#selwyn demon form

[otterinthwater]

selwyn but more incubus form !!

ok so saw some people asking why there weren't any drawings of selwyn indicating his cambion part so um !! i gotchu

i love drawing creatures so i had to im sorry

did not follow accurate incubus description as a) there is no set one b) they were all just for the most part "sexual human with wings and horns and sometimes questionable features" and i didnt want to do that c) vanilla extract (im sorry)

just a goofy guy !!! just a goofy part demon guy who is slightly (very) murderous :000 he is my child

oh yeah my handwriting is illegible lmaoo

[amaramiyu]

My Legendborn Cycle Musings & Theories

May 2023 is when I first got into this series and I've been hooked ever since. I've read Legendborn and Bloodmarked at least twice and I have some thoughts about the books and series in general. So without further ado:

Spoilers ahead!

First of all, I'm glad I waited to make this post because recently more information has been revealed about the next upcoming book (Oathbound), and that instead of the series being a trilogy of books it'll be a tetralogy (4 part book series).

Oathbound

I strongly believe that the Shadow Court is definitely going to be unleashed that was part of the bargain Bree made with the Shadow King after all.

Vera’s warning to Bree at the end of Bloodmarked: “Chaos thrives on imbalance.” In Oathbound, is Bree going to become villainous or corrupted in some form? Since she doesn’t have her ancestors to balance or influence her since she closed the ancestral stream?

Since the third book is called Oathbound I wonder if this means oaths will be broken or removed. Obviously, Natasia's Kingsmage Oath to Martin Davis had to have been removed. Could the same thing happen possibly between Nick and Sel?

At the end of Bloodmarked, the main trio: Bree, Nick, and Sel have become separated. Since this is Bree's story first and foremost I think the book will still only be from Briana's point of view. I don't think we'll be getting multiple points of view. However, I'm not quite sure.

Selwyn Emrys Kane

There’s more to Selwyn Kane than meets the eye. One of the main themes in the Legendborn Cycle is ancestry and inheritance.

Theory 1: Erebus (the Shadow King) is Selwyn’s father. Erebus is described as a father-like figure towards Sel and he has a history and a clear fondness for Natasia (He knew where she was at the end of Bloodmarked). However, we know that the Order supposedly monitored Natasia closely while they ensured she gave birth to an heir. Obviously, since both her and Sel are powerful Merlins there must be more to discover about their bloodline. Also, it is mentioned how closely Sel resembles Merlin his ancestor not only in appearance but also in mannerisms. Sel is a prodigy and has the rare ability to transform into an Owl like his ancestor Merlin. Not to mention, the skill he used to craft aether constructs to hold Bree together after her injury which isn’t easy to do and most likely would’ve killed other Merlins attempting to do it.

Theory 2: Maybe Selwyn’s bloodline has ancestral ties to someone on the Shadow Court. 

Nicholas Martin Davis

He's going to be leading the faction of the Order that's still loyal to the Knights of the Round Table.

Maybe he'll continue to forge a further alliance with the Line of Morgaine. Nick will then be further exposed to how they live and maneuver outside of the Order. He is trying to find a solution to stop the Legendborn Cycle without the Scion of Arthur having to die. In Bloodmarked, he found something out but he didn't get to elaborate on it further.

In General

I think the relationship between Sel and William is underrated.

There’s still much we don’t know about Cambions and unions. So far, we know:

Full Demon + Human = Cambion

Human + Cambion = Cambion

But what about: Full Demon + Cambion = ?

Cambion + Cambion =  ?

Are these unions even possible or allowed and could they produce offspring?

On the cover of Bloodmarked, I think Bree is wearing the outfit that she wore during the Rite of Kings ceremony.

Valechaz is clearly enamored and fascinated with Bree and he's such a wildcard. Valec at times can also be hard to read. Will he be a friend or foe going forward?

This may be an unpopular opinion, but in terms of a TV series adaptation of the Legendborn Cycle, I would prefer that it be an animated TV series rather than a live-action series.

[in-dire-read]

Legendborn (Book Review)

Tracy Deonn

5 stars ⭐️

Information

# of Pages: 490

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy

Series: Legendborn #1

Summary

Sixteen-year-old Bree Matthews, a college student at the University of North Carolina, infiltrates a secretive, historically white magical society after suspecting its members' involvement in her mother's death. During her quest, she discovers the Legendborn, descendants of King Arthur's knights, and their mages, the Merlins. Bree uncovers the society's secrets, including the cost of their power and the mages' demonic nature. With her growing knowledge of both the Legendborn and an alternate form of magic called Root, Bree navigates complex relationships and uncovers the truth about her mother's death.

Thoughts

Not only is Bree a feisty heroine, but the girl has a tremendous amount of emotional depth. Her silent anger erupts over time due to the loss of her mother and generational trauma. As a biracial woman, I've never been able to relate so much to a character before. As much as I loved to see her budding romance with Nick blossom, a part of me wants her and Selwyn to end up together. The two former enemies turned to each other for support, a heartwarming outcome. There's something special when people can put their differences aside for a common goal. Besides, the two have more in common than they care to admit. Lastly, the history and context leading to the Round Table of Arthur and his knights was fascinating. Tracy Deonn does a fantastic job of intertwining her fantasy world with some historical facts and myths about magic. I highly recommend this book if you love an action-packed book with a subtle romance side story!

[gewoonaardig2]

Selwyn like have demon form

Uhhh i think it's just the fangs and red eyes and nails? Claws? (If i remember correctly idk) But no ion think he finna change in some red horned little guy

[sdwolfpup]

I have finished reading all of the Smut Swap fics!! I’ve still got Summer Exchange fics to finish (not to mention at least half, if not more, of the chillfest), so I’m feeling accomplished for once. Heh. Anyway, here is my list of recs. Just short blurbs for each one because there’s a lot of these so it will be long as it is. In no particular order except very vaguely the order I read them in and even then I did some jumping around.

Thrust Exercises - canon AU where Jaime and Brienne have known each other for a long time because Selwyn brought him to Evenfall. It’s their wedding night, and Jaime Has A Plan to make sure his new, eager wife enjoys their bedding. The smut is hot but what especially sticks out to me is how full of AFFECTION this fic and the characters are. It’s a wonderful mix.

Second Chances - modern AU, Jaime/Brienne/Addam. Brienne and Jaime are happily together, Jaime and Addam have a history of casual hookups, and this time they want Brienne to join. She is more than happy to do so. Great history between all three, incredible sexual tension, and Brienne is an active and eager participant in this delightful trio.

Diplomatic Relations - post-canon where Jaime and Brienne are very happily married and go around Westeros (for work) having noisy sex (for pleasure). A really fun and very sexy read. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Nights Avoiding Things Unholy - modern AU where Jaime and Brienne had an unexpected hook-up in the breakroom at work and now three weeks later, they’ve barely even talked. At a work event, they spark against each other until they catch fire in a scorching-hot scene in an empty office. The imagery is...A LOT. And even with all the heat (of which there is PLENTY), it’s clear there’s more simmering under the surface for these two. I hope the author is considering a sequel. And a prequel. I’m open to all the -quels for this.

what is dark in me illumine - modern AU where Brienne is an ethics professor (!!!!) and Jaime is a demon exiled to earth (!!!!) and their sexual tension is U N R E A L. There is a scene in this fic that is in, as I have dubbed it, the Horny Trinity of JB scenes. (The scene from Astolat’s Pretty where he rubs his thumb down his cock is the second, and the third part of the trinity is in the next fic in this list!) This fic is bananas good -- the world-building is incredible, the language is fantastic, and the sex is incendiary. Jaime and Brienne’s joy in each other comes through so strongly, too. I cannot throw enough superlatives on this boat. I would also love to read more of this in whatever form the author would provide.

Hush - modern AU where Brienne is a researcher in the far, cold North (think the Arctic) and Jaime is a pilot and they have lots of INDESCRIBABLY HOT SEX. This is the third leg of my Horny Trinity, and it involves a blowjob and a belt and it made my life a little better having read it. As with the other recs in this list, the sex is amazing but the connection is superb. They clearly adore each other, beyond just the physical attraction, and I found myself smiling a number of times. (Count this as a third request for more of this universe.)

Apart, Together, Together Apart - post-canon fic where Jaime is in the Kingsguard to protect Tommen and Brienne is the Evenstar. They’re lovers, separated by distance and duty, and Jaime is visiting Tarth for seven days. They make the most of it. I have thought about this fic SO MUCH since I read it; I’ve been keeping myself from re-reading since I wanted to finish a first run through, but now that I have I think this might be my first. Each day is so lovingly handled, not just with sex (which they don’t have every day), but their quiet joy and devotion to each other. This fic is full of tenderness and a little melancholy and a lot of love.

Can’t Get Close Enough (To You) - This is a modern AU where Jaime and Brienne are a happy couple invited to vacation with their friends, and when Brienne has a surprise for Jaime on their last day, things get a little out of hand in a VERY sexy way. The characters are so cute in this, and their connection is so clear, and the ending is really fun. I can’t believe this is the author’s first fic; it’s a fantastic start. I’ll never let you go (if you promise not to fade away) - This is a space AU where Jaime and Cersei are alone on a ship in the galaxy and they bring mechanic Brienne onboard. JBC is a trickly threesome to make work, especially when Jaime and Cersei are still twins, but using Cersei as the narrator and emotional throughline here works unbelievably well. Every part of the triangle gets time, and Brienne becomes a way for Jaime and Cersei to even work out their complicated relationship without feeling like she’s just filler; they both adore her and for good reason.  This fic is only 2.5k and yet it does SO MUCH. It’s incredibly good.

Getting Lost In You - modern AU where Jaime and Brienne are a wonderfully happy couple who are spending a lazy Sunday morning in bed. This is almost entirely sex, but the history and love between them are so rich, it adds a wonderful dimension to this fic. The whole thing has a delightful, hot glow.

Today Will Die Tomorrow - canon AU (or I suppose post-ADWD canon!) where Jaime and Brienne come together just before the Long Night. The author uses jumping back and forth in time to parcel out the moments of intense hotness and sweetness in a perfect mix. Their language is gorgeous, there are some beautiful emotional punches scattered throughout, and the sex is fun AND tender AND sexy.

we used to wait - modern AU where Jaime and Brienne are in Harrenhal on the same negotiations but for different companies. This author’s style is FANTASTIC the descriptions are spare but so vivid, the feelings are restrained but so intense, the sex is so hot and so emotional. A truly marvelous story.

The Waters and the Wild - modern AU where Jaime is a prince and Brienne is in his Kingsguard. They crash and have to walk their way to safety. The author gives us hints of their backstory as we go - they knew each other in the armed forces, they had a super hot affair - and we get to see them realizing that all of the weight of those feelings are still there, waiting to be acted on. Good thing they’re alone together for a few days. The waterfall scene in this is VERY GOOD.

And! I’ve already rec’d this once but it’s well worth doing it again: the fic written for me, Good Night, My Love. A modern AU where Jaime and Brienne are camping, and we discover they’ve had sex once before and now are in a tense, desperate limbo about where to go from here. Jaime is besotted with this Brienne and so am I, and the way they slowly circle around and into each other through each of the nights is so lovely. I adore this story!

[carewyncromwell]

“Careful the spell you cast, not just on children: Sometimes a spell may last past what you can see And turn against you...! Careful the tale you tell -- that is the spell. Children will listen...listen... Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around... Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir -- not while I'm around... Demons are prowling everywhere nowadays... I'll send 'em howling -- I don't care -- I've got ways...”

~“Children Will Listen / Not While I’m Around,” by Josh Groban

x~x~x~x

When the vampire called Bat Varney first found himself becoming attached to Adelia Selwyn @that-ravenpuff-witch​, it intimidated him quite a bit. Having already seen his wife Loretta and daughter Irene die long before him and knowing full well how many vampires ended up going insane due to the grief of watching all the people they loved die before them, Bat had come to the practical decision that there was little point in putting himself through more pain than he had to go through -- and so, even though he knew his life would have no point at all if he had to live in complete isolation, Bat began to treat every human he encountered in a very impersonal sense, like anonymous customers coming to him for his services before disappearing into the void never to be seen again, rather than individuals. This made it so that when he inevitably heard about any of the people he’d met having died, it hurt less than if he’d made any sort of real human connection with them.

Therefore, as one can imagine, after spending so many years actively detaching from the people around him, it was very troubling to Bat when he looked at the young Selwyn and found himself being reminded of his daughter Irene, who he’d only ever been able to watch grow up from a distance. It troubled Bat all the more when Adelia started dating Teddy Ellison @cursebreakerfarrier​​, who Bat had to concede was also a very engaging young man. There were several times during their school careers and after where Adelia and Teddy would be able to sense that Bat was pulling away from them -- not because he didn’t care, but rather because of how much he cared, and how much that frightened him. Fortunately, even though Bat sometimes disappeared without any warning, he would always eventually return -- and as the years went by and Bat slowly became more comfortable with the people who’d nestled their way into his heart, he’d disappear less and less often.

The last time Bat disappeared abruptly without warning was right after he learned that Adelia was pregnant with her and Teddy’s first child. As happy as Bat was for both of the Selwyn-Ellisons, the thought of these two young people (who, in Bat’s mind, had just been studying at Hogwarts) suddenly already being full-grown adults starting a family was a grim reminder of how much faster time moved for Adelia and Teddy than it did for him...and therefore of how little time he truly had with them and any children they might have. And that was the other thing -- they were having children of their own! Did Bat even dare get attached to them too? How could he function, staying completely the same and static while a child was born and died before his eyes? Would the child remind him even more of Irene than their mother did?

Eventually Bat agreed to visit Adelia a few weeks after the baby was born, from a distance. Just like at the Selwyn-Ellisons’ wedding, Bat didn’t trust himself to get too close, considering his blood lust -- and so he’d pointedly kept to the door frame at the far end of the nursery when Teddy went over to the crib and scooped his newborn son Lawrence (or “Bertie”) up into his arms so that Bat could see him. The sight of the tiny baby in Teddy’s arms made Bat’s heart swell to three times its usual size, and he couldn’t fight back some tears as he regarded Teddy with more pride than he ever had. He could tell how much Teddy loved his son -- just as Bat himself had loved Irene -- and, as much as the thought hurt Bat...Teddy would be able to be there for his child, the way he never could...the way he should’ve been. The thought hurt so much, and yet...there was some joy in it too.

Not long after Bertie was born, Honeydukes pioneered the Blood Pop, which allowed Bat to interact with people a bit more safely than he had previously. Not only did it allow him to spend a lot more quality time with his close companion Atticus Grimsley, but it also made Bat feel that bit more secure to be around the Selwyn-Ellisons, especially their young son. Bertie Selwyn-Ellison was a precocious little boy from the off-set, eternally curious and enamored of both his mother’s bedtime stories and his father’s fluffy Belgian Shepherd Animagus form. Over time Bat’s fondness for the small boy became more apparent, from how he’d frequently sit on the floor while Bertie played with his toys so as to be more on his level to how he’d read Bertie Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol aloud every Yuletide season, complete with different voices for all of the characters. Before long, Bat had gone into full-fledged “uncle” mode on little Bertie, coddling him even more than he had Adelia and Teddy. And when Adelia gave birth to her and Teddy’s second child, Violet, Bat instantly projected the same level of protectiveness and favoritism he’d shown toward Bertie onto her as well.

Once when Bertie was about four, the little boy got it in his head to “watch over” his infant sister while she was sleeping, only to fall asleep on top of Bat, who’d laid down in his Irish Wolfhound form with Bertie on the floor next to Violet’s crib so as to supervise them. Bat only turned back into his real form when his blood lust became strong enough that he had to take a sip from his flask, stick a Blood Pop in his mouth, and then carry the sleeping Bertie over to the chair so he could tuck him in under a spare blanket. The vampire then proceeded to sit on the floor next to the chair for another half-hour, until Teddy came home from work and found them in the nursery after checking for Bertie in his room and not finding him there.

As Bertie and Violet got older, they became diligent students of their “Uncle Bat,” who rather determinedly resolved to make sure that they’d both be ahead of the game in all of the core subjects before starting at Hogwarts, so that it’d be easier for them to make friends. (Kind of an understandable position for someone who was both a Ravenclaw and the only Muggle-born in his class back in the day to adopt!) This resulted in both Bertie and Violet being among the top of their class and very well-respected for their entire school careers. And whenever the Selwyn-Ellisons went to visit Bat in his home of Hogsmeade, they’d always bring their “uncle” a pack of Blood Pops, and Bat would always take the time to spoil Bertie and Violet by helping them prepare for a pop quiz he’d caught wind of or for a Quidditch match Bertie was set to fly in.

Never question the power that someone -- even a child -- can have, in bringing out the best in someone else.

[apassintohell]

👁️👁️🍑 for all your babes

Do they find any fruits especially sexy - (this is such a weird question, it figures you would pick it)

Briar blinks a few times. Squints a little. "No? Should I?"

Alice crosses her arms. "I find nothing sexy."

Kestral examines her nails and lets out a decisive sniff. "As if I'd tell you."

Cesemir's head tilts to the side as they consider the question. "I don't suppose I do, though a lot can be said about the person eating the fruit. That can be very - attractive, when done right."

Selwyn's eyes widen. A light blush dusts their cheeks as they duck their head. "I've never thought about it but - I don't think so?"

Orzion's smile is all teeth. "Not much of a fruit fan. I prefer the more... live prey."

Adlai doesn't look up from the mold he's creating for a new dagger. "You have interest in strange topics. I suppose apples are alright."

2 random facts -

Briar waves a blade in the air. It's a deep obsidian with thin golden veins running throughout the body. "I took Adlai's blacksmith class and made my own knife out of demon-grade materials. He's also my sword instructor."

-

"I have a scar on my temple from where I ran into a dresser." Alice looks embarrassed - and annoyed to feel so. "It was when I first lost sight in my eye.

I also had a bear cub once. Her name was Shirley."

-

"Alice raised me more than our Ma did." Kestral presses her lips together. She looks away as her eyes fog over with grief. "I'll never forgive myself for not being able to save her."

-

Cesemir lets out a slow breath. "I have a glamour in my earring that hides my true appearance." They touch a hand to the tip of their left ear, where a golden stud sits. "I thought my true form hideous until my mate convinced me otherwise. Sometimes I still doubt, but he's so stubborn..."

-

"I like video games but I'm not very good at them..." Selwyn looks down, more downcast over that fact than they probably should be. They hate failing. "I don't have very good coordination outside of the water."

-

"I was taught how to kill when I was a pup," Orzion states. He scowls at the ground. "Being the Big Bad Wolf was always my destiny."

-

"No one but Barbatos knows how I got this scar," Adlai touches a hand to the red that circles his throat. "he saved my life."

[aion-rsa]

Ghostbusters: Afterlife - Who is Ivo Shandor?

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A brief shot from the new Ghostbusters trailer ties into a threat that's been looming over the team since the first movie.

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When it comes to Ghostbusters lore, if you were to ask about their biggest villains, the list would begin with the likes of Stay Puft/Gozer, Slimer, and Vigo the Carpathian. Then maybe some of the more memorable monsters from the cartoon or someone might bring up that incel guy from the reboot. But then there’s Ivo Shandor, a footnote of the franchise who has gradually transformed from a deep cut to being the puppet master of everything ecto.

The trailer for Ghostbusters: Afterlife hit recently and while it’s established as a sequel to the original two movies, they’re fairly light on the actual references so far. There’s a ghost trap, there’s old footage of the original team in the '80s, we see Egon’s old jumpsuit, what appears to be a Gozer dog, and so on. In a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, characters are shown walking towards a sign saying, “SHANDOR MINING COMPANY.”

Yes, Shandor. As in Ivo Shandor. So who the hell is Ivo Shandor?

The original Ghostbusters movie namedropped Shandor once and only once as part of an exposition dump. When the crew were in their jail cell, Egon started to explain just why Gozer and its kind were targeting that one specific building and why it was so haunted.

“It's not the girl, Peter, it's the building. Something terrible is about to enter our world, and this building is obviously the door. The architect's name was Ivo Shandor. I found it in Tobin's Spirit Guide. He was also a doctor. Performed a lot of unnecessary surgery. And then in 1920, he started a secret society.”

Understanding the situation, Peter added, “Let me guess: Gozer woshippers?”

So all the marshmallow golems and demon dogs and so on were all traced back to one nutjob with a forgettable name. Now, with the minimal amount of stuff we know about Afterlife, part of the backstory appears to be that at some point after Ghostbusters 2, Egon Spenkler moved to Oklahoma for the sake of keeping an eye on something Shandor cooked up with his mining company. He definitely didn’t stop it (at least completely) and it’s up to his family to finish the job.

Ivo Shandor started the ghost uprising in the '80s and his legacy is to bring it back in 2020.

Coincidentally, this lines up with Shandor’s position in the franchise. This man with a throwaway piece of dialogue to his name is constantly being farmed out into being something much bigger for the sake of follow-ups.

To be fair, he was originally going to be a bigger deal in the first movie. In an earlier version of the script, Shandor was supposed to appear as Gozer’s initial form during the climax, juxtaposing this apocalyptic, godly threat with a mundane guy in a suit. They even wanted Paul Reubens to play him, which is...wow, that’s excessively '80s.

He’s a better vampire than a ghost, anyway.

In 2009, a big Ghostbusters video game was released on various platforms – and remastered a decade later – with emphasis on being the “official” version of Ghostbusters 3. It featured all the actors reprising their roles (excluding Sigourney Weaver and Rick Moranis) and a script that was partially worked on by Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis. It took place in 1991 with the player being a silent rookie getting roped into a “greatest hits” storyline that involved the likes of taking on Slimer and Stay Puft all over again.

read more: The Scariest Episodes of The Real Ghostbusters

While the game set up the return of Gozer, the true mastermind was Ivo Shandor, who was hiding in plain sight by possessing the mayor. What better way to undermine the Ghostbusters from doing their job than screwing with them from the top of the bureaucratic ladder? With Gozer defeated a second time over, Shandor decided to overstep his boundaries by turning the plot into a scheme to turn himself into a god. Initially, that meant sacrificing Peter’s new love interest Dr. Ilyssa Selwyn, who – wouldn’t you know it – was Shandor’s descendant.

In the end, he achieved power and was able to choose his own form as the destructor. The Ghostbusters took him out by going back to the “cross the streams” well and moved on.

The IDW Ghostbusters series, while bringing in concepts from the animated continuity (ie. Kylie from the underrated Extreme Ghostbusters being the team’s researcher), only treated the two movies and the video game as canon. That meant that Shandor wasn’t really on the table as a nemesis, but there were references to him here and there.

The initial storyline revolved around a being named Idunas, who was hellbent on bringing back Gozer and forcing Ray to imagine him as something more threatening than a giant marshmallow man. While he had an otherworldly look to him, one of the original concepts was to have Idunas take Shandor’s form as a reference to the unused idea from the movie.

One of the comic runs ended with a big storyline involving Gozer’s war with his sister Tiamat. Gozer would show up in Ray’s subconscious to taunt him in various forms. One of those forms was presumably Shandor, looking very much like a slightly-off-model Pee Wee Herman. Nice that they finally got to scratch that itch.

Otherwise, outside of being namedropped, Shandor appeared in a short story called “The Origins of Slimer” by Erik Burnham and Rachael Stott, where the Ghostbusters went over their various theories on what Slimer is or who he was. While they suggested that he could have been a chef or a vagrant, Ray seemed pretty sure that Slimer was some kind of failed glutton-based entity conjured by Shandor and his cult.

While Shandor didn’t get too much lip service in the comics, Erik Burnham eventually decided to make Tobin’s Spirit Guide from Egon’s exposition into an actual book. Albeit, a book updated with specific ghosts from Ghostbusters itself. It was there that we got to see the very entry that Egon read many years ago, going into more detail about his horrible experiments, path to Gozer worship, and the suggestion that he died from trying to give himself goat legs.

I mean, if you're going to be demonic, might as well go all the way.

Gavin Jasper writes for Den of Geek and is neither too hot to handle nor too cold to hold. Read more of his articles here and follow him on Twitter @Gavin4L

Read and download the Den of Geek Lost In Space Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Feature

Books

Gavin Jasper

Dec 11, 2019

Ghostbusters

from Books https://ift.tt/2YOeaIN

[twizzlekins]

Day 24: Ritual

A father’s final stand

As the moon rose over the infamous autumnal forests, more green mist rolled in from the outer reaches of the hills of Urae. From the direction of Zin-Azshari. Battling their way through the mist, Lord Tor'athalos Vry'leth, Consort of Matron Urae'sulai and senior member of the regions Moon Guard conjured a barrier between the demons and those he led. At the behest of his mate he had taken a small group of guards, Moon Guard and priestesses away from the besieged city of Eldarath in order to support the mages of Lake Mennar. More than half of his motley group had met horrific deaths. “We must continue! If we cannot reach Mennar Academy, Eldarath is truly lost! To me!” Turning away from the pursuing horde and carnage, he raised the banner of House Miri'nal and pushed forward, the ethereal song-chants of the Sisterhood filling his ears.

Far too much time had passed before they came within sight of the magnificent and proud academy. Perhaps they were not too late. Already Tor'athalos could see a massive shield had been conjured over most of the grounds. He had never thought to see the school turned to war. The idea had been laughable. He and the city as a whole had laughed at the proclamations of Mennar Academy, warning of the dangers of wanton use of the arcane. When those proclamations had reached the ears of Zin-Azshari, the school had been deemed a madhouse and fallen from the good graces of Queen Azshara.  A school not to be taken seriously. Yet when the demons came and when an out-runner from the academy reached Eldarath, not one soul spoke out against the dire claim or the formulated plan. The Moon Guard had already sensed strange magics and upon a failed attempt to contact their members in Zin-Azshari, welcomed Lake Mennar instead. There was no doubt where the madness truly lay.

“My Lord! I am Kalytha. Come quickly, we have it! Archmage Selwyn has the Sarcen Stone! We should be able to stop the demons portal!” a woman wearing the robes of an apprentice came running to meet the group, stopping only at the barriers' edge. She began the spell in order to allow them within the dome, faltering slightly. With scornful sounds, three of the Moon Guard joined in and usurped the spell, quickly completing the task. A blush filled the apprentice's face, embarrassment that was quickly replaced by terror. The demons they had left behind were already here. Lord Tor'athalos swore under his breath. There would be no escape. He looked around at the faces of those with him and saw his own grim realizations reflected on each and every one. Planting the banner of House Miri'nal into the ground, he met their gaze. “We must buy time. We all know what is at stake. We must have faith that there is other resistance and faith that the ritual here shall save our people, our world. I want three of the Sisterhood and three of the Moon Guard to come with me to the sanctum, the rest fan out and support the arcanists maintaining the shield spell. Do whatever you deem necessary. If Eldarath survives, she shall be proud of her children for all time. May Elune guide you” He gave a single salute as the group broke apart before quickly making way to the inner pools, where the ritual was already well under way. The spell array was magnificent. Within the center was the Sarcen Stone.

Above them, cracks started forming in the shield, it could not hold much longer. Kalytha gasped and pointed at something just behind him. Turning, he saw that already there were holes in the shield and the sounds of battle and cries of defenders carried to them. The arch-magi stepped away from the spell array. Tor'athalos kept his spellblade ready and prepared himself.  Half turned  he saw in his peripherals a woman in ornate violet and blue robes step away and move towards himself and Kalytha, who bowed. “Archmage Selwyn, I heard that you called for me” she spoke in a respectful tone. Selwyn nodded, her face matched all others in its grave countenance as she spoke in low tones to the younger woman. Tor'athalos grimaced as the last of the shield spell collapsed. As he listened to the Selwyn's instructions to hide the Sarcen Stone so that it could continue to draw power away from the demons portal within Zin-Azshari unhindered, he made a silent prayer to Elune to watch over his daughter, Ys'arial, and hoped that the missive he had hidden on him would reach her where he himself had failed to.

[alcoholicseraphim]

The Year Before Tomorrow

Chapter Sixteen- Year III- Foster Locum

The holding cell was at least clean and warm, which was a vast improvement over her cell in Azkaban. The lack of Dementors and the regular meals were pluses as well. Hermione hardly felt she could ask for more.

The books were the most important thing, though. The "library" that Midgeon had spoken about was more of a catalogue. Hermione decided that she hated this method of researching. How was she supposed to gauge how helpful any book would be if she couldn't hold it, check the table of contents, skim through it? She was glad that she was researching genealogy, a heavily-documented and very general subject.

She scribbled the titles down on a bit of parchment and showed it to her babysitter. "Would it be too much trouble to order me these?" she'd say, looking down at her feet.

At first, she wasn't allowed to take the books into her holding cell, but a chat with Midgeon cleared that up rather quickly. A bit of logic, deference, and sad eyes made him see her point of view. "I'm trying to find my family," she said, voice quivering just a little. "And there are so many families. I'd like to reunite with them as soon as possible."

Her next move was to convince him to allow her access to newspapers. As soon as he caved, Hermione could see why he'd hesitated. She was all over the front page for the first few days, and there were articles published nearly every day. Some painted her as a demon child, while others allowed some sympathy to slip through. Most were suspicious. All were curious.

Would it be a break in character to ignore these articles? She shouldn't lay it on too thick, though. Caricatures people may be, but they rarely liked to think of themselves that way.

"Could I possibly start looking through some foreign newspapers, sir? I don't think my family lives here; otherwise, I would be in the system and found already. Right?"

Midgeon hesitated but allowed it. "Just in Europe, understand?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you!"

It took weeks for her to find an opening. There was an article on the fourth page of La Voyante, which as far as Hermione could tell reported the murders of a nuclear family which belonged to a minor branch of the Selwyn clan. 36-year-old Ygraine and 42-year-old Uther were found burnt alive in their homes, while the body of their daughter, 15-year-old Genevieve, affectionately called Veva, was missing. Another hour or two of flipping through the Selwyn family tree revealed that not only was this branch so far removed as to barely respond to Selwyn blood magic, Genevieve also had brown hair and eyes. No portrait was provided and no details beyond that very basic description.

The story was beginning to come together.

Veva's family was visited by unknown ruffians (she would probably imply that they were Death Eaters, for the sake of simplicity) and Veva watched them be tortured and killed. When they turned to her, her fear overwhelmed her and her magic exploded, sending her to Azkaban for unknown reasons. Her clothes were probably already separated from her body, which would explain why she'd arrived completely nude. Her mind had short-circuited and wiped her memory, and her magic became entirely unstable.

All she had to do was fake a slow recovery of her mental faculties. Well, that and pretend to continue researching.

She shuffled that issue of La Voyante into her "to be read" pile.

The whole night Hermione struggled to create a false memory. It had been some time since she'd done it, and she feared her skills may be rusty. It wouldn't matter too much, she consoled herself, if the memory was fuzzy or if some details were misplaced. Trauma did that, sometimes.

Hours, it took her. Hours. It was worth it, however; by the end, she'd manufactured emotions so genuine she could feel them resonate within her.

Her babysitter sat across the table from her and squinted at paperwork. He was a middle-aged man by the name of Twilling, and Hermione felt an odd mingling of kinship and disquiet. Perhaps he reminded her of her father.

Hermione picked up the next issue of La Voyante and spent several minutes scanning each article and flipping pages. She reached the fourth, read the headline, and stared at one word: Veva. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She lay under the covers in the dark, listening to the front door creak open. Was Maman putting the cat outside? No, she would have heard the stairs creaking. And there, they were- that could only mean someone had come in.

A sense of acute dread flooded her body, and she slid out of bed. She would need to hide, that much was certain. Being careful not to disturb anything on the floor or make any sound at all, she shuffled to the closet and stepped inside before shutting it. The bolt clicked into place, and she winced at even that tiny noise.

Time stood out in sharp relief as she listened intently. She could feel her heartbeat in her veins.

Footsteps in the hallway grew closer, passing by her bedroom and approaching her parents' room. There was silence for several moments, and then Maman's scream split the air apart. It was cut off abruptly, which she found even more unsettling. She could do nothing but listen to the thud of two bodies hitting the floor, and the smaller thuds caused by what she assumed were thrashing limbs.

She wished her closet didn't share a wall with her parents' bedroom. She wished she had her wand. She wished jumping out of her window wouldn't kill her.

Most of all, she wished she couldn't hear the intruders taunts and laughter.

"Veva, you say?" said a man, his voice raspy and cruel. "Your little girl? Don't worry about her. She'll be next."

Renewed thrashing, more snickers. "You won't have to see it. You won't live that long." And then, the unmistakable, "Avada Kedavra."

"Are you all right, miss?" Twilling asked, clearly alarmed. He even set down his quill.

Hermione blinked and looked up at him. "I'm- I don't know," she whispered. "I saw something. I mean, I, I, I remember."

"A memory?"

"Yes, a memory." Hermione let her gaze soften more, giving the impression even though she was staring right at him that she was looking behind Twilling. "My name is Veva, I think."

"What exactly was this memory?" Twilling asked, all business now. He rummaged around in the pocket of his robes for a moment before pulling out a Quick Quotes Quill.

"My parents are dead," she said after a moment, her voice toneless and detached. "I really am an orphan." Before Twilling could motion her to elaborate, Hermione continued. "I never saw them. I was hiding in my closet and I heard the whole thing. They- they said I would be next."

Twilling looked disappointed that she was being so vague, but he had the tact not to press her for more. Perhaps it was the fact that she was on the verge of tears that convinced him not to. He stowed the Quill away in his pocket and looked at her gravely through bushy white eyebrows. "Would you like to be called Veva from now on?"

Hermione nodded and added for good measure, "I would like that, yes."

*|II8II|*

From then on Hermione wasn't the only one actively searching for her "family". It wasn't a priority by any means, and as far as Hermione knew no one was specifically assigned to the task. Her various babysitters did periodically comfort her with their progress, however.

As emotionally and mentally taxing as it was to construct new memories for a separate traumatized girl, it was a necessary task. She'd already compiled a list of facts that must be included in these memories in some way, a list which was already rapidly growing. For example, Veva mostly spoke French in her family, and had been home-schooled. Beauxbatons taught girls how to use their feminine wiles, according to Veva's mother, and both of her parents were very much opposed to the idea. While they were not pureblood supremacists, they did believe in a heavily patriarchal society and religion. Veva was to remain sheltered from the world until such time as suitors were to petition for her hand.

Never before had all of her research into pureblood culture been so useful.

It was July 31st when Hermione lost patience. She'd been dropping hint after hint, even going so far as to "accidentally" drop the La Voyante article onto the table right next to her supervisor. It was more of a character test than an actual bid for freedom, so Hermione wasn't too frustrated, but Hermione had never been patient.

"It's this one," she said, minute traces of a French accent slipping into her usual received pronunciation. "I'm in this one."

She'd picked Twilling on purpose, as the one she'd judged to have the most concern for her. He had two daughters, she'd learned. He looked up immediately, proof that he was a good choice. "What does it say?" he asked, even while holding out his hand to receive the paper himself. Hermione passed it to him without answering, and waited for his eyes to finish skimming the article. "Selwyn?" he murmured aloud, stroking the stubble where before he'd had a full beard. "From France?" He looked up from the newspaper and straight at her, assessing her.

"Do I pass muster, sir?" she quipped, adding a lip tremble and a bubble of tears in both eyes. She brought out the French accent just a bit more.

"I'll speak with the Minister," he said, and stood. "You'd better follow me." He took a moment to scribble a warning and send it with his pygmy owl, Dowry. As soon as the owl took flight, Twilling grasped her shoulder and steered her out into the hallway.

Hermione could hardly speak; the excitement choked her words before they could even form. About halfway up the lift to Midgeon's office, Hermione realized she had to compose herself. Veva would be excited, but that joy would be tempered by grief. She did her best to cobble together an altered version of the memory of finding the article as well. She was putting the finishing touches on it when Midgeon allowed them in.

"I think you'd better read this, sir," Twilling said, holding out the newspaper. Hermione waited for Midgeon to read, then read again, and then again, with as much tolerance as she could muster. Eagerness made it hard to stand still.

Midgeon said nothing for several moments while he too examined Hermione. "Selwyn, you say?" he said.

"That's me," whispered Hermione. "That's me."

"So it appears to be," said Midgeon. He glanced skyward. "The patriarchal branch is within the UK, conveniently enough. I'll have to convince them to meet with me. I suggest," he looked at Hermione again, "you do as much research as you can."

"I will, sir," Hermione said, keeping her scorn nailed to her throat.

Midgeon dismissed them both, and Hermione returned to the "library" to peruse the catalogue once more.

*|II8II|*

The Selwyns had no problems with meeting her, to Hermione's delight. "If all goes well, we can have you home by tomorrow," Midgeon said. "The only thing that would keep them from taking you in now is any major flaw on your part, which I find unlikely." Hermione thought that that was a little too optimistic, but she didn't argue.

On August 3rd, Morfan and Rhea Selwyn Flooed into the Atrium shortly after nine in the morning. Hermione knew about it immediately, being perched in Midgeon's office waiting anxiously for them to show up. Midgeon looked up from his paperwork and smiled at her. "Just a few more minutes," he said.

Keeping up appearances was, in this instance, no problem at all. She really was eager to meet with the Selwyns. She was even more eager to stop wasting time and get out of the Ministry and into the real world.

Hermione heard their footsteps sounding down the hallway from the moment they stepped out of the lift, thanks to the sound-enhancing charm on the Minister's office. There were only the two pairs, so either one of them decided not to come or they had no escort. It was entirely possible that it was a show of trust on the Ministry's part. Clever, she thought.

The rap on the door was decisive- Rhea Selwyn, she supposed. Midgeon waved his wand and the door opened. The Selwyns showed no hesitation in stepping through, as if they consorted with the highest-ranking government official every few days. It was, perhaps, close enough to the truth.

"Good morning, Minister Midgeon," Rhea said with perfect grace. Morfan mumbled an echo of his wife's greeting, looking down at his feet.

Hermione, making sure to keep her face hopeful and somewhat fearful, took the opportunity to examine her possible new guardians. Rhea Selwyn was, according to the genealogy books, in her late twenties, and she looked it. She was a strong, if somewhat plain, woman, with soft mother's eyes and a steely matron's voice. Her dark brown hair was plaited in a circlet around her head with a perfection that could only have been accomplished by a house elf. Her robes were elegant but simple, a sweeping black cloak down to her feet.

Morfan Selwyn was far, far older than his wife. To look at him, he was well past his centennial, but in truth he was only in his nineties. His posture was awful and he kept rigid at Rhea's side, tucked in thick wool robes despite it being late summer. For as weak as he appeared to be, he trained sharp, intelligent eyes on first Midgeon and then on her, studying them as she was studying him. She smiled shyly, a test, but his face remained entirely neutral.

"So you're Genevieve," Rhea remarked. It wasn't a question. Her gaze scanned Hermione from her bushy hair to her Transfigured trainers, and then back up to her dark skin. "Very distant relation, I assume."

"Yes ma'am," Hermione said, keeping her tone light and deferential even as her skin burned where Rhea scrutinized it. "My mother's mother was foreign."

"I see," said Rhea. "And just where are you from?"

"Lyon, ma'am," Hermione said. "At least, that's what the newspapers say." She glanced down at the ground, pretending to be properly cowed, and Rhea smiled.

"What do you think, my love?" the Selwyn matriarch asked, turning to Morfan. "We have no children yet."

"I have no objections," Morfan muttered.

Midgeon, who had been watching quietly through this exchange, pushed a piece of parchment forward. "So you agree to take her in, at least temporarily? You'll receive a stipend from the Ministry, naturally, if you do."

Rhea grabbed the quill he held out to her and scribbled her name on the line, then handed it to her husband. He didn't sign right away, instead taking a few moments to read through it. "You really want her off your hands, don't you?" he said to himself, and signed.

Hermione felt energy trickle through her veins like wet sand and then it was over.

"I'd hoped she would look more native," Rhea said. "I don't believe she's changed at all."

That's not always how it works, she wanted to say. This isn't a magical adoption, but a ward agreement. Like foster care. But she said nothing.

Rhea opened her mouth to speak more, and while she chattered away to Midgeon Morfan jerked his head for Hermione to stand. She obeyed without delay.

We'll speak more at home, his eyes said. Hermione nodded back, just a tiny shake so as to not attract Rhea's attention.

Midgeon said his goodbyes and dismissed them all with the reminder that he had paperwork to fill out, and Rhea placed one hand on Hermione's shoulder and propelled her forward. It was all Hermione could do not to throw herself across the room. She could not abide touch. Could not. She shrugged out of Rhea's grasp and sent her an apologetic smile, walking forward on her own down to the lift.

Hermione kept to the other side of Morfan, away from her new matriarch's tendency to be grabby. They stood in the lift in silence, listening to the cool female voice announcing the floors as they passed them. When the lift doors opened again, Rhea swept out into the Atrium and with single-minded purpose toward the Floo. Most employees had already arrived and so they didn't have to wait long. They all crammed into the fireplace and Rhea threw down the green powder from a pouch at her side.

"Selwyn Estate!" Rhea cried, and they were off.

Hermione hated the Floo. Always had, probably always would. She did her best to streamline her body to avoid unnecessary bumps, but she scraped her elbows more than once and she knew from experience that her hair was collecting massive amounts of soot. She didn't dare open her eyes.

It was only a few seconds before they were spat out into the fireplace at the Selwyn home. Rhea twitched her skirt and stepped out as flawless as before, and Morfan didn't appear to have been dirtied in the slightest. Hermione hovered in the hearth, her face burning.

"I wouldn't want to ruin your rug," she explained, beating at her own plain robes. Entire mountains of soot and ash fell to the floor of the fireplace. Her hair was a lost cause; it would take several washes to get it clean again.

"Vici!" Rhea snapped, and a house elf appeared.

This house elf wore a clean green tea towel, and her- Hermione wasn't sure how she knew, but it was definitely a her- ears stood straight up like a fox's. Together they were bigger than her shriveled head. "Right away, Mistress," she said, prim as could be, and snapped her fingers. Hermione felt her curls stretch down to their full length and shiver, shaking the dirt off. It didn't hurt, exactly, but she was hyper-aware of the roots of her hair, as if she'd tried to part it somewhere new.

Vici disappeared as suddenly as she'd come, and Hermione put a hand up to her hair. Her hair was no longer curly, but straight as straw. An irrational anger made her feel light and tall, but she reined it back. "I was fond of the way it was," she said evenly.

"What, filthy?" Rhea snorted, and spun around and left.

Hermione stared after her, furious and impotent, until Morfan coughed.

"I'll show you to your room," he grumbled.

Hermione was not oblivious to the kindness displayed in his offer. Clearly they had at least one house elf, and she'd known many pureblood families. Especially with his age, to offer to escort her was indicative of his concern.

"Thank you, sir," she said, awkwardly putting her hand through his offered elbow. She supported him even as he escorted her, shouldering his meagre weight on her left side.

They turned nine times. Nine! Hermione was quite sure they were deep within the manor, and it would take her weeks to find her way through these hallways. At last Morfan stopped in front of a door identical to all the others in a hallways that was just the same as each one they'd passed. With a quick glance at Morfan, Hermione reached out one hand and pushed down on the curved handle.

Her bedroom was a storm of soft pastel colors. The carpet was baby blue, plush, and thick. Hermione stepped out of her trainers and sank her sock-clad feet in the ocean of soft fibers, observing as it hugged the side of her feet. It was magical, she realized, and the carpet stroked her toes, confirming her thought. Each wall was a gradient of purple to pink, with twinkling stars on the dark ceiling.

It was a child's room, and she looked askance at Morfan.

"My wife has been expecting a son of her own," Morfan explained, expression just as impassive as before. "We have had the furniture enlarged to fit you."

The implications were unmistakable. Had they given up on birthing a child, and instead planned to adopt one? Hermione couldn't imagine any other reason such a well-loved room would be given to her. "How long has it been this way?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"Six years," said Morfan. Hermione blinked, startled. Morfan shuffled away, wobbling just a bit. "I'll leave you to explore on your own."

You do that, Hermione thought, but said nothing. She was already moving forward to feel the walls. They were perfectly smooth to her touch but gave way to even a gentle push. The walls were almost as soft as the floor. Without noticing, tears came to her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. She could feel the sorrow pooling in this room. She could feel the presence of a child who had never existed at all. She could feel the sustained hope.

Hermione went to the bed and curled up on top of the covers, and immediately, inexplicably, she was asleep.

[poetryofchrist]

Biblical Studies Carnival for February 2020

Welcome to Février Gras.

This is The Biblical Studies Carnival 3x7x23

completing 168 monthly editions since the inaugural BS carnival 180 months ago, music, poetry, art in celebration of those studying the ancient texts.

Official colours of Mardi Gras

The Krewe of TNK The head of the first parade is Deane Galbraith presenting Marc Zvi Brettler's lecture on Jewish Biblical Scholarship. Torah

Day 1 - The earth was a right old mess2

All sorts of free goodies distributed from this krewe. Laurent Sangpo gives us a 5 minute reception history on Le Déluge de Michel-Ange."...il suit ainsi l’exégèse ancienne, qui voyait dans la catastrophe la représentation symbolique de notre monde."

Mark Leuchter and Zev Farber describe the relationship of the siblings, Moses, Miriam, and Aaron, "partners of similar standing in redeeming the people". Carol Meyers asks Who wrote the song? Athalya Brenner-Idan has updated an essay from 2016, Are female readers included in the Decalogue?

Sandra Jacobs writes on Exodus 21:22-25: Accidental Injuries in a Public Brawl, 3 interpretations of the degree and type of compensation required. A d'varling from the Velveteen Rabbi, "if you keep making that face, you'll get stuck that way." Prophets

... wasn't it something to behold that mess

Pete Enns brings up the violence against the Canaanites. Aaron Koller writes on Composing the Song of Deborah, "here we have two empirical models with clear parallels to the biblical Song of Deborah, and both are well attested and fairly well understood."

Judges 5:2 (The whole song is here.)

Saul was Tall by Brian Doak, Bodies speak ... Solomon has no body of significance. ... Hezekiah possesses no beauty... Josiah is a complete ghost. Brant Pitre introduces the lessons for the Presentation in the Temple with particular emphasis on Malachi and the Twelve. Writings

... A symphony of voices

A hole in the parchment, through which the word 'gratiam' ('grace') is visible

Kate Thomas presents a medieval manuscript in praise of the Psalms. De laude psalmorum. "This short Latin treatise explains why saying the Psalms was considered spiritually beneficial, and which Psalms were good for which purposes. It opens a window onto how medieval people understood one of the most important liturgical and devotional books of the Middle Ages, the Psalter."

Brent Niedergall posts on a textual issue in Ruth. "What if an English Bible translation translated a Hebrew word meaning 'he' as 'she'?"

Esther: Girls of marriageable age in the ancient world were much younger than brides today in the western world.

Marg Mowczko begins a series on Esther, and continues with a second post, For such a time as this. The girls "weren’t volunteering for a wonderful opportunity. They weren’t competing for a marvellous prize. Most may well have been taken against their will and against the hopes of their families who might never see their girls again."

Daniel became a writer

Phillip Long continues the unrolling of Daniel. "Belshazzar can look no worse, his mother publicly rebuking his cowardice! (Did she stop to comb his hair and tell him to tuck his shirt in as well?)" He must be nearly right through to the end - if that's not the end, it's close.

Daniel 5:25 - setting the words, the accents in their simplest form

Announced this month via the Times of Israel: A 616-page codex that was written in 1028.

Psalm 150 Karaite

An article with some images is available here from The Jewish Quarterly Review. "NEARLY A THOUSAND YEARS have passed since Zechariah Ben 'Anan finished the demanding work of copying Ketuvim (Writings), the third part of the Hebrew Bible, in a manuscript found by sheer happenstance on a dusty shelf in the Karaite synagogue of Cairo in late July 2017" The tail of the Krewe of TNK

Your host posted a tabular comparison of two strategies for explaining the accents of the TNK and a brief on reading with the music stimulated by the medieval book on the accents translated by Geoffrey Khan, The Tiberian Pronunciation Tradition of Biblical Hebrew. Benjamin Kantor officially launches the Tiberian Hebrew page here. Jonathan Orr-Stav responds to a question on Tiberian pronunciation. Jim Davila highlights an article on dating the Hebrew Bible through linguistics. And, via William Ross, the LXX has its international day. A quote from the obit for S. R. Driver (for links see the final parade below):

The Old Testament must remain an ever-fresh fountainhead of living truth, able to invigorate and restore, to purify and refine, to ennoble and enrich, the moral and spiritual being of man.

The Krewe of the NT

Travis Proctor heads the second parade with an exploration of the demonic body, "residual souls of antediluvian giants".

Gospels and Acts

... like the first glimmer of rising

If it quacks...

A few goodies distributed to the people from this krewe may require a payment. But there's enough even if you can't get into the post-parade-party. Bart Ehrman reviews a Newly Discovered gospel. "rarely does anyone actually discuss the actual *evidence*". His post reaches back into the archives. Ekaterini G. Tsalampouni points us to an article on the ending of Mark.

Jacob Prahlow completes his series on the Odes of Solomon and the Gospel of John. James McGrath posts his impressions of the Enoch Seminar's dedicated session at AAR/SBL on Adele Reinhartz's book Cast Out of the Covenant: Jews and Anti-Judaism in the Gospel of John. Johnson Thomaskutty writes on the Characterization of Thomas in the fourth Gospel. Andrew Perriman writes in response to Michael Bird, on the church and the mission of Jesus. "Did they succeed? Fail? Or did someone move the goalposts?" Ken Schenck points out his work on Mark and Acts as part of his project Through the Bible in Ten Years. Richard Beck continues his series on the gospel according to the Lord of the Rings.

A Matthean Thunderbolt?

Ian Paul republished a post on the influence of John on the synoptic gospels, and explores a spoof on choosing your own Jesus. It being that time of the year, he also did a review of the temptations of Jesus. Michael Pahl encourages following the teaching on economics from Jesus. Jim Gordon would have us consider ornitheology. His series for Lent holds promise. Here is the leap-day special, the pearl. Chuck Jones points out Vizualizing Acts, graphic online support for reading Acts.

Letters

... What do you say

James Tabor writes about What Paul claimed to have seen.

Tim Gombis explores chapters 2 to 5 of Romans with particular reference to boasting. Andrew Perriman posts on theological prisons vs historical readings of Romans.

Michael Kok continues his series on Corinthians, beginning with notes on Peter, and Apollos. James McGrath points to a note on Paul's letter carriers. Henry Neufeld writes about How to Read Hebrews 4. Revelation

... It won't be long

Very short parade. The tail of the Krewe of the NT Mike Aubrey wants more language resources for translation. Marg Mowcsko talks about "preaching" words in the NT. The tail of the first two Krewes Pete Enns and Jared Byas have some advice to their fellow citizens on how to read the Bible in 2020. Jim West reviews the Jesus Bible, i.e. how not to read the Bible.

Other Krewes

... How many powers

James McGrath posts on the SpaceX Rocket bouncing off the firmament. You can watch the whole thing with exegetical commentary from a booster seat. Just click on the image.

Archaeology Jim Davila asks if Solomon's temple had competition? He also has some thoughts on information in a vitrified brain. And a list of posts on the BAR spring 2020 release including one from the original xkv8r. Todd Bolen reports on extensive ruins of a Canaanite temple dating to the 12th century BCE at Lachish. Yana Tchekhanovets and Leonid Belyaev write about Russian archaeology in The Ancient Near East Today. Textual criticism

Drew Longacre reports on Feature-extraction methods for historical manuscript dating based on handwriting analysis. James McGrath gets around to writing up the 2019 Digital Humanities AAR/SBL sessions in San Diego. Jim West quotes Jerome in defense of errors in his rendering of the Bible. Sarah Allen interviews Zachary Cole on his chapter in Myths and Mistakes.

Theology and Liturgy

Great St Mary's, the Selwyn Consort via the Minerva Festival

Sarah MacDonald presents "Silent in the Churches", an exploration of Music in the liturgy by female composers. NT Wright explains penal substitution, 'according to the Scriptures'. And here's a C.R.A.S.S.H course on explaining. Who knew that James McGrath was an award winning Mandaic poet? Matt Page is still blogging about Bible films. Here is an entry on the Netflix Messiah. Both Bosco Peters and Airtonjo have things to point out about Querida Amazônia. John Bergsma on the Sacred Page lays out the lessons for the sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time. Alex Finkelson at Scribes of the Kingdom wonders about the promises to David. A slightly early entry for the Revelation parade from Doug Chaplin. (Ah well, February is a short month and January is long, so let's give them 30 days each this year... and he is still writing occasionally.) Bart Ehrman has some interesting questions from Buddhists. John Jillions writes on the religious attitudes of some famous Roman skeptics. Journals and Reviews and other things James McGrath points out a new open-access Journal of Religious Competition in Antiquity. James also notes this announcement on Women interpreting the Scripture through music and the arts. Kelsi Morrison-Atkins reviews Moshe Blidstein. Purity, Community, and Ritual in Early Christian Literature. 'Blidstein guides the reader through the “web of allusions” that characterized early Christian purity discourses in the first through third centuries.' Noah Benjamin Bickart reviews Paula Fredricksen's When Christians were Jews. "If anything is missing in her excellent book, it is a more robust engagement with rabbinic texts." Steve Walton notes a set of essays from a conference, Healing and Exorcism in Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity. Ben Witherington's book on Priscilla is reviewed by Kelley Matthews. Bart Ehrman has a very nice promotion of his book, Heaven and Hell.

Fetch

Brent Niedergall is working with Bel and the Dragon on a Reddit reading group here. Jim Davila points out Sonja Noll's book on the Semantics of Silence in Biblical Hebrew. And a collection of essays on Parables. "Essays cover parables in the synoptic Gospels, Rabbinic midrash, and parabolic tales and fables in the Babylonian Talmud. Three essays address parables in Islam and Buddhism." And Henk de Waard's Jeremiah 52, "Jeremiah 52 is not a mere appendix to the book, but a golah-oriented epilogue, indicating the contrasting destinies of pre-exilic Judah and the exilic community in Babylon." Kerry Sonia reviews Shawn Flynn's Children in Ancient Israel Kathleen Gallagher Elkins reviews The Bible and Feminism: Remapping the Field. BLT reports on Suzanne McCarthy's book as told to James McGrath by her sister Ruth Hayhoe. Phil Long reviews All Things New, Revelation as canonical capstone, by Brian Tabb.

Remembering

... And morning

Suzanne McCarthy 76 months ago reminded us of a riddle related to time. Here is a Sunday Superlatives post from the same year, 2013, from Rachel Held Evans. Jim Gordon reminds us of the 75th anniversary of the death of Bonhoeffer. The tail of the whole carnival is a reflection by Marc Zvi Brettler on the 106th yahrzeit of S. R. Driver of whom, it is said: He taught the faithful criticism and the critics faith. Read Marc's article to find out who said this and more importantly, why. And as a coda, this music, which as Matthew Larkin says, if you allow yourself the necessary time, "will leave you speechless".

Next Carnivals

Brent Niedergall hosts in March 2020 (Due April 1). Phillip Long is looking for volunteers for the rest of 2020. Contact him at plong42@gmail.com or twitter dm @plong42 to volunteer to host! ----------

(1) The carnival number is an even number higher than 148, (June 2018 - 20 months ago). The number of this February carnival is the product of the first two perfect numbers, 6 and 28, and is also the count of primes less than 1000. There are 50 words in TNK with gematria = 168. See also. (2) right hand side linked poetry snippets by James McGrath.

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New Post has been published on Literary Techniques

New Post has been published on https://literarytechniques.org/allusion-in-poetry/

Allusion in Poetry

Allusion is so often used by modern authors that it has become rather difficult to read their works in the absence of annotations. However, as you will see in the 10 examples below, it has been a favorite literary device of poets for many centuries past—especially of the ones who wanted to add some depth to their poems. Judging by the length of our clarifications—they most certainly did!

10 Examples of Allusion in Poetry

Example #1: Actium · Egypt’s Queen

Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, Full beams the moon on Actium‘s coast: And on these waves, for Egypt’s queen, The ancient world was won and lost.

And now upon the scene I look, The azure grave of many a Roman; Where stern Ambition once forsook His wavering crown to follow woman.

– Lord George Gordon Byron, “Stanzas Written in Passing the Ambracian Gulf” 1-8 (1809)

Egypt’s queen is, of course, Cleopatra—but that’s only one of the few interrelated allusions these two stanzas are thickened with, the identification of which is a prerequisite to understanding the whole poem. “The ancient world was won and lost” for her, because it was her beauty that incited one of Rome’s three heads of state, Marc Antony, to side with Cleopatra and wage a war against his fellow-ruler, Octavian, to whose sister he was married. Actium was the site where Octavian won the decisive victory over Antony and Cleopatra; legend holds it that this happened only after Mark Antony steered his ship away from the battle—thus, causing confusion among his soldiers—with an intention to console the distraught and fleeing Cleopatra. And even “stern Ambition” is an allusion here, in this case to Shakespeare’s famous line “Ambition should be made of sterner stuff,” uttered by none other than Marc Antony in his funeral oration in the third act of Shakespeare’s 1599 tragedy, Julius Caesar (III.2.93)!

Example #2: Belial

Or my scrofulous French novel On gray paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it, you grovel Hand and foot in Belial‘s gripe.

– Robert Browning, “Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister” VIII.1-4 (1842)

Belial is a Hebrew compound word which etymologically means “no thriving,” or, simpler, “without value,” “worthless.” Mentioned 27 times in the Bible, at a later date, this common noun came to designate a personification of wickedness and evil, the archetypal demon, Satan—as evidenced by this verse from The New Testament: “What harmony is there between Christ and Belial?” (2 Corinthians 6:15). Milton uses it in this latter sense, describing the demon Belial as “than whom a Spirit more lewd / Fell not from Heaven” (Paradise Lost I.490-491), as does Browning’s Spanish monk in the excerpt above, fearing that a mere glance at a decadent French novel would put him under the spell of the Devil.

Example #3: Dulce et Decorum Est

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

– Wilfred Owen, “Dulce et Decorum Est” 25-28 (1920)

These are the closing lines of Wilfried Owen’s famous anti-war poem, “Dulce et Decorum Est” written shortly before he was killed in the final week of the First World ar. Owen’s poem describes the horrors of a gas attack, and ends with an ironic twist on an oft-quoted verse by ancient Roman poet Horace; this can be roughly translated from Latin as “How sweet and honourable it is to die for one’s country” (Odes III.2.13). Alluding once again to Horace, Ezra Pound made the irony even more explicit in Hugh Selwyn Mauberley: “Died some, pro patria, non ‘dulce’ non ‘et decor’” (I.4.10), i.e. they died, for their country, neither beautifully nor with honours.

Example #4: Dust to Dust

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

– Henry Wadsforth Longfellow, “A Psalm of Life” 5-8 (1839)

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” a phrase taken from the Book of Common Prayer and frequently spoken at funeral services, originates, unsurprisingly, from the Bible, where it appears in various different forms in Genesis, Job, and Isaiah. The most famous one—”for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return” (Genesis 3:19)—is alluded to almost verbatim in the second stanza of Longfellow’s optimistic “Psalm of Life.” According to the poet, though the sentence may be true for the body, it is not for the soul; so, “let us, then, be up and doing” he invitingly summons us in the final stanza, “with a heart for any fate.”

Example #5: If Thy Right Eye Offend Thee

If it chance your eye offend you, Pluck it out, lad, and be sound: ‘Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you, And many a balsam grows on ground.

And if your hand or foot offend you, Cut it off, lad, and be whole; But play the man, stand up and end you, When your sickness is your soul.

– A. E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad XLV (1896)

Staying with the Bible: the first two verses of this brief but highly personal and painful Housman’s poem refer to Matthew 5:29. Specifically, to the King James Version: “And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee; for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.” However, Housman was a homosexual, which, according to the Bible, is a sickness of the soul; as far as he can see, the only solution in his case—lest he wants to cast into hell—would be a suicide.

Example #6: Hippocrene

O for a beaker full of the warm South Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim.

– John Keats, “Ode to a Nightingale” II.5-10 (1819)

Supposedly created when Pegasus—another symbol of poetic creativity—dug his hooves into the ground, Hippocrene was the spring of inspiration, flowing on Mount Helicon in Boeotia, which, appropriately, was believed to be the home of the Muses, the inspirational goddesses. In the verses above (and those which precede them), Keats skillfully compares Hippocrene’s powers with the powers of Southern wines—apparently, both can help one forget his problems and “leave the world unseen.”

Example #7: Midas Touch

So twenty years, with their hopes and fears and smiles and tears and such, Went by and left me long bereft of hope of the Midas touch.

– Robert Service, “The Ballad of One-Eyed Mike” 14-15 (1909)

After entertaining the lost satyr Silenus for ten days and bringing him back to his foster son, Dionysius, on the eleventh day, Midas was granted by the grateful wine-god one wish. He asked that everything he might touch should turn into gold. The gift soon developed into a curse when Midas realized that even his food and drink turned to gold at his touch; however, the phrase “Midas touch”—or, alternatively, “golden touch”—has mainly positive connotations, and is used to describe someone’s ability to turn everything into a success.

Example #8: Pierian Spring

A little learning is a dang’rous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

– Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism 218-219 (1711)

Just like Hippocrene above, the Pierian spring of Macedonia was sacred to the Muses, and, thus, was considered a source of knowledge and memory. Many ancient writers mention it, but the above two verses by Pope are the ones which made it famous. They imply that far worse than knowing nothing is knowing something: the former is easily discernible, but the latter is not, making it a pretty “dangerous thing.” If you want to learn why, google for Dunning-Kruger effect, which, in layman terms, is sometimes justly described as “the confident idiot” syndrome.

Example #9: Priscian · Pegasus

Some free from rhyme or reason, rule or check, Break Priscian’s head and Pegasus’s neck.

– Alexander Pope, The Dunciad III.155-156 (1728)

Alexander Pope’s poetry is so allusive and dense with classical references that we had to include him twice in our list. Here, he uses two striking metaphors in the second verse of the couplet above to reiterate the things said in the first one. Priscianus Caesariensis—or Priscian, for short—was a Latin grammarian and the author of the standard textbook of Latin during the Middle Ages; Pegasus, on the other hand, is a winged horse who often symbolizes the power of inspiration and poetry. Thus, breaking Priscian’s head means breaking the rules of grammar; and breaking Pegasus’s neck would lead to terminating your flight on the wings of inspiration and plummeting earthward instead.

Example #10: Scarlet Sin

When I am dead, I hope it may be said: ‘His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.’

– Hilaire Belloc, “On His Books” (1925)

The phrase “scarlet sin” comes from a Bible verse describing the immeasurable scope of divine forgiveness: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isaiah 1:18). By implication, a “scarlet sin” is the worst kind of sin, one that, just like the colour scarlet, is easily perceptible even at a first glance. The ones who want to get even more specific, deem only adultery and prostitution as scarlet sins, probably because of the description of The Great Harlot in The Book of Revelation (17:3-4): she sits upon a “scarlet-coloured beast” and is “arrayed in purple and scarlet.” Now, we don’t know exactly which sins Belloc has in mind in this premature epitaph, but he obviously cares about them being known to others less than he does about his books being read after his death. (Worry not, Hilaire: they are!)

[idornaseminary]

Chapter Thirty-Three: Beatrice and Calix

The game started out right as rain, Beatrice thought, though as soon as the thunder began, things started to go down fast. God bowling in Heaven, my ass. Everybody had their own explanation for thunder and lightning, but the one that seemed to stick with Beatrice the best was her kindergarten teacher told her; God and the angels are playing a bowling game and every time somebody got a spare, there was thunder, and when somebody got a strike, there was lightning. It never helped tame her fear of the aerial peals that rattled her bones and froze her heart. She was so busy looking up at the black, murky clouds that pelted rain down on the world below she didn’t notice how her Halina’s body seized up and went rigid. She was only brought back to earth and the sea of onlookers when she felt her friend brush past her, not caring if she had to shove her out of the way or not. 

“Hey, Hallie!” Beatrice complained, wincing slightly as her friend stepped on her foot, slender eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Where’re you going?” Halina’s apathetic indifference shook Beatrice from her immobilizing cowardice, leading her to chase after her seemingly deafened friend. “Hey!” she shouted, grabbing at her arm, eyes going wide as she simply kept walking, tugging Beatrice along for the ride. “What’s wrong with you, Hallie?” Unresponsive and silent, Halina approached the front row of the bleachers, unaware of the growing number of eyes on her back as she pushed aside another Gestona. Grabbing onto the railing, she lifted herself up onto the edge of the high Quidditch pitch walls, looking straight ahead as if into a void, disinterested in the hundred feet between her toes and the ground far below.

“HALINA!” Beatrice shouted, her heart racing a mile a minute as another clap of thunder sounded overhead, followed by an otherworldly voice that pervaded everything. The rain stopped falling in midair and everybody was rendered incapable of movement for a split second in time. Rain starting to fall on her sweat beaded face as Beatrice stepped out from under the tarp overhead, grabbing hold of Halina’s left hand. “Listen to me, Halina! Please, listen to me!” she shouted over the murmur arising from the crowd, digging her nails into her friend’s flawless ebony skin. Halina’s mouth opened, though it wasn’t her voice that spoke, Beatrice noticed as she felt bile rising in her throat. “Leggðu leið fyrir drottninguna,” the impassive body of Halina spoke before letting go of all corporal control, plummeting to the earth below like a corpse falling from an airplane. Beatrice shrieked, the fierce grip on Halina’s hand slicing through her malleable skin, leaving blood on the hands of a woman incapable of grasping what happened in that moment.

Chaos.

Pure chaos.

Standing in the middle of the Quidditch field, his fingers pressed beneath the jaw of a young Ibinia in her blood, Calix worked with terror as the crowd scattered from the stands like a flock of small birds. The congregation exploded, a frenzy of pushing and shoving as students rushed away from the field as fast as they could. Calix, from the corner of his eye, as he checked the fallen, could see his lecturers trying to guide people to the castle.

It was anarchy and they were equally frightened.

Calix’s breathing was ragged and arduous, the air heavy as lead and difficult to move in and out of his chest. Thick blood pounded in his ears, tyrannizing his thoughts and dominating his mind as the rain continued to cascade down once more. Calix had never seen such a display of magic – he knew of no wizard nor witch who could hold the falling rain against its destiny. Whatever had just transpired, it was the beginning of something terrible.

Calix, digging his fingers in deeper, prayed for some sign of hope. He prayed for a tiny beat, even a twitch which could be mistaken for a pulse. Anything.

But, she was gone.

Calix looked around the pitch as Doctor Evans came rushing to his side. Calix had attended to most of the fallen by the time she had arrived at the Quidditch court. Ten had fallen from the gods. Now, he knew only four had survived, the others lifeless on the wet grass. She started asking a thousand questions, the words rolling off her tongue but Calix simply shook his head. Evans, with tears in her eyes, nodded reluctantly and closed the young girl’s.

Calix stepped backward, letting his mind absorb and begin to process what had happened since the rain had stopped and the demonic voice echoed around Isle Velum. He looked to where the first student had stepped from the bleachers onto the railing, where the first student of Idorna had taken to the air with their wings possessed and clipped.

Gazing up at the Gestona stand, Calix saw one student was still there. A girl he recognized from a long time ago.

“Bea?”

Beatrice stood still at the railing, mind numb, heart pulsing rapidly and irregularly, lungs struggling to take in air. She couldn’t think or remember anything, the moment where Halina’s lifeless body hurtled off the wall, leaving her rain speckled ruby blood on Beatrice’s tan, trembling hands replaying on loop.

Powerless and too weak to remember anything but the feeling of unmitigated fear, her knees crumpled and gave way to her paralyzing terror as another thunderclap shattered the sky. Lightning leached out from the bleak ceiling of clouds that covered the pitch like a shroud as another person disappeared into thin air, leaving an unconscious but living shell behind. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her limp body, too high to slump safely behind the barricade from where Beatrice had stood on the bench mere seconds earlier, hurtled over the edge, seemingly after her friend’s lead.

The torrents of rain came crashing down, the raven-black clouds opening to unfurl their tempestuous squall on Idorna. Lightning streaked across the sky, casting a brilliant white light across the field as thunder shook Calix to the core. He had fixed his stormy eyes on Beatrice, standing by the barricade like a lost child, staring at the carnage down below.

What was she still doing up there? Why hadn’t she moved?

Calix realised quickly that something was amiss, watching the girl he once knew begin to pale as thunder detonated and exploded in the swirling vortex above their heads. Beatrice quickly went a ghastly shade, the blood retreating to her slowing heart and Calix watched her white-knuckle grip on the railing - her only lifeline - loosen.

Beatrice’s knees collapsed, her eyelids quivered and then her limp body went over the barricade.

Calix started to scream, raising his wand and flicking his wrist in intricate and complex gestures. He chanted quickly and forcefully, rushing forward as fast as his legs could carry him as he roared the harsh fricatives of the protego charm to life. A glistening, opalescent shield formed around Beatrice’s body as she fell, enveloping her in a cocoon of magical energy.

When she hit the ground, the charm took the brunt of the load before peeling away to reveal Beatrice’s unconscious form.

“Medics! Now!”

Beatrice smiled as she and Halina walked arm in arm down the cobblestone streets of Old Aroon, laughing gayly in the warm spring sunshine as they discussed their exes and former lovers. “I swear in the year and a half we dated, he was only able to get me off once!” Halina whispered with a small cringe, pretending to shake off a shudder. “Why did you stay with him so long?” Beatrice asked, shifting the weight of her Louis Vuitton purse so the supple leather strap didn’t continue to dig into her collarbone as the peppy witches strutted along the path towards Tricko’s Ice Cream Parlour. “Because he loved me?” Halina suggested with a weak sigh, pouting her pale lips. “I don’t know, but I will say this: I’m ready to live up to my full hoe potential,” she said, waggling her thick eyebrows playfully, causing Beatrice to double over in a sputtering snicker that quickly devolved into howls of laughter.

“And hoe we shall,” she managed to interject between desperate gasps for air, forcing Halina to wipe joyous tears from her bright eyes.

Beatrice woke up cold and shivering in a starchy bed, gasping for air as she sat up with a start, eyes wild with panic. Where’s Halina? Where am I? How’d I get here? Her mind sprinting away at a million miles a minute, Beatrice shuddered and looked down at her clean, blood-free hands, hoping everything that happened earlier had only been a nightmare. But that still wouldn’t explain why she seemed to be in the infirmary, body trembling like a leaf in a storm as her auburn eyes settled on the familiar face of Calix Galen.

Calix placed the delicate owl-feather quill back in his coat pocket as he finished filling in Beatrice Selwyn’s chart, ticking off the appropriate boxes and filling in the white-space with his neat script. He sighed softly, his hands starting to shake for the first time as the surge of adrenaline and duty began to leave his body. Vicious and nightmarish memories came gushing to fill the gaping holes in his mind and Calix wished the adrenergic swell would continue just a little longer.

This was the fifth chart Calix had completed and, medically speaking, it was the simplest. Beatrice had not suffered any major injuries from her fall, with the exception of a few scratches and bruises along her arms that crawled towards her neck. Abrasions could be healed easily - she was very lucky.

Others had not been so fortunate; the first student to fall - who Calix realised was Halina Kamau, Beatrice’s best friend and roommate - had sustained crippling injuries; Enzo Bellerose, the Aquilen Seeker who had quite literally saved Halina’s life, had sustained worse. But, Calix had done his best by them and most of the physical lesions and afflictions were beginning to mend under the influence of his healing spells.

He placed the chart back on the bedside locker carefully when a guttural heave and gasp erupted from the bed. Calix spun on his heels, placing his hand on Beatrice’s shoulders as she sat up in blind panic, her eyes racing around the tiny space within Calix’s protego shield.

“Bea,” Calix said softly, adrenaline once more beginning to pump through his system, driving away the darker thoughts and sharpening Calix’s mind, “Bea, it’s me. It’s me, Calix. Take a deep breath for me, okay. I’ve got you.”

Instinctively grabbing hold of Calix’s hands on her shoulders, a flood of memories came washing back over her, wracking her body with heavy sobs that rattled around in her chest. “Cal…” she whimpered, lifting her head to look into his eyes, the chain of events finally settling into a timeline that she could begin to process, “where’s Hallie?” Her hope ebbed like clouds obscuring starlight in the dead of midnight, leaving her feeling lost and alone in the altered world she found herself miraculously alive in.

Calix squeezed Beatrice’s shoulders reassuringly, slowly wrapping one arm around her. He supported her, trying to avoid placing any pressure on the bruises and marks that dotted her tanned skin, as he guided her into a more comfortable position. She was quivering, an unstoppable shuddering that wracked even the bravest of souls when confronted with such scenes of barbarity and pandemonium.

“It’s okay,” Calix soothed, holding her hand tightly in his. He sat on the bedside, smiling softly. “It’s okay. She’s fine, Halina is fine. It’s all going to be okay.” He gently raised his hand and pointed to the left. The shimmering shield around the bed faded slightly in the middle, the mist collecting in bubbles as a bulging window appeared for an instant, allowing a quick glimpse at the outside world. Beside Beatrice, in her own bed, was Halina, sleeping.

Calix felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach though, because, if he was honest, neither he nor Doctor Evans could tell with any certainty whether she was sleeping peacefully or not.

Beatrice nodded slowly and took in slow deep breaths, her shaking shoulders gradually settling down to an occasional shiver. She set her head on his shoulder and inhaled deeply, the smell of cold sweat and antiseptic masking a whiff of cologne grounding her enough in the present that should could truly relax. The pure knowledge that Halina was still alive allowed her the confidence to show Calix a weak smile. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him close, burying her face in his warm chest unashamedly.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she pulled back, squeezing his hand lightly before releasing him to the world. “What about Enzo Bellerose? He’s the one who saved her, right?” she asked, sinking back into the stiff bedsheets of the hospital bed.

Calix welcomed the affectionate hug, returning the friendly embrace. It was first human interaction since has vivacious conversations with Sam during the Quidditch match that wasn’t draped in a burdensome cloak of worry, grief and heartache. He suddenly realised how tired he was, drained without a moment’s reprieve in the near future, but biting on the inside of his lip, he reluctantly surrendered the hug and allowed Beatrice to sink back into the starchy-white sheets.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Calix said, placing his fingertips on Beatrice’s arm. His hand began to warm as a delicate, pink glow spread across her sink, the small lesions disappearing as Calix’s magic passed over them.

Calix nodded his head to the right: “He’s just there. Still not awake, but I’m keeping a close eye on him. I’ll have them both up and about in no time!”

Beatrice turned her head to look over to the right and propped herself up on her elbows, wrinkling her nose in annoyance when she discovered the bubble obscured her vision of him. She slumped back against the pillows and lazily ran her fingers through her matted black hair, combing out some of the tangles as she looked up at Calix. “Would it be too big of an imposition to see him?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

Calix removed his fingers from Beatrice’s arm as the last remnants of her unintended fall from grace vanished, leaving no trace or memory of any insult, just a gossamer-thin wisp of pink film that clung to the skin. Calix sighed softly, watching the vexation take root in Beatrice’s eyes as she propped herself up to find that there was no window into Enzo’s little protego-cell.

Calix willed the shield to part for a split-second, no more than was necessary. He afforded Beatrice the quickest of glances - Enzo didn’t look as mended as Halina yet. But, he couldn’t deny her request.

“Once everyone is fully recovered, we’ll drop all the shields, okay? Until then, I’m afraid everyone is being kept to themselves.”

Taking his calloused hand in hers, Beatrice looked up into his eyes with an unspoken plea shining in hers. “Please hear me out, Calix. I know I’m not much help, actually completely useless in here, but please let me stay with him,” she begged, eyes starting to well up with tears again. “He risked his neck to save my best friend’s life. I...I...I can’t just let him wake up all alone likely in pain, thinking it was for nothing.” Her bottom lip trembled as a tear slid across her smooth cheek, catching on her jaw when she turned her head back to the right, looking where Enzo had been a minute before.

A deep sigh rippled forth from Calix’s exhausted chest. He looked down at his old friend from Hogwarts and saw the determination and the stubbornness and the desire to be with him, to ensure he had at least someone to see when he woke from his slumber. Calix thought about how he would feel, in Beatrice’s position - what he would say or do to thank the person that saved Sam’s life, or, more pressingly, even his brother’s.

“Okay,” he conceded, wiping the single tear from Beatrice’s jawline, “Okay. I have to do a few more tests and cast a few more spells, but after I’m done, I’ll combine the charms around you both. He’ll probably wake before Halina. But, you have to let me do my job first, okay?”

Beatrice beamed up at Calix, a bit of the rosy blush returning to her cheeks as she sat up, pressing a quick kiss to her old friend’s forehead, another tear slipping down her face before she had the chance to stop it. “Thank you so much, Cal. I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you as much as you deserve, but just…” she sighed and smiled, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “...thank you.”