#create e learning platform

[explainlearning]

How to Start a Study Group: A Step-by-Step Guide

Study groups are a powerful tool for enhancing your learning experience and achieving academic success. By collaborating with peers, you can gain deeper insights, improve your understanding, and develop essential skills like communication and teamwork.

Why Join a Study Group?

Enhanced Understanding: Discussing complex topics with others can solidify your knowledge and identify areas where you may need further clarification.

Improved Communication and Collaboration: Working in groups helps you develop essential communication and collaboration skills.

Increased Motivation: Studying with peers can keep you motivated and accountable.

Reduced Stress: Sharing the workload and anxieties can make learning less stressful.

How to Form a Study Group

Find Your Tribe: Look for classmates who share your learning goals and are committed to regular participation.

Set Clear Goals: Define the purpose of your study group and the specific outcomes you want to achieve.

Choose a Meeting Time and Place: Select a convenient time and location that works for all members.

Establish Ground Rules: Create a set of guidelines for behavior, participation, and communication.

Leverage Technology: Use online platforms like Explain Learning to facilitate communication and collaboration, especially for virtual study groups.

Effective Study Group Strategies

Active Participation: Encourage everyone to contribute to discussions and activities.

Effective Communication: Practice clear and concise communication to avoid misunderstandings.

Time Management: Use time management techniques to ensure efficient use of study time.

Diverse Learning Approaches: Incorporate a variety of learning activities to cater to different learning styles.

Regular Review: Schedule regular review sessions to reinforce learning and identify areas for improvement.

Positive Attitude: Create a positive and supportive learning environment.

How Explain Learning Can Help Your Study Group

Explain Learning is an e-learning platform designed to enhance your study group experience. Here's how:

Collaborative Tools: Use shared documents, whiteboards, and online meeting rooms to work together effectively.

Interactive Content: Access a vast library of interactive exercises, quizzes, and videos to engage your group.

Communication Features: Stay connected with your group through chat, video conferencing, and forums.

Personalized Learning Paths: Create customized learning plans tailored to your individual needs.

Tips for a Successful Study Group

Choose a Good Location: Find a quiet, well-lit place with minimal distractions.

Set a Schedule: Create a regular schedule for your study sessions and stick to it.

Take Breaks: Short breaks can help improve focus and productivity.

Celebrate Successes: Acknowledge and celebrate your group's achievements.

Be Flexible: Be willing to adjust your plans as needed.

By following these tips and leveraging the power of Explain Learning, you can create a thriving study group that fosters learning, collaboration, and success. Remember, a successful study group is a collaborative effort that requires dedication, communication, and a positive attitude. Know more https://explainlearning.com/blog/start-study-group/

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also Preserved in our archive (Daily updates!)

What if the pandemic safety net cobbled together in 2020 had been a new beginning?

What if when Joe Biden came into office in 2021, the Covid-19 safety net he was handed had become a new floor?

What if that was his baseline—and the newly elected Democratic president, sold by his most ardent supporters as FDR 2.0, had used our Covid-19 response as the bare minimum of a new social contract with Americans?

What if the caring nature of the best aspects of the US Covid response became the map for international relations—leading not just to international cooperation on infectious disease, but on matters of war, climate and genocide?

What if, instead of dismantling the vaccine-delivery infrastructure—which, at its height, delivered some four million shots in a single day—the Biden administration built upon and made some version of it permanent, so that everyone could easily get annual Covid boosters, annual flu vaccines, or get specialty vaccinations during outbreaks of unusual viruses (such as for mpox during the 2022 summer outbreak among queer men) whenever they needed it?

What if the viral surveillance and communication mechanisms utilized for learning about SARS-CoV-2, treating it and telling the public about it were being used to address H5N1—a virus which has been moving from birds to farm mammals to humans with so little notice that dead cows were killed by the “avian flu” and left on the side of a road in California’s Central Valley, as “Thick swarms of black flies hummed and knocked against the windows of an idling car, while crows and vultures waited nearby—eyeballing the taut and bloated carcasses roasting in the October heat”?What if the leaders of the Democratic party had used Covid as a blueprint to make a national platform based on care?

What if all the ways Covid had made clear how farmers, industrial butchers, kitchen staff and other food workers are the most at risk people amongst us to viral infection led to meaningful, permanent protections, such that they were much less likely to contract not just SARS-CoV-2 but H1N1, H5N1, influenza, or any other existing or novel pathogens?

What if all the all the ways Covid exposed how unsafe industrial food production is (for the workers who make it and the people who eat it alike) had triggered safety reforms, instead of having these warnings ignored and leading towards record numbers of safety recalls for e-coli, Salmonella, and Listeria?

What if an airborne pandemic had led to indoor air being as filtered, treated and regulated as drinking water?

What if everyone with a child was still getting a $300 check from the US treasury, so that having a child was not a gambling-style risk, but a responsibility shared with all of society?

What if the paused-for-years student debts were forgiven, so that young people could actually begin their lives?

What if Biden built on Americans’ experience of just showing up somewhere to get the medical care they needed to create a universal healthcare system?

(What if Kamala Harris built upon Americans’ taste of not getting charged at the point of such service—and campaigned on Medicare for All?)

What if once the link between Covid and homelessness was established, the Democrats had pushed infectious disease as just one reason for an end to evictions and a robust, public-health-backed campaign to end homelessness and stop the United States from having more people living on the streets than any other country?

What if after the link between Covid and incarceration was established, the Democrats had pursued decarceration as a public health measure and—instead of throwing weed and cryptocurrency at us—had made reducing incarceration a centerpiece of the Harris campaign to earn the votes of Black men?

(What if after 100,000 Californians died of Covid and the links between Covid, homelessness and incarceration were clear, residents of the Golden State chose to allow rent control and to abolish legal slavery in prisons—instead of voting to ban rent control and to continue prison slavery?)

What if the leaders of the Democratic party had used Covid as a blueprint to make a national platform based on care?

Would we be in the lethal position we are now—with a genocide raging abroad, Covid deaths in the hundreds every week at home, a poisoned food supply, $17 trillion in household debt, oligarch goons ready to dismantle government regulations, and a sociopath heading back into the White House—if Covid had been the floor?

[theambitiouswoman]

15 ways to diversify your income & take control of your financial future:

1. Start a side hustle

💻 Freelancing: Offer services like writing, graphic design or virtual assistance

📦 E-commerce: Sell products on platforms like Etsy, Shopify, Amazon

📸 Content creation: Monetize social media through brand partnerships or affiliate marketing

2. Invest in assets

🏡 Real estate: Buy rental properties or invest in REITs

📈 Stocks and bonds: Build a diversified investment portfolio

💎 Crypto or precious metals: Explore alternative investments

3. Create passive income

📚 Digital products: Write an eBook, create an online course or sell templates

🎥 YouTube channel: Earn through ad revenue, sponsorships, and memberships

📊 Affiliate marketing: Partner with brands to earn a commission on referrals

4. Start a business

👗 Product based business: Create and sell your own brand of beauty, fashion or wellness products

🛠️ Service based business: Start consulting, coaching, or offering niche services

5. Build Your personal brand

💼 Public speaking: Get paid for sharing your expertise

🎤 Podcasting: Monetize through sponsorships or exclusive content

6. Invest in education

📖 Upskill: Learn high demand skills that increase your earning potential

👩‍🏫 Teach: Offer paid workshops or mentoring programs

[theeternalwomb]

Phases of the menstrual cycle broken down for divine feminine & divine masculine who are invested in a romantic connection:

Message: hello!, I'm very excited about this post, I've been working on it all day and felt called to talk about this because in a lot of divine feminines lives right now we're focusing on learning to alchemize and transmute energy and how to best prepare for our manifestations and make the proper decisions to keep ourselves in alignment BUT a good amount of divine feminines are also in the energy of seeking out an awakened masculine or cultivating good energies in their connections. This is a magnificent way to create further spiritually inclined connections in your relationships but also to move into the energy of enlightenment as individuals. I also will say that if you're mensurating be wary of physical sex on your cycle while actively bleeding as it can form soul ties, it's meant to solidify attachments and strengthen the ability to share energy in romantic connections. if you're a woman in general be wary of opening up and allowing anyone in your womb, please be discerning and choose wisely.

(There will also be a shortly summarized version on my Instagram for reposting and sharing purposes if you want to share this type of information with friends and loved ones who may not be on this platform! My Instagram: @theeternalwombtarot)

****

phase one: The Menstrual phase (days: 1-5) / "Winter" / The New Moon

physical symptoms: fatigue, cramps, bloating, headaches, lower back pain, and breast tenderness

emotional symptoms: low mood, irritability, fatigue, and emotional sensitivity

hormonal changes: low estrogen and progesterone, drop in hormones triggers menstruation

spiritual meaning: rest, release, and renewal. letting go, shedding what no longer serves you physically (biologically) and energetically, and preparing for new beginnings.

themes: reflection, introspection, purification & renewal.

spiritual practice & priority for divine feminine: meditation and grounding techniques, journaling, and rituals of release and healing. embrace and lean into intuition and release emotional baggage and limiting beliefs. embrace themes that come up to the surface to come out by acknowledging, surrendering control and worry, and seeking out new perspective and spiritual guidance. You're going to want to hone in and pay close attention to the body and emotional strain at this time to help you best navigate what needs to be put down or released. use the body at its most heightened to guide you in the direction of alignment and enlightenment. prioritize your happiness and peace.

divine masculines role at this time: further aid in themes of the menstrual cycle by creating an environment of rest, relaxation, and harmony. Study the woman and her needs and desires (both on an emotional and physical-biological human scale). Pour back into her through creating solace in her time of rest and relaxation. Attempt to control disturbing influences as much as possible to conserve divine feminines remaining energy left over and reserved for her rebirth and renewal. Move forward in the energy of compassion and service. Take on her needs and emotional state as if it were your own in order to be productive and fulfilling at this time. Move into the energy of compassion (to feel as she feels and to also feel sorrow for her and thus have desire to alleviate suffering and then do so.)

phase two: The Follicular Phase (days: 6-14) / "Spring" / Waxing Crescent

physical symptoms: increased mood, higher motivation, skin may begin to clear, light discharge

emotional symptoms: increased mood, higher motivation, increased creativity, mental clarity

hormonal changes: rising estrogen, FSH stimulate follicle growth in ovaries, and the uterine lining will begin to thicken to support a fertilized egg.

spiritual meaning: growth, new beginnings, and rising energy. Time for planting new seeds (like ideas, intentions, and projects) and feeling excited for and embracing growth.

themes: creativity, rebirth, expansion, and manifestation

spiritual practice & priority for divine feminine: this is a good time for divine feminine to set intentions, start new projects, and embrace creativity. visualization during meditation, affirmations, and rituals focused on manifestation is best for this phase. divine feminine should shift focus into project planning and pull from naturally flowing creative energies at this time and capitalize on both tapped and untapped talents to accelerate growth and expansion in her life. she should use her creativity, charm, and imagination to her advantage to bring forth abundance in the world around her and profit off of romanticism. Both in romanticizing her life and in her relationships and appealing to others.

divine masculines role at this time: increase romantic energy in the connection and work towards heightening close interpersonal intimacy through action and positive affirmation. The tongue, the mouth, and the throat chakra are powerful at this time. Plan dates, appeal heavily to the love language, and create unfaltering closeness with the woman. create heaven in her reality to better house her angelic and transformative energy at this time. Lean further into your spirituality as you become one with her during this phase through manifestation, prayer, and further acknowledgment of her divinity and connection to the divine. through your harmony with her from a genuine and aligned place, you too will prosper. You can tap into her natural flow of creativity and expansive energy and leverage your own intentions through required openness and respect for the feminine and the feminine cycle, mutual support, shared focus, mutual intentions, and rituals that honor both energies. (tantric sex or alike included.)

phase three: The Ovulation Phase (days: 14-16) / "Summer" / Full Moon

physical symptoms: increased libido, cervical mucus changes (clear & stretchy), mild to intense cramping to help the release of egg.

emotional symptoms: increased confidence, more sociable, higher libido

hormonal changes: luteinizing hormone (produced by the pituitary gland) surge triggers ovulation, high estrogen, brief rise in testosterone.

spiritual meaning: often linked to the peak of summer and the full moon. This period in the menstrual cycle represents abundance, fertility (both literally & metaphorically), and connection. Seen often as a time of heightened energy, power and creativity.

themes: fertility, creation, peak power, connection to others, and potential.

spiritual practice & priority for divine feminine: an ideal time for socializing, connecting with others, or performing rituals focused on abundance, fertility (i.e. sacred baths and cleansing rituals, sex and physical intimacy or tantric practices, spiritual and ancestral rituals, etc.) and gratitude. Many also use this time for creative expression and celebrating their accomplishments as manifestations can be both conceived and reaped and harvested at this time. Divine feminine should be focused on obtaining personal success and self-fulfillment and pleasure at this time. This is a good time for her to capitalize on personal power and energy and transmute passion into energy to move forward and obtain desires. The ovulation phase is a good time for networking and collaborating on projects and progress forward. She will work well in groups with partners or a partner and will excel in learning and implementing lessons and information.

divine masculines role at this time: The divine masculine's duty at this time is to pour into divine feminine through presence and attentiveness, affirmation and acknowledgment, emotional and physical connection creative collaboration and support, physical support and care, respect, and space for self-expression and celebration of her divine feminine energy. divine masculine can offer his full, undivided attention and listen closely to divine feminines needs, desires, and dreams. being present in a time of high intuition and peak power allows him to further honor her wisdom and creativity but also move in the energy of co-creation and further manifestation for his life. spend quality time with divine feminine at this time and prioritize her and her energy. This is also a good time for divine masculine to encourage and provide access to self-care rituals whether they be a paid service or things he does himself. this is a good time for divine masculine to move forward in the emotional and physical realms through his connection to divine feminine much like his ability to co-create or bring prosperity to his life during the follicular phase. He should move forward in the energy of leadership, confidence, and assertiveness in both physical and emotional realms. passion and intimacy with the woman is heavy and significant at this time, pour into her and strengthen thyself. strengthen your outside support by moving in a similar energy by balancing strength and empathy while being open and flexible to others needs and addressing those needs and providing necessary output. Take divine feminine to events and environments where her sociable demeanor can bring you more money, partnerships, and support. Let her be the face of your power and influence. Flaunt, flaunt, flaunt. Show off and prioritize the feminine. Your prize is in your possession. Your sigil is within her. Let her double the success you share, multiply it, and bring it back home with the both of you. Your good luck charm and prosperity token is within the divine feminine. Carry her around in your pocket or leave her at home on the altar you built for her to relax and flourish.

phase four: The luteal phase (days: 16-28) / "Autumn" / Waning Moon

physical symptoms: bloating, mood swings, breast tenderness, fatigue, increased appetite, acne, irritability (PMS and PMDD symptoms)

emotional symptoms: irritability, mood swings, anxiety, sensitivity, depression, craving comfort

hormonal changes: high progesterone, estrogen decreases, hormone levels drop if pregnancy occurs.

spiritual meaning: it's a time of slowing down, turning inwards, and preparing for rest. It's a phase of reflection, harvesting lessons, and preparing for the upcoming menstrual cycle.

themes: harvest, reflection, inner work, slowing down, and transformation

spiritual practice & priority for divine feminine: this phase is ideal for introspection and releasing what no longer serves you much like the entirety of the menstrual cycle itself. grounding practices like yoga, journaling, shadow work and meditation are common spiritual practices at this time. Bask in all three elements in your top three or allow for those elements to be prominent in spaces of relaxation. This is a good time to assess accomplishments and plan for the future. Your job at this time and area of priority divine feminine should be focused on clear boundaries and clear communication and working through mental and emotional blockages that create disruption in your life and emotional body through inner work. We want to try our best to see through the lens of heightened emotion clearly as often times fear and anxiety based distortion is present within us during the luteal phase. Ask yourself what your frustration, fear, sadness, or other complex emotions right now mean to you, what is your body or intuition trying to tell you, and what do you need to communicate to others effectively to further yourself or obtain peace? Get clear and work through illusions and deception. A time like this beckons emotional warfare out of you, your perseverance is needed. prepare yourself and move in the energy of transformation and transition. Baggage will be shed and released throughout the menstrual cycle.

divine masculines role at this time: At this time divine masculine must ready himself to opposite the divine feminines energy to be proactive and create the ideal environment for rest and rebirth. Do your due diligence to create the safest, most abundant environment in all ways necessary. similar to how the male in nature may help build a nest and sing to create a soothing environment or may take over and build the nest entirely on his own to prepare for incoming change and laboring. invest both financially, spiritually, and energetically into creating the optimal environment. your job during the luteal phase is to curate a safe space, your job as divine feminines hard work begins and the menstrual cycle starts is to keep her warm and tend to her in the safe space you built and brought the resources to.

****

notes:

divine feminine if you are single take into consideration beginning to period track whether it be with a calendar or with an app while you're looking for a divine masculine or are in a position where you're looking for love. this way you already know and have known for quite a while when phases of your cycle begin and what takes place during these times.

another thing I really think is interesting is research on what foods are best eaten through different phases of the menstrual cycle, this can also help divine masculine better prepare for your cycle during the luteal phase while he gets things in order for you to enter a period of rest, there are various charts on these things on Pinterest, I could make another post about that specifically another time.

tantric sex practices or rituals or similar intentional intimacy practices could be really good to implement during high energetic phases of the menstrual cycle to help divine masculine tap into your energy that you're radiating and give him the privilege of co-creating a reality with you or aid in him further manifesting abundance in his life. (do be mindful of period sex and soul ties, if you do not intend for him to stay divine feminine keep this in mind.)

also do your job as a divine feminine to choose your partners wisely as his ability to do these things for you and move with you through these phases of your life are incredibly important especially in states of high power or even energetic vulnerability, I touched briefly on how important it is that divine feminine invest her time in relationships that are emotionally and spiritually safe as you are wide open if you make the wrong choice or give your power away.

[liberaljane]

❤️ Most of us never receive comprehensive smex education. Instead, if you’re like me, you learned from the internet… but most of the 🌶️ content we find online is created only for the male gaze. It’s time to remove the shame around self-pl3sure and separate fact from fiction.

❤️ @getcheex and I teamed up to bust some common myths around m@sturb@tion! Any of ‘em surprise you? 

❤️ Platforms like CHEEX (my personal fav) are redefining the industry and creating safe spaces with spicy content that is ethically produced alongside resources. @getcheex is safe, aesthetically pleasing and even features educational resources on the topic of $ecsual wellness (and more!)

❤️ Try CHEEX for yourself - go to the link in my bio 🔗or to g e t c h e e x . c o m and use my code LIBERALJANE to get 7 days of unlimited access to the whole platform*!

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*the code applies when you select the yearly subscription option as a new customer. You can cancel anytime or switch to the monthly plan anytime during the 7 days.

[hanatagami]

sagau imposter au (part 1)

i was just introduced and am now an avid enjoyer to sagau, especially imposter ones, so i wanted to make some hcs. this is gonna be your pov, but i would like to do povs of the actual characters too.

Upon “descending” to teyvat, under circumstances you know now, you find yourself to be incredibly lucky that you arrived where you did

you woke up in a domain of all places

it was a weird thing to wake up to, being in the middle of a strange platform with a golden tree not to far from you

you weren’t certain what domain per say, but you could confidently deduce its domain-hood, though it never acted like a typical domain

as in monsters didnt spawn and there wasn’t a challenge for you to face

instead it acted like your own personal sanctuary

if you wanted to sleep: a bed would appear inside

the same with a bathroom (which was weird to use in a space that seemed almost alive) and any other luxuries or necessities you needed

you made sure to compliment the space you were in, just in case, and was surprised when the tree tinted pink, but in a situation like this

more shocking things were bound to happen

like looking at your body and noticing veins of gold which was plenty shocking, the gold seemed to be able to glow or dim to your desire.

You could make it so looked like your body was covered in rivers made of stars (which did wonders for your confidence, way better then any tattoo you could’ve gotten irl) or dim it to where the gold looked completely unnoticeable 

now youve read your fair share of sagau fics, and you deemed its probably safest to stay in a domain for now, until you figure what tropes may await you

god forbid-

‘(Y/n) forbid...? no thats weird’ you think to yourself

god forbid it was an imposter au or smth and you get smited by whatever archon this domain resides in

luckily, the people in the world dont seem to be checking domains you      h o p e

your content residing in the domain till you’ve figured out the full extent of your abilities, and it was only then that the domain provided enemies for you to practice on

(thankfully they weren’t actually alive, cause they are supposed to be your subjects now or something)

you figured out what you could with the guidance of a space that couldn’t physically speak with you, but you did your best

you were surprised to find that a lot of abilities weren’t really used by you per say, but rather that things followed your requests, if that made sense

you didn’t conjure wind to blow enemies away, but you gave silent requests and was gleefully answered

you didn’t create waves of water to send crashing against opponents, you asked and something, maybe Teyvat itself, listened

your hypothesis was that the original creator could manipulate things, but that is either learned or wasn’t passed on to you? 

you thought yourself not as the original creator, but a reinvention of them. Almost like Nahida, you aren’t the orginal creator but perhaps the creator remade themselves into you and placed in another world to be raised as peoples equal and learn things like morals

 perhaps tired of an eternal, all knowing, and all powerful existence.

it was a good idea to keep yourself free of the burdens of immortality, a self-imposed somewhat-life cycle

well that was your hypothesis, you didn't know for sure

but what you did know is that almost everything would answer your requests, even vague concepts like time, space, or gravity

you were even able to control the size of your body, growing big enough to fill the void below the domain, or small enough to be a molecule no one could see (you weren’t sure what was responding to you to do that, but it still worked) 

‘the original creator mustve been amazing...’ you often thought to yourself

You goofed around a lot with these abilities before deciding to go out and venture into actual teyvat, to figure out what you were actually dealing with 

imposters, killer characters, or whoever...beware, you know what your doing (kinda)

and as you stepped out into the land (after giving the domain a big thanks and promise to visit again) you grew a little surprised at the outfit change that happened the moment you stepped on land.

rocks and minerals from the earth arose and surrounded your body, not stabbing or poking you in anyway

instead it felt secure and comforting

you spun and gazed down in awe as all kinds of materials formed garments around your body

it was like a dream outfit for you, something celestial that you could only see in your imagination

and it looked like it came straight from Liyue

and which upon surveying your surroundings of the things in the area, seemed to be Liyue

when you turned around, there wasn’t actually a domain there, so you couldn’t use it as a landmark or anything

(it must be some personal creator domain? that would make sense)

maybe your “holy” garments change depending the country you were in?

Interesting theory, but you didn’t feel like testing it out just yet

requesting the materials to form something a little more Liyue casual to hopefully blend in

and with that you set off!

it only took a few minutes to realize you weren’t quite sure where you were going, but don’t worry, Teyvats got you

a beautiful path made of stone that was embedded with cor lapis arose from the ground to guide you to the city, your desired destination

and as you gazed behind you noticed the path disappeared a couple steps behind you

‘only i get the red carpet, eh? how kind~’

 and with that NOW you set off

it was a very wonderful walk, really

much more peaceful then any walk you’ve had playing the game

no hilichurls or slimes or abyss mages trying to test your patience like they did with your designated traveler

well they did approach, but they approached bearing gifts! it was actually cute watching hilichurls walk up to you with their most valued item, and its like just an apple or something

but you thanked them, gave them a pat to which they always did their little dance which you couldn’t help but chuckle at (it was so much better in person) and that only seemed to make them more cheery as they went back to their tribe

slimes came up for some pets, which how could you not

when you pet the first slime that came up, a pyro slime, you were amazed at the way it felt. It didn’t turn its element off, cause apparently it didnt need too. when you touched it you could feel the pure heat it eminated, but it wasn’t painful. there was a firmness from slime section but the fire itself only seemed to keep you warm

it was then your goal to experience petting slimes of all elements on your way to Liyue’s city

and the results of your petting: electro had a pleasant tingling (especially if you have one hand on a purple one and the other ona yellow one), hydro was more water then slime, anemo felt like putting your hand above a air hockey table, dendro was disappointingly normal but it smelt really nice, and cryo felt like a thin layer of ice on top of water, and geo was rough (unshockingly)

it made your trip to the city very eventful and quick, you didn’t notice time passing at all

it was upon approaching the big gate of Liyue did you really stop to think of a plan

what were you gonna do when they recognize you? cause according to the fics you’ve read, they always do

eh you’ll wing it, you just wanna try Xiangling’s cooking tbh

and maybe one of Chongyun’s popsicles

would they recognize you and agree? would they think you were an imposter or something? you were kinda excited to find out

to avoid the small fries (the guards) from pulling anything, you covered the rest of the distance using a form of teleportation (thanks space) and entered straight into Liyue

you had appeared in an ally to hopefully avoid people spotting you fade into existence there

willing yourself to appear a little more confident (you’ve heard looking confident can really get you places when trying to sneak or fool people)

you began to trek through the big city you’ve grown so used to seeing from a screen

and you really arrived at just the right time, since it was dark from the night sky so all the lights and lanterns were lit, lighting up the city beautifully

so much more beautiful then in game, thats for sure

it kinda made you eager to see the lantern festival! the big deer lantern (the deer was actually an adepti wasn’t it? you kinda forgot) was sure to be breathtaking in person

and maybe it was your outfit, or maybe the lack of guards, nobody was really clocking you on your appearance

(you were only now deliberating that they may not know your appearance, it may be a vibe thing but who knows)

you didn’t see any statues dedicated in your honor, which was kinda a plus. no direct comparisons can be made

you had come up to Xiangling’s restaurant and she was, thankfully, the only one there

“Uh, excuse me.”

“Yes, how can I- Your grace!?” 

ah, she knows

“SHHHH, I dont want anyone to know!”

“How are you here? Where are your guards?? It isn’t safe-”

“Don’t worry about it! I just want some of your food is all, I promise I’ll go back right away.”

 So there was an imposter...how interesting.

“I could of just delivered it to you Your Grace, or someone could of picked it up!” She was looking at you with great concern, you weren’t entirely sure what would threaten the “creator” in this world to begin with, but they may just be paranoid.

“I mean with this imposter going around, who knows what they may try and do...” The thought itself seemed to bring Xiangling great distress, her body visibly drooping at her words.

It felt weird for her to be so concerned over you, when its not actually you shes concerned for. Not you, but someone whose trying to be you, so ig in concept shes concerned for you?

whatever

“Come on, this is definitely one of the safest cities to be in, you know that. By the time they tried anything they’d already be getting chased outta here! Besides, your right here, you can protect me!” It was weird trying to comfort her in this situation, and you could only guess if you were mimicking the actual imposter correctly.

“Well...I guess so...” She didn’t seem completely convinced at that, but she seemed to be letting it slide slightly at the thought of protecting and spending time with you. How sweet~

“Hey, do you think you can make me your signature boiled fish?” You were trying to stay vague...you wanted to try it, but you weren’t sure if the imposter had already, so you had to be picky about your words.

“Uh, sure. Yeah! I can do that for you!” She was channeling some optimism now, her face bright at the thought of “your grace” trying her signature dish. It was really cute!

You were lucky no one heard her shouting “your grace” however many times, there weren’t any other customers and her dad wasn’t there for whatever reason.

But that didn’t stop someone from recognizing you though.

You had felt something pulling on the lower half of your clothes, so naturally you look down and see 

the one and only

former god

Guoba was gazing up at you with sparkles around his eyes

he seemed really excited to see you!

“Oh, aren’t you the cutest!” You were quick to scoop him up and give him the bestest of cuddles you could muster, and he seem to respond in kind

he was so much softer then you could of thought, and he emitted such a nice warmth

people in your world were told not to hug bears, so you werent gonna pass the chance to do so in this one

“Wha--Guoba?!” You both pause in your cuddling sensation to give Xiangling a shocked look at her interuption. Her attention had completely left the food she had been preparing previously (impressively enough her hands still seemed to be cooking it perfectly) and was focused solely on your interaction with the little guy.

“What’s the matter? Should I not be hugging him?” 

“No no! Your more then welcome too Your Grace! Well at least I say but...the last couple times Guoba completely...disregarded you! I guess I’m just shocked.” Her gaze had bashfully returned to the food, potentially embarrassed at having such an outburst in front of you.

“Well I don’t know, maybe he just needed to get used to me.” You focus back on the little guy in front of you and part of you knows thats not really the truth. He’d been so “disregarding” because it was the imposter he had been presented with, not you. He didn’t really make expression but you could tell that he was really excited to see you and be held by you. he’s so freakin cuTE-

Another part of you was thinking, surely someone must’ve seen that as strange. You thought back to the “monsters” too, someone surely must’ve picked up that the imposter being ignored by animals or attacked by “monsters” should be very suspicious. But according to this whole imposter fiasco, it wasn’t suspicious to warrant a check. 

“Here you are! A Wanmin Restaurant Boiled Fish, our speciality!” Xiangling placed the meal in front of you and gave you one of the brightest smiles you’ve ever seen, you almost had to squint at it. A mix of Guoba’s sudden acceptance of you, and trying her signature dish must be really exciting.

Sitting Guoba down in the chair next to you (to his displeasure, as he made sure you knew with an unhappy grunt) you pick up the utensils and look down at the meal in front of you. It smelled heavenly and you made sure to give it a good sniff before getting a spoonful and getting a taste.

The flavor embraced your tongue wonderfully, it was so delicious it was easy to think you wouldn’t order anything else at this establishment. I mean the characters always said Xiangling was a good cook, but this meal was just a whole other level of good.

During your food-caused glee, you didn’t take notice on how Xiangling had looked at you. She couldn’t help but think you looked especially radiant today, not to say you didn’t anytime else, but there was something about today that gave you such a...glow. Watching your eyes shut in delight, humming at the taste of the meal, she felt a warmth from your presence she hadn’t realized was lacking before. Even in a common Liyue garb, every aspect of you invited people to be enraptured by you and your presence. Her heart raced as your eyes cracked open happily to indulge in another bite. She hadn’t seen you so pleased trying food before, though she wasn’t really around to see you eatting

but the face you were making...part of her wishes you only made that face when you ate her food

she knew that if the rest of her life was spent only cooking for you, it’d be a life worth living. (she knew that before hand, but now more then ever did she feel that way)

Guoba had grumpily forced himself into your lap, making you have to scooch your chair back a bit to fit him while still eating (not that you minded, it enhanced the experience tbh)

Letting out a sigh at your full and satisfied stomach, you wrapped your arms around Guoba and buried your face into the top of his head

He let out a small sound of satisfaction, which was very cute

Gazing at Xiangling she seemed to be flustered trying to find a topic of conversation, which was kinda shocking cause she didnt seem like the type to struggle conversationally

(it was probably cause it was you)

“Bleh...I don’t really wanna go back after such a nice meal. I wanna have fuuun! Is there anything we can do that won’t get me caught?” You interrupted her internal dilemma with your own dilemma. 

How do we get more out of my time in Liyue before im wrongfully exposed?

“I know! Are Chongyun or Xingqiu busy? We can hang out with them!”

She seemed conflicted at your suggestion, probably wanting to take you back for safety reasons, but also not wanting to cut your time together short.

“And Guoba doesn’t me to go either, see?” And indeed you were correct! The bear was giving Xiangling the best puppy eyes he could while in possession of bear eyes, and you could tell it was working wonders on her

you could tell by the sudden slump of her shoulders that her internal battle had concluded, and you let a bright smile at her sheepish nods.

Now what misdeeds can you guys get into before getting caught??

[sindar-princeling]

LOTR Newsletter 3 Shire Drift - FAQ

Hello everyone!

Just like last year: for those of you who are already familiar with The Lord of the Rings Newsletter, this serves as an announcement that I'm doing it again; and for those who aren't - an introduction to the project :)

What is LOTR Newsletter?

I'm one of the people who subscribed to Dracula Daily in May 2022, and immediately thought, "Hey, I can do this too but with XYZ!" - XYZ being The Lord of the Rings. Because the events of LOTR also have specific dates ascribed to them, we're gonna be reading LOTR as it happened.

When does it take place?

Because of the way the beginning of LOTR is structured (read: because I don't want to leave six-month-long breaks between the first entries), we're gonna start on September 15th - a week before September 22nd, when the main events start to take place. It's also the publishing date of the Silmarillion, but that's just a fun fact for my own enjoyment.

From September 15th to September 19th, we'll read the prologue, and the fragments preceding Frodo's departure from the Shire. From September 20th, we'll be reading according to the dates in the book until April 8th. Then we'll be reading last parts of the book - which are stretched over a long time - once a week, to once again avoid lengthy breaks in delivery.

The Newsletter will last from September 15th to May 26th.

Where do I go if I want to post/talk about something related to the Newsletter with other readers?

We discuss current (and not only current) entries in the #lotr newsletter tag, and we have a Discord server set by the amazing @k-she-rambles! (I really hope this time I managed to generate a link that never expires...)

How do I subscribe?

Since the original platform I was using (TinyLetter) was shut down halfway through the second year of the newsletter, I had to figure out an alternative way to execute this project.

For the lovely people who joined the last edition of the newsletter, just a short announcement - I weighed all the pros and cons and decided to continue carrying out the newsletter the way I did after TinyLetter shut down.

For the new folks, a lengthier explanation: check out this post if you want to learn the details, but long story short: I can't send the newsletter as e-mails anymore, so instead I decided to provide you with a ready copy of the entire thing. I prepared formatted copies of the whole newsletter - September 15th to May 26th - as an .odt file, as a .pdf file, and most importantly as an .epub file, because I assume most of you are reading on your phones (if you don't already have an .epub reader, I use FBReader, and everything worked fine on my phone). At the beginning you'll find the whole table of contents with hyperlinks, so the navigation inside the document should be easy!

The MEGA folder can be accessed right here, and it's available for everyone!

In the folder linked, you'll also find a calendar file made by @none-ofthisnonsense that you can download on your phone and import into your calendar app so that all days when we read are marked in your calendar!

If you want to receive notifications about when there is an entry to read, you can also follow @is-today-a-lotr-newsletter-day and turn on notifications! This is a blog created solely for notifying you all when we're reading a new fragment of the newsletter, so all notifications you'll get will be about new entries, and nothing more. The notifications are meant to be the equivalent of sending e-mails.

Anything else I should know?

Please don't rat me out to Tolkien Estate/j, and have fun reading!

(And as a PS.: Thank you very much if you join - or join again! Last year was very tumultuous because of all the changes in the format, and I know the new way is not for everyone - but introducing more changes again felt like once more creating new chaos, so I decided to stick to a solution that mostly worked. I hope you understand!)

See you on September 15th!

[zenkindoflove]

You guys do not want to go down the road of starting to make blanket declarations that specific ships are "problematic" and "triggering". And let me explain why.

ACOTAR fandom, in my experience, is notoriously very far removed from general fandom. It's big and dispersed across many platforms that weren't created around fandoms, and so a lot of people enter it having little to no experience in other fandoms.

This discourse about what is or isn't a problematic ship and what kind of person ships a couple like that is not new. Fandoms of yesterday yore have had long fights about this and a general consensus has emerged which is anytime you start playing the morality policing game around people having fun with fictional characters, everyone loses.

Let's take this situation with Elain Archeron Week which is explicitly banning submissions for Elain with characters who are canonically known to be abusive to a romantic partner. Generally, the spirit of character weeks are to be ship neutral and importantly a concept that has emerged from prior fandom morality policing debate is the term Ship and Let Ship. Which means just because something isn't YOUR ship doesn't mean you need to come up for reasons why it isn't CORRECT to ship.

So, you think it's morally incorrect and triggering for people to see Elain paired with an abuser or a "bad guy"? That is okay for your own personal beliefs but if you start making rules around it for something that is supposed to be inclusive where do you draw the line or what that means? How about pairing Elain with the guy who runs Night Court Abu Ghraib? A role that means he actually tortures people physically and mentally to the brink that they are forced to "confess" to crimes. Is that some how morally superior to another character who emotionally abused their partner and confined them to a house?

See. That didn't feel good. Now did it? Do you actually want to get into a discussion about which wrong is morally worse than the other? Especially when it concerns a character week that is supposed to be about positivity and people having fun because they love Elain and they love the different interactions she could potentially have with characters in fanon?

And that is the entire point. When it comes to fiction, we all will be seduced by characters who have done bad things. Things that will trigger people. But, and I mean this whole heartedly, no one else is responsible for your triggers but you. You are the only one who knows what you can and cannot handle. Your Mileage May Vary. Tumblr's tag filtering system is in part for this very reason because of how fandoms use tumblr.

When you have a fandom wide event space, generally it's a bad idea to start throwing up these judgmental rules around people's character interests and shipping habits. Of course, any event runner is entitled to do what they please. But you also have to expect those who are excluded or know people who will be excluded are going to have something to say about it.

I really think the entire ACOTAR fandom could benefit from getting curious for once and actually digging into the histories of fandom, fandom lore and vocabulary, and start learning from from fandom elders. If so, we'd all be able to navigate these situations with a shared language that recognizes that the primary goal of fandom is to have fun first. And everyone's fun is going to look different and each individual is responsible for deciding what their squicks and triggers are. And the whole point of a squick is to let someone know this thing bothers me personally but I understand if it doesn't bother you. That sort of back and forth empathy across each side is how fandoms don't burn down in flames and people don't feel shame about what they like in fiction.

Now any fandom event can make whatever rules they want. But what I already see is a bunch of people (e/riels) are now actually making posts about why others who ship Elain with Tamlin are morally inferior, disgusting, perverse, and bad people. But hear me out, someone can easily think and say the same thing about you and your ship and if that is the kind of environment you'd like to fuck around in, well, aren't we all the worse off for it.

[astroismypassion]

✨PART OF FORTUNE IN SIGNS AND HOUSES SERIES: 3RD HOUSE✨

Credit goes to astrology blog @astroismypassion

I'm continuing with asteroid Part of Fortune series in signs and houses. Next one is in the 3rd house. Asteroid POF shows how you build material wealth, how you feel abundant and even around which people you feel the wealthiest or the most abundant.😀

PART OF FORTUNE IN ARIES IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Aries and Gemini Sun people in your life. You create wealth by journaling your goals down, writing it on paper, when you come up with new, fresh ideas that have a niche for something. You are most abundant when you make new close friends, but also low key when you are able to outperform them a little bit. You are abundant when you have friends that you can learn from, friends that make you ambitious and driven. You need new starts in thinking, expressing your opinion, ideas, beliefs.

PART OF FORTUNE IN TAURUS IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You could discover abundance by preparing meal plans for others or even writing your own recipes or put a twist on them. You feel the wealthiest when you have Taurus and Gemini Sun people in your life. You may also earn money by giving financial advice or how to budget. You are very organised when it comes to your finances and it comes more naturally to you than other people. You can also prepare an enjoyable fitness plan or workout plan that isn't restrictive for those around you.

PART OF FORTUNE IN GEMINI IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Gemini Sun people in your life. You are tthe wealthiest when you have lots of friends that you learn from (but also teach them) and when you belong to different friendgroups. You could attract wealth by talking, having a social media account about teaching people when the new interesting spots in your neighbourhood, local town are, because you sure know the best ones!

PART OF FORTUNE IN CANCER IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Cancer and Gemini Sun people in your life. They literally bring wealth to your life. You could give advice on parent child relationships, you may also be an excellent tutor, teacher to elementary and high school kids, even children. You may be excellent at writing a children's story. You could also attract wealth by talking, speaking about your family, since you have very interesting home life with lots of adventures. You receive wealth from your mother or a female sibling, cousin.

PART OF FORTUNE IN LEO IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Leo and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via life couching, joining politics, with public relations, speaking, marketing, web design, making posters, content for others. You could earn money with videography, daily blog, because you have an exciting life. You might also start a platform for other people and helping them discover their vocation, profession or introducing everything it take to become an event planner, producer etc., basically showcasing which steps you need to take.

PART OF FORTUNE IN VIRGO IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Virgo and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via tutoring, helping others with home chores, home work, selling e-books, pdfs, selling your study notes, starting a podcast. Another placement that is great for introducing your profession to other people.

PART OF FORTUNE IN LIBRA IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Libra and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via translation, speaking or using foreign language at work, for your job, starting a business with a sibling, having a social media platform. You may start your own book club and make money through it. You could write reviews on resturants in your local city. You are good at finding a sponsor for your activities or selling something creative that you make and enjoy doing.

PART OF FORTUNE IN SCORPIO IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Scorpio and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via writing erotica (shocker I know, but you definitely have writer potential), talking about mental health. You would be able to write profound blog posts about astrology, tarot. You can give great advice on counselling, be an intimacy coach or a sex educator, relationships expert.

PART OF FORTUNE IN SAGITTARIUS IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Sagittarius and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via furthering your education, taking a course on something, learning a new language, expanding formal and non-formal education, teaching elementary and high school kids and helping them with homework. Ahh your stories are very inspiring to people, even just hear about your past life experience.

PART OF FORTUNE IN CAPRICORN IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Capricorn and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via publish research papers, e-books. Also, take your parents' advice more often, they could introduce you to a money making opportunity. You can give great advice on parent child relationships or write a guide or a self help book for those in need.

PART OF FORTUNE IN AQUARIUS IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Aquarius and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via online, social media, via friends (because they tell you about job opportunities the moment when you need it the most), having an online small business, selling bracelets, earrings, necklaces. You are abundant when you discover a niche in your field of interest. You have a higher chance of finding a sponsor for your activities.

PART OF FORTUNE IN PISCES IN THE 3RD HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Pisces and Gemini Sun people in your life. You make money via tarot, selling your poetry, writings, marketing, doing fotography for someone or audio production, video editing. You feel abundant near a body of water, taking frequent showers, making a difference in other people’s lives, selling your ideas or advice.

Credit goes to astrology blog @astroismypassion

[writingquestionsanswered]

how does one manage when there's no feedback, no engagement, no... anything? the last few things i've published have gotten zero. it's frustrating. it's discouraging.

Getting No Feedback/Engagement

It's frustrating when you put your work out there and don't get any engagement or feedback. However, what to do about it (if anything at all) depends on how you're publishing and what you want the feedback for.

Whether you're publishing books/e-books or publishing online via your blog or a fiction-sharing site like AO3, it's never a good idea to rely on reader comments for feedback to help you improve your writing. If you want feedback for improvement, it's best to utilize alpha and beta readers, critique groups, critique partners, and feedback exchanges with other writers.

If you want the feedback an engagement because you want to know that someone is enjoying your work, or because you want to make sure you're building a following, you'll need to spend some time learning how to build an audience on the platform you're using. It's so important to remember that there are over 6 million registered users on AO3, for example, and over 11 million stories. Kindle Direct Publishing on Amazon hosts a couple million authors, with millions of books being sold each year. Tumblr has 135 million active users with 21 million new posts created each day. So, you no matter where you're publishing your stories, there is an unimaginable amount of competition. Unfortunately, you can't just post your stories and expect people to flock to them. That's why it's so important to learn how to build an audience on the particular platforms you're publishing on, and then you'll want to learn how to utilize social media to help get your work out there. For example, if you publish on a fiction-sharing site or your blog, you'll want to make sure you're using all the right tags and other metrics to draw people to your story. It's also extremely important that you support and engage with other writers... read and comment on their stories, boost them when appropriate. You might also consider starting a social media page specifically to find more readers. For example, let's say you write Supernatural fic and post it to AO3. You might make an Instagram page for your fiction, post SPN related memes and content, and update potential readers when new stories go up. Again, symbiosis is super important. If you don't engage with others, they won't engage with you.

If you're publishing books/e-books, you'll want to spend some time learning the best ways to promote your books, which will include things like figuring out who your audience is and where to find them, learning the proper tags, figuring out what kind of advertising speaks to them most, and learning to create promotional images and videos.

No matter what, it's really a matter of taking the time to get your work out there and find your audience. Because regardless of where you publish, they're unlikely to find you if you don't do the work to find them first.

Best of luck! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[nicnak20]

*In a small little religious town, Oakhaven, the beloved pastor, Father Charlie is hailed as one of the wisest men of the town. Beside him is his wife Yn and his daughter Rosalina, who makes a name for herself as the town's bad girl, causing great strain to Charlie's title and reputation within the town. As the tensions become higher for Charlie because of Rosalina's rebellion, the harder he strives to create the perfect little community and family that he wanted all along, without realizing the stakes that rise over his good intentions.*

*Mentions of child abuse and past trauma, rebellious behavior, depression, triggers, anxiety, social, self- harm, religious abuse, and parental standards and ignorant and bad behavior and actions.*

Everyone knew. There was no way around it. It was still the talk of the town and with every word spoken of it, the more it singed inside of Charlie and Yn- the catalysts for the whole plot. Charlie, once the wisest man in the town, now just became another face in the crowd that happened to wear a clergy collar and a golden cross necklace.

Despite the public shame they felt everytime they stepped out of their home, a deeper more lingering feeling still existed in them. A feeling that would most likely never leave them. The pain and grief from their only child not being there; Rosalina had been vanished a year ago and it still felt like that day. Time had stopped Yn thought and that if she just shut her eyes tight enough and rattled her body hard enough, then she'll awake from this vivid nightmare that held a hold over her since the night of the fire. And that's when it all came into focus.... the fire of the little Oakhaven church that stood so tall like a pillar, yet burned down into nothing but ash by early sunrise.

That night would always replay over in Yn's mind. It was the last time she ever saw her daughter again.

*****************************

As the local pastor of Oakhaven, Charlie had a responsibility over the community. He was taught to guide and lead his community with love through the direction of the Lord. He was indeed a father to the town, but mostly a true father to his child- something that he placed over all the other aspects and outlets in his life. Charlie was endearingly devoted towards Rosalina and it never wavered an ounce ever since the day she was born. The only other person who hadn't totally dammed Rosalina was Yn. Even Charlie could see the deep and unadulterated way Rosalina had her around her finger. Yn was fierce in protecting her daughter's name and never allowed a harsh word or thought to be crossed into her path- even if she at times deserved it. 

Charlie had the town in his hands; people worshiped him more so than they praised the Lord on every Sunday when the church was usually filled with the towns people who saw it as a ritual, more than a genuine experience to learn. Father Charlie was God in their eyes, and in some way.... Charlie admired it.

It was his story tale kind of life that Charlie was proud to have... even when it came to the glitches. Rosalina. The only one who sat in the pews with bright highlighted hair like a reflective tape in the eyes of headlights. It was hard for anyone not to notice, but still, there was Charlie on his platform giving his sermon and staring out into the crowd, praying for all eyes to be on him, instead of whatever eccentric thing Rosalina had cooked up that week.

Back to the events of last summer in late July when Rosalina was still sporting her typical blue highlights among her thick brunette pelt. Black and jaded clothes that had more rips in the jeans than her father could count, black leather Doc Martains and the faint smell of e-liquid misting through the fog of vapor from Rosalina's mouth. It was something she occasionally flaunted in front of Charlie and Yn. She especially liked vaping in front of clergy members; staunch older nuns whose faces were shadowed with disapproving looks, before offering up a stern scolding to Rosalina- that she practically mocked- and to Charlie, whose face would be flushed with an awkward look. Charlie knew all too well the trouble Rosalina liked to cause for herself and her family.

"Sweetheart, maybe you could sew some of the rips in your jeans... that's all." Charlie cooed. But Rosalina scoffed. "Who cares what everybody thinks- if they don't get the sense of fashion in today's world, fuck em, it's their problem."

"Watch your language," Yn butted in gently, but still held firmness to her tone. "Rosie, you shouldn't be vaping either. If you want to wear ripped jeans that's one thing, but absolutely no vaping." Rosalina rolled her eyes and brushed her way out of the kitchen that started feeling a bit too cramped for her. "Whatever..." she said, out of earshot. Charlie rubbed his head before brushing his hair back with his hand for the hundredth time today.

"Keep doing that and you'll go bald." Yn joked. It eased a little smile onto Charlie's face, but his eyes still held worry. "I just..." Charlie threw his hands up and sighed. Yn rubbed his shoulder sweetly from behind. "I know... it... it just takes time, that's all." 

"I know... I just want Rosalina to..." Charlie sighed. 

"Stay on the right path?" Yn finished.

"Yeah..." Charlie said, quietly. "everytime we tell her something, it turns into a huge battle and... it's exhausting, Yn. I love Rose to death, but her behavior... it's inadmissible." Yn stayed quiet for a moment before nodding her head slightly. "I agree..."

"Rose has to learn there are rules to everything..." Charlie walked over to the table and grabbed his phone, shoving it into his pocket. "you can't run around life doing whatever without consequences," He paused for a moment. "you strive to do the right thing, and only the right thing... the rest will all fall into place once you do." Yn understood. A smirk played across her lips as her eyes gave Charlie a sly knowing look. A cheeky smile spread across Charlie's cheeks, showcasing his deep dimples. He cradled Yn into a warm side embrace and held her there for a while.

"Did I just happen to fall 'right into place?'" Charlie pressed his head against the side of Yn's. "Maybe... more like an angel sent from heaven in that bright coral dress at that picnic." Yn chuckled. She remembered that summer; how daring she thought Charlie looked with bangs hovering over his eyes and how brawny his arms looked in black and white flannel. That was the first time they met.

The sunlight peered through the window over the sink and speckled the couple in blotches of sun as they held each other in their arms. Rosalina was nearby on the steps, hanging on the now muted conversation her parents just had. 

Something thick formed in her gut- the substance that always clogged her throat making it heavy on some nights when the town was silent and nothing but the babble of Rosalina's thoughts could be heard. They were loud thoughts too. Just like the ones that ran through Rosalina's head right in this moment. She wore fear under her clothes that were seemingly styled in resentment. At least, that's what everyone else seemed to notice. Rosalina quietly vanished into her bedroom, where the sunlight dappled it's reflection over her bed. She sat on her bed and just stared into the wall until it became nothing. The weight of Oakhaven seemed to crush over her with every little step she took to make it a different cause for herself. Father Charlie's daughter. That was all anyone wanted to see her as. It was branded onto her since her first breath and weaved itself into a ball and chain around her ankle everywhere she went. Rosalina was just Father Charlie's daughter- she believed she might as well have been named that from the beginning instead of Rosalina.

Fiddling with a thick strain of blue hair between her fingers, Rosalina finally turned her attention towards the window. She came closer and just took in the picturesque scene of the backyard. How lush the lawn looked, how neatly trimmed the blades of grass seemed to be, how the sun was shining just right over the old cherry tree that still stood tall after all those years. That tree was there even before Charlie was born, Rosalina swore. It all seemed so neat and perfect... like her father. 

That's who he was- a man of grooming. He was a kempt man, both physically and mentally. His mind always dolling out some grain of wisdom that was always unsolicited in Rosalina's case. He walked with a pep in his step while taking firm strides in confidence like he could look God in the eyes. "Follow the rules," Charlie would always say to his daughter. "and you'll always succeed." Rosalina would roll her eyes, sometimes internally, sometimes for her father to see. His words were the foundation of the town- Follow the rules, and everything will be just peachy keen! It was pathetic to Rosalina. Charlie thought her to be this little daisy next to a white picket fence with her hair perfectly so, her clothes mirroring his sermons from head to toe and her smile as bright as the afternoon sun in the middle of August.

Rosalina wasn't like that. She chose not to be and she knew it would have its effects. But so did everything else in life, she thought. Oakhaven was like a gilded cage with sunny side Sunday school lessons and stale snicker-doodle cookies for the spring bake sale and soggy pumpkin pie for those autumn food drives. It all reeked of self- righteousness and this thin walking line of holy based meticulousness. Rosalina didn't protest the bible beliefs, she just hated how everyone around her was introducing themselves in their own image of 'purity' like they were programmed to be cookie cutters of the traditional Oakhaven expectations. No one was different. Never questioning their answers or straying over the inside the lines type of teachings that seemed to circulate the centerfold of the town itself: the church.

The one place where everyone knew everyone's business before you even stepped inside. Nothing was unknown- except was out there beyond the wasteland little home. And that's where Rosalina strived to be. She had to see the brighter light than what Oakhaven held. There was an entire world out there that was begging to be explored and Rosalina promised herself that no matter what happened, she would build that life for herself and set herself free from the born and raised portrait of being the pastor's daughter. Father Charlie's little sweet, button eyed daughter that held this signify of future generations for Oakhaven.

Just the thought of it made Rosalina sick.

********************************

The stained-glass windows of the church cast rainbow hues across the pews as Charlie stood at the pulpit, his worn Bible open before him. He adjusted his collar, a nervous tic Rosalina knew well, and smiled at the congregation. His smile, however, held a particular warmth, a pointed gentleness, directed at the front pew where his daughter Rosalina sat, arms crossed tight against her chest. It was her father's gentle suggestion that his family sit at the very front so he could feel comforted by their presence. But Rosalina knew it was because he didn't trust her. No one really did.

“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” Charlie began, his voice resonating with the familiar cadence of Sunday mornings. “Today, our reading comes from the book of Isaiah.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. He scanned the congregation, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual on Rosalina. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes fixed on a loose thread on her jeans.

“Isaiah speaks of straying,” Charlie continued, his voice rising in gentle inflection, “of wandering from the flock. Now, the path of faith, my friends, is like a well-worn trail through a vast meadow. It’s a path laid out for our safety, for our guidance, towards a place of peace and sustenance. But the meadow is vast, isn’t it? And meadows are filled with distractions.”

He gestured towards the windows, towards the sunlit world outside. “There are wildflowers in the meadow, bright and alluring. There are butterflies flitting, promising fleeting beauty and excitement. And sometimes… sometimes, the trail can seem… well, a little… dull in comparison, wouldn’t you say?”

A few polite chuckles rippled through the pews. Rosalina’s jaw tightened. She knew where this was going. This wasn't about the congregation. This was about her.

Charlie’s tone grew more earnest. “We are like those sheep,” he said, his voice softening but gaining intensity. “Especially, perhaps, young sheep. They are full of energy, full of curiosity. They see the wildflowers, hear the whispers of the wind in the tall grass, and they think, ‘Oh, just a little detour. Just a little wander. What harm could it do?’”

He moved from behind the pulpit, taking a few slow steps forward, his eyes still fixed on the front pew, though his words were for everyone, he insisted in his heart. “But the meadow,” he cautioned, “though beautiful, is not always safe. The wildflowers might hide thorns. The tall grass might conceal pitfalls. And the further we stray from the path, the harder it becomes to find our way back.”

He spread his arms wide, a gesture of pastoral embrace. “And that, my dear congregation, is where the good shepherd comes in. The shepherd knows the meadow. He knows the dangers. He understands the allure of the wildflowers, the temptation to wander. And he watches over his flock, especially those young, adventurous sheep who are most prone to stray.”

He paused again, his gaze now sweeping over the entire congregation, but still, somehow, landing back on Rosalina. “The shepherd,” he continued, his voice laced with gentle reprimand, “doesn’t chase after the straying sheep with anger. He doesn’t punish or shame them. No, brothers and sisters, the good shepherd calls out. He uses his staff to gently guide them back. He might even use a bit of… ahem… a shepherd’s crook, if necessary, to gently nudge them back towards the right direction.”

A ripple of unease went through the congregation. Some heads turned subtly towards Rosalina. Yn in the front pew, only a few spaces from her daughter, coughed awkwardly, hoping to gain her husband's attention- make him discontinue, but he was ambitious in his speech. Rosalina’s cheeks flushed a hot, angry red. She could feel the eyes on her, the knowing glances. This wasn't a metaphor anymore. This was a public dressing down, thinly veiled in religious allegory.

Charlie, oblivious or perhaps willfully ignorant of the discomfort he was causing, pressed on. “It is out of love, my friends, that the shepherd does this. Love for the sheep who is lost, love for the flock as a whole. He knows that the path, though sometimes appearing less exciting, is the path to true safety, true peace, and true fulfillment.”

He raised his Bible again, his voice taking on a more traditionally sermon-like tone, attempting to salvage the metaphor and bring it back to a general message. “So let us all, brothers and sisters, examine our own paths. Are we staying on the well-worn trail of faith? Or have we been tempted by the wildflowers and the butterflies of the world? If we have strayed, let us listen to the gentle call of the shepherd. Let us allow ourselves to be guided back to the path of righteousness. For in that path, and in that path alone, will we find true and lasting peace.”

He finished his sermon with a benediction, his voice losing some of its warmth, becoming just a little strained, a little too loud. As the organ music swelled and people began to rise for the final hymn, Rosalina remained seated, frozen in place. Her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.

The metaphor, meant to be gentle guidance, had landed like a lead weight. In his attempt to steer his rebellious daughter back to what he saw as the right path, Charlie had instead exposed her, embarrassed her, and driven a deeper wedge between them with the very words he thought would heal. The colorful light from the stained glass now felt harsh and accusatory, reflecting the raw, exposed feeling churning within Rosalina. The meadow, for her, had just become a very lonely and hostile place.

The thick emotions gurgled up inside of Rosalina. The rainbow glow of the window reflected different shades of blue across her already dyed streaks, that seemed more like stage lights rather than a casual sunny beam. Rosalina didn't hesitate to uproot herself up from the hard bench and storm down the aisle- not caring who looked in her direction and not bothering to stare anyone else in the eyes either. Only the sound of the door slamming shut could be heard as the silence became defining across the sanctuary. 

Charlie cleared his throat and continued his sermon, but had now moved onto another scholar instead. Pushing back the smoldering pinch in his gut, Charlie maintained his focus on the rest of the sermon- even through gritted teeth.

*****************************

It was around nine when Rosalina had returned home from God knows where. Her parents sat steady on the couch- their eyes watching as she came through the door and without so much as a second thought or glance, she skipped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut. Rosalina plopped over her rose colored blanket and threw on her headphones, blaring the music as loud as her ears could take. She could made out the faint hums of her mother calling for her, but Rosalina- like usual- ignored it and continued her Linkin Park marathon.

Meanwhile, Yn had given up calling for her daughter and walked back over to Charlie who was pacing the floor back and forth with pointer curved over his lips. "Charlie-"

"Maybe I should've used another example. I should have practiced my sermon better, Yn... now Rosalina hates me more than ever now."

"That's not true! She loves you very much, Charlie... she's just... confused that's all." "Confused? Yn- she walked out in the middle of church and didn't come back home until only a few minutes ago!" 

Yn looked down at her hands knowing Charlie was right. "If it's any consolation..." Yn looked up to meet her husband's pitiful eyes. "we don't exactly know what was going through Rosalina's mind when she left." Charlie bit the side of his lip. He slowly sat next to Yn on the couch and kept his head down low. "I don't know, Yn... I just don't know... prayer can solve this... maybe."

"Yes it can. Charlie, Rosalina is only seventeen. She's still trying to figure things out and... well... even with good intentions... the sermon maybe didn't do what was intended. But your heart was in the right place. And somewhere inside, she knows that. I know she does. Rose knows you love her, Charlie and while despite her recent actions, I think she wants to be good. She needs you more than ever now- especially at this time of her life."

A smile broke through Charlie's lips. Not a big one, but a frail one that held desperation and yearning in it. "You're a wonderful father and husband, Charlie... and your family loves you... I love you... Rosalina loves you.... the town... and God. He sees everything- he sees your efforts. God has a plan for everything.... just don't forget that."

Charlie broke into a full smile. He leaned Yn into him and kissed the side of her forehead. "You're right, babe. Rosalina... she's a little lost sheep. My lost little sheep... and I am going to save her... no matter what it takes... I'm not giving up on her."

A few hours went by before Charlie got the nerve to say something to Rosalina. He made it to her bedroom door before stopping; hand hovering over the door knob, Charlie took a deep breath and backed away. Not now. It wasn't the right time, he thought. He would wait until morning and try something else. He respected Rosalina enough to respect her space. Shuffling back, Charlie turned around and disappeared into his and Yn's shared bedroom- a slight twinkle pestering his mind that maybe in that jaded moment, Rosalina would open her door with some insight in her eyes.

Charlie waited a few minutes... but nothing. Just empty silence that reminded him of the same silence in the church after Rosalina had stormed out. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Charlie sighed quietly and fell into his bed for the night.

**************************

Rosalina had scampered out of her window and ran into downtown where she was expected to meet Dustin and his friends. Angel Janice was the first to greet her; bright smile that lit up the ebony of the night. One of the first things Rosalina took in when she first met Angel was how rich her outlook on life was. Bold and carefree like the summer breeze, Angel hung on every word of the meaning 'live life to the fullest.' Constantly the one to push her friends to take risks and not think too much, Angel naturally became one of the members of the 'Outcasts', the reject kids of the town. Angel was wild in her sense of being the town's voluptuary girl. Angel lost count of how many sensual endeavors she had since she was thirteen. 

Rosalina knew of these trips, but never questioned them. She found them too blunt as she knew Angel would describe them too personally for her Rosalina's taste. Rosalina hid Angel's company from her parents and nearly everyone in Oakhaven. She was already judged for being the town's 'slut' and was stabbed with those names by the nuns everytime she sashayed in front of them when they were in front of the church. Angel just carried this smirk over her face and strutted her mini skirt and platforms with the upmost self-possession. No one truly knew what went on in Angel's home- if she even had one, but she found a piece of herself within her other friends of the same reject material.

"Oh my God! Rosie!" Angel squeezed her friend into a tight hug, Rosalina taking in the scent of her sultry perfume that smelled of Paris blossoms. "where were you? I heard about that shitty sermon that Father Charlie gave, so stupid." Angel said Charlie's name with such disdain and mockery. Rosalina let a exposed look cloud in her eyes. "Yeah..." her voice cracked. "it was so humiliating. How could he do that?- make everyone stare at me like I was this black sheep or this demon spewing it's venom around and he was chanting the devil out of me." A lone tear trickled down her cheek, but was quickly wiped away by Angel's finger.

"Don't let that get to you," she applied another coat of her already heavy red lipstick. "it wouldn't be the first time someone tried to fuck someone over because they don't have angel wings or some shit." Angel popped her lips. "We aren't born with halos and wings- Father Charlie just has to get that through his skull... no disrespect... he is your dad, so..." 

Rosalina couldn't disagree. Her father didn't get it. "Where's Dustin and everyone else?" Angel, still looking in her mirror, answered a minute later. "They're on their way. Edith had to take her pain meds." The reminder of it snagged something in both Angel and Rosalina. Edith Marloe's pain medication for the 'scratches' she got on her arms while 'climbing.' They all knew it wasn't the grinding edges of tree bark, but rather clean blades made from the new razors of Edith's father shaving razor he had bought and forgotten about for months. It was her mother that found her bleeding and rushed her to Oakhaven hospital where Edith was stitched up and discharged after a few hours. The still beaming red slashes were evident and the throbbing pulse they gained still echoed through Edith's skin every time a stray wind hit it. It was a reminder to her that Oakhaven once again, turned away from her. Her mother dismissing her daughter's cuts as anything more than just 'playful injuries' that just happened like an unwarranted car crash. So, that's what Edith went with whenever she was asked about the thick bands of white gauze over her wrists. "A stupid injury." she gritted while describing her hospital trip.

But her friends understood. Edith was different. She was made that way; self discovery uncovered a hidden layer of herself that aroused into something she tried to fight off most of her life. No one knew of Edith's desire for Angela, one of her classmates. Rosalina knew of the ginger haired beauty and how much eye contact Edith maintained with her everytime she needed to tell her something. Like a curse that couldn't hold back its spell, Edith drank in the poison of her most abashing trait that no one knew of. She was smitten by Angela and wished she could shout it from the tallest point of the church as a middle finger to every little judgmental eye that 'happened' to glance at her in her direction. But she knew she never could. Oakhaven wasn't like that, her parents weren't like that- maybe her mother, but her father... it was out of the question.

But as she held up her head, Edith would walk down to the rejects hideout nearly every evening and confess her juiciest sins, knowing they would never be condemned, but welcomed with arms wide open and a bright compliment of how her black pixie cut really framed her sweet and doughy round face well.

Within twenty minutes, Edith along with Dustin Beckett and Drew Cutter showed up. Rosalina couldn't shield herself from getting swept up Dustin's eyes that were same color of the lake at midnight. His dimples were so deep that the light shadowed into them. His smile landed on Rosalina and he trailed behind Drew to reach her into his space.  Edith carried this drawn smile as she kept herself close to Drew. "Hey, Edie!" Angel wrapped her in a warm hug, that Edith loved so much. "Angel..." her voice, soft and practically a whisper. Edith let herself melt into Angel's arms before finally pulling herself hesitantly away. "Hey guys," she greeted. A murmur of greetings followed, but Rosalina's eyes were still on Dustin. 

The gang reframed from asking too much about Edith's wrists. Giving her a sense of normalcy in her routine of cluttered depression. "Did you hear about what fucking Father Charlie did to Rosalina?" Angel declared. The gang listened intently as Rosalina described the details of the horrific embarrassment her own father threw on her in front of the whole congregation. 

"That's awful." Dustin said. Rosalina glanced over to him with her cheeks flushing a tinted rose color. She felt his hand blanket across her back and hook her arm gently. "That pastor always thinks he knows something more than everyone else... putting them in the spot because they aren't as holy as he wants them to be."

"I say we do something about it," Drew suggested while lighting his cigarette. "we should make a statement that really punctuates the crisis. I'm so sick and tired of everyone labeling us as the rotten eggs of the town- like they're so perfect themselves." Blowing out his nicotine smoke, Drew cleared his throat. "Serve em right if that church of his got fucked up real bad." A light bulb seemingly popped over everyone's heads.

"We could fuck it up bad," Angel said. "make Father Charles think twice about branding his offspring like that." A silent plan was settled. The group all tiptoed down to Drew's garage and grabbed as many paint spray cans they could carry. They all snuck down to the church, following the little trail that went past the creek and over the little curved wooden bridge that took them over the flowing stream that still smelled of spring water. Lining themselves in front of the side of the church, Drew was first in shaking his can and spraying neon blue against the tawny brick. Followed by Rosalina who sprayed her colors of yellow and lime and made a jagged indistinct initial of her name. Edith had her neon pink and orange and Angel had her red with white and they sprayed the church in rainbows of their disgruntled expressions. 

To Rosalina, the rainbow abstract reminded her of how the stained glass mirrored its own little rainbow over her in her most humiliating light. This was payback in its most ironic state. Once the paint settled and their cans were empty, the children ditched the empty cans in the trash by the Oakhaven junior high school and carried on to the park where they shared gulps of whiskey that Drew stole from his father's liquor cabinet. A dollop of regret simmered inside of Rosalina's gut, but she drank it down along with the whiskey just trying not to think about it.

************************************

"Good Heavens!" Declared Mr. Malter, the local librarian. He among the other towns people were aghast to see the blatant disrespect that was painted over the side of the church. "Who could do such a thing?" Among the crowd stood Drew with an unimpeded smirk sprawled across his face. It went unnoticed almost like Charlie's pleas for the unbridled crowd to settle and head into the church for a local announcement.

"Friends... I know we've had quite a shock this morning with the vandalism of the church. So, one of the first acts I would like to do is firstly, wipe off the graffiti- if anyone would like to help volunteer, that would be great. Second, it's important that we remain calm and collected during this turbulent time. It's easy to point fingers, but we have to remember that the devil wants us to turn against each other, so we must fight that evil spirit and continue showing kindness to each other." Charlie couldn't keep his eyes off of a sulking Rosalina. Looking at her, really looking into her eyes, he could see the cloud of guilt forming in them. Something about her exasperated side eye seemed more distant. Looking down at his pulpit, Charlie continued on giving instructions until he dismissed the town meeting. He watched as Rosalina disappeared into the sea of the crowd and remained still at his podium. Charlie gulped harshly before walking off the stage and locking himself in his office.

Cradling the little stress ball he usually had on his desk, Charlie squeezed it more than he would've liked. She couldn't have. He didn't believe it.... he didn't want to believe it. Rosalina, his Rosie actually vandalized the church- her own church that her father had taught her to respect for years, was now scribbled over like some coloring book. A vein stiffened in his head and a pierce entered into his gut. Charlie would let this one illustrate itself. If Rosalina did have something to do with it, then it would come to light. But he would trust her... she was just confused like Yn had said. In some way, Rosalina would be innocent and she would be in her bedroom resting off the grudge that was stirred in her that late afternoon at church. Rosalina was safely in her bed, earphones probably still resting in her ears as she drifted to sleep. And Charlie and Yn were in their bedroom, resting off the day with Rosalina tucked into their minds and hearts as always.

Charlie mentally insisted she was at home. She wouldn't do such a thing. Rosalina- to some degree- had her limits and knew better than that. So, Charlie settled it in his mind that he wouldn't think about it anymore. Looking at the picture of a four year old Rosalina, Charlie let a small tattered smile trace over his face. He believed that somewhere deep down, she was his sweet little girl. His perfect angel. And he would never let go of that hope.

********************************

Days passed, but eyes still scanned the different ones they met. All eyes jolted towards the reject kids, Rosalina and her friends who were known to be the typical chaos makers of Oakhaven.  Words were thrown their way and scowls were tossed into their paths with everyone they crossed. Whispers could still be heard and mummers could be made out. Bets were made to who was the main culprit. Rosalina. Angel. Dustin. Drew or Edith. But most wagered Rosalina and Dustin- possibly as a duo who managed to spray their presence within the ink of the night.

Gina Beckett, Dustin's mother, didn't hesitate to form opinions about her son's hidden away friends. "They're all sinners- every one of them, and the Lord is going to strike them down for it- whoever it is, that is." Gina stated pulling up a weed from her garden. Wiping sweat from her brow and shaking her head, Gina continued, "Oh, Yn, I don't know how you do it with that daughter of yours. These flowers are coming along nicely, though—finally getting that dead bloom out. Reminds me of how we need to root out the bad in our community. Did you hear about that awful graffiti on the church last night? Right on the side of the Oakhaven church, of all places! It's like a slap in the face to the Lord Himself."

Yn pulling a weed and nodding sympathetically, "Yeah, I heard about it. What a shame. Some kids probably just acting out. It's a tough world for young ones these days—pressure from everywhere."

Gina raised an eyebrow snipping a rose stem a bit too aggressively "Kids? Oh, it's more than that. It's pure delinquency, straight from the devil's playbook. And you know what? I've got a pretty good idea who might be behind it. My Dustin came home late last night, smelling like trouble. He's been hanging around with that crowd again—the ones who think they're above the rules. You remember those hooligans he calls friends? Always up to no good, skipping Mass and whatnot."

Yn paused her weeding.  "Come on, Gina, Dustin's a good kid at heart. Teenagers make mistakes, but that doesn't mean he's involved. Let's not jump to conclusions." Yn wiped some sweat from her brow with her gloved hand. "Speaking of which, I read this article the other day about how some kids get labeled as "outcasts" at school. It's sad, really—sometimes they're just misunderstood, you know? Like, maybe they need a little more support instead of being pushed aside."

Gina paused with a trowel in her hand, chuckling at first but then her tone sharpens. "Oh, Yn, you're always so soft-hearted. Misunderstood? Come on, those outcast kids are just spoiled little demons half the time. I see it with Dustin's classmates—always causing trouble, talking back, or acting out for attention. They need a good wake-up call, if you ask me. Harsh punishment is the only thing that straightens them out. Spare the rod and spoil the child, right?"

Yn's smile faded while she fiddles with the flower seedling. "I... I don't know, Gina. I mean, I get that some kids can be a handful, but I've seen how quick people are to judge. Maybe if we tried to understand them better, like listening or giving them a chance, it could make a difference. It just feels... off to me."

"Off? Yn, you're too naive. These kids today think the world owes them something. Back in our day, we had rules, and we followed them—or else. If they're outcasts, it's probably because they've earned it. Let the school handle them with a firm hand; that's what I say. No coddling."

A sick feeling lurched itself into the pit of Yn's stomach. A twinge of something she couldn't quite put her finger on embedded itself into her mind and begin to cloud her temperament. Standing up and wiping the dirt off her jeans, Yn decided to leave. "Yeah, I guess we see it differently. I didn't mean to stir anything up." Her voice, quiet and uneasy. "Anyway, I just remembered I have that errand I need to run. I should probably head out early—sorry to cut this short."

Gina looked surprised. She set down her tools. "Oh? Already? We were just getting to the good part. Are you okay?"

Yn forced a smile and avoided eye contact. "I'm fine, just... tired. Thanks for the chat, though. Let's catch up soon." Yn gathers her things quickly and heads for the gate, leaving Gina looking a bit puzzled but shrugging it off as she returns to gardening.

The walk home was quiet and uneasy like this looming shadow was following Yn home. It seemed the sky echoed darker and the air too thick to breathe in. Yn shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans for her keys but decided against going into the house at that moment. It was quiet- Charlie and Rosalina were gone and the town rattled this unnerving silence that misted through the atmosphere it seemed. Yn strolled into the backyard and parked herself onto the back porch step where she took in the sound of the heaving wind and the breeze of the June as it swished and swept the loose hairs of her messy bun.

The words of Gina still echoed through her like a haunted whisper. The callousness of her dearest friend towards children- even her son- sent a disturbing alarm through her body. A mother's job was to sympathize and love, no matter what and that was all Yn ever had for Rosalina- whether she was responsible for the graffiti or not- and Yn wouldn't even think to dream up words like the ones Gina spoke.

Maybe it was because Yn deeply understood Rosalina more than she let on. She knew how Oakhaven could be more like a scrutinized cage, than a humble little town of friendly people who know your needs more than you. At least that's how it was portrayed to Yn before she even knew Oakhaven existed. Charlie wanted the town where the people would flock like sheep to the spokesperson of the church. Charlie felt he could inspire them and give them the encouragement they needed. Especially the young ones. Yn was coupled right next to Charlie when they made their move into Oakhaven, despite Yn's silent objections and her deep hesitance.

She found herself trying to be a good wife- be faithful and cooperative with her husband. Not at Charlie's request, but her own. It was apart of her.

*******************

Born an Alanta native, Yn was raised comfortably in her lush house with her brother and sister, Marcie and James. A happy little childhood filled with a spoil of love and warmth from every corner of her home. Her parents, Phillip and Tilly, were the embodiment of your average parents with loving arms their children could fall and cradle themselves into. They claimed their secret for this was their marriage. "A happy marriage is the embodiment of a happy family." Tilly told Yn one day while stirring her famous pasta sauce. 

"Really?" 

"Mhm..." Tilly tasted the sauce before letting Yn have a lick. Looking into her thirteen year old daughter's eyes, Tilly let a warm smile spread over her cheeks. "Me and your father have been married for nearly twenty years. We love each other very much and we were told the key to a happy family and a successful home was a nearly perfect marriage. Of course, no marriage is perfect, but a strong one can seem that way." Yn let those words fester in her mind. As she grew, she found that her parents were right as their memories were always fun and perfect ones. As Yn grew, so did the memory of what her mother had said to her: "A near perfect marriage, is the key to a happy family."

As high school rolled around, Yn found herself with many crushes, but few boyfriends. "Derek is so gross!" She told Marcie one evening after everyone had turned in for the night. "Everyone says he's so amazing, but he's not really my type." Marcie listened intently, hanging on every word her big sister had to say. "Why don't you dump him then?"

"Because... it's not easy to get a boyfriend right now, Marce," Yn sighed. "people notice if you're a senior and you're single or not dating around at least. I'm just waiting for the last week of school and then I'll dump him."

Yn assured herself that was the reason. Derek was truly a pig, but something else weighed heavily like a dumb weight dangling over Yn's head by a thing string. She felt out of place- sabotaged even. She sabotaged their relationship with her own uptight views of what her future other half should be like instead of what he would be like. Carrying this expectation felt like a guilt in itself. Perhaps she was too domineering with her opinions? Perhaps she spoke too much and too loudly about her own problems instead of understanding his? Yn watched her own parents and they seemed to be born to be in sync with each other like professional ice skaters dancing within and around each other like swans.

Yn wanted that. She needed to feel that love. Those sweet pecks on the cheek to say good morning, those tender words of care after a bad day and a soft hand to hold when you needed it. Yn didn't seem to understand that with patience, she would grow into herself without needing to sacrifice a piece of it. Years went on and the same little bog that drowned Yn in her own self-deprecation didn't disappear. Until she met Charlie.

Twenty eight years old at a piteous company picnic for her friend, Tasha, who craved these events whenever her job handed them out. Yn had moved out of Alanta and found her way around Baltamore when she decided a change would do her good at twenty five. With a quick glance, Yn hadn't meant to lock eyes with a brown eyed beauty. Soft set eyes with the most delicate smile, Yn couldn't help but flush he introduced himself to her with the most passionate charm she'd ever seen on anyone. Yn died in his eyes and drank in his smile before she even knew his name. Charlie. A pastor in training and was still earning his last degree in the college only a few blocks down from the job site.

Yn couldn't let this slip. She decided she would pursue this and make herself be the perfect marriage mate- the perfect wife.

Didn't take long once the first date turned into the third, then the fifth, then the seventh. Soon, Charlie was down on one knee outside the city lights and staring out at the autumn pond where geese and swans all swam in celebration for the enchanted gesture of love. Yn decided things would be different this time. She would let Charlie take the reigns - make the choices. And she would tag along with them. Yn thought of the in sync dancers and the swift and composed moves of the other couples- of her parents. Wedding bells rung in and then a move from the city into the suburbs in their lovely little home where their destined family would grow. It was late that same spring when the phone call. "Yn, I can't believe it! I got the job! Oakhaven church needs a new pastor, and they picked me!"

Yn forced a happy smile, but not for Charlie's acheivement- she would always be proud of that. Oakhaven was a known little community where everyone knew your secrets more than you did. It was supposed to a quaint little religious town where nearly all served the Lord and sinners would be banished to hell. "I'm so proud of you Charlie.... are you sure you wanna live in Oakhaven?"

Charlie's smile faltered a bit. "Don't you?" Yn shrugged before sinking into the mattress. "I guess... I just.... like what we have here. Baltamore is so nice and friendly and... it's everything we need... we'll yearn for more if we moved to Oakhaven." Charlie sat on the mattress and thought about it. His face matching what his mind was thinking; a serious choice that involved their future and everything they had worked so hard for." The Yn thought about the dancers... her parents.

"But, if you think that it's for the best, then I'm all for it." Yn even needed effort to swallow her words from the broad reckless way she shoved them back into her brain. "Ar-are you sure?" Charlie's voice quiet and confused.

Yn nodded a bit too eagerly, like she was trying to sell her ingenuity emotions like she truly believed in them. "Well... okay. How about first thing tomorrow we start looking for houses down there?" Yn nodded, a polite smile plastered to her lips. "Alright then... it's settled. Thanks for being so supportive, babe." Charlie leaned over and kissed Yn's cheek. "Are you sure you're happy with this?" 

"Oh yeah. I thought about it just now, and I think a change of scenery is just what we need." And with that, along with Charlie's smile and the click of nightstand lamps, the deal was set and Yn felt she had scored another point in her little family.

Except....

Oakhaven was everything Yn feared. Noisy neighbors, staunch nuns and priests that practically ran the town with an iron fist, the local this, the local that. It all seemed so phony yet surreal simultaneously. Yn met Gina, the staunch Catholic woman whose faith was a little different than the more mainstream Christan religion the church taught, but still maintained a deep rooted steadfast hold to anything in the name of the Lord. A single mother born out of her husband's unexpected death, Yn brought baked pies and tended to Gina's garden when her rounded belly was too heavy to bend down and pluck the weeds herself. Dustin was born soon before Yn fell pregnant herself.

The town knew about Yn's expecting arrival that Sunday when the town's people piled into the church and Charlie gave his sermons while adding a surprise little note at the end about his wife's special little bump. The congregation all jolted their smiles towards Yn with welcoming eyes and happy faces. The nuns knitted blankets and made teddy bears for the arriving baby, while the choir members sung about the precious gift of life with gleeful zealous voices. Gina even took time to give Yn some of her prized pink tulips when Yn and Charlie found that their lovely little bloom of life was going to be a girl. 

"Rosalina," Yn said one night. "like a rose... Rosalina and Rose or Rosie as a nickname." Charlie raised his eyebrows in agreement. "I love that name... sounds so... Godly." Yn bit her lip and continued smiling. Of course it sounded Godly... but that wasn't the point. July came faster than the couple expected along with their little baby girl's arrival. Rosalina was born bright into the summer haze of Oakhaven where her birth was celebrated as Father Charlie's beautiful daughter. Yn wished sometimes they could back to those simpler times where the town still saw Rosalina as their beautiful girl, instead of the demonic outcast that contrasted her father's holiness. 

As Rosalina grew, so did Yn's resentment towards Oakhaven. Rosalina's bright and unhampered spirit of ambition and creativity was being branded as rebellion and evilness- the very traits Yn admired and possessed herself. She would observe Charlie carefully and firmly warning Rosalina to stay within the lines and follow the rules. Then Yn would watch Rosalina balk at the sheltered expectations and do something more outrageous. Yn knew she didn't have the perfectly happy little home she imagined... but she loved Rosalina. Everything about the girl, Yn treasured. The first person to send waves of encouragement- not just about the church's values, but Rosalina's own. Yn even helped Rosalina with some of her less impious schemes and would always be the one to defuse arguments between her and Charlie, or her and some other clergy member she'd lock horns with. Either way, she took Rosalina's side when she honestly could. Yn was proud of her daughter- Rosalina never had to question it- and Yn knew something about her that Yn regretted about herself for all these years.

Her fiery strength. What others saw as disrespectful, Yn saw as power. Rosalina was strong and never held herself back from jumping head first into her wants. It's what bonded Yn to her. While the gilded cage of Oakhaven still stood, Rosalina was not one to be imprisoned. Yn- needing to know the soft dance of marriage and happiness- led herself astray from her own voice. Rosalina was different. Rosalina would fight back and not be shackled by the fear of expectations, but rather a weight that carried more merit. It carried her life- the life she found herself in that was far away from Oakhaven, far away from the church and the eyes of the town... even Charlie.

The only thing Yn would wish for out of anything in the world, is that Rosalina wouldn't run from her. But rather... take Yn with her in her hand and they would set themselves free from the lies and the captive hold of Oakhaven and never have to think about it again. Yn saw a strong piece of herself in Rosalina... a piece she tried for years to swallow down, but would never burn out. Looking into her daughter's eyes, that's where Yn lived. And that's all she ever wanted to be,

*********************************

The rectory of Priest Abe Marloe was a cozy room of books, religious artifacts and a small little wooden desk. A soft knock startled Abe from his thoughts. "Come in!" He yelled.

"Good afternoon, Abe. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time. I was in the area and thought I'd stop by. It's been too long since we've had a proper chat." Charlie came in with a friendly smile and gentle eyes that softened Abe out of his own fraught thoughts.

"Charlie! Not at all, come in, come in. Always a pleasure. Pull up a chair. Can I offer you some tea? I've just brewed a fresh pot."

"Tea would be wonderful, thank you. I appreciate the hospitality. Listen, I came by because I've been thinking about the community lately—especially the kids. You know, like your Edith and some of the others who feel a bit on the outskirts. They're good at heart, but they need a nudge in the right direction. By the way, how is Edith?"

Abe poured Charlie a cup of tea with shaky hands that were still until the mention of his daughter came up. After Edith's 'accident' Abe is now instantly alarmed and galled by the thought of his daughter's round face and the possibility of something else lurking inside of her baby doll eyes. "Ah, Edith....  she's fine... arms healing up well. I've been worrying about her and those other outcast kids too. What did you have in mind?" Abe quickly diverted the subject.

" Well, that's exactly why I'm here. I was brainstorming ideas for something fun to bring the town together—something that rewards good behavior and helps everyone feel included. How about a festival? A community event with games, music, and activities that highlight kindness and cooperation. We could call it the "Harvest of Goodness Festival" or something like that. It'd be a way to show the kids, including Edith, that their choices matter." Charlie described the festival like it was the best thing since the first coming of Christ.

Abe sipped his tea. "I like the sound of that. A festival could really lift spirits around here. We've had our share of troubles lately—petty squabbles and mischief among the youth. What kind of activities were you thinking? Something interactive, I assume?"

"Absolutely. We could start with simple games that promote teamwork, like a sack race where teams have to help each other win, or a talent show where kids perform acts of kindness they've done. And for the outcast group, maybe include a storytelling corner where they share their experiences—turn it into a lesson on empathy. Oh, and food! A big communal picnic with homemade treats donated by the parish families. That way, everyone contributes and feels involved."

Abe chuckled. "You've got it all mapped out already, don't you? I love the idea of the storytelling corner—Edith's always been a natural storyteller. It might help her open up and connect with the others. We'd need to get the town council on board for permits and volunteers. How about we aim for early fall, when the weather's still nice? That gives us a few weeks to organize."

"Fall sounds perfect—right around the equinox, to symbolize new beginnings. I'll handle reaching out to the council and the parents. You could take the lead on the kids' activities, since you're so connected with them through your parish work. And let's make sure it's free for everyone, no barriers. The goal is to encourage good behavior, not exclude anyone."

"Agreed. This could be a real turning point for the community. I'm in—let's make it happen. Edith will be thrilled to help out, I think. It's about time we showed these kids that they're valued."

Charlie stood up with a grin. "Excellent! I'll draw up a rough plan and swing by next week to refine it. Thanks for the tea and the enthusiasm, Abe. This is going to be something special."

Abe rose from his chair to see Charlie out. "My pleasure, Charlie. God bless you for thinking of this. See you soon."

The flyers were posted on every tree bark of the schools, the bulletin in church hanging over the wall in the hallway, the front door of the church and on some parked cars in the parking lot of the grocery store. That's how Yn and Rosalina found out. Yn found the news endearing, while Rosalina's face flushed with a mix of vex and shame. Rosalina felt as if she was being used as some high profiled example to be made out of because of the graffiti that no one could even link back to her or anyone. 

"Oooh, Rosie! Isn't this exciting?" Yn gushed. "your father must've put a lot of work into this." Rosalina rolled her eyes and scoffed a bit. Yn furrowed her eyebrows. "Rosie... be nice... come on- it might be fun... he has your best interests at heart, okay? Give him a chance." Yn softly nudged Rosalina into cracking a small smile. "There it is! That's my girl!" Yn cooed.  She rubbed the back of her hand against Rosalina's cheek with a gentle cooing smile that always sent Rosalina at ease.

**************************************

The festival was bright and illuminated in lights that blared against the night sky in the thick of early September. Rosalina's eyes darted from one corner to the other. She saw James Withers with his wife, Tabby, who was ten years younger than him and didn't look a day over twenty-seven, while- in Rosalina's eyes- looked no less than seventy. Rosalina seemed to be the only one who couldn't ignore the looks Tabby gave Clint Paxon, the twenty something year old that from the school rumors, was only passing through the town for some extracurricular thing with his college. Then there Genny Makis, the youngest nun who seemed out of place with the other older and more seasoned nuns of her group.

Rosalina talked with Genny a few months ago, where in a rare form of leisure, Genny let it spill that she secretly wanted to become a cardiologist. "You should totally do that!" Rosalina chimed. "if it's your passion, don't throw it away."

"I know," Genny sighed. "it's just... I'm afraid of what they all might say if I were to just walk away." Rosalina stayed still, eyes focused on Genny's. "You can't let people's opinions run your life.... it'll kill you." Genny nudged her head in agreement.

"Rosa!" Rosalina shot her head in the direction of Drew. "where the fuck were ya?!" A flush fell over Rosalina's face as people surrounding her area stared and frowned. "Drew! You know my parents can't catch me talking to you..."

Drew understood only halfway to what his brain would allow to. He wasn't sober. Rosalina could tell that by the stench of whiskey hovering over his breath. "Yuck! Drew! You smell so much of alcohol, it's not even a joke."

Rosalina glanced and saw Edith with Priest Abe and her mother, Wilma walking to a pumpkin stand. Edith looked drained, and Abe barely wanted to look at her. The sight sent a sad ping through Rosalina's heart for a second before the thought of Angel scurried through her mind. "Where's Angel?"

"Probably do-ooing s-some guy. FUCKING ALDEN BECKLORE GETTING BLOWN BY ANGEL!" Eyes turned in their direction, leaving a red faced Rosalina to dart from Drew and try to find at least Dustin. 

"Get over here you little bastard!" Gina yelled, tugging Dustin's ear harshly. Yanking himself from his mother's grasp, Dustin knuckled the side of Gina's head accidentally, but not unapologetically. Darting forward, he ran into Rosalina. "Oh, God, I'm sorry... trying to get away from that she devil bitch." He glanced back to where Gina still was. 

Rosalina nodded her head, understanding why the dark circles under Dustin's eyes were so heavy.  "You seen Angel?" Dustin's face flushed. "She's over by the bushes giving Alden-"

"Becklore a blow job," Rosalina finished. "Drew's drunk again." Dusting gave an eyebrow flash and sucked in his lips, seemingly understanding everything now. "I guess choir boy's not so pristine now, is he?" Rosalina nodded. Alden Becklore, one of the choir boys had lost his virginity tonight to their one and only Angel Janice.

"Rosie?" Rosalina bowed her head down, hoping to hide. She knew the voice belonged to her father and she just wanted to disappear even for a second. But he came around the stocks of people faster than anticipated- his white collar flashing through the crowd. "Oh honey, there you are." His voice almost cooing with this saccharine sweetness. "I was looking all over for you... are you having fun?" He asked, like Rosalina was still somehow five and having the time of her life at a carnival.

Charlie's eyes darted to Dustin's dreary ones who had a favoring towards Rosalina. A tenseness shifted itself from Charlie, as he wrapped an arm around Rosalina's shoulder, motioning her into his gravity. "I have a surprise for you... and you too." Charlie said, darting his glances between the two children.

Letting his grasp of Rosalina fall for a moment as he ran ahead to the front stage where Abe was already there. It was then Rosalina noticed a white tarp across the wall of the church where she had desecrated her personal truth along with the others. Dustin, an intoxicated Drew, a drowsy like Edith and a sexually hyperactive Angel who was still locking eyes with Alden, came around and mingled into the crowd. 

"Alright friends," Charlie started. "in honor of this beautiful hospitality, we wanted to share something very special with you all. We all know the side of the church had been vandalized, leaving us all hurt from that. So, in honor of Oakhaven church, we painted our own masterpiece." Abe yanked off the tarp and revealed a broad painting of Oakhaven, the townspeople and even Rosalina and the outcast kids. A mural of all the children of the church and Charlie made Rosalina a part of it- whether she wanted it or not.

As the crowd cheered and clapped- Sister Dana even shedding a few tears- a strong wave of rage rose inside of Rosalina. Burying it down with a straight face, she was fuming like a whistling train. No one seemed to notice Rosalina's intense emotions- except for Dustin- despite Charlie's eyes spotlight solely on her. Charlie turned his attention back to the mural. To Charlie, it was everything. More than he ever dreamed of when it came to his faith, his family, his life. Especially his life. Order and stability were what he expected from fate and from himself. A desire born from the fringes of his own tattered and rocky start in life. Something he promised he would never let happen to himself, or God forbid, Rosalina, ever again.

Raised in Baltimore's St Landon's Oprhanage, Charlie was born to two runaway seventeen-year-olds who thought they knew what they were getting into when they slept together for the first time. They named their baby boy once he was born and decided giving him to a family better equipped to care for him would be better. The ultimate sacrifice, they thought. And Charlie understood they meant well by it. Except, no one took him in as their own; all he ever knew was orphanage and the curt and harsh treatments he was given from Sister May and Father John. The lashings for quoting a wrong bible verse, the yelling and the brutal words stung more than the physical punishments. Charlie still had indention scars on his knees from kneeling on rice for hours trying to learn Bible verses. It stayed like this until Charlie finally left the orphanage when he was legal age. But when he was trapped in that cage of pain and hurt, Charlie would make countless promises to himself that things would be better and they would change. He would be adopted and live a normal life. There were good people in the world, he thought. Good Nuns, and good Priests. Pastors who devoted their lives to helping the needy and caring for the weak. 

That was what Charlie wanted his life to be. Helping people like him. Devoting himself even more so to the idea that if he worked hard enough, he would have that life. A good life- one filled with so much love and laughter that he would drown in it. No more night terrors or sore skin from brutal beatings. Charlie would know the meaning of a true genuine smile and he would find himself in the warmth of God's hands where he was meant to be all along.  It was then he decided to become a Pastor. Prove to himself that he could be the type of Pastor that heals the soul, not kills it. Charlie would show the other twisted Nuns and Priests that there was no price to being good- they should've known better and they chose to do bad by themselves, everyone else they ever met, and God himself. Charlie would be better and show everyone that there were good ones out there. That he was one of the good ones.

Burying himself in studies after enrolling himself into Baltimore's John Hopkins, Charlie took up theology, religious studies and philosophy. Graduating with a bachelor's, Charlie found himself at a small time warehouse company where he worked for a few years until he found an easy job with the Baptist church in the area. No one could say Charlie didn't work hard, if not the hardest out of anyone whose job was with him. Charlie believed in his own motto that if he worked hard enough, he could achieve every dream he ever had. His life would truly be his own and his expectations of perfection wouldn't be so far fetched if he was deserving of it.

His dreams took him to finding a nice wife, who followed him down into Oakhaven where the people practically kissed the ground he walked on. Not that Charlie wanted to be worshiped, but he loved the admiration. He had his own little flock of sheep who would hang on his every word as if God was speaking through him himself. Charlie had found people who he could teach and who would listen and understand his well intentions. He was apart of their worlds, but there was one thing that stood out in his.

Rosalina. The day she was born, time stopped and all he could see was those bright brown eyes looking up into his. A mop of thick brown hair and rosy cheeks. Charlie saw Rosalina as a present- a gift from heaven for all the trails he went through. The finish line was Rosalina. The baby girl who was the most precious treasure he ever gained. Nestled into his arms, she layed. Tears dripped down his soft cheeks and splat across his newborn's little face. He breathed when she did, his heart beat the same rhythm hers did. In every way, Rosalina was perfect. A perfect reflection of life that Charlie had wanted for so long to give to himself, was now embedded into Rosalina. It was all about her now. Rosalina would have a good life- she wouldn't hurt the way he had to.

Charlie looked at Yn and then at Rosalina. The family he always wanted was now his. He had worked hard for this and it happened. The perfect family of his dreams. A sweet and docile wife, and an angel of a child, was the vision he ever allowed himself to think about. Wishful thinking, some may call it. But to Charlie, it was a skilled form of thinking. Building his cozy home brick by brick and dream by dream; almost too perfect to be reality it seemed. At least to Charlie. To Charlie, his dreams were his blankets and forts from the past. The trauma of his origins uprooted him into this better days ahead thinking like a prayer on its own that was being anticipated to be answered. As long as he kept his dreams alive, they would keep him at the top where every rose colored view would have its own clarity.

A defense against the pain really. Rosalina was anything but the golden child, Yn was practically drowning and Charlie's humble little town of Bible thumping do gooders was all a sham for their underlining intentions and deep rooted lies. Rosalina was his first cross to bear; running around the town like some forbidden fruit or some little goat that was running through the mellow flocks of sheep. Every fracture in her little image of the holy girl was met with: "Rosie, don't do that! You know better!" "Follow the rules, angel." "That skirt is.... why don't you wear this one instead?" And every subtle nudge toward his direction was met with: "Don't tell me what to do!" "I don't care!" "I can wear what I want!"

Every irk in Charlie, he pushed down and kept hoping- kept dreaming. Even when he was drenched in fury from head to toe from another one of Rosalina's rebellious quirks, or her aggressive stance against conformity, Charlie held this calm to him, keeping him from unleashing superfluous anger over Rosalina and just remind her what was and was not okay. It was one particular incident though, that never left Charlie's mind. He could still remember Yn's horrified face and the town's incandescent and censorious stares as Rosalina ran through the backyard of one of Pastor James Wither with nothing but a cheeky black bikini on with a red 'A' painted over her stomach, while calling out Tabby's name. It was for adultery. But not for him- his wife, Tabby, who was seen with Stewart Shride, one of the town's mailmen over the summer. The rumors speculated, but it was Drew who in one of his sober moments, walked in on the two in bed together. Rosalina remembered how James was extra snooty towards Charlie and treated him like he was beneath him, which actually angered Rosalina. "He deserved it!" She protested. "He was mean to Dad and took his anger out on him all because Tabby cheated on him with a younger ma-"

"That is ENOUGH ROSALINA!" Charlie's tone even startled himself. "That's no excuse for what you did! No you go upstairs and wipe off that paint and for God's sakes, put on some clothes!"

Rosalina gave Charlie a cold, yet hurt look and for once, turned around and did what she was told without arguing. It was also the last time she supported her father... for anything really. The little shred of support Charlie had from Rosalina had evaporated without warning, but was still expected. It was Charlie's unforgivness of himself that he took with him that most from that memory.

Rosalina would turn out well one day, she's just confused, he would tell himself. She's just confused. That's all that rang through his mind like the bells of the church. Confused. Rosalina- in Charlie's eyes- wasn't the devil or a demon in blue hair and thick eyeliner. She was his little princess, his prize for the hard life. And every dream and belief he had for her, was a reflection of his own dreams. Rosalina would be that girl that he saw inside of her. One day, she would see the light and run towards it with arms wide open like every member of Oakhaven.

Rosalina was that little angel... Charlie was sure of it.

*******************************************

Rosalina thought she might've broken a few springs when she plopped on her bed after coming home. The humiliation, the indifference, the stained scarlet letter of the 'Pastor's daughter' was branded to her every image no matter what. Exasperated with her brutal reality that wasn't to change anytime soon, Rosalina sunk down harder into the mattress than what was already possible.

The mural was just another bleak yet exaggerated reminder that in the eyes of the town and in the eyes of her father, she was just another piece of him.  It was always this way. 

Rosalina was a summer baby- born bright in the wake of July. The pride and apple of her parent's eyes. But for Charlie, it held another type of warmth. She was this missing, yet so deeply wanted piece to his frail and determined imagination. Once Rosalina entered the world, Charlie's was all figured out. His main mission now was to give Rosalina everything he never had. Charlie crafted this image of his Rosalina with sweet long chocolate locks, a bright cherry smile, deep dimples that complimented her Bambi brown eyes and her parents steadfast hold of righteousness. Despite all the well wishes and the right moves, Rosalina was a picture of her own.

Her mop of chocolate hair turned spiky at only a few months. Maybe a natural omen for her even spikier personality that was shaping underneath. Rosalina would toss her blocks instead of stacking them. She would spit up her food, instead of enjoying the mushy peas Charlie insisted was so yummy. Rosalina would yell and scream if she wanted immediate attention, instead of softly whimpering. Yn would just simply adjust to these methods by playing toss with Rosalina's blocks, or switching her peas with yams. Yn would learn the depths of her screams and rush to her baby's side with whatever she wanted. Charlie- never forcing Rosalina to do things his way- but would encourage Rosalina to be a bit easier for him to handle.

"Come on, sweetie. Come on... I know you like the peas..." he'd softly coo, still trying to shove a spoonful of peas into Rosalina's mouth. 

"Charlie, she's a baby... if she doesn't want it, we shouldn't try to force her."

"I know... but it's healthy for her," Charlie turned to Rosalina. "right sweetie?" It was then Rosalina spit out her mouthful of peas onto Charlie and swatted the spoon from his hand. The grand finale.... knocking the bowl onto the floor. Charlie opened his eyes and saw the cheeky gummy smile that fell over Rosalina's mouth. Yn shook her head with a hand to her cheek and a defeated smile, while Charlie was still wiping peas off his shirt.

At first it was just the delicate role of Charlie balancing his own wills with the unexpected of parenting. But it grew more and more like this with Rosalina pushing back, while Charlie would gently to try to pull forward.

Five year old Rosalina was taking her first school trip to the museum. Charlie, while excited for her, found that if he gave her a scavenger's list of all the things he wanted her to see at the museum, it would be more memorable for her. Rosalina- politely- took the list and conveniently 'lost' it during the trip. "Where did you keep it?" Charlie asked, suspecting Rosalina had thrown it away deliberately. She shrugged. "I guess it just fell out of my backpack."

Twelve year old Rosalina, Charlie and Yn went to the mall for new school clothes for Rosalina. The young girl found herself attracted to the more punk and gothic aisle, while Charlie found the most beautiful pale yellow sundress he'd ever seen. "Oh Rosie!" He cooed. "You would look so cute in this!" Completely ignoring the dark plum skirt in Rosalina's hand. "That's cute. But this is so my style!" Charlie scanned the skirt up and down with a furrowed brow. "It might be a bit too snug... but this dress is just so... perfect." He fitted it over Rosalina's body; holding the hanger and imagining the dress on Rosalina during an Easter Sunday at church. Rosalina tucked the skirt under her arm and walked away, pushing the dress out her way.

Rosalina bought the skirt along with ripped tights. And it never stopped. Charlie would try to nudge Rosalina to sign up for Sunday school. Rosalina would decline. Charlie would push harder by taking her to some classes. Charlie was so pushy that it made Rosalina yell "I don't wanna be here!" making all heads turn their way. Rosalina stormed out, leaving Charlie red faced and deeply furious. What Charlie saw as difficult, Rosalina saw as misunderstood, or lonely in the dark. Her deep rooted and complex seed of being a bad apple was born from the dirt of resentment. Charlie dressed Rosalina up to be what he only chose to believe. That she could somehow be fixed or that it was all just a test from the Lord because Rosalina just wasn't like everyone else. Charlie would let his sharp disappointment in that be known, and just would mask it with a more strained smile than the last time he wore it.

"Charlie, let her be." Yn would always say. But Charlie couldn't. It wasn't in the plan... it wasn't like how he pictured... how he dreamed his child would be at all. Rosalina saw Charlie so embedded into his own world, that he couldn't look at what was in front of him. Rosalina didn't beat to the drum that wanted to hear. So, he just chose not to and continued pushing Rosalina into corners she had to fight her way out of. And it all circled back to the heavier expectation that the town carried. They saw Rosalina be born, they assumed she would be as zealous as her father was to the church. But Rosalina's zealousness came from her sense of self. Her identity. Something neither the town or her father could ever truly accept. And it pushed Rosalina to be heard. She gave herself a voice in the sea of the upright and never let her actions be unseen.

And she would continue the fight until she no longer had to. Oakhaven would be her past and her new life- her own hopes and dreams would be her future. And there would be no one who could stop her from getting to where she was going. Rosalina had her mind and inside of it carried her thoughts, her dreams, her passions... her emotions. Feelings that no one cared to know except Yn. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough until Rosalina set herself free from all of it and would never look back.

Born into the blazing fire of Oakhaven, baptized in the sheer sin of her own father, Rosalina would dig her way out of it. And when the fast approaching moment came, there would be no trace of Rosalina and she would have disappeared, leaving not a trace of herself, but a remain of what was always burning inside.

As Rosalina was now drifting in and out of sleep, one thing stood solid in the core of her brain. She would leave Oakhaven with Dustin and the other outcast kids who were desperate to escape their broken lives too.

*******************************************************

It was now through the middle of September. The mural over the church sat unwashed and set like burnings in stone. It was convenient Tuesday when the kids were in school coming back from the summer break. Drew had found himself out of the school yard and into one the main roads by the local grocery store. Yn saw him. Eyes red and glossy, skin pale and clammy, yet here he was, belching and muttering something about his father 'beating the shit out of him' last night. Yn compassionately went over. "Drew?" He looked up and was met with Yn's soft eyes. They reminded him of Rosalina's. 

Not too many of those, he thought. "Mrs. Mayhew... whatcha doin?" Yn let a playful smile fall across her face and pressed her fists to her sides. "I could say the same for you," she joked. "but really, what are you doing out of school?"

"Drunk." Drew stated plainly. "I... I needed to wet myself." Yn shook her head. A young boy that drunk and it's only eleven in the morning. "Oh Drew, honey- let me take you back."

"I'm a good artist..." he slurred. "I even redecorated the church that one time." Yn raised an eyebrow. A cold feeling slithered into her stomach. "What do you mean?"

Drew just laughed. "I mean... we spray painted the church. Good ol' Oakhaven fucking church." Yn swallowed hard. "Yo- you shouldn't say that, Drew. Not.... not unless it's true... if it is."

Drew snorted. "Yeah... it is. Me... Angel... Dustin...Edith... and little Rosie! We all painted heaven in neon paints!" Yn kept silent. She looked around to see if anyone was listening. "Alright Drew... let's go." Yn guided Drew back to the school and tried to settle the sick feeling in her stomach. For some reason, she believed every word of Drew. Yn knew it had to be true. In some way, Rosalina was involved. She just hoped Drew would sober up before he ran his mouth around town.

As the day went on, Charlie whisked back and forth in Yn's sight. She could've told Charlie at anytime, but she zipped her lips. Her disappointment was strong and unbending, but she didn't have the heart to confess this to her husband. He knew what he would do- what he would say and how heartbroken he would be. This news couldn't be outed just yet. If anyone else was to know, it would be Rosalina when Yn confronted her. She had to. This was too serious to be ignored.

Yn would have to resolve this with her daughter. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, maybe Rosalina had pure intentions- although hard to debate- that were just mingled in with bad influence. Whatever ran through her head, it rattled in Yn. A million outcomes and wonders all sped like race cars through Yn's frazzled thoughts, earning her a headache she hadn't experienced for a long time since Rosalina was two. 

The day cooled into night and suddenly the weight felt a little less as the house settled in for the evening. As Yn approached Rosalina's door with a great caution like she was tiptoeing through a lion's den, she heard the sound of her heart beating louder and louder out of her chest. Soft snores echoed through Rosalina's door, leaving Yn to turn back on her heels and return quietly to her bedroom with the weight now shifting inside of her like a baby in the womb.

But what Yn didn't anticipate was for the news to spill so soon and so out of control.

It was that Sunday when Charlie was giving his sermon and all eyes were either on their Bibles or locked on him. Yn kept shifting in her seat, making Rosalina furrow her eyebrows and move a few spaces away. Yn looked around the church. Mostly everyone was there like usual, except for Gina and Dustin. Yn glanced to Rosalina to see if she noticed Dustin was missing too. Angel was looking ahead- a slight smirk across her face, while Alden sat in the back with his head down. Drew was in his seat hungover while his father stared on with jaded rigid eyes and his arms tightly crossed.

Edith looked sick and so did Wilma who was being comforted by Abe. In the middle of the song, the church doors flew open and in came Gina storming in while Dustin stayed a few inches behind close to the door.

The entrance was so loud that organist stopped playing and all eyes went in Gina's direction. "Excuse me! Excuse me, everyone! I have something important to say! Something you all need to hear!"

A wave of confused silence spreads through the congregation. Charlie turns from where he was speaking to a parishioner, a look of mild surprise on his face. "Gina? What is it? Is everything alright?"

"Everything is not alright, Father! Not at all! We've all been wondering, haven't we? Who would do such a thing? Who would defile the Lord's house with that awful spray paint?" Gina's eyes find Rosalina, Edith, Drew and Angel within the pews. Her eyes don't even dart to the back where Dustin's standing looking shruken into himself.

"Well, I know who. I have proof. And it's them!" Gina's voice rises to a crescendo, shaking with emotion. "It was them all along! The outcast kids! Angel! Edith! Drew! And yes, even Rosalina! They were the mystery graffiti artists!"

Murmurs and collective gasps break out in the congregation. Yn sighs and sinks into her seat with tears brimming in her eyes. Rosalina's face is flushed with red and she tries to make herself disappear among the naked and critical voices and glances. Drew looks nonchalant, Angel is twisting her hair between her fingers and Edith sinks into her seat slightly as her parents look to her for answers.

Rosalina looks towards podium where her father's face is pale and his mouth is agape like a dead fish. His concern turns to a mixture of total shock, disappointment and humiliation. His kind eyes widen and he takes a step forward, his voice deep but strained, a clear attempt to regain control, but public exposure hits him like a physical blow.

"Gina... Gina, please. Here? Now? And... are you... are you sure?"

Standing firm, her voice full of righteous indignation, Gina nods firmly. "Absolutely sure, Father! Beyond a shadow of a doubt! They did this terrible, sacrilegious thing! They are the ones who vandalized our church!"

The church is silent except for Gina's accusation and the tense, thick air of exposed secrets. All eyes are now fixed on Father Charlie, awaiting his response. A pinch nerve turns into a radiating pain. Charlie's face flushes so red that it could compete with a firetruck. As staunch as her rebellion hits, Rosalina feels a deep sense of remorse for humiliating her father and fully destroying her family's reputation. Rosalina was practically melting into the bench behind her, her lower lip trembling.

He knew. He had seen the spray cans, smelled the paint faintly lingering on Rosalina's clothes, seen the guilt in her eyes. He had been grappling with how to handle it, how to protect her and the others, how to address the wrong they had done without destroying them. And now, Gina, with her righteous indignation, had ripped the delicate situation wide open, here, in front of everyone.

He took another shaky breath, visibly pulling himself together. The kind, warm expression he usually wore was replaced by a stern gravity, a mask of pastoral authority he didn't often need to employ.

"Gina," Father Charlie said, his voice deeper now, resonating through the stunned silence. He walked towards her, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing the focus away from the back of the church. "Gina, I understand your… your passion regarding this matter. And yes, the vandalism of our church is a deeply regrettable and serious issue." He paused, his eyes sweeping over the congregation, acknowledging their shock and confusion. "But accusing members of our community, publicly, like this, immediately after service… this is not the appropriate place or time for such serious allegations."

He reached Gina, placing a gentle but firm hand on her arm. "If you have information, evidence," he stressed the word, his voice low, "then it must be handled with care, with due process, not shouted across the nave."

Gina bristled under his touch, her eyes still blazing. "Evidence? I have evidence, Father! Undeniable proof! They were there! They confessed!"

A fresh wave of murmuring swept through the crowd. Confessed?

Father Charlie’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on Gina’s arm. His eyes held hers, a silent battle of wills. "Confessions, if they occurred, should be made in confidence, perhaps to myself, or the proper authorities. Not proclaimed as entertainment for the parish." He lowered his voice further, leaning slightly towards her. "This is damaging, Gina. Damaging to them, and damaging to the unity of our church. Please, we can discuss this privately."

He glanced back at the four teenagers. They were frozen, watching the confrontation unfold. Rosalina lifted her tear-filled eyes to him, a look of desperate pleading in them. A pang went through him.

Turning back to the congregation, Father Charlie raised his voice slightly, projecting authority he didn't feel internally. "Everyone, please. This is upsetting, I know. We are all hurt by what happened to our church. But we must approach this with the spirit of Christ – with truth, yes, but also with compassion and a desire for reconciliation, not simply condemnation." He paused, letting his words sink in. "If there are individuals responsible, they will be held accountable. But it will be done through measured, just means, not… not like this." He gestured vaguely at the dramatic scene Gina had created.

He looked back at Gina, his expression firm now. "Gina, I urge you to step aside. We will address these matters. But not now, and not here. Come to my office later, if you have concrete evidence you wish to share."

He took a small step back, subtly inviting her to move. The air crackled with tension. Gina stood her ground for a moment longer, torn between her need to expose what she saw as evil and the Father's quiet authority. The eyes of the entire congregation were on her.

Finally, with a frustrated huff, Gina lowered her pointing hand. "Very well, Father," she said, though her tone suggested this was far from over. "But the truth will come out. And everyone here will see who really did this."

She didn't move towards the back, but stood her ground closer to the aisle, watching the four teenagers with narrowed eyes, like a guard dog waiting for its opportunity.

Father Charlie let out a silent breath. The immediate crisis of the public accusation was momentarily defused, but the bomb had been dropped. The whispers had stopped, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence. Everyone was waiting. Waiting for him to do something. Waiting for the accused teenagers to react. Waiting for the truth, now tainted with public shame and speculation, to fully emerge. He knew, with chilling certainty, that the healing of the spray paint would be far easier than the healing of the rifts this moment had just created within his flock, especially now that his own family was directly implicated. The weight of it settled on his shoulders, heavy and cold.

Yn watched Gina gather Dustin and leave the church, the door slamming shut like a the ending to a very uncomfortable scene that just played. Not once was Gina's son- her own flesh and blood mentioned anywhere in her accusations. The thought of it sent waves of anger through Yn's body, her hands clenching. "Guess you do have some love for that son of yours, do you Gina?" She gritted quietly.

"What?" Rosalina whispered. Yn shook her head. "Nothing."

Charlie tried to continue the sermon, while Rosalina contemplated running out of the church while she cried loudly through the aisles. She wondered who told, before connecting the dots to Drew who wasn't in school that one day because he came in drunk. She assumed Angel and Edith figured it out as well. A part of Yn felt a weight lift off her shoulders, while another felt an even heavier burden take its place. 

No matter what Charlie said to the congregation, the attention was still on the outcast kids and Gina's outburst. Church ended and the whispers and side glances continued. The ride home was quiet and tense. Rosalina's heart beat out of her chest. She knew she did it this time. It was one thing to call out a cheater, it was one thing to wear blue hair and ripped tights... it was another to publicly humiliate the Pastor in front of his church.

Once inside the house, Charlie's voice, usually soft and understanding, was now sharp, commanding and undeniably racked with rage. He paced the living room several times before looking angrily into Rosalina's eyes. "Spray painting. Spray painting the church?! Are you out of your mind?! I have trusted you! I believed you and gave you chance after chance, after chance!" each word punctuated with Charlie slapping the back of his hand into his open palm.

"You think this is a game, Rosalina? Do you think that we're that stupid and that this is all such fun?" Charlie laughed sharply. "That we're all just playing a little game of screw up and wear blue hair and use swear words and smoke cigarettes! Hmm? You think that's what we tolerate?"

"Y-You don't even know if it was me..." Rosalina's voice practically as quiet as a mouse.

"Oh... I KNOW IT WAS YOU BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS DO THINGS LIKE THIS! Don't act like you don't know, Rosalina- this is not the FIRST TIME!"

"Charlie..." Yn tried calm him down. "No! Rosalina needs to hear this!" Like every thin line, it always snaps. 

"Rosalina. We have worked so hard to bring you up with decency and morals and THIS IS WHAT YOU DO?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA," he began, his voice trembling with the effort to control it, "ANY SINGLE IDEA OF WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"

Rosalina only shook her head miserably, tears streaming down her face.

"NOT JUST THE VANDALISIM ROSALINA!" he roared, slamming a hand flat onto the coffee table. The sudden noise made her jump. "Not just the paint on sacred walls, though God knows that's bad enough! Do you understand the hurt you've inflicted? The shame you've brought down? On this church? On these people? On us?"

He strode towards her, stopping just inches away, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him. His eyes, usually kind and crinkling with warmth, were blazing with cold fire.

"I knew," he said, his voice dropping back to that dangerous pitch, laced with bitter disappointment. "I knew. I saw the cans. I smelled the paint. I saw it in your pathetic excuse for trying to hide it. And I was trying to figure out how to handle this! How to protect you, yes, but also how to make things right! How to deal with the wrong you'd done without destroying you!"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "And then Gina? Gina, of all people! You confessed?" His voice was incredulous, disbelieving. "To her? Did you think that was some kind of act of contrition? Or were you just careless? Or were you trying to make a spectacle of it?"

"I-I didn't tell Gina... I didn't tell anyone one." Rosalina choked between tears. 

"I-I did, Charlie." All eyes reverted towards Yn. "Drew. Drew Cutter told me when he was drunk... and... I-I told him not to tell anyone else if it wasn't true-"

"Drew! He told you!" Rosalina screeched. Yn nodded letting tears fall down her face. Charlie looked at Yn, snorted and then turned back to Rosalina. 

He leaned closer, his face inches from hers. "This isn't just a mistake, Rosalina. This is an act of defiance! Of rebellion! Against everything this church stands for! Against everything I stand for! Against everything you were raised with!"

"Why?" he demanded, his voice cracking slightly, the pain beneath the rage surfacing for a fleeting second. "Why would you do this? To this place? To me?"

His controlled facade had utterly shattered. This was the raw, wounded anger of a father and a shepherd betrayed.

"Was it fun?" he spat the word. "Was defacing God's house some kind of thrill? Did you think it was clever? Witty? Or was it just pure, unadulterated, selfish destruction?"

Rosalina finally found her voice, a small, strangled whimper. "No, Dad, I..."

"Don't you 'Dad' me right now!" he cut her off sharply. "Not after this! This is about what you did, Rosalina! The choices you made! Getting involved in something so utterly disrespectful, so damnably foolish! And then letting it explode into a public circus!"

He turned away abruptly, running a hand roughly through his hair, pacing the small office like a caged animal. "Do you know how hard it is to build trust? To build community? To heal divisions? And in one childish, reckless act of vandalism – and then that idiotic public display – you've ripped it all apart!"

He swung back to face her, his voice tight with emotion. "I had to stand there! In front of everyone! Pleading for calm! Deflecting blame I knew was accurate! Trying to protect you while the very place I serve was marred by your actions!"

His gaze hardened, the raw fury returning. "This isn't just about paint, Rosalina. This is about lying, about disrespect, about a fundamental lack of judgment, and frankly, about a horrifying act of rebellion against everything we are!"

He stood there, breathing heavily, his anger finally released in a torrent of accusations and pain. Rosalina sat before him, shaking, tears streaming down her face, the full force of his unleashed wrath washing over her. The silence that fell between them after his outburst was thick and heavy, laden with the weight of his disappointment and the raw wounds of his anger. He looked at her, not with pity, but with a sternness she had never seen, a cold, hard look that spoke volumes of the depth of her betrayal. The damage to the church walls felt insignificant compared to the chasm that had just opened between them.

"That is it, Rosalina... that is the last straw." A chill ran up Rosalina's spine hearing her father's eerily calm voice after the tornado of anger he just released. "You are going to apologize to everyone in this town publicly and then you are going off to St. Mark's Christian camp next month! Maybe there, you'll learn some respect!" He hissed.

Yn tried to intervene. "Charli-"

"I don't wanna hear it now, Yn!"

"But, she's.... it was a mistake, Charlie!"

"SHE'S GOING TO LEARN THIS TIME YN! ROSALINA IS GOING TO THAT BOARDING SCHOOL WHETHER SHE LIKES IT OR NOT!" He looked into her eyes and then Rosalina's before shaking his head and walking off into his home office. Yn sat next to Rosalina and held the whimpering girl in her eyes while tears rained down her own cheeks.

****************************

Rosalina had never seen her father that angry before in her whole life. That confident rebellious streak disappeared into nothing as she replayed his boiling words in her head over and over- each time making a more harsh jagged cut than the other.

As tears ran down her face, a heavy bog loomed over her like a rain cloud. Rosalina was a piryah by now. She disappointed the town, her parents, herself. Rosalina didn't even care about the graffiti on the church.... she cared about Charlie's anger. Maybe she had gone too far and pushed him into seeing her as this black sheep and this outcast demon who ruined everything her father worked so hard to build. He hated her, she was sure of it.

But one thing- despite all the other things she felt deserving of- was that she couldn't stay here. Not in Oakhaven and certainly not in some Christian camp school. Grabbing the duffle bag from under her bed, Rosalina quietly packed her clothes and all the money she had saved up from other the years. She shoved it into her purse and saddled it around her along with her filled duffle bag before climbing out of her bedroom window and landing a rather sharp landing on her feet. Rosalina took one last look at her home before running in the light of the moon and down the sidewalks until she found Dustin waiting by the woods.

A slight anger prickled through her when she made eye contact with him. "What the hell are you doing here?" Dustin looked up and threw his burnt out cigarette on the ground before stomping it out. "I'm leaving." Rosalina's breath hitched. "Really?" Dustin nodded. 

"This place is a hell hole. My mother... my fucking mother..." he trailed off. Rosalina stepped closer. "That bitch ratted us all out to the church, except for you!"

"I know, I was there."

"And did nothing! You just stood there!"

"Because I couldn't say shit! Gina would've beat my ass like she always does! Trust me, she only said that to save her own skin! If the town knew I did it- then she would be witch of Oakhaven!"

"No.... I'm the witch of Oakhaven." Rosalina stated. "At least my Dad thinks so..." Dustin raised his eyebrows. "Oh...I'm so sorry, Rose." He only then noticed her duffle bag. "You're leaving too?"

She nodded. "I can't stay where I'm not wanted.... can't be where I never wanted to. And now I have no choice. My father's going to ship me off to some churchy boarding school next month."

Dustin came closer to Rosalina and looked into her swollen eyes. "I'm really gonna miss you..." He sniffled, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Rosalina sniffled. "I'm really going to miss you too."

Dustin takes off his chain with a sliver dagger dangling off it. He slids it over Rosalina's neck and watches the moon catch its shine. "To remember me by... it's cliche... but... I don't care.... we both want better.... and I know we'll find it... hell- we might even find each other again." He chuckled trying to distance the shakiness of his voice.

Rosalina let herself cry. "Me too... I hope so." The two lean in and find their lips onto each others while the moon sparkles in the back. Pulling away, Dustin stares into Rosalina's eyes.  "I'm going to teach her a lesson... give her back something that likes to keep giving out." A smirk appeared across Dustin's face which bleed on to Rosalina's too. As Dustin runs off, Rosalina sees a pair of clippers shimmering in the pocket of his backpack.

She watched him take the wooded trail back to his house before he was gone and she was alone again. A surge of fury came over Rosalina. She ran through the woods, took the left turn of the trail that led to the church.

There it stood; bold and blunt, with the cross pointing through the night clouds. Rosalina made herself quiet as she circled around the building. A grimace came over her face as every second she stared at the church, the more angry she became. Towards the right, she saw one of Drew's half drunk whiskey bottles that he must've left behind. Rosalina bolted towards it and grabbed it before walking up the stairs of the church and breaking into after jimmying the locks.

She stepped inside, the heavy oak door groaning shut behind her with a sound like a dying breath. The air inside the church was thick with the scent of old beeswax, dust, and something else – a musty solemnity that clung to the very stones. Moonlight filtered through the high arched windows, casting pale, skeletal shadows across the empty pews. It wasn't the warm, welcoming glow of a Sunday service; it was the cold, accusing light of judgment.

This place. This placeholder of a place. Her father had poured his life into it, believing in its mission, its community, its... purity. And it had broken him, piece by agonizing piece. It had shielded the very people who had orchestrated his downfall, whispers turning into landslides, trust eroding into ruin. Rosalina’s hands clenched into fists. This was it. The last time she would breathe this air, feel the chill of this consecrated ground under her feet.

Her eyes scanned the nave, lingering on the pulpit where her father had delivered sermons of hope and justice, the altar where promises were made and broken, the organ that now stood silent, its pipes like hollow reeds sighing in the gloom. Every corner held a memory, twisted now, tainted by betrayal and loss. She didn't feel sadness; she felt a cold, hard fury settle deep in her bones, solid and unwavering. Rosalina had ran through every room; upstairs where the bells swayed slightly by the wind of the night. Charlie's office where papers and pictures sat like statues across his desk. And finally, the main room of worship. Rosalina had made her way onto the pulpit where she imagined the eyes of Oakhaven all looking up to her father as spoke one of his sermons.

She moved with purpose now, her steps echoing faintly in the stillness. First, to the small desk tucked beside the organ. On it sat the long brass candle lighter, a tool of reverence, a simple mechanism for bringing light. She picked it up, feeling the cool metal, its intended use a stark contrast to the fire she planned to unleash.

Next, she made her way towards the back, to the small, cramped office that had been her father's sanctum. The door was unlocked, always trusting. Inside, stacks of papers lined the shelves, files overflowing with the administrative minutiae of running a church. She wasn't looking for sermons or donation records. She went to a small, locked drawer in his desk, one she knew the combination to from helping him as a child. Inside, nestled beneath innocuous reports, were a few worn folders. These held the truth. Her father’s private notes, the documented instances of questionable finances, the veiled threats, the systematic undermining of his authority, all pointing towards her and the inner circle of the outcast kids who saw the church not as a house of worship, but as a hollow ritual that gave nothing back to them.

She grabbed these – not to expose anyone, not anymore. Exposure wouldn’t bring her father back, wouldn’t mend what was broken. She grabbed them because they were hers, a piece of the past she had created within the town. She tucked the folders into her duffle bag. The dark glass bottle of whiskey felt heavy and strangely comforting in her hand as she walked back down the aisle towards the pulpit. It was half-empty, Drew’s carelessness evident even in his destructive habits. Half-empty, but enough. More than enough.

She climbed the two steps to the pulpit, standing where her father had stood. The wood felt solid beneath her worn boots, polished smooth by countless hands gripping its edge. She raised the bottle, hesitating for just a second, not from doubt, but from the sheer weight of the act she was about to commit. The quiet of the church pressed in, the shadows seemed to deepen, holding their breath.

Then, she tilted the bottle. The amber liquid gurgled out, splashing onto the aged wood, running in rivulets down the side, pooling slightly at the base. The sharp, acrid smell of volatile alcohol filled the air, mingling with the existing scents of the church, a potent, dangerous perfume. It wasn’t sacred oil; it was fuel for destruction. Rosalina pulled the candle lighter closer. Her hand was steady. There was no tremor of fear, only the taut readiness of a drawn bowstring. This wasn't just anger; it was liberation. It was a final, definitive severing of ties. She thumbed the mechanism, the small wick at the end catching flame. A small, clean light bloomed in the darkness.

Holding the flame to the whiskey-soaked wood was like touching a match to dry kindling. It caught instantly, a hungry, yellowish-orange lick that sputtered and then began to spread with startling speed. The alcohol acted as an accelerant, the fire dancing across the pulpit, climbing the carved wood like a vengeful vine.

She stepped back, watching. The initial hesitation of the flames gave way to a roaring confidence. The wood, old and dry, readily embraced the inferno. Smoke, thin and acrid at first, began to curl upwards, staining the moonlight slicing through the windows. The heat intensified rapidly, pushing her back further into the nave.

The pulpit was quickly consumed, its structure collapsing inward with a series of sharp cracks and groans. Sparks flew like angry insects. And then, the fire reached out, tendrils licking at the edges of the nearest pews. The upholstered cushions caught first, smoldering before bursting into flame. The dry wood of the benches followed, the fire running down the rows with terrifying speed, devouring everything in its path. Empty pews, where generations of Oakhaven residents had sat, where her own family had worshiped, became pyres.

The sound was deafening now – the hungry roar of the fire, the splintering wood, the crashing of collapsing structures. Smoke billowed through the nave, thick and black, choking the air. The heat was unbearable, a tangible force pushing her towards the door.

Still, she watched for another moment, a grim satisfaction warring with the raw pain of seeing this place, the center of her childhood, consumed. It hurt, deeply, to watch it burn. But it hurt more to think of what it had become, what it had done. This was necessary. A cleansing fire. A reckoning.

The ceiling began to creak ominously, the stained-glass windows cracking under the intense heat. Her moment of morbid fascination broken, Rosalina turned and ran.

She burst out of the heavy front doors, the night air hitting her face like a cold shock. The contrast between the inferno behind her and the quiet street was jarring. Flames were visible through the upper windows now, casting an orange glow into the night sky. Smoke poured from the entrance she had just exited.

She didn't stop to watch. There was no time. The sound of the fire would soon draw attention. She ran. Down the church steps, across the small green, onto the main street of Oakhaven. Her lungs burned, the acrid smell of smoke clinging to her clothes and hair. Every footfall on the familiar pavement felt like a betrayal, a step further away from everything she had ever known.

Past the diner with its faint light, past the darkened storefronts, past the houses where people slept, oblivious to the destruction unfolding. She didn't look back. The image of the burning pews, like rows of teeth gnashing at the darkness, was seared into her mind.

She ran until the houses started to thin out, replaced by larger plots of land, then fields, then the dark mass of the surrounding woods. She ran until the rhythmic pounding of her own feet and the ragged gasps of her breath were the only sounds she could hear, the roar of the fire fading behind her, replaced by the distant wail of a siren already starting its climb in pitch.

She didn't know where she was going, only that it had to be away. Away from Oakhaven, away from the ashes of the church, away from the ghosts of her past. She followed the road as it began to climb, winding its way up into the hills that overlooked the small valley town.

Finally, her legs gave out, more from emotional exhaustion than physical exertion. She stumbled off the road, collapsing onto the cool grass of a hillside pasture. Panting, she pushed herself up, turning to look back.

Below her, Oakhaven lay spread out in the darkness. And rising from its center was a colossal pillar of black smoke, illuminated from within by a furious orange glow. The spire of the church, tipped with its cross, stood silhouetted against the inferno for a moment before buckling and crashing down into the flames, sending up a fountain of sparks. The fire raged, a beacon of destruction in the quiet night, consuming the heart of the town's perceived goodness.

She watched it burn. The church, the symbol of Oakhaven's piety, of her father's dreams, of her own poisonous ambition – all reduced to ash. She felt the heat on her face even from this distance, or perhaps it was just the heat of her own spent fury. There was no triumph, not really. Just a vast, aching emptiness now that the rage had finally found its terrible release. Oakhaven was burning, and she was the one who had lit the match.

Dustin’s smirk flashed in her mind, the glint of clippers in his pocket. He would have his day, teach his own mother a twisted lesson. And she had hers- her day. Different methods, same driving force – the desperate need to strike back at the hand that had wounded them.

The sirens were louder now, converging on the scene. Lights flashed in the valley below, tiny, frantic fireflies against the backdrop of the inferno. They would find the broken lock, the smell of whiskey. They would investigate. She couldn't be here when they did.

The folders in her bag felt heavy, anchors to a past she was trying to shed. But they were hers, salvaged from the wreckage.

She took one last look at the burning church, a funeral pyre for Oakhaven's facade. The smoke climbed higher, a dark finger pointing accusingly at the sky. Then, Rosalina turned her back on the fiery spectacle, on the town, on everything she had ever been.

She started running again, pushing herself up the hill, towards the darkness, towards the unknown. There was nothing left for her here. Only the road ahead, and the long, difficult journey of becoming someone new, forged in fire and ash. Rosalina told herself- a silent promise- that it would all burn down one day. That she would set it all ablaze. And with a quiet smirk forming over her face, Rosalina felt the smoldered reassurance that she had done just that.

********************************

It was two AM. Charlie wasn't asleep, but he was laying on his side. He replayed the last words he said to Rosalina in his mind. On the one hand, she deserved it, on the other... he was just angry. But Charlie didn't want to know if it was at Rosalina for the trouble she caused, or at being publicly humiliated in the face of Oakhaven. A twinge of guilt entered into his mind that he wasn't quick to diminish. Rosalina had to face penalties... but sending her away. Was that for her own good, or for his personal satisfaction until the anger would cool like burned coal?

Charlie's eyes met with the nightstand picture of a baby Rosalina. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes. "What have I done wrong?" He mouthed to himself. Charlie believed... he truly believed that if he worked hard enough... but... he didn't. He didn't want to look at what was in front of him- only what was perfect for him. Rosalina had been calling out to him all this time... he was the one who turned away from her. Charlie chose to save himself, over Rosalina. 

The knock on the door rattled Charlie from his thoughts and Yn out of her sleep. The trailed quietly downstairs to the front door and upon opening it, they were met with two police officers. "Good morning folks... we have some news to tell you in concern of your church." A furrow traced the couple's eyebrows. "Wha-What is it?" Charlie asked sheepishly.

"Well... it caught fire. The church is on fire and the fireman are down there right now putting it out and warning people around that area." With lightning speed, Charlie grabbed his jacket and keys and hustled him and Yn out of the house and into the back of the police car where they took them to the burning shell of what was the Oakhaven church. In the midst of it all, Yn turned to Charlie and asked silently about Rosalina.

"She's at the house... still sleeping..." Yn said softly. But she knew better. Yn didn't have to ask if Rosalina was long gone by now. She knew it had to be her. Rosalina set the church ablaze. A small crowd turned into the entire Oakhaven watching the church crumble and burn like a vigil. The heat radiating from the inferno hit Charlie like a physical blow, forcing him to shield his face with his arm. Acrid smoke stung his eyes, mingling with the sudden, sharp sting of tears. The Oakhaven church, a landmark that had stood solid against time and seasons, was a ravenous beast of fire and collapsing timber. Its familiar steeple, usually pointing steadfastly towards the heavens, was now a broken, flaming spear against the dawn sky.

“Rosalina?” Charlie choked out, his voice raw with a terror that clawed at his throat. He stumbled forward, as if intending to rush into the blaze, but a firm hand on his arm held him back. It was one of the officers who had brought them, his expression grim.

Yn stood beside him, outwardly calmer, her gaze fixed on the horrifying spectacle. But inside, her heart wasn't just breaking; it was splintering into a thousand jagged pieces. The sight was horrific, a scene pulled from a nightmare – their church, a place of community and solace, consumed by flames. Yet, beneath the shock and the rising tide of grief, a cold certainty settled upon her. This wasn't an accident. This wasn't random. This was Rosalina.

She hadn't needed to ask if Rosalina was still at the house. When Charlie mumbled his response, a weary lie he likely told himself as much as her, Yn had already known the truth. Rosalina was gone. And the fire… the fire was a message. A final, desperate, destructive cry from a child they had somehow managed to lose even while she was right in front of them.

The crowd that had gathered, drawn by the sirens and the horrifying glow on the horizon, murmured and gasped. Neighbors they had known for years, faces etched with disbelief and sorrow. Old Ms. Gandle clutching a handkerchief, young Timmy from the bakery staring wide-eyed, Pastor Miller – usually the picture of composure – looking utterly shattered, his white hair stark against a soot-streaked face. It wasn't just a building burning; it was a piece of their town's heart turned to ash.

“Was there anyone in there?” Charlie said, his voice hoarse, turning to an officer who was coordinating with the firefighters battling the relentless flames. Horror was a mask pulled tight over his features, but beneath it, something else was stirring – a bone-deep dread that gnawed at his gut. He saw the flickering flames, and all he could picture was Rosalina’s small, shrinking form huddled somewhere within the burning walls.

The officer’s face was grim. “Firefighters are doing a sweep as they fight the blaze. It’s too early to know for sure, but they haven’t come across anyone yet. The priority is containment.”

Not yet. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken possibility. For Charlie, that possibility was a crushing weight. Rosalina’s face from the nightstand picture flashed behind his eyes – that innocent baby, her eyes wide and trusting. What had happened to that child? How had they let her drift so far from them? He had been so consumed with building the perfect life, the perfect image of success, that he hadn't seen the cracks forming beneath his feet, hadn't heard the quiet pleas for attention buried beneath layers of teenage angst and withdrawal. He had looked at Rosalina, and seen only what he wanted to see – a quiet, compliant daughter who fit neatly into the picture he was painting. He hadn't seen the girl who was hurting, who was drowning.

He thought of Rosalina’s recent silences, her averted gaze, the way she flinched sometimes when he raised his voice, even in frustration directed elsewhere. He had dismissed it as typical teenage behavior, a phase she would outgrow. He had told himself she was fine, that his work, his sacrifices, were for her future. But had he ever truly asked her? Had he ever stopped long enough to truly listen, not just with his ears, but with his heart? The answer was a brutal, searing no, and the inferno before him felt like the universe’s judgment. He had been offered a hand to hold, a soul to nurture, and he had turned away, prioritizing the shiny but ultimately hollow pursuit of ‘having it all.’ He had chosen himself, his comfort, his self-deception, over reaching for Rosalina when she was reaching for him. The fire was a monument to his failure.

Yn watched the building burn, tears finally breaking through her composure and tracing paths through the soot on her cheeks. Her sorrow was a deep, aching wound. Her daughter, her baby girl… possibly gone, consumed by the very destruction Yn suspected she had wrought. How could a child reach such a point of despair? What had they missed? Everything, a voice screamed inside her. They had missed everything that mattered.

The police officer spoke of searching, but Yn knew. She knew with a chilling certainty that Rosalina wasn’t in there. Rosalina was deliberate. This wasn't a suicide; it was an emancipation, a scorched-earth declaration of independence from a life she found suffocating. It was destructive, yes, terrifyingly so, but it felt less like an end and more like a violent, desperate beginning for Rosalina. She had set fire to everything familiar, everything that bound her, to escape.

Yn scanned the faces in the crowd, searching for familiarity, for shared anguish. She saw neighbors whispering, their eyes darting between the flames and Charlie and her. Some offered hesitant words of comfort, others simply stared, faces pale with shock. Then, she noticed a distinct absence. Gina. Her friend, her confidante, Gina wasn't here. Gina, who lived only a few blocks away, who was always one of the first to show up when something happened in town, who had a kid Rosalina's age and understood the complexities of tendon better than Charlie ever could. Why wasn't she here, amidst the collective grief and shock of Oakhaven? The absence felt wrong, a discordant note in the symphony of despair. It was a small thought, a flicker of curiosity in the firestorm of her emotions, but it lodged itself in her mind. Where was Gina?

As the hours crawled by, the sun climbed higher, casting a harsh, revealing light on the scene. The ferocity of the fire began to wane, replaced by thick columns of smoke and the haunting sounds of groaning timber and dripping water. Firefighters, exhausted and soot-covered, worked tirelessly, their movements precise and practiced even amidst the chaos. The crowd, though slightly thinned, remained, a silent vigil witnessing the death of a landmark. The air hung heavy with the smell of smoke and something else – a deep, communal sorrow.

Charlie stood rooted to the spot, his initial frantic energy replaced by a numb despair. He watched as the structural integrity of the building gave way, entire sections of wall collapsing inwards with loud, heartbreaking roars. Each fall sounded like another blow against his chest. He hadn't built churches, but he had built a life. A life that now felt as fragile and susceptible to destruction as the burning rafters. He had thought his foundations were solid – hard work, providing for his family, giving them everything he thought they needed. But he had built on sand, ignoring the rising tide of his daughter’s unhappiness.

He thought of the arguments, the slammed doors, the nights Rosalina retreated into herself. He had told himself it was a normal teenage rebellion. He had told himself she was just being dramatic. He had told himself that she didn't mean anything by it, and that he knew better than to engage with the depth of her pain. He had outsourced her emotional well-being to Yn, to school counselors, to anyone but himself. He had wanted the easy fix, the perfect solution that didn’t require him to confront his own shortcomings or the uncomfortable reality that his daughter wasn't the perfect mold he'd envisioned. He had wanted control without controlling, to connect without a line.

Yn moved closer to Charlie, instinctively seeking comfort despite the gulf that had opened between them. She laid a tentative hand on his arm, feeling the tremor that ran through him. His grief was palpable, raw, and agonizing. It mirrored her own, yet hers was tainted with that chilling suspicion. She mourned the possibility of her daughter's death with every fiber of her being, yet a part of her already grieved the destructive path Rosalina had chosen, believing with terrifying certainty that she was alive and had done this.

“Charlie,” she whispered, her voice strained. “They’ll search everything. They’ll know soon.” She couldn’t bring herself to voice her other thought, the one that screamed that Rosalina had planned this, had run. Not yet. Not while he was consumed by this particular hell.

He turned to her, his eyes red-rimmed and vacant. “How, Yn? How could we…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. How could they have failed so spectacularly? How could they have missed it?

“She was hurting, Charlie,” Yn said, her voice barely a whisper. “She was shouting, and we… we weren’t listening.” She remembered the small things now, things she had wanted to understand and feel with Rosalina, because they were real to Yn. Rosalina’s sudden interest in fire safety after a school assembly, her dark drawings tucked away in her room, the way she’d trace the patterns of embers in the fireplace logs with a faraway look in her eyes. They were signs, wasn’t that what they were? Signals they had interpreted as quirks, not cries for help.

The thought of Gina’s absence pricked at her again. It felt like another missing piece in a puzzle she was terrified to fully assemble. Gina hated Rosalina more than most of their friends. Had she seen something? Did she know where Rosalina might go? Or was her absence simply coincidental, a cruel twist of fate adding to the disarray of the morning?

Hours bled into each other. The fire engines began to pack up, leaving behind a smoldering, skeletal remains of the once-proud church. Investigators, wearing official jackets, began sifting through the debris, their movements careful and methodical. The air filled with the low hum of conversation, the clicking of cameras, and the occasional barked command. It was becoming less of a spectacle and more of a crime scene investigation.

Finally, an officer approached Charlie and Yn, his face somber but lacking the look of profound tragedy they had braced themselves for.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew?” he began, his voice quiet. “We’ve completed an initial sweep of the readily accessible areas. The structure is unstable in places, but based on the layout and our search so far… we haven’t found any sign of fatalities.”

The words, meant to be reassuring, landed with a strange, complex weight. Charlie sagged, relief warring with confusion. No fatalities? But if Rosalina wasn’t here… where was she? The terror that she might have been trapped was replaced by the cold, stark reality that she was simply gone. Missing.

Yn felt a wave of nausea wash over her. No fatalities. Just as she had suspected. Rosalina wasn’t dead in the fire. She had set it. And she had run. The fire wasn't her end; it was her beginning. A beginning that had cost them everything. Their church, their peace of mind, and potentially, their daughter. The absence of a body felt less like a miracle and more like a confirmation of her deepest fear – that Rosalina had fled, leaving behind this scorched earth as a monument to their failure.

The officer continued, “We’ll continue a more thorough investigation into the cause of the fire. It appears suspicious. Arson investigators are on their way. In the meantime, have you had any contact with your daughter, Rosalina? We understand she was at the house when you left?”

Charlie could only shake his head, mute with shock. Yn found her voice, though it trembled. “No. No contact.” She hesitated, then added, “She… she was having some trouble lately. Withdrawn.” How inadequate the word felt now. Withdrawn. She had been screaming in silence, and they had called it "withdrawn."

The officer made a note. “Okay. We’ll open up a missing persons report immediately. Can you give us a description, what she was wearing, anything else that might help?”

As Charlie and Yn stumbled through providing the details, their voices blending into a shaky narrative of their daughter, Yn’s eyes scanned the dispersing crowd again. Still no Gina. The question of her friend’s absence, small relative to the catastrophe unfolding, felt increasingly significant. Where was Gina? And what did her not being here, on this morning of fire and fear and loss, truly mean? The mystery surrounding their daughter had just deepened, spreading like the smoke from the ruins, casting long, unsettling shadows over their lives. Rosalina hadn't simply run away; she had vanished in a blaze of defiance, leaving behind only questions and ash.

Charlie looked to where the church used to be; so tall and broad, now reduced to smoking ashes. He looked closer and saw the burnt remains of the mural. Rosalina's face- black and burnt like coal from a fire place. A cold ran through Charlie before fresh tears fell down freely onto the pavement and into his hands. She was gone. His baby girl; the angel sent from heaven to be his, was gone. Dead or alive was in question. But she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere he could reach her. Charlie looked up at the morning sky and for the first time, wanted to curse God for the display. But, he couldn't God wasn't to blame... it was Charlie. Rosalina, no doubt started the fire... but the real question to answer was...

Who created the spark?

****************************

The morning air in Oakhaven was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and loss. Ash, fine and gray, settled on everything like a mournful shroud. Yn woke with a start, the images of the previous day flashing behind her eyelids – flames licking at the sky, the terrified faces of townsfolk, the gaping, empty space where the church had stood. And Rosalina. Always Rosalina. The uncertainty gnawed at her, a physical ache deep in her chest. There was no news, no trace. Just the chilling realization that her complex daughter was gone.

Charlie was still asleep beside her, his breathing shallow and ragged. Yn gently eased herself out of bed, needing movement, needing to do something, anything, to quiet the frantic noise in her head. She made coffee, the mundane task a small anchor in the chaos. As she sipped the bitter liquid, her eyes drifted towards Gina's house next door, its familiar shape a stark contrast to the ruined landscape further down the street. Gina hadn't been at the scene yesterday. It had struck Yn as odd at the time, a small puzzle piece in the larger, terrifying picture. Gina was usually so visible, so vocal, especially when it came to anything concerning the church or the town's morals. Where could she have been?

A morbid curiosity, or perhaps a desperate need for distraction, pulled Yn towards Gina's property. As she approached the side gate, her breath caught. Gina’s garden. It was her pride and joy, a meticulously manicured sanctuary of vibrant blooms and perfectly edged beds. Or it had been. Now, it was a scene of utter devastation. Flowers were ripped from the earth, their roots exposed and wilting. Shrubs were hacked at, branches scattered like broken bones. The small, ornamental fountain was overturned, water pooling darkly on the soil. It looked like a miniature warzone.

And in the middle of it all, huddled amongst the ruins of her prize-winning roses, was Gina. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, the sounds barely audible over the rustling leaves disturbed by the breeze. Her face was buried in her hands, the harsh lines usually etched there softened by grief.

Yn rushed forward, the question of Gina's absence momentarily forgotten in the face of such raw despair. "Gina, what's wrong?!" she cried, sinking to her knees beside her friend and wrapping her arms around the trembling woman. Concern was etched all across her face, genuine and immediate.

Gina flinched at the touch, then leaned into Yn's embrace, her sobs deepening into ragged gasps. "My garden... my beautiful garden..." she choked out, gesturing vaguely at the destruction. "It's ruined! Everything... gone!"

Yn held her, offering quiet words of comfort, stroking her back. But as her gaze swept across the scene of willful vandalism, a cold certainty began to form in her mind. This wasn't the work of bored teenagers or random malice. This was personal. This was targeted. And only one person she knew had reason, however twisted, to hurt Gina like this, to strike precisely at the thing she cherished most outside of the rigid confines of her faith. Dustin.

Her hand paused on Gina's back. She knew about the tension between Gina and her son. Everyone in Oakhaven did, though few spoke of it openly. Gina's relentless criticism, her impossible expectations, her constant judgment veiled as religious guidance. Dustin was a loud yet sensitive boy, easily overwhelmed by his mother's intensity. As he grew older, his sensitivity had curdled into resentment, his stubbornness into sullen withdrawal. Yn had seen the way Gina chipped away at him, piece by piece, under the guise of saving his soul. She had seen the simmering anger in Dustin's eyes the few times she'd visited their home. She'd heard the stories of him doing this wrong, or doing that wrong, of Gina's bitter complaints about his 'ungratefulness' and 'sinful ways.'

"Oh, Gina," Yn said softly, her voice tinged with a different kind of sorrow now. "Who... who would do this?"

Gina lifted her tear-streaked face, her eyes wide and accusing. "I don't know!" she wailed. "Some hooligan! Some... some devil's spawn!"

Yn hesitated, weighing her words carefully. This was delicate. But she couldn't, wouldn't, let Gina pretend this was anonymous malice. "Gina," she began, keeping her voice gentle but firm. "Could it... could it have been Dustin?"

The effect of his name was immediate and violent. Gina recoiled as if struck, scrambling away from Yn on her knees. Her face contorted, the grief replaced by a familiar, hard fury. "Dustin?! Why would you say such a thing?!"

"Because," Yn said, slowly rising to her feet, her gaze unwavering, "he hasn't been seen this whole time, Gina. Not since that last terrible fight you had. Not since you told him you wished he'd never been born because he wasn't the 'good Christian son' you prayed for." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history and pain. "He was hurting, Gina. He is hurting. And destroying something you love, something you put above everything else... it feels like something he might do, out of all that pain."

Gina's face hardened further, her eyes narrowing to slits. She scrambled awkwardly to her feet, brushing dirt from her skirt, her movements jerky and defensive. "Don't you dare try to twist this into being my fault, Yn! Don't you ever! My son is an angel! He wouldn't do such a thing! It's... it's that girl! That daughter of yours!"

Yn felt a cold dread creep up her spine. "Rosalina? What does Rosalina have to do with your garden?"

"Everything!" Gina shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Yn. "She's been a bad influence on everyone she meets! Always questioning things, always stirring up trouble, filling young minds with doubt and defiance!" Her voice rose in pitch, becoming shrill and venomous. "She probably put him up to it! Or maybe she did it herself! She's always hated everything pure and beautiful, just like her mother! Always so self-righteous, always pretending to be so understanding and kind, when all you are is a weak woman who couldn't keep her daughter on the path of righteousness!"

Yn stared at her, stunned. Gina's words weren't just accusations; they were a vicious, personal attack, not only on Rosalina, who was missing and potentially in danger, but on Yn herself, on her parenting, on her very character. The grief and fear for Rosalina that had been a constant tremor beneath the surface surged into a tidal wave of pure, righteous anger. Gina, standing there amidst the destruction caused by her own son's pain, brought about by her own cruelty, was daring to blame Yn and Rosalina? The hypocrisy was staggering, the cruelty breathtaking.

"How dare you, Gina," Yn said, her voice dangerously low, trembling with suppressed fury. "How dare you stand here, after everything, and blame my daughter?! Rosalina is missing! The church is burned! And you're worried about your petunias?!"

"Missing?! She's probably off with that boy, causing more trouble!" Gina sneered, her face a mask of scorn. "She's always been wild, a Jezebel in training! That graffiti... that blasphemous painting... it was a sign! She's corrupted this town! And you, you just let her! You indulged her! You never disciplined her!"

That was it. The mention of the graffiti, Rosalina's beautiful, defiant art that was now nothing but the past. The cruel, dismissive words about Rosalina's character. The accusation that Yn had failed as a mother, a mother whose heart was currently being torn into a million pieces by uncertainty and fear. Something snapped inside Yn. All the pain, the fear, the exhaustion, the righteous indignation boiled over.

Without thinking, Yn raised her hand and slapped Gina, hard, across the face.

The sound echoed in the ruined garden, sharp and shocking. Gina stumbled back, her hand flying to her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief and pain. A red mark bloomed instantly on her pale skin.

Yn stood panting, her chest heaving, her hand stinging. The shock of her own action was immediate, but it was quickly followed by a fierce, protective rage.

"You wicked, bitter old woman!" Yn spat, the words tearing from her throat. "Look at this garden! Look at yourself! This is your doing! Dustin didn't run away because Rosalina was a 'bad influence'! He ran away because you smothered him, because you judged him, because you never, ever loved him for who he was! You broke him down piece by piece with your 'faith' and your 'morals' until he had nothing left but rage!"

Tears streamed down Yn's face now, hot and angry. "And you blame Rosalina?! You call her a troublemaker?! You call me a bad mother?! You are the hypocrite, Gina! You preach love and forgiveness but you are filled with nothing but poison! You drove your own son away and now you stand here blaming everyone but yourself!"

Yn didn't wait for a response. She turned on her heel and stormed away, pushing open Gina's gate and walking back towards her own house, leaving Gina standing alone amidst the wreckage of her garden and her own life.

Gina watched her go, her hand still pressed to her stinging cheek. The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional blow. Yn. Gentle, kind Yn. The woman who had always offered a listening ear and a soft word. Yn had hit her. Had called her... wicked. Bitter. Hypocrite.

The words echoed in the sudden silence of the garden. You drove your own son away. You never loved him for who he was. You broke him down.

She looked around at the destroyed flowers, the upturned fountain. The rage that had fueled her seconds before drained away, leaving a vast, echoing emptiness. She had been so focused on the damage, on the violation, that she hadn't truly seen it for what it was. Not just vandalism, but a message. A scream of pain and defiance from the boy she had claimed to love, the boy she had prayed over and judged incessantly.

Her knees buckled, and she sank back down onto the cold, churned earth. Yn was right. God help her, Yn was right. She had been so desperate to mold Dustin into her image of a 'good man,' a 'true believer,' that she had crushed the life out of him. She had loved her idea of a son more than the flawed, sensitive boy who needed her acceptance, not her constant correction. And now, he was gone. Irrevocably gone. Not just physically absent, but estranged in a way that felt permanent, a gulf she had created with every critical word, every harsh judgment.

The ruin of her garden was a painful mirror reflecting the ruin of her family. And in the quiet devastation, for the first time, Gina felt a flicker of something other than anger or self-pity. A crushing, unbearable weight of guilt. Dustin was long gone, driven away by her own hand. And even now, with her world crumbling and her child missing, she had lashed out at Yn, at Rosalina, at anyone but herself. The bitter truth, delivered with a stinging slap from the gentlest woman she knew, settled over her like the ash still falling from the sky. She was alone. And she deserved it.

*************************

The air in Oakhaven, even after the initial cleanup, tasted perpetually of ash and something acrid, like burnt regret. The skeletal remains of the once-proud church had been cleared, and the slow, painstaking process of rebuilding had begun. By now, the whole town knew what had happened. Rosalina’s name was whispered not with reverence, but with a mix of fear and pity. The fire, spectacular and devastating, was seen as the physical manifestation of her rage, a wrath directed not just at the church itself, but at the rigid certainties it represented, and perhaps, at the town that clung to them.

Rosalina and Dustin were gone, not by death, but by their own furious volition. Their departure felt like an amputation to those who cared for them, a void left burning in their wake. Edith had found strength in the chaos, pulling her truth out into the light before anyone could dim it. Drew had stared into the bottom of his bottle and chosen a different path, sobriety a stark, raw reality he was learning to navigate. Angel, after a period of quiet contemplation, had found a hesitant comfort in the unfamiliar face of Lucas Pawler, blissfully unaware of Oakhaven’s recent scars. James and Tabby's long-frayed ties had snapped, and Alden and Genny had simply vanished, perhaps seeking a fresh start where the air didn't sting with memory.

Gina, Dustin’s mother, usually a force of biting criticism and unwavering righteousness, was a shadow. The fire had not just consumed wood and stone; it had scorched her carefully constructed facade. She moved through town with a drawn face, her silence more unnerving than her usual tirades. It mirrored the hollow in Charlie’s own heart. The Reverend Charlie, who had once commanded the pulpit with booming conviction, now spoke with a voice thinned by grief. His sermons were bland, rote recitations that lacked the fire and passion they once held. The power was gone, burned away with the soaring rafters of his church.

Yn watched Charlie, her husband, across their small living room. The silence between them was heavy, thick with unspoken sorrow. The aroma of evening tea did little to lighten the oppressive weight. It had been weeks since Rosalina had left, since the night of the fire. Every day was a slow, aching torment.

“Where do you think she is, Charlie?” Yn finally asked, her voice soft, careful not to disturb the fragile peace they held onto.

Charlie looked up from where he sat, staring at the worn rug. His eyes, usually bright and full of life, were dull, etched with exhaustion and confusion. “I don’t know, Yn. Away, I hope. Somewhere far from here.”

“But where?” Yn pressed gently. She pictured her daughter, seventeen and wild, with Dustin, equally lost. The thought sent a shiver of fear through her. They were just children, really, despite the magnitude of their actions.

Charlie sighed, running a hand over his thinning hair. “Away from the judgment. Away from the stares. Somewhere they can just… breathe.” He paused, then met Yn’s gaze. The shared pain was a raw wound between them. “We have to find her, Yn.”

It wasn't a question, but a desperate plea. Yn nodded immediately. Of course they had to find her. The thought of not searching was unbearable. “We will. We’ll look everywhere. We’ll ask around. We’ll travel. Whatever it takes.”

They made the pact there, in the quiet of their living room, sealed not with vows, but with the desperate, fragile hope of grieving parents. But beneath the shared resolution, a chilling dread settled in Yn’s heart, and she saw it reflected in Charlie’s eyes. They could search the world, follow every lead, chase every rumour, but deep down, a sickening certainty gnawed at them both. Rosalina was gone. Not physically gone forever, perhaps, but the girl they knew, the one who laughed easily and argued fiercely, the one who still sometimes curled up on the sofa with Yn to read, that Rosalina was gone. The fire hadn't just destroyed a building; it had been a funeral pyre for that version of their daughter. The knowledge made their finding pact feel like a cruel, necessary lie they told themselves to survive. The heartbreak was a physical ache, a constant pressure in their chests.

While Yn and Charlie wrestled with their private agony, the town of Oakhaven slowly, painstakingly, began to heal. The charred debris was hauled away, the foundations were inspected, and new lumber arrived, its fresh scent a stark contrast to the lingering smoke. The townsfolk pitched in, bringing meals to the work crews, donating what little money they could spare, their collective energy focused on rebuilding the physical structure. But the metaphorical structure of the community was different.

They still looked up to Charlie in some way, as the spiritual leader, the one who had always stood at the pulpit guiding them. But the respect had shifted. There was a new wariness in their eyes when they spoke to him, a subtle distance. He was no longer the unassailable figure of faith, his authority eroded by the chaotic, destructive departure of his own daughter from the very tenets he preached. They saw his grief, certainly, but they also saw the chasm that had opened in his own household, the failure to keep the light burning within his own walls. They didn't judge him openly – Oakhaven was too polite for that – but the faith in his power, in his ability to hold things together, had been sorely tested. The rebuilt church would stand, solid and new, but it would be built on ground that felt less firm than before.

Months passed. The seasons turned. Autumn painted the trees in fiery hues, a cruel echo of the summer's destruction, before winter settled in, blanketing the town in a silencing white. Spring arrived, hesitant at first, then bursting forth with defiant green. The church was finished, a gleaming, freshly painted structure that looked almost alien in its newness, standing where the old one had been for generations. Life, in Oakhaven, went on, or at least, it limped along.

In the present day, long after the last nail had been hammered and the last hymn sung in the rebuilt sanctuary, Yn sat on the worn wooden steps of her front porch. The afternoon sun was warm on her face, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves in the oak tree in her yard. She had a mug of tea in her hands, its warmth a small comfort against the persistent chill that seemed to reside deep within her.

It had been a long day. Errands downtown, a brief, polite conversation with Mrs. Crushaw about the terrible drought, a quick wave to Charlie as he drove by, his face still bearing the marks of quiet sorrow. And underneath it all, the constant thrum of her thoughts, always, always returning to Rosalina.

Where are you, my love? Are you warm? Are you safe? Are you happy?

She pictured her daughter’s face, the stubborn set of her jaw when she was determined, the flash of defiance in her eyes, the unexpected softness when she was vulnerable. She had been a difficult child, yes, full of fire and challenging questions, but she had also been magnificent. Vibrant. Unapologetically herself. Yn had always seen a kindred spirit in Rosalina, a reflection of her own deeper currents that she had perhaps muted over the years. She had understood Rosalina’s frustration, her feeling of being stifled by the town's expectations, even if she hadn't anticipated the explosive way it would manifest.

The pact with Charlie felt distant now, a conversation from a different time, a different stage of grief. They still spoke of finding her, sometimes plotting vague searches, but the raw intensity had faded, replaced by a dull, perpetual ache. Charlie poured himself into the church, into his faltering sermons, into helping the community rebuild. Yn, too, did her part, volunteering, keeping their home running, offering quiet support to Charlie. But her private mission, the one that truly consumed her, was the search for Rosalina.

She hadn’t left Oakhaven, not yet. Part of her felt rooted here, waiting, hoping that one day a car would pull up and Rosalina would be standing there, perhaps thinner, perhaps harder, but there. But another part knew that waiting was futile. Rosalina had left to escape, not to return.

Yn set her mug down on the step beside her. She looked out at the quiet street, at the familiar houses, the towering oak trees, the distant, freshly painted spire of the church. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of spring earth and newly cut grass.

Then, she opened them, her gaze hardening with a quiet resolve. It was time to stop waiting. It was time to start actively looking. Not just hoping she would appear, but finding her.

“I’m coming for you, Rosie,” she whispered to the empty air. “No matter how long it takes.”

The promise settled deep within her bones, a new foundation upon which her life would now be built. She would start small, perhaps, reaching out to distant relatives, old friends Rosalina might have mentioned. She would save money, research bus routes, train lines, far-flung towns. She would learn to navigate a world outside Oakhaven, a world she had rarely ventured into, but dreamed of rediscovering again.

And every single day, whether she was in Oakhaven or somewhere else entirely, she would search. She would search the face of every stranger she passed on the street – the weary traveler in a bus station, the waitress in a roadside diner, the girl browsing books in a library, the hopeful face in a crowd. In every young woman with a certain spark in her eyes, a definite tilt to her chin, she would look for a flicker of her daughter. It was a daunting, perhaps impossible task, she knew. The world was vast, and Rosalina could be anywhere.

But the thought of giving up, of simply accepting her absence, was a pain greater than any effort the search would require. She felt that kindred spirit in her daughter, a bond that distance and fire could not sever. She understood Rosalina’s need for freedom, even if she grieved the way it had been seized.

And deep down, a fragile, stubborn flicker of hope remained. She still held onto the image of a future where they could be a family again. Charlie, finding his fire again, perhaps with a newfound understanding of grace and rebellion. Rosalina, maybe humbled, perhaps still fiery, but safe and found. And herself, Yn, standing between them, her heart finally whole. It seemed an impossible dream in the quiet Oakhaven afternoon, but as she sat there on the steps, the warmth of the sun on her face and the quiet strength of her promise settling in, Yn knew she had to believe it was possible. She would find her daughter, she would search the face of every stranger, and she would not rest until she did.

Rosalina's light might have vanished, but Yn would follow the trail of ash and memory, hoping to find it burning brightly somewhere else. And she would never stop looking until she found it.

[generic-sonic-fan]

Why the heck E-123 Omega fascinates me so much

Look I'm not going to lie to you the reason I love Omega so much is that his canon writing is actually pretty lazy. They needed a "Heavy" character to pair with Shadow and Rouge so the writers had them stumble into a robot in the basement who's Gamma's half cousin-brother-something.

Hey player, remember that robot who had an arc and turned good in Sonic Adventure? let's just do that but again. don't worry about it don't think about it too hard.

Except the writers got even lazier this time around and his ENTIRE POTENTIAL CHARACTER ARC is summarized in one line by Rouge's dialogue, "You're mad at Eggman for sealing you in this room" (Sonic Heroes, 2003). Gamma's entire character arc, summarized neatly for the player, so they can start the platforming sections as soon as possible. It's videogame writing. It's not supposed to be a literary masterpiece, so it makes sense that they're borrowing on a concept that a fan of the Sonic games would have seen before if they'd payed Sonic Adventure.

Except, in the attempt to be as lazy as possible, they accidentally created a new type of character that hasn't been explored before??

Because Omega is NOT Gamma. Omega couldn't possibly be more different from Gamma! One destroys Eggman robots to bring about peace, the other as an act of war. One is quiet and contemplative, the other loud and brash. One chooses to cease existing, while the other so desperately wants to live. One is gentle and kind, and the other is just so angry.

In a franchise full of themes about the responsibility of creators to not cause harm with or to their creations, it's baffling to me that Omega is just dropped into the narrative and then promptly forgotten about. There's so many implications with Omega that would be fascinating to dig into from a fan perspective!

What made him the way that he is? Why is he so different from Gamma, so furious?

Now that he's out of the basement, how will he learn about the world outside?

How does his perspective of his origin from Eggman color his experiences and beliefs about things?

This guy has never had a friend before. How does he react to that?

How does he, an ex-Eggman robot designed to kill supersonic hedgehogs, interact with Sonic, the person he was likely designed to kill? Moreover, how does Sonic react to him in return?

Does Omega ever get lonely, as the only robot amongst organics?

How does he relate to Shadow, who was also made as a living weapon?

Meanwhile, trying to get him to show vulnerability is like pulling teeth. It takes a herculean effort to get him to show anything other than the front he puts up. Why's he putting up this front? What could get him to let down this front, even if just for a moment?

(for fuck's sake he's a tsundere. This should be at least a popular topic to explore, shouldn't it?)

And look, I understand. The reason that Omega hasn't been explored nearly as much Shadow is because he's been in less games and, when he has been in games, he's written as a one-note comic relief. But. . . so has Knuckles. So has Amy. So has Sonic. So has Rouge. . . the list goes on, yet the fandom lovingly embraces complex fan characterizations for them. But some fans continue to see Omega as a non-character. Which, as I've just explained, is baffling to me, because this guy has so much potential and transformative fan works are a place to explore that potential.

TL;DR: funny gun robot spin in my brain like he's in microwave despite the intentions of the Sonic Heroes writers. hehe. Go vote for Omega in the Team Dark poll.

MLA Citation for Fern:

Sonic Team, "Sonic Heroes". Sega, 3 December 2003, as cited from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6-SWVIr274

@fernsnailz

[mariacallous]

When Italian philosopher and essayist Andrea Colamedici released Ipnocrazia: Trump, Musk e La Nuova Architettura Della Realtà (Hypnocracy: Trump, Musk, and the New Architecture of Reality), he wanted to make a statement about the existence of truth in the digital age.

The book, published in December, was described as “a crucial book for understanding how control is currently exercised not by repressing truth but by multiplying narratives, making it impossible to locate any fixed point,” according to a description by Tlon, a publishing house Colamedici cofounded. While the book attracted buzz in philosophy circles, Italian magazine L’Espresso revealed in April that the book’s purported author, Jianwei Xun, did not exist, after one of its editors tried and failed to interview him. Initially described as a Hong Kong–born philosopher based in Berlin, it turned out that Xun was actually a hybrid human-algorithmic creation. Colamedici, listed on the book as translator, used AI to generate concepts and then critique those concepts.

“It’s not just a book but a philosophical experiment, a performance. My aim was to raise awareness,” he tells WIRED. He says the point of the book was to help readers understand AI and invent a new concept for this era.

So far, Hypnocracy: Trump, Musk, and the New Architecture of Reality is available in three languages (Spanish, French, and Italian) and has sold some 5,000 copies.

“From figures like Trump, Musk, and other world leaders to the ways in which digital platforms grab our attention, Xun unveils the mechanisms by which power shapes our perception of reality. It is a clear and disturbing analysis that goes beyond traditional critiques of digital society to reveal how reality itself has become a political battleground,” its description reads.

However, the controversy surrounding the decision to use AI to author it, and initially withhold that information, has now become a major part of the discourse around it—and that’s what Colamedici wanted.

“When readers discovered the truth about how the book was created, many were hurt. I deeply regret that, but it was necessary,” he says.

WIRED interviewed Colamedici in a conversation that explored the nuances of his project.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

WIRED: What was the inspiration for the philosophical experiment?

Andrea Colamedici: First of all, I teach prompt thinking at the European Institute of Design and I lead a research project on artificial intelligence and thought systems at the University of Foggia. Working with my students, I realized that they were using ChatGPT in the worst possible way: to copy from it. I observed that they were losing an understanding of life by relying on AI, which is alarming, because we live in an era where we have access to an ocean of knowledge, but we don’t know what to do with it. I’d often warn them: “You can get good grades, even build a great career using ChatGPT to cheat, but you’ll become empty.” I have trained professors from several Italian universities and many ask me: “When can I stop learning how to use ChatGPT?” The answer is never. It’s not about completing an education in AI, but about how you learn when using it.”

We must keep our curiosity alive while using this tool correctly and teaching it to work how we want it to. It all starts from a crucial distinction: There is information that makes you passive, that erodes your ability to think over time, and there is information that challenges you, that makes you smarter by pushing you beyond your limits. This is how we should use AI: as an interlocutor that helps us think differently. Otherwise, we won’t understand that these tools are designed by big tech companies that impose a certain ideology. They choose the data, the connections among it, and, above all, they treat us as customers to be satisfied. If we use AI this way, it will only confirm our biases. We will think we are right, but in reality we will not be thinking; we will be digitally embraced. We can’t afford this numbness. This was the starting point of the book. The second challenge was how to describe what is happening now. For Gilles Deleuze, philosophy is the ability to create concepts, and today we need new ones to understand our reality. Without them, we are lost. Just look at Trump’s Gaza video—generated by AI—or the provocations of figures like Musk. Without solid conceptual tools, we are shipwrecked. A good philosopher creates concepts that are like keys allowing us to understand the world.

What was your goal with the new book?

The book seeks to do three things: to help readers become AI literate, to invent a new concept for this era, and to be theoretical and practical at the same time. When readers discovered the truth about how the book was created, many were hurt. I deeply regret that, but it was necessary. Some people have said, “I wish this author existed.” Well, he doesn’t. We must understand that we build our own narratives. If we don’t, the far right will monopolize the narratives, create myths, and we will spend our lives fact-checking while they write history. We can’t allow that to happen.

How did you use AI to help you write this philosophical essay?

I want to clarify that AI didn’t write the essay. Yes, I used artificial intelligence, but not in a conventional way. I developed a method that I teach at the European Institute of Design, based on creating opposition. It’s a way of thinking and using machine learning in an antagonistic way. I didn’t ask the machine to write for me, but instead it generated ideas and then I used GPT and Claude to critique them, to give me perspectives on what I had written. Everything written in the book is mine. Artificial intelligence is a tool that we must learn to use, because if we misuse it—and “misuse” includes treating it as a sort of oracle, asking it to “tell me the answer to the world’s questions; explain to me why I exist”—then we lose our ability to think. We become stupid. Nam June Paik, a great artist of the 1990s, said: “I use technology in order to hate it properly.” And that is what we must do: understand it, because if we don’t, it will use us. AI will become the tool that big tech uses to control us and manipulate us. We must learn to use these tools correctly; otherwise, we’ll be facing a serious problem.

Why did you choose to present yourself as a translator rather than an author?

I use translator as a metaphor. Yes, I am the translator, but not in the literal sense. I am one because to translate can also mean to transport, and that’s what I do: I transport something. However, I wrote the book in Italian. I didn’t translate it from Chinese—I don’t know Chinese—or from English (the other language that the fictional Jianwei Xun knows). Jianwei Xun is a liminal figure: a meeting point between East and West, a point where cultures collide. And that is the opportunity he offers, to understand that we must meet in these strange spaces that are AI. We can do it, but we have to proceed with caution and courage. I know it sounds paradoxical, but this is how we must embody this connection. To be a translator here is also to be a translator of a historic opportunity: to reflect on what we do. If we do not reflect on this, we will be mere passive subjects. It has to be problematized. We cannot just say “AI, give me more, more, more.” We must be neither techno-enthusiasts who accept everything uncritically, nor technophobes, because it is impossible to live without technology today. AI is here to stay and we must understand it. It offers an opportunity to live more deeply and we must seize it.

If AI can create a convincing philosophical treatise, what is left for human authors? You have said that “we must think, we must be critical.” So what is the way forward for today’s intellectual?

This is a beautiful question because if AI can draw better than we can, if it can drive better, if it can make music better than we do ... then what are we doing here? But we should look at this from another angle, not from the neoliberal perspective that turns all of life into a competition where it is all about winning. It’s not like that. We must seek our own personal fulfillment, find a way to express ourselves, with or without AI. What does it matter if someone else can draw better than me? That’s not the important thing. What matters is that I can learn to draw better and improve my abilities—working with AI or with another person (I recommend with people, but if you choose AI, that’s fine). The big problem of humanity is this obsession to be the first, to be the centre of the story. But science already showed us in the 19th century that we are not at the centre of the universe; we are in a remote corner of the Milky Way. Nor are we even the centre of life on Earth: more than 99% of the biomass is plants, trees, other life forms. We are so small and we have only been here for a very short time, barely 200,000 years. Think of a pine tree or other species; a chicken, which is a much older species. Even among humans, we aren’t a whole. “I am large, I contain multitudes,” as Walt Whitman said. We are also not the most intelligent species on the planet. That doesn’t have to be understood as a tragedy, it can be viewed as a liberation.

Let’s talk about Ipnocrazia [Hypnocracy]. Why did you choose that title for your book? And while we’re at it, let’s delve some into the Trump-Musk relationship that you analyse in the book.

Yes, I talk about a hypnocracy because what is happening is not a power physically acting on our bodies nor even on our minds, but instead on our very state of consciousness. This is what is happening to us: They are manipulating, through algorithms, our way of perceiving the world. And that is really dangerous. When we use a smartphone and social networks, we think we are connected to the world. We read newspapers, but we receive a personalized timeline that create a bespoke reality for us.

This is very concerning. We think we inhabit the same world as others, but our reality is shaped by our biases, opinions, and political positions. We need contact with those who think differently, but these filter bubbles and echo chambers only show us our own reflection. We must build bridges to the unknown, to the different. If not, we are heading for civil war. The other will become a threat, when in fact they are first and foremost a mystery—and perhaps even something to be treasured. That should be our first thought when confronting difference.

Can AI have an original point of view, or does hypnocracy simply recycle human thoughts through algorithms? How would you define this relationship?

This is another big question, because there’s a paradox: Hypnocracy begins with a human perspective. Without it, it wouldn’t exist. But at the same time, I couldn’t have generated this concept without AI. It’s a creative codependency: just as I would need a conversation with another person to develop an idea, I needed that dialogue with artificial intelligence. AI does not live by itself. It requires prompts and stimuli while humans think autonomously. But that is precisely why we must understand what AI is. If we do not respect it for what it is, a tool, we will end up degrading our own humanity. To give an example: If we are used to saying “Alexa, turn off the light” in an impersonal tone, we will end up talking to our partner or friends in the same way. I’m not saying that we need to thank Siri as if she has feelings, she doesn’t, but that we should make sure to preserve our ability to express kindness in real life.

Some intriguing studies indicate that when we order an Uber through an app, we treat the driver worse than when we call for a car by phone. The risk is twofold: humanizing AI (which is of course not human) and “platforming” people (that is, turning them into interfaces). This is dangerous and confusing these different categories of exchanges can dehumanize us.

Do you consider AI to be simply a tool for humans, or how would you define its ontological status?

AI is a human tool, no question. It’s a product of our past, a type of collective consciousness that we created and that helps us understand why we are here. But here’s a paradox: While AI can tell us the weather, recite verses from ancient poets, or suggest possible solutions to problems, it can never help us understand the meaning of life.

The mistake is in asking AI “tell me why I exist.” The better approach is to tell it that, “I’ve been reflecting on the meaning of life. I’ve read Sartre, who says that there is no predetermined meaning, but that we construct one. What other thinkers from other cultures, would you recommend I look at in order to broaden my understanding?” The West is exhausted. We need to find other radical connections: with Native American philosophies, the Vedas, and other distant cultures. Therein lies the great opportunity of AI: It’s not an oracle, but a bridge to the unknown.

What led to the choice of Jianwei Xun’s nationality and the specific cultural context for this fictional philosopher? Was it your decision, the result of AI, or maybe a strategy to challenge certain Western narratives?

The world needs to understand that Western culture must look outside itself. Western civilization has a serious problem: It still believes that it is at the centre of the universe, the only one capable of solving problems, and it treats other cultures as only being able to produce mere copies at best. This is a profound mistake. Today, that which is truly revolutionary—the ideas that may fundamentally change our perspective on the world—will not come from the West. It’s possible that they might come out of China, but even more likely they will come from one of those spaces on today’s frontier where different cultures meet. And we need to beware that even the concepts of East and West are absurd simplifications, but I use them for now.

I wanted to create a perspective that sits outside of this Western narcissism. Something that combined the new with old but forgotten ways of thinking. In Italy, for example, we have a crazy situation: The government demands that schools teach that only we have a history. Can you imagine? As if the Chinese dynasties or the indigenous peoples of America and Oceania did not. This reflects the fragility of a society that, instead of accepting that it is losing its centrality—which is not a tragedy, but a liberation—clings to ridiculous myths.

The book has become a publishing phenomenon. What do you attribute this success to? Is it interest in the conversation about AI, the philosophical provocation, the debate about authorship in the digital age?

It’s true that we’ve had three printings already, although I don't remember whether they were 2,000 or 3,000 copies each. In total, the book has sold between 4,000 and 5,000 copies. But the strangest thing was when a journalist from [the Spanish newspaper] El País contacted me and asked: “Did you use a pseudonym to sell more copies?” It’s actually the other way around! In Italy my books already sell well; I don’t need to invent other names. The first printing was, in fact, only 70 copies; it was an experiment. Then I saw that the concept resonated with readers and we increased the print runs.

Right now, my life is chaotic. I have interviews in five countries, packed schedules of events in France and Spain. But this is a great opportunity and, although it’s fun, it’s serious too. Play is not a trivial thing: If we don’t play, then what are we living for? We are in a dark historical moment; we need to reinvent how we exist.

When El País learned that the philosopher and coauthor of this book wasn’t real, they decided to remove their review of the book from their website. If the thesis of the book is valid and it contributes to an important debate, why delete it instead of contextualizing it? Do you think this reflects our inability to handle the ambiguity between fiction and truth in the age of AI?

I understand that fear. Journalism is under attack, and many media outlets act out of fear of damaging their credibility. Their first instinct is to attack something they see as an “impostor” and erase all traces of it. It’s an understandable reaction, even necessary in some cases, because we must protect journalists. They are crucial to uncovering the truth and restoring trust in experts. But the mistake that El País made was not taking the time to understand the context. For example, they talked about the EU’s AI Act, but in 2023 I attended the [State of the European Union], and I listened to Ursula von der Leyen [president of the European Commission]. She admitted that tech moves faster than regulation, and that legislating is complex because innovation doesn’t wait. El País could have gone deeper into that. Instead of deleting the review, they could have created something more nuanced along the lines of “Yes, the author is fictional, but his analysis of AI is relevant because ...”

However, I understand why the media acted as they did: They played it safe. The problem is that’s not the smartest solution. The smart thing would be to open dialogues, to accept that nobody knows everything about AI. It is a huge and changing field and we should encourage curiosity as a driving force. People are exhausted and scared, but curiosity generates energy. We need more complex discourses, not simplifications driven by fear.

The game, if you will, behind the book exposes a paradox: Readers connected to the fictional philosopher despite knowing he was a creation and not a real person. Doesn’t this demonstrate that, in the age of AI, we crave believable stories more than real facts?

I don’t know. We’ll see how the public reacts now that they know the book is more complex than it first appeared. Before, readers were drawn to it thanks to its interesting theories; now they face two challenges: to discover the real structure of the text—perhaps not until they reach the end—and to approach it with the knowledge that the “author” is not a conventional one. I have read articles in Italian media that embody an absurd contradiction. They engage deeply with the research, but then the headlines reduce the book to its most sensational element: “The Philosopher Who Is an AI Creation.” But no, it’s not that the AI wrote this book, it’s an investigation into ideas of authorship and truth. I know it’s hard to sum it up in a headline, but we should take a few minutes to reflect on it. Otherwise, we feed a tendency to simplify ideas and sow mistrust. We have a huge responsibility to readers.

A possible more nuanced headline could be “An AI Philosopher or a Reflection of Our Times?” But instead we prefer the easy click. Our world now revolves around the immediate reward even when we should encourage slower pursuits—meditation and productive boredom. As Walter Benjamin said: “Boredom is the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience.” You have to sit on the egg and wait for it to hatch.

Do you see other similar collaborations with AI in the future or was this a one-time thing, a way of questioning what it means to be an author in our time?

I’ll continue to publish works as Jianwei Xun—he’s a bridge between the human and AI—but it won’t be my only voice. It would be dangerous to start thinking that I can only express myself through algorithms. I need to write with and without AI, because I must preserve my ability to dive into myself without intermediaries. Not everyone sees it right now, but in a year or two we will understand the risks of this moment. We are on the verge of losing the ability to think and live without technological dependence. The paradox is that AI itself, used properly, can be an antidote. It’s like a fire that, when it burns in a controlled way, warms us but doesn’t harm us.

When readers discover that this “philosopher” is, in fact, a fusion of AI and human thought, many say they are puzzled and even disappointed. What would you tell them about the value of this hybrid creation? How should they read the book once they know it’s true structure?

It’s a fascinating question, because it’s not about percentages—Jianwei Xun is not 30 percent AI and 70 percent human, for example. Jianwei Xun is the name I use when I engage with artificial intelligence. It’s an identity where the human and the algorithmic merge without any clear boundaries. I’d tell readers to enjoy the journey and allow yourself to be amazed, because a sense of being amazed is what we lack today. As Plato said in The Theaetetus, philosophy is born from thaumazein, a Greek word that means both wonder or amazement and terror. This is precisely our historical moment: It is terrible in two different senses of the word—terrifying and awesome. It’s not a matter of blind optimism, insisting that it’s sunny even when it’s raining, but of choosing how to look. It’s choosing to see beyond the abyss, knowing that we may be lost, but we are not alone.

True freedom—and our defense against manipulation—lies in actively choosing to embrace mystery and the unknown, even when it is scary. Only then will technology become a bridge and not a prison.

What do you see as the future of philosophy in the age of AI, and why do you think it’s urgent that we reflect on these issues now?

The future of philosophy is found in the cracks between what we might call “normality.” Intersectional feminism has taught us that all truth has layers—not only in the struggle around gender, but in every aspect of reality. And yet we continue to pretend that there are pure bodies, minds, and ideas.

One last thing: We have been measuring intelligence with our own yardstick for centuries, ignoring that forests have memories and octopuses dream. Meanwhile, AI infiltrates our refrigerators and the locks on our homes as stealthily as some modern trickster god. It is the myth of Thoth revived: Plato warned that writing, that “poison of memory,” would make us sages only on paper. Today, AI repeats the paradox: It promises knowledge while emptying the act of knowing of its meaning. The trick is to do as Plato did and use this poison as an antidote. Criticize the machine from the machine, write about writing, and think against thought. In the end, the coming philosophy will not be a refuge, but a spur. It is something that will wake us up from the technocratic dream with more pointed questions than those posed by any algorithm.

[aunt-pol]

Hello! This post will probably seem out of place on my blog but I am offering free proofreading and copy editing services in order to build a portfolio! Freelancing is a hard thing to get started in, especially when most of one's recent job experience has been in the service industry, but I love editing for folks and I'm really trying to make this the year I get it up and running, even if only as a side hustle. If you have any projects you'd like to have copy edited or proofread, please keep reading to see if we can help each other!

My qualifications:

Studied English at the University of Dallas

Worked as a copy editor at the student newspaper

Did a summer internship in the corporate communications dept for a global company which involved, among other things, independently editing the daily company newsblast

Am a hobbyist writer on my own time - I relate from both sides of the red pen!

Simply editing things for family, friends, and online mutuals! Which has gotten me testimonials such as these:

"Katie provided an attentive and thorough reading of my resume, and suggested several minute but important corrections which helped to clarify my writing! She responded quickly to my request, edited the document and returned it to me within a short timeline, and was clear and direct in her feedback."

-Marie Trotter, writer and critic

"Katie Kuplack is the editor you need! Her perceptive notes and sharp eye for grammar, such as verb tense and sentence structure, will make your writing more professional and publishable. Katie will take your writing seriously, offering honest feedback and encouraging you to exceed your expectations. I recommend Katie’s editing services for any writing project that you value and hope to share with the world."

-Sarah O'Brien, EIC of Boston Accent Lit and author of Shapeshifter

How It Would Work:

You can message me here or email me at katiek.edits@gmail.com about the project you'd like me to work on and we'll talk about what service you're wanting, turnaround time, etc. I'm open to bouncing it back and forth as much as you need to get the final product you want. In the end, you get a more polished whatever-it-is, and I have your permission to keep before-and-after samples of your project for my portfolio, to be used on freelancing platforms like Upwork or eventually shown on my own website.

Types of Docs/Projects I am particularly interested in working on:

Short fiction and poetry.

Captions and subtitles*

Website copy and blog posts

Resumes, cover letters, other business writing

*I realize these typically don't get edited by a third party, but I am also interested in getting experience creating them if that's something you need!

Other stuff you should know:

I'm already familiar with AP Style, planning to learn Chicago, and can of course work with whatever company- or project-specific style guide you might have.

My topical specialties include English lit, pop culture, fandom, business communications, martial arts, beauty and skincare, and the coffee industry.

I have experience editing for ESL writers and translated work.

I can work with you through both Google and Microsoft applications.

What I will NOT work on:

Any AI-generated content

Marketing/sales copy

Full-length books/novels (not for free)

Amazon/Kindle e-books

Academic papers, dissertations, etc.

Please reblog to help me get this around and thank you if you read this whole thing! I know this is a long shot but I hope to hear from some of y'all soon. :)

[ohsalome]

Ivan and Phoebe by Oksana Lutsyshyna

Ivan and Phoebe is a novel about a revolution of consciousness triggered by very different events, both global and personal. This is a book about the choices we make, even if we decide to just go with the flow of life. It is about cruelty, guilt, love, passion – about many things, and most importantly, about Ukraine of the recent past, despite or because of which it has become what it is today.

The story told in Oksana Lutsyshyna’s novel Ivan and Phoebe is set during a critical period – the 1990s. In the three decades that have passed since gaining independence, Ukraine has experienced many socio-political, economic, and cultural changes that have yet to be fully expressed. The Revolution of Dignity in 2014 marked a pivotal moment in the country’s history, as it signaled a shift towards European integration and a strong desire to distance itself from Moscow. Prior to this, Ukrainian culture had remained overshadowed by Russian influence, struggled to compete for an audience and was consequently constrained in exploring vital issues.

77 days of February. Living and dying in Ukraine

"77 Days," is a compelling anthology by contributors to Reporters, a Ukrainian platform for longform journalism. The book, published in English as both an e-book and an audiobook by Scribe Originals.

"77 Days'' offers a tapestry of styles and experiences from over a dozen contributors, making it a complex work to define. It includes narratives about those who stayed put as the Russians advanced, and the horror they encountered, like Zoya Kramchenko’s defiant "Kherson is Ukraine," Vira Kuryko’s somber "Ten Days in Chernihiv," and Inna Adruh’s wry "I Can’t Leave – I’ve Got Twenty Cats." The collection also explores the ordeal of fleeing, as in Kateryna Babkina’s stark "Surviving Teleportation '' and "There Were Four People There. Only the Mother Survived." 

It also highlights tales of Ukrainians who created safe havens amidst the turmoil, such as Olga Omelyanchuk’s "Hippo and the Team," about zookeepers safeguarding animals in an occupied private zoo near Kyiv, and one of Paplauskaite’s three pieces, "Les Kurbas Theater Military Hostel," depicting an historic Lviv theater turned shelter for the displaced, including the writer/editor herself.

In the Eye of the Storm. Modernism in Ukraine 1900’s – 1930’s

This book was inspired by the exhibition of the same name that took place in Madrid, at the Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, and is currently at the Museum Ludwig, located in Cologne, Germany. 

Rather than being a traditional catalogue, the publishers and authors took a more ambitious approach. Rather than merely publishing several texts and works from the exhibition, they choose to showcase the history of the Ukrainian avant-garde in its entirety – from the first avant-garde exhibition in Kyiv to the eventual destruction of works and their relegation to the "special funds" of museums, where they were hidden from public view.

These texts explain Ukrainian context to those who may have just learned about the distinction between Ukrainian and Russian art. Those "similarities" are also a product of colonization. It was achieved not only through the physical elimination of artists or Russification – artists were also often forced to emigrate abroad for political or personal reasons. Under the totalitarian regime, discussing or remembering these artists was forbidden. Archives and cultural property were also destroyed or taken to Russia.

"The Yellow Butterfly" by Oleksandr Shatokhin 

"The Yellow Butterfly" is poised to become another prominent Ukrainian book on the themes of war and hope. It has been listed among the top 100 best picture books of 2023, according to the international art platform dPICTUS.

The book was crafted amidst the ongoing invasion. Oleksandr and his family witnessed columns of occupiers, destroyed buildings, and charred civilian cars. Shatokhin describes the book’s creation as a form of therapy, a way to cope with the horrors. "During this time my vision became clearer about what I wanted to create – a silent book about hope, victory, the transition from darkness to light, something symbolic," he explains.

Although "The Yellow Butterfly" is a wordless book, today its message resonates with readers across the globe.

A Crash Course in Molotov Cocktails by Halyna Kruk

A Crash Course in Molotov Cocktails is a bilingual poetry book (Ukrainian and English) about war, written between 2013 and 2022, based on Halyna’s experience as an author, volunteer, wife of a military man and witness to conflict. 

The Ukrainian-speaking audience is well-acquainted with Halyna Kruk – a poet, prose author and literature historian. Kruk is increasingly active on the international stage, with her poetry featured in numerous anthologies across various languages, including Italian, French, Swedish, Norwegian, Portuguese, Spanish, Polish, English, German, Lithuanian, Georgian and Vietnamese. 

For an English-speaking audience, her poetry unveils a realm of intense and delicate experiences, both in the midst of disaster and in the anticipation of it. The poems are succinct, direct, and highly specific, often depicting real-life events and individuals engaged in combat, mourning, and upholding their right to freedom.

[mishashiftingsphere]

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* Access to archives from various media (Shiftblr, Shiftok, Discord servers, Reddit, Wattpad, etc.)

* Free e-books

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『★ 』 Forbidden 『★』📔

➷ No RCTA (Race Change to Another) allowed.

➷ Shifting to be a demon, alien or even an animal is okay (except for inappropriate stuff if you're shifting to be an animal.)📚

➷ for ageing down it's the same rule as the subreddit ☁️

➷ No romantic intention towards minors

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We’re also working on building an international community if we can get bilingual moderators!

Join us today!

Link: https://discord.gg/ugmfj4ZH

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