the Inkheart books ask the important questions: what if you could talk to your favorite blorbo? What if your blorbo thought you suck? What if your blorbo would like to see you dead?
The difference between Inkheart and Inkdeath are literally insane.
The bad guy in Inkheart is like… a local mafia boss and his handful of cronies. Oh no, he put us in the animal stables and people talk about that he enjoys killing but we don’t ever see it and the worst thing he does is giving Mo a cut on the face and putting people in cages I guess.
The bad guys in Inkdeath, however, are the ruler of the land but also Death herself and we desperately fight against destiny. Every other chapter there’s a fight and people get brutally killed. We are about to scatter Mos fucking kneecaps. Mind torture while experiencing actual torture in the underwater dungeon. Everything is out to kill you but with everything going on death is kinda the least of our worries??
In the desolate corridors of solitude, I find myself yearning for the embrace of home. It is a longing that permeates every fiber of my being, an ache that reverberates through the caverns of my soul. For home, I have discovered, is not a place, but a person—a singular soul who embodies the essence of sanctuary.
But now, in the absence of that cherished connection, I am left adrift, yearning for the warmth of their touch and the gentle melody of their laughter. The vast expanse of solitude engulfs me, its icy tendrils tugging at my heartstrings, whispering reminders of what I have lost.
Each passing day seems to carve deeper grooves of homesickness within me. The familiar routines, once shared, now echo in the hollow chambers of my memory. The quiet moments we cherished, the shared dreams we nurtured—they linger like fading embers, casting a soft glow amidst the shadows of my longing.
In the solitary hours, I seek solace in the fragments of our shared experiences—the whispered conversations, the shared meals, the tender embraces. They serve as fragile lifelines, tethering me to a sense of belonging that now feels distant, yet remains etched within the core of my being.
Oh, how I yearn to return to that sacred space of shared dreams, where the symphony of our intertwined souls resonated with perfect harmony. The world, once vibrant and alive, now appears muted and incomplete without the presence of that one person who embodied the very essence of home.
Listen. Let me cook. Basta could have Middle Eastern ancestry due to prominent numbers of muslim settlers in southern territory of Italy from the 8th to 13th century. Inkworld is more or less our world but stuck in some weird timeframe of the late Middle Ages/ entering early Renaissance mix up (possibly inspired by the illustrations in the silver book, which is a fairytale) which is when Arabs began making their presence known in Sicily and later elsewhere. Basta's parents could have assimilated or otherwise.
Fair hair and eyes are seemingly the standard in Inkworld (e.g: cosimo, the Piper, Brianna, Capricorn etcBattista's remark about their heroes, and Mo being such a big name despite his outlandishly 'dark as moleskin' hair) Being multiracial or at least different ethnicity is uncommon but not unheard of in Inkworld. Basta's the only one from Inkworld, along with the Prince, to have been tan/or dark-skinned and dark-haired enough to warrant a mention (even though that single tibit of a sentence confirming that was more of an emphasis on Basta's state in the cage). Huge shout-out to that one line in Inkheart where Basta gets so close to Meggie's face she sees her own reflection in his eyes that incited all of this.
“Stories never really end...even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don't end on the last page, any more than they begin on the first page.”
― Cornelia Funke, Inkspell.
Stories never really end…even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don't end on the last page, any more than they begin on the first page.