#thoughts: celestial-dreamscapes

[diagonal-queen]

Wait I feel so bad I thought your birthday was today or maybe different time zones or something but happy (belated?) birthday!! 🎉🥳🎂 I hope it was a great one for you and that you had fun ❣️❣️

I think it is different Timezones lol cus it’s on the 9th but I’m in Australia. So

But thank you very much 🥺🥺 I appreciate it pookie. It’s just a bummer that it always takes place not only amidst exams so I can’t really do anything but also during political turmoil every four years, and ALSO the day after my brother’s (the favourite’s) birthday so my ass is basically left to my own devices Aksjskjsksjsks but yaknow. I just spend the day larping as someone who’s happy and not depressed 😭😭

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 14 "A World in a Grain of Sand"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

A/N: Giving you the eyebrow 🤨 because no one seems to have picked up on a tiny, little, important detail that was to be found in the last chapter, or at least no one mentioned it 😌 Finally I can write what I really crave to write. IT'S SCIENCE TIME 💖

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Day 31

"I have one last question, little slave," Vladimir Harkonnen drones from his afloat position, a celestial body of massive dimensions in front of the somber backdrop of his throne room, black within black with only a single glow globe illuminating the back of him. He prefers to shun the black sun these days, as glorious as it may be, it brings out the myriad of spider veins beneath his frail, aged skin.

"Yes, Lord Baron?" The unremarkable slave's voice echoes from below.

"What is this… ancient piece of metal in my dear nephew's toy's room?"

"I believe you must know more about it than I do. I assume you had it examined before it was unloaded and brought inside?"

"Naturally!" Vladimir raises his voice. The slave with her bowed head can't see the way the aged Baron squints to get a clearer picture of her. Afloat as he is, she is little more than a splotch of white against black, and an unwelcomely blurry one.

The examination had revealed a human shaped mold, cushioned with gel pads, thick tubes for coolant, a recycling system with residue nutrient solution, solar panels for energy harvesting. No traces of radiation or explosives. It almost seems like the metal box is exactly what the sisterhood had made it out to be. A hibernation chamber for a fossil from another time. However, it wouldn't be the first myth created by the Bene Gesserit.

"I know you are looking for something substantial, my Lord, and so was I," the slave speaks after the Baron's elongated pause. "But I'm afraid the truth is as embarrassing as it is mundane. I've come to believe that she keeps it close out of raw sentimentality. She's a sentimental creature, that woman."

Lilia has always loved danger and the long, twisted inkvine scar on her shoulder from girlhood days is just one proof of that. Perhaps that's why she so effortlessly serves the Baron velvet lies.

"Ah-h-h, like my Feyd-Rautha then. It doesn't surprise me," the Baron drawls, lungs expanding with a raspy heaviness to each intake of air.

In all his years as Giedi Prime's sovereign, Vladimir Harkonnen has never learned that the promise of a kind embrace outweighs the threat of violence tenfold and that a spark of human goodness can sway a servant's loyalty quicker than a snap of a whip.

"She calls it her sarcophagus," Lilia adds with a tiny scoff that doesn't go unnoticed by the Baron now that he has lowered himself and sinks back into the much more comfortable seat of his throne. The intimidation tactic has fulfilled its purpose.

He bellows. "So, she's got good humor too! A pity she's not a boy. I could have borrowed her sometimes."

The obedient set of Lilia's shoulders and her lowered gaze don't betray the noxious clench that has her stomach convulsing. Perhaps this is the only advantage of being a woman in the Harkonnen palace pyramid.

Day 45

The lack of color that had once bothered her into the throes of a slowly crawling depression is now a pleasure. The blackness of her abode has come to serve as the perfect desktop for columns of text and equations, formulations and simulations and hand-written notes that have her mouth moving and her eyeballs racing.

Her sarcophagus leeches the day's sun, side panels open to give way to rotating cooling fans. The Central Processing Unit of the computer that makes up half of the machinery inside buzzes from the strain she puts on it.

Astronaut M2-84 has finally come home and picked up the work of her own, chosen destiny.

Talking to God, Mikhail had whispered to his wife, is what the Lady is doing. But what she really does is think, read, calculate. Engineers born on the cusp of the astronautic age don't have their oily hands in tool boxes. Most of the time, they tell machines how to build other machines, and to do so, one needs to understand the laws of physics. 

This is how Feyd-Rautha finds her each night. Sometimes sunken against the cushions of her bed, or slumped over her desk, staring at the wall with dancing pupils. And other times, like tonight, she sits right by her Sarcophagus, shoulder pressed against the humming metal. She claims the connection between computer and chip is quicker this way.

Silently, Feyd's stride carries him across the room towards his precious engineer. Movement catches his attention at the right and the sight he finds causes a slow tilt of his head.

One quarter of her bed is filled out by a misshapen form, tucked under duvet and whalefur. Glugo lies prone on its stomach, limbs folded tightly against its covered body. Only one front arm-leg peaks out and cradles her plushie against its innocent pug face. Something glossy-white with small handles on each side is held in front of Glugo's mouth by tiny face-hands with liquid sloshing inside.

She has tucked Glugo in like a toddler. And, from the looks of it, she has printed it a sippy cup.

Feyd-Rautha feels all sorts of warmth filling out his chest. If because he wants to be tucked in like a toddler, or because his only friend is finally receiving the gentleness it deserves, or because of a different reason entirely, he can't tell. He raises his hand to wave at Glugo who gurgles softly in return, one tiny face-hand unlatching from the cup handle to wave back.

Glug glug glug.

"You're losing weight." Feyd approaches his beloved slowly. "I don't like it."

"One second, I'm at ninety-eight point five. Seven. Ninety-nine."

"Have you found out anything interesting today, my darling?"

He is long past asking what exactly she's doing, why they aren't simply figuring out a way to get his uncle to take his shield ring off so they can get a blade between his ribs. Or rather a sword, to pierce the obscene, fatty flesh costume he calls his body.

"Your spice—" His darling slurs with a concerning jump to her pupils.

"I don't take spice anymore." Feyd tilts his head and squats down before her, lifting his hands to cup her cheeks.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Ah, wait, what do you mean, not anymore?" Finally, her eyes regain focus and her arms fill with tension, fingers moving up to encircle Feyd-Rautha's strong wrists.

"There's my darling," he smiles with pretty, full lips and glinting teeth, stroking her cheeks. "So, what about my spice?"

"Not your spice in particular." Her hand flings out to gesture at the universe above. "Your spice shares a few molecular compounds with the medication I took to prepare for the cryo sleep." 

Feyd-Rautha's features slip into disbelief, a fresh frown carving deep into the smooth expanse of his forehead.

"Why does this surprise you?" She wonders.

"Spice is unique to Arrakis. Power over the spice means power over everything. How could you have had spice back on Earth without sandworms?"

"First of all, spice, much like anything else, is just protons, electrons and neutrons. With the right tools, you could, in theory, synthesize any molecule."

"And you have such a tool in your Sarcophagus?" 

"No! God, no." She laughs out loud and curls her arms around Feyd-Rautha's shoulders in a much needed embrace. Her very eyeballs ache and her spine feels calcified from leaning against the sarcophagus.

To him, it must seem like the solution to just about anything might be hidden in her cryo pod or in her precious chip, but it really holds only a fragment of the technological advancements of Old Earth. The last generation before mankind had embarked to the stars was an ingenious one. They had to be, and their knowledge is safely tucked into the 80 Billion terabyte hard-drive of her supercomputer. She may not have all the tools, but the knowledge to build them — in theory.

She taps the top of the cryo pod and hums. "Building molecules from scratch is not like building houses out of toy blocks. You need to accumulate tremendous amounts of energy in a lab environment to trigger complex chemical reactions."

"You've already built a chair from scratch, and a gun. And now a sippy cup for Glugo?" He states with an incredulous rasp of his voice.

"I couldn't bear seeing it drink from dog bowls anymore. And it struggled so much with cups and glasses, Lilia had to change the sheets twice because the poor thing kept spilling everything."

"You… You are fascinating, my darling." She doesn't miss the spark of arousal that lets Feyd's eyes half disappear under a fan of long lashes. "My point still stands, you've built other things before."

"Yes, but the materials were already there, I just had them pressed into the shape I desired." Feyd tilts his head and she cradles his jaw, stroking across the plushnes of his cheeks. "Were you not taught about chemistry?" Slowly, he shakes his head. "Ah, well, I will explain it to you another time then."

Feyd slides his mouth into her palm, groaning softly. "You know so much. How is it possible that you had spice 24 millenia ago?"

"Not spice. I said my pre-cryo medication shares a few interesting enzymes with spice." She slides one palm around Feyd-Rautha's nape of the neck and softly brings their foreheads together. "My people also used to think their own civilization was the pinnacle of all that has ever been. It was unthinkable that maybe the Aztecs or Sumerians were more advanced. That's how you are too. 

   You think spice is unique to Arrakis and the technological advancements you have derived from the Holtzman effect are the peak of what is achievable, because it suits you so nicely. But human evolution has never been a linear incline. You have fascinating medicine, Gholas and space travel… But who knows, maybe my people were smarter than yours. Maybe our engineers and chemists were smarter."

"You know so much," he moans again and she knows better than to keep boring him with details. One day, when the many other fires in his heart have settled, she can stoke his interest in science. Feyd is smart. He will come to be fascinated by it. 

"This universe is devouring itself because there is no innovation," she softly murmurs. "No one dares to go further, look further, break out of the pattern. Maybe they don't want to, because the consequences scare them. Mentats only do as their Lords bid…"

When Feyd's lips close in on hers, with half-lidded eyes and a dreamy stare, her ramblings subside into grateful, blissful silence, choosing to welcome his tongue in her mouth instead.

Day 59

"Silence!"

The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam's voice ripples in the shape of a waveform pattern across the engineer's interface, recorded many decades ago by Baron Harkonnen himself and transferred to the House archive for research purposes.

Other lines of the same encounter, she is certain, were deliberately removed. Such as when the Reverend Mother, then a young woman, had ordered the Baron to hold still so she could mount him and steal the seed out of his body that would sire the Lady Jessica.

She only knows of this story because of Feyd-Rautha, and what it had cost him to learn it, she doesn't even want to know.

"Silence!"

She can only imagine that Piter de Vries' research on the matter might have consisted to a considerable amount of snide mockery, going by Feyd's recountings of the late mentat, hence why the files were so perfectly abandoned and ready for her to pick apart.

Carefully, she separates the impressive cluster of different wavelengths that make up the audio fragment, finding portions all the way from the high-frequency to the low-frequency audible spectrum, some even so low that they are no longer perceived as sound by the human ear.

The astronaut remembers how the Reverend Mother had tested her in an archaic show of deference, forced onto her knees with her hand in a box while the older woman addressed the pain receptors in her brain via an inaudible wavelength. She may not have moved her lips, but that doesn't mean she didn't cause the air molecules to oscillate.

Technically speaking, this renders the mysteriously omnipotent sisterhood into little more than ventriloquists. That image of demystification offers at least a little comfort to the humiliation provided by the memory of searing pain in every nerve.

She reclines in her chair, swallowing against the dry itch in her throat while she strings together a few fairly simple lines of code.

Curiously, the voice doesn't affect her physiology when played from an artificial source, such as the micro speaker soldered onto her chip's tiny board.

She can only assume that by manipulation of the larynx, wielders of the voice can propel pressure waves in a way that a speaker can not. How exactly this forces the human brain into submission, the engineer cannot tell, but she doesn't need to, to tinker on some offensively simple counter magic to the Bene Gesserit's seemingly almighty tool of control.

Noise cancellation is as simple as letting a speaker emit a sound wave with the same amplitude but an inverted phase. The sound waves cancel each other out in destructive interference.

As much as this scientific victory entices her, it frustrates her endlessly that all of the side research she picks up to take her mind off the real problem bears more fruit.

"Refreshments for you, my Lady!" Lilia's voice snaps her out of her brooding thoughts. The maid slips through the door, bringing a tray of fresh fruit and the stimulating citrus drink that her Lady has come to enjoy as of late. "It's been three hours, it's time to take a break."

"Ugh, three? Felt like one." That explains the dry throat. The relic arches her spine and presses her knuckles against her closed lids until tiny flashes prickle across the dark.

Lilia's footsteps close in at her side along with four other pairs of hand-feet. She sets the tray down on the desk.

"And have you made any progress today, my Lady?"

"Not with the one thing that matters, but yes." She reaches for the pitcher but finds her hands gently shooed away by Lilia who insists on pouring the glass for her, tiny bubbles fizzing in the lemon water.

"Oooh! Have you thought about these visions, my Lady?" The handmaid's ears perk up with interest, enamored with the story of how Feyd and her Lady had gotten to know each other in dreams ever since she had indulged her.

Lilia regards the phenomenon of their getting acquainted with the eyes of a romantic. For the engineer however, this is the only topic that frustrates her more than finding a workaround for the Holtzman effect to get past the Baron's shield.

"Dreams, visions, I don't fucking know. I don't even want to think about them because they drive me fucking crazy." The engineer reaches for her glass and drinks with big gulps, making the maid flinch by how forcefully she slams it back down.

The crescent shaped scar she herself had created on Feyd's clavicle when grappling for his blade is the same that had decorated his skin in their lucid dreams. So, visions? But the topics they had discussed during their shared nights are events of the past. It defies logic, it's paradox. The thing that scares her the most, however, is the fact that the Baron's abuse was still real in those dreams. If they truly were visions of the future, does that mean her research is in vain and he will live?

There is no phenomenon that can't be explained, not even prophetic dreams. But not by her, and not yet.

"Sorry," she apologizes and rubs her temples, finding Glugo staring at her with big, milky eyes, one hand-foot clinging to Lilia's skirt. The engineer's heart softens at once and she leans towards her insecure looking friend. "Aw, I'm really sorry, I didn't want to scare you both, my poor, little— Aw!"

Glugo curls four out of its eight limbs around her calves and rests its chin on her knee, pearly eyes aimed unerringly at the pitcher of sparkling drink on the desk.

"That's citrus," she explains. "I don't think you'll like citrus…"

One of the Tleilaxu creature's oily-black hand-feet clutches the table's edge, another incessantly reaches for the glass container.

"Okay, fine, but just a tiny sip. Where's your cup?"

Glugo glugs cluelessly, looking at Lilia for help. Still, both women are uncertain if the being has any grasp on human language, or if it simply recognizes a question by the inflection of one's voice. 

The handmaid locates Glugo's cup in the folds of the duvet and quickly washes out the remnants of pink liquid over the sink in the bath before filling a finger of citrus inside. The creature's hand-feet tippy-tap on the tiles, reaching for the shiny container to take its first curious gulp.

Glugo's pug face puckers into a scrunched up grimace at once, face-hands releasing the sippy cup with an indignant noise.

Glurgh!

Day 93

It is a few weeks later, while Feyd and Mikhail are out brawling, that she figures it out.

"M'lord, I really am sorry," Mikhail laments, his flesh stripped of color as the black sun roars down on his bare torso. The na-Baron and he are prowling around each other in a tight circle, unarmed aside from their fists.

"You told me already." Feyd-Rautha's grating voice cuts through the sweltering air. The training ring's roof is retracted, giving way to blazing white skies and a heat that Giedi Prime's life forms have adapted to. "Five times. Another time, and I might just cut out your tongue."

"Ya know I had to take yer Lady to them bath chambers. Baron commanded it, and I can't just—" 

"Shut up, boy!" Feyd's boots crunch in the sandy gravel, shoulders rolling. He is stronger than Mikhail, rounded arms and pectorals contrasting a powerful, slender waist. The guard's physique is more wiry, taut muscles stretched across visible ribs. The glorious sun brings out an overabundance of gray scars.

"Boy, eh? Ain't any older than you, my Lord!" Feyd is surprised, tilting his head at the deceptive edges of the guard's features that make him look closer to 40.

"Fine, then shut up, brother!" Feyd bares his teeth and clenches his fists hard, veins rippling across his forearms. "What are the rules?" 

Mikhail's fist springs forward and punches Feyd-Rautha in the guts. He nearly doubles over, groaning in pain. Spit drips from his open mouth into the sand. 

"Rules?" The guard quips and aims his elbow for the na-Baron's nose. Feyd dodges with a semi-graceful dive to the side, taking the blow to his ear instead. He tastes blood on his tongue.

This man is bold. He has no manners. Feyd likes him. 

Mikhail is smaller, thinner, but he fights like a mongrel, like someone whose ferocious survival instincts have carried him from across the svart valta all the way to the royal palace in Barony. And Feyd struggles.

And by the black sun, he loses. Few things have ever excited him so much. After nearly an hour of grappling in the scorching heat, Feyd-Rautha finds himself on his back in the gravel, panting for dear life, ears ringing from the last punch square across his jaw. He barely hears Mikhail's voice when he praises that he had fought well, but he feels the brotherly smack on his sandy chest, right on top of a wicked bruise.

Every bone and muscle burns when he drags himself to his personal bath chambers. It was, undoubtedly, the best fight of Feyd-Rautha's life.

"Lilia! I've got it! I fucking got it, do you see this?!"

Pixelated particles give way to a bullet that cuts through them like a harpoon through water.

"What, my Lady? See what?" The maid dashes into the bedroom from the antechamber with flying skirts.

"It's so simple, I'm so stupid." The relic has jumped up from the desk, fingers twisted like claws around the back of her chair while her chest heaves with laughter and a threat of tears. Lilia, of course, cannot see the baffling results of the simulation on the engineer's interface.

The Lady lurches over to the cryo pod, leaving the tilted chair swaying and falling down on the tiles with a bang. She mutters something along the lines of 'must build it', before her voice dissolves into foreign, ancient tongues and a shiver runs down Lilia's spine. Her voice so alien, her ways so enigmatic, she truly is a relic cracked open, pouring her forbidden knowledge into the world. 

But she is also a human and Lilia feels her Lady's voice and shaking body teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown as she snaps open several compartments of the sarcophagus.

"You figured it out, that's wonderful!" This barely gets the engineer's attention, so she curls her fingers around the woman's shoulder, gently forcing her away from the compartments. The relic slumps down with her back to the sarcophagus.

"I need to build it. I know there's laser diodes in there, I only need to—"

"Please, my Lady, you need to breathe deeply. Why don't you explain it to me first?" Lilia squats in front of her, holding her wrists in her warm hands. Her Lady is trembling, her breath too shallow and fast.

"It's so simple, I could build it in an hour."

"Please, do me the favor," Lilia insists and brackets the woman's trembling knees between her own. Finally, her Lady exhales a long sigh and lets her head sink against the humming metal.

"Alright," she agrees and starts with a jittery voice. "So, you're aware of what the Holtzman effect is?"

"Ah, yes, I think so?" The maid hadn't really known the term before her Lady had started rambling about it. "Shields and heighliners?"

The one discovery that has shaped the entire human universe and kept it shackled since then, and the average commoner barely even knows its name. The relic doesn't hold it against Lilia. In a world where “eat or be eaten” takes on a literal meaning, the last thing to worry about is science. So, she wills her voice into calmness. If she's going to try and explain it, she at least wants to do it well.

"The Holtzman effect is responsible for the four major technologies that have made the world into what it is today. The first one — shields. No fast-moving object can pass through a shield, so guns like these?" She points towards her nightstand. "They've been useless for millennia. That's why you've resorted to close combat weapons."

"I was wondering why you went for a gun and not a blade." Lilia tilts her head. Close combat weapons are all that she's ever personally encountered. She knows that lasguns exist and that each Great House has an arsenal of atomic warheads, but every soldier has a sword on their hip, not a gun.

"Melee weapons seem so…" The engineer struggles to find a corresponding word in Galach. "Medieval to me. Archaic. Warfare on Earth was nothing like this."

"What was it like?" Lilia whispers in awe, noticing her Lady's shaking abate second by second.

"You could obliterate entire cities within the blink of an eye. A million different ways to set a home on fire and kill a population from a thousand miles away. It was terrible." Which is why what she has discovered is just as terrible.

The relic continues. "The other three technologies derived from the Holtzman effect are suspensors, glowglobes and space travel. You know why I was in that metal coffin here?" She taps against the sarcophagus. "Because a journey within our own solar system would take several years. You however can travel to the other side of the universe within the blink of an eye, through a quantum tunnel."

Lilia has never left the planet, but to imagine trade and travel without space-folding almost strikes her as ridiculous. All of humanity, reduced to just one, single planet. The cradle of mankind. The thought humbles her.

"And all four of these are based on one single effect?" Lilia considers herself an intelligent woman, but she doubts she can understand what took her Lady weeks to figure out.

"The essence of the Holtzman effect lies in how subatomic particles interact with each other."

"Subatomic?"

"Any type of matter is made of smaller building blocks. This metal for example is made of all kinds of molecules, which are made of atoms, and every single atom is made of protons, electrons and neutrons. These are called subatomic particles. Protons and neutrons make up the nucleus of an atom, and you can imagine the electrons orbiting the nucleus almost like planets a sun."

The handmaid quite enjoys that mental image. It's like the smallest particles exist in a cosmos of their own. "So, the Holtzman effect has something to do with protons, electrons and neutrons?" Lilia imagines, if she could have gone to school like she wanted as a girl, it may have been something like this.

"Almost. It gets even smaller. Protons and neutrons are made of quarks, tiniest quantities that cannot be divided any further. I could go into more detail and talk about quantum physics," the relic pronounces a word that is just guttural enough for Lilia to imitate without all too many struggles. "But that won't be necessary for now."

Even though her Lady has stopped shaking, Lilia doesn't want to release her wrists yet. She is glued to the engineer's lips, soaking up what sounds like forbidden knowledge, like having a peek through God's microscope.

"What is a Holtzman shield made of? What do you think?" The engineer wraps her own fingers around Lilia's slender wrists and the maid sinks from squatting on her soles to sitting down on her bum, stretching out her legs on either side of her Lady's.

"I don't know, my Lady. Uh, something that repels?"

"Yes, that's right," she nods encouragingly. "There are several forces in the universe that attract and repel. The most well-known force of attraction is gravity. And electro-magnetism— Opposite poles attract, equal poles repel each other. But there are other forces that work on a subatomic level."

The engineer pauses without urging her and Lilia takes a moment to think.

"I'm guessing there's a subatomic force that keeps these, uh, nuclei together? The protons and neutrons? Because if not, everything would just be falling apart?"

It almost frightens her to imagine what her very own body must look like on its deepest level. A cluster of tiniest quantities, held together by forces as invisible as her Lady's interface.

"That's perfectly true!" The woman from Old Earth beams, fingers clenching around Lilia's wrists. "The force responsible for that is called the strong nuclear force. On an even smaller scale, the strong force holds together the quarks that make up the neutrons and protons, but you already said it just right."

Warmth fills out the handmaid's chest and she slowly begins to understand the feeling that had her Lady nearly panicking earlier. Her own heart drums against her ribs quick and hard.

"Okay, so now what about the Holtzman shield and how can you get past it?"

"For that, we also need to take the other subatomic force into consideration. It's called the weak force. Isn't that creative? Despite its name, the weak force is technically stronger than gravity, but it is only effective at very short distances and it can change one quark type into another. What do you think happens when such a change occurs?"

"Hmmm," the Harkonnen woman ponders. She doesn't want to disappoint her Lady who is putting so much effort into her explanation. "If quarks are the smallest quantities that make up anything, I suppose when something changes on the lowest level, this change translates to the highest level as well?"

"You're a natural, Lilia." Upon that, the maid blushes purple and finally releases the relic's wrist in a sudden burst of shyness. "Such a change can turn one element into another. It happens all the time, in every sun. And also in radioactive decay. This is important."

"How so?"

"Imagine if that radioactive decay was amplified. Imagine throwing a huge amount of energy at a substance that is already sporadically decaying. Imagine a whole chain reaction of it. This is what triggers a nuclear explosion, the kind that obliterates an entire city."

Lilia's eyes grow wide with understanding. "So, that's why, when you shoot a lasgun at a Holtzman shield, it triggers a nuclear explosion?"

"That's right. I believe shields are made up of nuclei and rely on both the strong and the weak force to repel incoming objects on a subatomic level."

"All of that was fascinating, but how does it help us get past the shield?" Suddenly it's us, not you. Lilia has clutched the fabric of the relic's trousers over the knees in both of her fists. What the engineer's poor Feyd-Rautha currently lacks in fascination, Lilia makes up for a hundredfold.

"Oh, that was just the prelude." The engineer's lips twist into an almost mischievous little grin. "It's just what I need to take into consideration, so I don't accidentally blow up the shield and the city instead of passing through it."

"Just the prelude? My Lady, I think I'll go insane if you don't get to the point!"

The relic bursts out laughing. "We're almost done, I promise! Imagine you're riding in a groundcar and next to you drives another one with the exact same speed. When you look at it, it seems like you're both standing still, because the relative speed between both cars is zero." Lilia nods and the engineer smiles knowingly. "Now imagine you're a bullet and you want to pass through a Holtzman shield which only allows slow-moving objects to pass."

"Then I'd need the shield particles to move in the same direction as I do, only a tad slower, so that my relative speed is like that of a slow blade."

"Congratulations, you've just figured out how to trick a Holtzman shield."

"That is absolutely genius, my Lady."

"No, it's actually so simple." The woman shakes her head. "The difficult part is how to put the shield particles into motion, but I've figured something out." She summons the pixelated particles that are only for herself to see once more, nuclei that make up a Holtzman shield, accelerated by a burst of calibrated laser light, and how they give way to a bullet that cuts through them like a harpoon through water.

"Now I only need to build a proper gun," the engineer concludes.

Lilia has never cared much about the rest of the universe, and the universe has never cared much about her. Why would she care if her Lady, who has always been good to her, sets everything on fire?

When the door to Feyd-Rautha's personal bath chamber rushes open, he knows it can only be his darling, because the scanner only recognizes her handprint when he is inside.

The na-Baron is submerged to the jaw in oily-black liquid to soothe his bruises, a diluted version, heavily scented with the essence of exotic fruit and spices. He cannot breathe the unadulterated variant without gnawing memories of horror.

Her hectic footfalls cause him to spin around in the tub with worry, but before he can even utter a greeting, he finds his woman sagging down on her knees in front of him and his face captured in her palms.

"I've found a way!" She sobs.

"You've found a way?"

Tears spill down her cheeks as she nods, bringing her forehead against his. She's found a way. To kill the Baron and destroy the universe.

She is so elated, her joy could make a star rotate, it could set the world on fire. She kisses Feyd hard on the lips, melting against the wet expanse of his chest when he embraces her in his strong arms. His muscles break into tremors just like hers had an hour ago. 

All of her doubts have flown away like comets in the sky of a fiery dawn.

"Feyd-Rautha, would you be my husband?"

To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour

— Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

A/N: Pretty much none of the physical concepts mentioned are made up. I've tried to use real physics to offer explanations for Frank Herbert's fantastical inventions that make the Dune universe so unique.

I'm not even close to the level of genius that I admire in my favorite sci-fi authors, but all of this was so insanely much fun to come up with. I have more ramblings about space travel, suspenders and glowglobes, but they weren't really necessary for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. I'm very proud ❤️

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst

[bardic-tales]

To Love a God and a Girl: A character deep dive for Bianca Moore, a FWC / FF 7 OC

Pride Month is often painted in bright flags and celebration, but queerness, especially for characters like Bianca Moore, is far more complex, intimate, and sometimes devastating. For Blorbo Blursday, I want to shine a light on the layered, often painful, always powerful truth of Bianca’s queerness. Her sexuality isn’t a side note or an afterthought. It is central to her story, her survival, and her rebellion. This article dives into how Bianca's demisexual and pansexual identity has been shaped by betrayal, forged through trust, and ultimately claimed as an act of divine defiance.

This is about more than labels. It’s about what it costs someone like Bianca to love, to want, and to be wanted in return.

Possible Trigger Warnings: emotional abuse, manipulation, trauma, violence

Bianca Moore has never been easily categorized, and neither has her queerness. Born from both celestial grace and demonic ruin, her very existence is an act of defiance against binaries. In a world where intimacy is often a weapon or a form of control, especially in the shadowy corners of Shinra’s laboratories and the dreamscape built to warp her mind, Bianca’s identity as demisexual and pansexual is more than orientation. It is resistance. For her, intimacy isn’t casual; it’s sacred. She doesn’t seek it out with ease, nor does she give it freely. Bonds, to Bianca, must be earned through connection, emotion, and trust. This is rare currencies in a world built on betrayal. It makes her love more potent, and her heartbreaks more devastating.

Krista Gilmore was the first to unravel Bianca’s heart. Their friendship bloomed in a rare moment of peace, one where Bianca dared to believe in softness. Krista wasn’t just her first love. She was a tether to a future Bianca never thought she could have: a future of tenderness, laughter, and being seen. But betrayal came like a knife between her ribs, not just physically in the ritual, but emotionally in the realization that even love could be a lie. That first queer love became synonymous with danger and manipulation, reinforcing every message Bianca had internalized about being "too much," "too monstrous," or "too broken" to love safely. It was a psychic wound that never fully healed, but instead, mutated into something armor-like, something that still echoes in the way she approaches every relationship after.

When Sephiroth enters her life, he does so not as a balm to her wounds, but as someone whose own scars mirror hers. Their love is not gentle. It is consuming, mythic, brutal in its honesty. But it is real. Bianca’s demisexuality means she does not give herself lightly, and so when she does fall, she offers her body, soul, and essence to Sephiroth. She gives herself with total devotion.

Queerness, for her, isn’t just about desire. It’s about loyalty. It’s about seeing someone’s darkness and saying, “I will stand beside you anyway.” In Sephiroth, she finds a partner who doesn’t flinch from her jagged edges, who matches her intensity, and who offers her a role in his dream of reshaping reality. Her queerness becomes not just an aspect of her identity, but the foundation of her cosmic rebellion.

And yet, beneath the celestial fire and the chaos she helps unleash, there are moments, quiet ones, when Bianca grieves. She mourns the version of herself that once believed in beachside kisses, in sharing poetry under starlight, and in holding Krista’s hand without fearing knives in her back. These memories haunt her with ghosts she rarely admits to seeing. The world demanded she become monstrous, and she complied, but there are still flickers of that softer self, especially in how she nurtures her Remnant children -- Aurora and Lucien -- or the way she touches Sephiroth’s face like it’s sacred. It is of no consequence that her favorite flower is a black rose. The flower isn’t just a symbol of beauty in darkness. It’s a mourning flower, too. A quiet protest that says, “I bloomed, even in ash.”

In reclaiming that softness, Bianca doesn’t abandon her monstrousness nature. She integrates it. She redefines what it means to be queer in a world that punishes difference. It means survival through tenderness, through boundaries, through choosing who is worthy of your intimacy. Her love, whether for a girl who betrayed her or for a god who would end the stars for her, is a weapon forged in both rage and grace. And in the end, Bianca doesn't just destroy the world and Creation for Sephiroth. She reshapes it to make space for her full self: queer, holy, monstrous, grieving, and gloriously whole.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[pink-artz]

Here's how I think or blindly thought each monsters use the internet

Explanations

The celestial are kinda old, but they are kinda youthful

Don't think the titan souls use the internet

Headcanon that the internet isn't accessible in the dreamscape

Thumpies are kinda stupid

My headcanon is that Too-Too and Teeter-Tauter are children, so they might be iPad kids

Blipsqueak is stuck in Hatsune Miku purgatory

Pixolotl is a gamer

Oogiddy's goo might get all over the screen and the keyboard

Monculus is an ancient monster (the first monster ever made)

Wubboxes can teleport themselves to the internet with the power of electricity/supernatural

Ethreal Epic Wubbox is a Discord mod and a hacker

Auglur has an ability that blurs the line between reality and "the virtual world."

PongPing and Humbug on the Chronically online part is a reference to Fishchamp and MSMKaua

[hungnitan]

Penacony TB 2.1 Impression

Contains heavy spoiler and mostly a rant so don't read it if you still not finish the story (lol)

Before unto the stories, I must say I kinda get the reasons why hoyo put Acheron in first banner and Aventurine in second half after read TB 2.1. For Acheron, I think her identity as emenator nihility is the key lore to expose before 2.1 began so there's need to expose it at trailer (despite her reasoning coming to Penacony still unknown somehow lol). While for Aventurine, this is kinda delulu on my side but there's possibility we might know the things happened to him after 2.1 from his daily message.

Onto stories, I only say one line... IT'S VERY HONKAI VIBE ! Telling one person stories from they born into the one we know now with angsty vibe of course lol. You know, the things I scare when hoyo release Acheron trailer and myriad celestial is how Aventurine past can beat that honkai queen and (un)fortunately I was wrong (lol)

IT'S FULL BLOW OF AVENTURINE DARK PAST and yeah hoyo score a full mark with it !

For composition I think it's 80% Aventurine PoV and 20% others which is unsuprisingly since I'm pretty sure he will not appear again for future Penacony chapter but what I'm suprise is so far Astral Express basically can't do anything much in Penacony so yeah Xianzhou Luofu TB back again.

Despite that, I'm very happy with TB 2.1 like this is what Honkai story should do ! Up until now, I always thought HSR still not show their full equipment and pretty weak with their story, Tingyun only snapping some head isn't near those previous Honkai heels you know (lol).

I'm going to talk a long rant on 80% since hoyo decided to love him with his so well written stories and I love him too (XD)

The things with Aventurine and Ratio, I guess this what we would called "same mind don't need talk much". They're bickering so well, even acted betray each others without any communication and smooth enough to fool Sunday

But sorry I'm not getting fool (I know they're soulmate lol), the reason is I found one hole in Sunday Ratio convo here

Ratio saying about cornerstone is so precious to ten stonehearts but the box contain can be opened by other than them ? If that's true, I can't believe someone like Aventurine would risk someone like that participate in his grand scheme without reasons... plus Ratio doesn't strike me as someone who sells his teammate or what he called him lol no matter how iritatting he is especially only for pursuing knowledge, since it sounds so idiocy.

Suprising fact, he even try kill himself few times at dreamscape ! Like is that something you can try out of fun even If knowing you can't die ? Well yeah, in first place he doesn't mind to die anytime but doing it yourself and passive talk are two different things you know...

two question I thought Aventurine never answer directly which is pretty related. First of all, different than Sunday which I think he's type of "I will kill everyone and then myself if they hurt my sister" but he's already at own limit to think for his own survival + he doesn't have anyone to get revenge for. Elation still have some excitement when saw someone in despair but I don't think Aventurine (at that time) could feels same, well we don't know things after 2.1 since his past chains severed by Acheron, maybe he will open a new leaf (I hope so, let him live happily ever after with Ratio or Elation or even Trailblazing with us sounds good too lol)

It stabilize the fact that Aventurine and Ratio are good friends despite their talk, voiceline, and teammate voiceline at least from Ratio side which is the vital point Aventurine still alive as now. I really skeptic on his dead or alive status at 2.1 livestream, well mostly I can't believe any Shaoji said that time (plus the fact Gallagher is just a normal bartender lol)

TB 2.1 conclude with opening a new terrain with dreamscape's secrets, the Family and Watchmaker aren't same side, IPC will added another ten stonehearts member to game, a mysterious voice will join the fray. Penacony story so far so good, even their newest branch stories execute nicely but I don't have any excitement anymore now knowing Aventurine not gonna show up anymore (XD).

Now with Aventurine closed his screentime, I think Acheron (her past and purpose coming to Penacony still not reveal much), Firefly Sam (SH motive and she need to pursuading TB), Jade and/or Topaz (replacing Aventurine role) will play a bigger parts for future version

Put aside that, my 220 pull still on waiting for Aven banner ! I kinda had bad feelings about his banner pull, even my relics planar farming still not done even after I started doing it from BlackSwan banner...

[kiawren]

On a not so sad note. My sister and I started watching some miraculous ladybug like we did back in like 2018? 2019? Then stopped for years.

Tldr I watched some miraculous ladybug and briefly thought up a Kiawren au off it

Those high schoolers are so cute 😭😭😭😭 idc which side of the love square it is or rival love interests I'm rooting for all of them lol and they have cute side ships too they're so innocently in love bro it is cute to watch 😭

That whimsical romance made me think of kiawren like of course. Like yess we can build a love square too hehe Well I was thinking to just build on our spidersonas but thought of something else eventually.. Taking inspiration from how the miraculous kwamis (the little animals that they get their power from) was based of the chinese zodiac as well, this kiawren au has the four chinese celestial beings. For now they just do the fighting in some vague dreamscape where they look far enough from how they do in reality by taking on some vague mystical form merged with the Azure Dragon (Wren) and Vermilion Bird (Kiawe) respectively. It's a bit hard to explain I can't firmly visualise it either but yehh it's there. The villian has the White Tiger's power and both sides are searching for the Black Tortoise who doesn't have a holder now. The love square thing is Kiawe liking Wren's alter ego but Wren liking Kiawe in real life. Well yeah that's kinda all I have lol. There's some mythology involved which is neat

[fordcrownvictoria]

Between Heaven and Dream | Rediscovering Alfred Bruneau’s Le rêve

In the vast landscape of operatic history, certain works shine with a quiet, trembling light—neglected not for lack of beauty, but because they bloom in subtler registers, far from the pyrotechnics of grander dramas. One such work is Le rêve, composed by Alfred Bruneau with a libretto by Émile Zola, adapted from his own novel of the same name. Rarely performed today, this 1891 opera inhabits a space that is neither fully of the earth nor entirely of heaven. It exists instead in the liminal haze of dream, faith, and yearning—a sonic vision of mysticism woven with threads of human tenderness and spiritual longing.

To approach Le rêve is to enter a fragile world, one sculpted by idealized love, religious ecstasy, and the blurred boundaries between dream and reality. It tells the story of Angélique, an orphaned embroiderer raised by a pious couple near a cathedral. She becomes enraptured by the tales of saintly lives she hears and dreams of an otherworldly love that fuses carnal affection with divine purity. When she falls in love with Félicien, the bishop's son, her desires clash with the earthly laws of class and Church. And yet, as the opera unfolds, it becomes clear that Angélique is not truly of this world—her heart beats in time with a celestial rhythm.

The Dreamworld as Spiritual Refuge

Bruneau and Zola, in a rare union of music and literature, use the dream as a structural and emotional engine. Angélique does not merely fantasize; she inhabits a psychological dreamscape, where the threshold between the cathedral and the afterlife, between romantic desire and sacred devotion, collapses into a single veil of light. This duality is expressed with music that shimmers like stained glass: at times delicate and intimate, at others soaring with choral grandeur.

The dream is, in many ways, a sanctuary—a place where Angélique’s soul finds coherence in a world that does not understand her purity. Her refusal to accept a mundane existence, her persistent yearning for something higher, marks her as both fragile and transcendent. The dreamworld of Le rêve is not merely a dramatic conceit; it is a moral and spiritual geography, shaped by her inner life and emotional clarity.

The Forgotten Place of Mysticism in Opera

Part of what makes Le rêve feel so rare and moving today is its unabashed embrace of mysticism. Modern opera often leans toward psychological realism, irony, or bold political critique. But Bruneau and Zola offer us something that feels at once antiquated and revolutionary: a heroine who does not seek to overturn her world, but to transcend it. In doing so, she evokes comparisons not with Carmen or Tosca, but with figures like Bernadette of Lourdes or Joan of Arc. She is less a woman of operatic fire than of unearthly illumination.

This mysticism is not naive. It is filtered through Zola’s naturalism, a school of thought more associated with gritty realism than dreams. And yet, in Le rêve, Zola reveals the emotional and symbolic potential of religious longing and the human need to believe in the invisible. It is a deeply interior opera, concerned not with palace intrigue or battlefield heroics, but with the silent miracle of faith and the soft death of the ideal.

A Musical Language of Reverie — Expanded Exploration

Bruneau’s score for Le rêve is a finely woven tapestry of sonic textures, delicately tailored to Angélique’s inner landscape. Unlike the rhetorical bombast of grand opera or the melodramatic thrust of verismo, Bruneau constructs his world from musical atmosphere and psychological nuance. This opera breathes not in declarations, but in murmurings, suspensions, and luminous, almost fragile harmonic progressions.

The opening prelude itself is a study in quiet reverence. Built on soft strings, gentle harp arpeggios, and muted winds, it evokes the hush of a chapel at dusk. The harmonies hover between major and modal, evading resolution, as if the music itself is reluctant to settle—mirroring Angélique’s drifting spirit. This restless harmonic ambiguity permeates the opera and becomes a metaphor for the tension between her dreams and earthly limitations.

Motivic writing plays a subtle but important role: the themes associated with Angélique’s embroidery, her readings of the saints, and her visions of love are not developed in a Wagnerian manner, but rather float in and out like half-remembered prayers. One especially beautiful effect is Bruneau’s use of parallel motion and suspended chords, reminiscent of Fauré and even foreshadowing Debussy, to create a sense of suspended time. The listener feels cradled in a dream, where no cadence feels final, no phrase entirely grounded.

Choral writing is sparingly used but deeply affecting. The cathedral’s voice is not thunderous; it is radiant, otherworldly. In key moments—such as Angélique’s ecstatic visions—the chorus becomes the aural embodiment of heaven. Bruneau draws here on Gregorian echoes, with modal scales and fauxbourdon-like textures that suggest the timeless voice of the divine.

The orchestration is an art of shadows and silk. Bruneau favors delicate doublings: oboe with muted violins, harp with flute, solo cello with voice. This transparency enhances the opera’s intimacy and lets Angélique’s emotional fragility breathe. Her vocal lines are not showpieces of virtuosity, but lyrical arcs shaped by breath, marked with inwardness. The climactic duet with Félicien does not erupt—it blooms, momentarily allowing her love to become incarnate before dissolving back into stillness.

Silence, too, is used with reverent care. Bruneau knows when to let the music fall away, when to let stillness speak. This is particularly poignant in the final moments, when Angélique dies—not with a scream, but with a whispered surrender. The orchestra does not dramatize her death; it respects it, surrounding her last breath with musical stillness, like falling snow.

In every bar, Bruneau composes not for theatrical spectacle, but for spiritual resonance. The music of Le rêve is that of the inner chamber, the cloister, the candlelit vigil. It is, in the truest sense, a dream translated into sound.

Why Has It Been Forgotten?

That such a finely crafted work has faded into obscurity is both understandable and lamentable. Bruneau is better known for his operas with more overtly dramatic or socially charged themes. Moreover, the spiritual earnestness of Le rêve may strike modern audiences as out of step with a culture more attuned to disillusionment. Its dreamlike pace, its religious overtones, and its tragic ending—all make it a difficult sell in an age that craves spectacle.

Yet perhaps this is exactly why it deserves revival. In a time of noisy conflicts and collapsing certainties, Le rêve offers a return to inwardness. It asks us not to judge Angélique, but to understand her longing. It invites us to pause, to listen, and to remember that opera can still be a place of silence and grace.

Conclusion: Remembering the Dream

In the end, Angélique dies in Félicien’s arms, a bittersweet union that occurs only after her soul has already begun its ascent. It is a moment of transcendence, not tragedy. For her, the dream has always been more real than the world.

Le rêve is not merely an opera that takes place in a dream world—it is a dream world. One of light, yearning, sacrifice, and uncorrupted love. In rediscovering this rare work, we rediscover not only a lost corner of French opera, but also the capacity of music to reflect the delicate and divine parts of ourselves.

[just-another-wasteland-merc]

Project!

I've been trying to get back into bullet journaling again and I've started out strong. It lets me be artsy while still creating something functional. It also has like my life in it since balancing work, life, and school is increasingly difficult. So I have a place to keep myself organized and still brain dump some thoughts into it.

I have a green/floral theme for January. The classic blue themes are great but it's not for me.

It adds bulk to the journal, but this is also some THICC paper. It's only bled once but I was blending markers. So next time I'm not gonna blend so hard and find alternatives or just cover up the other side.

I'll do a reblog of February, since that's a celestial/space/dreamscape theme!

[journey-to-the-attic]

sdjbfkdshk i 4got that saying thot instead of thought isn't just an inside joke me n my friends have sorry 😭 ✋ i would never call you a thot (unless u wanted me too...)

that aside the angst is SOOOO good bro (gn). i was thinking actually that if ik is stained by the brothers' sins maybe she starts mirroring what they did when they had their sin stuff going on?? like bc levi went to hide in the lake maybe ik goes to there (and then levi has to fish her out before she drowns herself 😭)

i was acc thinking belphie would do the puttin to sleep part?? like he has special avatar of sloth magic. idk i was just imagining ik spiralling and he like hugs her and uses his magic to just sort of gently get her to rest...

can we get an amen for dadcifer though 🙏 he must be absolutely going thru it rn his poor daughter

no worries! i wouldn't really have minded either way, to be honest

that aside - these are really cute (and also really sad)!! i really like idea of belphie being the one to put her to sleep actually, he probably has some kind of special sloth magic that he'd use to watch over her dreams or something to keep her sleep peaceful :')

also yeah lucifer would be having such a bad time. he's been having a bad time since he first getting the whole pride flare-up thing, with only a brief period of relief between recovering and ik abruptly going off the deep end. he's probably blaming himself entirely for this happening (seeing the state ik was in before being put to sleep is probably one of the few things that could make him shed a tear)

i have been thinking on and off about how ik's whole situation would be resolved! and this is admittedly sorta similar to 'the long nightmare' in jtta, but the idea is that the brothers (+solomon bc i think his relationship with ik is especially important in this nightbringer situation) would enter her 'inner world' using some kind of ritual originating with sonno (ik's in deep sleep at this point, sonno's whole thing is dreams)

basically once in ik's own dreamscape (so to speak), she's been split into seven 'fragments', each holding and/or representing a piece of her soul - each brother encounters a fragment that's trapped in an empty memory of when she was trying to save each of them -asmo's is digging through the shattered remains of the glass coffin he was asleep in, satan's is wandering in the castle where he had his whole d&d showdown with his brothers, mammon's is hiding in the celestial realm's gardens

the idea is that the brothers have to do for the fragments as ik did for them at the time, thus removing the 'stain' of their sin. at that point the ik apparition disappears, and they're left with what i'm picturing as a sort of crystal piece? once each brother has recovered their fragment, solomon puts them back together - puts her 'soul' back together - which brings back their ik as they know her, without the sins affecting her, but still with her own personal anguish in tow

at that point i think solomon would reassure her (i can imagine ik would be afraid of waking up and facing everything again), lucifer in particular would probably have a moment to properly apologise. basically it's all very sappy and then the crystal pieces properly meld together - putting ik's 'heart' back together - at which point she wakes up

(i feel like there's a fnaf 'i will put you back together joke' to be made here)

[a-headless-angel]

Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter Seventeen: Respite

Word Count: 5,191

Chapter music: Respite

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

— Earlier —

Nestled among the fluffy clouds of Heaven, Cherub Town was a place where celestial splendor and ethereal charm coexisted in perfect harmony. It resembled a fantastical dreamscape, with pastel-colored buildings shaped like stars and moons. Each structure seemed to float on air, connected by delicate bridges of glimmering stardust, all thanks to Archangel Jophiel’s architectural touch. 

Cherubs, with their radiant wings and halos, flitted gracefully between the buildings, their laughter and joy mingling with the harmonious music that filled the air.

For today was the Heavenly Harvest Fair, the crowning jewel of Cherub Town’s yearly festivities. From dawn until twilight, the fair transformed the town into a paradise of celebration, where every corner was adorned with twinkling lights and celestial decorations.

The fairgrounds were a breathtaking sight, with glittering fabric stretched overhead, casting a soft, iridescent glow over the scene. Stalls and booths, each decorated with intricate patterns of stars and clouds, offered an array of heavenly treats. Tables were laden with angel food cakes, their spongy textures dusted with shimmering sugar, and cotton candy clouds that melted in the mouth like sweet, sugary dreams. 

Games and attractions lined the fairgrounds, each designed to captivate the cherubs’ playful spirits. Halo ring toss stations featured shimmering rings that floated effortlessly, and cloud hopping platforms invited the cherubs to leap and bounce among fluffy, soft clouds. The laughter of cherubs echoed as they competed in friendly contests and engaged in joyous play.

The fair's highlight was the talent show, held in a grand, open-air amphitheater. Cherubs showcased their talents, from heartwarming renditions of angelic lullabies played on glockenspiels to enchanting performances by harpists whose melodies wove a tapestry of tranquility and delight. Each act was met with applause and cheers, adding to the festival’s joyful ambiance.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the fair, the sky above would be illuminated by a spectacular display of lights. The cherubs gathered to watch the evening’s grand finale—an awe-inspiring show of falling stars and shimmering constellations, choreographed to the soft strains of celestial music. 

But amidst the radiant festivities, a depressed cherub laid in her soft, cloud-like bed, her pale yellow skin barely visible under the light blanket. The cheerful noises from outside seemed a world away as she stared at the ceiling, her light reddish-pink eyes dull and distant. Today, the fair felt like a bitter reminder of her past.

Keenie’s thoughts drifted back to the Heavenly Harvest Fair a few years ago.  It was the day she had met Michael, the Archangel who had captivated her at first sight. 

The Heavenly Harvest Fair was in full swing, with cherubs flitting about, their laughter and excitement blending with the gentle strains of celestial music. Among the crowds, Keenie, Deerie, and Cletus found themselves squeezed into the bustling entrance area of Cherub Town. The excitement was palpable—Archangel Michael was set to open this year’s Heavenly Harvest Fair, and his appearance had drawn a throng of eager cherubs as such an appearance was exceedingly rare.

An archangel’s presence was nothing short of extraordinary. The six archangels of Heaven, also known as the Morningstar brothers, were tasked with the highest duties and responsibilities within the heavenly realms, rarely venturing beyond their sacred duties to grace events like the Heavenly Harvest Fair. 

Each year, a different archangel was chosen to open the fair, a tradition designed to honor the cherubs for their relentless dedication and hard work. The fair itself was a celebration of their unwavering service, a rare opportunity for the cherubs to bask in the warmth of divine acknowledgment. The honor of having an archangel grace their presence was a significant highlight, reflecting the heavenly appreciation for their efforts.

This year’s excitement had reached unprecedented heights, thanks to a leak from the Archangel Michael Fan Club—a devoted assembly of cherubs who had managed to uncover the secret of Michael’s upcoming appearance. 

The entrance had become a bustling sea of shimmering wings and eager faces, all converging in anticipation. The stories of Michael’s bravery were well-known: tales of his unyielding courage in the face of cosmic trials, and his profound wisdom. His legend was woven into the very fabric of heavenly lore.

Michael was famed not only for his heroic deeds and unwavering commitment to Heaven but also for his legendary beauty, rivaled even the most ethereal of beings like that of his banished twin, Lucifer. His presence at the Harvest Fair was seen as a celestial honor, a glittering jewel in the festival’s crown.

Among the crowd, Keenie stood somewhat apart, her yellow wings fluttering with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite the fervor surrounding Michael, she wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by appearances.

Keenie’s thoughts were grounded in a more introspective place. To her, the fervor of the crowd was almost amusing and downright ridiculous. Where others were anticipating Michael’s legendary beauty and heroic tales, she found herself evaluating the situation from a more detached perspective.

“I’m not like the other cherubs,” she mused quietly to herself, her reddish-pink eyes scanning the crowd with strained gaze next to her two close friends and work colleagues, Deerie and Cletus.

Deerie bounced excitedly in the crowd, her bright, apologetic tones reflected the general enthusiasm, yet Keenie remained grounded in her quiet contemplation. Even Cletus, with his blend of optimism and occasional frustration, was swept up in the collective anticipation, his periwinkle eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and impatience.

Keenie was trying her best to navigate through the masses. Her fluffy yellow wings fluttered nervously as she adjusted her yellow dress and large pink bow. Deerie and Cletus flanked her, each handling the crowd in their own way.

Deerie, with her tall, fawn stature attempted to lead the way. “Oh, dearie me! I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, every cherub! Please forgive the crowding, and try to stay calm and polite,” she said, her voice an endless loop of polite apologies.

Cletus, on the other hand, was visibly frustrated. His large periwinkle eyes scanned the crowd, and he grumbled under his breath, his cheeks puffing out in annoyance. “Ugh! How do they expect us to see anything with this many cherubs packed in here? I’m about to start shooting arrows just to clear a path!”

Keenie rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin. “Cletus, for the last time, shooting arrows is not going to help. We’re already in a jam, and adding chaos to it will only make things worse.”

Cletus huffed, adjusting his overalls. “I’m just saying, a little divine intervention might be nice right now. Maybe if I hit a few cherubs with my arrows, it’ll be less crowded.”

Deerie chimed in with her characteristic optimism, “Oh, but dear Cletus, we must remember to be kind and considerate. We wouldn’t want to disturb the divine harmony now, would we? Oh, sorry!” she said as she bumped into a cherub. 

Keenie’s frustration broke through her usually calm demeanor. “Oh, come on, Deerie. If I hear one more apology, I might just explode. We’re all excited to see Michael, but getting squished to death isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

Deerie tilted her head, her pastel yellow ears twitching in confusion. “I’m so sorry, Keenie! I didn’t mean to cause any distress. I’m simply trying to keep the atmosphere pleasant.”

This time Keenie simply rolled her eyes at Deerie’s apology. 

Cletus, catching Keenie’s mood, added with a smirk, “Well, at least we’re all here to see the great Archangel Michael. Maybe he’ll have a solution for all this madness.”

With that, the three cherubs continued their way through the crowd. As they finally reached a better vantage point, the anticipation of seeing Michael began to overshadow their earlier frustrations, and the promise of the upcoming talent show filled them with renewed excitement.

As the throng of cherubs continued to jostle for position, a hush of anticipation began to spread through the crowd. The murmur of excited chatter ebbed away, replaced by a collective breath held in eager expectation. It was then that Cletus, with his sharp periwinkle eyes, finally spotted the archangel figure emerging from the distant crowd.

Suddenly, the crowd of cherubs erupted into a wave of ecstatic cheers and applause, their collective energy nearly palpable.

“There he is!” Cletus proclaimed, his voice ringing with excitement. “That’s Michael! I can see him from here!”

As the Archangel drew nearer, the sheer magnitude of his presence began to overshadow everything else. The cherubs' voices melded into a harmonious din, their wings fluttering with exuberant anticipation.

Deerie, her tall fawn frame straining to catch a glimpse, turned to her friends with a mix of excitement and determination. “We must get closer!”

Keenie, stuck in the middle of the chaotic crowd, found herself struggling to see through the swarm of flapping wings and eager faces. Her yellow dress and fluffy wings were practically swallowed by the sea of celestial bodies around her. Deerie and Cletus were both vying for a better view, their enthusiasm inadvertently pushing Keenie further out of sight.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Deerie’s cheerful voice tried to cut through the commotion, her hooves tapping and pushing as she maneuvered through the masses.

Cletus, clearly agitated, added with a frustrated tone, “I can barely see anything! Why is everyone so tall!”

Just then, Deerie’s eyes lit up as she caught a glimpse of Michael. “Oh my heavens! Look at that!”

Her voice was barely audible above the clamor, but it was enough to prompt a renewed frenzy among the cherubs. Keenie, still straining to see, was about to respond when she heard Deerie’s next exclamation.

“Nice ass!” Deerie blurted out.

Keenie’s eyes widened in surprise, “Deerie! Do not lust in your heart. We are here to honor Michael — Heavens you’re right.”

Keenie's words faltered. She finally managed to catch a full view of Michael through the gaps in the crowd. The Archangel Michael, walking and greeting the cherubs, was an embodiment of celestial perfection. The stories and descriptions had not done him justice. The sight of him in person was a revelation, striking and profound.

His skin, a flawless white, gleamed with an otherworldly luster, appearing more like a living statue brought to life than a mere celestial being. His hair cascaded down his back in waves of golden silk, catching the light in a way that made it look like strands of liquid sunlight.

His eyes, an azure blue, held an intensity and depth that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of the crowd, and his tall, muscular stature was impressive, a physique sculpted with a heroic grace that spoke of both strength and elegance. 

But what truly stood out, was the gentle kindness that softened his otherwise strikingly formidable appearance. His cheeks bore the marks of red circles, like a delicate blush, adding a touch of warmth and humanity to his otherwise ethereal visage. This small detail, so at odds with his imposing figure, conveyed a tender vulnerability that made him appear both regal and approachable. The contrast between his striking, almost chiseled features and the tender smile and red circles created a disarming effect. 

As Michael moved through the crowd, Keenie felt as though she had been struck by a love arrow. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably. The sight of Michael, so perfect and so impossibly beautiful, left her breathless and awestruck.

Keenie felt as if the celestial music and the radiant lights of the Harvest Fair had all faded into the background, leaving only the resplendent figure of Michael at the forefront of her senses. 

It was in that moment, amidst the dazzling lights of the Harvest Fair and the swirling chaos of the cherub-filled streets, Keenie experienced the undeniable pull of love at first sight. The connection she felt was instantaneous and all-consuming, a powerful recognition of something deeply emotional and transformative. Her previous attitude melted away, replaced by a profound admiration that left her feeling both overwhelmed and exhilarated.

The initial encounter at the Harvest Fair had been the catalyst, igniting a burning desire within her to be as close to Michael as possible. From that day forward, Keenie made it her life's mission to keep as close to him as she could, attempting to remain in his presence whenever possible.

Her infatuation drove her to an almost obsessive pursuit. She would follow Michael discreetly, her yellow wings fluttering softly as she navigated the ethereal landscapes of Heaven, always careful to remain unseen. Whether it was the celestial plazas or the grand halls, Keenie was there, a silent observer of his every move. Her dedication was relentless; she attended every possible event, every appearance Michael made, always seeking to be in his vicinity.

She would time her appearances with meticulous precision, making sure to be just around the corner whenever Michael was to make a grand entrance or to attend a significant gathering. She carefully crafted moments to "accidentally" be in the same place as him, from wandering near his usual spots to appearing at the scenes of his known duties.

Keenie’s fascination with Michael had a clear purpose. She hoped to build a relationship with him, to show him that she was more than just another cherub. Her eyes, once dull and distant, now sparkled with determination and an ever-present yearning.

The pinnacle of her hard working devotion came true when Michael appointed her as his messenger cherub. The day she received that honor was one of the happiest of her life. Keenie’s heart soared with pride as she accepted her role, vowing to be the perfect messenger for Michael. Her days were spent ensuring that her duties were performed with impeccable precision, her nights filled with dreams of being in Michael’s presence officially. 

However, as time went on, Keenie began to notice something unsettling that went over her head initially. Keenie, over time, began to notice Michael's particular attention to one of his guardians, Gabriela. It started subtly—an extra moment of conversation here, a shared smile there—but soon, it became more pronounced. Keenie would often follow Michael and Gabriela from a distance, her jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

One day, she ventured to Michael’s training grounds, hiding in the shadows like she always did. There, she watched Gabriela linger after training sessions, chatting with Michael in a manner that seemed far more personal than professional. Michael's enjoyment was evident; he would laugh, his eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure. To Keenie, this was a painful sight, each moment a stab to her heart. Her previously intense feelings now carried an edge of bitter jealousy.

The culmination of Keenie's frustration came during the recent parade, when she was summoned to deliver an urgent message to Michael. Her excitement was palpable as she anticipated the chance to be near him. However, when she arrived at the grand hall of the banquet, she noticed a familiar white figure in the gardens.

With a hopeful flutter of her wings, Keenie sped towards the gardens, only to be met with a sight that caused her heart to plummet. There, under the celestial glow, was Michael, and standing beside him was Gabriela. The sight of them together, alone in the garden, filled Keenie with a surge of unreasonable jealousy. Her heart clenched with rage. 

Calming herself, Keenie focused on her mission. She needed to deliver her message, and she could not let her emotions betray her. She approached Michael, her face a mask of calm professionalism. Ignoring Gabriela, who was engaged in a private conversation with Michael, Keenie pretended not to have seen her.

Michael’s expression shifted from one of gentleness to a serious focus as he processed the message. Understanding the gravity of the situation, he nodded and took off towards the CCC, leaving Keenie and Gabriela alone in the gardens.

As Michael disappeared from view, Keenie’s mask of composure shattered. Her frustration and anger at Gabriela burst forth uncontrollably. She glared at Gabriela, her eyes flashing with a mix of hatred and envy. With a final, bitter glance, she turned and followed after Michael, her heart heavy with the weight of her unfulfilled longing and unresolved feelings.

Keenie’s dedication to Michael had become a double-edged sword. Her intense desire to be close to him had led her to a place of emotional turmoil, where admiration had intertwined with jealousy. As she flew through the celestial skies, chasing Michael, her thoughts and emotions were a chaotic swirl of love, anger, and hope, each emotion pulling her in different directions.

Finally, The CCC, the Celestial Council Chamber, loomed ahead, a place of solemn importance reserved only for high officials of Heaven

As she approached the grand structure, Keenie could see its dim glow cutting through the heavenly darkness, casting a soft, ethereal light that hinted at the activity within. The glow was not one of the usual golden hues associated with celestial buildings but rather a mixture of more subdued illumination that intrigued Keenie. Her curiosity, paired with her desperation to understand Michael’s seriousness, drove her to make a daring decision.

The CCC was typically off-limits to lower-ranked angels and heavenborn like herself, but Keenie’s determination overruled her apprehension. She maneuvered her way to a secluded open window high on the ceiling of the CCC. With a careful flap of her wings, she eased her way through the narrow opening, her small frame slipping into the chamber with practiced stealth.

Inside, the chamber was an architectural marvel, its vast expanse filled with majestic columns and intricate celestial patterns. The dim light came from a large, ornate furnace that dominated one end of the room. The furnace was a marvel in itself, with flames that danced in a spectrum of colors—fiery reds, electric blues, and soft purples—casting an enchanting glow across the room. Keenie momentarily wondered about its purpose, sensing that it was more than just a decorative element. 

In front of Michael was a projected screen, emanating from the center table, casting a soft light over the area. The image was a live feed of an angel Keenie recognized—Lute, a figure often seen in the company of Adam. Though she wasn’t entirely sure of Adam and Lute’s official duties, their frequent appearances at important events suggested they held significant roles. 

As she perched on a high, concealed ledge, Keenie's gaze was fixed on Michael. His usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by visible anger, a side of him she had never seen before. The tension in the room was palpable, the atmosphere of the CCC seemed charged with an unusual gravity.

Michael’s voice cut through, sharp and demanding. “What do you mean you don’t know how it happened?” he asked, his tone edged with frustration.

Lute, appearing flustered and anxious, struggled to respond. “My exorcists said it all happened so fast—”

Michael interrupted, his anger evident. “I need you to thoroughly look into this again before I speak to Sera.”

With a decisive motion, Michael cut off the screen before Lute could offer any further explanation. The abrupt end to the conversation left an unsettling silence in its wake. Keenie’s eyes widened as she took in Michael’s distressed and angry expression. This new side of him was jarring, a stark contrast to the serene and heroic figure she had always admired.

The mention of “exorcists” by Lute caught Keenie’s attention also. What could that term mean in this context? The word echoed in her mind, adding to her growing confusion. The urgency and distress in Michael’s voice, combined with Lute’s incomplete explanation, left her with more questions than answers.

Feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected revelation and Michael’s intense emotions, Keenie decided to retreat. She took one last look at the scene below, her heart heavy with the weight of her observations. The furnace’s colorful flames flickered eerily, casting long shadows across the chamber, as if mirroring her inner turmoil.

With a final, shaky breath, Keenie flew away from the CCC, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and unease. She made her way back to her home, in Cherub town, the familiar celestial landscape offering little comfort. The soft, melodious hum of Cherub Town’s nighttime symphony and the distant sound of the Parade’s fireworks did little to soothe her agitated mind. 

The secrets she had glimpsed and Michael’s new, unsettling side left her shaken, and the weight of the unresolved mystery pressed heavily upon her, but what really bothered her was the fact that there was possibly more between Michael and Gabriela than she had anticipated.

What were they doing alone? Her mind churned with worry and jealousy, interlaced with the gnawing unreasonable anxiety that she might lose the position she had fought so hard to secure. The dream of being Michael’s confidant was now overshadowed by the haunting suspicion of an unresolved and potentially devastating love between Michael and Gabriela, one that would completely take away his attention from Keenie to Gabriela. 

The night was restless. Keenie tossed and turned, her mind unable to escape the unsettling images of Michael and Gabriela. Every detail she had witnessed played over and over in her mind. Romance between angels was forbidden, but the thought that there might be more between them gnawed at her with a fierce intensity. The love she once felt for Michael had transformed into a tumultuous sea of anxiety and determination. She knew she had to do something, but the path forward seemed obscured by a fog of uncertainty.

The next day passed and Michael’s silence was a painful echo in her once vibrant life. He neither called nor summoned her, which added to Keenie’s growing worry. It felt like an eternity, and the absence of his presence left a void that was becoming increasingly difficult to bear. Her duties and interactions with other cherubs now seemed hollow, their brightness dimmed by her inner turmoil.

However, a few days ago, a sudden commotion at a crowded cherub area drew Keenie’s attention. The cherubs, who had been engaged in their usual lively chatter and playful antics, were struck dumb by the unexpected arrival of Michael. His descent from the heavens cut through the usual buzz of excitement, leaving the area in stunned silence. The once animated scene froze in awe, all eyes wide with disbelief at the sight of Michael’s sudden and dramatic appearance.

Keenie’s heart leapt at the sight of him. She fluttered upwards, her wings beating with a mixture of excitement and desperation. “Hello, Michael. Fancy seeing you here!” she said

But Michael’s gaze was directed elsewhere, and he cut her off without a second glance. His demeanor was curt and distant, a stark reminder of the anger she had seen in the CCC.

Michael loomed over Collin, one of the less significant cherubs in their circle. The shift in Michael’s mood, coupled with his uncharacteristic sharpness, stung Keenie deeply. She hovered nearby, her wings drooping as she watched the interaction unfold.

Collin appeared visibly nervous, his usual bravado, if he had one, was replaced by a quivering demeanor. Michael's voice was low and sharp, “ Who instructed you to deliver Gabriela’s message? ”

Keenie’s curiosity was piqued at the name Gabriela.

Collin stammered, “ I-I, um, it was... Gabriela herself. ”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, disbelief evident in his expression followed by anger. “ Do not play games with me, Collin. I will not ask again ”

The tension was palpable as Collin, under pressure, finally admitted, “It was Sera.”

At the revelation, Michael flew away with a powerful beat of his wings, leaving a visibly shaken Collin behind. 

Keenie’s heart sank as she processed the implications of the conversation. The fact that Michael was actively seeking Gabriela, ignited a new wave of jealousy and frustration within her. The realization that Michael was now focused on Gabriela left Keenie feeling abandoned and neglected. 

The days that followed were a blur of melancholy for Keenie. Michael’s silence persisted, and the weight of her unspoken fears and frustrations grew heavier. The depression she felt was a suffocating blanket, darkening the once-vibrant world of Cherub Town. The joy she had once found in her duties was eclipsed by the gnawing uncertainty of Michael’s change. Her role as Michael’s messenger, now felt like a distant memory overshadowed by a dynamic she couldn’t control.

Now in the present, Keenie had remained in her cloud-like bed all day, the drapes drawn tight against the setting sun. The approaching twilight signaled the start of the grand light show, a spectacular event she had always enjoyed, but today it seemed a distant echo of a time when her world was simpler. 

Suddenly, a loud banging on her door jolted her from her somber thoughts. Cletus’s voice, raised in a mix of urgency and exasperation, cut through the haze of her despair. “Keenie! Open the damn door! You’re going to miss the light show!”

Irritated by the intrusion, Keenie reluctantly dragged herself from her bed. Her once-fluffy yellow wings drooped, and her dress was crumpled and disheveled, mirroring the state of her emotions. She approached the door and opened it slightly, just enough to see the concerned faces of Cletus and Deerie peering through the gap.

Cletus’s eyes widened as he took in Keenie’s appearance. “By the stars, Keenie! You look like you’ve been hit by a meteor!”

Deerie’s bright fawn eyes softened with worry as she chimed in, “Oh, Keenie, dear, you’ve been cooped up here for days. You can’t let yourself be consumed by this sudden darkness. Come on, it’s the light show! You’ve missed so much already, like Jophiel’s opening ceremony.”

At the mention of Jophiel, Keenie’s thoughts drifted back to the young archangel, who had been selected to oversee this year’s Heavenly Harvest Fair. 

Jophiel, the youngest of the Morningstar brothers, was often overshadowed by his older siblings. Despite his youthful appearance, which contradicted his actual age, he had become a beloved figure among the cherubs. 

His role as the archangel of beauty might have seemed insignificant compared to the likes of Michael, Uriel, or Raphael, but Jophiel’s contributions to Heaven were invaluable. His sketches and designs had transformed Heaven, adding beauty and inspiration to the lives of many and of the cherubs. He had worked tirelessly to improve their quality of life, earning him a special place in their hearts, as they were often overlooked. 

Keenie was reminded of how time in Heaven felt strange and timeless, as angels and Heavenborn seemed to age differently. Jophiel’s boyish appearance masked the wisdom and experience he possessed. 

Cletus’s voice broke through her reverie, his tone softening with rare empathy. “Keenie, you’ve been so wrapped up in whatever you got going on. The fair’s lights are a celebration, and Jophiel’s work deserves to be seen and appreciated.”

Deerie nodded in agreement. “Yes, Keenie, you need to get out and see the light show. It’s not just about the lights; you have to take care of yourself, too.”

Keenie hesitated, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. The thought of stepping back into the world felt daunting, but the concern in Cletus and Deerie’s voices tugged at her. Just as she was about to make a decision, the shrill ring of her home phone pierced the quiet. Startled, Keenie abruptly shut the door and rushed to answer it, her heart skipping a beat with a flicker of hope.

To her surprise, it was Michael on the other end. The familiar tone of his voice immediately lifted her spirits. “Keenie? It’s Michael. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Keenie’s voice trembled slightly with relief as she replied, “Michael! No, not at all. I was just— I mean, it’s good to hear from you.”

Michael’s tone softened, and he quickly added, “I’m sorry for being so abrupt last time and for not communicating with you these past few days. I’ve been extremely busy with pressing matters.”

Keenie felt a surge of happiness at hearing Michael’s apology, though a trace of lingering hurt remained. She forced a smile and said, “It’s fine, Michael. I understand.”

Michael continued, his voice taking on a more urgent tone. “Look, I need you to deliver a message with the utmost urgency. Raphael is not currently in Heaven, so I need you to go to Earth and find him. Tell him he needs to return to Heaven as soon as possible, or to let me know when he will be back.”

Keenie could hear the desperation in Michael’s voice, but she chose not to comment on it. Instead, she nodded, though Michael couldn’t see her. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

“Thank you, Keenie,” Michael said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “You’re the best.”

As Michael hung up, a radiant smile spread across Keenie’s face. Her spirits soared, renewed by the unexpected call. She quickly opened the door to find Cletus and Deerie still waiting, their expressions a mix of annoyance and concern.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got work to do,” Keenie announced with newfound energy. “You two should go ahead without me.”

Cletus and Deerie exchanged bewildered glances, but Keenie’s determination was clear.

With a final wave, she straightened her dress and flew into the sky, leaving a flustered Cletus and Deerie behind. Her heart raced with hope as she soared towards Earth, ready to fulfill her new task and rekindle the spark of her role as Michael’s messenger. The vibrant world of Cherub Town slowly faded behind her, replaced by the promise of action and the chance to bask in Michael’s presence again. 

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

As the shadows deepened and the fiery glow of Hell cast long, flickering shadows across the landscape, Zestial approached Carmilla's residence. The evening air, tinged with the ambient heat of the infernal realms, seemed to hold its breath as he made his way through the darkened streets. The evening had cast long shadows across the cobbled streets, and the warmth of the house glowed invitingly through its windows. Zestial's imposing figure stood out starkly against the darkening landscape.

He knocked gently on the door, his knuckles rapping against the old wood with a rhythmic, deliberate cadence. Moments later, the door creaked open, and Odette stood in the threshold. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Zestial, a mixture of surprise and happiness dancing across her features.

"Good evening, Zestial," Odette greeted, her voice tinged with a polite but noticeable excitement. "We’re glad you decided to join us for the evening. Mother and Clara will be thrilled to see you."

Zestial smiled, his gaze warm and appreciative. “Likewise Odette, I am truly glad to be here. ’Tis always a pleasure to spend time with thy family.”

She called out across the hallway, her voice echoing with the promise of an evening gathering. "Mother! Zestial is here!"

Odette swung the door wide, the soft, warm glow from within spilled out, casting a welcoming light across the threshold and Zestial stepped inside. Odette’s eyes sparkled with anticipation as she closed the door behind him, the subtle click of the latch sealing the evening’s promise. 

The soft murmur of voices and the clinking of dinnerware from deeper within the house grew louder, hinting at the lively scene awaiting Zestial.

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

Thanks for reading!

Story is available on AO3

Chapter Eighteen: Misunderstanding

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 10

I had…a very unusual dream last night. No. That’s not quite right. I mean, it is. It was very much a dream. But I think in a way it was also real. The other three shared this unusual dream, and Shelalu also noted we all seemed restless in the night. Neither Shelalu nor Nualia had the dream.

In the dream, I was pulled from my sleeping arrangements by the web of a giant spider, which dragged me up into the sky. Instead of a web to ensnare me at the top, I found myself stepping out into somewhere bright and loud and impossible to wrap my head around. Everything was gold or had flashing lights. There were other people at what appeared to be various gambling games, but none seemed to draw my eye at the time—except for a large man made of stone, an aptly named Stone Giant. However, whatever business I had in this dream, it was not with him.

I arrived at this gambling hall with the other three, and although we went our separate ways to look around this unusual place, we all found ourselves meeting again at a large table, set up for playing cards. There was a man there. I couldn’t seem to bring myself to meet his eyes, but I saw his hands. There were golden hooked rings on them. I feel like I’d seen those rings somewhere before—somewhere recently—but I’ve been unable to determine where I’d seen them. I certainly didn’t mention them in my journal. I checked.

The man wanted to play cards with us, to get to know us. He said something about the way a person gambles showing so much about them. He dealt us each a Poker hand. I had a straight flush, so I felt quite confident, and chose to stay in. Krysa and Nanel did the same.

When we revealed our hands, Krysa also had a flush, while Nanel had three of a kind. The man said something to Nanel about how he can’t win if his partner is cheating. Then he produced another hand of cards which was apparently meant to represent Donyoku’s hand. It was all jokers.

Finally, the man revealed his own hand. A royal flush.

The man told us that we would meet like this again, twice more. Then the strange dreamscape faded away, and I awoke the next morning.

While we were preparing to return to the ruins, Nanel said he wanted to come clean about something. He explained that he hadn’t been entirely straightforward with us about what Donyoku is. Nanel had originally claimed Donyoku was his god. However now he revealed the truth—Donyoku was a parasitic plant, using Nanel as his host. Nanel showed us the vines growing through his flesh, and even manifested a second head made entirely of vines for Donyoku to speak to us through directly.

Donyoku claimed he only had Nanel’s best interests at heart. That he was here to protect him. That he cared for him. That this relationship was symbiotic, not parasitic.

I am…not sure I believe him. I was already feeling wary of him when I thought he was some manifestation of a celestial being. Knowing he is a parasite, protecting Nanel out of necessity for his own existence, does not help me feel generous towards him. Nanel trusts him wholeheartedly, however. I asked some questions to clarify my understanding of their relationship and what Donyoku is, and I felt like Donyoku was dripping with manipulation the entire time. But Nanel is too close to notice—quite literally, unfortunately.

I was not the only one who felt this way. Krysa was clearly guarded and slightly aggressive towards the plant creature, while Tabot was outright hostile. Although we all eventually agreed to continue working together even knowing this new information, it was clear that there was tension under the surface. But for now, Donyoku had promised he was trying to do better about not hurting his own allies, and I don’t think any of us wanted to alienate Nanel by pushing the argument any farther.

Nanel will have to see for himself that Donyoku doesn’t have his best interests at heart. Until then, there is no chance he will be convinced. Some things people just have to realize on their own, as painful as it is to see this and feel like he needs to be separated from this creature for his own good (and likely his own health), and wanting to help push him in the right direction. That would end poorly, I am certain.

So, once all our morning preparations were complete, we made our way back to the Thessalonian ruins. It was somehow more harrowing than Nualia, a demonic bugbear, and a greater bargheist combined.

What awaited us in the vault were Shadows. Horrible undead wraiths that could draw out your very lifeforce with but a touch.

They appeared all around the room—still close enough together for Krysa to light them up, but too far for me to do the same with my explosives. My sword was ineffective against them, as well, as it passed right through them doing minimal actual damage.

Tabot, on the other hand, proved exceptionally adept in this fight. He was able to channel positive energy to burn away the negative energy holding the spirits together, and by channeling his holy power into his blade he made it able to cut through spirits as a sword normally cuts through flesh.

We found a secret passage after the shadows were cleared away. It led even further down below the ruins. To a small underground bay. There was an enormous golden helmet in the middle of the water, looking for all the world like some giant warrior had fallen in battle and decayed to nothing but dust, leaving only their helm to mark where they had passed.

More likely, it was just decorative.

Far more intriguing was the wall art. It was a fresco of a glittering golden city nestled amongst mountains. Given the context of the rest of the ruins, I theorized that this was a depiction of the legendary city of Xin’Shalast, which is said to have been a Thassalonian city made entirely of gold. No one has ever found evidence of such a city. No ruins like these. But Varisia is a big place. Maybe it is out there somewhere. It would certainly be a historical marvel.

While I was admiring the wall art, the giant helmet sprang to life. Well, more precisely, the creature beneath it sprang from hiding. The giant golden helmet was being used as a shell for an equally giant crab.

We dispatched the crab, and the others began discussing how we could get the helmet out, so we could sell it. I couldn’t deny that so much gold would be worth a small fortune. But I dismissed myself from the conversation when the others decided the best course of action would be to swim beneath it, using the helmet to trap a bubble of air above them so they could breath as they maneuvered it in the water. I am less than fond of swimming, especially in an ocean we’ve already seen houses bunyips, giant crabs, and all manner of nasty aquatic beasts. So while the others swam their find out, I took the long way back, up the stairs and back through the ruins.

Once we reconvened with Shelalu and Nualia, we made our preparations to head back to Sandpoint. And figured out our plan for what to do about secreting Nualia into town.

The sun was setting as we made it to the outskirts of town. We had two ideas of where to leave Nualia—Nanel’s place or The Rusty Dragon. Nanel’s home would be easier, but he talked about it like it was just a hole in the ground somewhere rather than a real house.

And to be perfectly honest, when we took her there initially, that description is not entirely far off. It was small, and kind of damp and musty. We decided not to leave Nualia there for long, just for long enough for us to talk to Ameiko and get her approval to hide Nualia there.

Seeing as Nualia was a big part of what got both her father and brother killed…I was admittedly worried about how she would take the request.

Still, we returned to the Rusty Dragon to speak with her. She was skeptical at first, of course. But we explained everything, including that she’d been manipulated by the literal goddess of monsters, and when she chose to act in a way antithetical to Lamashtu, she lost her arm as the price. So she was very clearly in a state where she’s open to working on doing better, and she is very much not in the state to kill anyone or lead another goblin raid, or what-have-you.

Ameiko agreed, on the condition that if Nualia did anything to harm anyone, she would kill the woman herself. We agreed that those were acceptable terms—Ameiko isn’t the sort of person to abuse it to take revenge on Nualia. She’ll probably just have her scrub dishes and wait tables as her early penance. Some regular work would probably do her good.

The other thing Ameiko asked of us was that we provide some kind of distraction so no one would see her enter the tavern. We brainstormed, and Tabot floated the idea of doing a live performance. Specifically, Tabot wanted to do a stand up comedy act.

Tabot does not know the first thing about stand up comedy. This was a recipe for disaster. Which actually meant it was the perfect distraction. We all agreed. Nanel said he would stay behind and keep an eye on things incase anything went wrong, while Krysa and I would return to Nanel’s home and retrieve Nualia. I also got her a inconspicuous travelling cloak, so that she could throw a hood up and obscure her face a bit. It had been years since she was last in Sandpoint, but her features are rather…conspicuous.

It's interesting, I’d never met an aasimar besides Morri. What is interesting is how their features have a sort of similarity but they also look wholly different. Nualia is beautiful, with long white hair, but completely white eyes that seem to have a bit of a glow to them. Morri is Morri. You couldn’t mistake her for human, with her almost unnaturally perfect face and golden eyes that seem like they hold the sun. I suppose it’s always struck me as a bit novel, how they look so incredibly human but also so incredibly not. I am obviously not human, being a catfolk, there is virtually no overlap. Morri and Nualia, though. The differences are so slight that I’m surprised I would even see them, and yet they are somehow both subtle and obvious.

I am so glad that Morri never went through the things Nualia did. I…cannot imagine. All that pressure on a little girl. The way she was othered. And then all that venom at the sort of mistake so many other teens make. She wasn’t allowed to make mistakes, to have bad judgement, or to be in any way a regular child or teen. People saw her as a symbol instead of as a person. And symbols don’t have feelings, don’t get angry or sad, don’t fight back.

It is no wonder things turned out the way they did.

Anyways…where was I? My mind wandered a bit. Right. Getting Nualia into the Rusty Dragon.

So Krysa and I went and retrieved Nualia, and snuck her in through the back entrance. I didn’t get the pleasure of seeing Tabot’s performance, but I could hear the crowd heckling him as we took Nualia upstairs.

And then a bar fight broke out.

It would seem Tabot’s act was so bad it drove the tipsy patrons to violence. Not against him, thank goodness. But it sounded like a good few people were thrown out of the Rusty Dragon.

I am now safely in my own room of the inn. I plan on sleeping soon. But…I am hesitant. What was that dream last night, really? Nualia had said a stone man had sent her instructions in her dreams. Could the stone giant I saw in that gambling hall be the one who’d ordered my house burnt down? What will happen if we continue indulging this mysterious card dealer? He seems to be expecting us to meet again, which I assume means more strange dreams. I wonder if I should just throw the amulet with that Thassalonian rune into the ocean.

But it is my only lead. I can’t discard it until I understand where these dreams are coming from, and who is it that has it out for me.

[sundaypenacony]

⋆｡°★ [4] Thoughts about the new leaks

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ WARNING: This post will talk about a lot of story leaks and character leaks in general. This post will talk about an analysis I did before which mentions a religious cult named "The Family" by David Brandt Berg which is known for SA but besides that, it is also known for, abuse, shunning, religious discrimination, conversion therapy, ritual abuse, child abuse, etc.

Credit to StepLeaker for the leaks.

*Evily rubs hands together* It's finally time for Penguin to start putting his thoughts down again about the new leaks we got...

I put all the leaks I want to talk about in a document and uhm... it's a lot. So sit back, get some water and enjoy reading!

⋆｡°★ Sunday's character description

⋆｡°★ Sunday's HD headshot

(Like the criminal he is- /j)

Now that we can see his design clearer again let's look at what we got!

Well, we can now much clearer see the amount of crosses his design has but also a couple of words that are added in the design. Some of the crosses kept reminding me of the Celtic cross, but I believe these crosses are not any specific crosses and don't really hold a specific meaning to Sunday in particular (I came on this conclusion after searching for 30 minutes on the Internet what kind of connection they could have to Sunday- sob).

In Christian Art, however, the sword is often depicted as being held by the Archangel Michael, who is considered to be the chief of the angels and archangels. In Christian angelology, the seraphim are the highest-ranking celestial beings in the hierarchy of angels.

First image: Guido Reni's Archangel Michael Trampling Lucifer, 1636 Second Image: Angelic Council, Orthodox icon of the seven archangels, left to right: Jegudiel, Gabriel, Selaphiel, Michael, Uriel, Raphael, Barachiel. Beneath the mandorla of Christ-Immanuel (God is with us) are representations of Cherubim (blue) and Seraphim (red).

⋆｡°★ Sunday's description

While reading a little I do really wonder why the Oak Family invited Sunday out of everyone to help out with the hypersomnia mutation. He probably worked at a certain type of "Church" looking at his outfit, so he probably already had a good name for himself then.

As seen in the leaks we came to understand that there are six major families that basically rule the Penacony. The first ruler of the Penacony was Hanunu who is Misha's father. Misha is another leaked character who seems to play an important role in the story.

About Misha: The Star Dome Railway recognizes him as a member of the Nameless Guests and promises to find a way to take him on a journey with them one day.

Hanunu died of an illness which made him unable to solve the problem they had. After he died, Sunday was invited by the Oak Family to help find a solution to the hypersomnia mutation crisis that takes place in Penacony. Penacony is divided into multiple Dreamscapes which I will get into more later.

Sunday proposed to use the Stellaron that was being kept by Hananu to create a "wedge" in the Dreamscape which is called a creation of the Enigmate (A path that corresponds with the Aeon Mythus) which would stabilize the local area of the Dreamscape making Penaconians who are affected by the hypersomnia able to travel through the Dreamscape and seek refuge, allowing them to return to their normal sleep cycle in reality.

The six major families started to vote on this proposal which ended up in a 50/50, they tabled at the instigation of Chachakuka about the proposal but decided to move on to another solution for the time being. When the next Amber Era came after the death of Chachakuka, the Oak Family became the new rulers of Penacony. They turned their attention again to the Stellaron, where they I think from what I understand used the idea of Sunday and performed a ceremony supervised by Sunday with Misha (Hanunu's son) by activating the Stellaron and making Misha become the Dreamscape Lord. Which I think explains the reason why Misha has two designs. After this ceremony, the Dreamscape enveloping Penacony became more peaceful. When Misha makes the wish to the Stellaron he shares some of his authority over the Dreamscape with a character named the Watchmaker which explains why he will play such an important role too in the Dreamscape.

Misha used the Stellaron to create a mutation in the dream world which led to the birth of the monster named Watchmaker which needed several Emanators to defeat. Misha took the Stellaron from Dr. Ratio to save his sick grandfather. In the end, Misha gave up his own dreams and stayed in Penacony, becoming a new pillar of the dream world. The mutant dream, which baffled the powerful, came from a child's imagination.

Mihail, another character whose name awfully reminds me a lot of the Archangel Michael, realizes the Penacony is heading for a different kind of nightmare. He tries to seek out power and negotiate with The Family. Which I don't think ended well because Sunday wants the man dead because he sees him as the biggest obstacle to the Family's expansion.

And now up to Sunday's personality... Ah what do I love a double-faced angel <;3 (DF Enstars mentioned?!?! Okay sorry…). Honestly he interests me so much and knowing one thing for sure is that you don't want to get on this man's bad side.

⋆｡°★ Dreams...

I tried to look more into if there's anything about dreams or the Dreamscape in particular in the game already. In this search, I stumbled on a book in Natasha's Clinic that interested me a little named "Dreamland Analysis".

"The patients attribute it to excessive dreaming, most of which were related to stress from work and life."

The book basically talks a lot about people who have trouble sleeping and "deja vu" some people (like I do... A LOT) experience where they dream about things that will happen in the near future and how weird it is and how dreams can be affected and influenced by others.

This is all far-reaching, but let me be a little delusional alright, but I almost feel like this could me a very sneaky way to talk about what is going in Penacony.

⋆｡°★ Story Leaks

Alright well then! There was a huge story leak about the Penacony world which I would like to dive into a little more... but I sadly will have to move this to another part because I almost hit the maximum amount of images...

When this is out I shall edit this post with a link to it!

Here is part 2!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ THANK YOU FOR READING!

[bardic-tales]

The Angel and the Virus : A character deep dive for Bianca Moore, a FWC / FF 7 OC

In myth and fiction alike, the nature of power is rarely pure. For Bianca Moore, a character born of celestial prophecy and forged through supernatural warfare, her abilities are as much a burden as a gift. Nowhere is this duality more apparent than in her forced entanglement with Jenova, the ancient extraterrestrial parasite that left its mark across the universe of Final Fantasy VII.

This essay examines how Jenova’s parasitic influence reshaped Bianca’s powers, identity, and trajectory. By exploring the collision between divine intention and invasive corruption, we uncover a narrative that questions what makes someone powerful.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse, Betrayal, Body horror, Cults, Death, Experimentation, Gore, Loss, Manipulation, Trauma

Jenova’s parasitic legacy was not limited to physical corruption. It was ideological, metaphysical, and psychological. For Bianca Moore, a being of celestial and demonic origin whose essence was already fractured by prophecy and trauma, the presence of Jenova's influence introduced a malignant variable into an already unstable equation. As a result of Shinra’s brutal Project N, where her body and mind were exploited in tandem with Sephiroth’s genetic blueprint, Jenova’s parasitic cells latched onto her unique physiology. But unlike Sephiroth, who was bred with Jenova’s cells from conception, Bianca’s exposure was grafted unnaturally onto a vessel never meant to carry it. This forced integration produced volatile results: powers that fluctuated between divine brilliance and aberrant monstrosity, mirroring Jenova's own contradictory essence.

Bianca’s abilities, already complex due to her celestial and demonic lineage, became increasingly erratic and aggressive. Her healing and radiant magic, once a hallmark of her angelic heritage, began to exhibit strange mutations. Her regeneration became rapid but uncontrolled, energy attacks manifested with a corrosive undertone, and even her three auras exuded a cold, ancient pressure that unsettled allies and enemies alike.

This duality blurred the line between savior and destroyer, marking her as something unnatural: both revered and feared. The parasitic nature of Jenova did not simply enhance Bianca’s power. It rewired the intent behind it. Powers once used for protection now acted on impulse, bending to intrusive whispers that mirrored the voice of her once-beloved Sephiroth.

Over time, Jenova’s influence on Bianca went beyond physical symptoms and seeped into her psychic and emotional landscape. Her prophetic visions — already muddled by visions of Asmodeus and the Abyssal Realm — became muddied with intrusive images of alien stars and ancient cosmic memories that did not belong to her. In their shared dreamscape along with Sephiroth's twisting of her trauma, this fractured her identity further, drawing her toward Sephiroth’s mindset and philosophy. The same seductive madness that pulled him under began to mirror itself in Bianca. But unlike Sephiroth, who embraced Jenova’s influence as divine right, Bianca resisted at first. Her demonic cells refused to be subjugated.

She existed in a space of cognitive dissonance, acutely aware of the foreign parasite threading through her veins but unable to fully reject the abilities it granted her. Her identity became a battleground of divine purpose versus invasive design.

The internal war she fought — against control, against obsession, against transformation — was a mirror of trauma and survival. Jenova’s manipulation of her biology was emblematic of every system that had tried to bend Bianca’s will to its own: Asmodeus, Shinra, and even Sephiroth himself. Her power became the evidence of violation, but also a tool of defiance. By surviving with Jenova’s influence rather than succumbing to it, Bianca became a living contradiction. She was part host, part rebel, and, at the time she thought, wholly herself. Her resistance was an act of agency.

In the end, Jenova's influence didn’t define Bianca, but it undeniably complicated her. Her abilities bore the scars of parasitism but through that struggle, she emerged with a terrifying kind of power: not just supernatural strength but the strength to carry contradictions without losing herself completely. That balance, however fleeting, was what made Bianca both tragic and formidable. The balance between her celestial, demonic, Jenova, and S-cells was a reminder that even the most invasive poison can’t fully consume a soul that refuses to die.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy

[celestiabyss]

[Vtuber Lore: Celesti's Vision Story]

(Author's note: I now officially declare that this is the right time to post my vtuber lore which has been collecting dust for so long! This is inspired by the Hexenzirkel and my friends who taught me the beauty of worldbuilding and OC-making. Thank you so much!)

For most people, Hydro is either a symbol of healing, longevity, fluidity, or purity. For some, it is a defier of time. But for the gifted few, it is a mirror to the skies. 

Celesti was yet another god who had fallen victim to erosion, but in another world, that is. She and two other gods shared a sisterly bond with each other, and together, they shaped the world. Among the three of them, Celesti was responsible for creating the oceans and seas. One day, she noticed that the sky that comes after sunset was nothing but a void, so she blanketed the void with the same glimmer that the oceans and seas have. Said glimmer became the stars, and she gazed at them every night.

But that was ages ago. She and the other two gods had lost most of their power and had long forgotten how to continue shaping their world. They could not even create a dreamscape with the same size as a small room! Celesti wondered, "Why do gods need to figure out everything themselves in creating a world? Will no one ever teach us the ropes?".

While the other two gods tried their own methods of solving this predicament, Celesti sought to learn from other worlds. She thought,  "If I can pinpoint similarities between the space creation magic of different worlds, maybe we'll eventually figure out what to do for our own world!".

But space creation techniques were not the only discoveries Celesti made. She fell in love with all of the stories and histories of the worlds she has observed and been to. Thus, she fell into rabbit hole after rabbit hole, until eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and uncovered something she was oblivious to: she was not the only Celesti in the multiverse, but merely one shard out of three.

For a long time, she has harbored some feelings that were familiar yet did not belong to her. She felt the Stargazer's frustration towards failing to reach the stars. She also sensed the Planeswalker's fake indifference towards drifting from one place to another and serving one master after the other. It was like her other "parallels" were resonating with her despite not meeting them nor existing in the same world as them.

In the conclusion of her travels to Mondstadt, Celesti stood before the remaining elders of the Hexenzirkel. Barbeloth spoke, "Your mind wishes to learn hydromancy from me, but your heart speaks otherwise. Let go of the Stargazer's desires, for they are not yours. Fate will help you find your true flow."

If the Stargazer had been born in Teyvat, she would've studied under Barbeloth. If the Planeswalker had not served the Abyss Princess, Ivanovna would've been her master. Celesti thought that this wasn't the time for the "what if's" of those who came before her, rather, it was time for her to release the desires she has long buried and denied.

She longs to witness every story and the intertwining connections between them all. She wishes to see every parallel and break down the multifaceted nature of this multiverse. To move forward, one must reflect at the past and present. And though solutions for one's unfinished business might seem out of reach, perhaps looking at other perspectives might fill in the gaps.

Celesti took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could hear soft ripples of water from the distance, mimicking a melody similar to the one she heard within the slowing waters of Cecilia Garden and the hidden lair of the Bathysmal Vishaps underneath the Dainichi Mikoshi. Beneath her feet was a still, everlasting lake and above her was an empty, dark blue sky. 

Suddenly, the lake began to shatter into multiple shards similar to those of the Mirror Maiden. The empty sky above her also shattered into shards. Little by little, each shard of the lake was filled by a scene from different stories, while each shard of the sky bore witness to events from different worlds, as well as the perspectives of the Stargazer and the Planeswalker.

Once she was satisfied with the glimpses of the fiction below and the reality above, Celesti opened her eyes. Some of the remains of the Hydro power she has suppressed for so long coalesced into a blue orb of light. As a god, she had no need for a Vision, but she fashioned the orb of light into a Hydro Vision anyway. This was not only for blending in with the crowd, but also as a reminder of this day, the day wherein she decided how her Hydro power will manifest once more, and how she will use this to reshape the waters and night skies of the world she has left behind.

"Well then, Beholder," Barbeloth asked with a proud smile. "Are you ready to take up the mantle of Andersdotter?"

[lamnhuhoa2023]

Soothing Ethereal Whispers: Enchanting Songs of the Nymphs

Nina had always felt different, as if the world around her held secrets just waiting to be revealed. It wasn't until she accidentally awakened her spirit through a chance encounter with meditation that everything changed. What began as a simple exercise in transformed mindfulness into a profound journey into the depths of her own consciousness.

After months of diligent practice, she discovered the ability to recall her dreams with astonishing clarity. Each night, as she drifted into sleep, she entered a world where time flowed differently—a realm known as the Ethereal Kingdom. Here, the days felt like weeks, and every moment was rich with learning and discovery.

In this magical realm, Nina explores landscapes bathed in soft twilight, where the air was thick with the gentle whispers of nymphs. These celestial beings sing songs that resonate deeply within her, their melodies weaving through her thoughts and emotions. Each note was a gentle caress, calming her spirit and helping her process the complexities of her waking life.

One night, as Nina ventured into a serene grove, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The nymphs gathered around her, their laughter mingling with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant waterfalls. They beckoned her melody closer, their voices rising in a harmonious that felt like a warm embrace.

Intrigued, Nina stepped forward, eager to immerse herself in their ethereal music. The nymphs began to sing, their voices intertwining in a tapestry of sound. The soothing whispers wrapped around her, drawing her deeper into the moment. She closed her eyes, allowing the melody to wash over her, transporting her to a place of eternal warmth and joy.

The song carried her into a vivid dreamscape where she floated among stars, each twinkling light resonating with a unique frequency. In this space, Nina experiences a profound connection to the universe. The nymphs' whispers guided her through intricate patterns of light, illuminating the interconnectedness of all living beings.

But as the night deepened, a shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. The peaceful sounds faltered, replaced by a dissonance that threatens to disrupt the harmony. Nina felt the shift in energy, a darkness encroaching upon the beauty of the Ethereal Kingdom.

Nina’s heart raced, but she felt an unwavering sense of determination. Drawing upon the musical intelligence she had nurtured through her dreams, she prepared to confront the darkness. The nymphs formed a protective circle around her, their energies intertwining as they prepared for the battle ahead. Nina remembered the deep breathing techniques she had practiced, allowing each inhale to fill her with light and each exhale to release her fear. The soothing whispers of the nymphs surrounded her, guiding her as she faced the encroaching shadows.

As the darkness advanced, Nina moved with grace, employing the Ethereal martial arts techniques she had learned. Each movement flowed like water, a dance that mirrored the rhythm of the nymphs’ melodies. The soothing sounds infused her actions with power, and she felt the connection between each note and her spirit.

The battle unfolded like an intricate symphony, with each sound resonating against the darkness. The nymphs sang louder, their voices rising in a beautiful harmony that pierced through the shadows. Nina joined them, her heart open and her voice united with theirs. Together, they became a force of nature, their soothing ethereal whispers cutting through the darkness.

With one final, resounding note, they unleashed a wave of sound that shattered the shadows, dispersing them like leaves in the wind. The grove erupted into joyous celebration, the nymphs’ laughter ringing out like a sweet symphony. Nina stood at the center, breathless but triumphant, surrounded by her celestial friends.

In the aftermath, the nymphs sang a hymn of gratitude, their voices resonating with joy and relief. Nina felt a profound sense of fulfillment wash over her. She had not only protected the Ethereal Kingdom but had also discovered the transformative power of collaboration and the strength that lay within her spirit.

When Nina awoke the next morning, the lessons of her dream lingered in her heart. The soothing ethereal whispers had guided her through challenges and enriched her waking life. Inspired by their melodies, she began to incorporate music into her daily routine. She found solace in the gentle rustle of leaves, the distant hum of life, and even the quiet moments of her own breath.

In the end, Nina understood that we all possess the power to create our own realities, to embrace the gentle flow of existence, and to find solace in the soothing sounds that surround us. Each whisper, each harmonious note, was a reminder that life is a beautiful symphony, waiting to be cherished and celebrated.

[brokendreamscreation]

Despite having glimpsed that his young dreamer child of a Seraph had been whisked to Purgatory did have some leeway when checking in on the dear child, like that glimmer of warmth in a perilous place that give that soft security when trying to calm the young dreamer and how that chime of bells be heard. "I take it misfortune has come again dear child? My word... those grey ones sure seem to like making trouble for thou don't they? Hrm..." Appearing as a mere shroud before Lucid when trailing about as if circling the Seraph only to feel an invisible hand on his head, "Frightful place but... mayhaps your fluttery friend from before can offer some comfort in the darkness here, also... have another gift from me..." shimmering light be swirling about Lucid's hands before a pendant formed and showing such a blue gem with dreamy like aura to it.

"Be it in dreams or the waking world, may that pendant be a guide for thou as be your fluttery companion. I wish to take you out of this place but alas... although I will watch over you no matter where you go, child of Dreams. Tread carefully sweet son, may stardust trails be the way out." Fading away but offering a welcoming head pat when he left Lucid but like he spoken, watchful eyes be there to see that he be alright when in Purgatory right now. (Big G/Father from @kingdomofhell)

The moment the familiar presence makes itself known, Lucid snaps his face skyward. “Father! You have come for me? Oh blessings and good tidings, thank you thank you!” He watches with shining eyes of hope and awe as the shroud circles him, remaining humble and on his knees in the ashen sands. They were cold, gritty, scratching at his porcelain skin as they trying to bury beneath into the pores. This whole place put fear into his very soul, his halo ringing in high pitch with anxiety.

To Lucid’s dismay, God informs him that even He cannot remove the seraph from Purgatory. Perhaps this is a test? But the Holy Father is kind to not abandon him without providing proper tools. When asked of his blue butterfly companion, Lucid summons the celestial bug, its wings casting a soft glow that pushes back some of the cold darkness. When gifted the precious pendant, Lucid slips its chain around his neck, slender fingers gently smoothing over the blessed stone.

With this, his butterfly companion, and knowing that his Father is watching over him, the Angel of Dreams & Illusions finds his fear dampened and rejuvenated with hope. “Thank you Father for this gift and guidance. I shall tread carefully through this place and seek the light.”

With God no longer within physical proximity, Lucid turns his gaze to the butterfly. Each wingbeat castes small glittering trails of stardust, hovering impatiently for the angel to rise. “Stardust trails…Like the dreamscape.” In his own private plane where the Angel of Dreams crafts his crystalline orbs and walks among the unconscious thoughts connected by astral lines, Lucid leaves paths for himself to know where he has previously been and the nightmare areas to avoid.

Is Purgatory by chance connected to his dreamscape somewhere? He just has not discovered it yet! With renewed determination, Lucid opens his wings and rises to his feet upon the cold, dark sands. Wordlessly, he begins to follow his butterfly companion who has already darted ahead, leaving temporary stardust trails. The seraph prays he is correct in this logic and grips tightly to his Faith.

There is a way to leave, but how..?