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the-unseelie-court-official · 1 year

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The Mask of the Red Death

By Edgar Allan Poe

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The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had been ever so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avator and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleedings at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest-ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease were the incidents of half an hour.

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless, and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair from without or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballêt-dancers, there were musicians, there were cards, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.”

It was towards the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence. It was a voluptuous scene that masquerade.

But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven — an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke’s love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue — and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and litten with orange — the fifth with white — the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But, in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet — a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that projected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when its minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came forth from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians in the orchestra were constrained to pause, momently, in their performance, to harken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and that the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.

But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.

He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fête, and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the costumes of the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm — much of what has been since seen in “Hernani.” There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these, the dreams — writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, momently, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away — they have endured but an instant — and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length was sounded the twelfth hour upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, again, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive at first of disapprobation and surprise — then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince’s indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be properly made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood — and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of the Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its rôle, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment, with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

“Who dares?” he demanded hoarsely of the group that stood around him, “who dares thus to make mockery of our woes? Uncase the varlet that we may know whom we have to hang to-morrow at sunrise from the battlements. Will no one stir at my bidding? — stop him and strip him, I say, of those reddened vestures of sacrilege!”

It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly — for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince’s person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple — through the purple to the green — through the green to the orange, — through this again to the white — and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers — while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly round and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry — and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

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silverozy · 2 days

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ATP; 02 | Ying Yang

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date: 27/04/2024

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Dogs barked. Whether it was Loki, Luke or some other dog was unknown to Daphne. Stones crunched underneath her shoes as she closed the gate behind herself.

She was heading to Cleo's place, a few steps away from her house, on the left side of the neighbourhood. As she proceeded on the road, the place gradually got more silent enhancing the crunching sound of stones. Birds tweeted, wind chimes rang and the breeze softly blew between her hair strokes, underneath her wide shirt, against her skin.

Everything was so perfect. Did nature plan it? Plan that this day, the exact day she'd move here, the weather was going to be this beautiful, the people were going to be this nice and everything was going to be this fucking perfect?

The ambience was a blessing in all ways possible. Not to talk about how she felt like strolling on the road in the countryside with the privilege of silence. From when she stepped foot here, her smile has never vanished. It was always there and would only increase or decrease but never disappear. It seemed like it wouldn't leave even if she'd go to bed.

As far as Daphne was involved, the house in front of her was the second biggest if not the biggest house in the neighbourhood. The area was dead silent as if the house wasn't in the same neighbourhood as hers.

The two-story edifice was set in the centre of a wide green land. The frontage was split in two by the front door; on either side were wide arched windows. The top floor had a wide arched window only in the centre while on either side were casement windows. All were as brown as the roof contrasting with the white exterior walls.

A wide green space between the gate and the house was traced in the middle by a stone path. The left and the right were gardens—the latter was more flourished than the other.

Since Cleo only had cats, no dogs were running up to the gate like Loki and Luke do so there was nothing that interrupted the silence as Daphne rang the bell. She slipped her hands into her pockets, squeezing her shoulders in not because of the cold but because of the usual shyness that overwhelms her whenever she's somewhere she doesn't know.

As she turned right to glimpse around, the breeze blew a bit stronger, moving the hair off her face, messing her shirt a bit more, and shaking the swing hanging by the tall tree in Cleo's compound. Her attention was soon carried back to the house from where Cleo came out, hurrying to the gate.

"Hey!" she cheerfully spoke. Daphne shily waved back before she went in. No more stone crunching sounds as she walked on the wide flat stones that paved the way to the front door.

Leaving the shoes by the door, they went in and closed the door behind them. The interior was very bright, lit by the tall windows. The walls were the same as the exterior ones. The pavement was light brown. Just like Daphne's home, the bottom floor was a singular wide space where the kitchen, dining room and living room coexisted. The kitchen was on the left—the light colours of the furnishing made it shine brighter; in between the latter and the dining room was the living room composed of three detached sofas enclosing the fireplace upon which the TV was hanging.

As Daphne went down the two steps at the entrance, a cat immediately came into her view—a brown cat with big dark eyes and a delicate walk. It stood next to the sofa staring at her intently. "Her name's Lily. She's an adorable little kitten. Don't mind her inquisitive eyes that make her seem suspicious of everything. In no time she'll be making biscuits on your lap," Daphne smiled listening while looking at the little animal. As the girls proceeded into the living room, the cat moved backwards a little only to rush over to Cleo once she called and now, with Lily between her arms, Cleo directed her friend upstairs.

The top floor was another wide space shared into two—between a long hallway ending with the wide arched window from before. In front of the stairs, taking a pretty wide space was a little living room that accommodated a swing chair, an armchair, a short bookshelf and, against the left, the cats' little beds. One of them was occupied by a little Siamese sleeping cat. This one was a little bigger than Lily but still a baby.

"That's Cinnamon, a sleepy head. I don't think you'll get to see her awake today. She usually sleeps during the day and stays awake at night. Don't ask 'cause I don't know why either," Cleo whisper-yelled before proceeding. The last door on the right was to her bedroom.

It was a not-so-big room which, just like the rest of the house, was bright. Walls covered in vintage floral wallpaper, floor in laminated wood. On the right was a French bed covered in white pillows, bedsheets and a white blanket. Opposite the bed was a little nook on the left that welcomed a square window and a bench covered in little pillows. On them was the third cat peacefully sleeping.

"Oh come on," Cleo silently exclaimed. Dropping Lily on the bed, she hastily approached the other cat. Daphne's smile wouldn't go away. All these little beings were filling her up with serotonin. Gently carrying the cat in her arms, Cleo excused herself for a moment and invited Daphne to make herself comfortable in the meantime.

Eyeing the little cat, Daphne sat on the bed who, like before, was keeping a distance and its big eyes on her. Daphne tried greeting it, waving and smiling but didn't force it too much besides, she was a dog person and she wasn't sure about how she should deal with the situation.

"Okay, sleepy cat's been put to her bed so now we can have all the fun," Cleo's enthusiastic voice was back to its normal volume. She shut the door and scurried over to her bed, jumping on it precisely, causing Lily to hiss at her for almost jumping on her.

"Hey! How dare you hiss at me? You little adorable fur ball," Cleo squeezed the cat's cheeks before kissing it. Daphne softly laughed. "Cats are adorable," she confessed, "I know right? I love kittens specifically. I know they're so difficult to keep because they're delicate and sensitive to temperature, but they're adorable... like all the work pays off. I'm surely going to be that one old lady who lives alone with twelve cats," Daphne laughed again.

"Yeah, I agree but I just can't explain why I prefer dogs. We don't have any in the city because of space but here we do and I feel like I'm going to adopt another one. When it comes to this, more certainly doesn't hurt," Cleo eagerly nodded in agreement.

On the right of the bed, below the casement window, was Cleo's desk, a glass surface that welcomed a laptop, a cup of pencils, books in a corner and a flower pot in another. Below this surface was a minor one. In front of the desk was a simple chair. Hanging by the windows were short soft curtains that moved with the waft that blew through the ajar window.

The little slots on either side of the desk were occupied, one by a slim and tall bookshelf and the other by two storage boxes, the smaller one on the bigger one. On each side of the bed was a bedside table, one covered in personal objects, the other by a single lamp. Crowning the end of the bed was a circular rug. At the foot of the bed was a bench with sandals, slippers and a backpack underneath. Other than with white pillows, the bed was decorated with handmade plushies. "Ooh, nice! Are these the kind of toys you crochet?" Daphne asked studying one up close. Cleo agreed as she lowered the kitten and leapt off the bed.

"Here are the rest I told you about. I have about a ton of them. Crocheting is therapeutic, trust me. You should try it," dropping the small storage box on her desk, she carried the bigger one and sat on the bench in front of the window. Daphne followed right after. "I don't know. Reading is better for me," Cleo shook her head in disapproval, "Reading simply feeds into your fantasies, it gives a sensation of almost absent-mindedness that keeps you away from earth when the sole end of therapy is having people be mentally brought back to earth so, no, reading is not really it."

Daphne puffed in surprise, certainly not ready for such an analysis but the following moment, she was hailing and congratulating Cleo for her handwork.

"You like this one? It's a little cow. I made it while— Ouch! Lily!" by her feet, Lily was struggling to get on the bench next to her owner so she mistakenly scratched her. The latter immediately dropped the toys and caught the kitten, cuddling her up in her arms. "As I was saying, I made it while lying down in the grass. Did you know that not so far away from here is a vast field of tall green grass? With a nice blanket, on a sunny day, you'd have the best time of your life, the best read of your life"—she gasped—"Let's go there today. The weather is so nice. I have two-thirds of my cats asleep so we can't play with them but we surely can take a walk around the neighbourhood. Ooh, yes! Let's do it! We could go with your dogs too," she offered the idea and she agreed to it, all by herself. Daphne couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah, let's do it," she said, trying to ignore the fact that she'd just arrived.

"Ooh, while we're at it, let me just change my shirt. Have you ever had that feeling of when you rediscover an old shirt that went missing or that you never thought you had?" Daphne nodded, "The same happened to me but this morning. Look! I found these two shirts, two shirts goddamn, and they're so cute. How the fuck did I just find them eludes me because if I saw this in a clothes store I'd do anything to have it but, anyway, which one do you prefer?" one was a strapless top, the other was a longer one similar to a white summer dress. "The second one,"

"I know right? I like love, love the wind so this dress-like shirt will have me hopping on the hills like little Heidi. Do you know Heidi?" another nod from the other side, "An adorable cartoon. I think I identify myself with her a bit, you know? Living in the mountains, playing with farm animals, loving nature? You know what I'm saying. Do I give off those vibes though?"

"Yes, you do. You completely match your appearance, maybe you're even bubblier," a little dramatic gasp came from Cleo as she checked herself in the mirror, "I'm going to need a pair of shorts for this one— so wait, I give off bubbly?"—nod—"Interesting. I get called crazy and childish most of the time,"

"W-what? Why?" Cleo shrugged her shoulders. She too didn't know the motive. "Trust me, Cleo, they simply don't match your vibe and they wanted to make you feel bad about it, okay? You're just a very energetic person and instead of saying that, they called you crazy which is, in all honesty, a very different and dramatic thing to label it with. We're not meant to get along with everyone and it's fine, perfectly normal. Don't let them bother you and besides... I'm here,"

Cleo's face gradually morphed into a broader smile, "Ooh, girl, you are so good with words. I told my brother about this before but he explained it in such a psychological manner that he left me with more questions and no answers," the two laughed before they finally placed the toys back in the box but Cleo didn't forget to give Daphne at least three toys and even promised to give her more.

As clarified before, while Daphne waited for Cleo to place her things back in order, Lily walked back and forth between Daphne's ankles rubbing her fur against the girl's skin only to then look up. When finally Daphne's attention was on her, she sat by her feet and started meowing.

Daphne could've sworn her chest was about to burst and scatter into millions of flowers then and there. She crouched and took the kitten in her arms facing no resistance. "Ooh, you see? She already loves you. Tries to play hard to get so bad but needs attention more than food. Am I wrong Lily?" the cat simply meowed in reply. Cleo was back-facing them as she braided her hair in the mirror. With two little while bows at the end of each and a little bag of personal objects in her hand, she was ready to go. "Let's go. I'll grab a few things we can eat".

As they went downstairs, Daphne asked about Cleo's brother and father—the house was too silent for them to be around. Cleo replied that the dad was in his shop and the brother was studying in the garden. Exactly, once they'd put their shoes on, sitting in the garden, glasses on and deep into his book, was Cole. He was so focused he didn't even hear them until Cleo yelled at him that they were heading out. By his quick nod, the girls both knew he was not to be disturbed any further.

As all of this unfolded, Lily peacefully rested between Daphne's arms.

✿..｡

"Hey, girls. How are you doing?" Granny was dressed in tall farm boots with long gloves covering her up to her forearms, flowers in her hands and a summer hat on. The girls cheerfully replied, specifying that they were there to take the two dogs for a walk and that they'd be back before dinner.

"Do you mind if we take the bike? The roads are accessible right?" Cleo eagerly nodded before Daphne excused herself, giving her back the kitten. Rushing inside and hastily taking her shoes off, she ran upstairs to prepare a little bag of personal necessities. A blanket as Cleo had said before, sunscreen, handkerchiefs, a little water bottle, lip balm, a few hair pins and a book obviously.

Once downstairs, she too grabbed a few snacks before heading out again. By the garage, parked against the wall, were the bicycles. "Let's take these 'cause they have baskets."

And that was how a few minutes later, with Cleo leading the way, the dogs running by their side and Lily in her owner's basket, the girls were on their way to the vast green field.

They rode out of the compound and out of the neighbourhood past Cleo's house. The tyres rolling on the stone pavement were enough to break Cole's attention span as he waved at them. They waved back. The dogs barked too.

As Daphne had noticed earlier, the further they get into the neighbourhood on Cleo's side, the more it gets silent and gradually, crunching stones and their chatter were the only background sounds. The wind was as crazy as they were as they sped through, laughing and shouting in happiness whenever they rode fast down a hill. Loki and Luke were happy too.

Hair to the wind, shirts expanding backwards, legs clenching the more they sped up but fingers ready to press on the brakes.

✿..｡

"Guess where we get our milk from?" Cleo asked. They were now riding slowly on a wider road that allowed them to be side by side. Loki and Luke tried to keep up without getting distracted by nature. "I don't know. You probably buy enough at the town centre like once a week or something,"

"Yeah, kinda... but not exactly. And besides, we like our stuff fresh," Lily was fast asleep, cuddled up in the basket. "Well, that means— Oh! On my way here today, I saw a huge farmhouse by the road," as Daphne came to the right conclusion, Cleo nodded and proceeded to talk about how she's a friend with a little lamb that's always excited to see her whenever she goes buy milk.

"Heidi indeed, huh?" Cleo laughed, "I know right? I really like farm animals too, like cows, goats and, most especially horses," Daphne's nods meant she firmly agreed with her friend "I'd love to learn to go horseriding. Wanted to do that this summer but the news of your arrival changed my plans." Daphne smiled. Her arrival was so anticipated that Cleo had to postpone learning how to go horseriding and, by the way she sounded, Daphne could tell she really wanted to do that knowing her love for farm animals.

"Since I'm here to stay we could try it together next summer, yeah?"

"Yeah." The two girls had smiles across their faces as they proceeded along the curvy road. They were now riding along a road that slid through a forest. The sun's rays penetrated through the leaves as the breeze made itself a bit colder due to the shade. They took various turns in pure silence. A comfortable silence that was just perfect for the atmosphere. Daphne checked on her dogs, turning her head to find them right behind her before facing forward and closing her eyes for a brief moment. She took a deep breath in. Her omnipresent smile widened.

Cleo watched her with a grin, "You can't find an environment as nice as this in the city. Am I wrong?"

"No," Daphne replied, coming back to Earth. "We're here," Cleo notified, nodding her head forward where the forest finished, showing an expanse of just green grass. Daphne tried holding herself back from verbally showing her amazement. "Damn, this place is heavenly,"

"I know right? I call it the Garden of Eden".

A bit of pedalling later and they were hopping down their bicycles and into the field. The grass was indeed tall, tall till mid-thigh.

"There are no snakes here, right?"

"No, silly. We aren't in a field of corn," Cleo couldn't help but laugh while Daphne simply rolled her eyes, "I was just being cautious".

They dropped their bikes aside and started setting their spot up: Daphne took the blanket out of her bag and with the help of Cleo, after struggling a bit because of the wind, they laid it out and pinned it down with their bags and shoes at the corners.

"I've been missing out on so much truly," Cleo simply chuckled as she took her crocheting kit out. "This is the place the greatest artists of all time come up with the most show-stopping ideas ever," Daphne tilted her head, looking for truth in Cleo's eyes, "Oh, you know I wasn't serious. It was just a hyperbole,"

"Don't be angered. I looked at you because a part of me believed it. I mean, who wouldn't? This place would bestow peace upon anything and anyone,"

"Oh, my god. Do you like... read the bible too? But like the 17th century version?" Daphne laughed out loud. "What? Just because of the verb 'bestow'? Never heard of it out of a Christian context?"

"No— Like— I mean— I just never heard of anyone using it in a conversation as casual as this one. I don't know. To me, it sounds like using things like 'thee', 'thou' and adding 'eth' at the end of every verb," she replied laughing but not as hard as Daphne who was laying flat on the blanket clutching her tummy. "You can't be serious,"

"For once that I am, you think I'm not," meanwhile, Daphne kept laughing. "Like how often do you read a book?"

"Whenever my teacher assigns it," it was Daphne's turn to gasp and feign fainting and having convulsions dramatically. "Oh, no! Daphne, please don't die on me! I shall read more often so thou shall not die for life offereth pulchritudinous things one would never liveth in death for in death lays no life!" now Daphne's body visibly shook but because of how hard she laughed. It was the kind of laugh that's silent, a tummy killer. She believed she was going to get six packs after this.

Cleo soon joined her, laughing both because of her dramatic words and because of Daphne's state.

"Oh, my god!" Daphne tried stopping and taking a deep breath but just couldn't. The more she looked at Cleo, the worse it'd get. "Sorry I'm not a bookworm,"

Daphne coughed a bit and regained herself only to correct her, "I wouldn't say 'bookworm'. That word is too vile to describe such a peace-inducing activity,"

"Oh, please. Peace-inducing? You find peace in constantly having your brain work?"

"I'd rather say 'bibliophile'. See? Such a nice and sweet-sounding word. Besides, there's not one moment your brain doesn't work... other than in death... where lays no life," Daphne laughed again as Cleo playfully hit her.

"No, but really, I just can't read that much and I envy you for that... just as much as I envy my brother. You saw him today, sat in the garden, deep in his book? Yeah, now picture me in the same state. Yeah, no. You could never because it's rather you don't have the resources enough to form such sort of imagination or it's so bizarre, it scares you," Cleo's words were too hilarious for Daphne who watched her in disbelief, "Reading is that much of a hassle?"

"Hassle? 'Hassle' is an understatement. A very nice word to sugarcoat and chocolate-coat the matter. I hate reading... just as I hate studying and school in general but— guess who's the top in PE class?" Cleo proudly winked at Daphne whose tummy was hurting again already. "Oh, my god, Cleo. You're out of this world," and the respondent proudly nodded in agreement.

"But hey, I can crochet and that's the calmest activity I can do. The only activity that can keep me still," and as she said that, she brought her kit forward. "I'm going to crochet mini Luke and Loki. Small enough to be keychains. How adorable right?"

"And I'll immerse myself into this wonderful book that makes me fall into a calming and therapeutic atmosphere as I escape this mere world to a fantastical one," she laughed seeing the dislike on Cleo's face. An expression that quickly went away, "Fantastical? You read fantasy?"

"I read anything that's written."

"Oh. I thought you'd read philosophical or psychological shit like my brother does". She was ready to start crocheting but before anything, she had to give Lily a few scratches on the head because she couldn't overlook the cuteness. "I do sometimes but my top genres are romance and thriller,"

"Ooh, I love thrillers... but like in the movies," they both chuckled.

Spring, 2005

"Wow! Look at that butterfly!" Cleo shouted before her little legs immediately took off in its direction.

"Cleo! Running after butterflies is what animals do because they don't know they can't catch it!" Cleo stopped in her tracks and angrily placed her hands on her waist, "And what makes you think that I can't catch it?"

"I just know that. Everybody knows that," Daphne asserted. Cleo ignored her and, with a frowny face, she turned around and went back to her butterfly-chasing attempt.

"You know what we can do? Collect flowers. Granny has a lot of pretty flowers at home. Flowers are very pretty and they don't fly away,"

"I know that flowers are very pretty but when I take them they die so soon," frowny face and whiny voice, "Not if you take care of them. Come let me show you. Granny taught me how," and immediately the frown disappeared as Cleo rushed over to Daphne who was crouched next a daisy.

"This is a daisy. Granny said that if you want to collect flowers, you should take them from the roots so you can plant them at home," Cleo awed in curiosity. "Nice but let's do it with a prettier flower,"

"All flowers are pretty!" Daphne shouted, offended by her friend's statement. Cleo frowned once more before she didn't mean to, "I said 'prettier'. I never said it was ugly," Daphne shrugged her shoulders before standing up, "Okay, then. Let's look for another flower".

And they went different ways, looking for pretty flowers in the field until Cleo stumbled upon a little creature that caught her curiosity. "Oh. Look at you," Daphne saw Cleo being so focused so she went closer to inspect, "Did you find a pretty flower?"

"No, I found this," and Daphne screamed before running the opposite way. Immediately the parents rushed out of their homes in shock. "What happened Daphne?"

"A bee! Cleo has a bee on her finger!" she exclaimed stretching upward so her dad could carry her. The dad did and calmed her down saying that it was just a little bee. On the other hand, Cleo was observing, admiring in fact, the little fly and was soon joined by Daphne's sister, Dyanne. "Yeah, it's just a bee. It's adorable—"

"No, it's not!" Daphne shouted at the two, startling her father who reminded her to calm down and took her inside.

⤎ previous page | ❃ | next page ⤏

#bts fanfic #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #taehyung x oc

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

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Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 9 - Powder

Snippet:

Vi kneels, perfectly balanced, elbow braced on one thigh. She aligns her eye to the scope, and sights along the cityscape. It takes a moment to zoom in on the skyscraper's top floor. Its triangular peak is distinctive. The eye-popping green. Vi flicks the switch to magnify the lens. For a moment her vision is studded in pixelated dots. Then the images sharpen. The headquarters' top floor is an atrium, she realizes. More than that. A penthouse suite. She can see the intricate scrollwork of stone masonry. She can see tall casement windows covered in heavy swagged billows. She can see the elegant curling banister of a balcony.

Vi's pulse skips.

Was the blackguard telling the truth? Is Powder there? In the highest tower?

She flicks the magnification switch again. Her view enlarges. The balcony has a smooth-tiled patio set into it. Fancy. The kind of thing she'd see in a Councilor’s digs. There is an oblong-shaped pool, its underwater lights casting a dreamy undulation of blues. The water looks so pure. A glittering temptation in the nighttime boil.

Vi sees someone there.

A girl.

Vi's pulse doesn't skip. It stutters wildly. Her breath rasps through her nostrils.

In her ear, Caitlyn's voice crackles: "Vi—what's happening?"

Vi can't answer.

Powder is there.

X-posted to both FFnet and AO3

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlists, Fanarts & Meta

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #arcane fanfic #arcane vi #arcane shitpost #arcane caitlyn #arcane jinx #arcane sevika #fanfic #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #silco #jinx #vi #sevika #caitlyn #vi x caitlyn #caitvi

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manwalksintobar · 3 months

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The West Window // W.S. Merwin

When the cracked plaster and patchwork of thin bricks and dry boards that were partitions out of lives not long gone had fallen and the room emerged empty and one I was seeing something that had been there in the house through births ages deaths but that no one had set eyes on a whole that the parts all the time had been part of then the wordless light fingered the rubble on the floor as though it had come upon it there formerly and the windows went on with their lives as though they were separate and outside where each had a sky of its own to the south the wrecked doorway toward the slope and village to the north the opening onto fields and valley but it was the west window that the moment seemed to be coming from the day moving in silence through the tall casements the ivy watching from the hewn edges that framed the rough stone stairs winding under the rock face below the lane and garden wall and the pigeons on a gabled roof how completely it all knew itself even to the dust at my feet and the dark holes gaping in the floor the colored pieces of plaster it had been there once and it would be there in its time as it appeared to me in the light from that window

#poetry #W.S. Merwin #American poetry #loss #west #windows #longing #nostalgia #passage of time #ageing #pigeons #beauty #poems of praise

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center-for-catboy-control · 1 year

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THE MASK OF THE RED DEATH

Edgar Allan Poe

Hey

Hey what the fuck?

#center for catboy control

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tynatunis · 2 years

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@pierreyovanovitch #Repost @samedford A cozy, shimmering sitting room at Lasata, designed by Pierre Yovanovitch for TV and film producer David Zander. Some houses have nine lives, and Lasata is definitely one of them. Sitting a few blocks from the ocean in East Hampton, the estate was designed in 1917 by Arthur C. Jackson for George Wellington Schurman, a Manhattan lawyer and amateur gardener. Its best-known resident, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, spent childhood summers here, riding her ponies in the back yard when her grandfather, John Vernou Bouvier Jr, owned it. Restored a decade ago by Reed and Delphine Krakoff, Lasata (now on owner number eight) has been reimagined by @pierre.yovanovitch, a proponent of interiors not so much constructed as sculpted from materials with a noble history. A former fashion executive at Pierre Cardin, he’s cultivated a style that shares nothing with the space-age razzle dazzle of his one-time boss; equal parts organic modernism and alpine rusticity, it’s a combination that must have been deeply sublimated during his days in Cardin’s menswear department. The more Yovanovitch studied Lasata‘s elongated proportions, picturesque fireplaces and tall casement windows, the more he gravitated to the challenge of unpacking its history. In the sitting room, Fleming Lassen seating surrounds a Jean Prouvé low table, with Noguchi Akari lighting and a painting by Christodoulos Panayiotou. Photos by @stephenkentjohnson from our story in October @wsjmag #lasata #pierreyovanovitch #jeanprouve #flemminglassen #isamunoguchi #akari #christodoulospanayiotou https://www.instagram.com/p/CjJPVcNssNe/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#repost #lasata #pierreyovanovitch #jeanprouve #flemminglassen #isamunoguchi #akari #christodoulospanayiotou

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fortunewindows1 · 2 months

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Exploring The Different Window Styles For Your Home

Windows aren’t just see-through glass frames mounted on a wall. A well-chosen window may transform a plain room into a bright and airy environment. On top of that, there are a plethora of options available, including materials, colours, designs, forms, and sizes, as well as the newest technological breakthroughs that may help create comfortable and aesthetically beautiful environments.

These window kinds form a bay-like space by projecting outwards from a wall or a room. Three angled holes with fixed picture window panes in the middle make up the overall construction. The other two windows are usually small and swing open freely. For large rooms with high ceilings, bay windows are preferred.

Sliding Windows:

Sliding windows, also known as Yorkshire sash windows, are made out of interlocking frames that can slide open to either side on a horizontal frame that is fixed. They are effectively double hung for easy access, and the framed glass allows extra light and air within. Sliding windows are typically found in modern or contemporary homes and are composed of aluminum or UPVC.

People prefer sliding windows because they are:

• Easy to use

• Energy efficient

• Flexible with space

• Aesthetically pleasing

• Casement windows

Such windows feature a case-like frame with its sash(es) hinged on one side to allow them to swing open like a door, as the name implies. For tall and narrow window openings, they’re a popular choice. When choosing casement windows, make sure the frames are thoroughly strengthened with reinforcing bars for added strength.

People prefer sliding windows because they are,

• Easy to use

• Allow wide-open ventilation

• Come in a variety of materials

Bay Windows:

People prefer sliding windows because they are:

• Extra space

• Better view

• More light and air

Tilt and Turn Windows:

These windows open inwards to provide ventilation while also shielding the interior from rain. Tilt and turn windows have a similar overall structure to casement windows, with the exception that the sash is hinged at the button rather than the sides. These windows are ideal for rooms that require some ventilation while being protected from the elements

People prefer sliding windows because they are:

• Security

• Ventilation

• Better View

Combination Windows:

It is a combination of casement, fixed, sliding, or swing open windows in a single frame, as the name implies. This mix, however, can be changed according to your preferences and usage. Combination windows give your living room, bedroom, or dining room a distinctive and fashionable touch by allowing you to enjoy a beautiful outside view while still making the most of the area.

People prefer sliding windows because they are:

• Durable

• Economical

• Easy to Maintain

Fixed Windows:

Fixed windows, as their name suggests, do not open and are simply considered as glass walls that allow you to enjoy a good outside view from your room while catching those early morning sun rays. They’re also known as picture windows, and they’re typically used in rooms with a lovely backyard view that you want to enjoy while keeping out the weather and assuring complete They’re also known as picture windows, and they’re typically used in rooms with a lovely backyard view that you want to enjoy while keeping out the weather and assuring complete security.

People prefer sliding windows because they are:

• Secure

• Economical

• Energy Efficient

• Un Interruted View

Single and Double-Hung Windows:

One pane of a single-hung window is fixed, while the other tilts open or slides up and down. Double-hung windows, on the other hand, have both panes movable in your desired style. Single-hung windows can have a geo shape option built into the top sash, which adds to the overall aesthetic appeal.

People prefer sliding windows because they are:

• Flexible In Design

• Low Maintenance

• Easy to Fit Any Space

The purpose, location, and budget all play a role in deciding whether or not to install or upgrade the windows in your home. However, it is recommended that you also consider the window material, which in the current context mostly consists of aluminum and UPVC. These elements will work together to help you make an informed selection.

https://fortune-windows.business.site/ Phone: 091166 31603 Message Fortune on WhatsApp. https://wa.me/message/4HBPH72G4EKPN #frenchswingdoorinstallation #bifolddoorinstallation #residentialdoorreplacement #weathershieldwindows #floridawindows #roofing #windowcompany #nonimpactwindows #hurricanewindows #glass #home #residentialwindows #homerenovations #daytonabeach #doorsandwindows #design #siding #madeintheuk #framefast #manufacturer

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sociomi · 5 months

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Double Glazed Windows: A Complete 2023 Guide

Double glazing window styles There are a couple of styles of double covered windows to investigate, each with fascinating components and benefits. Examine presumably the most notable double glazing window styles underneath.

Casement windows are one of the most eminent styles of double covered windows. They are depended on one side and open outwards, giving wonderful ventilation and basic access for cleaning. It's open in various materials, including uPVC, timber, and aluminum. They are likewise open in various tones and finishes, so you can pick a style that supplements your home's ongoing improvement.

Band windows are a standard style of window that is at this point popular in many homes today. They comprise of two loads up that slide up and are a significant part of the time found in more prepared period properties.

In any case, band windows are more convoluted to plan and create. The collecting framework incorporates a couple of parts, including pulleys, strings, loads, and counterbalances, ensure the smooth movement of the sliding part. This complexity achieves higher creation costs, which are finally given to the purchaser.

Band windows are open in double covered forms and can be created utilizing various materials. While scarf windows can be more expensive than various styles of double covered windows, they offer an undying look that is great for period homes.

Inclination and turn windows are an adaptable style of double covered window that can be opened in two remarkable ways. They can be moved inwards for ventilation or turned totally for straightforward cleaning and access.

Inclination and turn windows are perfect for current homes and are commonly found in lofts and tall designs. They are open in various materials, including uPVC, timber, and aluminum.

French windows are a savvy and rich style of double covered windows that are undeniably appropriate for homes with a view. They have two sheets that open outwards and are by and large found in relax endlessly rooms.

French windows are open in various materials, including uPVC, wood, and aluminum. They are likewise open in various tones and finishes, so you can pick a style that supplements your home's ongoing plan.

It's also unpredictable to design and manufacture. The gathering framework integrates a couple of parts, including turns, handles, and locking instruments, to ensure the smooth action of the doorways. This complexity achieves higher creation costs, which are likewise in the end given to the client. Check out prevent windows condensation.

Limits windows are an excellent style of double covered windows ideal for adding character and appeal to your home. They comprise of three sheets that extend from the wall, making a twisted or determined shape.

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crossover-enthusiast · 5 months

Note

HÊLLO

Here—I'll continue pasting the story I was pasting to you last night

It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.

It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven -- an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue -- and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange -- the fifth with white -- the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet -- a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire, that projected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to harken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused revery or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.

(Stopping so ya can read)

Ooooo

#Sunny Tag

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customslidingdoors · 5 months

Text

Elevate Your Home's Style with Outdoor Window Awnings and Aesthetic Windows

Since windows have become the centre of attention for most people, people have been focusing a lot of attention on them lately. Outdoor window awnings are also windows that are designed like awnings that gives a remarkably aesthetic appearance. Aluminium windows are becoming more and more popular because of their remarkable aesthetic appeal and great construction quality. Louvre windows are quite popular, which is why so many people select them: the amount of light is controlled yet air can still flow through the area.

Because of their better looks, bifold doors are highly popular, and leading firms in Melbourne install fly screens for them. Due to its light weight, comparatively low aluminium sliding doors prices, and resistance to corrosion and other harsh environmental factors, aluminium doors are widely used. Because they require little upkeep and are easily cleaned, these doors have become standard in the majority of homes. Because window and door styles may greatly enhance a home's visual appeal, people are choosing them more carefully these days.

Insights About Various Types of Doors and Windows

Awning Windows: People adore these windows because they offer superior weather protection from precipitation, snowfall, dust storms, and other elements of the weather. The windows offer excellent ventilation options and are fairly practical.

Casement windows: Despite being the most traditional type of window, many people continue to choose them. These windows offer the optimum ventilation and may be positioned to leave wide gaps in the walls.

Fixed Windows: These windows are well-known for being quite affordable and providing a beautiful view of the outside. These are utilised for tall buildings and structures with beautiful exterior vistas.

Doors and windows not only regulate traffic and air flow, but they also have aesthetic value. For the best quote for your residential or commercial property, get in touch with the top window and door installation providers.

Source

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bunnyfrail · 6 months

Text

The Feeling of Loneliness

Chapter 1

Outside the arched casement window, the fog stretched out on the forest floor. It was dense, almost as if created by smoke machines. The grounded clouds in the view looked like smudges on a photograph. What was underneath was distorted with a blurred airbrush like quality. I could still discern silhouettes of trees in the distance, but only because I assumed that’s what was there. The evening sky was a faint algae green.

The window in front of me had a broken lock. It had the hook dangling by a screw but not the metal piece it was supposed to latch onto. Being an old thing, the window didn’t close properly. The cool mist crept in like a bandit and clung to me like a second skin.

I was becoming acquainted with my bedroom. A light, polka-dot rain jacket was tied around my hips over my skirt, but I kept it there. I only had love for the cold. Even now, as it snuck up on me, I knew I’d quickly adjust. The bedside I sat on had a gentle give to my weight. My shoulders were slumped over while looking out the window. Falling back onto the bed, the ache in my back I had gotten from slouching stretched itself out. On the ceiling, I caught a glimpse of a tiny spider observing me.

I wasn’t made aware by those who sold me this place that I was going to have a roommate, but a non-human one was something I could handle. The spider remained still as I tried to steady my footing on the bed. On my tip-toes, I reached my hand up as an offering of my friendship. I wasn’t tall enough for my arm’s length to let me touch the ceiling. The little one probably noticed this before descending into my palm by spider silk. For a house spider, it looked far different from those I’ve seen before. It was cuter, with big eyes and short black and white legs. I wouldn’t want to accidentally squish such a sweet thing in the future, especially since it was so nice as to not scurry away. There were no webs built in the room, so I assumed the spider was just passing through to say hello. I slowly got down from the bed, and we both left out the bedroom door.

This house was made in the early 1800s, and I certainly appreciated the few preserved charms while strolling down the second-floor hall. There were many doors. Some doors opened to rooms, while others uncovered narrow hallways. It was a confusing layout to me, specifically when discovering a separate hallway and bedrooms connected to the master bedroom. I chose the room across from that one as my own. I liked my bedroom to only have one entrance.

The wood flooring was coated by a thin carpet down the center of the walkway. Carpet bristles hardened over years of being stomped over; it felt rough against my bare feet. Faded wallpaper covered the walls. Floral details were carved just beneath the ceiling. I didn’t know what that would be called, but it was pretty. The ceilings here were very tall, so I held my head back to get a good look at everything. At eye level, my less impressive and unsold paintings were freshly hung beside me. I would say I was not proud of them, since no one else took interest, but then what would’ve prompted me to display them? I still looked away.

The stairs were a little steep, and going down them made me nervous about falling. They weren’t the stairs I was used to, back at my old home. I cupped the surprisingly still spider in between my palms in case I was to stumble. My hands became a little house for it, where my finger gaps were windows. I was grateful to the carpet for preventing me from slipping on the wood beneath. My new home and I were getting used to each other.

I picked this house myself. The furniture inside was chosen by someone else long before I was born, and now it’s mine with the property. No road leads here, as what makes sense when you're in the forest, but there is a dirt path that's slightly intact before the front doors. It fades away the farther into the surrounding trees it goes. A forty-minute walk away, my car is parked by the nearest road. There might’ve been closer roads before, over a hundred years ago, but they’ve disappeared in being closed off. People have made the abandoned town less accessible with time. That place is why I chose this strangely available house kept up nearby.

Plainwood— the town which birthed whispers in upstate New York. There have been strange sightings of creatures and ghosts and reports of kids never growing up until they leave. At least, I’ve read articles online about such things. Those weren’t considered factual or even acknowledged, but it is illegal to trespass on Plainwood territory. Sometimes police patrol the forest perimeter for certainty that more alleged rumors aren’t made. Those rumors are what made me excited, though, while staying up late imagining coming here.

Down the steep steps, the light from the outside sun replaced the artificial one above. Low in the sky, it peaked through the trees and came to visit me through the windows in the foyer. Two windows stood tall beside the monumental doors, and a curved one was built above them all. I could spot little specs that floated in the air with the new, gentle light. It made me think of fairy dust as it glowed rather than actual dust. Walking through it, I tried to look out at the bright show the sun puts on before it ends its performance every day. The sun battled through the fog to shine. I couldn’t do much about foggy windows, though. Trying to peek through a cloudy window made my view blurry. These windows were well aged with corners that look frosted. Not being able to spot much of anything exciting outside, I noticed the beautiful faint green tint that came from the hazy glass.

The sun isn’t setting just yet, but it’ll be soon. My fingers unclasp. If I lean against the window with my hands, hold my face closer, maybe that’ll help me see through. Though, when my hands opened, the little spider I was carrying crawled between my fingers and rested on the joint in the middle of one. I accidentally forgot about what I was doing down here. Not getting distracted would be difficult for anyone, though, when the foyer is as pretty as it is right now. My new spider roommate was a pretty thing, too. I turned my left hand around so the knuckles and spider faced up for me to see.

“Would it be okay if you stayed right there— please?”

The spider moved in that instant at the sound of my voice. It wasn’t to crawl around but to turn its body around. Its sights now rested on me. The little spider seemed aware, and maybe that was the case with all the spiders near Plainwood! The ones here could be super-smart, friendly spiders that could be companions to people. Or maybe my searching for signs of abnormality made me eager to believe things that weren’t so. That’s been the case before.

My eye contact was broken with the spider as I walked towards the hall to my left. I passed the entryway table while leaving the sunlit foyer. The table had a framed mirror hung above it and a gorgeous electric lamp that seemed to be a more recent edition to the house. The lampshade was made of stained glass in several radiant colors. When I was moving in the few boxes I had earlier, I unplugged the lamp. There was no use in having it plugged in if I wasn’t using it. Passing the mirror, I avoided looking at my reflection in it. I wasn’t going to get distracted again.

Here, the halls had sleek wooden flooring. There was no carpeting downstairs as there was on the second floor. The walls beside me were painted a muted green above the paneling that covered the bottom one-third of them. The color matched the wallpaper upstairs. I stopped in my tracks to peek into the room to my right. This space would make a perfect little tearoom. It wasn’t my stop, but I felt compelled to go inside. Looking down at the spider on my hand, I tried to ask permission with my eyes. The spider didn’t seem to be on a tight schedule, and I had all the time in the world. I walked through the doorway, losing focus once more.

Inside the room, there was a cute round table and chairs in the center. The walls in here were painted baby pink and had two wooden trunks up against them to the left. To the right of me was a massive wardrobe. I looked towards the wide window ahead. It was the kind of window built as a display. It didn’t open, so no one could go through there. On the other side of the glass was the porch made to the left side of the front doors. The view through this window was clear.

I seated myself before one of the trunks at the bottom of the left wall. Used as storage chests all over the house, I had no idea what treasures could be hidden inside them. Though, I awed at the beautiful dolls placed above the florally painted wood of this one. Precious and made of porcelain, their delicate builds were dressed in many patterns and lace trims. My fingers touched the celadon ribbon that peaked through the beading lace making up the straps of my tank top. The majority of these dolls looked like miniature versions of me. They had soft, round features, like a round nose and faded pink cheeks. Blonde hair flowed down their backs, albeit, unlike mine, they hadn’t had jet roots that contrasted the bleached color. From my face, people could tell I couldn’t be a natural blonde, so I was happy as a bleach blonde. My attention turned towards one of the dolls who, silly enough, wore a bib. It made me giggle, but I couldn’t judge her. The way the ruffled lace trim squares around from the edge of my shirt straps to the bottom of the eyelet lace covering my chest kinda makes me look like I have a bib on too.

“Hello there.”

There wasn't a reply to my greeting, but in the silence, I sensed the feeling of a welcome. My hands touched the flowers hand painted onto the chest. If I wanted to, I could fit inside it if I were to ever play hide and seek. The giant wardrobe behind me, too, could be a nice hiding spot. Dust covered my fingers, even with how light the touches I gave to the trunk were. Where did dust come from anyway? I rubbed my fingertips together to brush it off. The spider shuffled down to the back of my hand from my fingers. The fast movements must’ve made it difficult to stay still. I have all the cleaning products needed to deal with this dust another time. I was especially thrilled about the tiny brush I got with thick bristles that weren't very bendable. It would be great for scrubbing small spaces, like between tiles or planks of wood.

I dashed out of the room painted pink and took air down the long hallway. Holding out my hand away from my body, my arm swayed as if it were a roller coaster cart. The gentle movements were only to entertain my tiny friend. At the end of the hall, I faced a giant cabinet. I could turn right to a dead end and walk by the counters and glass-doored cupboards on both walls leading to another window. Those cupboards were empty, with nothing inside to look at. Maybe this was once where they stored fancy tea sets for tea parties? I could have fun collecting things to display there, but it was strange to think of collecting something for myself that could make someone else happy. I wouldn’t even be able to share my things with anyone. Nobody nearby knows of me yet.

Walking to my left could lead me three ways; right to the kitchen, straight towards the dining room, or left again down another hall. Where I wanted to go was at the end of the hall parallel to the one I just went through. This one had more doors than the other. Shut closed, I tried to recall which ones lead to what. There was a half-bathroom modernized as modern as the eighties is to now and a shabby, secret stairway too. The last door at the end of the hallway I was sure was the basement. Although, maybe it would better be described as a cellar.

The door swung outwards into the hall. My hand in the doorway, I held it still to see how the spider would respond. It crawled down my hand to my fingernails, towards the darkness ahead. I leaned in through the doorway and pulled down a chain. The wooden stairs were illuminated by the lightbulb dangling over me. Going down the steps, they creaked while used. At the bottom of the stairs, I stood where there was not exactly a room but a jagged pathway with separate spaces openly connected to it. The light didn’t reach far enough to see deep into these areas. As if it could, the spider jumped from my fingertips to the floor. It was eager to embrace the shadows.

“You’ve been here longer than me. I hope you’re okay with sharing.”

My legs were cold. It was cold in a way where touching your skin was like touching the glass door of a freezer. The blood ran warm under my skin, but touching the surface felt clammy like the condensation. Crouched down with my knees to my chest, I watched close as my roommate scurried away. I think I’ve read somewhere that their legs don’t have bones, and that they’re extended by fluid pumping through them. Our short goodbye was fitting for a short meeting. It would’ve been impolite to take the spider outside. My gaze lifted from the floor to my surroundings at what I was able to see in the light coming from the top of the stairs.

There was firewood kept down here in the place between dark spaces, piled on an iron shelf. Several fireplaces were built in the house, which I’ve only admired as decoration so far. A tool rack was built on the brick wall next to the wood. The tools hung up in a line were made of rusty metal. They all matched, besides the vividly colored plastic shovel. Plastic would make it much weaker than the metal one that would’ve come with the set. My weight shifted to my palm pressed against the concrete floor as I hoisted myself up from the ground.

I won’t be coming down here often. Up the stairs, I went back to the top on my tip-toes. Being barefoot on wood could get me a splinter, but I felt more secure in my steps on my toes. The chain above clinked when the light was turned off. There was a chain lock on the inside of the door. It was puzzling, with that being the lock installed when the door opens in an opposing way. The embellished door knob felt like ice. It could have been made of steel or iron. If these were of iron, then it might draw away fairies. That would be good for the mischievous and cruel ones, but if there happened to be a nice one I’d never get to meet, I would be upset with that. The door creaked when it was pushed closed behind me. I was alone now in this isolated house, though not entirely I suppose.

The kitchen ceiling was the height of two floors. My sights lifted up while leaving the hallway. Orange and chartreuse lit the area up from through the windows. They weren’t as tall as the walls that towered. Glossy tiles made up the floor I walked on. My shoes were next to the kitchen door across the room, in front of the elevator-sized vestibule outside. There was a blockage before the exit by my wagon I had left there in the morning. Bungee cords with plastic hooks dangled off the sides like snakes. They were used to stack boxes in the wagon of stuff not in my luggage. Instead of an island, a wooden table was at the center of the kitchen. An empty box and one full of dishes and cutlery were on it. I only ever used the same bowl and spoon. I slid over to the refrigerator which now stored the groceries once in the empty box. Surprisingly, I haven’t been hungry since arriving here at the beginning of dawn. My hand gripped the jug of orange juice in the fridge. I might as well get some vitamins if I wasn’t going to eat.

The artistry in the designs of this house were breathtaking. Even just being able to see the rings in the wood cabinets instead of a solid white on particleboard made me very happy. I was thankful for all of it, not only to possess but to behold the lovely gift. This was technically a last goodbye present before I weaned from my parents. Jug placed on the table, I pulled a glass from the box beside it. The sink behind me turned on by lifting the handle connected to the spout. My cup wasn’t dirty, but maybe it was. Water rinsed my glass clean, and my hands as I washed it.

My orange juice seemed more yellow than any other color. Especially in the miscolored light, it was gold compared to the hour named after the metal itself. A golden juice, all too like the golden tomatoes in the family garden. Flowers never bloomed there unless they were a foresight to fruits yet to come. Flowers don’t last too long. My father preferred enduring stuff, something without a fleeting end. Agreeing with him, my mother always chose to invest in more practical things; tomatoes, mint, rosemary plants and apple trees. It was nice to spend time with them on the grounds when they weren’t busy. As a child, I’d slip away to town to admire the blossoms on the other side.

At the wooden table, I poured the juice into my glass. These jugs never poured in a steady stream, rather they plopped and crashed against the side of the glass. Putting the jug away, the bright light inside the refrigerator was harsh on my eyes. I realized then, in comparison, the sunlight had cowered away in the corner as the sun was setting on the other side of the house. I turned, sipped the sweet orange juice and decided to follow the fleeing sun. The last glow in the kitchen waved goodbye as it flickered and left for the day.

Besides the money I made on art commissions, the house was paid for by my parents. A detective cap is unsuited to me, yet I wear one in searching for clues in their actions to know that they love me. It’s as if they’re hiding it like a secret. Although, that may only be from my perspective. Buying me stuff seems to be less impactful on me, since I know we have much money to spare. It was worthwhile on this occasion, though. I felt my heart dance inside knowing that this is real. If only it didn’t come with the feeling they were better off to watch me leave. The speed of my steps slowed while leaving the kitchen empty handed. I wasn’t thinking very happily at the moment. I came to an abrupt stop in the hallway.

Hidden between layers of lace, my phone was kept in a hidden skirt pocket. I pulled it out in hopes to reroute my train of thought. It usually speeds down the rails of many destinations, but now it’s made a stop in a desolate place. There were several tabs open of songs online, from fairy movie soundtracks and darkwave artists I’ve clicked on because of the album cover art. Looking at the titles, I hear the music in my head and decide against it. I’ve played these same songs too often to find the joy needed. The Home Screen stared at me as I drifted out of the moment. The bad thoughts were coming back.

The pressure straps onto me in the form of invisible hands on my head. Dull nails struggle to pierce my brain as they crawl. The tight grip was on the sides of my scalp. In my brain, there wasn’t any ache. There was a numbness and fog up there, where I only found discomfort in being held onto by it. My hands curled into fists. My movements were fast and echoed in soundless bangining only I heard in my ears. I felt my knuckles on the left, but where my hand still gripped my phone on my right, I felt the impact of the heel of my palm instead. The vibrations caused soreness which brought an end to the edge. The invisible hands disappeared with the collisions. My phone slipped easily back into my skirt pocket. I wandered again into the tearoom.

It was a new sight to get caught up in— a room I’ve just met, and from another angle too. I lay on the floor and kick my feet up on the wall. It was funny, because you’re not supposed to stand on the wall. It’s impossible to walk on walls. I kinda am though, in a way. I can pretend I am. My feet moved up slightly in tiny steps by walking motions. Back still glued to the floor, it was my anchor to gravity as my legs were lifted. Smudges and shoe prints were probably left behind on walls all over from me doing this multiple times before. Whenever I’m looking at things from a different angle, I have to focus on that to adjust to the change; I’m too busy laughing at myself to remember what I was thinking about before. That’s why I do it. It was something different, that even when I’m in the same room, I can change my view. My head bobbed side to side as I treaded in place.

The last moments of bright sun were against the wall above me. Sunlight doesn’t fade in an instant, not quickly, but it takes with it the vibrant colors. It left everything a little less saturated, with only the memory of the sun. There was still the remaining light that peeked over the horizon; the few moments before the end of the day that prepared you for the night. This time of day always gave me the most despair, in having to watch something end slowly. Looking around the floor, there were dried clumps of dirt scattered across the wooden planks. Luckily, the tearoom didn’t have any carpet, so it would be easy to clean off a wood floor. I told myself I’d get to that soon enough.

Ruffled lace tiers of my white skirt bunched together as they slid down my thighs. Their usual formation of a bell shape as I stood couldn’t be upheld when I was on the floor. Each tier was with a different design embroidered onto them. I had hand stitched the pattern onto a bobbinet tulle to create the first one. Although not technically laced to be considered true lace, machine made net rather than needle made grounds, my needlerun stitching made it into a limerick lace. My limp hair was flat on the floor underneath me. I didn’t mind getting it dirty when I could just shake or brush it out. My back rose a tad from the wood to pull my hair out from beneath. From under my neck, my hands swept and reached as far out as I could. The platinum strands now stretched themselves almost three feet from my head. Suddenly having the back of my neck uncovered made me feel squeamish. My hair dragged over the planks to slump down my back as I sat up.

“Thank you, sun.”

As bright as under the covers while hiding your face, the room gave way to darkness as the kitchen had. I fluffed my hair to bring some life into it. Loose strands took some time to untangle from the thin silver chains draped from the corners of my barrette. I adjusted the green eye pendant made from emerald colored glass and diamond inlay silver enamel. My skirt did not have any dirt to fall while dusting it off. I wished the dolls a good evening and rushed to enjoy the last few seconds I had of this time of day left. At the entrance of the living room, I hopped through the doors that were kept open as could be and took a spot in the chaise lounge before the far window. Peering at the trees and smog, my imagination took liberties deciphering the silhouettes in the distance. Maybe some of them weren’t trees? I could see a lamppost, or a pitchfork. Even a giant stick-bug creature made its shape partly clear with a tilted head. I never read about an urban legend like that, but there was already so much possibility for stuff beyond the books! The white lace curtains were scratchy against my fingers as I brushed them out of the way. Looking side to side, to my left I saw a trellis built up against the house. Trellises give opportunity for flowers to stretch to greater heights, though this one carried ivy which branches stretched past the diamond-patterned lattice. It grew tall, but not enough that it grew over my bedroom window.

Sleeping in a different bed hadn’t seemed so overwhelming until now. There was a new room unfamiliar to my routine, and I’ll be sleeping there tonight. I was excited about the experience but dreaded being all alone. I’ve only ever slept by myself, that was not new, but no one else would be there under this roof with me too. Though I could not see it, I knew my nose had turned red as heat swelled in the inner corners of my eyes. Only inhaling, my breaths were timed with sniffles which took in but didn’t let anything out. The contestant sniffing was too much. I pinched my nose and squeezed my eyes. The steam under my lids became worse, but I held tight. I was such a messy crier, and I couldn’t cry when I decided to be here.

The sobbing was not for the loss of those I never had, but for the end of an era of hoping that it could’ve gotten better. I wasn’t a kid anymore, as much as I wanted to still be. My graduation from my mom’s university had made the end of that chapter clear. Light flickered through the trees, as its end was near too. No sun to highlight the leaves, dulled was the scene. The last bit of life was surrounded by a dark green. I felt at even my young age that I was being timed— my seconds to become someone of importance were running out. Simple wishes on dandelions of being important to just a friend seemed as if they’d never grow into reality. I sometimes wished my hope would finally die. Isolation, I thought, would help me to become less needing of other people. A tear trickled down the curve of my cheek and rested under my chin. I let go of the grip on my nose to wipe it away.

Turning around from leaning on the back of the chair, my knees untucked from the crease between the backing and the pillowed seat. Trunks and branches of trees were left only black silhouettes. There were no small details to get immersed in. Besides surroundings, personal projects prevented me from thinking too much. A bag of small canvases with pieces begun and kept in the same first stages of creation was upstairs. My sketchbook was also up there, inside my backpack. I would like to work on all of them, and so I've avoided working on any because I couldn’t decide. Wheat colored and rectangular, the rug I crossed was centered in the room but didn’t cover the whole perimeter. It was placed under the cabriole sofa to frame a little seating section, but the rest of the floor exposed the panels underneath.

Going up stairs with a faster pace than down, I bounced from step to step. I wondered how many I could jump over at once. Testing myself with little goals helps me stay out of my head. Hopping over two, I was satisfied for today. Gradual improvement is better than putting too grand expectations on myself. Though, I have pushed myself to hold my breath in the tub for two minutes and forty-nine seconds. That was my best time in a consistent record beating that only I know of. The bathroom was just before where I stood at the top of the staircase. Hand on the wall, a little click emerged from the lightswitch. My motivation was as dim as the hall now was, having the light above the stairs turned off. Tomorrow will be a better day for a bath.

“Thank you house, thank you trees, thank you fog,..”

Chilled blankets on the bed were as fluffy and plush as marshmallow frosting. Reaching over the edge of the bed, I pulled up from the floor the scrunched socks I had littered there before. Rolling them up over my knee, I sat at the front of the bed and quickly slipped them back on. Momentum pulled me down into the comforter’s embrace.

My voicing of gratitude to things which could not hear was not something commonly done, but if I don’t say it out loud, they wouldn’t feel how much I appreciate them. I didn’t want to take anything for granted. It was especially in the moments of extreme luck when I had the need to declare it. Lucky was the word to summarize my finding of this property. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I tried to place it on the bedside table next to me. My arm was too short, so I had to flip over to slip it on the wooden surface. With my index finger, I typed out a goodnight text to mom and dad and turned without shutting it off. The subtle blue glow on the ceiling served as a temporary nightlight.

A comment on a blog seems so small, but that was how I was led here. Searching for any reading material on Plainwood, as limited as it was, I stumbled upon a supernatural blog full of exaggerated journalings. Though, I would read anything about Plainwood because of how fascinating the stories were and how it was close enough to be in the same state as me. The comment on the Plainwood entry specifically was a link to buy this house on this hidden website which didn’t pop up on normal search engines. It was like finding a pirate’s secret treasure chest, but on the internet! I had done much digging myself. United States of Supernatural Occurrences; Northeast Edition only made a passing and nameless mention of the town until it went on to describe more commercial places near NYC and Long Island. That book itself was obscure, so I understood when more recognized titles hadn’t known of an overlooked nowhere land.

“Thank you cold, thank you autumn. Thank you.”

A final thanks to anything I might have missed, I ended myself off with an undirected thank you before I drifted away to dreamland. Socks and clothes still on, I lay over the covers so fabrics couldn’t rub against each other. The socks will keep my toes from any freeze. Looking out the window, the sky was not completely black from the clouds spread over above. Their bumps, thick like soap foam, gave some dimension. Mossy tinted skies eased over shadow hidden evergreen, burgundy and marmalade trees. My gaze turned away with my head, and slowly my eyes shut too. I fell asleep to the patter of hail.

#Who has Worth?#chapter 1 #my art #art #original art #my artwork #my writing #writing #writeblr #story #illistration #digital art #digital illustration #original story

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thegreatbigarchiveplanb · 7 months

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The Masque of the Red Death

Edgar Allan Poe

Published 1842

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