chrysoula

[chrysoula]

hi, a lot of you need a perspective reset

the average human lifespan globally is 70+ years

taking the threshold of adulthood as 18, you are likely to spend at least 52 years as a fully grown adult

at the age of 30 you have lived less than one quarter of your adult life (12/52 years)

'middle age' is typically considered to be between 45-65

it is extremely common to switch careers, start new relationships, emigrate, go to college for the first or second time, or make other life-changing decisions in middle age

it's wild that I even have to spell it out, but older adults (60+) still have social lives and hobbies and interests.

you can still date when you get old. you can still fuck. you can still learn new skills, be fashionable, be competitive. you can still gossip, you can still travel, you can still read. you can still transition. you can still come out.

young doesn't mean peaked. you're inexperienced in your 20s! you're still learning and practicing! you're developing social skills and muscle memory that will last decades!

there are a million things to do in the world, and they don't vanish overnight because an imaginary number gets too big

[chrysoula]

All I really know how to do is love things, and say so.

[chrysoula]

dammit the grass still isn't mowed

This post is an artificial general AI. Don't worry, though, it will shut down and disappear from your feed when instructed to do so in reblogs.

[chrysoula]

"Nevertheless, she persisted." It's a powerful phrase. Sometimes I feel it describes my entire life. She failed, and failed was rejected shot down put off left standing alone where others were supposed to meet her.

"Nevertheless, she persisted."

'Isolation' is reaching out to turned backs before you fall (until reaching out becomes how you fall) 'Illusion' is believing people when they lie about who you are (it must be a lie because they are only words) 'Hollow' is recognizing nothing really matters anyway (say whatever you want because nobody sees, nobody cares) "Nevertheless, she persisted."

it means you keep on doing what doesn't matter keep on reaching out to turned backs keep on believing the lies that can't be true keep on fighting the world for yourself keep on rejecting the rules that reject you

"Nevertheless, she persisted."

but the world, it doesn't care the world, it doesn't notice the world is too big to notice your-- --my choices, efforts, goals, persistence.

and yet "Nevertheless, she persisted." Because what else can she do? Persistence is the scaffolding of her-- --my soul is another word for madness, don't you think?

[chrysoula]

Venti, Death, and Kaeya

Just like in real life, many people of Teyvat fear death. Importantly, the people of Mondstat, of Anemo, are somewhat different; people are less worried about dying and more worried about dying in a windless land, where their souls cannot be taken by the wind. 

When you dig into it, a lot of Anemo is, surprisingly, about death. 

—All Anemo Vision holders have experienced a devastating physical or metaphorical death that has drastically altered their worldview.

—The aranara Aranaga references “The Ad Oblivione,” and, when asked, elaborates that it is “the wind that flows forever, the thousand winds that return to one. But, on earth is the stream, and the ubiquitous is the wind. Everlasting, devastating.” A few minutes later, Aranaga participates in a ritual that includes the line “Come, come, wind that doesn’t return, water that doesn’t flow backwards.” Nowhere is it directly stated that the wind means inescapable death, but it’s certainly implied; “ad oblivione” is Latin for “to oblivion” and the aranara describe it as “devastating.” Therefore, it makes sense that in their ritual prayer, they hope for a “wind that doesn’t return.” 

—The phrase “wind that doesn’t return” is not a one-time line of dialogue; variations of it keep popping up across Genshin. For instance, “the wind returns for the fairbrew” is used to describe the Anemo Archon’s arrival in Of Ballads and Brews. Meanwhile, Act 1 of the Liyue Interlude Quest—with its focus on Shenhe’s story, and thus violence and death and the implications thereof—is called “The Crane Returns on the Wind.”

—Many immortals in Teyvat struggle with erosion, i.e. the unavoidable loss of memories and selfhood to the point that you can become an almost-unrecognizable version of yourself. This is one of many ways that “memory” and “life” are often treated as the same in Teyvat, but this post isn’t about that. Suffice it to say that an immortal’s version of death is essentially erosion, and it’s continually emphasized that erosion comes from time and the “natural order of this world” (possibly the Heavenly Principles). Anemo and time—well, this post isn’t about that, either, but the connection between Anemo and time is well established at this point.

Let’s go back to Mondstat, and how they embrace Anemo as death. It fascinates me that on this specific point, Kaeya Alberich is once again very much of Mondstat, and once again very opposite the common view of Venti.

Because, see, Khaenri’ah has deep cultural trauma around death, or rather, the lack thereof, since many Khaenri’ahns were cursed with painful immortality during the events of the Cataclysm. In Clothar Alberich’s words, “then came the curse, robbing us any chance of release. All we can do is watch helplessly as our souls erode and our bodies decay.”

The traveler speculates that one of the skeletons we unearth at the end of the Caribert quest is Clothar’s remains. If so, he managed against all odds to die.

And now here is Kaeya. Child of Mondstat. Self-exiled regent of Khaenri’ah. Grandson of Clothar Alberich. And while others wish for a “wind that doesn’t return,” an avoidance of death, Kaeya’s two homes are in rare and deep harmony: death is to be embraced, not feared. Anemo is death is freedom.

(And in communities rebelling against tyranny, how often are death and freedom seen as almost the same?)

(And our twin said that Celestia is sleeping, but will awaken.)

(And Venti cautioned the traveler against Celestia.)

(And Mondstat has a history of rebelling against the divine.)

I’m sure Venti’s initial appearance filled Kaeya with a great deal of fear and caution, but now—several years in—I desperately wonder what is going through Kaeya’s head when he looks at Venti. Because Venti is Anemo. And Anemo is death. And death is freedom. And freedom is what Venti is god of. It all connects. It all cycles.

Do you think Kaeya fears death, after all this? Do you think he fears Venti? I don’t know. I wonder.

[chrysoula]

Extremely unfavorite experience: I come upon a household member on the couch or in the kitchen, and start babbling away at them, until they finally turn around and say, "Were you talking to me?" and I see they have earbuds in. Even better (worse) is when they turn toward me and yell, "What? What do you want?" in an impatient voice (because they're talking over the noise only they can hear). How dare I not know they're listening to something I can't hear?!

[chrysoula]

This post is an artificial general AI. Don't worry, though, it will shut down and disappear from your feed when instructed to do so in reblogs.

[chrysoula]

What else will it do?

This post is an artificial general AI. Don't worry, though, it will shut down and disappear from your feed when instructed to do so in reblogs.

[chrysoula]

She got some bagel bites

i feel that dark sorceresses in disguise have given wizened old crones an unfair and frankly unearned amount of street cred

[chrysoula]

We made this during lockdown for the Glorious 25th and I just have to share it again.

My wonderful cosplay friends and their amazing costumes made me so happy to come together and celebrate Terry and his world.

And a hardboiled egg.

[chrysoula]

I will say that the final arc of Andor is really bringing the classism of many fans out on full display. "Luthen's background didn't make sense, it doesn't make sense that a mere sergeant could know so much about antiquities and spycraft and manipulation. Total fail on the writers' parts."

He had 17 years, folks. Learning things isn't exactly hard, especially if you're smart, motivated and in a literate society. And the whole theme of the show is about the ordinary people who make an insurrection happen, from beginning to end.

I especially loved the commentor who said, "No offense intended to the educational attainments of sergeants, my great-grandfather was a sergeant, BUT..." because hey, guess what, fuckwad. Both of my parents were sergeants and you're being very offensive and kinda showing your ass at the same time.

[chrysoula]

like, it was a _masterstroke_ to make Luthen _weak_ before Kleya. father-daughter vibe? even dedra meero could see it. but. fathers are strong, right? and little girls are weak?

man I should go finish Hook & Blade. though... well, it won't be as good...

Spoilers for S2E10.

When Luthen told Kleya he'd handle the burning, and she protested that, no, she does comms, they'll do it together...

...and later, when we saw a flashback to her childhood with Luthen...

Well, I realized that Luthen must have made a deal with her at some point that she would stay at the base and handle the comms. They'd "do it together" but he'd also be keeping her a little safer, and a little less of a distraction for himself. Turns out he knows all about how dangerous attachment is to a rebellion, huh?

[chrysoula]

Also, man, looking back and seeing just how focused Luthen was throughout the whole series on making other people _make choices_. At one point I thought it might be because he can't stand making them himself... and actually, I do think that's a contributing factor! That is, I think he does have some trouble with the sacrifices he forces others to make... but that he's also learned how to force himself to act. By revealing the name of Yavin to Lonnie... he removed his own hesitation: he had to kill Lonnie after that. He didn't really want to push the button for the flashback bombing--but better him than Kleya.

A key note here is his reaction to the massacre in the earliest flashback. He hid, he prayed, he rocked back and forth. This wasn't Luthen Rael! Luthen Rael, the man who single-handedly built what became the Rebellion! That terrifying guy, bitching and shaking?

Well... no. Not single-handedly, it turns out. Sergeant Lear didn't become Luthen Rael until he found Kleya. He couldn't take the step into action until he had a reason to force himself.

Spoilers for S2E10.

When Luthen told Kleya he'd handle the burning, and she protested that, no, she does comms, they'll do it together...

...and later, when we saw a flashback to her childhood with Luthen...

Well, I realized that Luthen must have made a deal with her at some point that she would stay at the base and handle the comms. They'd "do it together" but he'd also be keeping her a little safer, and a little less of a distraction for himself. Turns out he knows all about how dangerous attachment is to a rebellion, huh?

[chrysoula]

Spoilers for S2E10.

When Luthen told Kleya he'd handle the burning, and she protested that, no, she does comms, they'll do it together...

...and later, when we saw a flashback to her childhood with Luthen...

Well, I realized that Luthen must have made a deal with her at some point that she would stay at the base and handle the comms. They'd "do it together" but he'd also be keeping her a little safer, and a little less of a distraction for himself. Turns out he knows all about how dangerous attachment is to a rebellion, huh?

[chrysoula]

Joysprite

You are Nikita Vivo.

When you first woke up at the Agency a year ago, your memory was as white and empty as the Empty District. For the first few days, before you picked out your name, they called you Wisp. Nobody knew where you’d come from or who you were, but the Agency quickly became your family.

Tristan and Cheya took you to a doctor a few weeks later, once you were able to start talking about your complete absence of memory or identity. Her best guess was that you stumbled into the Empty District and had a bad encounter with the mist there.

That’s why now your ID says you’re Worldlost. It’s a way of explaining your complete lack of records without making a big deal about it. You’re pretty sure you’re an Earther—you’ve even got a Pollen gift!—but it’s been pretty convenient having that little symbol on your ID, and you wonder sometimes how many other Earthers take advantage of it.

See, Fairtree has learned over the years not to ask anybody with that symbol too much about their time before Fairtree. Some of them are amnesiac just like you, and a lot of others came from someplace they really wanted to get away from, which Zydeco says is basically the same thing.

Yours is real, though. You weren’t even sure how to talk when you woke up, though you did understand language. You knew how to read, too, and you knew how the world worked. You even knew where to look on a map of Fairtree for various landmarks. The doctor said that was weird, and possibly magical.

You decided after the doctor appointment that all you could do was fill up the blankness with new memories. What was lost was lost for good. These days, you only worry about it in terms of whether your past will drag you away from your happy teenage life, and then only, like once or twice a day, max.

About an hour after Zydeco drags John off, you’re walking along Mark Street doing your regular errands for the Agency: taking some pictures, chatting with shopkeepers, inspecting local bulletin boards and lamp-posts for certain kinds of messages, and picking up whatever the Agency is low on.

You’re still not sure you believe something is wrong with the Echoes app, and you’re not supposed to talk about active cases (even when they’re cases Cheya has picked up on her own.) So you sent messages to all your friends explaining that you got grounded from Echoes for a few days, and you’re planning on brainstorming a great ‘grounding’ story with Zydeco later.

Now it’s a beautiful August afternoon, and Mark Street is starting to come alive. The buildings here are mostly mixed-use, with a handful of businesses sharing a ground floor, another handful on the second floor, and residents living on a few floors above. There’s a diner below the Agency itself, and as well as a print stand Lydia keeps feuding with.

Most of the street’s traffic is after school and early evening, but there’s a solid mix of eateries, bars and art houses scattered in-between dry cleaners and stationary stores. The light murmur of voices is punctuated by the rasp of a saw somewhere, and the music spilling out of a bodega, while the rich odor of broth from noodle shop across the street mixes with the scent of the fried dough displayed at the bodega’s entrance. You’re just thinking of getting a snack to tide you over until dinner when you spot a familiar figure staring into the window at Drizzleberry, the ice cream shop ahead. She seems troubled.

You stop petting the bodega cat and bounce over to the little Far Fairlian girl you know only as Nemolly. She’s got light brown hair and intense blue eyes, and she looks like she’s around seven. Of course, since she’s a Far Fairlian she’s probably more like fifteen, because Far Fairlians live twice as long as Earthers, and mature half as slowly. From your stint in Lower 6 before testing into Upper 6, you know that even slow-aging Far Fairlian kids still act their apparent Earther-age. But Nemolly’s… odd. You’re not entirely sure you like her. But she’s little and cute and you see her often enough that she feels like… not quite a friend, but somebody you ought to look out for.

“Hiya, Nemolly!” you say, coming to a stop right beside her. “What are you doing here today? Got another note for the Agency?”

She turns to look at you solemnly, and then shakes her head. “No. I want that.” She points at a small ice cream cake in the display freezer facing the window. “For Anhel. A present.”

You don’t really have to guess why she’s just looking in through the window. Drizzleberry is popular, and there’s a line that comes out the door, full of adults and tall teenagers jostling and talking loudly. If you were less than four feet tall, you’d be intimidated too. “Want me to stand in line with you?”

Nemolly’s eyes light up, which is more emotion than you’ve ever seen from her before. “Yes.” Then she grabs your hand and pulls you to the end of the line, where she continues holding on, just like some of the other little kids in line with family members.

She’s so cute, and you don’t understand why Anhel sends her all over the city alone. Fairtree has a number of kid-friendly neighborhoods, and it’s not unusual to see kids under ten running errands up and down Mark Street. But that weirdo Anhel doesn’t just send his little messenger to the Agency with notes, he apparently sends her to some super dangerous areas. Corentin says that people who get in Nemolly’s way end up regretting it, sometimes very briefly, but he wouldn’t give you any more details.

You’re happy to know that she’s protected somehow, but seeing her here, happily holding your hand so she can buy Anhel cake, while Anhel himself sits in his stupid secret hidden home doing… what? Nothing, as far as you can tell…. Well, it pisses you off. He’s such a loser.

You and Nemolly are quiet as you work your way through the line. You’d really like to talk to her more, but the inside of the shop is loud and Nemolly’s head keeps turning this way and that as people move around her. You kinda suspect she’s feeling a little overstimulated, and you don’t want to add to that. So instead you quietly protect her from being jostled or overlooked by tall people; point the server’s inquiries toward the little girl, and make sure she gets an insulated take-home box for the dessert.

Then it’s your turn. “Hey, Nemolly, before you go home, will you sit outside and eat ice cream with me? My treat!”

Actual excitement flickers in those big blue eyes before Nemolly nods, and you kinda want to smash that cake for Anhel into the dirt. Why isn’t he buying her ice cream himself, dammit? What kind of Prince, even an ex-Prince, uses a single small child as his interface with a whole city? No wonder Nemolly is odd, if that’s what she has in place of a family.

“Two cups of the Drizzleberry Special,” you tell the server, and after she hands them over, you and Nemolly sit down at one of the little tables outside. There, you chatter for a little bit about the shop and the ice cream and the weather and even school, while she listens and eats slowly and neatly (more neatly than you, if you’re being honest.)

Her responses are limited to shaking her head or nodding, but the way her gaze stays fixed on your face reminds you of why you’ve sometimes been uncomfortable around her: she looks at you a lot if she happens to deliver one of Anhel’s damned notes while you’re around. It’s kind of creeped you out sometimes, but today, you realize with a blinding flash of insight that she’s probably interested in you because you’re a working kid too, even if you’re a foot taller than her and have a family that loves you. That makes it your duty to look out for her, even if nobody else at the Agency cares at all about Nemolly’s situation.

Eventually, you think she’s relaxed enough for you to make your move. In a joking way, you say, “Hey, Nemolly. Are you willing to gossip a little about Anhel?”

She swallows a mouthful of ice cream and says, “Okay,” the exact same way she agreed to an insulated box for the cake.

You flail a little, because you were getting the proverbial lock picks ready, but the door seems like it wasn’t even locked. Maybe she doesn’t understand what you mean.

Finally, you settle on being direct. “Do you like him?”

She considers this question seriously, her gaze going far away. Finally, she pronounces, “He’s annoying.”

Your immediate delight mingles with concern about how he’s annoying… but frankly, you’re spoiled for choice.

“Haha, that tracks. Some of the notes he sends… hey, do you know what they say?”

Nemolly shrugs, and then explains, “He tells me… but I don’t really pay attention. He says so much nonsense.”

It’s the longest and best sentence you’ve ever heard her say. She is a kindred spirit.

“But you’re getting him a cake?”

Nemolly licks her spoon. “It’s his birthday soon. He said one should have a cake on one’s birthday when he gave me one in February.”

Hmm. The Agency got a birthday cake for you on the anniversary of the day they found you, so you guess you have to grudgingly give Anhel a pass here. You also vaguely remember that February had been the one-year anniversary of Anhel quitting his very important job just because somebody blew up his house, the coward. You watched an unsolved mystery documentary at school to celebrate. Hmm…

Instead of further investigating the confusing birthday cake angle, you go back to how annoying the ex-Prince of the city is. Scooting your chair to Nemolly’s side of the table, you open up the gallery you keep the notes Anhel sends to Cheya two or three times a month. “Take a look at these, will you?”

Each one is hand lettered in a different dramatic way. Sometimes Cheya just scribbles an answer on the note and sends it back with Nemolly, but she always gets a picture first. Tristan jokes about opening an art show with them someday. You don’t think they’re that impressive; they just show how bored he is. As if you couldn’t tell from the contents of the notes themselves.

“Does Bala still have a cold? Somebody told me lemon tea is helpful.”

“You are hereby forbidden from resolving this one unless you wear something with sequins.”

“Please have Lydia take Nemolly for a haircut.”

“A boy is sleeping in the stairwell of the South Library annex. He says his dreams are safe, but I have my doubts.”

“Who wins in a Devil Star video game [provided] tournament between your oldest and youngest staff members? Please have Nemolly stand as witness.”

“Is the fishmonger on Crescent Lane still lying about where the snapper comes from?”

“How many dogs are walked on Mark Street between 4pm and 5pm? Which ones can Nemolly pet?"

“I’d like a report written by Corentin about the global weather across a week. No editing, Cheya, no matter what he says.”

“Ask Tristan to take Nemolly to the toy show. I need a model kit. They can choose it together.”

“Please have somebody on your staff create a guide for the summer’s entertainment media. Don’t forget comics.”

“Rate how cute Nemolly is in today’s dress.”

“He pays us for these. Cheya says she charges him a flat rate per note.” You notice for the first time how many of the notes mention Nemolly, and suddenly feel a little… weird.

Nemolly nods, though. “He talks so much.” She flips through some more pictures, and then flips back again, stopping on the video game tournament. “I remember. Zydeco Blue refused to play, so you played Devil Stars against Cheya Taithys and beat her so hard she ran away.” Then she gives you an oddly anxious look. “You had fun, right?”

You have to think. The you of eight months ago seems so young to your more experienced self, and you strongly suspect now that Cheya had been exaggerating her video game failgirl aspect. But… “Yeah! I really did! We all played that game almost every day for weeks after that.” You hesitate, and then admit, “I guess not all of his notes are completely stupid. Hey, do I remember you laughing back then?”

She’s in the midst of giving you a look like she doesn’t understand the question when a different laugh makes you whip your head around. As soon as you see who’s just joined a now-much-shorter line, you grab Nemolly’s shoulder and drag her down with you so the table provides a bit of cover.

Peeping over the edge, you hiss to Nemolly, “Do you know who that is?”

Nemolly, who is surprisingly prepared for being dragged into a scene from a spy thriller, looks. “Raxius. Warden.” Her little jaw hardens. “Annoying.”

“Hell yeah!” This kid has her head screwed on right! “Let’s get him!”

She turns to look at you, her eyes almost too bright. “What does that mean?”

“You know, jump on him, knock him down, steal his lunch money, that kind of thing. He totally deserves it. Right?”

She pauses just long enough to show she’s thinking about it before she nods firmly. “Right. Let’s get him.”

“That’s the spirit. Come on, let’s go!”

Raxius is the Warden of Hummingway. Every ward of Fairtree has its own Warden, but Raxius is the best of them, at least according to everybody around Trinity Square. You don’t see it. Sure, he’s tall, gorgeous, a financial genius, friendly, generous, and super rich, but he’s just this guy. No, worse, he’s such a goober! The emperor has no clothes, people! But every time you explain this to others, they just smile at each other over your head. It’s infuriating!

This is why you have made it your personal mission to take Raxius down, every chance you get.

You leave your belongings at the table, because nobody is going to steal anything right under the Warden’s nose, even if you do manage to knock him down (which is something you haven’t actually succeeded at yet.) Taking Nemolly’s hand again, you keep your approach stealthy by phasing both of you through the glass door. Raxius is standing in line with his assistant Jackie and some suit, chatting. He has no idea you’re there.

You exchange nods with Nemolly, release her hand, crouch… and leap with a roar.

You’ve done this quite a few times before. Usually you just end up clinging to his back until you get bored. But usually, you don’t have Nemolly on your side. Even as you’re wrapping your arms around his shoulders, Nemolly is sliding low and kicking the back of his knees. He goes down to one knee immediately. You’re surprised, but you seize the advantage, swinging your weight around so that he topples over. Somehow he ends up on his back and you dig your knee into his solar plexus while Nemolly scrambles on to his feet.

“Got you!” Triumph is so, so sweet, even if Raxius is laughing for some reason. You stick your hand out, palm up. ‘Gimme your lunch money!’

Overhead, the suit says, “Uh… should I be concerned that two children seem to be mugging your boss?”

Jackie gives a harassed sigh and steps over Raxius’s midsection so she can place her own order. “It’s a game they play. He likes it.”

Raxius is still laughing helplessly, waving his arms as he says, “Nooo, don’t say that, Jackie, I’m going to get in so much trouble….”

“Hah! That’s right! Lunch ticket! One for Nemolly too!”

Raxius twists to peer at his feet. “Oh, hi, Nemolly.” When you both growl, he says hastily, “Right, right.” After patting his pockets, still lying flat, he says, “Darn it, somehow I came out without any tokens today. Tell you what, I’ll bring them by the Agency later, okay?”

You’re trying to decide if you’ve menaced him enough when Nemolly suddenly says, “Oops! Cheya is calling you, Nikita!”

You look around, and can just see your screen flashing on the table outside. “Oh crap! I forgot I was doing errands!” Quickly, you turn back to Raxius. “Two lunch tickets. You can leave ‘em both at the Agency and I’ll make sure Nemolly gets hers. Okay?”

He grins at you. “If you want more, say the word.”

You rise, sneering down at him. “Feeble fool, as if you can avoid your next punishment! Crap, crap, I’m coming, Cheya!”

Once again you dash through the door, where you grab Nemolly’s stuff and push it all into her hands. “I hope you and Anhel enjoy the cake; come over soon; we’ll eat something yummy; see you then!”

Then you snatch up your screen and your messenger bag and charge down the sidewalk, finally answering your phone as you do.

[chrysoula]

dni unless you have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, all the modern languages, all while possessing a certain something in your air and manner of walking, the tone of your voice, your address and expressions-

[chrysoula]

Something Pure

It's a dream.

The unicorn foal dances down the artisan's alley in the morning sunlight, her tiny, dark hooves chiming each time she darts across the tram rails. There is something so pure about the youngest unicorn that those of even mildly questionable morals find it a little painful to look upon her.

Saze, whose nerves are seared by an invisible fire, can't take his eyes off her. Fascinated, he drifts along behind her when she finishes nosing at a flower display and then prances down the street. Merchants setting up the day's outdoor displays in the slanting sunshine smile when she passes, but nobody tries to interact with her. When she turns down a wider, less crowded street, her little flaxen tail flicks as she accelerates, cantering away faster than Saze can casually keep up.

An old man smoking nearby calls, "You'll want to be careful, boy. She's not the least bit shy, but she's a wild thing, like all her kin. If you try to get closer than she wants, you'll get hurt."

"Even more than she hurts me already? No, never mind that." Saze finally glances at the man, and asks in a soft, pleasant voice, "Can you tell me of her kind?"

The old man narrows his eyes, looking Saze up and down. Then he stubs out his cigarette. "I guess you're not a tourist. Well, none of my business. But I'll get you a flyer from inside."

Saze looks after the baby unicorn, smiling. "Thank you."

It's a dream.

It's a dream.

Welcome to Fairtree! Curious about its famous urban unicorns? Here are some tips to help keep the most ardent unicorn fan safe.

Each unicorn is a sapient individual, and should be respected as such. Don't throw things at them, snap photos unexpectedly, or chase them around.

The unicorns are also wild creatures. Don't attempt to get closer to them without their invitation. If you annoy or threaten them, and they can't easily escape, they will attack. Note: Fairtree Visitor free health coverage only extends to two lifetime instances of unicorn-related injury.

If you wish to make an offering or gift to a unicorn, a small piece of art you made with sincerity (no matter the skill level) is universally appropriate. Leave the piece exposed to the sky where your favored unicorn is known to roam, and they may accept and consume it when they come across it. Please make sure to retrieve the blanked medium promptly if you wish to preserve it as a souvenir, and don't take it too hard if they reject your offering; all the unicorns have their own moods and tastes.

Particular unicorns may tolerate other limited interactions; see below.

Unicorns for the Unicorn Watcher (ranked by general accessibility)

Unicorn Calliope: If you simply want to see a unicorn and be allowed to take photographs, Calliope remains the most approachable, graciously opening her home, Iroval Grove, to a limited number of visitors most days of the week. Tickets are easy to come by via Safety and Security if you plan in advance. While there is no guarantee of interaction with or attention from Calliope, if you spot her while roaming the Grove, you are free to take pictures--and she stops to speak with visitors many evenings. Note: Guests should not leave the paths within Iroval, as Calliope is not the Grove's only wild inhabitant. Any injury sustained within Iroval qualifies as a unicorn-related injury.

Unicorn Ikon: Ikon, most often found in Broomfleet, has the most history of physical and psychic contact with visitors, much of it friendly. However, he is unpredictable, and sometimes too friendly, and the risk for psychic injury is quite real. Unless you are well prepared to deal with uncertain or traumatic consequences, we encourage keeping the usual distance. As with Calliope, photographs are permitted and perhaps even welcomed, as Ikon has been known to pose dramatically with only a little encouragement. Note: Ikon appreciates fine alcohol as a gift but please be sparing with it.

Unicorn Glyph: The guardian of Colorfaire, Glyph is not hard to glimpse if you spend a day at the Faire Market enjoying the art scene. However, despite how comfortable he seems with human companionship, and even if he he passes within a few feet of you, please follow the standard rules and do not try to get closer or touch him. A significant number of unicorn-related injuries every year come from too-enthusiastic fans getting cozier than Glyph is comfortable with.

Unicorn Dragon: Dragon roams Watercrown. While he's aggressive and territorial, he takes no notice of respectful distant observers. He is also the only unicorn known to sign 'autographs', leaving hoofprints in exchange for the artistic offerings of children. However, the majority of unicorn-related injuries are connected to Dragon, as he is one of the easiest unicorns to offend, targeting both litterers and vandals who deface government property.

Unicorn Sigil: The youngest and most popular unicorn, Sigil is most likely to be found in one of the many craftsman neighborhoods; actually encountering her as a visitor is generally a matter of luck. She occasionally stops to ask questions of children or working artisans, but she is as physically shy as most of her kin and does not like being approached. Nor does she welcome photography without permission.

The last three unicorns, Aura, Rune and Midnight, are unlikely to be encountered in any safe situation. If you believe Midnight is near, and it's night, immediately seek safety indoors and stay there until morning. If you're in the Empty District and you spot Rune, proceeding calmly in the exact opposite direction may save your life in more ways than one. (At the very least, do not under any circumstances follow her.) As for Aura, she is not known to be dangerous, but she is well-known for her retiring nature and her ability to hide from curious gazes, and less than ten sightings are reported per year.

You wake up. You are Cheya Taithys, and once again you have fallen asleep at your desk. At least this time you woke up before Zydeco could discover you like this and mock you.

Stretching, you glance out the office window at the building across the street—

It's a dream.

It's a dream.

It's a nightmare. ***

It's half an hour later. You've been crouching on the edge of the roof across from your office for most of that time, your favorite coat draped over your shoulders despite the summer weather.

Zydeco went out after dinner with Nikita for one of his little walkabouts. You hope he'll return soon. You were originally hoping to speak to him about what to do with John Silas. Now, you have something even more important that you require his twisted perspective on.

Gravel crunches underfoot behind you. A friendly voice drawls, "Hiya, l'il sis. You look like a movie poster, perched like that. Haha."

It's not Zydeco. Instead your brother has found you. Your annoying, careless, lazy, deadbeat brother. He's presented himself that way so often recently that it feels rude to think otherwise… even if he was once so very different.

His boots scuff to a halt beside you, and the smoky-malt scent of his favorite tavern tickles your nose. For a moment he's silent, giving you space to respond in kind. But you've never been able to banter with him, and tonight you're not in the mood to try.

Instead, you draw your coat tighter. But the chill you still feel arises from your heart, and even your favorite coat can't drive it away.

He shifts his weight. "Sooo… what brought you up here?"

You finally glance up at him. "Don't you know?"

His purple hair shadows his lidded golden eyes as he looks down at you. In appearance, he takes after your mother, unlike you. In temperament… you don't know. He's changed. You don't remember either of your parents ever as relaxed as he seems to be right now.

He furrows his brow, and glances between the view and your upturned face. "Can't say that I do." Swiftly, he crouches down beside you. "Honestly, I saw you from the street and thought it seemed kind of odd."

There is no angle from which your brother could have seen you without you also seeing him. A spark of annoyance that he dares try such an obvious lie against you flares against your numbness, and then dies against your need to talk to someone. "I had a dream. About… About Sigil."

"Who? Oh, the baby unicorn?"

"Yes… She was playing in Rockingtree, under the morning sunlight."

"…Sounds pretty nice?"

You shake your head. "He was there. Watching her."

"Oh." Finally, a ripple of tension passes through your careless brother. "That kind of dream. Why did it bring you up here?"

"I woke from dozing at my desk. When I looked out the window in the afternoon sunlight, I saw him standing… right here, watching me. And then I woke again, and it was dark; now; for real. Nobody was on this roof." You flex your fingers and then squeeze them into a fist. "I think real. But I came up here, and I found this, you see."

You shift a little, drawing your brother's attention to the knotted black silk cord lying among the gravel.

His brow furrows again and then a black scowl darkens his face. "What… does it mean?"

You pick up the cord again, and gently run the knots through your fingers. "If this is not still a nightmare, it means he's here in Fairtree… and he's planning something."

Unexpectedly, your older brother's big hand closes over both of yours. "Cheya… Could it be coincidence?"

"No," you say, patiently. You went through the same sequence of thoughts when you found the cord, and your older brother hasn't been through what you have. "When he's watching or thinking, he ties specific sequences of knots, you see? This one… and this one. He is most certainly here."

After a silence, your older brother pulls his hand away. 'I'll keep an eye out. Maybe we can… catch up on old times."

"You won't find him unless he wants you to."

"You think so?" His tone of voice tells you he disagrees.

You shrug and twist the cord around your hands, pulling it fretfully. "He stood right here while I slept, and neither of us knew. I don't think Zydeco knows either, although… I'll have to ask him to be sure. I do wish he'd come home."

Abruptly your brother's dark mood lifts away. "Oh, eheh, that reminds me… Dragon's restless tonight. Rampaging all over Watercrown, from what I hear. I think ol' Blue's up there keeping an eye on him."

"Oh," you say, your hands going limp. Dragon is another of Fairtree's urban unicorns, and, oddly enough, the only one who named himself, according to Fairtree folklore. Zydeco visits him now and then. "Is it serious?"

"I don't think so. Blue told me he's always done shit like this, and he's been worse since Anhel skipped out." He bumps your shoulder with his own. "I know I'm not much of a substitute for the Wolf of Taithys, but if you want, I can stay with you until he comes back."

Moodily, you stare at the cord. "If he heard you saying that, he would laugh himself sick."

Without any change in his lighthearted, relaxed demeanor, your brother says, "Blue laughs at a lot of things. You and I know the truth, though."

His words refer to an old argument, one that used to be a perpetual sore spot for him. But his body language, his eyes, even his sutrama, all speak only of how placid he is.

"I hope I can one day work out what exactly you're doing when you mask like that," you tell him crossly. "It bothers me very much."

He stretches, leaning back to look at the sky. "I can't believe you're complaining that I finally learned how to relax."

"If you were truly relaxing, I'd rejoice. But this is not you. It's… some shape you're wearing."

He's silent a moment, before saying casually, "I still have all those letters, you know. The lies you wrote to me after you ran away."

You flinch, and he glances at you. His lack of a smile is reassuring, though. He's being serious. "I liked writing to you then. I know I did wrong but it meant—"

He presses his finger against your lips to interrupt you. "And I like getting a chance to hang around my little sister being an aimless bum. Come on, Cheya, let me enjoy my retirement."

Infuriating! You snap at his hand and when he yanks it away, you mouth 'Liar' at him before letting the subject drop. The black cord pulls your eyes back to it, and you stare at it a moment, remembering your dream.

"Have you ever seen Sigil, Riyu?"

Your brother yawns before answering. "Can't say that I have. I've seen some of the other unicorns, though. They're powerful spirits."

"As powerful as any Principality Archmage," you agree. "They are a law unto themselves in Fairtree, and mere mortals must work around them. That does cause problems. But… I think they make Fairtree a brighter, better place. I could not imagine anybody hurting one of them… until tonight."

"Really? You couldn't imagine it?" Riyu bumps you with his shoulder again. "You have a pretty weak imagination then. They're pretty much exactly the kind of thing it was my job to kill, back home."

"You're thinking of Dragon, perhaps. You two have much in common. But not Sigil. I refuse to believe it of you." You are extremely firm about this. It's as close to banter as you can get, and it covers the sick thread of dread laced through your thoughts.

"Maybe not," Riyu concedes lazily. "Go on about Sigil."

Your dread begins to overflow. "She is… a beautiful child. Around her, the world feels cleaner; the future brighter." Your eyes sting like they did when you first saw her, dancing with fireflies over the moon's reflection in Glassmere.

the pools of blood had dried to stains on the floor

Then the stinging becomes almost overwhelming as you imagine the unimaginable. You try to say it, and cannot. The words burn to ash before they reach your tongue; they are unworthy, a betrayal, an accusation, a personal failure.

Your elder brother does not have your compunctions. Gently, he asks, "Do you think she's in danger now?"

"I don't know," you whisper, pulling your coat tighter. "I don't want to think it. But what if she is? I… don't know him anymore. Perhaps I never did."

Your brother hooks a finger through the cord draped over your hands. "You understood this." When you say nothing, he sighs. "So you're waiting for Zydeco, because he has the best read on monsters. Don't I know it. He still has me dead to rights, after all these years."

He pauses and then adds reminiscently, "You know, he stopped me from enacting a bedsheet escape from the tower several times when you were a baby. Said I'd overbalance while carrying you and leave a really stupid-looking corpse."

You are pulled from your black thoughts by a memory. "He told me so, after I ran away. And that he told you that you were free to escape without me, and you refused to even consider it."

Your brother frowns a little. "Did he? I don't remember any more."

You side-eye your older brother, the liar. He grins at you unrepentantly.

And abruptly, in your annoyance with him, you realize your legs are stiff and you're thirsty. With a sigh, you stand up and tuck the black cord away safely. "I don't need to be up here any more. And I have work yet to do, as well. If you're going to stay up, you might as well come along."

"Great idea," he says, rising as well. "I'll make tea and get back to being a lazy slacker. It'll be good times."