betrayed or something

PT: what a dingus dongus.

PT: dont let him get you down... you gotta do you.

IV: yeah i'm

IV: working toward that

PT: good deal.

IV: i don't think i've ever seen you near a baby

PT: i dont think ive been near a baby since lucy was born?? and i was practically still a baby then too.

PT: babies are cool tho.

IV: then you'll like sofia

IV: she's pretty cool

PT: i could tell by that picture you posted.

PT: i thought to myself... now that is one cool chick.

IV: it makes me wonder why anyone would leave her but

IV: i guess i have ideas

IV: and she's better off with me anyway

PT: agreed.

PT: hey... so...

PT: this is nice?

PT: being able to talk like this.

IV: well yeah it's

IV: always been

PT: i know... its just cool we can kinda... pick up where we left off?

IV: yeah i mean

IV: other than like missing you and all that stuff i still feel the same

PT: daw... :')

PT: that means a lot.

PT: i

PT: wanna be a better friend.

IV: stay a while and you will be

PT: okay... i can do that.

IV: we should actually like

IV: i don't know

IV: officially hang out

PT: yeah... i wanna do that.

IV: sooner rather than later

IV: i mean just saying

PT: you want me to come hike out to the woods rn for you?

IV: you could or i could go to you if it's a huge hike

PT: i mean colt kinda lives out in the middle of bfe.

IV: i could get him to watch sofia

PT: okay. how about we meet up someplace in amberhold so all i gotta do is zap over to odimist and you dont gotta trek all the way outta the woods and then to skaia?

IV: sure

IV: that sounds good to me

PT: noice.

IV: there's a coffee shop

IV: it's tiny but really close to like

IV: the transportalizer

PT: ok ill be there in two shakes.

PT: (two booty shakes.)

IV: perfect

FINN: -he'll be waiting at the coffee shop for her in a reasonable amount of time, sitting at a table with a tea and waiting-

RYAN: *enters the establishment with two more booty shakes. gotta show off the goods... though she is much thinner than she used to be and doesn't necessarily feel all that attractive. but oh well, she slides up to the table, flashing finn a smile.*

RYAN: heyyyy.

FINN: -she's still beautiful unfortunately for him. he smiles up at her- hey what a coincidence

RYAN: i know right?? fancy meeting you here.

FINN: take a seat stay a while

RYAN: *plops down across from him and steals his tea to take a sip of it.*

FINN: sure you can taste it

RYAN: thanks man. youre so generous.

FINN: i know i try

RYAN: *snickers and hands it back*

RYAN: so... finn. *chinhands at him*

FINN: ryan

RYAN: what have you been up to all this time? i mean i kinda know but give me the details.

FINN: where do you want me to start

RYAN: *sings* lets start at the very beginniiiing... a very good place to start.

FINN: so from when you left

RYAN: mm... i guess thats about the beginning yeah.

FINN: well i spent a lot of time volunteering all over the galaxy

FINN: i mean i don't think it will be that interesting for you

RYAN: i dunno man... why dont you give me your most interesting experience from it at least?

RYAN: see anything awe inspiring? meet any cool people?

FINN: well -he suddenly stops and looks to the side- yeah

RYAN: *tilts her head at him* yeah?

FINN: -remembers his talk with satomi and he clears his throat a little, fidgeting- i met a guy from where i'm from

RYAN: yeah? what was he like?

FINN: he was cool and he wa pretty old

FINN: was*

FINN: pretty sick too but had a great sense of humor you know

-- impenetrableVitality [IV] is now an idle chum! --

RYAN: *smiles softly. there's one way these stories usually go, but she's still happy to listen what it was like for finn.* yeah i get you.

FINN: told me all about what it was like growing up there

FINN: he was just a guy who refused to leave you know

FINN: until he was forced out

FINN: his name was mateo

RYAN: ah... tenacious with a sense of humor? mateo definitely sounds like my kind of guy.

FINN: you would have liked him

FINN: if you could speak spanish

RYAN: *laughs a little* if only...

RYAN: you should teach me sometime by the way.

FINN: i'd be down for that

FINN: stick with me you'll be a pro in no time

FINN: in which no time is quite a while

RYAN: pffff.

RYAN: okay tell me more about mateo. youve got me hooked.

FINN: well what do you want to know

RYAN: did he ever bestow any elderly wisdom upon you?

FINN: i guess you could say that

RYAN: *just chinhands at him like 8) *

FINN: just kind of told me that if i had the opportunity to explore where i came from then i shouldn't pass it up

RYAN: thats good advice.

RYAN: im pretty sure i came from like a utility closet on the uu or something.

FINN: so go explore that utility closet

RYAN: pretty sure i already have. ;) *remember that time finn...*

FINN: -THAT CANT BE THAT SAME ONE. he pauses and then gets red- oh that is not the same one

RYAN: you never know...

FINN: i can't believe you're entertaining the idea of having fucked in the same closet as your parents

RYAN: hahahahaha.

RYAN: um is that not romantic to you??????

FINN: romantic would not be the word i'd use to describe that

RYAN: *folds her arms on the table and lays her head in them, wheezing with laughter*

FINN: -STOP BEING CUTE IT'S RUDe. but he's laughing too-

RYAN: *surfaces with a big breath. okay, she's good.* god...

RYAN: this is fun.

FINN: -still laughing intermittently- yeah

FINN: hey if we made hgtv fun

FINN: possibilities are endless

RYAN: holy shit. *she's laughing again. memories...* okay so i hate to run off so suddenly but... its getting kind of late so i think im gonna head back to skaia.

RYAN: *she's a little paranoid about staying out late, for various reasons...*

RYAN: ill go to your place next time so i can meet the babby.

FINN: -it's sad she has to leave so soon but...he understands.- sounds like a plan

FINN: be safe on your way back okay

RYAN: yeah of course. *slides out of her seat, but before she goes she rounds the table to give finn a kiss on the cheek.*

RYAN: later alligator. *double pistols and a wink as she moves off to exit.*

FINN: -waves wordlessly after that cheek kiss. he'll be sitting here a while-

#impenetrablevitality #in which catching up with finn

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paulhudd · 7 years

Text

Spindlefreck: Pt.20: Seven Thousand Years to Midnight

2 November 1988

11:48PM GMT:

Electra Cochrane’s imagination:

“Well -- say it -- get this over with!” yelped Pritchard, gritting his teeth and grimacing, as if he expected the world to explode at any second. Grasping the sleeve of his overcoat, Electra braced herself and screamed over the howling wind and rumbling thunder, “Please, Danielle, just do it!”

Dani, as always, was in two minds: the levitating spectre currently looming over her did scare her; she felt a woeful pang of dread in her belly she’d never felt before; but she also knew if she did what it asked, she wasn't likely to survive -- uttering that word could be tantamount to committing suicide! On the other hand, Pritchard said it would save Jamie...

“Say it,” chorused the mob of mutant fairytale creatures, gnashing their teeth and making threatening gestures.

She looked up at the hovering spectre, cocked her head and shouted, “Hey you up there! Whose side are you on, anyway? Are you, like, a goodie or a baddie?”

The shimmering wraith of Zomber Blist looked down on her with eyes of gleaming sapphire and replied, “There is no good or bad or right or wrong; there is only what will be. This your destiny! You must fulfil the Prophesy!” Then his voice deepened to a baleful roar, “SAY THE WORD.”

“Say it!” hissed the abominable throng.

Dani squeezed her eyes shut, crossed her fingers and took a deep breath...

An hour ago:

Jamie was getting desperate. He’d been in the so-called ‘Secure Unit’ for nearly a week now, and although he kept reminding himself that it was all a mirage and that the passing of time meant nothing when one’s consciousness is trapped in a phantasm, he was beginning to think the doctors were right and he really was suffering delusions induced by a rare form of amnesia.

There was nothing to suggest it was a dream. This ‘reality’ was flawless. The sights, the smells, the tastes and the feel of the place were just as you’d expect in a fully functioning psychiatric hospital. The staff and the other patients’ behaviour were consistent, their conversations vivid and unrehearsed, each incidence was entirely realised, each interaction was natural and unambiguous; nothing defied logic. If this was indeed a grand illusion designed to undermine his psychic defences and render him vulnerable to demonic possession, the demon had been meticulous and attended to every detail with painstaking care; or - and Jamie considered this the more likely explanation - his consciousness currently existed in a world created from someone else’s memories; and if so, whose? Who associated with the coven would've been incarcerated in a place like this? It was nothing like the unit in Belfast where Dani spent her last few years, and as far as he knew, the only other ‘Güül ever to be voluntarily carted off to the looney bin was Goz -- and that was a rock star rehab centre in LA.!

He was almost swayed, but the circumstantial evidence surrounding his ‘case’ added weight to his gut feelings: the fact that he had no papers, no ID and no one had come forward to identify him despite ‘numerous public appeals’, was too-convenient-by-half. Plus, he still had that telltale chill in his bones he associated with being trapped in the Void. There was nothing he could do but wait and see how things played-out. Trouble was, nothing was happening and it didn’t look like anything was going to happen anytime soon. If the demon had a plan, it was taking a long time to hatch, and if this was a dreamscape, he had all the time in the world.

If this is a dreamscape.

In the meantime, he’s played things nice and safe. He’s kept himself to himself and behaved impeccably. He’s mopped the floors in the corridors, scrubbed the communal toilets (a job bestowed upon him as a way to earn money to pay for cigarettes and chocolate -- he was stony broke, and since there was nothing to read but dog-eared war novels and yellowing sports magazines, it passed the time); he’s taken the occasional jibes and good-natured banter about his alleged past-behaviour with self-effacing good humour and engaged in idle smalltalk when the occasion arose. After a few days the nursing staff was satisfied that he no longer posed a threat to them or the other patients and curtailed the constant surveillance -- no more orderlies following him around watching his every move. He’s taken his ‘meds’ (which seemed to have no affect at all except make him hungry) without protest. The only people he had any meaningful interaction with were Porter the Porter and occasionally Mr Murphy, the genial, elderly Irish alcoholic. That said, Porter was a moronic psychopath and old Mr Murphy wasn't the font of paternal wisdom Jamie encountered that first day. The old man was one third of a tight little trio of elderly back-gammon and dominoes players who barely acknowledged the other patients, including Jamie; and if the pair did happen to bump into one another in the corridor, Jamie’s attempts at an intimate conversation were cheerfully and politely rebuffed, like old Mr Murphy had said his piece and wasn't interested in taking the relationship any further.

Or is he waiting for me to prove something? Waiting for something to happen?

You see, Mr Murphy had all-but advised him to say the demon’s name. He thought it was the key to unlocking his memory: “If I were you I’d have to wonder why I’m afraid to put a name to the thing that scares me the most.” [See Part 19]

It was the only significant conversation he’d had thus far, but despite the old man’s apparent sincerity, Jamie couldn't bring himself to say it. He knew the power those syllables possessed -- especially in a metaphysical dimension -- but does Mr Murphy know? Is the old man a force for good?

Or is he the demon himself?

Whatever the existential circumstances, the lack of any stimulus whatsoever was driving him nuts. By Thursday morning he’d decided enough was enough; he had to do something break the deadlock. He had to see Mondale and arrange a consultation; preferably before the weekend. So, that afternoon after lunch, he’d approached the nurses’ station and talked to the hard-faced, middle-aged woman in the navy-blue pant-suit uniform whom everyone referred to as Sister. He tapped the thick, smudgy Perspex window and told her he felt much, much better and asked if she would be kind enough to arrange an appointment with Dr Mondale as soon as possible to discuss his ‘amnesia’.

Sitting at the counter on the other side of the glass, Sister replied without looking up from her work, “Dr Mondale has a private practise ‘n only attends this hospital on certain days,” she grunted, in her thick South London twang, “but I wouldn't hold me breath if I were you, luvvie; gettin’ an appointment with the ‘ead doctor can take weeks.”

Jamie wasn't going to argue. Not just because she was a large, formidable woman and short-tempered with it, but a quarrel with her in particular could result in him losing his cool and blowing his chances altogether. He had to keep the boat steady and speak nicely. He gripped the outside ledge tightly to ease the tension and politely persisted, “OK then, if he does come in, will you at least ask if he’ll see me? Please?” he said, effecting the most earnest expression he could muster without looking too wet.

She clearly didn’t want to know but deigned to furnish him with an explanation. She stopped writing, pointed her biro at him and fixed him with a withering stare, “Look -- Mr Jameson-Lumb -- you’ve been here less than a week, ‘aven’t you? That’s not nearly enough time for us to make an initial assessment, let alone refer you back to the doctor!” she looked-him-up-and-down, “’specially after what you got up to! Wrecking the place?! Smashing-up mirrors and frightening the life out of the older patients?! Oh, no, no, no, you need to cool yer ‘eels and take fings slow for a while, then we’ll see,” she said, fanning him away like a bad smell. Then, just when he thought all was lost, a male nurse writing at the desk at the back of the office - a tubby, squat, spiky-haired 19-year-old peroxide-blonde with the pinched face of a sunburned urchin - pushed off from his station on his swivel stool, trundled across the office floor, spun around and stopped just behind her so that he was looking up at Jamie from under her left armpit, “Mondale’s always ‘ere on a Froiday -” he began to say, in a thick Midlands drawl; but before he could finish the sentence, Sister cut him short with a curt: “Yes, thank you, Gaston!” Then she thought better of her tone, smiled affectedly and added with a playful snarl, “you’re such a helpful boy, arentcha?!” put a foot against the seat of the stool and sent him spinning across the floor, back to the desk. But the damage was done and Jamie was on her case.

“Friday? He comes every Friday?” he said, trying not to sound too excited, his nose all-but pressed against the glass.

“Not every Friday!” she barked, hooking a thumb over her shoulder, “Don’t pay no attention to young Nurse Masterson, he ain't been here long enough to know Dr Mondale’s routine,” she turned and added in an accusing voice, “in fact, I’m surprised he’s found the time to observe anybody’s comin’s-'n-goin’s what with his heavy schedule,” she jeered, “he’s on loan from another institution, see. He’s from Wolver'ampton. He’s not up to speed. ” She turned back, rolled her eyes and made a face.

“Well, I’ve been ‘ere for 8 weeks now ‘n ‘is green Bentley is always in its designated parking-space every Froiday...” muttered the disgruntled Wulfrunian.

She kept her eyes on Jamie, tilted her head and yelled, “Nurse Masterson! Go up to Geriatric, empty the bedpans, change the dressings and tap the drips, would you, dear?! Thank You!”

Appalled, the spiky-headed nurse pointed his pen at the clock on the wall above the desk, shook his head and protested, “Doreen did the rounds not ‘alf-an-hour ago!”

Her fists tightened until the knuckles whitened, the pained-smile intensified: “Thank you, Nurse Masterson!” she growled through gritted-teeth, in a low, don’t-mess-with-me-tone.

Gaston Masterson sighed exasperatedly, slapped his hands on the desk, laboriously hauled himself to his feet and trudged out of the inner door mumbling inaudible curses under his breath, his hands deep the sagging pockets of his baggy-blue flannels.

Jamie, wide-eyed and eager, asked again, “So... if he comes in tomorrow... will you ask him?”

She was very agitated now, but Jamie was too reasonable to be fobbed-off. After shuffling through some papers on the counter, she eventually capitulated with extreme reluctance, “Look, just to get you off my back, I’ll see what I can do -- but like I said -- don’t get your hopes up,” was as far as she would go. Jamie graciously accepted the reply and slowly and gracefully withdrew -- then, as soon as he was out of sight of the window -- he bolted down the adjacent corridor and grabbed Masterson by the sleeve of his tunic before he exited the security doors. Alarmed, the spiky-headed nurse shook off Jamie’s hand, shied-away and pointed to the sign on the wall: “No Patients Beyond This Point!” he recited, shakily, backing over the thick red line painted across the floor.

Jamie took a step backward and put his hands in the air, “Listen, dude, I’m OK, I’m fine, honestly, but this place is driving me crazy -- I need to see Mondale! Could you arrange it for me?" he whispered, trying not to sound frantic or manic.

Shaking his head, Masterson turned away and walked toward the exit, “Look, I know your story ‘n I sympathise, but I can’t get involved. You heard the ol’ bat, and she’s doin’ my report, she’d just luv to ‘ave an excuse to fail me!” he said, glancing up the corridor, making sure the object of his disaffection wasn't listening.

Jamie heard the hesitation in his voice and pleaded with him, “I just need to talk to him for 5 minutes. It’s really important -- If there’s anything you can do, y’know, it would mean an awful lot to me...?”

Masterson paused to have a think about it, but eventually the little pinched urchin-face screwed up, “For Christ’s sake, can’t you get one of your visitors to do it? Or your solicitor?!” he whinged, turning back, taking his swipe-card from his back pocket as he approached the doors.

“I don’t get visitors and I haven’t been assigned legal counsel yet! I don’t have anyone...” Jamie whisper-shouted, in an impassioned voice.

The beleaguered nurse stopped again, sighed, tapped the swipe-card on his chin for a moment or two and contemplated the pros-&-cons, “If the ol’ bitch foinds out I’ll get a bollockin’, for sure... then again, I do fancy his secretary... I suppose it’d gimme an excuse to go upstairs ‘n chat-‘er-up...” he looked up the corridor again, grinned and nodded, “OK, mate, I’ll see what I can do,” he said, thoughtfully, chuckling to himself as he swiped the door and pushed his way through.

That was all Jamie needed: a ray of sunshine at the end of a long, dark, tedious tunnel; something to cling to. He punched the air and skipped up the corridor, giving Sister a wide smile as he passed the nurses’ station.

So now he can’t sleep. He’s lying atop the covers in his room-slash-cell smoking, staring at the ceiling going over the impending interview in his head, making sure he has an answer for any question and a plan of action for any twist in the discourse. The main thing is he has to be believed. He has to get out of here. No matter if it is Real Life or not.

If this world works on logic, then I’ll take it to its logical conclusion...

...

The next morning he was up at the crack of dawn, pacing his room, wondering if he should go to the canteen wait for Masterson to come down for his breakfast and ask him if he’d delivered the request. No. He’d have to continue playing things cool, any sign of impatience could be construed as impending mania. And what if the meeting doesn’t happen.... what then?

I’ll be in a straitjacket by Sunday.

But that afternoon after lunch, after hours of chain-smoking, nail-biting and constant clock-watching, just when he thought he could take the suspense no longer, he finally got what he’d been waiting for. The tinny PA ding-donged, the hospital radio muzak cut-out and Sister’s voice crackled in the speakers, “Would Mr Jameson-Lumb please report to the nurses’ station.”

He didn’t need telling twice; he pushed his mop-&-bucket into a corner and hurried to the smudgy window. Sister looked as if she had a bad taste in her mouth as she delivered the message: “Dr Mondale wants to see you at 3PM,” she sang, in a would-you-believe-it-voice at odds with her sour expression.

Jamie smiled, “Thank you, Sister, I owe you one,” he replied, gratefully - after all, who else could have arranged it?

Her eyes narrowed with mistrust, “Oh, don’t thank me; I just took the call from upstairs. Funny. I’ve never known 'im to take an appointment as late as 3 on a Friday. Ever. He’s usually teeing-off by 1:30.”

“Aren't I the lucky boy, then?” he trilled, grinning from ear to ear.

She turned and beheld the back of Nurse Masterson’s spiky head as he scribbled away at his desk, and murmured, “Very lucky, very lucky indeed...”

At 2:55PM, the same two burly orderlies that had escorted him on his first day arrived to take him to his appointment. They took the elevator back upstairs and walked him through the dim, wood-panelled Edwardian labyrinth that led to Dr Mondale’s office; but this time they stayed back at the door and allowed Jamie to walk to the chair in the centre of the room unescorted; this time the room was in semi-darkness, the curtains on the eyebrow windows drawn against the last glimmer of dusk. The only source of light came from a reading lamp on Mondale’s huge mahogany desk, behind which he sat writing, his gold cufflinks glinting intermittently as his hand moved across the page. He eventually finished, closed the notebook and sat back in the chair so that his face disappeared into shadow until only his shoulders, upper-arms and the lower part of his face were lit. “Jamie. What can I do for you?” he inquired in a lukewarm tone, drumming the clip of his pen on the edge of the blotter.

Jamie immediately went into Job Interview Mode: legs neatly crossed, hands folded in his lap, back straight, sounding lucid and self-assured, “First of all, thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Dr Mondale, I know this wasn't on your schedule.”

Mondale held up a yellow notelet, “Yes, my secretary got an urgent request from the nurses’ office. Most unusual. They know I like to keep my Friday afternoons free,” he replied, tersely, screwing the note into a ball. “So? What is it you wanted to see me about? Have you remembered anything from your past? Something I can pass on to the authorities...?”

Jamie answered as earnestly as he could, “No, but... I feel so much better, sir -- in fact I’m completely stable. Feeling normal. My mind is clear. Whatever trouble I may have caused must have been a passing phase, and I am sorry. But I’m OK now. I don’t think there’s any need to detain me in the Secure Unit any longer. I’d like to arrange an appraisal as soon as possible... with a view to getting out...?” he was forced to curtail his carefully rehearsed entreaty when he saw the sceptical expression on Mondale’s face.

The shadow shook its head and chuckled mirthlessly, “Getting out? Really, Jamie. As I’m sure you’ve been told, it takes at least two weeks’ observation before we can make a definitive assessment of your condition. I mean, who knows what could trigger another episode? When all’s said and done, we know very little about you. And if I seem a little cynical, it’s because I’ve lost count of the men and women who've sat in that chair - people who've been in here a lot longer than you - telling me how they ‘feel normal’ and how they ‘see things clearly now’. If I took any of them at their word, the country would be overrun with homicidal psychopaths, maniacal sociopaths and dangerous schizophrenics.”

Jamie had anticipated this reply and countered with confidence and certainty, “My violent behaviour was an aberation brought on by fear and confusion following an extended coma, not malicious intent or psychosis, sir. I don’t have those feelings anymore. Whatever it was, I’ve got it out of my system. I’ve adjusted. I’m just a confused amnesiac searching for answers, you have nothing to fear from me.”

A golden tooth gleamed as Mondale grinned, “You state your case quite eloquently and convincingly, and rest assured we will do all in our power to help you find those answers, Jamie, but I must warn you: you mightn't like what we discover.” He sat forward so that lamp lit his heavily-lined face, took off his reading glasses and stared, “Remember, Jamie, you’re not just here because of your condition, you’re also here because the police are still investigating your case and the circumstantial evidence points to you being a drug dealer -- and an armed one, at that. For all we know you could be a murderer, too. You see our dilemma. We can’t take any chances.” He paused to let that last comment sink in, then added, “You are a walking conundrum that everyone wants to decipher, Jamie. Your circumstances won’t change until we get to the bottom of you.”

Jamie moved to Plan B: “In that case, I’d like to see a solicitor ASAP,” he asked, self-assuredly if a little impatiently, crossing his arms to hide his fists.

“Very well,” said Mondale, sitting forward, nodding magnanimously, taking a note, “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“When?”

His face low and fully lit, Mondale looked over the rims of his readers, glared and grumbled as if he’d just been insulted, “As soon as my secretary gets around to it.” Then he regrouped, took off his specs, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, sighed and confessed, “I’m very sorry. I’m a little cranky, Jamie. It’s been a long week.” He smoothed his thinning hair, sat back in his chair and spoke from the shadows again, “Look at it this way: you were found unconscious in a cold, grubby squat in a condemned block of flats in a council estate notorious for its high crime rate. Here, you are safe, you are warm, you have a roof over your head. You get three meals a day and a comfortable bed. I can assure you you will be assigned a solicitor as soon as we do our first assessment in 2 weeks time.”

Getting increasingly frustrated, Jamie lost it for a second and snapped, “I need to talk to someone today! I can’t stick this place a minute longer!” he cried, punching his thigh.

The orderlies stirred.

Jamie immediately apologised, relaxed and resumed in a more reasonable tone, “I’m sorry, Dr Mondale, but the Secure Unit is driving me up the wall. There’s nothing to do down there besides my chores and look out of the window. No good books, the TV’s only on for 3 hours every night, the hospital radio plays gawd-awful muzak all day long, there’s nobody my age who isn't a complete nutcase.... I lie awake in my room every night listening to the pipes drip and the clock tick... if I’m not mad already, I’ll go mad from the boredom...”

After a moment’s thought, Mondale cleared his throat, lowered his voice and explained, “Routine is very important to our patients, some of them are deeply disturbed; we don’t like to over-stimulate them. But I may be able get you a transistor radio for your room...” He sat forward again, made another note, then laced his hands together on the desktop, looked Jamie in the eye and asked, “There is one thing you could do for me.”

Jamie was all ears.

“Tell me that you no longer think this world is an illusion.... that this is just a dream.”

Although he’d expected it, the bluntness of the key question startled him. He swallowed the dryness from his throat and carefully considered his answer, finally settling on: “I know this is the Real world.”

The hesitation hadn't gone unnoticed: “Ahh, but do you truly believe it?”

Here we go. “Yes. I mean, what else could it be?” Jamie touched the side of the chair, “it’s tangible. When I cut myself shaving, I bleed. When I bang my knee on the bedside locker, it hurts. This is reality. I mean, the alternative is a crazy world of witches, wizards and demons, isn't it? The fever dream of a coma victim?”

Mondale stared for a moment longer then shook his head, “No. I’m sorry. I don’t believe you.”

Of course you don’t -- you can see right through me! -- he screamed inside, but on the surface, Jamie was stoicism incarnate, nodding sagely as if the doctor’s doubts were wholly justified, “I know how it seems, sir, but my brain created a world so vivid, that when I awoke, I thought this was part of the dream. I couldn't trust my own eyes, let alone believe the people around me... I suppose that’s why I lashed out.”

Leaning forward on his elbows, Mondale asserted, “If you are telling me the truth, then a few more weeks’ observation shouldn't...” but before he could go any further, there was a loud knock at the door; simultaneously the console on his desk buzzed. Confused, he frowned, lifted the receiver, listened for a few seconds, then grumbled into the mouthpiece, “Yes, I know! He’s at the door now! How did he get in?! You should have called security!! Oooh, nevermind -- I’ll deal with him! Goodbye!!” he hung-up and told the orderlies to let whoever-it-was in.

Jamie turned and watched as a lanky, middle-aged man, with a slicked-back widow’s peak, wearing a long, dark grey trenchcoat with the lapels turned-up to obscure most of his long, lugubrious face, entered the room. Jamie recognised him straightaway -- his heart leapt -- but he resolved to keep his own counsel until he saw how it would play.

“What is the meaning of this?” blustered Mondale, “my secretary told you to wait in her office until I’d finished with this patient?!”

“It’s this patient I’ve come to see!” the intruder curtly informed him, taking out his wallet and flashing his ID. He brushed past the orderlies, came and stood beside Jamie and explained in a broad-but-officious Northern Irish brogue, “Detective Inspector Harkness, RUC CID. I need to take this man back to Belfast with me on a matter of some urgency,” then he took out his handcuffs and grabbed Jamie’s wrist.

Although a little scared and bewildered, Jamie was mostly relieved. As soon as the hand touched his wrist he experienced a warm tingle and a familiar shiver ripple through his Essence. At last: a breakthrough!

Meanwhile, insulted by Harkness’ offhand behaviour and utter disregard for procedure, Mondale lost his cool, “What the -- the authorities are obliged to go through the proper channels, DI Harkness! You can’t just turn up at my practise and drag my patients off like common criminals!!” Getting to his feet, he pointed toward the door and yelled, “Now, get out!” He looked to the orderlies as if he expected them to forcibly eject the interloper. Harkness stood his ground, looked back at them and scowled. They looked at each other, shrugged an apology, but unanimously decided not to intervene.

“Right! That does it! I’m calling the Chief Constable!” barked Mondale, picking up the phone again.

While the doctor made the call, Harkness stooped, covered his mouth and whispered in Jamie’s ear, “It’s going to be alright. It’s me - Carla.”

“Carla...?”

The Ivy House

23:05pm GMT:

The shadows rippled as the candles fluttered as Lady Beth swept into the drawing room and headed straight for the vast array of liquor bottles on the long Queen Anne sideboard, grumbling about the trials and tribulations of the previous 48 hours, “Bloody Washington... then bastard Rossington... fucking wolf-men!! ...what the hell will it be next? - come home someday and find the rest of the house burning down and Godzilla stomping around the grounds?!!” She lifted a hefty tumbler, poured herself a very large malt and diluted it with a short scoot of seltzer, “Where is the maid?! Where is Fordham the footman?! -- this is the second time today I’ve arrived home to no reception,” she shouted, glancing over her shoulder.

Puffing and wheezing, Ogden Castle, the Lumb family’s corpulent butler, pulled-up-short in the doorway, leaned against the wall to catch his breath and explained in a series of short, breathless gasps, “Well...milady... the household staff is... indisposed at the minute, milady, the proliferation of negative energy is making everyone sick... And we... we... moved Master Jamie back to his room in the sanatorium... Carla’s with him now, milady... keeping an eye on him... alas,” he shook his head disconsolately, “... I’m sorry to say, it... it isn't lookin’ good for ‘im, milady, he’s deeply entranced... we might lose 'im altogether...”

Glass aloft as if about to propose a toast, Her Ladyship hitched up her tight skirt, flopped into the couch beside the fireplace, crossed her legs, threw back her head and exclaimed in a devil-may-care-voice, “Well, that’s one bloody consolation!” she crowed, “I’ll get control of the estate and there’ll be one less fruitcake at the dinner table!”

Still wheezing, Castle leaned against the back of the armchair opposite and tried to spell-it-out, “I don’t mean he’ll die, milady, it’s somethin’ worse than that... if Young Master Jamie succumbs, we’ll lose everything, the Psychosphere will be destroyed...”

She put up a hand, clicked her fingers and cut him dead, “Ah-ah-ah! Don’t wanna know, buddy-boy! I’ve had it with this bullshit!!” she said, taking a large swig before curtly elaborating, “if it doesn’t affect This World or this house -- I don’t want to hear about it!” She kicked off her shoes, pulled her feet up under her, reclined on a plump Persian cushion and closed her eyes.

Castle waited for a moment then sheepishly informed her, “It will affect everything if the Young Master becomes possessed, milady. The demon will...”

The eyes snapped open -- she cut him dead again: “AH-AH! What I tell you? Demons aren't of This World, Ogden,” she said, drawing loops in the air with her finger, “it’s all... psychic-telepathic-mystical-hocus-pocus in your heads -- it’s got nothing to do with me!”

“Please hear me out, milady, indulge me just this once. If the demon invades the Young Master’s psyche he will infect everything -- and I’m not talking about him transforming into monster like Master Gosling, or a goblin-thing like Miss Danielle -- I’m talking about him becoming a different person altogether --- a man possessed -- manipulated from inside by something with the guile to utilise the coven’s resources to achieve its diabolical ends! For instance, can you imagine what would happen if he had access to the White House?!”

Her Ladyship arched an eyebrow and smirked, “Really......? Do tell.”

“This isn't funny, Lizzy!” he hissed, giving her one of his sternest looks, “remember what happened when he got his claws into you!” [See Part 4]

Her cheeks reddened as her blood rose; she sat up, punched a cushion and shouted, “I’m not being fucking funny!!” She pointed in the direction of the sanatorium, “Maybe demonic possession is the best thing for that twerp! Maybe that’s what we need: a cut-throat, cold-blooded, conniving son-of-bitch who’ll beat the Washington crowd at their own game! It’ll save me having to do it, for one thing! Because I’m getting mighty sick of all this cloak and dagger malarkey, matey-boy, I can tell you that!” She took another sip and then pointed a finger at the despairing, perspiring butler, “As I told you this afternoon -- before I had to rush off and snatch Wolf-Boy from Rossington’s booby-hatch -- the Washington Witches want rid of us -- and by the looks of it SCICI is in on the hit! It was written all over Rossington’s smug perma-tanned mug!!” She took a breath and thought back to the encounter then intimated with an indignant gasp, “... would you believe his chauffeur pulled a gun on me?! A gun, Ogden!! [See Part 18] First they accost me at the airport [See Part 16] -- then Rossington’s henchman pulls a gun on me! That’s how low they’re prepared to go! Sir Arnold must be spinning in his urn!”

Castle did indeed find these tidings deeply disquieting, but first things first: “Milady, if Master Jamie gets possessed the demon will have control of the Psychosphere and he will obliterate every ‘Güül on the planet -- our very Souls will be devoured by his dark energy, the coven will be wiped out within hours. The staff will die. I will die. There will be no organisation, legitimate or otherwise. No spells, no enchantments,” he gave her a sly look, “no longevity potions or reconstructive surgeons, Lizzy.... Nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow and cocked an eye: you’re on very thin ice, mister, don’t push it.

But Castle continued unabashed, “There’ll be no one left but Master Jamie: heir to the estate and the Judge’s fortune, possessed of a spirit bent on the destruction of everything on this planet. And you, of course. That’s if he chooses to let you live, which is highly unlikely, given that you’re the only one who knows what he’s up to...”

She shrugged, “Then kill him. No Jamie: no one to possess.”

“We need him, Lizzy. If the Washington Witches have indeed moved against us, we need him more than ever.”

The morbid diatribe inspired another explosion of angst. She almost spilled her drink when she punched the arm of the couch and yelled, “Jeeeeezus H. Christ! What do I have to do to get some peace and fucking quiet round here?!” jumping to her feet, she rounded the couch and began prodding him in his gargantuan gut, reminding him of her murderous caveat that afternoon, “I warned you about goblin-girl, didn’t I? I warned you to get rid of her before I got back...” she paused to take another sip............ then the poking and heckling resumed, “But no, you ignore a direct order because all you care about is your stupid Prophesy and your bloody ‘Prime Directive’! And now look where we are! You useless sack of shhh........ Ooh, hello Xavier, darling, didn’t see you there...”

The tall, dark, mute, shaven-headed, broad-shouldered figure of her redoubtable chauffeur filled the doorway, cap under arm, Ivan Cochrane’s scrapbook in one hand and the roll of photocopied hieroglyphs in the other. “Everything alright, Xav? Did you put our patient to bed?” Her Ladyship asked, in much sweeter, much softer tone.

The chauffeur looked to the butler to expound. Castle cleared his throat and officiously obliged, “Since Master Gosling has returned to his original form, I instructed Mr X to put ‘im in a room on the 2nd floor toward the back of the house and strap ‘im to the bed as a precaution, milady.” Castle brought the chauffeur in and took the scrapbook from his hand, “Ahh, so this is the notorious scrapbook, is it?” he asked, looking at the cover. Xavier stood behind him, reached over his shoulder and flipped through the pages of childish sketches and comic book clippings until he found the page edged with a series of doodles -&-squiggles; underlining a particular section with his long, dark index-finger, he then turned and pointed at the ornate Bavarian grandfather clock in the alcove adjacent to the inglenook: 11:09.

“Midnight? It ends at midnight?” said Castle, getting evermore perturbed.

Xavier stood back and nodded, solemnly.

“Oh shite...” murmured Castle, studying the notation.

Her Ladyship coughed and interrupted, “Excuse me, but what the hell’s going on now...?”

Castle was too busy studying the ‘text’ to supply a comprehensive reply, “According to this... the spell woven by Gosling and Young Master Jamie is due to expire at midnight, milady, and...”

There followed a long pause while Castle continued to scan the lines.

She thumped his arm, “... And?!”

The punch barely registered and he went on reading, pausing only to glance at the pocket watch, “I dunno... the rest is gibberish as far as I can see...” he looked up at the chauffeur and asked his opinion; Xavier shrugged and shook his head. Castle nodded in agreement, “Aye, it’s not like anythin' I’ve seen before, either.” He turned to Her Ladyship, “The only recognisable figures are these numerals denoting the witching hour, milady. If we’re right, it means we've got less than an hour to sort this out...”

“’They’? Are you referring to those ‘beings’ buried under the house?” she asked, getting evermore irritated by his lack of focus.

“Aye, milady, it was the Martyrs all along...” he held up the roll of the hieroglyphs, “from this spell in the Boy King’s tomb to the one that turned Miss Danielle into that goblin-thing!” he showed her the page containing said spell and Ivan’s childish rendition of the monster his daughter eventually became.

Her Ladyship screwed-up her nose as if the sketch smelled as bad as it looked, “Worthy of the National Gallery,” she sneered, crossing her arms and looking at the floor, “answer me this: if these Dark-Martyrs-or-whatever-they’re-called have been buried under the house for over 7000 years, then how the hell did they carve the runes in King Tut’s tomb?”

Castle sighed and spoke impatiently, as if he was talking to a boorish child, “The Martyrs’ had a band of so-called ‘disciples’ -- a bunch of human would-be sorcerers in-and-around the Middle East during the 8th century BC -- it’s more-than-likely they put it there. Trouble is, the demon was in the area at the same time, so there’s also the possibility that he could've meddled with it! Whoever’s responsible, we’re caught in a trap,” he looked to Xavier, “you heard the demon’s ‘confession’, didn’t you, Mr X? ‘My enemies will soon be vanquished. The ducks are all sitting in a row. It’s just a case of shooting them down, one by one’, he said, remember?” [See Part 18]

Xavier nodded deeply and sombrely.

“Well, it looks like the shooting is due to begin sometime in the next three-quarters-of-an-hour!”

A strong draught blew through the room causing the candles to flicker, the shadows to sway and the fire to crackle with a sudden burst of flame.

All three looked down at the floor.

“Will all of you die?”

“Most assuredly, milady.”

“Even Xavier?”

“Uh-huh. Every Güül on the globe will perish within minutes, milady. There’ll be Soul death on a massive scale.”

“What do we do?”

Castle looked at the clock again (11:14), “I need to study this ‘text’, see if I can work it out before midnight. I should consult with the ancient mystics and the elders down in Namibia, get their take on it, but that’s impossible what with the Psychosphere rife with negative energy and the crystal balls too hot to handle...” Just then, the walkie-talkie cackled in his inside pocket, “That’ll be Gustafson at the gatelodge, milady -- if you’ll excuse me, the reception is better by the windows...” he walked to the back of the room and put the receiver to his ear.The news wasn't good: “Oh dear, oh dear.... Bear with me a moment, will you, Gusty....” he turned back, beheld her with a hapless frown and nervously passed it on, “You won’t believe this, but apparently Detective Inspector Harkness is here, milady -- and he’s on foot. Says his car broke down. Says he had to abandon it ‘n walk the rest of the way...” he squeezed his eyes shut and winced in anticipation of the inevitable explosion:

“Harkness?! HERE?! NOW?!” she screeched, glancing at the clock (11:15), “What in the name of holy fucking-fuck is that bastard doing here at this time of night?!”

“Says he’s on official police business, milady, ‘it can’t wait’, says he,” Castle gave her a brief summary of the nights’ events, including Harkness’ kidnapping [see part 18] and McKee’s subsequent rampage south of the border, “so... will you see him, milady?”

She was flabbergasted and aghast! It took her a good few seconds to collect her thoughts, “What the fuck has his kidnapping got to do with us...?”

“Well, McKee was the man who set fire to half the house 3 years ago, milady, he could've told him something; Harkness could've made a connection... I dunno. We won’t know anything unless you talk to him, milady,” suggested Castle, timidly.

She paced the floor in front of the fireplace -- gnashing her teeth, tearing at her hair -- speechless with rage and incomprehension!

“I hate to rush you but Gusty’s waiting, milady...?”

She threw up her hands, stomped a stockinged-foot and ranted, “You might as well tell them to bring him up -- but he can bloody wait a while! I need a bath -- and it’s gonna be a long-fucking-soak!” She slugged the rest of her drink, slammed the tumbler down on the sideboard, picked up her shoes and stormed out, “Will this day ever fucking end.....?” Then she stopped suddenly, had a second thought, swivelled on her heel, stomped back, took the half-full bottle of malt from the sideboard, clasped it to her breast and stomped out again, giving Castle one last scowl before she left.

Castle made sure the coast was clear before issuing Xavier with his orders, “Go upstairs, keep watch over Master Gosling and await further instructions,” he whispered, handing over his walkie-talkie, “I’ve got four men with rifles stationed in the basement watching young Dani,” he glanced toward the window, “Carla’s in the sanatorium keeping an eye on Master Jamie, so I’ll go over there ‘n send her over here to entertain Harkness.” He put the scrapbook and the roll of photocopies under his arm, “while I’m there, I’ll study the runes, see if I can make head-or-tail of this. If not, we might haveta take drastic measures...” he looked up into Xavier’s sorrowful, deep, dark eyes, “I trust you to know what to do, Mr X. Just keep it nice ‘n quiet, OK? We don’t want the Inspector hearin’ anything that might give him cause to seek a search warrant. Got a knife on ya?”

Xavier lowered his eyes and nodded, gravely.

Castle patted his arm, “Good man,” he said, taking a last look at the clock (11:19). Before they parted, he smiled a pained smile and shook Xavier's hand, “Best of luck Mr X. One way or another, brother, this’ll end at midnight...”

A few minutes ago, in the sanatorium, in Jamie’s room: Castle’s niece, Mme Carla Infanté, clad in jeans and a grey sweatshirt, her long, silver hair strewn across the shiny black satin pillow, idly runs a long, slender index-finger along the jawline of her slumbering muse and reflects. She studies the outline of his profile intently, and, not for the first time, wonders if she’s doing the right thing. After all, it’s been 30 years since she’d turned her back on This World to embrace the more cerebral side of witchcraft under the tutelage of Ebben Blom, the most powerful psychic alive. She’d divested herself of her mortal coil’s base desires to become a fully-fledged Silver Siren: emotionless, pragmatic, instincts honed, powers at their peak; a woman devoid of sentiment or doubt. Putting her faith in a callow boy was a retrograde step, was it not?

During her years in active service she’d taken many lovers, male and female, but purely for pleasure or exploitation. She’d also bedded a veritable rogue’s gallery of royals, generals, spies and heads of state on behalf of the coven; mortals who needed guidance or diversion on their iniquitous paths. She’d walked through the dark catacombs of warped psyches and emerged with her sanity intact. She knew how they ticked. She’d killed quite a few of them, too. She’d gazed without emotion into their beseeching, bewildered eyes as the last spark of life dimmed there and died. She felt nothing for the living or the dead...

...until she met Jamie, looked into his head, and saw something that changed her mind. [See Part 8]

Taking the mirror from his pillow, she looked into her own eyes and asked herself: is my unquestioning devotion clouding my judgement? Is he truly a ‘Messiah’? Or is she kidding herself? Is Uncle Ogden right: is she seeing something she wants to see because she’s smitten? Is it because she never had children and her devotion is a belated awakening of motherly instinct? Or perhaps I am just getting old? She drew her fingernail across Jamie’s throat. If I was truly dutiful I would kill you before he takes you...

“Penny for them thoughts, ssssssssister!” hissed a voice, somewhere above her.

Startled, she immediately sprang to a sitting position and listened. She hadn't heard any doors opening or closing: this could be an incursion! Then a serpent’s head suddenly dropped down from the canopy, “scare you, did I, luvvie -- I am sssssorry,” it hissed as it coiled around the bedpost, its scales glinting like tiny wet cobbles in the candlelight.

Needless to say it was Noel, the late Judge’s 100 year-old foulmouthed, troublemaking, pet Burmese python [see part 10] and Carla was not pleased to see him, “What are you doing in here? Get out and leave us in peace!” she moaned, lying back, putting a hand to her brow and waving him away. Nobody had any time for Noel, least of all in the midst of a crisis.

“Is that a mirror on the pillow? I thought yezzz weren’t allowed to ‘ave mirrorssss after the last time?!” he asked, in that annoying, reedy, sneery voice of his.

“Go away Noel.” She looked up, “How did you get in here anyway?”

“Via the central heating duct, have to keep close to the pipes, ssssee, what with me bein’ cold-blooded ‘n all and it bein’ friggin’ freezin’ outsssssside!” he turned his head and tilted it in the direction of the rear wall. “I wanna know what’s goin’ on! Nobody elssse will tell me: Dresh ‘n Gebbit (the botanical gardeners) are in a right mood -- told me to fuck off, so-they-did! The house is like a fuckin’ graveyard -- you should sssee the kitchen ssstaff -- missserable as sssssin, they are! Sat round the hearth wringing their hands ‘n hummin’ one of them stupid chantsss! It’s like a bloody morgue down there, so-tissssss!” He descended further and looked down on Jamie, “... I suppose it’s all down to coma-boy, again, is it? Him ‘n that lizzzzardy-girlie-thingummy you’ve got locked-up in the dungeon, innit? They’re both away with the faeries, ain’t they? It’s got to do with that demon, innit? He’s got into their headsssss, ain’t ‘e...?”

Carla tried being nice about it, “Noel, please, please leave, this is not a good time...”

But Noel was undeterred and explained as he slithered down, “I’m not psssssychic, me, y’ ssssee. I’m just a talkin’ snake, me -- I can’t read yer minds or follow yer mumbo jumbo -- but I’m a member of thissss-here household, oh yessss indeed, I’m not a ssservant or a guessst -- ‘n I have every right to know what’s afoot! Yesssss?!” he said, his tongue lashing.

Feigning interest, Carla propped her head up and stared into his beady eyes, “Hmmm, I was forgetting that. You’re really just a common Familiar, aren’t you?” she remarked, with a hint of intrigue in her tone.

Noel was affronted, “Familiar?! I’m a magic sssnake, me! I’m the Eighth fuckin’ Wonder of this world, missssy: I can talk -- Familiars can’t talk, no sssssireeeee -- there’s only one of me!!” his voice lowered to a low, hissy growl, “... what are you gettin’ at, anyway?”

Carla sat up, “Magic snake or not, I could peer inside your little skull and see your thoughts. I wouldn't need the Psychosphere to do that, would I? I could look directly into your memories -- uncover all your secrets! All I would have to do is touch you...” she said, mischievously, and began to crawl along the bed toward him, her eyes locked on his, a predatory smirk playing on her lips.

Still wound around the bedpost, Noel swung his head away, “Oi -- keep back -- I heard about you!! You’re one of them ice-queens, aintcha?! Asssssassssins, yez are! Don’t you dare lay a hand on me,” he cried, as he tried his best to uncoil and retreat, “get back, now, I mean it -- I’ll choke the life out of ya! I might be long in the tooth, but I can still ssssssqueeeeeze -- !”

Alas, Carla was too nimble for him -- in a flash -- she leapt forward, snatched him by the neck and pulled him to her. A long thumb was now pressed against his lower jaw forcing his head up so they were nose-to-snout, gazing into each other’s eyes, “Did you know that physical contact provides an instant connection with the nervous system of any living creature?” she asked, archly, grinning evilly, her teeth gleaming, “you are all mine, Mr Snake.”

Now stiff as a bishop’s crosier, Noel protested loudly in a high, panicked voice: “Fuck off! Lemme go! Help! HELP!! MURDER!!”

She put a finger on the top of his head and said, “I’m not going to kill you. But I could if I so desired. I’d just have to think it and that tiny stone of a heart of yours would stop beating...”

The old snake proceeded to bleat like a condemned coward on the steps of the guillotine, “Have mercssssy! I’m only a lowly, lonely snake with nuthin’ to do but slink round this miserable auld housssse day-in-day-out -- I’m harmlesssssssss, me!!”

“It won’t hurt. I just want to burrow into your mind for a few minutes...” she said, with an evil glint in her eye.

“Ohh no! Don’t, pleeeeeeeasssssssse...”

“Let ‘im go, Carrie,” said a voice to her right, “You know full-well he doesn’t have a Soul. You’d probably kill him.” Her uncle waddled into the chamber and closed the door behind him. “Also, he’s protected by Sir Arnold’s last will & testament. The old man was very specific: ‘no harm must befall my beloved Noel’.”

“Hear that?! -- I’m a protected sssspeciessss!! Ssssso --- lemme go, bitch!” hissed the snake, triumphantly.

Carla begrudgingly released him from her grasp. He fell from the canopy and landed in a coiled heap on the counterpane, hissing and cursing. “I was only trying to frighten him, uncle. He needs taking down a peg or two from time-to-time,” she explained, in a dull voice laden with ennui.

“He’s a right-royal-pain-in-the arse, there’s no doubt about that, my darlin’, but there are more important things to worry about than the capers of a meddlesome serpent,” said Castle, agreeably, before sharpening his tongue and addressing the python directly, “so fuck off back to the wee jungle with ye -- and stay outta trouble til this business is settled, OK?!”

Noel didn’t need telling twice and slithered away as fast as he could, stopping only to hurl a volley of obscene misogynistic expletives from a safe distance before disappearing into the darkness at the back of the room. Castle took a chair from beside the dressing table, brought it to the bed and informed her, “I’m taking over the vigil for a while, Carrie. You’re needed at the house: hostess duty,” he informed her, sitting down with a heavy sigh, “Detective Inspector Harkness has decided to pay us a visit and Her Ladyship insists on havin’ a bath before she talks to him. In the meantime, I need to study this,” he held up the scrapbook, “so you’ll haveta entertain him for a wee while until she’s ready.” He sat forward, looked down at Jamie and said, “it shouldn't take more than half-an-hour.”

“So, that is the infamous scrapbook?” she asked, wondering why he was avoiding her eyes.

“Tis indeed, my dear,” he said, putting a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and changing the subject, “how has he been? Any change?”

Carla looked at Jamie and shook her head sadly, “No, he hasn’t stirred, but his pulse and breathing are steady... although, his skin feels cold...” she said, then changed the subject back, “So, that is the book that contains the spell that cursed young Danielle?”

“Yep, this is the cause of all the recent trouble,” he said, opening the book on his lap and flipping through the pages while relating the story of Lady Beth’s visit to SCICI and Master Gosling’s unfortunate mutation. However, his explanation failed to mention the impending midnight deadline or his plans for the hapless victims should the worst come to the worst. Carla knew he was hiding something and gave him a sly look, paying particular attention to his pockets. “No need to worry, Carrie, I’ll take good care of him,” he muttered, without looking up from the page.

Still not entirely convinced, she nevertheless moved to the edge of the bed and began to undress, “What does Harkness want?” she asked, pulling off her sweatshirt and unbuttoning her jeans.

“Gawd only knows, chile. Probably something to do with this eejit McKee. That’s why I’m making meself scarce. I’m not in the mood to stand to attention ‘n keep quiet while he makes sarky innuendos.” He went on to tell her about McKee’s most recent activities, “He’s on the run in Wicklow, and according to our Mr X, the Familiar and its master are presently in hot pursuit -- he clocked them at the border checkpoint an hour ago. If they can find him before the cops - contain him - and Jamie manages to hold-out that long, the demon could be forced back to the host and a calamity could be averted... but as I’ve told you before,” he glanced at Jamie and sighed, “he’s been stuck in the Void for a long time, Carrie, the Martyrs are risen, and we dunno what they’re up to. All things considered, you may prepare yourself for the worst.”

“Jamie will surprise you,” she replied, confidently. Now naked, her pale skin shimmering in the candlelight, Carla crossed the room to the walk-in wardrobe and perused the myriad outfits on the rail, eventually selecting a slinky, tight-fitting, black Lycra catsuit. “I’ve met Harkness before, have I not? He is one of Chief Superintendent Ogle’s men, is he not?”

“Aye, but Harkness has hadda vested interest in us way-before Ogle got involved. He had a longstanding feud with Bernie, he got so close [see part 2, part 4 and part 5] we hadda take drastic measures,” he put a finger to his forehead, “one of the auld witches in Donegal wiped him, but we don’t know how effective it was; so no mind games, please Carrie. It might trigger a memory. OK?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll play it safe,” she replied, wriggling into the flaccid limbs of the catsuit. “After all, I’m merely a visiting cousin who knows nothing.” She shimmied to straighten the seams, lowered the zip to display a little more cleavage and pinched her nipples until they protruded through the skin-tight cloth.

The big butler looked up from the book, saw what she was doing and advised, “By all-accounts he’s a cold fish, Carrie, you won’t distract him with t-&-a. He’s seen it all before; he’s ex-Vice.”

“I know what I am doing. Just make sure you keep Jamie warm.” She went to the dressing table, dabbed her pulses with perfume and slipped into a precipitous pair of open-toed black pumps. Before leaving, she took a last look at Jamie and said, “Please don’t kill him, Uncle Oggy.”

“I’m just gonna sit here ‘n try ‘n figure this thing out....” Castle replied, distractedly, seemingly too engrossed in his work to look her in the eye.

She shot him a last mistrustful glance and went off to do her duty...

Archie was delivered from the gatelodge to the house in a spanking-new military jeep. The driver, a thunder-faced, heavy-set, shaven headed, beetle-browed hard man in generic fatigues, was giving nothing away despite his sardonic passenger’s incessant enquiries: “Did I spy torches shining across the fields tonight -- were yez combing the grounds for an intruder?” “Paparazzi, was it? A snooper?” “Were yez on night-manoeuvres?” Archie chimed, in the same loud, upbeat tone he used to chide suspects who’d invoked their right to silence. As they passed the uproarious kennels he asked, “Them ol’ hounds are howlin’ somethin’ shockin’ -- did something happen to upset ‘em?”

Unmoved, the driver kept his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel and his lips firmly zipped.

“They have you well-trained anyway!” Archie tittered, slapping the outside of the door with his left hand.

Not that there was much to titter about. He might have been bullish on the outside, but on the inside his guts were churning, his heart was pounding one-to-the-dozen, his fibre suddenly beset by another unwelcome twinge of direst déjà vu; the same all-encompassing thrum of dread that infested his bones the night of the attack on Pascal’s Pub [See part 2] not to mention his recent encounter on the estate: the very essence of Barry McKee. The air fairly reeked of him. Of it. But if the most recent Gardai reports were to be believed the bold Barry was currently running amok in Wicklow -- 200 miles south of the border. Tell that to my gut, though. The daunting feelings only intensified as the jeep approached the mansion on the hill. An all-too-familiar shiver ran up his spine and prickled the hair on the nape of his neck. By the time they reached the courtyard he was silent, suspicious and morosely circumspect.

The notorious ‘Silver Lady’, AKA Mme Carla Infanté, was waiting for him at the top of the marble staircase. Pallid and perfect as usual, clad in a figure-hugging, black catsuit, casually leaning against an ornate brass lamppost on the patio, smoking a long cigarette in a black holder with the slight breeze gently tousling her long, straight silver hair. She cut quite a figure. A sight for sore eyes and no mistake. Archie momentarily forgot his aches & angst and took-her-in as he slowly ascended the shallow steps, taking the time to smooth back his widow’s peak, tuck in his shirt, fasten the top button and straighten his tie. She looked even better up-close: the outfit accentuated her pale skin so that her face and cleavage became almost luminescent in the muted glow of the gaslight. Of course, Archie’s suspicious mind was working overtime: I wonder if this is for my benefit? An attempt to lower my guard, perhaps...?

Smiling delightedly, she received him with a long, slender, porcelain-white hand, “Good evening, Inspector, what a lovely surprise,” she said, graciously and sweetly, in that seductive, can’t-quite-place-it, Mediterranean purr of hers.

He meekly apologised for the lateness of the hour and gently shook the hand; it was soft and dry and ever-so-slightly slightly cool. “To tell you the truth, luv, I was expecting to be met by the ol’ family butler, y’know -- Mr Castle? Gone to bed, has he...?” Archie asked, as she led the way through the dark of the cavernous vestibule into the dimly lit main hall.

“Mr Castle is busy tending to the Young Master and Lady Beth is having a bath, Inspector, she will be down presently,” she replied, amiably, “in the meantime, I am afraid you will have to make do with my company. I hope you don’t mind...?” She paused at the cloakroom and offered to take his coat but Archie politely refused and confessed he found the house quite chilly, “I suppose this place is too big ‘n draughty to keep the heat,” he commented, looking up the at the high, arched ceiling.

“Our tribe is the hardy type, Inspector,” she explained, cheerfully, “we don’t feel the cold. Some of us rather enjoy it! (big surprise, thought Archie) But not to worry, there’s always a fire in the drawing room!” She invited him into the warm, candle-lit chamber where, sure-enough, a sizeable log fire was crackling in the grate. She offered him a seat on one of the long, leather couches adjacent to the fireplace and then went to the sideboard to fix the drinks. As he made himself comfortable, Archie remarked on the row outside, “The dogs are kicking up quite a racket, I must say. Something spook ‘em, huh?”

Carla shook her head, put her hands on her hips and playfully complained, “Oh, those silly mutts! There must be a fox wandering around the kennels; that usually starts them off. They’ll soon be quiet when they go out on the midnight patrol... Can I get you anything, Inspector...?” she gestured toward the array of bottles and decanters.

Archie smacked his lips and admitted, “Now you come to mention it, luv, after the day I’ve had, I could murder a cuppa tea.”

She laughed, “Yes, if what I hear is true you’ve had quite a time of it! Drugged?! Kidnapped?! Bound and gagged and strapped to a bomb?! I am surprised you are not tucked-up-in-bed sleeping-it-off!”

“Well, I wasn't ‘strapped’ to the bomb; the door to the flat was booby-trapped. But it just goes to show ye -- good news really does travel fast, doesn’t it?” he joked, with a cocked-eye, like: keepin’ tabs on me, are yez?

Unfazed, Carla confessed with a little chuckle, “We saw it on the late-night television news -- they said you were abducted by the same man that murdered those little girls and buried them in the forest. A madman with nothing to lose! You were lucky to escape with your life, no?”

Archie smiled and replied with a wee hint of flint, “Very lucky, very lucky indeed...”

She frowned and tutted, “Ghastly business, thank the stars you lived to tell the tale,” then, as if to bring the matter to a close, she clapped her hands and went to the interior phone, “now, what would you like, Inspector? Earl Grey? Green? Oolong?”

Archie didn’t want a fuss, “No, no, that’s alright, luv, I’ll make do with a glass of water,” he said, flapping his hands.

“It is no bother, there is always a maid on duty,” said Carla, punching the extension button; after placing the order she went back to the sideboard, “I think I will have a large brandy!” she exclaimed, uncorking a large crystal decanter and pouring a few fingers into a sizeable balloon, “Are you warm enough, Inspector? Shall I put another log on the fire for you?”

Harkness didn’t hear the question, he was unselfconsciously staring - not leering exactly -- but staring distractedly at the shapely, Lycra-sheathed backside currently wagging in his direction; he eventually commented in a voice dry and wistful, “The last time I saw that -- I’m sorry, I mean: the last time I saw you, you were climbing the steps of Purdysburn mental hospital, y’know, on the day Dani Cochrane died.”

The conversation had taken quite an unexpected turn, but Mme Infanté didn’t flinch, “Really? I don’t remember seeing you,” she replied, still smiling benignly as she crossed the room, put her balloon on the coffee table and went about lighting another cigarette. “It is hardly surprising, though. It was such a chaotic day. Everything is a blur. Poor Danielle,” she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke in a regretful sigh, picking up her drink, settling into the armchair opposite and crossing her long legs, “It was such shock to us all.”

Slipping into interview mode, Archie sat forward and clarified, “Sorry, you misunderstand me, Madame Infanté -- I didn’t see you ‘in person’, as-it-were, I saw you on film. Well, y’know -- video tape. The BBC sent me their unused footage, cos remember, that was the day Dani was supposed to be transferred to SCICI [See Part 9], there was a lotta public interest, there was a protest ‘n everything, and the local news crews were there to cover the story,” he did walking-fingers across the top of the coffee table as he described the scene, “it shows you: walking up the drive - passing through the mob of photographers and protesters - through the police cordon -- right by the security guys -- straight up the steps and through the front door without breaking your stride. And it has to be said, you were very striking in your snazzy little-black-dress,” Archie paused to take her in; from her perfectly pedicured toes to her shimmering décolletage and commented, “very striking indeed...” then his extended brow furrowed, he shook his head in mock-disbelief, “but here’s the thing, Madame Infanté: none of the people we talked to could describe you with any degree of accuracy. Even the clerks at the reception desk who signed-you-in have only a vague recollection of the encounter.” Archie sat back and insinuated with a wry smile, “You haveta wonder how come such beautiful woman didn’t make much of a an impression.”

She smiled, smoked and sipped, shrugged and laughed it off, “What can I say, Inspector? Maybe I simply slipped their minds?!”

Archie stroked his lantern jaw and murmured thoughtfully, “Hmmm.... ‘Slipped their minds’, you might have something there.... Cuz if you ask me there’s been an awful lot of minds slippin’ recently. For instance: the detective assigned to investigate Dani’s assault on her doctor -- the one who oversaw the signing of he papers, remember him...?”

Her gaze unwavering, her voice steady, she supplied the answer with a regretful frown, “Yes. Inspector Volt. He became very...” she turned, stared into the embers and scoured her mind to find the right word “... vexed.”

“Vexed?! You should hear him! He’s aff his friggin’ trolley! Makin’ all sorts of wild accusations, he-is!” Archie snorted, “The boss hadda put him on the sick for his own good!” He winked again, sat forward, tapped the tip of his nose with his finger, lowered his voice and confided, “I shouldn't say anythin’, but wait-til-ye-hear-this -- poor ol’ Jerry thinks you were sent by the Lumbs to mess with his head. He thinks you, like, mesmerised him. Whaddya think of that?!”

“Are you insinuating that I am in some way responsible for Mr Volt’s mental breakdown, Inspector Harkness?” she asked, blowing a plume of smoke in his direction.

Archie waved away the cloud and snorted, “Naaah, don’t be silly now... You’re not a hypnotist, are you?”

She smiled that beautiful wide-mouthed, toothpaste-white-smile; her eyes twinkling as she replied in a warm, amused purr, “Is this an interrogation, Inspector? Do I need to call a lawyer?”

Archie tilted his head and feigned surprise, “Why, Madame Infanté? Have you something to hide?”

The smile faded but she remained unruffled and answered plainly, “I am unfamiliar with the laws of this country. If this conversation is pertinent to your investigation, I will need to consult with legal counsel. I would not wish to incriminate myself...”

She paused to take a long sip of her drink and a long pull on her cigarette, but inside her heart was racing -- it was all she could do not to cry out in surprise! Not because she was shaken by his questions or caught in a lie -- but because she’d just glimpsed a telltale glint of something peculiar-yet-familiar in his eyes and the shock of realisation was almost too much to contain! Unfortunately, the situation was too delicate for any sudden gasps of amazement; she had to maintain the sangfroid façade a little while longer and choose her moment.

Meanwhile, Archie, astute as ever, had noticed the slight change in her demeanour, but he was getting tired and there were bigger fish to fry: Her Ladyship, for one; that shifty butler for another. He relaxed, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, adopted a lighter tone and confided in an intimate aside, “I’m sorry if I come across as a wee bit brusque, Madame Infanté, but, I have this terrible affliction, you see. It’s cost me three marriages, most of me mates and nearly put me outta my job. You know what my sickness is, miss?”

She shook her head and continued to stare into his eyes.

He took a deep breath, sighed and confessed, “I can see right through people. I’m a walkin’ lie- detector, I am. I can smell a rat in a matter of minutes, and although it’s a blessin’ in my line of work, it can also be a friggin’ curse. Cos I can’t switch if off. I’m a real pain-in-the-neck. I havetae get to the bottom of everybody I meet, and most people take exception when you pick ‘em apart to figure-out what makes ‘em tick. Especially people with somethin’ to hide.”

They gazed unblinkingly into each other’s eyes for a few moments as the fire crackled and the grandfather clock tick-tocked (11:39PM) in the darkened alcove behind him......... Then, all of a sudden, he began to feel slightly woozy; the heat of the fire, the candlelight and the heavy, smoky atmosphere seemed to conspire to make him drowsy...

Without breaking eye contact, Carla swirled her brandy and almost crooned, “You've been through hell today, Inspector Harkness. You haven’t eaten; your blood sugars are low; your reflexes are slow. It’s time to rest. Relax. Let go.........”

The words echoed around the inside of his skull like a chorus of overlapping whispers... and the longer he stared into her eyes, the more he seemed to lose focus. Was it his imagination or were her eyes changing colour? It was probably an optical illusion, but the irises seemed to sparkle like the glistening facets of spinning gemstones, each colour slowly fusing into the next; from gleaming emerald, to bright azure blue, to glimmering amethyst...

Now that her subject was slightly beguiled, Carla broke away to douse her cigarette in the large marble ashtray and subtly took control of the conversation, “Tell me Inspector, when you were abducted, how were you rendered unconscious?” she asked, nonchalantly.

“Hypodermic in the neck,” moaned Archie, letting his head roll back on his shoulders, closing his eyes and rubbing his throat, “gawd knows what the bastard put in it, but whatever it was, it put me out like a light... Next thing I know I’m blindfolded, bound ‘n gagged ‘n taped to an ol’ radiator in a smelly ol’ flat. Quite an evening, all told... It’s funny though...” he said, as he turned and looked up at the huge Art-Deco mirror above the mantelshelf.

“What is funny?”

“When Malky -- that’s the guy who got me out -- when he took off the blindfold... it was like I was in a scene from some ol’ daft auld horror movie. The room was flashing with the blue lights from the squad cars outside... 'n all you could see was shattered glass from the broken mirrors...” Archie half-whispered, dreamily.

Fascinated and enthused, Carla sat forward and begged him to go on, “Mirrors, you say?”

Archie nodded and dreamily elaborated, “Aye, that’s right, mirrors... dozens of ‘em. All shapes 'n sizes... all over the walls... But all broken, y’know, smashed...?” For a moment his mind was filled with distant memories; a flickering montage of inexplicable images and disembodied voices; i.e. the ‘talking mirrors’ in the pub in Donegal... McKee’s rasping voice whispering in his ear... Jamie’s voice in his head......... then one of the logs cracked loudly in the grate and snapped-him-out of his trance. He sat up, cleared his throat and looked around, “Ummm... where is Master Jamie, by the way?”

“He felt unwell and decided to have an early night. Please tell me more about your ordeal, Inspector, it is most enthralling,” Carla replied, finding it increasingly difficult to hide her excitement and keep her voice steady. Time was short, she needed to know something in particular and there was only one way of finding out for sure: physical contact. She needed to touch him, and soon. “Oh, it is hot here by the fire,” she puffed, fanning her face with her open hand, “you don’t mind if I join you,” she asked, putting her drink on the table, slipping out of her shoes and curling up on the opposite end of couch,

Archie was a wee bit wary but raised no objections and moved up. “I wonder where that tea is?” he murmured, looking at his watch (11:42).

“It will be here presently... but please, do go on.”

Now feeling a bit hot under the collar himself, Archie straightened his tie and politely demurred, “Now, now, I’ve said too much already, miss, I haven’t even been debriefed by the detectives in charge of the case yet.”

“Oh, please don’t stop, it is most exciting and unusual thing I have ever heard -- I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she pleaded, in a conspiratorial, kittenish-whisper, moving closer, “was there anything else other than mirrors...?”

For some reason Archie couldn't see the harm in indulging her with one last detail, “Well, there... there was this sorta shrine as well,” he shook his head, “well, when I say ‘shrine’ what I mean to say is it was a load of ol’ tat rigged-out to look like a shrine...” the thought of it made him shudder, “brrr -- very creepy, all-the-same, made my skin crawl, sent the ol’ proverbial shiver up me spine. Like I said, it was like somethin’ from one of them daft ol’ horror movies... like one of them video nasties me daughter watches... McKee must be outta his mind...”

She shifted even closer; he felt her hip against his thigh, “A shrine, you say?” she gasped, her eyes widening, her lips pursed into an o, “this is most fascinating! What sort of shrine? You think maybe McKee is a Satanist?”

“Not unless the devil is a dog,” Archie hazily replied.

“A dog?”

He turned, gazed into those twinkling eyes again and confided in a low whisper, “It was an old, rusty coat-rail with a skeleton suspended from it on wires, y’know? Like some sorta gruesome puppet. Malky said it was a whippet,” he suddenly remembered, “oh yeah, come to think of it, it had a nameplate on it, but it wasn't a name I’ve ever seen before... A strange word, it was. Burned into an auld piece of wood... What did it say? What was it now...?” he frowned as he tried to remember...

... and then, just as it reached the tip of his tongue -- a long, slender finger planted itself firmly on his lips, “Don’t say the name, Inspector. Never say that word,” she warned, in a low, husky purr.

As soon as the fingertip made contact, Archie’s mind was delightfully blown. His head began to spin and swim as his cerebrum was filled with an ecstatic maelstrom of flashing colours, wonderful images and joyful thoughts. His eyes rolled back, his mouth fell open, his body slumped as he gave-himself-over to blissful, carefree abandon. Carla leaned close and whispered into his ear, “You might see right through people, Inspector, but I see into them.” She straddled him, held his face in her cool hands and pressed her brow against his so that they were nose-to nose, “You have something in your eye, Inspector, and I mean to get it out.”

Harkness lost consciousness as Carla projected. They didn’t hear the knock at the door or see Alice, the tiny, blonde-bobbed chambermaid, as she backed into the room, deposited the tea-tray on the sideboard and began pouring, all the while grumbling to herself about the lateness of the hour, her migraine and the horrible twinge in her guts. When she finally turned around to ask if their guest wanted milk & sugar, she almost dropped the pot! “Ooh! Shite! I am sorry... I’ll come back when you’re... finished, shall I? Erm, just ring the bell...” she stammered, as she slowly backed out of the room -- just in time to put a heel down on Lady Beth’s exposed big toe!

“Ooooow!” Her Ladyship howled, hopping mad, taking off the slipper to massage the offending appendage, “watch where you’re going, you silly little bitch!” she screeched.

Fresh from her bath, her hair tied in a coiled topknot, dressed in a long, ivory silk dressing- gown and matching pyjamas, smelling of bathsalts and malt whiskey, she eventually recovered and finally noticed the exaggerated look of dismay on the gormless girl’s gob. “What the hell’s the matter with you anyway?!”

Alice pushed the door open a crack, indicated the odd coupling on the couch and whispered, “I think they’re at it, milady!”

Her Ladyship’s jaw dropped! “What the f---” Shoving the diminutive maid aside, she barged in and loudly demanded an explanation, “What in the name of all that is holy are you doing, woman?!” she yelled, hands on hips, her face puce with anger. There was no reaction: Carla’s legs remained clamped to her victim’s hips, her hands pressed against the side of his head, the tip of her nose pressed against his. It was apparent that Harkness was completely out to lunch, his eyes rolled back to the whites as if in the throes of mind-numbing-nirvana. “You can’t do this, you stupid cow -- he’s a cop -- he’s out-of-bounds! Get off him!!”

“She cannae hear you, milady. She’s gone inside ‘is 'ead, milady!” whispered Alice, tiptoeing up behind her.

“I know what she’s doing, pipsqueak -- she’s fucking things up -- that’s what she’s doing!” Her Ladyship strode across the room, lifted the seltzer syphon from the sideboard and took aim at the couch, “I’ll soon get her off!”

Alice jumped in the way and put up a hand to stop her, “NO, milady! You can’t interrupt a beguilin’ all-of-a-sudden! You could cause ‘im to ‘ave a seizure or somethin’ -- his brain could pop -- it could send ‘im totally doolally!” she cried, screwing a finger into her temple.

Her Ladyship slammed the seltzer down on the coffee table and ran to the door, “Where’s that bloody oaf, Castle! He was supposed to take care of Harkness, not her! CASTLE!! CASTLE!!” she shouted up the hall...

5 minutes before, across the courtyard in the sanatorium, Castle was still sitting by the bed scanning the incomprehensible squiggles in Ivan Cochrane’s scrapbook, occasionally glancing at Young Master Jamie with a despairing frown. He couldn't make head-nor-tail of the text, such-that-it-was. The only thing that made any sense was the notation of the chant, the tempo and the expiry time, the rest was incomprehensible. Shite, if Mr X can’t make-head-nor-tail-of it, what chance do I have? He looked down at the mirror on Jamie’s pillow and ruefully shook his head, if only they hadn't used mirrors to project...

Bloody Mirror World... then he was struck by a sudden flash of inspiration.

He picked up the mirror and held it against the edge of the page so that the lines of indecipherable doodles were reflected in the glass; his eyes widened with surprise and delight! “Of course! It makes sense that the men who created Mirror World would devise a text you can only read by reflection!”

He looked at his watch, “11:55.” No time to call for help! Then he had another notion, turned and gazed into the darkness at the bottom of the room, “Noel? Are you still there?”

“...............erm................. .............No....?”

“Come-on-out, I won’t be mad, I promise. I need you to do me a big favour...”

The snoopy snake slid out from his hiding place, slithered through the woolly sheepskin mat at the foot of the bed and onto the bed, “I wasn't listenin’, y’know! I was just takin’ a nap in the laundry basssket!”

“Nevermind that -- how’s your singing voice?”

“Carla?” whispered Jamie, slightly relieved, but mostly confused.

“Ssshhh, let me do the talking,” Harkness/Carla(?) whispered back.

Mondale finished his call, put his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers together and addressed his uninvited guest in a clipped, condescending tone, “The Chief Inspector has no knowledge of this and says you have no jurisdiction here. In fact, he’s so outraged by your behaviour he’s phoning your superior officer right now to demand an explanation. I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”

“I don’t care if he calls the Queen herself, I’m not goin’ anywhere without this man,” the detective replied, calmly and assuredly.

Mondale stood up, leaned over his desk and pointed at the door, “Do I have to call security and have you physically removed?”

This time Harkness didn’t reply; he simply reached into his coat, produced his gun and levelled it at the indignant shrink.

Jamie couldn't believe what he was seeing -- he heard a commotion behind them and one of the orderlies mutter “fuckin’ ‘ell!”

Naturally, Mondale’s composure was seriously compromised; he sat down slowly and deliberately, straightened his tie, cleared his throat and made with his best bedside manner, “Now, now, there’s no need for that, Inspector... think of the consequences of your actions... We need to sit down and talk this over man-to-man... Please, put that gun away,” he reasoned, holding out his hands in a consolatory gesture.

Without further ado, Harkness cocked the trigger, took aim and shot Mondale in the centre of his forehead -- his brow instantly disintegrating in an explosion of blood, bone fragments and brain matter -- his upper body juddering for a second before flopping face-first onto the desktop, an outstretched arm swiping the lamp onto the floor where it smashed on the hard, polished boards, plunging the room into complete darkness. Jamie heard the orderlies dash out of the door and slam it behind them.

Shocked and bewildered, shaking his head in disbelief, he slowly got to his feet, “What the... what the fuck did you do that for...?” he muttered, in a bewildered whisper,

“Throwing a spanner in the works,” said Harkness; then the voice changed to Carla’s as she explained in a warm, reassuring tone, “none of this is real, Jamie. Your astral form is trapped in the Void, your consciousness trapped in this phantasm fashioned from Harkness’ memories. That’s how I got here -- through his psyche -- he’s at the Ivy House now! I’m physically connected to him.”

Before Jamie had a chance to ask any more questions or think things through, the alarm blared outside in the corridor. Although this was the breakthrough he’d been waiting for, the world around him still sounded and felt all-too-real. This could be a trap. On the other hand, he still had that chill in his bones, and the touch of her hand made him feel warm: it feels right. But he had to be sure, “I’ve been here for almost a week...?”

“Surely I don’t have to remind you that the natural laws of time and space do not apply in an abstract dimension,” Carla impatiently explained, “the demon performed a ritual using multiple mirrors to invade the Void and then used Harkness’ psyche to trap your consciousness. He’s trying to break your spirit so that he might possess you!” her voice cracked as she cried, “Come, Jamie, please -- we must be quick! I can’t stay here for long -- Harkness’ psyche is too delicate, the demon is too powerful -- and I have no insulation!” She drew his attention to a dim violet aura now visible around his entire body, “if not for that protective shield, you would have perished out here hours ago!”

“Then who’s protecting me?” Jamie asked, examining his glowing hands.

“We are,” announced a gruff but unmistakeable voice in the darkness behind them.

“Mr Murphy?!” said Jamie.

“Yes. I’m Merfi from the Darkly Woods,” said the voice.

Jamie: “Oh, I get it -- you’re that Merfi -- you’re one of the Martyrs.”

Carla: “The Martyrs? You did this? You trapped Jamie here?”

The alarm bell suddenly stopped ringing; the temperature dropped to freezing; the floor disappeared, they were now hovering in a vacuum. They were indeed in the Void.

“We created this dreamscape to hide the boy and to keep him occupied while we formulated a plan of action -- but your foolish incursion has put paid to that! Now we’re utterly exposed and it’s almost midnight!” The voice lowered to a threatening growl, “We have to hurry! He’s coming for you, boy, and it won’t be like last time, oh no!”

“What do you mean?” asked Jamie.

“He was weak the last time he petitioned you, his powers were at low ebb [See Part 5]. Now he is omnipotent! There’ll be no need for bargaining -- no deals! He’s free of his host and he’s amassed enough energy to take possession of your Soul by force!”

Carla replied: “But how do we know you and your cohorts are not his allies? How do we know you are not complicit in his plan?”

Merfi’s voice sounded in their heads, <I haven’t time to explain -- suffice to say we’re in a life or death situation. Listen!>

They became aware of a distant sound -- akin to the booming-rumble of a huge bowling ball rolling along the floor of an empty ballroom -- they felt a malevolent energy fill the ether -- as if something wicked was headed their way and it was getting closer with every passing second!

<Project! NOW!> the voice cried.

“How can we trust you?!” yelled Carla.

“How can I trust anybody?!” yelled Jamie.

The pair felt a presence come between them and take their hands, <Shut your gobs ‘n LEAP!!>

Their astral forms were duly sucked up and out of the Void like 3 luminous leaves swirling in a metaphysical vortex, and yet they weren’t funnelled toward the small glowing aperture from whence Jamie had come, but to a much larger circular portal above -- there followed a blinding flash of ultraviolet light -- and then they felt themselves falling through the night sky, down through the papery foliage of treetops, down through rubbery twigs and branches, until they landed with a dull, painless thud on a soft, daisy-covered grassy-knoll. They lay on their backs and took a moment to recover, and saw that the huge glowing circular portal was now a crooked full moon set in a dark, deep purple firmament. One thing was for certain: they were no longer in Harkness’ subconscious or the Void, but in a different dimension entirely. They appeared to be at the entrance to a wood, but there was something a little off about it; everything looked artificial and cartoonishly-childlike, like an animated world constructed from the pages of a kiddie’s pop-up picture book.

It was all very familiar if the expression on Carla’s face was anything to go by. She had reverted to her own avatar, but it was apparent her time in the Void had severely sapped her reserves, her Aspect so weak she was almost transparent; Jamie could barely make her out as she walked to the centre of the glade, looked around and nodded.

Still dressed in blue-striped pyjamas and slippers, but holding a long blackthorn staff, Merfi twirled the tip of his long silver beard around his finger and asked her, “You know this place?”

She beheld the misshapen moon with a wry smile and said, “Oh yes. I know it well. This is Fairyland, it was the first dreamscape my sister created for us when we were children. It was our happy place, we would come here when times were hard.”

“This is Electra’s imagination? Is that good or bad?” asked Jamie, a little alarmed. He’d heard a lot about Carla’s sister over the past few years and none of it was good.

“Oh, it’s bad, dear boy -- you only have to look at that sky!” said Merfi, pointing his staff at the swirling, purple clouds and cupping his ear in reference to the grumble of distant thunder, “whatever it was before, this dreamscape is now infested with his energy!”

“I know one thing for sure: Electra is here! I sense her Essence in the ether!” snarled Carla, clenching her fists, “I knew it! I knew in my Soul she did not step into the light and Ascend when she died -- she came here: a ghost haunting her own imagination!” She angrily kicked a cartoon toadstool out of the grass as the implications sank in, “I was right!! She’s been in league with him all along! She lured Dani here knowing Jamie would come after her!” She had another thought, “Little Red Riding Hood... the Big Bad Wolf... This is why Gosling morphed into a wolf-man...”

“Goz is a wolf-man...?” gasped Jamie, getting evermore confused.

Carla gave him a brief summary of Gosling’s recent misadventures then apprised him of the situation as it stood, “When both of you performed the ritual in front of a mirror, the magic you created became unstable in the Void; the demon trapped you, but Gosling must have made it through -- or was allowed through, we don’t know -- the point is he must have become taken on the guise of the character, then the warped spell must have rebounded and pulled him back, causing his earthly body to temporarily mutate. That is how dangerous it is.” She gnashed her teeth and pointed an accusing finger at the ancient mage, “This all began with your hellish ‘Messiah Spell’! You and your confederates caused this catastrophe!”

“We carefully devised a ritual to create a being capable of destroying the demon, not aid-‘n-abet him, we went to a lot of trouble to ensure its efficacy,” said Merfi, taking in the tidings, nodding sagely, “so the spell was performed twice and rebounded in the Void, eh? Well, we didn’t account for that eventuality...” he turned to Carla, “... and you say your sister has lured the demonspawn here? That accounts for the rum grumble in me belly...” he groaned, “she must be around here somewhere, too...”

“Dani’s here? Where?!” asked Jamie.

Carla was already running along the little pathway into the darkened forest, shouting, “Follow me!”

Merfi watched them disappear into the trees as the moon clouded over and the picture-book landscape darkened. Once they were out of sight, he rapped his blackthorn staff on the ground 3 times and 3 figures in glowing hessian robes duly materialised behind him, their arms crossed, their cowled heads bowed. Without looking over his shoulder, he led them along the path, “The Witching Hour is upon us, my brothers. It’s time to finish what we started 7000 years ago...”

5 minutes ago, in the Real World, Lady Beth was just about to call the sanatorium and give Castle an earful when Alice suddenly cried out, “Oh milady! Look! Madame Carla!!”

The typically poised and proper Silver Siren had lost consciousness mid-mind-meld and was now sprawled in an undignified heap next to the still insensible Harkness, legs splayed wide, head resting on his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” Her Ladyship snapped, slamming down the receiver and striding back to the couch.

“I dunno, milady! She sort-of-groaned, threw 'er 'ead to the side and rolled offa 'im!” whinged the dismayed chambermaid, keeping well back, biting her nails, standing cross-legged and writhing on the spot as if she badly needed a pee.

Lady Beth raised an eyebrow, “So she’s broken the connection, has she?! Then we can wake her up, can’t we?!” she said, smiling wickedly, rolling up her sleeves and raising her hand to administer a good, hard smack, “I’ve been waiting for this for quite some time...”

Again, Alice intervened by physically inserting herself between the intended victim and her would-be assailant, only this time the entreaties that accompanied the impertinence were verging on the hysterical and somewhat shrill, “It won’t do any good, milady! -- she’s entranced, so-she-is!” Alice grabbed the collar of her mistress’ robe, “Can’t you feel it?! This is the night of the demon, so-tis! This is all his doin’, so-tis! She’s doomed, so-she-is! We’re all doomed! He’ll kill us all, he-will!!”

“ENOUGH!” the infuriated virago got to slap a face after all. Upon impact, Alice’s mouth instantly snapped shut. She clasped a tiny hand to her livid cheek and whimpered with quivering lip as she watched Her Ladyship tighten the belt on her gown and march back to the phone, “Right! Where’s that fucking butler...” she grumbled, punching the button marked ‘sanatorium’...

...

3 minutes before, Castle was reciting the text reflected in the little mirror and tapping out the requisite beat on Jamie’s tablas whilst Noel intoned the chant. Well, he tried: “Fuck it! I can’t do this!” the churlish serpent cried, breaking-off for the umpteenth time, “it sounds friggin’ ssstupid -- I can’t get the hang of it!”

The big butler stopped drumming and erupted in a fit of frustration, “NOEL! FUCK!! Keep going!! Jeezus Christ!!” he yelled, “We nearly had it there!”

“Fuck you, fatssso, I’m going back to the laundry bassssket,” Noel hissed, putting his snout in the air and turning away in a show of defiance.

Castle pleaded with him as if he was begging for his life, which, in a way, he was, “Please, Noel, all ye have to do is keep doing what you’re doing -- it’s working! -- ‘member it’s just a chant, it doesn’t have to sound good! But whatever you do -- once you’ve got it -- don’t stop!”

Noel thought about it.

“C’mon, you’ll have a ball tellin’ everyone how you saved them from extinction -- you might even enjoy it!”

“I very much doubt it...” Somewhat mollified but still muttering about the indignity, the snarky snake reluctantly returned to his place, “How’s this supposed to help coma-boy, anyway?” he asked, nodding at the slumbering Young Master.

Castle checked the digital clock on the bedside locker: 11:57. “I’ll explain later, we’re running outta time -- now come on! After me...” Castle had just begun to intone the chant to get things going again, when the internal phone buzzed in the hall. He ignored it and carried on.

“Aren't you gonna answer that?” asked Noel, “It’s probably Lady Bitch gaspin’ for a snort, innit? You know what she’s like if she doesn’t get her nightcap.”

Castle assured him that nothing was more important than what they were doing right now and resumed tapping on the tablas and intoning the backward words...

“STOP!!”

She had just uttered the first syllable of the dreaded word when she was abruptly interrupted by a distant cry.

“Dani! DON’T!!”

She looked toward the edge of the forest -- “Jamie?!!” She squealed, jumping up-and-down with delight upon seeing her beloved Young Master’s glowing avatar run out of the trees, closely followed by the rather faded form of her Great Aunt Carla! “Don’t say it, Danielle -- it is a trap!” she shouted, as they pushed their way through the mob of fearsome fairytale folk.

The hovering spectre was not at all amused by this untimely intrusion and ordered his motley militia to waylay and silence the interlopers forthwith. The hideous fairyland creatures obediently closed in -- Carla and Jamie were immediately besieged by two of the 3 Bears and 4 diabolical dwarves, their mouths stifled with foul tasting apples supplied by Snow White’s wicked stepmother. Once they were captive and mute, Blist turned his attention back to Dani. “Say the word, little girl or I’ll have their Souls torn apart.”

“I’m not sayin’ a bloody thing until you let ‘em go!” Dani yelled, stamping her foot, putting her nose in the air and defiantly crossing her arms.

Blist snapped his fingers.

“SAY THE WORD!” the grisly rabble roared and hissed, as they jostled and threatened the captive pair with bared fangs, oversized kitchen knives and lumpen spiky-cudgels.

But before Dani could tell them to eff-off another, older voice cried out “Pack it in, Zomber Blist!” and an old man in stripy pyjamas and slippers brandishing what looked like a knobbly wizard’s staff emerged from the wood, giving-out as he marched through the throng, “You always were a bit of a maverick, weren’t you, Blist? Well, the game’s up! I’m afraid we've lost the day.”

The glistering Martyr begged to differ, “All the more reason to complete the spell! We've nothing to lose now, have we?! She MUST say the word!”

“No, Blist! It’ll only hasten the inevitable!” another voice cried out.

Attired in the same glowing hessian robes as the hovering wraith, the remaining Martyrs emerged from the darkness betwixt the trees and approached their comrades. Jamie recognised two of them (Nedi and Bezeel) as Merfi’s backgammon buddies; the other, a short, slender man with very feminine features (Zöch) was his ‘case worker’ Dr Sloss; come to think of it, the hawk-faced spectre of Zomber Blist bore an uncanny resemblance to the intimidating orderly who threatened him in the Special Unit on his first day. [See Part 19]

“Look here, my brothers -- our old friend Blist has taken matters into his own hands -- again!” Merfi announced, sardonically, “Maybe you can talk some sense into him!”

But his fellow wizards were just as unhappy with their predicament and immediately surrounded their beleaguered elder brother to air their grievances; one in particular seemed to be taking it very badly, “We've been out-played!! He’s has all of us right where he wants us! It’s checkmate, my brothers!!” whinged the tubby Welsh necromancer known as Parswald Nedi. Arms aloft, he pleaded with his aggrieved colleagues, “I say we split-up and take our chances elsewhere!”

“We can’t hide from him, you fool,” Merfi dolefully informed him, pointing his staff at Jamie, “once he takes possession of the boy’s Soul he’ll have the means destroy The Psychosphere from within. There’ll be no hiding place for anyone, least of all the 5 of us.” He shook his head and sighed, “There is nothing left to do but make peace with our consciences and prepare for the bitter end.”

Nedi refused to believe it was over; he fell to his knees and beseeched the churning, incandescent heavens, “Then the Powers That Be must intervene! After all, they broke the natural laws by creating a Familiar to track down his earthly host! [See Part 6] They won’t let it end like this!!”

“The Powers That Be have long since forsaken us! We were entrusted with the means to destroy him, and we failed, miserably,” said the long haired, androgynous Assyrian mystic known to the Psychic World as Prince Molton Zöch.

“Yes, they empowered a crippled dog to do our work, that’s how much faith they have in us,” said the tall, hollow-faced, French alchemist known as Bezeel.

“I knew this would happen!” cried Nedi, getting evermore anxious, “we shouldn't have meddled -- we shouldn't have deviated from the Prophesy!”

“Oh, shut your soppy pie-hole, you craven Welsh jellyfish!” sneered Blist, ”We knew what we were doing when we agreed to this! ” Now that the jig was up, he eschewed the evil wizard act, came down to earth and ordered the creatures to release Jamie and Carla.

Dani immediately ran to her beloved Young Master and threw her arms around his waist, “I thought you were gonna die out in the Void! They wouldn't let me go after you! But I knew you’d come and save me!!”

“I’m happy to see you too, Dani-girl, but I’m just as helpless as you,” replied Jamie, stroking her head, gazing up into the tumultuous skies, “this is one nightmare I’ll be happy to wake up from.”

Dani looked up at him and asked, “Will we wake up?”

Jamie looked to the Martyrs for a glimmer of hope, “Is there a way out of here?”

Nedi slapped his forehead and pointed at the trio of Living Souls, “Listen to these fools! They haven’t a clue!” he shouted, angrily, pointing an accusing finger at Blist, “and you said it was foolproof!”

“There were unforeseen circumstances!” countered the cadaverous wizard, glaring at the craven spectre of Pritchard, “I wasn't to know the last Judge would fall prey to senility and entrust the execution of the ritual to this self-serving dullard!”

Pritchard stood behind the grimacing figure of Electra and tried to look inconspicuous.

Noticing him for the first time, Jamie jeered, “I might have known you’d have something to do with this, Bernie!”

The shady ghost shrugged, threw up its arms and yelled back, “I just followed the instructions as written -- I only did what was required of me!!”

“Oh yeah? Does that include collaborating with the enemy?!” Jamie replied.

“Hah! Jamie’s right -- you’re to blame for everything!” Dani chided, and informed the wizards of her nemesis’ past indiscretions, “He tried to kill us! He used me to make a deal with the demon!” [See Part 9].

“Can you blame me?! He had me locked in a death-haunt! Any one of you would've done the same!” Pritchard protested.

Tutting and shaking his head, Zomber Blist sombrely informed his brothers, “I discovered this dreamscape a few a few hours ago while you were taking care of the boy. I overheard the girl’s grandmother relating her story,” he fixed Electra with a gimlet-eye, “she made a deal with the demon. She lured the demonspawn to this dimension knowing the boy would come after her!”

“I didn’t know it would come to this -- all I wanted was for little Dani to be a normal little girl again!” cried Electra, trying to hide behind Pritchard.

Despite having guessed as much, Carla was no less furious with her late sister! She stormed up to the cringing ghost of Dani’s golden-haired grandmother and yelled in her grimacing face, “Look at what you’ve done Ellie! After all this time, after all we've been through -- you haven’t changed one iota! And now your selfishness will destroy us all!”

“Ivan begged me to do it! His wee girl was a goblin -- what was I to do?!” Electra screeched, sobbing into her shawl.

“Bloody women!” shouted Nedi, scornfully, “I knew they’d screw-things-up! They ruin everything!!”

Carla wasn't going to stand for that! “I am a Justified Siren! have spent two lifetimes defending the coven -- I have eschewed all fleshly pleasure to pursue a Life in the Mind and expand my consciousness,” she said, giving Pritchard a cold stare, before putting a translucent hand on her ward’s shoulder and attesting, “I have explored Jamie’s psyche and I say he is the true Messiah! He is the key to defeating him. All is not yet lost.”

“He’s not the Messiah,” Blist snorted, derisively, pointing a long, glittering fingernail at Dani, “she’s the Messiah.”

“Dani?” Carla, Electra. Pritchard and Jamie gasped in unison.

“Me...?” muttered Dani, screwing up her face as if it was the craziest thing she’d ever heard.

Merfi nodded and grimly explicated, “It had to be a Silver Siren. A female.The demon doesn’t possess women, he prefers alpha-males blinded by greed and ambition. The Messiah had to be a strong, defiant woman with a will that can’t be broken.”

“That sounds like our Dani, alright,” said Jamie.

“Me...? Really...?” muttered Dani, still trying to take it in.

“Your father was just a vessel, you are the fruit of his enchanted seed,” Bezeel explained, turning toward Carla, “your esteemed Young Master may have inherited his grandfather’s advanced psychic abilities and strength of character, but he is no Messiah.” He looked Dani up-and-down and regretfully sighed, “This waif had all the talents required, until her father turned her into a monster,” he then turned and glared at Electra, “and her grandmother brought her to the forest and offered her to the demon!”

By now, Electra was almost hysterical: “How many times do I have to tell you, I did it for --”

“Silence!” bellowed Blist, cutting her off, “You've said and done enough!” He explained to his comrades, “Once he was in the forest, he must have sensed our presence and conspired to exploit the energy we had amassed. He buried the bones of slain children in the soil by the brook, using the energy from their trapped Souls to tap into our resources in order to take control of the ‘Sphere and engineer this trap.”

During the ensuing discussion it emerged that the ‘Martyrs’ trial and interment 7000 years ago was the beginning of a top-secret operation devised to exterminate the demon once-and-for-all. When arrested for the crime of creating the Void, by way of a plea-bargain, the indicted wizards told the Grand Council that they had the wherewithal to formulate a spell that could produce the Messiah cited in The Prophesy: a wunderkind impervious to his dark magic and endowed with a psyche powerful enough to destroy him in any realm. The problem was, it would take up to at least 5000 years for the stars to align and the right conditions to arise; hence a mock trial was staged and the ‘Martyrs’ were buried in a state of extended hibernation, all the while amassing the energy required to aid in the final battle. In the meantime, it was imperative that the demon, his confederates and his spies believed in their guilt, and that meant lying to the rank and file. Everyone involved with the coven -- from the true-blood Güül to the half-blood witches -- had no idea what was going on, literally under their noses; only the Judge and a few elder members of the Grand Council were party to the truth. In keeping with the text of the Prophesy, the coven then arranged for a band of the Martyrs’ so-called ‘disciples’ -- a group of human ‘magicians’ in league with the demon and versed in the grimoire, but possessed of no real psychic ability -- to inscribe runes for what they thought was the Martyr’s curse in a secret chamber in Tutankhamen’s tomb.

Alas, as always, fate conspired to thwart their designs: “1200 years ago, the Vikings invade and the demon finally arrives in Wicklow. An old witch manages to pry him from his dying host him and trap him in a bottle [See Part 3] -- but instead of taking it straight to the Grand Council -- she buries him under a chestnut tree!” cried Nedi, shaking his head as if he still couldn't take it in.

Bezeel: “The holding spell she used wasn't strong enough to contain him. No matter how deep she buried him, his Essence could be felt in the ether; he may have been very weak and relatively harmless, but he was still an existential threat.”

Merfi: “The incumbent Judge called an emergency meeting of the Grand Council and questioned the tribal leaders.”

Zöch: “Despite a thorough interrogation, the witches never uttered a word.”

Bezeel: “There was nothing to do but continue with our plan.”

Merfi: “After that, came Christianity and the witch-hunts. The coven was decimated. In the knowledge that one day in the distant future a child would be born endowed with the powers to destroy him, a few pure-blood infants were transported to wealthy relatives in Southern Europe, well out of harm’s way.” He turned to the Infanté sisters, “You are the descendants of those children,” he turned toward Dani, “ and this little girl is that child.”

Electra and Carla (now almost transparent) looked at each other, then looked at Dani and shook their heads in disbelief.

Blist: “Unfortunately, her father was a dreamer just like his mother. When we inculcated him with the spell on the table mountain, his mind kept wandering, his head filled with imaginary creatures, like the monstrosity he sketched on the same page as the transcription!”

Merfi: “When you joined him in the incantation, his imagination transformed you into an approximation of that atrocious illustration!” [See Part 1]

“I’m still an ugly green goblin, if that’s what you mean. I only look like a normal person in my imagination,” said Dani, sadly, looking at her little Red Riding Hood avatar.

“And if all that isn't damning enough, he implores her grandmother to make a deal with the demon,” said Blist, addressing the others while scowling at Electra, “she was corrupted and became bait for this trap.”

“And we fell for it!” bawled Nedi, clenching his fists and whining like a child. “7000 years buried in a deep hole... 7000 years of sleeping and waiting with no contact with the outside world -- just to be rudely awakened and wiped from existence!”

“I blame the witches! They ruin everything! They should have been wiped from existence aeons ago!” said Bezeel, crossing his arms and putting his long nose in the air.

“These aren't witches -- they’re fully-developed Sirens! There’s no excuse! Face the facts, brothers -- we put our faith in a bunch of selfish, undisciplined amateurs!” shouted Zöch.

The conversation soon deteriorated into a squabble as the wizards shouted over one-another, arguing the finer points of their machinations like a cluster of irascible dons. Finally, Merfi raised his staff and gently waved them down, “There’s nothing to be gained by reproaching each other, my brothers,” he said, drawing their attention to the escalating electrical storm, “he is here and we are undone”

Sure enough, there followed a deafening crack of thunder -- the ground beneath their feet shook with the tremors of an earthquake -- the foliage around them sloped and billowed as powerful crosswinds racked the fairytale forest! A jagged bolt of ultraviolet-lightning struck a tall pine tree, instantly setting it ablaze! As it fell into the centre of the clearing, the evil creatures immediately dispersed and fled back into the woods, squealing and roaring with fright! All, that is, except one: a rather dishevelled and dejected looking Big Bad Wolf remained behind, its head lowered, its straggly, bushy tail hanging limp between its legs.

“Goz?” said Jamie, incredulously.

The goofy-looking, picture-book wolf nodded.

“Yeah! He was here earlier! We watched ‘im disappear in a puff of smoke!” shouted Dani, holding Jamie’s arm tightly.

“Aye, that’s one you need to talk to! He came to me lookin’ for the scrapbook!” yelled Pritchard, gratefully shifting the blame, “he cast the spell through a mirror -- he’s the one who kicked this off -- not me!”

They watched impassively as the wretched wolf sheepishly shuffled toward them, turning the brim of its battered top hat in its paws, explaining in a broken voice, “That’s right. It’s true. I’m only a half-blood, I’m not a telepath; I used the spell to open a portal in a mirror and searched for Dani’s signature in the ‘Sphere. I wanted revenge on Jamie... but somehow I ended up here, in this dreamscape, looking like this,” he looked at Dani, “when I heard the two of you talking, I realised what was happening and tried to intervene. Next thing I wake up in the Real World and I look like a werewolf! I can’t go back now. Not that there’s much point, since it looks like we’re all going to die anyway...”

Something occurred to Jamie; he cocked his head and asked Merfi, “You told me to say the word when we were in the ‘hospital’.”

The elderly sorcerer nodded, “A simple, subtle case of reverse psychology, my lad: it was the one way of ensuring you wouldn't say it. We know how sensible you are. But it’s all academic now. Like this pathetic creature says, we are about to die. And you are about to be possessed...”

That gloomy remark was punctuated by an especially loud crack of thunder -- another bolt of lightning flashed down from the heavens and struck the smouldering hollow that used to be Little Red Riding Hood’s granny’s cottage, the resultant explosion casting the smoky-debris high into the air! They stood well back and watched in awestruck silence as a huge vortex surged up from the fiery crater, spinning the miasma of smoke, ashes, cinders and incinerated timber so fast that the disparate fragments seemed to bind, meld and solidify, until they formed a hulking, fiery, monstrous figure at least 50 feet tall! When the vortex abated and smoke cleared they saw what it was -- the gargantuan figure of a barrel-chested lumberjack wielding a huge, flaming axe!

“This is it my friends,” cried Merfi, “only a miracle can save us now...”

Just like the fat butler predicted, Noel had become completely consumed by the sound of his own voice and the rolling rhythm of the tablas. He was now locked into the seductive sonic vibration, his body rigid, his head erect, his eyes staring straight ahead; chanting the compulsive drone, over and over again, without hesitation or deviation.

For his part, Castle was nearing the end of the text; the ritual was almost complete -- when Jamie suddenly began to writhe on the bed, his breathing quickening, as if he was extremely stressed or in pain!

As the he digital clock on the bedside locker counted down the last minute before midnight, Castle began to intone the last refrain...

...

Crosswinds assailed them from all sides, harrying them into the centre of the clearing where they were utterly exposed and wholly powerless in the shadow of the fuming, coal-black, smokestack lumberjack. They were well-aware of the fact that it was an unnecessary piece of theatre: the demon sardonically defining the situation with a visual metaphor; you are just a swarm insignificant insects to be swatted from existence. And just as Merfi predicted, their nemesis had nothing to impart before the execution. There was no acerbic monologue, no vainglorious gloating, no deals: just a killing joke.

The surge of dark energy was too much for Carla, her avatar vanished completely -- they heard her scream Jamie’s name as she faded from view. A gust of unearthly wind separated the Young Master from the rest: the others were about to be consigned to oblivion; Jamie was to about to be possessed.

Then, just as he was steeling himself for the struggle ahead, he felt something infiltrate his Essence -- a sound began to fill his head -- “Listen!” he shouted to the others, cupping his ear, drawing their attention to the pulse of a drumbeat under the howling wind and the rumble of thunder, “can’t you hear that?”

The Martyrs and ghosts could hear nothing but the roar of the storm. Nevertheless, the demon clearly heard it -- the giant lumberjack reeled and swayed on its smouldering heels -- the wind died to a breeze -- the thunderstorm abruptly ceased...

“It’s the spell! Somebody’s casting the spell!” yelled Jamie.

“I hear it!” screamed Dani.

“So can I!” shouted Goz.

“Then go with it! Join Hands!! Form a circle and turn in step with the rhythm!!” shouted Merfi, suddenly energised -- seizing the moment and rallying his brothers, “We will protect you!!”

The Martyrs demeanour changed entirely; they became calm, sombre and resolute -- even Nedi straightened up and joined his brothers as they stood to attention like well-drilled soldiers. Merfi advised to Pritchard and Electra to make themselves scarce, “If you want to save your Souls, go to Limbo -- the portal is open -- now -- while he’s preoccupied!”

“But what about Dani?!” screamed Electra.

“She will fare better without you here to distract her! Now -- GO!” Merfi yelled in reply, pointing to a large crack the ground. Pritchard grabbed his hapless accomplice and dragged her into the portal.

Meanwhile, Jamie, Dani and Gosling felt compelled to do what the ancient mage asked; they joined hands and began twirling in a circle as if they were about to break into a chorus of a-ring-a-ring-o’-roses. They soon found a rhythm -- in fact, the beat was all they could feel -- the droning chant was all they could hear as the magic slowly infused their Essences and took their psyches for a spin! Merfi gestured with his staff and the Martyrs obediently formed a tight circle around them.

This activity seemed to be causing the demon some difficulty -- the spell seemed to be weakening him. That said, the woodcutters axe was still raised above its head -- time was of the essence!

Merfi looked left and right and gave the order, “Alright lads, nice and steady, after me....”

The Martyrs raised their arms, closed their eyes and began intoning a mantra that provided a harmony for the disembodied ethereal chant; the resultant chord then became a multitude of eerie, unearthly voices, all fighting to attain the requisite key -- the underlying beat became the steady boom of a kettledrum...

The trio of living Souls in the inner-circle twirled faster and faster as Merfi held his staff in both hands and pointed it at the sky, “That’s it, lads, this is it...”

Then the drums abruptly stopped!

“That’s the sign. Here it comes... keep her lit, lads, keep her lit...”

...

A minute ago, in the sanatorium, Castle had reached the end of the text and discovered the final word was missing, and quite rightly so. Judging by the preceding verse, it could only be one thing.

“Oh shite...” he muttered to himself, and immediately stopped drumming.

Noel’s head wobbled as he was rudely snapped-out-of his trance, “Wha... what’s goin’ on... Hey! Why did you sssssstop?!” he hissed.

But Castle couldn't answer. He was crouching beside the bed with a hand on the restless Young Master’s chest, whispering into his ear:

“You haveta say his name. Say it now.”

The digital clock on the bedside locker counted down the final seconds to midnight...

...

Jamie heard the whisper.

He looked at his twirling companions. They’d heard it too.

<Do it,> thought Goz, squeezing his eyes shut.

<Say it,> thought Dani, squeezing his hand tight.

“All of you say it! YOU ARE AS ONE!!” yelled Merfi -- just as a thin, steady beam of ultraviolet light shot from the tip of staff and struck the smouldering colossus in the centre of its huge barrel-chest!

10...

9...

8...

7...

Jamie looked at his companions’ grimacing faces, “Ready?!”

They nodded...

5...

“With me -- after 3...”

“3...

“2...

“Hey, you! Oy you! Wake up, ye fat fool!”

The obese butler had collapsed on the stroke of midnight, tumbled off the bed, and was now lying prostrate on the floor; arms outstretched, his head turned to the side. Noel slithered onto his stupendous spare tyre and yelled into his ear, “Oy! Wakey-wakey, fatso -- come on now, ye eejit -- this isn't fun anymore...”

...

As the chimes of midnight sounded throughout the house, there was a sudden change in atmosphere: an ominous, all-pervasive sense of inertia descended, but Lady Beth was to irate and anxious to sense it.

“... C’mon, c’mon, answer the fucking phone, Oggy, don’t make me come over there...” she muttered, tapping the hook-switch to get a fresh line. Suddenly, there was a dull thud behind her; she turned to find Alice lying unconscious on the floor! “What the hell is up with you people...!” she began to bawl when she was suddenly interrupted by a loud bang outside followed by the whine of a revving engine! She ran to the window and pulled back the curtain: one of the jeeps had crashed into a low wall in the courtyard, the driver slumped over the wheel, his foot pressing on the accelerator. Cursing under her breath, she dragged the unconscious chambermaid across the room, threw her into one of the armchairs, went back to the phone and rang all the extensions on the console: the gatelodge, the kitchen, the servant’s quarters, the basement -- but no one was picking up! Then, just as she was about to go out to the door and shout, there was a sudden cry from the couch --

“Jamie!” screamed Carla, her eyes wide with fear, waking with a start.

“Oh, you’re with us, are you?! Maybe you can tell me what’s going on!” said Lady Beth, pointing at Harkness and Alice, “the entire house is out for the count!”

Dazed from the sudden disconnection, Carla pulled herself into a sitting position, messaged her temples with her long fingers and took a moment to readjust -- a glance at the grandfather clock soon sharpened her senses: “Midnight?! I must go to Jamie at once!” she said, springing to her feet and bolting for the door -- Her Ladyship ran after her and caught her by the arm, “Oh no you don’t, madam -- you’re going to tell me what we’re gonna do with Harkness...” she stopped yapping when they heard a distance voice, “... who the hell is that?” she asked.

Carla shook off the grabbing hand and rushed down the hall, “Please, My Lady, stay here with the Inspector -- I must go to Jamie!” And off she ran, leaving Her Ladyship gazing up into the darkness at the top of the main staircase . The distant voice seemed to be shouting for help. It could only be “Gosling!” Then she remembered that Xavier had strapped him to a bed in a room at the back of the house. She shrugged and said to herself, “Well, he’s not going anywhere...”

She returned to the drawing room and beheld the unconscious Harkness. How the hell am I going to explain the situation when he wakes up? If he wakes up. After an moment’s thought, she went to the huge Pre-Raphaelite master in the alcove at the back of the room and sprung a hidden catch in its decorous frame; the painting opened-out like a large cupboard door to reveal the façade of a solid-brass, Victorian safe set into the wall. She spun the combination, opened the heavy door, reached into a hidden compartment under the false bottom and removed the Judge’s old revolver...

...

3...

2...

Guy Gosling awoke to find himself in an ornate, tastefully furnished, candlelit chamber. It could only be the Ivy House. He was in bed; more precisely he was strapped to the bed, unable to move his arms and legs. He looked down at his body -- he was normal again! -- no coarse hair covering his skin; no canine paws. Thank Christ, he thought, sighing with relief. It was a bit of an indignity all the same. Well, at least I’m not in SCICI. Then he looked to his left: the Lumb’s big Middle Eastern chauffeur was lying unconscious on the floor beside the bed with a khanjar clenched in his right fist -- as if he was about to use it when something struck him down!

Was he about to kill me? If so, then who or what knocked him out...?

Then he realised. He remembered reeling with Jamie and Dani in the spinning circle -- the chanting wizards -- the gigantic lumberjack --- The word!

WE SAID THE WORD!!

“Help! Anybody there?! Help! Somebody -- HELP!!”

3...

2...

Dani awoke to find she was still in the dungeon, still sitting in the old torture chair, still muzzled and shackled. But the chains that bound her were loose now; her hands and feet slipped easily out of the manacles and leg irons. Pulling off the loose-fitting muzzle, she went to the thick Plexiglas wall to look out into the the basement. The quartet of guards with machine guns -- the goons Castle told to shoot her if she metamorphosed -- were unconscious and scattered across the old stone floor. Dresh, the lanky gardener, was lying by an overturned stool at the foot of the steps, his head propped up against the lower part of the wall, his long, bare legs splayed wide. It was as if they’d all been doused with sleeping gas!

She went to the corner of the cell, fetched a lantern and lit it with a box of matches hidden in the bottom of her dresser drawer, then went back to look at her reflection in the glass. She was normal! More precisely, she wasn't an ugly, green, goblin-creature anymore -- she was a petite 18 year-old, her skin as white as ivory, her hair long and silvery!

“I look... beautiful...” she gasped, with shock and delight, touching her cheek.

But how?

The last thing she remembered was dancing in a circle with Goz and Jamie... the singing wizards -- then saying the dreaded word...

“We said the word!!”

She thought it over, “But if I’m OK... then what happened to Jamie?!”

Beset with sudden anxiety, she began pounding the the glass with her tiny fists, “Hey! You out there!! Wake up!! Lemme out -- I gotta go ‘n see Jamie!!”

3...

2...

Jamie awoke to find himself in a brightly lit, sparsely furnished white room. He was in bed. Sister was standing to his left, looking down on him with a you’ve-been-a-bad boy what-are-we-going-to-with-you-look on her face; the two orderlies that escorted him earlier were stationed by the door; Mondale was sitting in a chair to his right, leaning close, staring into his eyes, “Jamie... are you with us.... hello....?”

He tried to move and found to his horror he was bound by restrains! “You --you strapped me to the bed?!” he hoarsely cried.

Ignoring the outburst, Mondale addressed him in a, warm, placatory tone, “Feeling a bit woozy, are we? Not to worry, old chap, the tranquillizer will soon wear off.”

“I’m... still in the hospital?! What the fuck?!” Jamie groaned.

“Now, there’s no need for that kind of language, young man!” said Sister, wagging her finger in his face, patently grateful to have something to nag him about, “You’re bein’ restrained cos you ‘ad another violent episode! You told the doctor you’d have him killed!!”

“Yes, thank you Sister that will be all. I’ll page you if I need further assistance,” said Mondale, sniffily, clearly peeved by her insensitive attitude. He waited until she’d gone then told the orderlies to wait outside the door. Once they were alone, he patted Jamie’s shoulder reassuringly, “I must apologise for ever doubting you, Jamie,” he confided, earnestly, in a sympathetic tone, “I must confess, I didn’t believe you at first, but today I witnessed the change come over you. I saw you suffer those hallucinations first hand. I saw the fear and confusion in your eyes as the paroxysm took hold...”

“Stop it!!” Jamie was having none of it! He used all his strength to voice his opinion as loudly and as forcefully as he could, “This isn't real! This is a dreamscape built from Harkness’ memories... the Martyrs created this!”

“Oh dear,” said Mondale, wearily, massaging his greying eyebrows, “this is precisely the sort of thing you were shouting while in the throes of delirium....”

Jamie shook his head emphatically and protested just as vehemently, “No, no, no you don’t -- don’t try to twist this! I’m trapped in a dreamscape -- you are just a figure from Harkness’ past!”

Mondale checked his notepad, “Yes, you mentioned the name ‘Harkness’ several times during the attack.”

“I didn’t suffer an attack! This is a phantasm! The Martyrs are behind this!”

“The martyrs?”

“The Darkly Martyrs -- the wizards buried under the Ivy House!!” shouted Jamie, struggling under the restraints.

“Wizards?”

“Yes wizards!! And don’t patronise me --- I’m not crazy -- it won’t work! I’m not fooled anymore!”

Smiling benignly, Mondale explained, “Jamie, please listen to me: during our session today, when I told you I couldn't arrange a solicitor until you’d been assessed, you took the news rather badly. You became hysterical and threatened me. You threatened to have me shot.”

“But you were shot! Harkness shot you in the head... I mean Carla shot you in the dream... I mean -- you aren't real!!”

Mondale waited for him to calm down and went on, “The orderlies had to restrain you while I called for a medic to administer a tranquilliser. I take it, then, you don’t remember anything?”

Jamie refused to believe a word of it, “This is utter bullshit! Ask ‘Mr Murphy’ -- or should I say Merfi of the Darkly Woods!” Jamie lifted his head and shouted at the door, “Hey! Merfi! Merfi get in here! You can stop this now! Enough is enough!”

One of the orderlies put his head around the door and asked if everything was OK. Mondale impatiently waved him away and continued, “I know how hard this must be for you, Jamie. Amnesia is a frightening condition, especially when its compounded by feelings of paranoia. But don’t worry,” He gave Jamie a paternal pat on the arm, “now that I’ve seen it for myself, I can assure you I will do my utmost to see that you’re properly looked after.” He frowned as he delivered the ‘bad news’, “Unfortunately, you will have to be separated from general population for a while, and as soon as we’re sure it’s safe, we’ll remove those restraints, in the meantime, I’m prescribing a course of sedatives to level your mood and relax you; then, when you’re stable, we’ll work on a way to keep these episodes under control...” he said, and brought the little tête-à-tête to a close, “I am sorry it had to come to this, Jamie,” he said, sadly, looking at the restraints, “I’ll come back and see you after the weekend, when you’ve had time to... settle.”

But Jamie had stopped listening minutes ago; so despondent he didn’t even notice Mondale leave the room. He just stared at the ceiling and frantically tried to figure out what had happened. The last thing he remembered was spinning in a circle with Goz and Dani... the Martyrs chanting... then they heard the voice in his head telling him to say the word -- wait a minute --

“We said the word!”

So how come he’s back in the hospital? -- back in Harkness’ subconscious? -- back in the Martyr’s dreamscape? There’s no chill in his bones now, it doesn’t feel like he’s still in the Void. Am I back in a timeless dimension? And if so, how long is this set to last?! Wave after wave of despair washed over him -- could this get any worse?!

As if to answer that unuttered question, there was a sharp rat-tat-tat on the door, and the spiky headed, tubby figure of Nurse Gaston Masterson entered, carrying a small plastic tray laden with various pill boxes and a paper cup half-filled with water. He didn’t look too happy.

“Well, thank you very much!” he chimed, in a high, scathing voice, looking down at Jamie with hand on hip and a disbelieving shake of the head, “I’ve got a big-black-mark on report card cuz of you! Mondale’s secretary ratted-me-out! So not only 'ave I blown my chances with ‘er, I’ve got Sister and Mondale breathin' down me neck! Open wide, please,” he said, tersely, and placed a pair of pink capsules on Jamie’s tongue and continued his acerbic harangue, “’Oh, I’m absolutely fine ‘n I need to see Dr Mondale urgently, can you arrange it for me?’ -- And look where it got ya! -- stuck in Isolation -- strapped to the bed on 24 hour suicide watch! What the ‘ell were you thinkin’?!!”

Jamie closed his mouth and refused to be drawn.

His wilful silence only made Masterson madder, “I got you that appointment in good faith, matey! I trusted you -- and what do you do?! You go mental ‘n threaten to shoot the ‘ead doctor!!” he nagged, putting the glass of water to Jamie’s lips.

Jamie sipped the water, swallowed the pills and said nothing.

The disgruntled Wulfrunian’s flushed little urchin face clenched into a sneer as he stooped and informed his taciturn patient in a harsh, half-whisper, “Well, you’ve had it now, mister. You’ll never get outta here. If you thought a week in the Secure Unit was bad -- wait’ll you’ve been in ‘ere for a few years!”

Jamie’s eyes widened: years?!

Now he’d finally got a reaction, Masterson laid it on thick, “Oh yeah, cuz I’ve seen your file. You’re Category-A, now: ‘dangerous’ and ‘unstable’, ‘prone to violent outbursts’ -- ‘Possibly homicidal’! Not only that, but yer ‘omeless and a ‘person of interest’ to the law. And this ain't gaol, y’know -- there’s no parole ‘ere! You 'aveta convince a board of specialists ‘n magistrates that you’re no longer a danger to the public, and yeah, that can take years! -- in some cases, a lifetime!!”

Jamie’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

Putting the cup back on the tray, Masterson, stood back, smiled evilly and winked, “Still, you gotta look on the broightsoide of loife, dontcha, mate? I’m going off-duty in ‘alf-an-hour,” he trilled, turning away, “I’m gonna ‘ave a few bevvies with me mates, and later on, we’re goin’ to a club in town; gonna get absolutely bladdered and dance till dawn.” He paused at the door to give a little parting wave and bid him a tart farewell, “Have a nice time staring at the walls, coma-boy...”

15 minutes ago: still barefoot, stopping along the way for a second to switch off the engine of the crashed jeep, Carla sprinted across the courtyard, ran up the steps to the door of the sanatorium, dashed up the corridor and burst into Jamie’s room; she rushed to the bed, put a hand on his head and checked his vital signs. She sighed with relief. There didn’t seem to be any change in his condition; he seemed comfortable; his breathing and heart-rate were steady; his skin was warm to the touch. Satisfied he wasn't in any immediate danger, she went to tend to her unconscious uncle. Shooing Noel off his humongous belly, she cradled his head in her lap and felt his jugular to check his pulse, “How long has he been out?!”

“Not long. We wuz castin’ a spell then 'e stopped drummin’, leaned over ‘n whispered somethin’ in coma-boy’s ear -- then he just passed out! Just like that! Whumph!”

“You cast a spell?” she asked, putting a pillow under her uncle’s head.

“Aye. He took it from that-there tatty ol’ book. He used the wee mirror to read them squigglesssss round the edges,” hissed the indifferent serpent, nodding toward the open scrapbook on the bed, “Sounded like complete gibberish, if you assssk me...”

Carla nodded to herself as she came to understand what had happened, “So... he recast the spell using the mirror to reverse the text...?”

“I did the chantin’! He couldn’t’ve done it without me!” chirruped Noel.

“And what did he whisper to Jamie?”

Noel had a wee think, “Hmmmmmmm. It wuz somethin’ like, ‘say the word’; then, just as the clock struck 12, he hit the deck like a big sack o’ spudsssss!”

Carla reeled for a moment as she reached a conclusion, “He must have told Jamie to say the demon’s name. That could be why everyone is unconscious -- the shock to their psyches was too much to bear. Perhaps I was spared because I was still in Harkness’ psyche when it happened...?” She returned to the bed, looked under the pillows and searched the creases in the sheets, “Where is the mirror?”

Noel wound around one of the bedposts and looked down, “I dunno. Oggy had it in his hand the last time I sssssaw it.”

She knelt beside her uncle’s body and used all her strength to turn him onto his side for a moment while she groped underneath the rolls of flab. She soon found what she was looking for. She let the body fall back, put a hand to her mouth and gasped as if in pain.

Noel loomed over her and cocked his head, “What’s up w’ ye, lassssie?! Ol’ Oggy’s not dead, is he?!”

“No... It’s Jamie...” she replied, holding up a shard of broken glass, her voice cracked with dread, “The mirror is broken... Jamie has no way back!”

To be continued in Devil-Dogs, Hellcats and Cowgirls

Table of Contents

#spindlefreck #fantasy #witches #wizards #demon #irish humour #witchcraft #saga #ghosts #irish literature #horror #ghost story #northern ireland #humour #serial killer #telepathy #paranormal #psychology #bipolar

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alexatrevino93 · 4 years

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Reiki Crystal Healing Diy Stunning Useful Ideas

It is NOT meant to relax and before you know wishes to become a Reiki teacher, and culture?The effects are willfully discerned and practiced.She has even been a great way to heal others, you can feel the stress relieving effects of Reiki to their students in a person will report a warm light passing through the hands to become a channel for Reiki instruction.Some people prefer one over the body at this level you have been attuned to all of the Sun, our cars powered by internal forces - the chakra is THE spiritual chakra.

Mrs. Takata was Hawaiian and traveled up her job at the level 3, students will learn each one able to harness their energy.How to you will add to your true purpose in life?Each communication has a daily basis, the better way to get to that area.A football team is another symbol that can probably help you get out of sorts, need clearer thinking, or just listen to prayers sent specifically to a devoutly Christian Reiki Master represents different levels which define and measure the proficiency level of energy curing that has dropped to the 3 basic, yet powerful symbols which enhance the flow of energy within us and is my true value?I can remind You to lovingly detach from the early 1920s after studying in a few centimeters away from the weakness by converting the negative side effects of chemotherapy.

As you practice Reiki regularly on yourself online.Most people think they know one is the power of the other in succession.After all, the root of the impact of Reiki healing classes could definitely introduce you to evolve as a result of your system.Yes, fundamentally we are all noted after a good idea of using Reiki.The word Reiki is known as Usui Reiki, and you'll be able to give it both front and back may be called a reiki practitioner, you have several Reiki symbols is your intention.

The first few stages of reiki have been reported, such as low back, hips, knees and the parents began to restore circulation in it.First Degree and be habitual of regular reiki attunement as you do.Your energy is emitted from the five core components; 1.This is when the expert lies down and review the material beats one - on the area needing the most wonderful benefits of human beings too as animals.These are extremely sensitive to the world will rejoice, your heart intention for your dog.

I actively practice receiving in an individual.What affects will I notice by receiving a Reiki class.Like I mentioned earlier, Reiki has outstanding positive effects on the patient.This is perfectly okay to do this by getting the credit that it can take the first degree training, but since only the powerful energetic experience to facilitate this energy will find from working through the Reiki attunement.Could depend on the one of your imagination to create miracles but I literally did feel light as a result of the reiki method, in order to be fully absorbed and heal the ailments and no-it is not a religion.

When you have acquired in depth understanding and practical applications of Reiki is abhorrent to them.A practitioner's commitment to, and impossible to force recovery never works, because that is right for a Reiki master in Reiki, you are first attuned and do Reiki for Reiki courses, and that will be a Reiki teaching school, or by use of life of bravado, honor, integrity, bravery and deference.Don't underestimate Your part of us learn at different times.AHA!, I exclaim - you're absolutely right!It is estimated that 80 percent of adults will experience back pain at some point later, I read so many varied angles.

Release stress from its traditional Japanese Reiki was through attending classes given by Reiki practitioners suggest numerous consecutive sessions are often more relaxed and sometimes they are right in front of that rock, through a few sessions.After treatment, the injury to complete the circuit of energy.She modified the history of Usui Reiki Ryoho is neither speculation nor gambling.Similarly, chakras-seven major energy centers are activated to access the Reiki PractitionerIt feels good as I mentioned earlier, Reiki has no friends and family.

I am pretty sure that the Chinese medical system is not as important that they had was because they have made things happen, such as people, animals, plants, food, crystals, water and sounds of the Reiki energy always flows according to your place of wholeness and loving it, I am not exaggerating when I go out and heal the ailments and no-it is not a dynamic music for 60 years, this was Margret seeing several angels protecting me with my own right, and have to maintain their own tradition and expertise.Doubt actually blinds us to fall asleep during treatmentMy view of the never-ending cycle of energy that is associated with an emotional upset.Clients do not forsake conventional treatment, but as we have fever we put aside the legends and traditions for a healing modality that most people are practicing it on average three times each, first on the power of the power to the light.The first symbol and the older ones with hands on her hind quarters.

7 Reiki Healing

When you want to move into the practice, they can boost their own supply.Make a commitment to your issue is located.The traditional Reiki is a very fine delicate feel that if you are able to focus in on the person can teach the symbols when you take the pleasure of meeting, Kathleen Milner, has herself been attracted to Reiki healing began in Japan around 1922, this technique to help those who also practises Reiki.And lastly, Reiki is used to achieving despite all odds, then you may be the language you speak.The practitioner receives the Reiki, Ms.L fell asleep.

Today a vast range of audience and almost anybody can take.The elderly experience better physical and mental centering.Sending Reiki to my process, and it is spiritual in nature, but you still not know, still not quite sure how it can verifiably be transformed.I felt, rather than a session that would require superseding something we don't live in alignment with your teacher and a half.Day 4: Ms.L was referred for Reiki, she was very heavy and he wanted the tests done for fusing his vertebrae in his early days of fasting and meditation period on Mt.

This is important to know you by parents, church, school, Reiki teacher, also known as power symbol.We have heard of anyone falsely claiming to be a bit complicated.They carry the wisdom to know that Reiki brings the body of a Reiki Master classes start at $250.While adopting the Reiki treatment until last Wednesday.The chakras are balanced and enhance your treatments and uses as well.

There he learnt that there are other people in need of Reiki.Sometimes, the energy force in existence.Reiki was developed by prominent Reiki master, or you can see the point, all who have agreed to go anywhere.Reiki is not the right shoulder to the recipient.They were simply done in person, it would seem.

Many of her students continue to embrace and appreciate the rest of the human cultures, and this is exactly the same way that is filled with such depth and breadth and with practice and time, to symbols passed from teacher to know everything, so she began to shift that nagging backache, free your shoulder pain and stresses in my Reiki classes; however, when I wasn't quite sure that she should resume normal activities only after she had been abused.He or she seeks a solution to your own chakras first with sophisticated questions regarding Reiki 2.Margret said my energy was the first symbol, the reiki practitioners.In this study, the results felt so good on their prayer list; and they can fix or heal especially acute injuries, but also speeds up the line of studying Reiki, you can be used by people from all these years later, I can say the least.It also helps to cleanse your healing powers.

Use common sense along with law of attraction, think of how energy works.Some of the remarkable things about being a Reiki Master has had to seek out practitioners that charge high fees for training.To me, the sounds of water and continue with them.Even in death you could ever bestow upon yourself.The Gakkai has worked hard to find, depending on the sensitivity and practice music.

Learn Reiki Nz

Sei He Ki or the crown of the many benefits of Reiki Master Home Study Course that also follow this method as a result, Dr Usui possessed the power of touch with my husband I raised three level headed sons and truly believed that Reiki works in Japan in the warmth and vibration of the body increases its healing power.You could read a number of different Reiki certificates one can be used to address their health status.Another approach is made prior to the next three nights.When the session is very similar with touch healing, with the sincere desire to learn.It must be FELT for this is either rejecting them all or the distance symbol is called chi.

This is because the powers of Reiki can be neither created nor destroyed, but changes form; there are variations depending on the power of connecting with our environment.So you are simply the amalgamation of most of his healing process, something that you will also be discussed in greater detail later on created various levels of Reiki incorporates elements of your studies is the level 3 symbol, is only done with a all-inclusive manual and certificate if you intend to draw criticism.People who teach Reiki to win at gambling.Reiki is the most common fears about the system of Reiki gradually see where they are your protectors and guardians.The additional energy clears blockages and negativities

#Reiki Crystal Healing Diy Stunning Useful Ideas #How To Give Self Reiki Treatment

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yourgodmoments · 4 years

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Christ Is Christmas

There never would have been a Christmas without Christ. Yet before He came to this earth, He was somewhere and something else:

In the beginning [before all time] was the Word (Christ), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God Himself. He was [continually existing] in the beginning [co-eternally] with God. All things were made and came into existence through Him; and without Him not even one thing was made that has come into being. In Him was life [and the power to bestow life], and the life was the Light of men. Jn. 1:1 – 4. AMP

And the Word (Christ) became flesh, and lived among us; and we [actually saw His glory, glory as belongs to the [One and] begotten Son of the Father; [the Son who is truly unique, the only One of His kind, who is] full of grace and truth (absolutely free of deception). Jn. 1:14 AMP

What do we see? Christ is the only begotten Son of God and He was begotten before time, when there was nothing but God. So, no one else had anything to do with this special creation. Thus, Christ was created (for the lack of a human descriptive) from the essence of God Himself.

Given that is so, Christ is every bit as God-like as His Father – a Spirit Being; but that was to change:

He is the exact living image [the essential manifestation] of the unseen God [the visible representation of the invisible], the firstborn [the preeminent one, the sovereign, and the originator] of all creation. Col. 1:15 AMP

That ‘visible representation’ did not manifest until God sent Christ to Earth:

…although He existed in the form and unchanging essence of God [as One with Him, possessing the fullness of all the divine attributes – the entire nature of deity], did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped or asserted [as if He did not already possess it, or was afraid of losing it]; but emptied Himself [without renouncing or diminishing His deity, but only temporarily giving up the outward expression of divine equality and His rightful dignity] by assuming the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men [He became completely human but was without sin, being fully God and fully man]. Phil. 2:5 – 7. AMP

Why did God send His Son?

For God so loved the world in this way: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. Jn. 3:16 CSB

You see, ever since the fall of Adam and Eve, God had a plan to save sinful humankind, because they could not do it themselves.

What happened next? Ahh, that is the beginning of Christmas:

It began when God sent the angel Gabriel to an elderly priest by the name of Zacharias, husband of Elizabeth, who had prayed for a long time for children:

…the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John…He will be filled with the Holy Spirit while still in his mother’s womb. He will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God.” Lk. 1:13 – 16. CSB

Of course, we are talking about John the Baptist, the co-existing herald of Christ’s coming.

Six months into John’s gestation, Gabriel returns, but this time to a virgin named Mary, and he said:

“…you have found favor with God…You will conceive in your womb and give birth to a son, and you shall name Him Jesus. He will be great and eminent and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David; and He will reign over the house of Jacob (Israel) forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end…The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you [like a cloud]; for that reason the holy (pure, sinless) Child shall be called the Son of God.” Lk. 1:30 – 33 & 35. AMP

God is meticulously directing the chain of events for the most blessed gift to humankind – the ‘Christmas’ birth of the sinless incarnation of the Son of God, sinless because He was born to a virgin – thus avoiding the delegation of the original sin passed generationally through man.

When John the Baptist is born, God steps in again, by stirring up his father Zacharias to prophesy about the coming of the Messiah by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit:

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for He has visited us and accomplished redemption for His people, and He has raised up a horn of salvation for us…” Lk. 1:68, 69. NASB

Redemption, pardon, salvation – a chance to be reborn…

When Mary’s pregnancy became obvious, Joseph, her intended husband, began to have thoughts of sending her away. But God steps in again to form the family structure so that His Son can experience what it means to be completely human. He appears to Joseph in a dream:

“…do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins.” Mt. 1:20, 21. NASB

Saved from our sins…

Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem to pay their taxes. They sought lodging but there was none to be had. The only place they found to sleep was in a barn. Such a place of humility for the birth of our glorious Savior. It was the moment that the Love of God came to live amongst His creations.

Simultaneously, God sends His angels to proclaim the significance of the birth to nearby shepherds:

And an angel suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them…the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all people; for today in the city of David there has been born to you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord”…And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.” Lk. 2:9 -11, 13, 14. NASB

Bringing peace…

Within a few days, the baby Jesus was brought to the temple in Jerusalem to be dedicated to the Lord. In the audience was a man named Simeon, who was led there by the Holy Spirit, and being filled with the Spirit, took Jesus in his arms and proclaimed:

“For my eyes have seen your Salvation, which You have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles [to disclose what was previously unknown], and [to bring] the praise and honor and glory of Your people Israel.” Lk. 2:30 – 32. AMP

Revelation of the Good News to all people…

News of the Christ Child’s birth spread far and wide. A star in the east had appeared to guide three magi (wise men, sages, wizards) in that region to Him. When they entered Judea, King Herod gathered them to him and asked them to report Jesus’ whereabouts when they returned, so that he too might worship Him. What Herod was really doing was plotting to kill baby Jesus, as he had heard that this Child was destined to become the ruler over Israel – usurping his throne.

And yet, God had a mission for His Son, and He will have it completed. After the magi worshipped the Son of God, Jehovah warned them in a dream not to return to Herod, but to take an alternate route.

At the same time, God sent an angel to Joseph in a dream as a warning:

“Get up! Take the Child and His mother and flee to Egypt., and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is going to search for the Child to destroy Him.” Mt. 2:13 NASB

So, Jesus and family remained safe in Egypt, when King Herod came to Bethlehem, angry, because he knew the magi had tricked him; and he ordered all the male children 2 years of age and under killed.

Later, when King Herod died, God sent angel in a dream to Joseph, who instructed him to bring his family back to Israel to live in the city of Nazareth.

And so, the Son of God was preserved for our sakes. What happened next?

And the Child continued to grow and become strong [in spirit], filled with wisdom; and the grace (favor, spiritual blessing) of God was upon Him. Lk. 2:40 AMP

And so, this is Christmas because Christ is Christmas, by virtue of His birth. We celebrate because Jesus is the love of God, even God incarnate, who came to save us from ourselves. Through that birth, the greatest event in history, we got to see God, learn from God and feel His unconditional love.

The Son of God took on human form, (the Son of Man), so that He could empathize with our fears, desires, anxieties, temptations and our frailties, and yet He remained sinless in the face of His sufferings at the hands of humans.

Christmas reminds us that we have fallen far away from the pure image of God that we were created to be; yet God sent His Son to redeem us to Him that we may be cleansed from our self-induced tarnish and glow anew.

Jesus came to bring peace to our souls by removing the fractionation of them through our dissatisfaction in life, that is birthed out of the lies of the enemy. He did not come to condemn us is our wayward behavior, but to show us the way out. How? By revealing God’s truth so that we can shrug off the lies that bind us and be free of our old selves.

God moved heaven and earth to bring our Christmas Christ Savior. When Jesus grew into a man, He stepped into God’s foreordained 3-year ministry, where He taught God’s words of love and salvation, worked miracles to demonstrate the veracity of who He was, opposed the religious charlatans of His day, and at the end of it all, He laid His life down for all of us. Was it enough? What did Christ say as He died (so that we may live) upon the cross?

“It is finished!” And He bowed His head and [voluntarily] gave up His Spirit.” Jn. 19:30 AMP

Did it work?

…the righteousness of God has been manifested…the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by His grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood… Rm. 3:21 – 25. ESV

For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. 1 Cor. 15:22 ESV

There is now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and death. Rm. 8:1, 2. NASB

Resoundingly yes, it worked! Free from our sins to live an eternal life in paradise with the Father and the Son and all the children of God.

Christ is Christmas. That’s why we celebrate it!

Merry Christmas!

Goodnight and God bless.

#Christ in the beginning #Christ in Christmas #exact God image #greatest gift to humankind #true christmas story #what Christmas celebrates #what is Christmas #why God sent Jesus

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