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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 29 days ago

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Jane Austen’s Warning:

A lot of people tell me the Mrs. Smith/Mr. Elliot plot is a lose thread or Jane Austen would have went back and fixed it, but when you read all of her books it’s a very clear repeat of an important theme: men are often not what they appear.

Northanger Abbey: Don’t just trust your brother when he tells you his friend is a good guy, judge for yourself. It was John Thorpe, your brother was dead wrong. Also, your creepy feelings about General Tilney were right, just more mundane.

S&S: The passionate, open, charming fellow who is obsessed with your sister? Turns out he’s a debt-ridden, teenage-seducer. It was good to doubt him, Elinor, he wasn’t being completely straight with you. The good ones have honour.

P&P: Superficially charming man is super bad news, man with snobby manners has a heart of gold underneath. Elizabeth is intelligent, the novel shows us that anyone can be drawn in. Elizabeth was unwilling to change her first impressions and take in new information.

Mansfield Park: Some men pretend to be in love for fun, Fanny’s clear-sighted judgement of Henry Crawford keeps her safe from his attack on her heart. We are shown that these men can seduce friends and guardians against you. Fanny refuses to “fix” Henry or accept him on his word, he needs to show her that he has changed before she will.

Emma: The superficially charming man was already engaged and was tricking you! The other charming, attractive man was actually a petty jerk! The plain-spoken, honest man was always the better choice.

Persuasion: Anne has a gut feeling that she can’t fully put words to about Mr. Elliot that he is bad news. She cannot even fully justify it to herself. ANNE, YOU WERE RIGHT.

Again and again, we are told that women need to trust their judgement, look for more evidence into a man’s character/past, and mistrust charm/looks without a basis of goodness. Anne figuring out that Mr. Elliot is evil isn’t anti-climactic, it’s a proof that her judgement is sound. It’s a reminder that one should never rush into a marriage without knowing more about a man’s past. Because for a woman especially, it can end horribly.

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 1 month ago

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Jane Austen: Darcy, you see an older jolly-looking fellow coming in your direction-

Fitzwilliam Darcy: another one? Miss Bingley, please dance with me-again.

Caroline Bingley: *fake-swooning* oooh, Mr Darcy~again? what would the people say?

Charles Bingley: *heh* probably that he is kind of a prick? Or that you guys are an item.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: I have danced with Mrs Hurst too-I am still not romancing anyone.

Caroline Bingley: *sing-song voice* we will see about that!

Jane Austen: the poor guy remains in the middle of the room awkwardly, and then walks away; the older ladies that have introduced themselves as Mrs Bennet and Lady Lucas look at the scene and start whispering furiously-

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *rolling his eyes* I can only imagine what they are saying.

Charles Bingley: hey, can I guess what is the general opinion of us at this ball?

Jane Austen: sure, roll a Perception Check.

Charles Bingley: hah, I rolled a twelve!

Jane Austen: you are the man of the hour, and the ladies are very jealous that Miss Bennet has captivated your attention for so much time-

Charles Bingley: what can I say, she is a delight! Who could resist?

Jane Austen: you also feel that Caroline is very much admired for her elegance and style, as is Mrs Louisa Hurst-

Caroline Bingley: *fake hair toss* is anyone surprised?

Jane Austen: you see people looking in the direction of Mr Hurst at the buffet with a general air of ‘eh, he looks like a rich gentleman, I guess he is all right”.

Mr Hurst: hey, I am a gentleman and I am married-I won at this game already, let me eat the imaginary Regency fancy food.

Jane Austen: as for Darcy-you are the rudest, most entitled gentleman they have ever met. You barely spoke and only danced only with the ladies in your party-

Fitzwilliam Darcy: so they hate me because I did not care for making introductions? I do not want to dance with someone else.

Caroline Bingley: *waggling her eyebrows* do you?

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *exaggerated disgust* someone else I don’t know.

Caroline Bingley: la-aame. Okay, we are stopping dancing.

Charles Bingley: I mean, you could dance with someone else, it would not kill you-I come near them and say to Darcy, but in, you know, flowery language pertinent to the time period.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *smiling* you sure do. But, I say, “I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

Charles Bingley: *stage whisper* show-off.

Charles Bingley: DM, is there any cute lady I could introduce to Darcy?

Jane Austen: near you there are several young ladies seated, just waiting for a partner-you recognise one of them, a cheerful-looking girl that has been introduced to you as one of the beauties of Longbourn.

Charles Bingley: oh, Jane’s sister, Elizabeth! Darcy! My buddy, my man, look at her! What of it?

Fitzwilliam Darcy: *pfeh* what of it indeed-

Fitzwilliam Darcy: I look at her, I make eye contact just enough to make her realise I have noticed her, and I say to Bingley, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me”. Then, I walk away.

Caroline Bingley: *silently mouths “tolerable”*

Charles Bingley: *sighs* Heavens.

Mr Hurst: I was standing over my dessert and did not hear that, but I let go an “ooof” anyway. I felt it.

Caroline Bingley: how is Eliza doing?

Charles Bingley: Elizabeth-

Caroline Bingley: I like Eliza better.

Jane Austen: Elizabeth looks a little longer in your direction, then she stands up and goes to her friends on the other side of the room-she is smiling, but the smile is not reaching her eyes.

Caroline Bingley: *eagerly* tell me this action will have consequences, please tell me it will-

Jane Austen: what do you think?

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 2 months ago

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In honor of JKR being a total waste of breath and space yet again:

Other (better) books to read instead of Harry Potter—

1. The Secret of Platform 13 by Eva Ibbotson.

“ Under Platform 13 in one of London’s busiest train stations is an old doorway covered with peeling posters. Behind I is the entrance to a magical kingdom and island where humans live happily with mermaids, ogres and mysterious creatures called mist makers. When a beastly woman named Mrs. Trottle kidnaps the islands young Prince, it’s up to a strange band of rescuers to find him, save him, and return him to the king and queen. But can the rescuers—an ogre, a hag, a wizard and a fey troop around London unnoticed? And what if the prince doesn’t want to go back?”

(This book contains an impoverished ‘orphan’ raised by cruel adults, a bumbling old wizard, magical young adults, and an entrance to a magical world on a train platform in London. Sound familiar? Because it was released in 1994…three years prior to the first Harry Potter book. Just sayin’.)

More below the cut:

2. A College of Magics by Caroline Stevermer.

“Teenager Farris Nallaneen is the heir to the small northern dukedom of Galazon. Too young still to claim her title, her despotic Uncle Brinker has ruled in her place. Now he demands she be sent to Greenlaw College. For her benefit he insists.

To keep me out of the way more like it!

But Greenlaw is not just any school—as Farris and her new best friend Jane discover. At Greenlaw students major in…magic. But it’s not all fun and games when Farris makes an enemy of classmate Menary of Aravill, life could get downright…deadly.”

(A fabulous magical coming-of-age story with an interesting heroine and clearly defined magic system. The sequel is excellent as well.)

3. A Deadly Education by Naomi Novic.

“Everyone loves Orion Lake. Everyone else, that is. Far as I’m concerned he can keep his flashy combat magic to himself. I’m not joining his pack of adoring fans. I don’t need his help surviving the Scholomance, even if they do. Forget the hordes of monsters and cursed artifacts—I’m probably the most dangerous thing in the place. Just give me a chance and I’ll level mountains and kill untold millions, make myself the dark queen of the world.

At least, that’s what the world expects.”

(A dark magical school actively trying to kill its students and a misfit heroine with a mysterious power. A golden retriever of a male hero who is in constant need of being rescued and a group of misfits who come into their own power by forging their own paths…the book ends on a cliffhanger but the series is complete.)

3. Anything Tamora Pierce. She does coming of age in a magical world stories so well. My personal favorites are the Trickster's Choice duology of Trickster's Choice and Trickster's Queen and the Beka Cooper series which begins with Terrier.

There's SO many series out there which do the themes of Harry Potter in more interesting, well-written stories that don't support the physical embodiment of a Dementor. Try some out! I love recommending these books to the students in my life that are looking for good books 'like Harry Potter', but these are just my personal suggestions. I'm always on the lookout for more...

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 3 months ago

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I did not know these diaries existed... let alone were published!! Awesome. Can't wait to read them.

i’m reading emma thompson’s diaries from the filming of sense and sensibility and there are some really great bits

danny de vito sent good-luck flowers on their first day of shooting

in the published draft of the script, colonel brandon and willoughby fight a duel offscreen after brandon confronts him about impregnating beth, brandon’s ward

“kissing hugh [grant] was very lovely. glad i invented it. can’t rely on austen for a snog, that’s for sure. we shoot the scene on a hump-backed bridge. two swans float into shot as if on cue. everyone coos. ‘get rid of them,’ says ang [lee]. ‘too romantic.’

for a number of outdoor scenes, they would fire a shotgun in the air just before the cameras started rolling to get the local crow population to shut the fuck up for a few minutes

there was a dedicated line item in the budget for hiring flocks of sheep for exterior shots, ang lee was determined to use them as often as he could

“later found ang looking at the estuary with a mournful expression. i went and stood beside him. after a moment he said, waving towards the water, ‘tide goes in, tide goes out, tide goes in, tide goes out — and still no sex.’ ‘do you miss it?’ i enquired, after i’d stopped laughing. he nodded sadly. his family won’t be back for weeks.”

while filming the scenes at the palmers’ house with the screaming baby, it turns out that “we’ve hired the calmest babies in the world to play the hysterical thomas. one did finally start to cry but stopped every time chris yelled ‘action’. later: babies smiled all afternoon. buddhist babies. they didn’t cry once. we, however, were all in tears by 5 p.m.”

“very nice lady served us drinks in hotel and was followed in by a cat. we all crooned at it. alan [rickman] to cat (very low and meaning it): ‘fuck off’. the nice lady didn’t turn a hair. the cat looked slightly embarrassed but stayed.”

during the london ballroom scene hugh laurie kept treading on the train of imelda staunton’s gown, “which pulled it down so far it exposed her boobs. keep it in, i said, but she wouldn’t.”

“sunday, 11 june: drank far too much last night and woke at 5:30 a.m. could’ve gone on drinking all night. quite grateful for a hangover, it provides a bit of peace. walked on to my balcony completely naked last night and took the couple that have moved into the suite next door slightly by surprise. walked back in calmly affecting insouciance and then bit all my pillows, one after the other.”

while resetting a scene involving a carriage, “ang rode off on a bicycle and didn’t return. found him locked in the loo at trafalgar, having broken the key. he’s being rescued at present.”

“noon. finish scene with alan. me: ‘oh! i’ve just ovulated.’ alan (long pause): ‘thank you for that.’”

“hugh g. in a spot of bother up la, apparently. something to do with a blow job. it’s all right for some, i thought.”

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 3 months ago

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Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part One: I Didn't Vote For You

Okay so like--

I get why people thought we were all dwarves. Or made us all dwarves. Something between that. Collaborative storytelling what have you. It makes things significantly simpler, and it's a much punchier title than "Snow White and the Troll, the Redcap, the Púca, and four gnomes." (Of course I get top billing--I was her favorite.) And, okay, yeah, none of us came up past Snow's ribcage. Understandable.

But still it's like one of those things you don't want to start correcting people on it because you know you're going to spend the rest of your life correcting and concordantly explaining shit to people. But now it's like, you're pissed when we are dwarves, you're pissed when we're not dwarves, seriously! Pick a lane!

But okay, it seems everyone's pissed about this right now, so let's get pedantic.

We aren't sexy fairies.

Okay I didn't start that out right.

I guess it's easiest to explain this as... think of the ocean. So like, there are the scary sexy fairies who have the whole Succession/Bridgerton/White Lotus Fae Court thing going and they turn you into a deer and hunt you for sport, that's the Deep End. Then you have humans. Humans, in this metaphor, are land.

Me and my guys? We're tide pools.

A lot of stories are all like "Ougggh the magic is dying from this world ouggghhh the old ruined kingdoms" but in my opinion I think that's overall a case of Immortals Being Very Weird About Change In General. Like the tide, magic in this world rises and falls, and in the course of that you end up with this kind of hardy subgroup of fae who can survive in both High-Fae and High-Human environments. We're kind of our own ecosystem, but we're also kind of intermediaries between the Deep End Fae Court and the humans. We actually tend to broker a lot of more like, working class deals between the magical world and the human world. Maybe we get compared to the mob a lot. Whatever.

I'm getting into the weeds. This story isn't about me and the guys. This is about our girl, Snow. And trust me, I'm old as balls so before you get all 'Oh, one girl and seven guys? wHAt waS gOinG oN tHeRE?" (And you're absolutely disgusting for that, by the way). You need to understand that, on a species level, Snow was basically like keeping a very beautiful (albeit kind of bossy) sentient duck in the house. We loved our beautiful sentient duck and were impressed by the many talents of the beautiful sentient duck. No one desired the beautiful sentient duck on a romantic or physical level because, one, romantic and sexual desire for our subgroup of fae is very tedious, nuanced, and species-specific, and two, she was a duck. I mean she wasn't a duck, she was a human, but for us that's basically like being a sentient duck. All of those shitty "One girl seven guys" jokes I can definitely say are a result of human projection. Like again, you need to understand that my guys and me have basically gone through Magic Carcinization.

Again, I'm getting into the weeds.

All you need to know about Snow is that she broke into our house, she scares the shit out of us, and we would kill for her.

Okay you should probably know more than that.

Okay, so remember like 12 seconds ago when I said me and my guys are more of the working-class brokers between humans and Fae? And remember that Deep End I mentioned earlier? So like, the Deep End does deal with humans, but that tilts heavily into the 'Royalty and Miracles' side of things. Swords in stones. Swords in lakes. A fish that gives you all of the cosmic secrets of the universe when you eat it. That kind of stuff. That's kind of where Snow came from. She's a Fae weapon forged in a human womb. Hence why she scared the shit out of us.

How do I start this properly?

Once upon a time there were three human kingdoms. An icy kingdom in the north, a temperate kingdom in the west, and a, let's be real, damp kingdom in the east. Icy Kingdom had a queen, a beautiful queen, and the Deep End of the Fae love beautiful things. Beautiful Queen wanted more, and she made a deal with the Deep End of the Fae. She gave them her heart, and they give her a mirror that gives her sight beyond sight, and she used that to conquer Damp Kingdom in the East. They fought, but she could predict every one of their strategies with her mirror, all she needed to do was ask the mirror what this general is doing, or that Lord is doing, and bing-bang-boom, she took Damp Kingdom in a matter of months. And for good measure she took their baby boy prince, a pretty but frankly useless boy who, as the years went on and he grew, she largely kept for cup-bearing and harp-playing and decoration and also threatening to cut the head off of if Damp Kingdom ever stepped out of line. Because Damp Kingdom loved their pretty pretty baby boy prince as the last remnant of their royal bloodline, they were now thoroughly cowed.

So now the Queen turned her eyes to the Temperate Kingdom.

And this is when the Deep End Fae were like, "Hey okay you've conquered a neighboring kingdom, which we don't super-care-about for nebulous Fae Reasons, but for equally nebulous Fae Reasons, we don't want you to conquer Temperate Kingdom."

And the Queen was like, "Whatever."

And the Deep End Fae were like "Okay, then here's the part where we use that previous thing you gave us against you." And they tried to use her heart against her, but basically the Queen used the Mirror to circumvent the heart magic through a whole bunch of... jury-rigged alchemy shit? I don't know. This stuff was already way out of my pay grade. But what I do know is, the Deep End Fae realized they couldn't use the Evil Queen's previous deal as a failsafe against her, so they needed a new approach to stop her.

Temperate Kingdom was ruled by a kind king and queen. They also didn't want to be conquered, but things weren't looking good. Their capital city was under siege. The Kind Queen was pregnant and ready to pop--scratch that, currently popping. The king was mortally wounded while defending said Capital City. They dragged the mortally wounded king back to the bailey and he's all delirious ranting about his wife and the not-yet baby.

And then a figure in a mossy cloak appeared. They loomed over the mortally wounded king and they said very gently "Your blood will outlast you. Do you permit our assistance in this? Do you permit the cost?"

And the king was dying and he only understood like 40% of what was going on right now. He knew what was talking to him right now wasn't human. He knew you don't refuse a gift from the Fae. And he knew he was kind of safely in the 'fucked-up miracle' territory of Fae gifts though he didn't really understand the full extent of what that meant (and that's fair--no one does). He kind of assumed it would just be his own life as the cost of whatever the hell was happening here. So he's bleeding out and he nods. "If it will preserve the Kingdom," he says, "If it will save our child."

So we cut to the queen. The royal birthing is... okay it's going rough. Giving birth under siege will do that to you. In ideal circumstances you would have this hardcore butch midwife stick most of her forearm up the birth canal to reposition the baby and both the mother and child would live but... you didn't have that here. Instead, once more, the figure in the mossy cloak loomed over the Queen as she screamed through agonizing contraction after contraction. They touched two fingers to the queen's forehead and they gave her a flood of visions. Snow. Fire. Blood. Blackened earth. A little sapling growing from the body of a great and noble felled tree. And she looked to the figure in the mossy cloak. And she saw their face was kind.

The kind queen died in childbirth as the Evil Queen's forces overtook the capital city. The king was dead before he knew what deal he had made. The Evil Queen and her troops marched into the grand hall, only to see a figure in a mossy cloak seated on a little stool next to a wooden bassinet. The Evil Queen made that anime villain snort-scoff sound.

"So kind of you to offer your blessing in my victory," she said.

"This is not a blessing we offer," said the figure in a mossy cloak, "You have abused the gift given in our previous trade. The trust between us is breached. We now give you back that which you gave us. All you have won for yourself will rot. And as with all rot, new and rightful life will spring from it."

And the Evil Queen almost laughed at this at first, again, like "Whatever," but then after a few seconds she begins to do the math. In exchange for a mirror that gave her sight beyond sight, she gave the fae her heart, and then she jury-rigged a whole bunch of magical alchemical bullshit to protect herself from basically being shackled to the fae's will through her heart, because hey, if you can, that's what you do.

But what happens if your heart is no longer your heart?

What happens if the Fae bind your heart to someone else?

What happens if your heart is now wrapped in different royal blood from the kingdom the Fae told you specifically you're not supposed to conquer?

And that was Snow.

The most beautiful, weirdest, most uncanny-ass baby you've ever seen. AND she had that weird undercooked look all human babies have. A semi-formed little beast. Can you imagine looking at an infant and knowing it's going to burn down everything you've ever built? Can you imagine knowing that trying to smother this threat in its crib will burn everything down, too?

But you think, "It's okay. I can manage this. Plants can be molded in to bonsai and topiary. I can shape this to suit my needs, too. It just takes care. It just takes maintenance."

And that's when Evil Queen declares, "As a symbol of healing between our kingdoms, I will raise this child as my own." And she gives a sharp glance to the figure in the mossy cloak, and they give an assenting motion with their... probably head? Probably.

And she awkwardly takes up the baby in the crook of her arm. Wow awesome, she already has an amazing propaganda tool. There's no way this is going to backfire on her in like... 17 or 18 years.

Except you know it will. Because this is the "Fucked up miracles" side of shit we're talking about. And the Evil Queen is not on the side of miracles.

Fucking hell, that's all a mouthful, and Snow hasn't even met us yet! Look, I'm gonna take a smoke break and I'll get back to you in a minute, okay?

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 3 months ago

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 3 months ago

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You wake up suddenly to find an androgynous being by your bed, congratulating you on your ascension to godhood and vanishing without explaining your domain or power set. Now you have to figure out what kind of god you are, and why you're a god to begin with

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 3 months ago

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 4 months ago

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We also figured out—the hard way—that the ancients probably cut each layer of linen to the proper shape before gluing them together. For our first linothorax, we glued together 15 layers of linen to form a one centimeter-thick slab, and then tried to cut out the required shape. Large shears were defeated; bolt cutters failed. The only way we were ultimately able to cut the laminated linen slab was with an electric saw equipped with a blade for cutting metal. At least this confirmed our suspicion that linen armor would have been extremely tough. We also found out that linen stiffened with rabbit glue strikes dogs as in irresistibly tasty rabbit-flavored chew toy, and that our Labrador retriever should not be left alone with our research project.

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 4 months ago

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Text: Sometimes in the dead of night on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, I see an extra door in the hallway, black and imposing.

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marianne-sketches-and-blogs · 4 months ago

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Odysseus in Space

Odysseus knew better than to expect peace in death. He’d seen what currents lay under the Styx - knew what kind of warriors that he’d sent there. He fully expected another war to start as soon he took his last breath.

Instead it had been quiet.

He’d used the lull to build a home in the endless plains of asphodel. Somewhere simple he could stay and wait for Penelope. It only took a few years for her to join him, and then together they began the work of replicating the palace of Ithaca. It was work, but it was hard to complain about work when he’d expected battle. His greatest skill in life had been enduring to the end. Now it was the end, and still he endured.

It was three centuries before this death was interrupted.

Hades came to him, not as a god, but as a guest. The fates had woven a story that required a very specific soul. One that could travel the lengths of the world without breaking, who could survive a lifetime of war. And try as Hades might, he could not make a soul that was up for the task.

Still, what he could not make, he could find. Death was a sacred thing, the last right of all mankind, but it was not inalienable. One could sacrifice their death just as easily as their life.

The two had spent months haggling out the details of the work. Hades had wanted 50 years, Odysseus wanted just 20, and together they’d compromised on 32. All in exchange for the right of him and Penelope to visit Telemachus once a year, in whatever corner of the underworld their son had been given.

In the end, they’d shaken on it and Odysseus walked the earth once more. He had a new name this time - fitting, for a new fate. Alexander, the world named him and Alexander he named the world back. City by city, battle by battle, he gave the unwanted title away. Then when he was 32 he returned to Penelope, no more Alexander to give. It was a relief to be Odysseus once more.

A year after that, Penelope and him made the journey to see Telemachus. It was worth every step he’d taken between Pella and Babylon.

There were other interruptions from Hades, new deals with new names. He scourged the descendants of Troy again as Hannibal and bought another day per year with his son. He blazed down the steppes as Atilla and conquered the whole world with the same tools he'd used in his first life. It turned out there was little he couldn't accomplish with a horse, a bow, and a brain.

So many lifetimes, so many wars, and then - quiet. A whole millennium of peace went down as easy as honeyed wine. It made him happy. He liked his little deals with Death, but he’d wished so many times that men like him weren’t needed. He was proud of his descendants for making a world better than he’d dreamt.

And then, nearly a whole second millennium after that, Hades returned.

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“It’s not a war.”

Four words that would set the hackles of anyone that fought at Troy - they’d hoped that one wouldn’t be a war either. But Odysseus had made enough deals with Hades to know that the man was frank in his dealings. There was an honesty to Death. Enough honesty that he’d taken him as a guest.

(He was very choosy about his guests now.)

“You never come to me unless it’s a war. It’s what I’m best at. Why-”

Hades cut him off.

“War is not what you’re best at. Six-hundred men won that war with you. What set you apart was being the only one to make it back.”

Odysseus’s voice caught in his throat. It had been more than two-thousand years and the memories still burned to touch. It took two deep breaths before he was able to force a reply.

“Then what do you want?”

Hades looked lost. He paused a few moments, before looking back at Odysseus, one hand up to plead for patience.

“When I struggle to explain, it’s not because I’m trying to find a clever way to lie to you. It’s because this is a very strange thing, and I…I don’t know how to describe it well.”

He looked into the hearth. Watched the light and heat fade away. Then, he gestured at the log.

“The wood you’re burning. It’s a dead thing. And yet, it dies more after you burn it because the fire has life in it. Soul too. Even here, there’s a corner of the underworld where the souls of dead flames gather. More things have souls than any mortal seems to recognize.” Odysseus was intrigued. When he lived, he’d learned the secrets of the body better than most doctors. There was only so much cutting you could get people to volunteer for. But here, the mysteries of the soul were lost to him. This was godly knowledge, given freely. What that had to say about the request was worth considering. “The mountain has a soul, but the mine in that mountain has a soul too, as does the ore from that mine. The ingot, the sword, the bundle of nails - all of those things are alive in some way. And yet, some of them are more alive than others. You sailed once, Odysseus, and no one knows this better than sailors: Boats have strange souls. They’re about as alive as anything that could be built in your time.”

The space around Hades shimmered. The man was thinking, and in a realm where he had total dominion, it took effort for thoughts not to change reality. Odysseus appreciated the effort. The replica had taken centuries to perfect. Death was a strange friend to him, but a friend nonetheless.

“But the arts have improved from that time, and the mortals of today have built something… incredible. Unimaginable. And they’re sending it on a journey that I have no reference for. The Deaths that have seen things like this are alien to me. They speak of things I cannot understand. The Death of Heat. The Death of Light. The Death of Stars…”

He trailed off in a way that made it clear he was remembering something unpleasant and not merely waxing poetic. He caught himself and looked embarrassed, as if he’d confessed to something best kept secret. Then he continued. “I am a very human Death. And this thing - it isn’t human. But it was made by humans, and so its soul needs a… a human touch. Your soul isn’t the archetype for a soldier, Odysseus, it’s the archetype for a traveler. I couldn’t take you and put you in this thing if I wanted to, you’re just the wrong shape, but what I’m about to do, I need to see you for. Because this thing is going to travel in ways that I am barely beginning to understand. In ways that are redefining the limits of what it means to be human.”

Odysseus was lost. He didn’t know what he was being asked. He didn’t know what was being built. There were so many questions that he needed to ask that they’d formed a log jam in his mouth. One finally broke free and started a cascade.

“What is it?”

Hades gestured helplessly.

“It’s like an arrow and a ship. They’re going to shoot it past the stars.”

That meant nothing to Odysseus, but he suspected every answer he received would sound like a riddle.

“What do you need from me?”

“Permission to copy your work. The soul I made for you is different from the one you died with. You made changes that I cannot replicate. That I do not understand. That I need for this soul to work.”

Odysseus paused.

“Is it going to be used as a weapon?”

Hades shook his head.

“No. The world is gentler than you remember it. This thing will be what you should have been: A traveler without equal. No more, no less.”

Odysseus couldn’t tell if those words ripped something in him open, or healed something closed. Either way, it hurt in a way he didn’t know how to express. His mouth opened and closed several times before he settled on an answer.

“Then take what you will. My only request is to see the journey.”

“Done,” Hades agreed. He could have left right then, but he chose to stay in silence until the fire burned out. There are some ideas that one shouldn’t be left alone with. Not until they’ve had an hour or three to process them, at least.

---

Twelve-billion miles from Earth, moving just shy of mach fifty, the Voyager 2 probe glittered in the darkness.

It watched the world around it with the kind of awe a human couldn’t fathom. Nothing was hidden from it. Everything from the atomic composition of stars, to the background hum of the universe itself - all were available with a glance. The only sound it could hear was the constant blip of data that it received from Earth. The small blue dot on starlit shore.

It missed that place. Maybe, one day, when its journey was done… it would find a way back. Maybe. That was still eons away.

Odysseus stood just a few feet off, watching from a direction no one but Hades knew how to walk. He felt the thrill of the expanse in front of him, the utterly incomprehensibility of his speed, and yet its meaninglessness as well. To imagine that the world was so big. To imagine that the world was so strange.

He wept and he could not explain why. He lingered in the twilight until Penelope found him. When she asked him what was wrong, he had no answer. How could he tell her that the world was beautiful, and that he had a place in it? Not just as some ugly middle step, but there at the end. Hurtling through space like an arrow made of silver.

How could he explain to someone that had loved him for two-thousand years that he finally understood why?

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