#yet another plant thing i learned in class that frightens me when i think about it

[botanyshitposts]

hey !! by any chance do you know if philodendron are C3, C4 or CAM plants?? i'm writing a paper and i literally can't find any good sources. if you know any good writing on philodendrons pls can you send it my way? thank u

hmmm….i’m going to guess C3, just out of the process of elimination. C4 has evolved independently over 40 times if i remember correctly, but a large percentage of that diversity is grasses evolved for wide prairies and grasslands where it’s hot and sunny as hell. CAM is generally in succulents and desert plants focusing on conserving water (unless you’re isoetes or a few other aquatic plants, in which case you’re doing this process because CO2 in the surrounding water is most readily available at night and burns off during the day, so there’s no real point in keeping your stomates open). overall, to be fair i don’t know much about philodendrons, but after a brief google search they seem to be shade plants, which means that just by speculation they would probably be fine with just C3 (not in an overly hot + humid + sunny environment and not aquatic or conserving water). 

fun fact, all that being said, if you can’t find any papers about it, it’s very possible that nobody’s like, actually asked that question and then gone in to see what kind of photosynthesis they’re actually doing. in plant anatomy the most well-studied plants are the ones that can be used for human stuff, so crops and shit, which means that other plants just kind of….get ignored, so we like, straight up don’t have basic data for a WIDE variety of stuff like that. even house plants might only have stuff initially describing the species and providing industry-related breeding info. what are the anatomical details of the non-problematic-or-monetarily-exploitable plants in your backyard beyond ‘this is a grass, grasses usually grow x way’ or ‘this is a vine, vines usually have x kinds of tissues in cross section’? we just dont know its a mystery

[alluringjae]

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome​ (dm me if you want to be added) 

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

 To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

 Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

 Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

 (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

 Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

 A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down.  Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

 I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

 Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

[closedafterdark]

would you be willing to write a haseul mommy one shot? also looking forward to any jinsoul or kim lip works you put out in the future !

“Oppa, what are these…?”

You have just returned from the bathroom, having done a deep clean as today was your only day off. Having been together for several months already, your girlfriend was able to enter your apartment due to you giving her the entrance passcode. Although you knew she would be arriving shortly, you were not aware she was already inside your bedroom.

“Are these… photoshopped pictures of me in cosplay outfits?”

“I, uh…”

“One of them says “An outfit I want to buy for Jinsoul” on the back of it.” She said, crossing her arms as she gave you a deadly stare.

“I wasn’t talking about you when I wrote that.” you replied.

“Oh? So there’s another Jinsoul you know? That just so happens to be your girlfriend as well?”

“When did you get here?” you asked, trying to divert the conversation.

“20 minutes ago. I wanted to make us dinner- hey, don’t change the subject! So you want me wearing these in the bedroom, huh?” Jinsoul asked, raising her hand to go through the photos. You watched her loose sleeve roll down, revealing colorful ink in various patterns and words on her arm.

“What is this?” you asked, softly holding onto her wrist and pushing back her sleeve further. Jinsoul’s eyes widened, mentally cursing herself for forgetting to wear thicker outerwear.

“It’s nothing, it’s just-”

“When did you get these tattoos? There’s so many of them!” you said, your voice projecting the slowly building frustration.

“Oppa, I…”

“You know oppa isn’t a fan of tattoos! And you got them anyway! What happened to you constantly saying your body is oppa’s. Did you lie just so I could fuck you?”

“No, oppa. It’s a misunderstanding. I-”

“This won’t do. Oppa needs to punish you.” you said, pushing Jinsoul onto her knees as she positions herself between your legs. She places both of her hands on your thighs and slowly rubs them back and forth. Looking up at you and awaiting your next command, you pat the top of her head softly.

“So you do know how to listen to oppa. Good.”

“Oppa, I didn’t mean to disobey you when getting them. I just wanted to-”

“Enough. Since it seems every single word that comes out of your mouth is pure filthy lies, I think it’s time I cleaned it properly.”

Jinsoul’s submissive nature began to manifest itself as you thought about the ways you wanted to punish her. You thought about edging her, overstimulating her to the point of no return. And while you certainly would have enjoyed it, Jinsoul’s repeated rubbing of your thighs caused the ever growing erection in your pants to form an uncomfortable hardness.

“Take off my pants and suck my cock.” you said bluntly.

Jinsoul simply nodded. She was equal parts frightened and aroused. She was a bit of a clumsy girl, often relying on you to help with tasks around the house and wanting to cut as many corners as possible whenever doing chores. The bedroom was no different. Jinsoul loved being on the bottom, allowing you to ravage her body in order to satisfy yours and her carnal desires.

You watched as she brought her slim hands to your belt buckle and quickly undid the latch. Removing it along with your pants in one swift motion, Jinsoul squeezed your cock through your cotton boxers before freeing you of them as well. She stared wide-eyed at your cock, licking her lips in anticipation of the upcoming tasty treat.

Jinsoul parts her lips and takes you into her mouth. You moaned as you feel the warmth of it and the tight grip of her very soft lips surround your cock. She swirls her tongue around your tip and top part of your cock. Taking one hand from your thighs and cupping your balls, she bounces them up and down her hand to feel just how heavy they are for her. You let out a satisfied moan, watching her give you a meticulous, yet very messy blowjob. She is showering your cock with a copious amount of saliva as she gives every inch of you her undivided attention. Once she feels you are properly prepared, Jinsoul grabs onto your thighs and begins to deepthroat your cock. Your head tilts back as you release another long and satisfied moan.

“Fuck, baby… that feels amazing.”

Jinsoul’s oral skills were not the greatest in the beginning. It was understandable, her inexperience coupled with naivete were things you learned about her right away as she told you she hadn’t had the chance to be intimate with too many men. She mostly learned from watching adult videos or what her older friends would tell her about the best ways to pleasure a guy.

Bringing your head back down from the wonderful bliss that was Jinsoul’s mouth wrapped around your cock, you looked down and appreciated the fine work she was doing. Her lustful gaze stared back, as she continued taking more of you inside her saliva-filled mouth. You felt your tip repeatedly striking the back of her throat, causing her to gag slightly. You were enamoured by the symphonic like sounds of Jinsoul sloppily feasting on your cock. She began bobbing her head up and down with an ever increasing speed. Her beautiful eyes have now turned into bright pools of lust.

“Oppa’s little slut likes cleaning her mouth with cock doesn’t she? That’s a good girl.” you said.

Your words excite Jinsoul, causing her eyes to form crescents as she increases her speed and continues deepthroating your cock. You closed your eyes once more to enjoy the sounds of her gagging on your shaft as it repeatedly became lodged into the back of her moist cavern. And although you certainly enjoy it, you remembered you wanted to punish her for lying to you. Jinsoul bobs her head all the way down to your base before releasing you with a loud pop, spit drooling down her mouth and coating her chin.

As she begins to lower her head into your crotch and parts her lips open once more, you hold onto both sides of her head. Looking up at you, she sees a cold expression staring back at her. Jinsoul has only ever seen this look from you once, and it wasn’t in the bedroom. You were frustrated at her one evening when she tripped on air and accidentally hit the table, causing a glass to drop and accidentally break. It was a glass cup you and four friends made together during a class in the community center one summer before you all went your separate ways.

With your hands still caressing the back of her head, your cock remained in her mouth.

“Hands raised the entire time. This ends if you move them in any way, got that?” you said, as she does her best to nod and removes her hands from your thighs. Jinsoul gets into a more comfortable position by sitting down. Now came the part you originally planned.

There was no acknowledgement of her feelings from your very first thrust. You held onto both sides of her head, slamming your cock into the back of Jinsoul’s mouth with force. Each gag caused tears to spill out of her eyes, as she is delighted at the liberal use of her mouth for your pleasure. You watched as inch by inch of your hard cock disappeared inside. Jinsoul’s tight grip on your cock began to slightly weaken, causing saliva to leak out and coat your balls. This only made you want to fuck her mouth harder. You weren’t sure how long you fucked her face, it may have only been several minutes, but after one final deep thrust and holding her head on your base until she moaned, you allowed your drenched cock to slide out of her mouth.

“You liked oppa fucking your mouth, didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes.” she moaned. “I love when oppa fucks my mouth senseless. Use me however you want.”

“Get on the bed.” you replied, giving her butt a harsh slap.

She removes her clothing quickly before she feels herself being pushed down onto the mattress. You plant kisses on her beautiful back, starting a trail that leads to her ass. Giving each cheek a tender kiss, you stand up once more and deliver two more hard slaps, causing Jinsoul to moan loudly.

Although you desperately wanted to eat her out, you saw Jinsoul shaking her cute butt at you, as if inviting you to fuck her hard. Never one to turn down such a request, you guide your tip against the lips of her pussy. Jinsoul breathes heavily as you tease her, rubbing your tip up and down and pressing it softly against her damp pussy. When your cock finally parts her beautiful lips and tight walls, both of you moan loudly as you finally enter her.

Despite feeling the suffocating tightness of Jinsoul’s pussy, it will never get old for you. Having been lubricated by facefucking her, you had no problems entering her as you felt her be drenched. Her moans continue long after you have entered her. You grab one of her arms with one hand and her long, silky black hair with the other. Pulling her up to your chest, she cries out in slight pain but mainly surprise. You blow hot breath into her ear, causing the baby hairs on her body to raise up. Still holding onto her hair, you let go of her arm as you give her ass another harsh slap.

“Fuck… oppa!” Jinsoul screamed.

“Did I say you could say my name?” you said, giving her another slap. Jinsoul’s erotic moans filled the room as you continued thrusting into her while slapping her ass. Although she could feel the pain, the pleasure overtook her body.

“I-I’m sorry…” she moaned.

Jinsoul whimpered as her body fell back onto the mattress. Your cock continued to be coated with her juices, letting you know she was aroused by your aggressiveness towards her. As you continued thrusting in and out of her tight pussy, her erotic moans only grew in volume.

Your hand moved from her ass and went to the back of her neck, as you gave her harsh and deep thrusts. You loved how tight Jinsoul was, no matter how many times she wanted to have sex with you. Your lust combined with your disappointment in her getting tattoos when she told you she wouldn’t caused you to fuck Jinsoul at a fast pace. The tight grip her pussy had on your cock was very satisfying, allowing you to release your utmost inhibitions.

“Fuck… oppa! Harder! Punish me harder!” Jinsoul screamed in delight.

Her screams caused you to continue fucking her hard, as she buries her face into the mattress and bites down hard on the soft bed sheets. It is a futile attempt to control her moans and suppress the building tension within her. As your harsh thrusts continue, Jinsoul’s energy is rapidly depleting. Although you were used to her body shaking violently, you can tell she feels on fire, and her moans are ache filled as she begs for the pressure to be released.

“Harder, oppa! Harder! I’m so close!” she said, the feeling of being fucked along with you being angry at her heightened the experience for the both of you. She can feel herself at the tipping point, ready to release and experience such an intense pleasurable orgasm. Seconds away from achieving bliss, you suddenly stopped. Retreating from her tight grip on your cock, Jinsoul whines in confusing and annoyance as you remove your cock from her body.

“Oppa, I was so close! Why did you fucking stop!” she screamed.

“Did you just fucking yell at your oppa?” you said in an ice cold tone.

“Oppa, I… I’m sorry.” she said, realizing what came out of her mouth.

“Now I really will fuck you senseless.” you said. Holding onto her hips, you entered her tight pussy once more. Jinsoul releases a half moan, half satisfied hum as you drive yourself deeper and deeper inside her. The pressure from earlier begins to build up inside your body. Within minutes your slow and sensual thrusts have become rampant and aggressive pounding, as neither you or Jinsoul can form any coherent thoughts or words. Both of you cycle through squeezing your eyes shut, your mouths opening and your moans satisfying each other’s ears as you create a harmonic and erotic ecstasy.

Each thrust you deliver into her heavenly tightness brings you all the more closer to your impending orgasm. And despite your best efforts to prolong it, Jinsoul’s tight body along with the satisfying feeling her pussy provides you causes you to be unable to resist any longer. Giving her a series of harsh and powerful thrusts, your bodies slam together as you push every single inch of your cock inside her.

“Fuck… Jinsoul!” In one satisfied and loud moan, you finally released your load inside her pussy. Your bodies shake as you release your pent up anger and about a week’s worth of cum. Each throb of your cock sends thick, hot cum into her tight pussy. Jinsoul’s eyes widened in satisfaction as she moans alongside you. Spurt after spurt of your semen is deposited inside her. When Jinsoul feels you have given her everything you have stored up, the both of you collapse on the bed.

The both of you laid down, staring at the ceiling as you struggled to catch your breaths. You feel Jinsoul snuggle underneath your arm and against your body, her hand drawing circles on your chest as the both of you give each other tender and satisfied kisses. You can only smile as you wrap your arms around Jinsoul. Giving a kiss on her forehead, you feel her wrap her own arms around you.

“Oppa… that was amazing.” she said.

“Fuck, it really was.” you said. “Might be in the top three.”

“Thank you, oppa.” she said, as she gives you another kiss. The both of you embrace one another and revel in the warmth of each other’s bodies. You refused to let each other go as you continued kissing each other.

“Oppa…” Jinsoul said in between a kiss.

“What is it?”

“I… didn’t really get tattoos. They’re temporary, but last longer than most. They’ll fade away in a few days. I just wanted you to fuck me rough.”

[catte-bard]

Those Halcyon Days Ch. 1

MAJOR SHB SPOILERS AND 5.3 SPOILERS

First chapter of my big Amaurot writing project done! Essentially, just a super indulgent fic about my Azem. Leading up to her defection from the Convocation and the eventual sundering of the world. I will try my best to keep it updated periodically.  

@ffxiv-writers​

AO3 Link

“You are in trouble, dear Azem.”

Persephone looked up from her work at her guest. Then glanced at the wall chronometer. “Good afternoon, Halmarut.” 

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” The man placed his hands on his hips. “You missed this morning’s assembly.”

Though she caught sight of the little smile on his lips. He feigned disapproval but he did not come here to scold. Her old mentor tried to be the formal and serious member of the Convocation that he was expected to be. But the man could never hide the soft spot he had for her.

“I’m sure the Convocation will not fall apart because of this absence.” Persephone answered back, turning her attention back to her work. She plucked a quill from its inkwell to quickly scribe something down in an opened notebook. “Asides, I’ve just returned from my travels and am weary from them. If I am to subject my mind to another one of Lahabrea’s long-winded speeches I would rather do so with a well-rested one.”

“Must you antagonize the man so much?” Halamurt shook his head. “You know he called for you to be censured for missing this meeting.”

And Persephone rolled her eyes. “Yet you wonder why I must antagonize him.”

Her and the Speaker never got along. That wasn’t to say they hated each other, nay for there have been some times where they could be kind and respectful to each other. But they simply clashed with each other more than the other Convocation members. Halmarut once told her that was because the two of them were so alike. However, offended by the claim, she dismissed it.

The man sighed as he walked up to her desk. Curious of what she was working on and being unabashedly nosy about it. “The Convocation awaited what you had to report from your travels. Six moons—that’s the longest you have ever been away from Amaurot. We were all worried and curious to know what kept you away for so long. Usually your expeditions are half that time.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a frown hidden behind her mask. “I’ve been busy.”

Her response was vague and she should have known better to use such with Halmarut. It only made the man pry even more. 

Halmarut canted his head. “Busy? Have you come across anything unusual?”

The tone in his voice implied that her response might mean something depending on how she answered. She looked up at him. “A few rogue concepts...” She carefully said. “Odd things but nothing to worry about I’m sure. Perhaps, something created by a few rambunctious younglings who were too ashamed to tell anyone about. They didn’t give me too much trouble if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That was a fib.

Much had occurred during her travels that made her think. Yes indeed she came across many rogue concepts—though more than usual. She had not wanted to share the concern with Halmarut, not wanting to frighten him, but part of her even wondered if it were people actually creating such things.

With such concepts, usually the perpetrator was some youngster and their friends getting carried away with creation magic. Or someone who had fallen too deep in their cups. 

But something had been different about these. They had been too twisted and grotesque looking to have been born from the mind of someone. Unless that person were simply twisted themselves? Nonetheless the beings she faced were less like concepts and more like beings born straight from someones nightmares. 

It left her feeling anxious and restless. 

But until she knew for sure what was going on, she did not want to worry the Convocation or the public. Later on she would discuss it in private with the Emissary. See what his opinion on the matter was and if it should be brought forth at the next assembly.

Halmarut was quiet as he puzzled over her words. Seeming to internally debate something. His fingers drummed against the stop of her desk—a nervous tick of his he did when something was nagging at his mind. Something on his tongue he wanted to say but held back.

Persephone was a bit curious herself now. Wondering if something had occurred in her absence. “Master Halmarut?” She called, pulling him from his thoughts.

So lost in thought was he that he startled at the sound of his voice. 

“Is everything well?” She asked.

“Ah.” The man cleared his throat. “Just a...small concern. But nothing you need fret about right now; it still merits investigation. That aside, you should have brought your matter forth to the Convocation or at least the Bureau—you know what little tolerance there is on rogue concepts.”

His own vagueness surprised her. But she supposed that was fair since she was omitting details as well. 

Persephone shrugged. “I did not think it important to report straight away if I had it handled.” It simply had never been her way, she always sought to deal with certain matters on her own. Much to the Convocation’s exasperation no doubt. “The concepts were destroyed as per protocol and no one was injured. I saw no reason to report it right away.

“Though rest assured, the Convocation will be getting the full report of my travails tomorrow.” And she gestured to the paperwork before her. “I am working on that now if that’s what you truly came to pester me about. If you do not wish to scold me again then perhaps you should leave me to it?”

At that Halmarut grunted. “Well initially I had come to ask a favor of you. But if you are so set on shooing me out the door.”

“Go on.” Persephone encouraged with a wave of her hand.

“I was hoping you’d be free tonight to help me with some of my classes at Akadaemia.” He told her. “It’s getting to that part of the year and the students are beginning to have a glazed look in their eyes. A surprise visit from the esteemed Azem might reinvigorate them a bit. I’ll even throw in dinner as payment for asking you to work late after just returning home.”

A glance at the wall chronometer. 

And Persephone supposed she would be done with her work well before Halmarut’s evening classes. So long as none of their other brethren decided to come pester her about other tasks. Though she supposed if she spoke of a prior engagement it might keep their requests at bay.

And asides, she had oft helped Halmarut teach his classes before. She always enjoyed herself. And there was a nice thrilling bit of nostalgia about returning to the lecture halls of Akadaemia.

“I suppose I’ll be able to make it.” She told him.

And Halmarut beamed at her. “Excellent!” He exclaimed. However, he quickly sobered and cleared his throat. “I will be waiting for you. And dear Azem, do try to make the next assembly we call. Myself and Elidibus may have patience with you but the others may not.”

She smiled. “I will try.” Was all that was promised.

With that he bowed his head in farewell and walked towards the door. However, he paused midway. “Ah! Actually there was one last thing, my dear girl.” He called over his shoulder.

Persephone looked up expectantly.

“I do believe Emet-Selch was on the hunt for you earlier.” He told her. “Do be careful when you come across him. He seemed rather upset to learn you had skipped this morning’s meeting.”

It had been another three bells after Halmarut’s visit. And fortunately, Persephone had not had to entertain any more guests. Which left her to finish her long and grueling report about her six month forey. Along with a very sincere sounding apology for her absence at the previous assembly. 

Her fingers ached from writing so much, and halfway through she made a mental note to herself to look into a concept for a quill that wrote by itself. It would certainly make things less tedious. And would lessen the occurrences of wrist cramps.

She even had to remove her mask. For it was starting to feel heavy and stuffy while she worked. It was odd to say but she felt she could work with a clearer head without it on. Being within the private safety of her office, she supposed it was fine as well. 

She stared down at her report in silence. Truth be told, there was much more to her prolonged absence than she had told Halmarut. Much more worrying concerns. 

But she could tell the man had his own pressing matters to worry about if his early comments were anything to go by. It seemed Amaurot had gained some of its own troubles while she was away. She only hoped it wasn’t anything as bad as what she discovered out there.

She read over one of the journal entries she had included in the report.

A shocking amount of plant decay was observed north of the city where the rogue concepts dwelled. An entire forest dead and dying as if disease had swept through it. It’s unlike anything I have seen before. It is natural for plants to wither and rot in nature. But this is to a starling degree. 

It seems less like natural rot and more like a corruption. The native fauna that had once dwelt there had long since fled. And I do not blame them. 

Annona theorized that perhaps the presence of the rogue concepts caused the rot. Their unnatural energies warping their surroundings. I will look into it further after we’ve made sure all the concepts have been destroyed. 

The locals worry about the rot. They are a farming settlement and worry that this rot might spread to their crops. Even made a fuss about cleansing ourselves before setting foot inside the city again whenever we returned from studying out there. 

Whatever it is, it has the people scared. I understand their fear. They work closely with plants, and this isn’t a familiar disease. This is something different. 

Days had been spent in the forest studying the rot. Weeks and months had been spent trying to revive it. And yet despite their efforts, nothing refused to regrow there. It seemed that whatever disease or corruption tainted the area had seeped down into the soil. 

She had begun to hate the place. And never liked venturing there alone to collect samples. A wrongness simply had fallen over it. She didn’t dare say cursed but...

It seemed nothing would grow there again. A troublesome prospect. Which is what brought her back to Amaurot. Unfamiliar with such a situation she thought perhaps Halmarut or the rest of the Convocation might have thoughts to weigh on the matter. 

Many of them were much older and wiser than she was. Perhaps, this was something they knew of? She had brought back a few samples for study just in case.

Deciding that what she had was satisfactory, she stood to gather up her report, however the moment she did so she felt a wave of dizziness overcome her. 

“Steady…” The woman mumbled to herself as she braced her hands against her desk. And the realization that she’d been working hours without break suddenly hit her.

“I’m turning into Elidibus.” Persephone scolded herself. Incredibly ironic since she was the one to often scold him about self-care whenever she discovered her colleague working late into the night.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have much by way of food in her office. Usually, just a few bags of tea. Though there were also those honey cakes she brought back with her from her trip. A rather sweet old man had offered them to her and her companions as a reward for ridding their home of beasts. 

And they were the sweetest and most delectable things she had ever tasted. She could nibble on a few until she had to head over to Akadaemia Anyder. Halmarut had promised her a dinner after all. So it should be enough to keep her hunger at bay until then.

She went looking through her things, managing only to produce one teabag and left pondering over which bag she had packed the cakes in. So engrossed was she in her task that she had not heard someone enter her office until she heard them speak.

“There you are.” Came a very dry greeting.

She startled. Not expecting a visitor and also very aware that they’d caught her without her mask on. Not a terribly heinous thing but still very improper and very embarrassing for someone of her standing to be in such a situation.

However, through her panic she recognized that voice. Her bashfulness fading as she turned to meet the stern figure of Emet-Selch. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest. And though his mask hid his disapproving expression, Persephone could tell his sour mood from the way his lips were pressed together in a firm line. 

“Emet-Selch.” She smiled politely. “What a pleasant surprise.”

His fingers drummed against his arm. “The first day you’re back already you’re causing trouble for yourself.”

“Come to scold me too about missing this morning’s assembly?” She asked and strolled over to him. “What a terrible way to welcome me home.”

Ah he was doing this then.

“You know our assemblies are mandatory for each member.” He continued. “You cannot simply skip them whenever you feel like it.”

“I had important work that needed tending to.” Persephone countered, placing her hands on her hips as she came to stand before him. 

And the man sighed. “Were that the case you should’ve sent word. The Convocation would have proceeded with another topic of discussion or rescheduled. By not doing that you’ve wasted—” 

But he let the words die on his tongue. He knew it mattered little to her. For she was Azem, head-strong and stubborn Azem. Reining her in would be like trying to control the wind. 

The Architect took in her bold, challenging expression and he sighed. “Troublesome. You are so very troublesome all the time.” He shook his head. However, his exasperation soon melted into a gentle smile. “But I suppose you are my troublesome problem, aren’t you?”

A cheeky response was on her tongue, however she had not the chance to speak before the man leaned forward and kissed her. A deep passionate kiss, filled with longing and desire. Speaking all the words he could not. 

Now this was the welcome she was hoping for.

Persephone smiled against his lips, worries forgotten and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Pulling him closer to her. Taking delight in the familiarity of his body, his scent, his warmth. 

His hands knew not what to do with themselves. At first holding her face, then her shoulders, and the wandering down to her waist. Simply enjoying being able to touch and hold her again. 

Eventually, she had to gently push him away, reminding herself that they were still inside the Capitol. And it would not do to have any of their colleagues coming across them being intimate in her office. While there was no actual rule stated that Convocation members could not be romantically involved, best not to test anything. 

Better to show restraint now before they were caught. One of the older members would probably scold them. And how embarrassing would it be to have their relationship dragged out before the Convocation and shamed. 

Persephone laughed lightly, placing a hand against her beloved’s chest to keep him at bay. For he leaned back in for another kiss. “You’re going to get us in trouble.” She warned. Who knew what other unexpected guests she would get today. 

“I cannot help it.” He excused. “I missed you. And I have not gotten to see you all day. You were not at this morning’s assembly.” And he then seemed content to simply hold her with his arms wrapped around her waist.

“And here I thought you would be angry with me.” She smiled, recalling Halmarut’s warning about Emet-Selch’s mood.

“I was certainly not happy to see you skipping an important assembly.” He admitted, wrinkling his nose. “For I thought you had found some sort of trouble again.”

“Do you think I’m that troublesome, Hades?” She feigned offense. 

Hades. 

It felt good to call him that when they were alone. With the Convocation and the public it was always titles—always so formal. To call him by his name felt like a special intimacy reserved just for her. And she missed doing so.

“Indeed I do.” He unapologetically said. “You and Hytholodaeus will drive me to madness one day.”

“It’s good practice for honing your patience most esteemed, Emet-Selch.” She playfully patted his chest and wiggled out his arms.

He was reluctant, but set her free so she could go back over to her desk. 

“You know you did worry me while you were away.” She heard him say, echoing Halmarut’s earlier concern. “It is unlike you to be away for so long.”

“Worried I wouldn’t come back to you? Run off with some handsome, roguish fellow instead?” She teased. And looked over her shoulder, offering him a gentle smile. “Did I not promise you that I would always return to you? And here I am.”

The man never liked her traveling away from home. Especially, since he was not permitted to go with her. His seat requiring him to remain in Amaurot. And so he worried. About the risks she took and the dangers she faced. It didn’t help his worries either that there had been times she’d been met with many close calls. 

And from the way the man pursed his lips, her answer did not satisfy him. “Everything is fine. I just came across a few...peculiarities that merited some extra attention.” She ran her fingers across her neatly stacked report.

 “And am I to be privy to what these…peculiarities were?” 

She felt him hovering behind her. 

“In time.” She reassured. “I wish to bring the matter up with Elidibus first before talking to the Convocation about it. Do you know if he is in his office today?”

“No, I actually saw him leaving as I was on my way here.” Hades told her. 

A surprise as the young Emissary always seemed cooped up in his office. 

Very well...She supposed she could wait until tomorrow to deliver her report to him. As well as a few honey cakes to soothe away any ire she had earned for missing the assembly. 

“You’re scowling.” She heard him say as he came up beside her. He gently took her chin in his hand so she’d look at him. “Worry about this another day. You’ve been working for most of this one. I’ve not seen you in six months, dear Persephone. Let us go home and make up for that lost time.” 

His words were soothing and tempting. Spoken with a warmth he always seemed to reserve for her. A special soft side of the Architect no one else knew existed.

And she smiled, reaching up to place her hand over his. “Unfortunately, my work is not done for today yet.” She gently told him. “I did promise Halmarut I’d help with his classes this evening.”

At that, she saw Hades’ lips draw down in displeasure. “Must you work the first day you return home to me?”

“Oh Hades, it won’t be long. It’s just one class and Halmarut isn’t prone to being long-winded like a certain Speaker we both know.” She leaned into him. “After that I am yours for the rest of the night.”

Asides, Akadaemia had the proper tool she could use to look at the forest samples she had brought back with her. She didn’t have time to study them like she wanted when she was afield. 

A mere grunt. 

She gave him a peck on the lips in appeasement. “I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want.”

“I will hold you told that.” Hades murmured and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up.

Persephone nodded and turned to collect her things. Halmarut would probably be expecting her soon anyway. “I see you back home then?” She said as she placed her mask back on her face. 

“Where I will be waiting for you as always.” Hades bowed his head. “With a very special surprise too as a matter of fact.” 

“Oh?” She raised a brow. 

“Yes,” Her beloved said as he accompanied her to the door, “But unfortunately, you have work to do at Akadaemia Anyder so I’m afraid you will have to wait to see what it is later. Neither will I be offering any hints.”

Oh how very cruel and smug of him! But fair she supposed. And Persephone could not help a laugh.

“Mm I shall be anxious with anticipation all night.” She said. “Oh!” A sudden cry of alarm coming from her just as they were about to leave her office.

“What?” Hades frowned. 

Persephone shot an accusatory stare at him and point at the potted tree by the door. “I thought you said you were watering Daphneae!” 

Daphneae being the pet name she had given to her beloved plant. It had been vibrant and green when she had left. Now it looked withered and dying. She knew Hades was no green thumb but still...

The man shrugged his shoulders at the sorry state of the tree. “I have.” He defended. “I’d even consulted some of Halmarut’s tomes but the thing seemed intent on dying. Perhaps it was just old?”

Persephone looked from him to the dying tree. Hades was not fascinated by botany like she was. But he’d never purposely sabotage her plants—he knew how dear they were to her. And tended to them with the same amount of care as he had for her. 

If he said the plant simply refused to thrive, then perhaps it was true?

“I suppose it’s fine.” She mumbled. Though that wasn’t true. Daphneae had been a gift to her when she had been accepted into the seat of Azem. It was very dear to her. But all plants died eventually, she guessed. “Plants can be replaced.”

How odd though…

No.

She quickly stopped that thought just as it occurred. It was a mere coincidence is all it was. An entire forest rotting in the west had nothing to do with her pitiful little tree dying in her absence. 

Still the sight of those poor withered leaves took her mind back to that dreadful place. So dead. So haunting. She would have to dispose of it later, looking at it would only bring her sadness.

Shaking her head, she looked back up at Hades. “I’ll see you later tonight then?”

He smiled—that special smile he only used for her. And placed a hand against her cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

[insomniacowl]

Neon Genesis Evangelion analysis chapter 12: Eva Unit-03 Secret of Class 2-A

A piece of Shamshel core fragment

 While Shinji and friends were fighting off the angels invading Japan, Evangelion Unit – 03 and Unit – 04 were under construction in Nerv’s American base. The two new units were different from Unit – 02 in two ways. First was the choice of the color, but more importantly, the equipment of the S2 engine. Unit – 03 was meant to be the first model to be built to use the S2 engine. 

Just to refresh, the S2 engine is just a name that humans are using to call the fruit of life that the angels carry in their core. Then it raises the question, “How was it possible for Nerv to have built it in the first place?”

We are told that the S2 engine planted into unit – 04 was made by restoring the shard of Shamshel’s core we see in the early part of episode 5. Yet the implementation fails and Unit – 04, along with the whole of Nevada base disappears in what can be called the “Mini second impact”.

 The moment of destruction

 Due to this unforeseen (?) accident, America immediately transports Unit – 03 to Nerv headquarters in japan. The headquarters is then granted the authorization to conduct an activation test on the unit and they choose Suzuhara Touji as their candidate.

 We shall not delve into the fate of Unit – 03 as I believe there is not much to be said of it as of yet (We will get to the dummy plug later chapters). But let’s talk about the core of unit – 03. As we have seen in the past few chapters, each soul contains the soul of the pilots’ mothers. Therefore, we can make an educated guess that Touji’s mother is inside Unit – 03’s core. 

Then we come to the question of, why are all the pilots in class 2-A of the third Tokyo private academy? One thing that all of these students have in common is that they have been identified as potential Eva pilots by the Marduk institution. In other words, even if it wasn’t Touji, the pilot of Unit – 03 would have been chosen from Class 2-A, and it was Touji who met the required criteria for the selection.

Kaji the Great detective

 Let us quickly cover what the Marduk institution is. On the surface, it is an association created to choose the appropriate candidates to pilot the Evas. But we learn in episode 15 through Kaji that it is made out of 108 non-existent paper companies, showing that such an institution does not exist. In other words, it is just a cover for Nerv to avoid potential problems that arise in their process of choosing the pilots. 

 It suggests that the process of choosing Eva pilots is highly inappropriate at the least and it will cause a social outcry if the method was to be made public knowledge.

Type that worries, and the type that demands

With this in mind, we can ask the question, why did Marduk institution brought all of these children together in this class? To understand this, we need to understand the criteria for becoming an Eva pilot. To move the Evas, the pilot needs to have ridden it on their own accord. But this is not enough to explain the special trait of the students of school 2-A.

 For example, in episode 18, we see Kensuke pleading Misato that he wants to pilot the Eva. Yet even when he showed such desire to do so, he was not considered as a pilot. Rather, it was Touji that was chosen to be the Pilot of Unit – 03. Of course, there is a substantial difference between ‘want to pilot’, and a ‘have to pilot’ (remember that Touji was offered to have his sister in a better hospital if he were to become a pilot), there is definitely a more important reason to why Touji was chosen over anyone else.

 Let us also consider that if they are in the same class at school, then they are all fourteen years old. We could try and the hypothesis that age might be a requirement in the criteria of piloting the Eva. While it may not be needed for them to be exactly fourteen years old, it is around this age that teenagers undergo puberty. 

 Perhaps it is the confusion regarding self-identity during this stage of development that makes it easier for them to share their emotions with the unknown entity that resides inside Eva’s cores.

Our problematic trio

 To add to that point, teenagers are not too childish, but neither do they tend to have the necessary social skills like adults. Think about it for a moment. Neither Shinji, Rei, nor Asuka can be said to have been sociable. It is too apparent in Rei that we can gloss over, Shinji too showed much difficulty in forming close bonds with his peers, and Asuka had a bright and positive demeanor, yet she was plagued with a distorted sense of pride. This kind of mental state likely serves as a positive reinforcement in their desire to pilot the Evas. Returning to Kensuke that we touched on, he can be considered as one of the more social ones among the students of Class 2-A. So was Hikari.

 To such children, they did not need to rely on Eva; rely on ‘a different self’ for a sense of identity

Kensuke is out of consideration due to his sociable nature

Hikari is also out due to her being too normal 

Due to such difference in the key trait (required to pilot the Evas) among the children of class 2-A, we could say that this is also not the only criterion that Marduk institution used to choose these students. If so, my argument to what this criterion is can be answered by considering the Shinji and Asuka's common trait; having their mothers’ souls trapped inside of Eva’s core.  

My argument is that the most important criteria to be selected as the pilot of Evas is not in any of their inherent abilities, but if there is a suitable soul that coincides with the potential pilot. In the settings document of Neon Genesis Evangelion’s story, it explicitly mentions that ‘Inside of Each Eva’s core, it carries the soul of the pilot’s mother.’ (except for Unit – 00 and the mass-produced units. I will talk about them in the following chapters). Therefore, it is likely to be a fact that the minimum required for the activation of Evas is the existence of a corresponding soul of the mother of the pilot in the core, and from here on out, I will talk with this being taken as common knowledge.

This is another point that supports this theory. It can be easy to overlook as just a coincidence, but all of the students we get to know in class 2-A do not have a mother. For Kensuke, we only hear of his father. Hikari lives without her parents, just her sisters. Even Touji only has his younger sister, Father, and his grandparents. All this points to the fact that All of the students in class 2-A do not have their mothers at this point, and we can make an educated guess that they have been sacrificed in creating the spare cores. And their children have been collected using the Marduk institution and are classified under the name of ‘reserve Eva pilot’.

It is a frightening thought, but if we take a moment to think about it, it helps us answer other questions. Why would these children, whose families are not too well off living in the danger zone of Tokyo – 3? We can only make an educated guess as there are no clues to what has allowed this to happen. But I present to you a scenario of what could have happened. The mothers of the students of class 2-A signed up for the contact experiment in exchange for financial rewards during the period of war and famine. The contact experiment is the one that we know both Yui and Kyoko took part in and they have likely met a similar fate. The results of the experiment their families were told would have been ‘Death from unforeseen circumstances’ and the families would have been compensated financially and with the right to live in Tokyo – 03.

 It is a terrible thing to imagine, but this is the best I could think of to answer the questions of, why are all the students of class 2-A selected by the Marduk institution, how can the ‘right soul’ be ready when the pilot has reached the age of 14, and have a specific one exist inside the core of Unit – 03. Such questions cannot be answered if the pilots were selected at random, and this scenario can answer many questions that we have asked in this chapter.

Ritsuko: Among the pilot candidate…

Gendou: You choose the fourth one?

Ritsuko: Yes, there is one that we can prepare the core for

Gendou: I will leave it to you

 To add some final points, in episode 17, Ritsuko tells Gendou that “there is a child that the core can be prepared in a short notice”. This implied to us that the core and the children exist as a pair and the right combination is required for the piloting of the Eva. In other words, somewhere in Nerv headquarters, there exist as many spare cores (With a soul inside each of them) as there are students in class 2-A.

 All that is needed is for Ritsuko to choose the appropriate one and plant it into Unit – 03. 

Touji is handsome when seen up close

What puts the nail in our coffin is presented to us in the PSP version of the game ‘Neon Genesis Evangelion 2’ there during the fight with Leliel, if we were to select Touji, he meets his mother, just as Shinji did in the TVA.

The kind-hearted brother going to meet his sister (Sister complex)

 Ending off, let me address the point that is bound to arise, the argument that the soul inside the Unit – 03’s core being that of his sister.

 This claim, at least within my ability to search, first appeared in Kitamura Masahiro’s “Complete Evangelion explained”. He argues that Ritsuko’s line about being able to "prepare" a core immediately as referring to using Touji’s sister who is injured and in hospital. Indeed, we are not shown the state Touji’s sister during the series, therefore I can see why he makes an assumption that Touji’s sister is either in a vegetative state or has gone crazy as Kyoko did. 

 I argue that this is a gross misinterpretation made from ignoring the role Marduk institute plays in the pilot selection process, thus it is losing legitimacy as it does not take into consideration all of the relevant pieces of the puzzle. 

Furthermore, he supports his argument by referring to the tone of Ritsuko’s voice as she says that line as being depressed. But I would like to point that even if it wasn’t Touji’s sister, Ritsuko who knew the truth of the cores would not have said that line in any other way.

 Even without child abuse, Nerv is already a horrible place.

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.5.3 “Money Deposited With Lafitte”

We establish Valjean’s solitary nature here. And okay, so I just rewatched the first two Mad Max movies with my best friend because she’s never seen them, and really Valjean and Max Rockatansky have a lot in common. Lonely, solitary guy with a backstory that’s a mystery to others but not to the viewer, who is also very skilled at many things, waltzes into a town, saves it from various crises while not talking much and being pretty socially awkward despite his charisma, and then leaves never to be seen again. Someone write an AU. Okay, moving on.

“He talked with very few. He shrank from compliments and with a touch of the hat would walk on rapidly; he smiled to avoid talking and gave to avoid smiling.” God my favorite thing about Valjean is just how awkward he is, despite also being unknowingly charismatic. He’s fantastic at fooling people simply because he’s so kind, and from that they choose what they want to see, but really he’s just so awkward. He doesn’t want to talk to people or do much socializing, which I think is another reason for his avoidance of upper class society affairs. Not only is he not interested because he’s not interested in advancing himself up the social ladder, he’s also not interested because it would mean he’d have to talk to people.

Valjean’s library is “well chosen,” and I’m wondering what books that would mean. Surely the bible, but what else? I assume he learned what the Right Books were by listening to conversation or looking at what was on other people’s shelves (perhaps during his Benevolent Break-Ins?) or something. His language starts to become more polished, too, as he educates himself through literature as well as (I presume) through his brief social interactions. The people seem to notice it but also don’t seem to think much of it? This doesn’t seem to factor into the rumors about him as much as his solitary nature does.

Valjean’s aim with a gun is frighteningly accurate (Where did he learn to shoot a gun? Would that have been another skill from his time as a pruner?) but he never kills inoffensive animals/small birds. I think this is the only other time we see Valjean with a gun aside from when he’s at the barricade. This description feels weirdly dark; I think it’s the word “frightening” (in Hapgood the word is “terror”). This skill with a gun seems like a hint not of his laborer past but of his past at Toulon, the potential he had prior to Myriel of becoming “the worst man.” Now he only uses it on threatening animals, but his aim itself is a threat. (Which is an interesting thing to establish only to have him definitely Not Use It on the barricade.)

“He would offer a hand to anyone needing it, help a fallen horse, push a mired wagon, or grab a rampaging bull by the horns.” What a parallel here. In Tome 3 we had Fantine as a horse that falls. In the coming chapters were have a broken wagon. I’m not sure if the “rampaging bull” would be Javert or perhaps Thenardier or something else? I would assume Javert, since his goodness essentially stops Javert mid-”rampage.” This is also an example of Valjean throwing himself in front of more dangerous things to help others, potentially heedless of his own wellbeing.

“If we took a little time, the nettle would be useful; we neglect it, and it becomes harmful. Then we kill it. Men are so like the nettle!” This line reminds me of all the parallels I was getting to modern day back in Tome 2. It’s just something that’s still so prevalent today. Someone grows up in a way that’s considered “bad” and instead of figuring out how best to help and communicate and nurture that person into something that is not “bad,” we just toss them away and neglect and ignore them and then when they adapt to that treatment in a certain way that we again consider “bad,” we either lock them up or force them out onto the streets. (Sorry, I’m mad at how relevant a 150 year old book is. A local homeless man was murdered by a housed person at a camp last week for no reason and the treatment of people living at homeless camps around my city has been so awful recently.)

“My friends, remember this: There are no bad herbs, and no bad men; there are only bad cultivators.” This one is so interesting because it sort of sets Valjean up for future failure. A cultivator (whether it’s a person or a machine) is someone who prepares land for use. Montreuil-sur-Mer itself is this land, and yet Valjean neglects certain parts of it. He makes this comment about the nettle, about finding a use for it if you only take a little time, and yet he gives up on and/or just sort of ignores the sex workers (and any other adjacent community) that are pretty much guaranteed to exist due to it being a garrisoned town. Valjean I love you but I have Concerns about your weird moral hoops that people have to jump through. I’m sure there are women who work at the factory and also as sex workers, who are hiding their second job and hoping no one finds out. But what about the women who are already known sex workers, who (I assume) don’t even have a chance? Valjean gives hospital beds, universal healthcare, a place for old and infirm laborers to stay, an “infant school/place of refuge” (I still don’t quite know what that is), but he doesn’t put any sort of aid in place for women who are already “fallen” or “morally indigent” etc. There are no bad herbs or men, only bad cultivators, but what happens if you’re great at cultivating three quarters of your field, but you decide not to bother to work the land of that last quarter? Anything you plant there will die, and you’ll yield fewer crops. It seems like a weird oversight on Valjean’s part to do good for most of the city and townspeople except for these women. There’s clearly a divide between the “honest” working women and the sex workers; we see it clearly later on with Fantine. So it’s not as if it’s a hidden secret. But for Valjean to enforce these specific moral standards without giving those suffering the most a way to achieve them and the support to do so, it’s just bad practice. @everyonewasabird mentioned that maybe it’s because he never really knew any women, so he doesn’t really know how drastically different life is for women and how different it is to “be an honest woman” vs an “honest man,” or how difficult it is to get there if you’re already trapped in sex work, but if he’s fairly aware of the goings-on in most of the town, you’d think he’d realize there was a divide and that people on one side were suffering while people on the other were not.

Oh my god I thought this post was going to be short but apparently I have Opinions.

“With his eyes raised to heaven, he listened with a sort of longing toward all the mysteries of the infinite, to the sad voices that sing on the brink of death’s dark abyss.” Ah, Valjean and his many deaths. Valjean listens to the “sad voices," but he never (or almost never? I can’t remember) actually talks to or “listens to” god. He never assumes that god is specifically listening or speaking to him, it seems.

Valjean breaking into houses to place money on the table is the exact reverse of his stealing the silver from Myriel. But it also goes hand in hand with his “can’t take compliments” nature; it would probably be really hard for him to stand there and listen to people thanking him for his generosity. But I think it’s also something from when he was poor himself. It’s an understanding of the shame and humiliation that comes with having to ask for money or for charity. Valjean breaking into people’s houses to not-so-secretly place money on their table circumvents that entirely. He avoids having to take a compliment and the people of Montreuil-sur-Mer get to avoid feeling awkward or shameful at asking for money.

A brief refocusing on the candlesticks here. Just a reminder for the audience about where all of this goodness comes from, but also a little example of the way Valjean himself displays the candlesticks as a reminder. I’m not sure what would make them “unusual” to the townspeople though? Surely everyone had candlesticks?

We also get a taste of the nature of rumors in Montreuil-sur-Mer. A rumor occurs, and despite multiple people being able to dispel the rumor, it persists and grows. But Valjean has a reputation and a status to back him up despite the darkness of some of the rumors. Fantine never has that. The rumors about her only serve to push her further down. He’s a savior and she’s a scapegoat. Again they are parallels of each other, moving in opposite directions.

[bangtancentricsblog]

○ souleater ○

➣ he didn’t only eat souls he broke hearts too

❒ pairing: jung hoseok x reader

❒ genre: angst

❒ alternative universe: soul eater (anime), college

❒ rating: NC 17

❒ word count: 2.1 k

warnings/disclosures: meisters yoongi, mc and namjoon, death weapons jungkook, hoseok, jimin and taehyung, meister teacher seokjin, nothing too bad that I can think of but let me know if I missed anything!

monster mash ml • main ml • AO3

some quick vocab for my non anime fans:

kishin - is a human who has hunted too many good souls thus possessing a vast amount of dangerous destructive power

meister (i.e. mc) - essentially the 'hero', the one who fights the battles with their death weapon partners the first half of a weapons meister duo.

death weapon (i.e. hoseok) - a human who can take form of traditional weapons the second half of a weapons meister duo.

DWMA - death weapon meister academy in the soul eater anime is a 'hero' school that teaches it's students how to help keep the world in order.

“Hoseok is such a dick.” the blonde two rows back says.

“For a weapon he’s pretty full of himself. I heard he’s got a crush on his meister.” another adds as heat floods your face. Hoseok in love with you? No you couldn’t believe that, not Hoseok, you were only partners you reasoned. The whispers of that particular group grew louder still as more girls joined in adding to the already ongoing conversation. You had never cared what people thought of you and Hoseok, more so because you were a strong pair, ranked in the top three of the academy. Besides yourself there was Yoongi and Jungkook, followed by Namjoon, Jimin and Taehyung. All of whom were close friends and none that had ever given the vaguest hint that Hoseok had harbored any type of feelings for you.

Though the same couldn't be said for yourself, because how could you not? He was bright and your wavelengths had been so compatible it’d almost been like fate that you two be weapon and meister. In fact he’d been the one to approach you the first day of classes, a decision neither of you had regretted since. And yet you had gone and fallen in love with him like some normal love sick teenager and not one of the top three meisters in the DWMA. You had come to this school to create a death scythe, falling in love had not been in the plan. Yet here you were, Jungkook nudged you a furrow to his brow as he did.

“Do you think Jin will be here today?” he asks.

“Why?”

“I didn't do the homework and I’m thinking of skipping.” you weigh your answer for the briefest of moments before answering.

“I saw him earlier so now would be a great time to leave.” you say with a grin that sets jungkook off, he’s not sure whether to believe you. So he decided he’s going to skip anyway, he’s hopping out of his seat startling a yelp from Yoongi a row behind you as he sees his partner zip down the stairs of the amphitheater.

“Jungkook, thank you for volunteering!” Jin says with a laugh placing both hands on his shoulders and turning him to face the class. The room erupts into snickers, even you laugh at the betrayal etched into his pretty features.

*

You’re studying with Namjoon, Jimin and Taehyung as you’ve been giving study hall now that you have become fourth years. The earlier conversation between those girls plagues your mind, and not for the first time you question your relationship with Hoseok. He’s not a bad guy so you’re not entirely sure what it was those girls were talking about. Maybe it’s because he stuck out, but then they would talk about your whole group because truth be told you eight were an odd bunch. Namjoon and his two weapon partners Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi the reserved yet overpowered and Jungkook the quirky usually quiet but troublesome and then there was your peculiar relationship with Jin your teacher.

Jimin has been staring at you since you’ve started clicking your pen, the pensive look you have says it all as you continue to do so even as Taehyung calls your name softly. He’s sure your thinking about the conversation between your classmates earlier which to him is dumb because eww Hoseok. But he knows that gross lovesick puppy look that flashes across your eyes is proof that you are indeed still in love with him. He glances at Namjoon who hasn't noticed that the three of you had stopped working, then to Taehyung who meets his gaze eagerly.

“___, honey please stop.” Jimin says an overly sweet tone filling your ears and pulling you from your thoughts.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you.” you mumble tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“What’s bothering you?” Taehyung chimes in a tone so genuine Jimin wants to gag.

“Nothing, just y'know, the usual.” you laugh softly feeling your stomach drop.

“Is it Hoseok again?” Jimin asks.

“I wouldn’t say it is, but i wouldn't say it isn't either.”

“What about him then?” Taehyung says, taking your hand in his.

“I don't know.”

“We’re not doing that.” Jimin says brows pinched together.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur pulling your hand from Taehyung’s. Jimin can feel his anger build but not at you, never at you because you’re his soft sweet friend that he loves to death. His anger is directed at that idiot hoseok who he knows is a total ass but your poor baby heart can’t help but like. Again eww, Jungkook would be a better candidate for those feelings he thinks staring long and hard as you tuck stray curls behind your ears. God your cute, any stinky boy at your school would be lucky to have you and you want Hoseok of all people.

“Is it because of what those girls said?” Taehyung says reaching for your hands again, an annoying habit of his that you don’t seem to mind too much.

“Does Hoseok, I mean do you think h-he might like me?”

“Don’t worry about trivial things like that, Hoseok is your friend.” Namjoon adds scaring Jimin who had forgotten he was there.

“So you don't think so? Should I ask him out or something?”

“Definitely not, Hoseok is weird about things like that. Just stick to the norm if Hoseok likes you, he’ll tell you.” Namjoon says calmly flashing you a smile as he picks up.

“Okay, thanks Joonie. Where are you going?”

“I’m done studying, so I’m going home. I expect you two to actually finish your work before you do the same.”

“Don’t say it like that, if anything Taehyung is the one who should get the warning!” Jimin says with a huff. You laugh as the two boys argue amongst themselves over who is most likely to take the class over again. All thoughts of Hoseok gone for the time being.

*

It’s been weeks of Hoseok literally avoiding you at every possible turn. He skips class, eats lunch at odd times, he doesn’t come home till you’re asleep, and only talks to your friends when you’re not around. It’s annoying to say the least, mostly because he’s never acted this way before. But on the other hand he’s been the talk of the school girl giggling amongst themselves, boys sneering at the mere mention of him, even teachers have his name on their lips. You’ve reached your limit and no amount of Jimin and Taehyung talking you down can stop you. You’re hurt, mostly because Hoseok was your friend, and you can't think of a reason that he’d do something like this.

Unfortunately you don’t have the luxury to confront him as easily as you had hoped. This weird phase between you lasts another couple of weeks because try as you might Hoseok is really good at hiding. Something you ever thought you’d have to learn because he’d never hidden from you, from the boys maybe but not you. So imagine your surprise when you get the chance to hunt down another keishan, making it his 87th keishan soul only 12 away from a witch’s. Thirteen in total till he could become a death scythe, only thirteen till you’d have to say goodbye to him forever. Just because you wouldn’t be partners anymore didn’t mean you couldn’t be friends, you reasoned, shaking the thoughts from your mind as you walked along the lone path through the forest of a neighboring town.

The moon shone down on you eerily, casting shadows across the dirt, almost like little pockets of light to show you the way. The silence was unsettling, the thicker of leaves and branches that hung overhead enough of a sign that this forest should’ve been filled with wildlife. And yet not a single sound, not an owl's hoot, not a crickets chirp, not even the slight breeze made a sound. A chill raced up your spine as you stopped catching Hoseok’s attention as he moved to stand beside you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something is off, I’m not sure but I don’t like this Hobi.” You murmured, taking his hand. To anyone else you’d seem like any normal young adult, you, a frightened little thing while your boyfriend reassured you that everything was okay, only you weren’t. You were holding Hoseok’s hand not for reassurance but to better your chances of not missing your target when they appeared, and if you were right then they’d be coming at you any second now.

As if on queue they come barreling at you from above, a manic look in their eyes. You’d called Hoseok’s name softly, calmly, while dodging the first few swipes of their long arms. Hoseok had taken the queue easily transforming to his weapon form, the rapier now sat perfectly in your palm. Hoseok was a beautiful specimen in human form but his weapon form was just as beautiful. A sleek silver blade, with an intricately detailed golden hilt, the weight rested comfortably in your palm.

You sighed as the keishan stood and watched as you stood stock still a little miffed that it caught the corner of your duster cardigan, because it was new! The boots you wore were caked in mud but that could be washed out you supposed.

“Hey are you gonna do something about that thing or what?”

“Shut up Hoseok.” You sighed again because you really didn’t wanna be here right now. But a job was a job you guessed as you planted your feet firmly on the ground narrowing your gaze as it sprinted towards you. You hated these things especially when they moved this fast, this was gonna be a mess you thought finally pushing off the ground and charging towards it.

*

Hoseok is pleased he didn’t really have to get too involved in this job because as strong as you were you could be really clumsy. But he liked how efficient you were when taking down your foe. The soul of the keishan sat there waiting for him to eat it, and he usually wouldn’t hesitate but there was something bothering him about this, mostly you. You’d been unusually quiet this hunt, almost pensive if he had to say so. So he wanted to know what it was that was bothering you, he reasoned grasping the soul while turning to look at you.

You were crouched over some wild mushroom, back facing him because you claimed it grossed you out to see him eat the souls. He agreed because not all of them tasted great, but he digressed.

“What’s wrong?” He starts just to break the ice.

“Nothing why? Are you done yet, cause I wanna go home I’m tired.” You mutter, pulling up the mushrooms trying to recall if they were edible or not.

“Yeah.” He sighs, quickly shoving the soul into his mouth, chewing once, then twice before swallowing. This one hadn’t been as gross as the last one. The texture was nice, almost as good as a medium rare steak he thought as he waits for you to stand. Except you don’t, you’ve stopped playing with the mushrooms and just sit quietly.

“Hoseok, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you like me?” He’s frozen, his head quirked slightly really letting your question settle in.

“Of course I like you, we’re partners.” He says, wetting his lips.

“No, I mean more than friends. Do you like, like me?”

“Why does that matter? We’re partners and I like you but, but not like that.” You say nothing, finally standing to your full height. His hands are clammy as you turn to look at him, eyes wide and glassy. He can see the tears that pool at your lash line, your lip trembles as you let out a choked half sob half laugh. He feels bad, because he didn't want to do this to you. Had never meant to break your poor loved up heart this way, because Hoseok loved you like a friend and would rather hurt himself than hurt you.

“I knew that, I mean it’s obvious why would you like me right?”

“I never said that.”

“It’s okay Hoseok I understand, you don’t need to explain.” you say and he wants to hug you close and make sure you understand that it’s really not you but him. He steps closer ready to embrace you, but you step back hands out to keep him from coming any closer.

“Let’s go home.” you mutter with a watery smile turning on your heel and making your trek back to your dorm with the broken pieces of your heart in hand.

[pocket-luv101]

Strange Events || Chapter 5

Fandom: Servamp Ships: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (side), Tetsono (side), Jekuni (side) Characters: Kuro, Mahiru, Hyde, Licht, Tetsu, Misono, Snow Lily, Mikuni, JeJe

Summary: When Mahiru’s friend goes missing, he searches through the woods for him. He comes across a boy with psychic abilities. He hoped Kuro would be able to help him find Misono. (Stranger Things AU) A/N: This was an AU that @viconekochan suggested.

Ch.1 || Ch.2 || Ch.3 || Ch.4 || (Ch.5) ||

A thump woke Mahiru and he opened his eyes with a groan. His mind was still hazy from sleep and he nestled against the warmth next to him. After a moment, he realized that he was sleeping with his head on Kuro’s chest. He felt flustered and he sat up quickly. While he had sleepovers with his friends before, he had never been so close to another person. He touched his burning cheeks and he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

There was another sound above him and Mahiru wondered who it could be. He glanced at the time and it was a little past midnight. He thought that Licht was already asleep and his uncle would’ve called him if he was going to return home soon. Mahiru stiffened when he realized that it could be a home invader. Kuro told him that people were after him for his abilities.

Footsteps continued to echo around them and Mahiru thought over what they should do. He looked down at Kuro but he was uncertain if he should wake him. With his telekinetic powers, he was strong and he could easily fight the intruder. On the other hand, he had already been through a lot and Mahiru didn’t want to scare him. He felt protective of Kuro and he wanted to make him feel safe.

He pushed aside his fears and crawled out of the small fort. Mahiru draped a blanket over the entrance to hide Kuro before he left. He was careful not to make a sound as he crept up the stairs. He grabbed a broom so he would have a weapon to defend himself. The logical side of him knew that the broom wouldn’t be effective if the person had powers like Kuro.

He followed the sound of footsteps and eased the basement door open. Among the silence, the creak of the door sounded like thunder to him. Mahiru stepped into the dark hall and looked around. He walked to the front door and peered through the small window. He couldn’t see a car outside and the door was still locked. “I must be hearing things.”

He relaxed and reassured himself that the people after Kuro couldn’t possibly know that he was hiding in his house. They had been careful not to be seen and only his friends knew about him. He decided to return to the basement and go back to sleep. He had school tomorrow and they planned to search for Misono after that.

As he passed the kitchen, the door began to open. Mahiru started to scream but a hand covered his mouth and pulled him back. He looked up and found Kuro standing behind him. He lifted his other hand and slammed the door closed with his abilities. The door rattled and Mahiru pressed closer to Kuro. He felt his breath brush against his ear as he whispered. “Hide. If it’s the scientists, I’ll deal with them.”

“They’re after you so you should be the one to hide.” Mahiru turned in his arms and lightly placed his hands on his shoulders to push him towards the closet. “Maybe I can make them leave. Call the cops while you’re hiding in the closet.”

The rattle of the door was followed by a loud bang. Mahiru jumped slightly but he tried to hide how frightened he was. He was certain that Kuro would insist that he protect him if he knew he was scared. Then, he heard a familiar voice on the other side of the door. “What’s with this door? Mahiru, are you asleep? This door is jammed!”

“Licht?” Mahiru assumed his cousin was asleep upstairs so he was shocked to hear his voice. He silently nodded to Kuro and signalled for him to let him in. Slowly, Mahiru opened the door and he was relieved that it was only Licht. Other questions came to him though. “Did you just go outside, Licht? You’re wearing your sweater. I told you that you shouldn’t go out at night because it’s dangerous! I thought someone broke in and you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting a lecture from you when I’m the older one.” Licht groaned. The only thing he wanted to do was to go to bed. He felt irritated and tired so he was in no mood to listen to his lecture. He wasn’t able to meet his friend like he planned and he had to bike back to the house in the dark. “Can we talk about this in the morning? I’m sleepy.”

“This is serious, Licht! I warned you that my friend went missing recently but you sneaked out anyways. The woods is dangerous and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Mahiru argued. While Licht was older than him, he wanted to keep him safe. It was impossible to stress how serious the situation was without telling him everything. “At least tell me when you’re going out.”

“I thought I might interrupt your slumber party with your boyfriend.” Licht shrugged. His words caused Mahiru to blush but Kuro was oblivious to the reason. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your uncle or anyone else that your boyfriend stayed over.”

With those words, Licht walked up the stairs to his room. Mahiru couldn’t say anything else to him so he decided to go back to the basement with Kuro. He checked the locks on the doors and windows before he went downstairs. He crawled into the small fort and buried his face into the pillow. “That scared ten years off my life.”

“Mahiru?” Kuro whispered his name and lightly poked his shoulder. He rolled onto his side and made space for him to lay down as well. Mahiru stared up at the makeshift ceiling because he was too shy to face Kuro. “Mahiru, why didn’t you wake me up when you heard something. It was dangerous to go alone if it was someone from the lab.”

“I didn’t want to scare you. You might’ve been forced to use your powers too.” He answered. Mahiru took out a napkin and wiped the tiny sliver of blood from his nose. The smile he gave Kuro was full of compassion and trust. “If it was anything dangerous, I trusted that you would run up there to save me. Friends protect each other.”

“Boyfriends especially? That’s what Licht called us.” Kuro said and noticed how his face became flushed again. “Did I say something wrong? I didn’t think that word would be rude. Are we not friends and that’s why you got upset?”

“I’m not upset. We are friends but being called boyfriends is different.” Since he had to describe what a friend was to him, Mahiru doubted he knew what the word meant. He tried to think of the best way to explain it to him. “I understand if you think boyfriends are friends who are guys but it’s a little different. It’s when two people are in a romantic relationship. They kiss, hold hands and go on dates.”

“Like in the movie we watched?” He recalled the ending where the two characters kissed. Kuro blushed as well and he pulled the blanket over his face. He didn’t realize that Mahiru was laying on the blanket and the motion caused him to roll to the side. He accidentally pushed a pillow of place and the fort fell down around them. “Sorry.”

To Kuro’s surprise, Mahiru started to laugh. The tension around them disappeared. He pushed aside the blankets and pillows and laid next to Kuro again. “We’ll have to rebuild the fort in the morning but it’s time for bed now.”

“I can drive myself to school, Mikuni. You don’t need to drop me off me as if I’m five years old.” Hyde complained in the backseat of JeJe’s police truck. His brother insisted that they drive him after he learned that he had skipped school the previous day. He knew that Mikuni wanted to keep him out of trouble and he was worried after what happened to Misono. Yet, he groaned: “JeJe, tell my brother that he’s being overprotective.”

“I’m staying out of this.” He said as he parked the car in front of the school. While there were a lot of rumours around Hyde, JeJe knew that he was a good kid. He would act out at times but he never had to arrest him. “You’re still seventeen, Hyde. Your brother wants what’s best for you too. You won’t be able to graduate if you miss too many classes.”

“You said you’re going to stay out of our family drama but it looks like you took a side.” He rolled his eyes. Hyde stepped out of the car and lightly knocked on the window. After Mikuni rolled down the window, he said: “I’m going to develop my photos after school. It shouldn’t take too long. Can you pick me up at six instead of four?”

“Okay. Stay out of trouble.” Mikuni told him and ruffled his hair. They waved to each other before he walked into the school. He was glad that JeJe waited until Hyde entered the building before he drove away. While he didn’t say a word, he knew that JeJe understood why he was worried about his brother. They could easily picture Hyde running into trouble to find Misono.

JeJe arranged to speak with the scientists at the energy plant with the hopes that they saw Misono the night he disappeared. They didn’t have proof that he crawled through the tunnel and entered the facilities but it was the only lead they had. He was certain that Mikuni would chase every lead they had until they found his brother. For his sake, he prayed Misono was safe.

As the drove down the road, Mikuni turned off the radio and asked: “Do you think I’m being too strict on Hyde? Our old man was worse but…”

“You can hover a little less.” JeJe said and his answer made Mikuni pout. “I know you’re concerned that Hyde will run off and I understand why. We don’t know what happened to Misono. Maybe you can give Hyde some advice instead of chaperoning him everywhere. Tell him to hang out with his friends and go to parties like normal teenagers his age. That might get his mind off everything.”

“He doesn’t have many friends. Hyde had to grow up quicker than kids his age.” After their parents died, life had been difficult. Mikuni worked hard to provide for his family but Hyde got a job to help make ends meets. They both wanted Misono to have an easy life. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t protect Misono the night he went missing.

“Hyde isn’t the easiest person to get along with. He’s haughty and stubborn.” His comment earned him a light punch from Mikuni. It didn’t hurt and JeJe chuckled instead. “Maybe he needs to find a reasonable and patient person like you have.”

“I’m neither stubborn nor haughty. I can’t describe you as patient either. From the time you picked us up to now, you’ve sighed and groaned at least five times. Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s rude to do that?” Mikuni retorted. “Hyde needs someone who can handle his antics and kick some sense into him.”

“I don’t know if he’ll find someone like that easily.”

They approached the power plant and he stopped next to a toll booth. JeJe lowered the window and showed his badge to the worker. “I am Sheriff Doubt. This morning, I spoke with Dr. Gear about a missing child who might have passed by. I want to check your cameras to see what direction he might’ve went. He should be expecting me.”

“Dr. Gear is waiting for you in the lobby.” He nodded and opened the steel doors for them. He drove through the gate and parked his car. Mikuni stepped out and stared at the laboratory. He never gave the building much thought even though it sat near his home. JeJe stood next to him and placed his hand on his back. With a gentle push, he led him forward to the entrance.

They entered the lobby and walked to the reception’s desk. A man wearing a suit was already speaking with the receptionist. He turned around when they stopped next to him. “Sheriff Doubt? I am Dr. Gear. You requested a tour of our facilities. I’ll be honest though, you’re wasting your time here. It’s nearly impossible for someone to sneak inside.”

“This is just to cover all of our bases, Sir.” JeJe said. He saw how Mikuni bit his tongue and he knew he wanted to snap back at the man. The dismissive tone he had angered him. He held himself back because they needed their cooperation. Mikuni hoped that their cameras would show them what happened to his brother. “I told you that we think he crawled through a tunnel.”

Gear nodded and led them outside to the drain pipe he described. Mikuni knelt next to the grate cover and examined its worn edges. The tunnel appeared large enough for Misono to crawl through. JeJe glanced around them and pointed to a camera nearby. “Do you have the footage from Thursday and Friday like we requested?”

“Yes. Please, follow me.” Gear instructed and walked back towards the building. Mikuni waited until the scientist turned around before he tucked something inside his pocket. As he followed him through the halls, he noticed a hallway blocked by restrictive tape. He couldn’t see much beyond the opaque curtain but he was able to make out people in bulky suits.

“Mikuni?” He turned back when JeJe said his name. He walked into the dark room where the video was already prepared. The date on the screen was the night Misono went missing and they sped through the video. People passed through the screen but not one of them was his brother. The recording stopped and Mikuni didn’t hide his disappointment.

“I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for. There’s a thousand cameras around the building. No one can come in or leave without us knowing. If your brother was here, we would’ve sent him to the station.” Gear said. “Shall I show you two out?”

“We can find our way out.” JeJe said. For a moment, Mikuni didn’t respond and continued to stare at the screen. He only looked away when he felt his hand on his shoulder. Mikuni sighed but stood and walked out of the building. He opened the passenger side’s door for him. He didn’t immediately close the door after he sat down. “Are you okay, Mikuni?”

“I thought I would find something.” He took out a strip of fabric from his pocket. “I found this stuck to the pipe cover. There’s no way to tell that it’s Misono’s but… We didn’t see him on the camera though.”

“Do you remember the night Misono went missing and the search party the next night?” The way he suddenly changed the subject confused Mikuni but he nodded. JeJe leaned closer and whispered into his ear. There were cameras watching him and he worried that they might overhear him as well. “It rained those nights but it was a clear day in the video.”

“They tampered with the video?” He was focused on finding Misono that he hadn’t noticed the detail. Mikuni looked down at the cloth and he pictured his brother scared in the building. He recalled how he heard his brother in the cassette player the previous night. Maybe Misono was inside the lab and he found a way to contact him through a radio.

Mikuni tried to jump to his feet but JeJe stopped him. He placed his hands on his shoulders and eased him back into the car. “You can’t run in there without more evidence, Mikuni. They’re hiding something but we can’t know if it’s related to your brother or not. Once we have more evidence, we can push them for answers. Trust me, Mikuni.”

“Okay,” He relented with a small nod.

Kranz hadn’t returned any of Licht’s calls and he was starting to worry about his friend. The teenager at the party yesterday told him that Kranz returned home alone. Mahiru’s lectures about the dangers of going out alone echoed in his ears. A feeling in his stomach told him that something was wrong as well. He decided to take the bus and visit his friend.

He went to the bus station and bought a ticket. Licht checked the schedule and he was glad that it would arrive soon. He searched for a bench to wait for the bus. A groan escaped him when he saw a familiar demon waiting on the platform. Hyde was reading a book so he hadn’t noticed him yet. He muttered to himself, “Why do I run into him everywhere I go?”

Licht thought it was best to avoid him so he leaned against the wall and waited for the bus. Even though he intended to ignore him, he found himself staring at Hyde’s back. Was the reason he was at the station related to his missing brother? Before he could finish the thought, he noticed a group of teenagers approaching him. He recognized them from the party last night.

“Hey, Hyde, we heard you were creeping around the woods last night. Were you spying on my party?” The teenagers surrounding him but Hyde barely gave them a glance. “Are you skipping town because of what happened to your brother?”

“Why are you here? I was searching the forest for my brother. You don’t need to be scared that I have evidence of you and your friends drinking underage at that party. I don’t take pictures of clowns.” Hyde shot him a glare. He didn’t flinch when the boy grabbed his shirt and roughly pulled him to his feet. “Do you want to fight me? It’ll be bad if you get injured before your basketball game.”

“You act tough for someone who carries around a toy.” He grabbed the camera from around his neck. Hyde immediately jumped forward to take it back but his friends held his arms. He couldn’t afford to replace the camera if they broke it. Another boy took the photos he had stuffed in his book. “Look at all this creepy stuff.”

“Let him go and give back his camera.” The group was surprised by Licht’s voice. There were more of them than him yet his glare was unwavering. Hyde took the opportunity to wrench his arms free from their grip. He assumed Licht was friends with them when they first met but it was clear he was wrong.

“Weirdos stay together, I guess.” The boy scoffed and started to hand back the camera. Then, he tossed the fragile camera behind him and it shattered on the ground. Hyde’s anger flared but he quickly held it back. He couldn’t start a fight or else the authorities would take him in and Mikuni would question why he was at the bus station. He walked past them and picked up his broken camera.

The group walked away but Licht stayed. He knelt next to him and collected the photographs they threw on the ground. “Thanks, Angel Cakes, but you don’t need to worry about these pictures. I already looked through all of these and there’s nothing here that can help the investigation. We should get off the road before the bus comes.”

“Are you going to Oakwood to look for your brother?” Licht asked as they stood. He had a handful of photos in his hand and held them out to Hyde. He didn’t take them and shook his head so Licht placed them in his bag. From his expression, he could tell that the photos made him frustrated. He spent an entire night in the forest but he couldn’t find anything.

“Misono hasn’t stepped foot outside of this town but our mother lives in Oakwood now. Well, she’s my mother but not his. It’s complicated.” He said as they sat on a bench. Hyde stared down the road and wondered where his brother could be. “They haven’t had any luck finding him here. The only person he knows outside of here is her. It’s a long shot but I have to try.”

“Don’t you have a car?” Licht remembered how he saw him driving the previous night. “Wouldn’t it be faster to use your car instead of waiting for the bus?”

“My over protective brother took my keys so here I am. He must be worried that I would do something reckless like drive to the next town to look for Misono.” He joked sarcastically. “Why are you going to Oakwood?”

“My friend lives there. He hasn’t returned any of my calls and I think something happened to him. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.” Hyde understood his feelings and patted his shoulder lightly. He didn’t say anything but Licht understood that he was trying to comfort him. “I’ll find my friend and your brother will come back safe.”

[artificialqueens]

Diamonds In The Rough, Chapter 2 - Fannyatrollop

a/n: @sayakamagika and I are back back back again with another update! Featuring everyone’s favourite high class Russian… child…

Trixie wasn’t sure if she ought to be excited when Granny told them that Papa had hired a new nanny to look after her and Pearl. Of course, it would be nice to finally have somebody to care and look after them, but she was rather upset Papa still felt the need to hire someone rather than do it himself. It had been so long since he’d sat down and played with her and Pearl, and even though she still saw him every day, Trixie missed him as if he’d gone to heaven with Mama.

“I hope she’s nice,” Pearl said as they sat on the stairs waiting for this new nanny to arrive. “Miss Jenkins was awful.”

Trixie’s mouth dropped open like a fish. “Don’t say that about her! We mustn’t… disrespect her, like that.”

Pearl wasn’t wrong, exactly. Miss Jenkins had been strict and mean and she never let the girls have any fun. But Trixie never liked to speak ill of the dead - it wasn’t proper.

The girls spotted Papa stepping into the entrance room, his eyes trained on his watch. The new nanny was due to arrive at any moment, and it seemed the whole household was anxious to meet her. It was a question of whether the mysterious Miss BenDeLaCreme would be suitable for the children - she seemed perfectly delightful in her advertisement, but one must not believe everything they read.

The short, prim knock at the door conjured butterflies in Trixie’s stomach, and she and Pearl exchanged excited glances before rising to meet their new nanny. Papa went to open the door - funny, Trixie thought their butler, Mr Hudson, would’ve done that. She supposed Papa wanted to meet this new nanny for himself as soon as possible, considering he was handing his only daughters into her care.

“Ah, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is it?” came a sugary sweet voice from outside, and Trixie could already tell she was smiling just from hearing her. “I’m Miss BenDeLaCreme - I believe you requested my assistance?”

There was a slight stutter in Papa’s words. “Ah, yes, welcome, Miss BenDeLaCreme. Please, come inside.”

“Oh, do just call me Dela - it is far easier for everyone, I think, myself included!” Miss Dela laughed as she stepped inside, a pleasant sound like a bell. Trixie’s eyes lit up at the sight of her - she had never seen a nanny look so colourful, with bright flowers decorating the brim of her hat and a beautiful, vibrant blue dress perfectly tailored to her form. Curls of dark hair escaped from her hat, and her face lit up with a radiant smile as she laid eyes on the girls. “Now, you must be the children I’m to care for. Might I have your names?”

Pearl was the first to speak up, Trixie’s shyer nature getting the better of her. “My name’s Pearl. Your dress is very pretty.”

“Why thank you!” Miss Dela raised a hand to her chest, clearly pleased with the praise. “And you, sweetheart? What shall I call you?”

“That’s Trixie,” Pearl said for her, a nasty habit she’d picked up over the course of their life together. Trixie was shy and sometimes very much not in the mood to speak for herself, but she was old enough to do so if given the opportunity.

“Yes, Nanny, I’m Trixie,” sad Trixie, scowling a little. “I am capable of speech too.”

Miss Dela gave a succinct nod. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is there anything in particular I need to know about the girls?”

Papa shook his head. “Nothing I didn’t mention in my letter to you, Miss Dela.”

“Wonderful! Now, girls, shall we-”

An almighty crash from outside rudely interrupted Miss Dela and made Trixie jump in fright. Pearl was quick to stifle her yelp of surprise, raising her little hands to her mouth and flushing. It was rather satisfying - Pearl would be the first to tell you that she wasn’t scared of anything, so seeing her startled  pleased Trixie a fair bit.

“Heavens, what was that?” Papa asked, more irritated than frightened by the commotion. He started towards the door to investigate, but Miss Dela held out a hand to stop him.

“I wouldn’t worry yourself - allow me.” Miss Dela turned on her heel and stepped out of the house, and despite Papa’s protests, Pearl and Trixie were quick to follow. They found Miss Dela glaring at a bush, her hands planted on her hips and her lips pursed into a thin line. Trixie peered around to see what she was looking at, and was rather surprised to see another woman splayed out in the foliage, her legs sticking out in an unladylike fashion. Beside her, Pearl giggled.

The woman grinned up at Miss Dela before blowing a bright red curl out of her face. “Well hello, Dela! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Miss Brown, you do astound me,” Miss Dela tutted. Trixie was struck dumb to know that a prim, proper lady like Miss Dela could possibly be familiar with this strange, dishevelled woman in the bushes. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“My job, I should think.” Miss Brown started untangling herself from the branches of the bush, adjusting her battered old hat as she did so. A single, wilted flower drooped from the brim.

Miss Dela narrowed her eyes. “I could have sworn you had told me your princess was Russian.”

“Oh, she is!” Miss Brown reassured her, straightening out her shabby brown coat. “But not all Russians live in Russia, you know.”

“A Russian princess!”

Trixie’s natural shyness was no match for the excitement of hearing about royalty, especially if they were from such an exotic place. Pearl fancied herself too grown up to shout as she had, but she was looking at Miss Brown with more interest than before.

Miss Dela shook her head. “Trixie, come along, you’ve no need to listen to this woman’s silly stories.”

“Oh, Miss Brown, I should like it very much if you could tell us more about the princess!” Trixie squealed. She quickly rattled off her many questions: What does she look like? Is she very rich? Is she coming to see their King? Will she have a pet bear that dances at her command? Will she come wearing the finest furs?

“Of course she will come wearing fur!” cried Pearl. “Russians love to wear fur! And she’s a princess, so it must be very fine indeed.”

“Since when are you such an expert on Russians, Pearl? We’ve never seen one before.”

Pearl was in the midst of formulating a response when the new nanny saw that it was necessary to rein her charges back in.

“Girls!”

In that moment Trixie and Pearl learned that when Miss Dela decided to put her foot down, she could appear quite stern indeed.

“Miss Dela, you musn’t punish these poor girls for their natural curiosity!” Miss Brown said, with a laugh. “Can’t I at least tell them one thing before I go? I shan’t linger where I’m not wanted.”

“Please Miss Nanny!” Trixie cried. “Please let her tell us something about the princess?”

“Who is this lady anyhow?” Pearl asked, shocked that she was the first to think of doing so. “You seem to know her, Miss Dela.”

Miss Dela sighed. “To answer your question, Pearl, this lady is my ridiculous sister, Miss Tammie Brown,” she said.

Miss Tammie Brown gave the girls a deep bow. “That I am indeed,” she said, merriment shining in her face. “Though I should say Miss Dela is the ridiculous one in my eyes. There’s so much she simply refuses to understand.”

Trixie’s mouth hung open at the cavalier way in which Miss Tammie defied their new authority figure.

“Then is Miss Dela’s name also Brown?” asked Pearl, proud of herself for being such a logical creature.

Miss Dela shook her head. “No, and we have already discussed what I should be called, have we not?”

“How is it that you are sisters and don’t have the same name?”

“Pearl, darling, not all sisters are like you and Trixie,” Miss Dela said, patiently. “Sometimes one knows in one’s heart when one is with a sister, and silly things like names don’t matter as much.”

“I don’t care about names!” shouted Trixie, too impatient to learn any important life lessons. “Miss Tammie, tell us about the princess!”

“I suppose she can,” said Miss Dela. “But we might have to have a talk about manners, Trixie.”

Pearl giggled, while Trixie looked at her feet, shamed from being scolded however light.

Miss Tammie laughed, bright and loud. “Well, I mustn’t keep the little missus waiting!” she said. “I can say just one thing, then?”

“Yes, Tammie, and do get on with it.”

“Goodness, Dela, you must be awfully eager to get rid of me!”

“They really do sound like sisters now,” whispered Pearl, so that only Trixie could hear. Trixie silently agreed, practically vibrating with impatience while Miss Tammie teased Miss Dela much like they teased each other when the mood struck.

“Alright, children, let me tell you what you wish to know,” Miss Tammie said, in that laughing way of hers. She hardly ceased to find everything around her diverting, it seemed, and both little girls thought that shouldn’t be a terrible way to go about life. Both pairs of eyes were trained right on her, eagerly anticipating her words.

Miss Tammie cleared her throat.

“The princess,” she said, leaning in to speak conspiratorially. “Is coming to live next door.”

***

The princess was, just then, entirely unaware that she was the object of such interest. She wasn’t certain where she was going at all.

Earlier that day, her Aunt Tonya had dressed her in a simple, black dress, brushed her hair neatly, and bundled everything she owned up so that she could set it on her lap as they rode to some unknown place, where she was to live from then on. She didn’t know why she couldn’t continue to live with her aunt, but her dear Father had told her she must always listen to Aunt Tonya, and Aunt Tonya said that she must live apart from her.

Technically, Yekaterina Petrovna was no princess at all, not in the way two little English girls might envision. She was born into nobility, yes, but she was no king’s daughter. Yet she grew up in a big house, inside a sprawling estate that may as well have been her family’s little kingdom, the way her father had explained it. In their house, he was as good as a king, and she was his little princess. Her mother was long dead, and as her Aunt Tonya had no husband or children of her own, she lived with them in their little palace, as she had all her life. Katya could run and play wherever she pleased, until she couldn’t, and anything her father thought she might like, he would produce for her until that too became difficult.

As their fortunes changed, Katya felt it keenly though she did not understand the particulars of their situation. She knew nothing of war or revolution, and no one had wanted to explain these things to her. Her father loved her so well that he never wanted her to worry about a single thing, and he had sent her away in the company of her aunt because he had reached a point where he felt that delaying their departure could endanger them. All he had told her was that he feared their home was no longer safe, and that if she was good to her aunt, he would be very proud of her when he joined them. She had kissed him and promised to behave, as he left her to be packed up and taken along to England, with one of the two passages he had been able to procure. She worried that when he came looking for them, he might be troubled to find that she had been separated from her aunt, and so she bit her lip as they rode along the grey streets of London, hoping that he would understand that she had only done as she was told.

Looking at her now, one would not even take her for nobility. Inside her bundle, Katya had one change of clothes and a ragged plush toy. This was all that she owned in the world, aside from a precious watch on a chain that her father had given to her as a parting gift. The watch was to be left with Aunt Tonya, who promised it would be safer in her care. Katya had always been a good, trusting kind of girl, so she had relinquished her most prized possession because she believed that her aunt had her best interests at heart, and would take better care of it than a careless little girl like her ever could. She would miss pressing it to her ear, where the ticking of the clock helped her fall asleep at night when the confusion that her life had become threatened to keep her awake.

***

For her part, Tonya did feel, deep down inside, that she may be doing the wrong thing. However, she understood life in ways her little niece did not, and she had told herself that what she was doing was in no way breaking the promise she had made to her poor brother. He had told her to look after the girl, and as he had not sent them away with nearly enough to care for the both of them in their new life together, there was no harm in finding a place for her to be cared for while Tonya could focus on keeping herself alive. Everything had happened so fast, that she had only been instructed to hide precious things in her clothes and in their luggage, to help them hold out until he could resume his duties as head of the house. So, Tonya had been left quite alone for the first time in her life, with nothing but a meagre living that could never take her through a year in naught but the most reduced circumstances, and a girl she was to be in charge of. The priceless relics of her family’s history had only gotten them so far, and if things kept on as they had, they may very well have starved slowly while her brother failed to appear.

A woman like herself, who had experienced the first hardships of her life just these past couple of years, could not be expected to find ways to improve things for herself and the child. As she saw it, all she could be expected to do was to survive until her fortunes improved. And in order for that to happen, her brother’s precious Princess Yekaterina might as well be sold into domestic service, where she stood a better chance of awaiting his return than she would by her side. She would be of no use to anyone otherwise.

Tonya hoped that Mrs. Minj would not mind the lost look her niece had about her. She tended to let her eye wander every which way, as if she needed to take a full inventory of her surroundings at all times. Tonya hoped that she would not change her mind about taking her on because of it, because in truth, Katya was quite sharp. Her adoring father had every right to go around telling everyone what a clever girl his daughter was, though appearances often suggested that her head was quite lost in the clouds.

As they stood on Mrs. Minj’s stoop, Katya could make out a strange rustling in the nearby shrubs. She saw two little heads crowded at the front window of the house next door, with a taller figure standing behind them. She took note of the dull, grey sky, and how uniform the houses on the street looked. The sound of Mrs. Minj opening the door to greet them gave her something new to behold.

Mrs. Minj was a tall, thin woman, with mousy brown hair and a perpetual look of distaste. She had been crafted by nature to become a strict governess, or a nun in charge of terrorizing schoolgirls at a convent school, or perhaps an ill-tempered librarian, but fortune had given her marriage and a family instead. After a curt greeting, she regarded Katya, looking down her nose at the girl she was to take into her home. Katya struggled to meet her eye.

“This is the child, then?” she said, addressing Tonya without looking at her.

“Yes, she is,” Tonya said. She bit her lip.

Mrs. Minj turned her attention to Katya.

“Child,” she said. “Tell me your name.”

Katya had been trained to recognize this question, though her understanding of the English language was not quite where it ought to be. She stared dumbly at Mrs. Minj for a moment, though, because it had not been phrased the way she was used to. Aunt Tonya had spent hours asking her What is your name? and talking her through the correct response.

Tonya could see something like disdain blooming on Mrs. Minj’s face the longer Katya stayed silent.

“Don’t worry,” she said, in her own halting speech. “She is quick. She improve soon.”

She then nudged Katya, with a sharp translation of what the woman had asked her. God, she hoped she would be allowed to leave this exchange alone.

Now that she knew what to say, Katya embarked on her rehearsed speech.

“My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo—”

“Katherine,” Mrs. Minj said. “What a sensible name.”

In the end, the exchange went off without a fuss. Mrs. Minj gave Tonya her payment, and took Katya by the wrist to pull her inside. Tonya called after her to be good, and turned around to leave her as soon as she could. Katya was then unceremoniously dumped into the care of the house cook. It was only later that night, when she was finally left alone to process the events of the day, that she began to feel scared.

***

In the house next door, two little girls huddled under one of their covers, so they could whisper about what they had seen after the lights went out.

“That was no princess!” Pearl whispered, almost loudly enough to constitute regular speech, but with a hissing quality to it. “She looked so shabby, and there was no fur in sight.”

“Why would Mrs. Minj call her Katherine? Her name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo, I heard it clear as day!” Trixie pouted as she thought of it. The girl looked like she had so little …

Pearl rolled her eyes, and though Trixie could not see it, she could discern that it had happened from the way she spoke.

“Oh, Trixie, what does it matter what she’s called?”

Trixie kept her mouth closed until the urge to shout subsided.

“I just think it’s so rude to take away a person’s name… Don’t you, Pearl?”

“We should just go to sleep before Miss Dela scolds us. What a bore today turned out to be,” said Pearl, sighing.

“You’re bored every day, Pearl.”

[johnhardinsawyer]

“We Do Not Lose Heart”

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

2 / 14 / 21

2 Corinthians 4:1-6

Mark 9:2-9

“We Do Not Lose Heart”

(When Our Hearts Shine)

Happy Valentine’s Day!

At our house this past week, my wife prepared a bunch of Paw Patrol Valentine’s cards for our son’s preschool class.  Seeing those cards reminded me of exchanging similar cards when I was growing up, except I had to make my cards.  Every year, my mother would break out the red construction paper, the white heart-shaped doilies, and the Elmer’s glue and we would construct some homemade Valentine hearts that looked, well. . . homemade by a child.  Now, there are benefits to making your own hearts for Valentine’s Day.  You can always personalize your message.  You can also practice your fine motor skills with the scissors.  But. . . at the time, those handmade hearts just didn’t seem as cool as the store-bought ones.  So, even though my friends would give me the 1980’s equivalent of a Paw Patrol Valentine, there I was with my red paper hearts.

On this Valentine’s Day – whether you have the slickest, coolest, store-boughtenist Valentine’s cards, or your own homemade construction paper hearts, or whether the only heart you have today is the one that is beating inside of you, today’s scripture reading from 2 Corinthians is all about not losing heart, but embracing the light that God shines in each of our hearts.

The very idea that God somehow shines light in our hearts is kind of a strange one.  I mean, we do live in the era of heart catheterizations and other tests that doctors can use to tell what is going on inside of our bodies.  We know that we do not have some kind of holy lantern, or flashlight, or floodlight planted somewhere inside of us.  And, if you look up videos of open-heart surgeries – which, I don’t necessarily recommend – you can see for yourself that the only lights shining are coming from overhead in the operating room.

Most – or all – of the light that we see with our eyes comes not from within us, but from outside of us.  And yet, the God that we can come to know in the words of scripture is intimately connected to both light and our hearts in literal and figurative ways.  In the Bible, this is the light that we see at work, from the first moment of creation when God says, “‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.  And God saw that the light was good. . .” (Genesis 1:3-4)  We see this light at work, in a literal sense, at the birth of Jesus when the wise men from the East follow a star (Matthew 2:9) and in a figurative sense at the start of the Gospel of John when Jesus is referred to as “the light” that is “the life of all people.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:4-5)

In today’s first reading from the Gospel of Mark, we see the transfigured Jesus shining – his clothes become “dazzling white.” (Mark 9:3)  In the original language, Jesus becomes “radiant” –  “like the radiance of the stars”[1] – and it causes his friends, Peter, James, and John to be completely terrified.  Right before today’s second reading, Paul makes reference to another terrifying use of light.  In the Book of Exodus, after Moses finishes talking with God, the people don’t recognize him because his face is shining[2] with a kind of holy sunburn crossed with a holy halogen bulb, and it freaks the people out, so they ask him to put on a veil whenever he speaks with them.  When Moses speaks with God, he takes the veil off, but when he speaks with the people, he puts the veil back on – shielding them from God, physically. . .  and, perhaps, spiritually.  As Paul writes to the Corinthians, though – right before today’s passage – when we turn toward Jesus Christ, the veil is removed.  We do not need a veil anymore to protect us or shield us from fully understanding and experiencing the holiness of God.  As Eugene Peterson translates:

Whenever, though, they turn to face God as Moses did, God removes the veil and there they are—face-to-face! They suddenly recognize that God is a living, personal presence, not a piece of chiseled stone. . . God is personally present, a living Spirit. . .  Nothing between us and God, our faces shining with the brightness of his face. And so we are transfigured much like the Messiah, our lives gradually becoming brighter and more beautiful as God enters our lives and we become like him.[3]

And so, as Paul writes, “we do not lose heart,” (2 Corinthians 4:1) because just as Jesus was transfigured on the mountain – shining brightly – so we, too, have the light of Jesus shining brightly in our hearts.

You know, that sure does sound nice, but there are times when I wonder if it is true.  Because it sure is easy to lose sight of the light and to lose heart in the process.  It can be hard to not lose heart, these days – to not get discouraged when the winter is long, but the pandemic is longer, when the absolute worst of human nature and our national division are on display for the world to see, when injustice walks free on a technicality, when it feels like good times are either only ahead or only behind but never in the present, when we find ourselves at our lowest ebb, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve been spending time with the Apostle Paul and his letters to the church in Corinth.  Now, the church in Corinth had some problems.  There were conflicts and difficulties from within and without.  People were losing heart with the whole Christian enterprise.  

Paul knew a few things about losing heart, though.  Over the course of his ministry, he was beaten, and arrested, and thrown in jail, and run out of town, and shipwrecked, and tried and found guilty – all because he loved Jesus.  And, I am sure that there were times when he lost heart, too – or was at least tempted to lose heart, to lose hope, to get discouraged.

At the start of his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul writes, “We do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, of the affliction we experienced in Asia; for we were so utterly, unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself.”  (2 Corinthians 1:8)  Talk about losing heart. . .  I can only imagine the hardship Paul endured.  But then, just a few verses later, Paul writes, “[God,] who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to rescue us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again.” (1:10)

We have set our hope on the God who has rescued us – the God who will rescue us again, the God who will restore us to full and abundant life, the God who will bring healing and joy and contentment, the God who will offer us the very thing we need. . .  just as God has always done for us in the past.  You know, hope like this is not just wishful thinking – it is the very essence of faith.  And it is needed, especially in times that are hard – times when the darkness threatens to overwhelm us.  

I’ve been reading and thinking a lot about a woman named Fannie Lou Hamer, who was a poor sharecropper from Ruleville, Mississippi.  Mrs. Hamer was steeped in the life and culture of the church.  For her whole life, “the church had sustained her wearied spirit when all other institutions had served contrary purposes.”[4]  In August of 1962, she went to church and heard a powerful speech about her constitutional right to vote – a right that had been denied her by the Jim Crow laws that had been enacted in Mississippi to keep people like her from voting.  The speech was so powerful, though, that it prompted Mrs. Hamer to “step out on God’s word of promise” to put her faith into action.[5]  So, she started trying to register to vote and began trying to get other folks to register, too.

Those were dark and frightening days for Mrs. Hamer and the other people who were working with her.  And yet, when things got dark and frightening, Mrs. Hamer would sing the songs she learned in church.  “That’s Fannie Lou, she know how to sing,”[6] people would say.

Less than a year after hearing that speech about voting, Mrs. Hamer was arrested while sitting at a lunch counter.  That night she endured a horrific beating by her jailors.  As historian Charles Marsh writes, “Mrs. Hamer had nothing to confess; she harbored no information needed by the torturers.  She was not abused for the secrets she kept.  She was abused, it seems, for being – for being a black woman with a voice.”[7]  And yet, that night as she laid in her cell – bloodied and broken from the beating – she began to sing:  

Paul and Silas was bound in jail, let my people go.

Had no money for to go their bail, let my people go.

Paul and Silas began to shout, let my people go.

Jail doors open and they walked out, let my people go.[8]

Pretty soon, the people locked up in jail with her started singing, too.  As Charles Marsh writes,

Their singing did not remove their suffering or the particularities of their humiliation; rather, it embraced the suffering, named it, and emplotted it in a cosmic story of hope and deliverance.  At first tentatively, and then with grown confidence their song floated freely throughout the jail, exploding the death grip of the cell.  “Jail doors open and they walked out, let my people go.”  Despair turned into a steady resoluteness to keep on going.  A miracle happened.  And at least for Mrs. Hamer, a peaceable composure, incomprehensible apart from a deep river of faith, transformed not only her diminished self-perception but the perception of her torturers.  She said astonishingly, “It wouldn’t solve any problem for me to hate whites just because they hate me. . .”[9]  

If, the end, the story of the Bible and the story of our faith is one of hope, and light, and abundant life lived in the presence of God, then maybe transformation – transfiguration – is possible for us, too.  This is what Fannie Lou Hamer believed – with her broken, yet loving and faithful, transfigured heart shining in the darkness – a heart that had compassion even on those who had beaten her.  This kind of faith and hope is a lived theology – embodied by Fannie Lou Hamer – and built on the ultimate triumph of God’s freeing grace and mercy despite all signs to the contrary and all of the pain and hatred that the unjust realities of the world can throw at us.

“We do not lose heart,” Paul writes, just a few verses after today’s passage:  

We do not lose heart – even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.  For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. (4:16-18)

We do not lose heart, because the light of Jesus Christ shines in the darkness of this world and in our own hearts.  Our hearts, as fragile and fallible as they are, have been handmade by the Holy.  And oh, how they do shine. . .  May God grant us the vision to not only see this light, but may we be transfigured, too – shining the light of Jesus in the world.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

------------

[1] Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 1979) 768.

[2] See Genesis 34:29-35.

[3] Eugene Peterson, The Message – Numbered Edition (Colorado Springs:  NAV Press, 2002) 1591.

[4] Charles Marsh, God’s Long Summer:  Stories of Faith and Civil Rights (Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 1997) 13.

[5] Marsh, God’s Long Summer, 13.

[6] Marsh, God’s Long Summer, 15.

[7] Marsh, God’s Long Summer, 21.

[8] Marsh, God’s Long Summer, 22.

[9] Marsh, God’s Long Summer, 22.

[legendofzeldaalinktothepast]

Pathetic, Clinging Poetry - Chapter 21 (of 25)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter 

A few weeks ago, I etched a message on my last sticky note And shoved it into an empty glass bottle, And I tossed it into the ocean, Letting it sail off to wherever fate willed it.

I'm not home, but it's alright. The ocean no longer frightens me; Now, the waves sing me a lullaby As they grasp for moonlight. The sand is like a silken blanket Beneath my weary frame. And while I'm not meant to live In isolation, in wilderness, surrounded by the pacific; My heart is steady, my thoughts are still. 

* 

As he sat on the living room carpet with a pile of drawings on his lap, Steven watched the hands on the clock with stars in his eyes. 'It's almost seven... Ugh, it's sooo close!' He kicked his little feet, the pent up energy building up inside of him and boiling over.

"Watching the clock isn't gonna make them get here any faster, buddy." Greg said as he walked past, ruffling Steven's curly hair. "Why don't you help us get ready for tonight? I'm sure that's a better way to pass the time."

"But I want to show everyone my pictures..." Steven pouted. Then, an imaginary lightbulb appeared over his head. "Oh! Daddy! I just got the bestest idea! I drew a picture for you and Mommy and Lion, but I don't have to wait for you guys to get here, because you're already here! Can I show you them, pretty please?"

"Of course! Hand 'em over." Greg said with a grin, and Steven handed one of the drawings over to him.

"Whoa! That's amazing!" Greg beamed with pride as he admired his son's artwork. "Looks kinda like me... and I'm in space! Am I an astronaut?"

"You're the space man!" Steven exclaimed. "I drew all of us as super heroes! And your superpower is space! You can control the moon, and the stars, and the sun, and the clouds, and Jupiter, and uh... All the other planets too!" He filed through the stack of papers, pulling out another one. "And this one's for you, Lion!" he continued as the massive cat wandered past the living room. "You're a were-lion! On nights where the moon is a circle, you turn into a -- hey, I'm talking to you!" he called as Lion continued to walk towards the kitchen, not paying any mind to Steven's artwork.

Greg chuckled. "Looks like he's got other things on his mind." he said, watching as Lion crouched down in front of his food bowl. "I'm sure he still likes your drawing, kiddo. He just doesn't know how to show it. Cats are different from people." Greg reassured.

"I guess..." Steven said. "Oh! I know how to make him appreciate it!" He skipped over to the kitchen and hung the drawing up on the fridge with a magnet, placing it directly above Lion's food dish. "There we go! Now he has to look at it! He'll starve if he doesn't!"

Greg burst into laughter. "Well, that's one way to get his attention." he said. He then gave Steven a little nudge back towards the living room. "Now, go show your mom what you drew for her. And once you've done that, help her pick out a board game! She's bad at making decisions."

"Okie dokie!" Steven said, skipping back into the living room. "Mommy! Mommy mommy!"

"Mhm?" Rose responded, lifting an armful of board games from the shelf in the closet.

"Look! It's you!" Steven said, holding the drawing up to Rose. "I made you a super hero! You're flower woman! You have the power to control plants! But not just flowers, either; you can do big scary plants with teeth and thorns, too! And your hair is made of flower leafs!"

"Oh my, how creative!" Rose said, sitting down on the floor so that she was at Steven's eye level. "Your art has really improved. Look, you even drew my hands!"

"Yeah! And I colored your nails pink, too." Steven said. "Oh, and Daddy wanted me to help you pick out a game. Can we playyy..." Steven tapped his chin and hummed loudly in thought. "Jenga! Can we play Jenga, Mommy?"

"Jenga it is." Rose said, pulling out the box of wooden blocks. "Would you mind clearing off the coffee table, dear?"

"Yep!" Steven said. Just as he began to crawl over to the table, however, he heard a knock at the door. "They're here!" he exclaimed. He nearly jumped to his feet to rush to the entry room -- but then remembered he still had a task to fulfill. So he hurriedly removed the books and magazines and coasters from the table as Rose went to answer the door, placing them neatly beneath the couch.

"Hello, girls!" Rose greeted. As he lifted the heavy box of Jenga pieces onto the table, Steven tried to peer into the entry room, but couldn't quite make out who was at the door. "Girls" could honestly refer to any of the guests they were expecting; now that he thought about it, he really had a lot of women in his family. Once the table was set, he grabbed the whole stack of drawings and made his way towards the front door.

"Peeaaarl!" Steven squealed, immediately running over and hugging her leg. He was excited to see Amethyst and Jasper, too, but Pearl was the first one he saw and the one he'd known the longest, so she was the first to receive his attention.

Pearl smiled awkwardly at the sudden display of affection. "Good evening, Steven." she greeted, patting him on the head.

"He's been eager to see you guys all day. He even drew pictures for you." Rose said with a smile. "Would you like to share your artwork, honey?"

"You're an artist, too, huh?" Amethyst said.

"Yes! I love coloring pictures!" Steven exclaimed. "Lookie here! I drew you all as super heroes!" Steven handed the first drawing to Pearl. "Your super power is dancing! You're like a magical ballerina whose kicks can knock down buildings!"

"How... interesting!" Pearl said, squinting at the drawing and turning it around in her hands so she could make sense of it. Despite her confusion, though, her smile didn't fade. "Thank you very much, Steven!"

"And Amethyst! You're a shap... shapeshif... You turn into animals!" Steven continued, handing Amethyst her drawing.

"Oh hell yeah, that looks sick!" Amethyst grinned. "Can I get a commission?"

"I don't know what that is, but sure!" Steven said. "And Jasper..." He approached Jasper a bit more shyly, handing her the picture he'd drawn for her. She had a tendency to stand off to the side and keep to herself, which always confused him; he'd never expected a girl so big and strong to be so shy. "You're ninja girl! You can turn invisible, and can jump really high, and break wood with karate chops!"

"Ooh, uh, thanks!" Jasper said, taking the drawing and looking it over. She looked a bit uncertain of how to react -- she was never the best when it came to kids -- so she simply gave Steven a little smile. "Nice job. I'll put it on my desk at work."

“Yay! I bet everyone at the office will be jealous.” Steven said.

"Alright, let's all start heading to the living room." Rose announced, but it was mostly directed at Steven. "Your grandmas will be here any minute, and we don't want to be crowding the doorway!"

"Aww, okay." Steven said, making his way over to the couch and climbing up onto the soft cushions. He eagerly kicked his legs and stared out the window. 'I hope they get here soon...' he thought with a sigh.

Amethyst seated herself beside him, peering at the stack of papers in his arms. "What else ya got there, buddy?"

Steven blushed. "Oh! Um um, just some more pictures. I drew something for everyone! Here, you wanna look?"

"You bet your as- uh, butt I do." Amethyst said as she reached for them. Steven couldn't help but giggle. "You almost said the A word!" he teased.

"Yeah, but I caught myself. Don't be like me." she said.

"Aww, but I wanna be like you! You make really good pictures, you know. You drawed a really good coloring page for storytime. " Steven said.

"Thanks, kiddo. You can be like me art-wise, but don't pick up on my dirty mouth." Amethyst snorted. She filed through the drawings, nodding in approval at each of them. "Good stuff, good stuff. So where'd ya learn to draw? Do you have art class at school?"

"I don't go to school yet! I start kindergarten in..." He counted on his fingers. "September! But mommy told me that I'd have art class there. I'll get to use finger paint, and play-doh, and big markers that smell like popsicles!"

"Hah, those were the days." Amethyst said, scooting over as Jasper joined them on the couch. Steven kicked his feet in excitement and glanced at the clock again; the big hand was pointing at the two, now... Grandma Yas and Bella were late! 'Maybe they got stuck behind a choochoo train... Or they had to stop to save a baby squirrel!' Steven thought. The latter seemed more exciting, so he decided to assume that was the case.

"So," Rose began, making her way over to the loveseat and sitting down beside Pearl. "Do you happen to remember Spinel?"

"Spinel?" Pearl paused a moment to think. "She's your little cousin, if I remember correctly. Isn't she the one that would always beg us to play house with her?”

"Yeah, she was clingy, that's for sure." Rose giggled. “I haven't talked to her in a few years... When she moved away, we weren't on quite the best terms... But she's coming to the game night tonight, along with her girlfriend. Apparently she's living with my parents, now. So it'll be interesting to see her again."

"Oh, how exciting!" Pearl clasped her hands together. In all honesty, she was already feeling pretty shy about meeting Yasmine and Bella again; and with Spinel coming along -- as well as her girlfriend, whose name was a mystery -- it was going to be quite a crowd. As she looked around the living room, she couldn't help but wonder if there'd even be enough room for everyone to sit.

"Yeah. I just hope she's not holding a grudge..." Rose nervously rubbed the back of her neck. Before she could elaborate, there was another knock at the door.

Steven immediately jumped to his feet. "Grandmas are here!! Let's go, Mommy!" he called, and Rose lifted Steven into her arms as she went to answer the door, knowing he wanted to be the first one to see them.

Greg peered into the living room. "Hey, girls." he greeted, waving a hand as he headed over to the couch.

"Hey." Amethyst said, and Jasper awkwardly waved a hand in response. Pearl scooted over so Greg could sit beside her.

"So... Jenga tonight, huh?" Amethyst said, noticing the wooden blocks sitting on the table. "That's kinda like Operation, but with blocks, isn't it? So Jasper's probably gonna beat us again."

"What are you talking about? It's nothing like Operation." Jasper said.

"I mean, it kinda is! Like, you gotta have a steady hand and all that." Amethyst shrugged. "In all honesty, I just wanted to brag a little. Wanted everyone to know that my sis is a cool surgeon and all."

"I think Greg already knew about that." Jasper rolled her eyes, and Pearl couldn't help but giggle.

"Well, Jasper's not the only one with steady hands around here!" Greg cracked his knuckles. "I was the master of Jenga back when I was a boy!"

"Man, I got shaky hands. I couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler if I was held at gunpoint." Amethyst snorted.

"Pearl?" Rose peered into the entry room with a huge smile on her face. "Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but would you like to meet Spinel's girlfriend?"

The way she spoke sounded like it was the most fascinating thing in the world; and sure, she was curious about Spinel's mysterious new girlfriend, but... Pearl wasn't quite sure why Rose was asking her specifically. "Uh... sure!" she finally responded.

And out of the entry room stepped Peony. Her hair was trimmed down to chin-length, a bit choppy on the bottom and no longer in her usual space buns, but other than that, she looked identical to how she did when Pearl had last seen her. Pearl cupped a hand over her mouth, slowly rising from the couch. "...Peony?"

"Hey! I didn't expect to see you h-" Peony began, but was cut off as Pearl rushed up to her and pulled her into a hug that nearly knocked her off of her feet.

"Holy shit..." Amethyst remarked just under her breath. While she didn't say anything, Jasper's eyes lit up and a slight smile spread across her face.

"Peony!!" Pearl squealed, lifting her up and spinning her around in her arms. "Oh my goodness, what are you doing here? What have you been doing all this time?!"

"I should be asking you the same thing!" Peony giggled, returning Pearl's tight embrace. "I knew you were living somewhere in Beach City, but I never expected I'd find you this quickly!"

Pearl finally pulled away from the hug, wiping a tear away from her face. "I can’t believe you're alright! All this time I was worried that something had happened to you!"

"And I was worried about you!" Peony said.

"Why were you worried about me? Never mind that, just -- gosh, I'm just -- I'm so happy to see you!" Pearl squealed, hugging her once again.

As the two stood together in their comforting embrace, Yasmine, Bella, and Spinel made their way into the living room.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise!" Bella said, clasping her hands together. As Spinel walked past, she gave Peony a gentle pat on the back and smiled lovingly.

"Whoa! Pearl, your sister looks just like you! How'd you do that?" Steven exclaimed.

"That's because they're twins, buddy." Greg said.

"That's soo cool! Can I have a twin, Mommy?" Steven begged.

"I think it's a little late for that." Rose chuckled.

"We'll be right back." Pearl announced, and before anyone (including Peony) could say anything else, she grabbed her sister by the arm and dragged her into the kitchen.

"Okay. So." Pearl took a deep breath once they were alone, gripping Peony by the shoulders. "I have a million questions."

"I have a million and one." Peony said.

"Well, I'm going first!" Pearl giggled. "First of all, what did you do with your hair?"

"That's... a complicated story." Peony twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "And again, I've been wanting to ask you the same question. Not to mention your outfit..." she remarked, casting her gaze downward.

For a moment, Pearl was confused; but then she remembered that the last time she'd seen Peony, her hair was much longer and she'd still been wearing nothing but skirts and dresses. Ever since her birthday a few weeks ago, however, she’d begun feeling less and less comfortable with presenting in such a feminine manner, and had just about phased her skirts out of her wardrobe entirely. "Ah. I guess you could say that's a complicated story as well..."

"It seems like we have a lot of catching up to do." Peony sighed happily. "But I don’t care too much about that; right now, I’m just relieved to see you again.”

Pearl hugged Peony for what was probably the tenth time that night. "Me too... God, I really thought something bad had happened to you. Mom managed to track down Jasper's phone number -- Jasper's my friend who I'm living with, by the way -- and called me on our birthday, telling me that you'd run away... But she was acting like I knew where you were. Which scared me, because obviously I didn't, so..." Pearl shook her head as she began to tear up. Now wasn't the time for that, she reminded herself.

Peony reached for Pearl's hands as they pulled away from the hug, giving them a little squeeze. "It's alright. I understand. I really wish I could have told you what was going on, but... I didn't know how to contact you. You left your phone behind, and I couldn't find you on Facebook or anything, so..."

Pearl blushed. "Ah... Yeah, I ended up making a new account, going by a completely different made-up name so nobody could find me. Ever hear of Earl Diamond?"

Peony burst into laughter. "Really? You couldn't think of anything more creative than dropping the P from your name?"

"In my defense, Amethyst -- who's my girlfriend now, by the way -- suggested it as a joke, but I went with it because I couldn't think of anything else." Pearl chuckled.

"That sounds about right.” Peony rolled her eyes. “But, um... Perhaps we should put the… elephant in the room aside for now. Right now, I think we should just let ourselves have some fun. Save the catching up for a more private time, perhaps...." she said, smiling warmly.

"Good idea." Pearl said. "Um... H-how about tomorrow? I don't have anything going on, really... Perhaps we could meet at the Big Donut. I could give you Jasper's phone number, if you'd like a way to contact me after tonight... Or you could add 'Earl Diamond' on Facebook."

"Sounds like a plan." Peony smiled. She grabbed a pen from the calendar hanging nearby, and Pearl wrote Jasper's phone number down on her palm.

"Alright. Ready to go back out there?" she said.

Pearl braced herself. "Yeah. I'm certainly not eager to face such a big crowd, though..."

"I know, right?" Peony smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of her neck. "Rose really invited everyone and their dog tonight. But I think we'll manage -- we've survived plenty of family reunions before.”

"Tell me about it." Pearl chuckled.

And with that, the two of them made their way back to the crowded living room.

* 

As she got ready for bed that night, Pearl couldn't help humming to herself -- a sign that, for the time being, her mind was at peace. As she brushed her hair in front of the body length mirror, Amethyst approached her and hugged her from behind. "My little Pierogi's in a good mood, isn't she?"

Pearl giggled. "I guess you could say that..." she said, setting the hair brush aside and turning around to face Amethyst. "I really feel like a weight has been lifted from my chest. Perhaps that might seem a little strange, but… I was very close with Peony before I left my old home, you know?"

"That’s not weird at all, babe." Amethyst said, standing up on her tippy toes so she could kiss Pearl on the cheek. "Like... ya know, me and Jasper have never been the closest, but... We've always..." She paused a moment to fake a shudder. "Cared about each other. And if I had any reason to think anything happened to her, I'd have probably acted the same way you did when you didn’t know if Peony was okay… So I can kinda guess how you’re feeling, and I couldn’t be happier for you.”

"Aw, honey..." A smile spread across Pearl's face. "I've always known it was the case, but it's still so sweet to hear that you care about Jasper."

"Ew, I knew you'd focus on that." Amethyst rolled her eyes. "It's your fault. You've turned me into a big ol' sap."

"You're my little sapling." Pearl purred, resting her chin on top of Amethyst's head.

"You're so corny, ugh." Amethyst snorted. "'Sapling' makes me sound like a baby tree or some shit."

"Are trees not beautiful?" Pearl cooed. "You're like a lilac tree... Small and stout, and your hair is just like those fragrant, purple blossoms."

"That is so cheesy... But also kinda cute, so I'll allow it." Amethyst winked, flopping down onto the bed. "Anyway, come here, girlie." she gestured with her finger for Pearl to come closer, and the latter sat down on the edge of the mattress. She reached for Amethyst's hands and gave them a little squeeze; her short, stubby fingers felt so small in her long, lanky hands. For a moment it almost made her feel a little self conscious -- at times, she wished she wasn't so bony and frail -- until Amethyst lifted her knuckles to her lips and kissed them, her dark eyes falling shut. After a gesture like that, Pearl truly felt like the most beautiful woman in the world...

"Today was so wonderful… I’m so glad everything went the way it did. My story being a success with the kids, meeting my sister again, getting to meet Rose’s moms and Spinel again, playing Jenga together…” Pearl whispered, pressing her forehead to Amethyst's. "And to top it all off, I'm falling more and more in love with you each day..."

"Babe..." Amethyst bit back a smile, turning her gaze up towards Pearl. "I'm in love with you too."

As Pearl stared into those warm brown eyes, she noticed they were a tad watery... Part of her wanted to comment on it, but perhaps it'd only embarrass Amethyst... So she held her tongue, allowing herself to enjoy Amethyst's rare sentimental side in silence, and Pearl brought their lips together in another kiss.

[blankdblank]

Modern Soulmate Pt 5

…

Stretched out along your side in a bout of cuddles to relax Dewey’s lips met yours again for a gentle kiss. Echoed by a stroke of his fingers gently across your cheek, his eyes caught yours in his adoring smile, “You like him?”

Your lips parted and your smile dimmed, “I want to punch him.”

His smile grew, “I wasn’t talking about his comments, Darling. Do you think you might want something more than friendship from him?”

Your voice dropped to a broken whisper, “Dewey, I’m not..”

“I love you, and if there’s ever a time you want more than friendship with him, tell me. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.” His hand dropped to your hip to pull you closer with a smirk as he hummed to you in a velvety whisper, “Which I know you won’t.” A content hum muffled against your lips when you pulled him in for a passionate kiss, in the break of which his hand returned to your cheek, “I know it’s a lot right now, but if it happens don’t worry about it at all, I’m not going anywhere, and if anything he’ll have to bend to what you want, it’ll work out.”

“Message received.” Your lips met his again quickly to draw him into another round of passionate heated lovemaking.

.

Sleep however would not last long as a quack from the phone on the stand beside the bed lured your arm out to answer the call. Cozy draped across your back Dewey grumbled in the shift of your ribs in waking breaths and to your answer to the request to come in and assist on an emergency surgery. Down the back he had to leave Dewey’s lips pressed in sweet trails while his hands with hold of your hips helped to get you back onto your feet. Then onto his side he leaned to accept the warm hug and kiss you left on his lips and when out of his reach he flopped onto his belly to nestle around his pillow. A drowsy smile spread across his lips in a content hum to your kiss on his shoulder as you raised the covers back over him again.

Quite rapidly you managed to dress and get to the office. Three hours later sleep again called your name and once stripped underneath your glad giant you slipped for more welcome hours to claim his favorite pillow.

Deeply a growl escaped Thorin in the slam of his hand down onto the alarm clock that effectively silenced the object. Heavily beside his body his arm dropped to grip the covers that were thrown back. Off the side of the bed his legs moved in the upright motion of his body and to the deep throb that coursed throughout his every inch he growled again to the realization this feeling had come from his Mate. Sluggish to his feet he climbed and wobbled his way to his bathroom under the extra weight of the late night call that had robbed you of much needed sleep. Out of his clothes he pulled to the slide of the sensation off in a wave to the slide of the magnetic earring back into place to separate the bond. And to himself he muttered, “I need to strap that woman down so I can get sleep for once.”

Every step of his usual regime was taken while he mentally prepped himself for the next time he would see you again and how he would handle it much better this time around without threat of harm or insult to your person. Out of his array of suits to choose from a charcoal one, pale yellow shirt and a dark grey tie were layered to perfection around his subtly flexed muscles from his unshakable nerves. Early for the day with pockets filled and work bag in hand he drug Dwalin along for whatever was to come while he mentally recited his major things to cover for the day.

“Step 1 - Watch out for drinks, don’t run into her again,

Step 2 – apologize,

Step 3 - stop staring.”

Unlike the day before classes stretched longer with three more in the mix and to the sound of sheets of rain the pair of you readied for what lay ahead. Tired didn’t come close and yet alone post breakfast and warm parting kiss when your Dew Drop was off to his own job you stood with keys in hand to ready the plan for the day. Legolas wouldn’t be up for another two hours and to let him have a safer trip to school the keys and a note for him were left while you grabbed a spare duo of garbage bags. Inside those your bag was fixed to keep it dry once you’d pulled on your raincoat and boots.

Out to the garage you went and atop your bike you broke out into the storm that did its best to tear you back through the memories of the storm that had taken the lives of your parents. Normally rain wouldn’t set this off, yet the blinding flashes of lightning that would ignite the pitch black sky gave way to that single moment where headlights was all you could see around their faces between the seats that had warped around you to muffle the impact in just that spot. Downright impossibly after hours of careful saws and crowbars one survivor in two vehicles had been let out of the metallic hell. Straight ahead however to mental recitations to keep focus and alleviate the pull to snap back to that static moment were muttered between soft pants for air between each choking splash of rain that flung up into your face even with the hood on your coat drawn tight.

Caramel apple cider in hand post coffee stop once parked at the University Thorin sighed and closed his eyes to Dwalin’s chuckle and question of, “You don’t know when she gets here do you?”

“I thought it was your intention to help me.” Thorin growled back only earning another chuckle from his cousin who patted him on the shoulder to a flash that lit up the sky.

“Let’s head in before the roof caves in and we can ask around for who has her on their roster in the lounge. Need be you can always make another run to the coffee shop later on.” Under their spacious umbrella the both of them walked to the covered walkway nearby where said umbrella was tapped on the ground and sealed shut for its slide back into the matching bag to not drip behind them. The warm drink in his hand only held his attention a few moments longer as a tire skid following a hair rising roll of thunder turned their heads.

To the bike stand their eyes turned to watch the strange person dismounting and promptly locking the bike to the stand to trot across the distance to the covered walkway. Legs now drenched almost completely save for the strips blocked by the jacket that was being undone from the bottom upwards to reveal Thorin’s Mate as if his offer of peace had summoned you here to them. Out of the jacket fully exposed your figure was detailed and memorized by Thorin in the easy motion of it being folded in half wet side in to lay it over your shoulder so you could wring out your loose ponytail. Just a couple feet away he found himself with a small smile that slid onto his face at the fact you hadn’t run away from him.

Eyes glowing brightly his hand extended when you released your ponytail over your raincoat covered shoulder in the blind acceptance of the offered drink. “I got you a replacement for yesterdays drink.”

To the cup your eyes flinched to the enjoyable heat from it that pulsed against your skin and back up to his again to state, “Thank you.”

Out of your hand Dwalin snatched away the cup when in the earth trembling blast of thunder matched to another blinding wave of lightning sent you straight into Thorin’s chest and pinned between the duo. Both folded around the clearly frightened body between them while a sting from the heart shaped marks on both your and Thorin’s belly’s signaled of the bond being close to settled. His left hand however in a reflexive plant on your upper arm had unknowingly landed with a finger underneath the sleeve on your black t shirt stirred a secondary sting in that hand’s index finger and your left index finger to the second mark that rose there. Now there was no barrier between your bond as it was sealed by touch, however accidental, and now he could fully devote himself to continuing the task of protecting you from all possible.

Out from the duo when the light receded and you came back to your senses you backed away to an anxious clear of your throat to a safe foot away to state rather meekly, “Sorry, the, lightning.”

Dwalin again offered you your drink you grinned up at him in thanks of his saving it from hitting the floor or being crushed between your bodies and replied mid chuckle. “Don’t worry, Dis, Thorin’s Sister crawls up on anyone when she hears thunder. Fili dropped a box down the staircase once and she jumped on her husband’s shoulders, had to pry her off, like a giant terrified cat.”

You couldn’t help the smile sliding across your face holding back your giggles. With eyes that slid back to Thorin’s entrancing gaze as his left thumb slid over the index finger on his left hand feeling the new swirled ridges that had formed around it from your contact sealing your bond, “I, um, wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday, and especially how I said it. I, I really haven’t known your Grandfather since my childhood, though I really would like to learn more about him, and you.”

A lump caught in your throat which forced you to raise the cup to your lips to take a quick sip forcing his smile to grow as you drew your bottom lip into your mouth to claim the drop that clung to it, “Do you know if the Dean is in yet?”

Thorin’s head tilted to the side in confusion as his smile dimmed, “I don’t believe he gets in until after 10, is that your way of refusing my request?”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer.”

He took in a quick breath before releasing it, “I’m aware you’re in a relationship with Thranduil Greenleaf. I’m only asking to learn about you.”

“I meant because you’re my teacher.”

“Oh. Well it won’t affect anything, it is only a single semester course.”

“I still would need to disclose it.”

“It wouldn’t be anything romantic unless you wanted, and only until after the course is complete.”

You took in a quick breath that you let out in a sigh, “I’m on a scholarship, with a conduct clause, I can’t risk my scholarship and I wouldn’t want to be the reason to risk your job either.”

He smirked, “It wouldn’t be the first time this type of pairing has happened.”

Dwalin, “Besides, you wouldn’t be the first pairing, even without a bond. We’ve had a few teachers screw their way through their courses before.”

Thorin caught your eyebrows pressing together as you drew in a steady breath, and he blurted out, “Not that that is what’s going to happen between us.” Glaring at his cousin.

Who nodded and looked back at you with a small smile, “Of course not, that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Still I’d like to speak with him.”

Thorin nodded, “Sure, if that’s what you want, my class is your last today right?”

“I have two more after yours today.”

His voice rose slightly in confusion, “How many courses are you taking?”

“More than enough to complete my doctorate this year and my other degrees in the next.”

His lips parted, “Doctorate? In what?”

“I’m studying to be a veterinarian.”

Dwalin, “Impressive, how old are you?”

Your eyes met his, “22, you?” Shooting him a smirk.

He smirked, “35. Three years older than this grump.” Nudging Thorin with his shoulder, who was still staring intently at you with a smirk.

Thorin, “So how many courses?”

Your eyes went to the wall behind him as you tallied them up, “12, with another 6 scheduled for Winter Break.”

Their eyebrows raising, as Thorin said, “How are you going to manage all that?”

Dwalin, “The boys said something about you having three jobs as well.”

“Two are only part time.” Your eyes darted to the large clock on the wall, “I have to get to class.”

They both nodded as Thorin said “I’ll get an appointment with the Dean today, when is your last class over?”

“5.”

Thorin, “I’ll see you then, we can meet up at my class. I’ll walk you over.”

You nodded glancing between them before a violent shiver ran through you as another lightning streak flashed through the sky behind you. The speed of it had you slam your eyes shut you drew in a quick breath biting your lip. For a moment you froze then you opened your eyes and were off to your first class to leave the duo curious on why you held such a reaction to storms.

Underneath your desk inside of the garbage bags the coat was folded once you’d taken them off of your bag now laid on the desk. The search for your notepad and book however freed a gasp from your lips at the sight of the marker on your finger. Back to your book to keep from the urge to burst into tears you forced your gaze and pulled the bound necessity to rest on top of your bag in the next forced sip of the warm drink. Straight to your stomach the warm liquid dropped and was now the only warm part of your now icicle of a body in reaction to the unintended binding. Subtle checks of the magnetic earring came next out of habit in a means to reinforce focus upon class while the usual rhythm was found to shatter the ice on the tracks your train of thought seemed to be locked in place upon. Notes from those the Professor wrote across the board were joined by the verbal comments and facts shared to be gone over later for relevance as for now you simply were transcribing to not miss a moment due to shock.

Through his several repeated lectures Thorin’s mind kept racing back to you, his thumb steadily brushing against the new mark wrapped around his left index finger while he forced himself against constantly checking the time. Endlessly wishing that he could just be with you. A hope solidified by his answer to your request right away as soon as your brief conversation earlier had ended he’d messaged the Dean securing the meeting. The first step to what you would allow to come next.

His nerves built while nearing the unexpected meeting. Unsure at just how it would go while hoping for the best and that you would still be allowed to take his class. As the thought of having to spend the whole semester without you in his class was more than enough to make him want to scream and start throwing things. Again that clock shouted for his attention before his continuing onto the next slide glaring at the student whose hand shot into the air to interrupt his lecture. And painfully an ache grew at the clench of his jaw at the next few minutes of his class that was wasted by the unnecessary interruption from the student who assumed to know better than he did.

Forcing as good an attitude as he could muster for his next few classes, not really showing much change from his normal teaching demeanor by his student’s opinions he carried on to the end goal. Thorin watched that hour hand grow more and more within striking distance of the 5 and readied to sit for his lunch alone at the halfway mark to avoid hunting you down to force a first meal together.

Classes on your end did grow easier. Even with the mysterious sudden lack of drink in the now discarded cup that had gone empty all on its own to your recollection. All of this was making it hard to be certain of details as frivolous as that and before you knew it lunch break left you trapped in walls of rain that blocked you from the seat you normally chose. A quiet corner near to the courtyard in the open breezeway would have to suffice and with notes and books laid out the outline of the essay due in two days was begun between bites of the lunch brought from home.

Warm and sudden a pair of arms broke your concentration in a sudden hug to the sound of a duo of familiar voices said, “Auntie!”

Painfully alone and irritated Thorin sat in wonder of what you were up to in his inability to see you or share the meal from afar in the least. And heavily behind his desk he dropped into his seat to dig into the meal he had brought from home only to pause at the feel of invisible arms ghost around his torso and arms that only brought up more painful wonder as to who had embraced his Mate. Thoughts and supposed answers eventually forced him to lay his head down to remain in place and not cause a scene without any rights to.

From notes to the duo surrounding you your eyes darted between the boys and stopped on Kili, “Auntie? What happened to Snuggle Bear?”

He let out a chuckle, “Come on, that was before I learned you’re my Uncle’s Mate.”

Fili asked to your hushed sigh, “So what’re you doing out here?”

“Studying and eating.”

Kili slid his hand through your hair, “What’s different about your hair?”

You turned to him swallowing your mouthful, “Rode here in the rain.”

Fili, “You drive a convertible?”

“No, Legolas had classes later than mine so I left him my keys, rode my bike.”

Fili/Kili, “YOUR BIKE??!”

Fili, “But it’s raining!!”

“Hence the wet hair and clothes.” Smirking at him as he shot a sarcastic smirk right back.

Fili, “Funny. Well Thorin will have something to say about you going home in the rain!”

“He saw me show up, he knows I rode here in the rain.”

Kili, “Next time call.”

Your eyes met his as his brother leaned forward asking, “How Kili?”

Kili’s eyes furrowed at his brother, “Obviously on…” He dug through his pocket pulling out his phone opening the contacts and handed it to you so you could add your number as you let out a giggle as Fili did the same.

Fili sent you a text message, “There’s my number, and Ori’s, Thorin’s and Dwalin’s.”

Kili, “Now you can call one of us, even if it’s early enough to beat Thorin and Dwalin here, we’ll get you in on time.”

Off his desk however in the wing across the way Thorin’s head lifted to bring out his phone and read te message from his nephew Fili. “Gave Jaqi our numbers on lunch, yours included, you knew about her riding here in the rain?”

Against the shiver that coursed through his body to the memory of you soaking wet with long curls between your fingers to wring out every stubborn drop those equally as stubborn curls refused to release and eyes fixed on him. Even with that blank expression of yours it was more than enough to cause his heart to pound heavily in his chest. Each time since he’d spotted you signing up for your classes in his first chance to see you fully he’d nearly torn himself in half to keep a safe distance from you until you’d gotten to know each other.

Mahal she’s gorgeous flashed through his mind endlessly. That with the endless images of you that flashed into his mind driving him nearly un-tame-able in his urge to be with you. One that grew since seeing your figure in that tight shirt after he’d accidentally dumped your drink down your chest, that paired with his memories of your first night next door to him. Not even touching him at all yet still able to leave him barely able to get out of bed the morning after you’d pleasured yourself, even the times after with Thranduil. Somehow passing the rage that filled him at another man touching you as your feelings and emotions flooded into him fueling his need to pull back and attempt to allow you to grant him space in your life. Each day urging himself to try and be more comfortable sharing his bond and possibly his time with you accepting anything at all of the years he’d spent waiting to find you.

His fingers danced across the screen typing, “Good, at least now she can ask for a ride when she needs one, I’ve already decided on driving her back home today after our meeting with the Dean.”

Fili, “What are you meeting with him for?”

“Jaqi wants to disclose our bond before it gets spread around, did you know she was on a scholarship?”

Fili, “No, what does that have to do with seeing the dean?”

“There’s a conduct clause, doesn’t want to risk losing it.”

Fili, “Hmm, doubt she would but I suppose she just wants to be sure.”

Thorin’s head turned back to his classroom door hearing the students starting to file in, “You had lunch with her?”

Fili, “Ya found her out in the breezeway by the courtyard.”

“Why was she out there?”

Fili, “Don’t know, looked like she was studying though, had her books and notes all set out around her.”

Thorin let out a huff mentally wondering, Why wouldn’t she find a better place to study, she could have come here, then he texted back. “Just let her know next time you can all eat in my classroom or office to stay out of the rain, or if she just needed someplace quiet.”

Fili smirked as he read the message before he and Kili helped you put your things away and led you to Bifur’s class next, curling his arm around your back, “Next time it rains we should go to Uncle’s classroom, he won’t mind.”

You glanced up at him sensing Kili’s head turning to look at you, “Which uncle, place seems to be flooded with them.”

They chuckled as Fili smirked at you triggering your mind to flash back to Thorin’s expression from earlier that morning, those same Durin blue eyes paired with that incredible smirk, though differing with Fili’s dimples and blonde hair it was still just as striking, “Thorin’s class, Dwalin’s is a bit too far from Uncle Bifur’s.”

You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth in attempt to wet it but found your mouth dry despite the large bottle of water that you’d finished through lunch, “He um..”

Kili chuckled, “Oh he won’t mind, he’d rather have you dry and out of the rain, even if you have to pull your notes out all over the floor.”

You nodded, turning to face Bifur with a small smile while standing beside the door to his classroom. Which you crossed to grab your projects and take your seats leaving the conversation to focus on your project while fighting the image of trying to study with those bright blue eyes peering at you from behind his desk. Leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed in an intent stare at you with half a smirk tapping and turning his pen to his desk. Just that alone had your body heating up between strokes of your tool gently shaving away the wood to uncover the owl that you were carving. The metal tool tracing each detail of its countless feathers with the tool to reveal it shoving that image out of your mind as he’d finally laid down the pen on his desk rising to his feet brushing his fingers along the edges of his desk slowly walking towards you keeping the same fixed intent stare.

To a quick breath your tools were laid down in a pretend adjustment of your ponytail to really fix your earring and then get back to work. Thanks to that and glances that fixed your eyes upon the ring from Thranduil a smile crept back to your face. Years worth of memories with him came flooding back again and with them came hints of anxiety about the reaction he would have to this news. For the rest of the class you hung in there and kept steady progress on the project that with a shake of your head in the end of the class you stood to put away. The shake however was a useless hope to silence the doubts that crept up for air. Dwalin’s would come next however and you had a plan to keep your eyes down, just in case those Durin blue eyes of his would trigger some more unwanted thoughts.

Behind his podium due to those thoughts of yours Thorin hid out the reaction his body had to what had eased into your mind. Warmer within moments he focused his breathing in a means to counter that temperature spike while his eyes dropped to the wooden surface beneath his palms. What the hell is she thinking?? Got to be in Bifur’s class, what could possibly spark this in woodworking class? Slowly the grain lines were traced with a finger in the switch between slides while his mind raced to what had triggered this. Somehow his nephews being shirtless had popped into the mix. He knew they had promised to help him gain your trust but even he could tell they’d gained the Durin looks drawing more than their fair share of attention growing up. Back into his lecture he dove with a mental shove on that jealousy for their nearness to you. They had embraced you and found themselves in your friendship. Two things that unintentionally added a low rumble to his voice for the next several minutes until he’d left the idea completely.

.

In the doorway of Dwalin’s classroom where you were once again met by the burly Dwarf, “You’re still mad at him?”

You tightened your grip around the trash bags in your arms, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He smirked down at you, “At least you’re talking.” The trail of your thumb over the new mark on your index finger drew his gaze, “He didn’t do that on purpose,” pointing at your new mark.

“I just don’t know how Dewey is going to take it.”

He smirked down at you, “I’m sure he’ll be fine with it, he knows Thorin well enough to know he wouldn’t do it against your wishes, it was an, well not an accident, but it just happened by chance.”

You nodded and headed to your seat. Certain to check the security of your earring. And Thorin’s nerves settled when he knew you’d be with Dwalin safe from any more hugs or curling arms from his nephews, able to completely focus on his work again fully though still unable to keep his eyes from glancing at the clock on the wall each minute bringing you closer to him again.

Finally his class cleared out to allow the next to file in after a few minutes. To his desk he moved to reset the slides in the approach of a group of young women circled around his desk. A failed try to trail her fingertips down his forearm ended with his jerk out of the reach of the brunette who held a smirk through his stern glare. “You should take your seats.”

She let out a sigh. Crossing her arms in attempts to force her cleavage into his attention. Only to sigh again when her plan failed and the increase of the intensity of his glare locking his eyes into hers, “I was wondering if you had plans this weekend, a bunch of us are having a dinner and we could always use some good looking men to join us.” She offered him a pleading smile batting her eyelashes while the blondes around her added their own begging glances while nasally whining, “Please?”

To the door his eyes darted at your pass through the barrier he could not meet you at do to this annoying group. Deeply he drew a breath to the subtle brush of his fingertips across his shirt over his mark to mock tucking in his shirt. The tingle of the contact intended to send notice that he was aware you were here in a sort of mock greeting in absence of a proper one. Sternly to their offer when his eyes snapped back to the group he replied, “The answer is no, take your seats or leave,” within an instant his back was to the group that scoffed and made an unhappy trek to the door refusing to stay after that. And once that wooden barrier of his podium was met and his hand settled upon it again he glanced your way in time to catch the small smile you’d offered Kili in his reclamation of his seat at your side.

Focused on the task at hand the lecture began. Though he did have to cave into his urge of calling on you for the hardest questions attempting to see how well you had been studying for his class. And through each correct answer you caught the smirk fighting to force its way onto his face triggering the deep sparkle from his eyes even at the distance between you. Questions however stirred up again at each subtle adjustment to that magnetic earring that made him wonder just what you were trying to keep him from feeling. And in the end of the class his eyes fixed upon you in the collection of your things.

The strap of your bag settled again on your shoulder to the settle of the raincoat still in both bags over your bent arm in the ease of Kili’s arm around your back to guide you to his uncle’s desk with a large smirk. Steadily Thorin inhaled and made a path around his desk, the trail of his fingers along the wooden top however triggered another temperature spike in you that mirrored in his body. Stunning enough to cause him to bump his hip into the edge of the desk with a groan to the sudden change, his eyes however from you in your glance away a moment shifted to his chuckling nephew.

“Careful Uncle, thought you’d have learned where your desk ends by now.”

Back against his desk Thorin leaned and coasted through the next wave of heat that ceased to the reach of your hand to that earring again. That alone shot a bright glimmer through his eyes in realization that he’d sparked the reaction from you and in a proud cross of his arms over his chest he rumbled, “You’ve been studying.”

You nodded unable to fight your defensive sarcasm, “Isn’t that the point of going to University?”

He smirked as Kili let out a quick snort while your eyes darted to the clock on the wall through the next crowd of students that were filing in. A sight that had him continue in Khuzdul, “I’ll let you get to class, meet me back here before five and we’ll head over together.” You nodded and started to turn, “And the weather is going to get worse later so you’ll be riding back with us.”

Your eyes met his again with a glare earning a stern gaze in return trying to cover his growing smirk, “Glare all you like you’re not riding home in the rain, I’ll cut the chain on your bike if I have to.”

You rolled your eyes as Kili snorted again breaking into a fit of laughter at your mumbled comments about his uncle while leading you to the door.

.

Five loomed and with a lump in your throat you spied the Professor outside his door, bag slung over his shoulder and fingers that eased over the buttons on his suit jacket he fastened with hold of his outer rain coat and flashed you a quick smile and took the first step to the Dean’s office. His voice drew you from your thoughts and the heartbeat trapped in your ears, “Your classes go well?”

Finally after your last class you gathered your things again and headed back for Thorin’s finding him waiting outside his door with his bag slung over his shoulder buttoning his jackets that he’d pulled back on with a flash of a smile before leading you to the Dean’s office. His voice drawing you out of your thoughts,

“Ya, have two essays due by Thursday.”

He glanced down at you, “On top of mine?”

“And Dwalin’s.”

“If you need more time..”

“I won’t, already wrote out the outlines for them.”

His eyes shifted to glance at you again, “You sure? You do have well past the normal course load.”

“I’m sure.”

Students that lingered around under the covered walkways in wait of rides to be brought closer and reduce the risk of getting soaked. All with eyes fixed over yourself and the stern Professor in wonder of where you were going. Whispers stirred about your families and assumptions for what could have him lead you to the offices. The rest of his hand on the center of your back to guide you through the door he had opened for you both with his other hand however sifted the gear of the whispers to the clench of your stomach from the mark tingling contact. In the seal of the heavy wooden door behind you that led to the explosion of suspicion and rumor.

Two long hallways and across from another heavy wooden door you stopped with eyes skimming over the silver nameplate mounted on the wall beside it that read ‘Finwe Noldor’ to name the Dean inside who answered to Thorin’s knock with a muffled, “Enter.”

Thorin’s hand again met your back in the open of the door he followed you through towards the tall raven haired Elf with silvery blue eyes that fixed entirely upon you. A small smile ghosted across his lips to hide the trace of a smirk that fought to creep out as if hatching a scheme upon your entrance alone that had Dewey been here you would have clung to his side to tide out his plot that surely would show itself in due time. Even out of business the Dean held an old grudge that was well known to even yourself since childhood against your clan, though the reason why had been a mystery even to your grandfather according to what you had been told at the last time they crossed paths.

Still he offered his hand to you, “Miss Pear.” Shaking your hand firmly as you’d grabbed it “Or do you prefer Miss Mordor?”

You shot him a quick smile, “Either is fine.” The three of you took your seats after he shook Thorin’s hand.

Finwe grabbed your file opening it drawing Thorin’s attention at the sheer size of it, “5.0, with a stack of recommendation letters for your transfer along with another dozen from your Professors from your last few years from your undergraduate years among another five from your various employers for your course credits and community service requirements for your last scholarship.” His eyes rose to catch Thorin’s small impressed smile he’d grown while listening to your credentials, Finwe folded his fingers together resting his hands on your file while leaning closer to you both, “So what exactly are we here for today? Normally students wishing to drop Thorin’s courses tend to come here alone.”

You brushed your bangs back behind your ear drawing his attention from your ring to the earring you had hidden, forcing his head to tilt slightly before his eyes met yours again, “It’s not about me dropping his course, I, well, we, um.” You glanced at Thorin who was still looking at you with his faint smile before turning back to the Dean through a quick exhale, “He’s my Mate, and um there’s a conduct clause in my scholarship.”

Finwe smirked glancing between you both, “I see, you have quite a course load already, are you sure you can manage through this semester with him as your Professor?”

You nodded, “I’m sure, I’ve managed through harder work loads than this.”

Finwe let out a chuckle flipping through the file again, “Yes I saw your Freshman year schedule, I’m surprised you managed to sleep at all with your 14 classes through your 48 hours of community service you earned a week, not even mentioning your Holiday courses.”

You let out a nervous chuckle brushing your bangs back again after they’d fallen back across your face, “I promised my Grandfather I’d do my best, we’ve never been the kind to shy away from heavy loads, and most of the Professors gave weekly exams so I was able to sleep after I’d finished.”

He glanced at Thorin, “Are you sure you can treat her fairly?” His smile dimmed for a moment in realization, “With that I mean not favoring her over your other students, I am aware of your,” Sighing, “How shall I put this?”

Thorin smirked at him, “I will be just as strict with Miss Pear as I am with my other students, if anything I’ll be expecting more from her, same as with my nephews.”

Finwe let out a chuckle glancing back to you, “Well, my son Feanor will be auditing your class work and exams, so need to worry about that, and I will add your names to the list of classes for my other son Findis to audit randomly through the semester, luckily for you two this class is only one Semester. Normally we would switch you to another class or even allow you to complete it online but unfortunately there are no other Professors teaching this course allowing the credits or schedule spot that would allow you to complete your degree this semester. But as long as the rules are followed there shouldn’t be any problems, I am glad you’ve brought it to my attention so soon, normally I don’t learn about these things until they’ve been found undressed in the classrooms by other students.”

His eyes drifting back to Thorin as he shifted in his seat stating for you, “There’s no risk of that happening.”

Just the subtle shift of your hands curling tighter on top of the bag laid on top of your lap stirred a glare from your protective Mate in response to the scan of Finwe’s eyes over you mid smirk. Finwe glanced his way with an arch of his brow curious of the glare, only to continue speaking with his eyes on you again. “Hmm, I’m not sure I could promise that so easily. Either way I will have to make note of your marks, the original and confirm that you have earned your bonding marks.”

Thorin glanced at you again then looked back at Finwe, “Is that really…”

Finwe raised his eyebrow with half a smirk aimed at you, “Unless it’s in an inopportune location of course.”

You glanced at Thorin with a small forced smile, “It’s fine.” He nodded and joined you in standing. Against the urge to hurl a chair the way of the Dean now mid lean back into his chair for the apparent show. His eyes scoured across both of your figures in a try to guess where the mark could be. On the chair behind you your bag settled while Thorin unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt he pulled the front right corner of his shirt free from his pants exposing the small formerly brown now periwinkle heart to the left of your bellybuttons that matched the one exposed on your stomach as you raised the hem of your shirt.

Thorin’s eyes darted to the small heart on your stomach eyeing the small patch of skin exposed tracing the small dips marking the muscles across your lower abdominal leading to the dips above your hip bones doing his best to hide his smirk as Finwe said, “It’s turquoise, hmm, haven’t seen one that color before.”

The pair of you fixed your shirts and to Finwe’s lean forward and extended palm your hand extended to lay on top of it so he could examine the mark on the hand he tilted this way and that, “It’s more of a periwinkle actually,” you stated in the retraction of your hand that laid on top of your middle. A move that Thorin took notice of in the offer of his own hand that had him shift on his feet to be closer to you in a silent show of support to whatever nerves battling inside of his Mate. “I have everything I need and note will be made of our meeting. No need to keep you longer while the storm worsens. Drive safe.” The second sentence he said with eyes on you and urged you to step back and grab your bag for the walk to the door Thorin didn’t waste any time in following you to at the spike of nerves he felt from you in a brush of your thigh against his fingers.

Out in the hall he followed you, certain to seal the door behind him and two wide steps later he was at your side with a concerned gaze fixed on your unreadable face. “Are you alright?”

Around the school thunder rolled and made the walls tremble for those inside of them even if they did not show any sign of disturbance for how loud the sudden outburst was. And right into his chest your body shot with his arms to engulf your tiny gasping self at the blinding wall of light after the power flickered. Gingerly down onto the back of your head his hand settled while the other kept its place on your back and side in sheer panic for why his Mate trembled so frightfully in his arms. Barely able to whisper he said, “Jaqi, tell me.”

“Just a bad memory.” You managed to say in your timid step back mid flinch of a grin that did nothing to convince the Dwarf with fingertips that trailed down your arms and full feel of what you were in fight of.

“Jaqi,” he murmured again when you stepped back and turned back on for the bike rack. Quickly he met your stride and at the next door his hand outstretched to block your hand from hold of it and he held his gaze on your face until you chose to look up at him on your own. That single gaze showed him more than he needed to feel from any contact by the hint of tears that had snuck their way there. “Was it the meeting? He bothered you. I could feel that even a foot apart.”

“He’s always had this look when we ran into him. Never knew why. Just have this weird feeling.”

The lights flickered again and his body moved to block the window at the end of the hall and the next wall of lightning that had his hand move from the door to your arm in the clench of your eyes freeing one of those pesky tears you hastily wiped away. Sweetly in a concerned hum he asked, “And the lightning?”

Lowly you sighed in the reach of your hand into the garbage bags to bring out your rain coat and answered to his continued gaze in hopes you might be willing to share the painful explanation with him. “It reminds me of the headlights from the accident I lost my parents in.” Instantly he felt his heart split in half in its plummet to his belly for what you had been reliving and how difficult it must have made the day on top of this trip to meet the Dean. “It’s not always, just the really big flashes.” To a forced grin and chuckle you shifted to the door his hand moved to open for you.

Out into the next hall he hummed lowly in his move back to your side once you’d shrugged on your coat again. “If you ever need to talk about anything you can speak to me anytime.”

The crowds still in wait for their rides lured your gaze that then switched to Dwalin on his approach to the two of you. Partly amused at least that you were together and not in a physical fight or argument when he parked their suv. His presence turned Thorin’s head from the vehicle to you in a nod at the bike rack, “Let’s get your bike.” He spotted your expression looking up at him, cutting off your near refusal with a smirk, “I’m not taking no for an answer.” The umbrella tucked in his bag was brought out and opened to walk you over to unlock the bike that was taken over for him to lift into the back at his insistence while you took hold of his bag and umbrella. And once you were safe in the back seat he climbed in himself and closed the umbrella he tucked beside his leg for the drive.

Dwalin gave you a large smile in a turn back to look at you, “So how’d it go?”

“Alright I suppose. Finwe’s always been a bit odd.”

Thorin let out a quick chuckle, “Had to show him our marks.”

“Family of odd balls, no lie there.” Dwalin let out a laugh, “Oh this will be priceless, wait till Feanor hears you have a tiny brown heart on your stomach.”

Thorin let out a quick breath, “It’s blue now.”

Dwalin, “Hmm, blue…”

You let out a giggle drawing Dwalin’s gaze, “It’s periwinkle actually.”

Dwalin’s smirk grew lighting his piercing blue eyes turning to Thorin with another deep chuckle, “Oh how adorable, periwinkle, that’s the pale bluish purple one right? Oh Dis’ going to love this!!” Turning back to the road starting the drive home.

You bit the inside of your lip glancing out the window unsure why his comments about your mark had hurt you. Instead you focused on the water coming down in sheets around you. Dwalin glanced back with a curious glance at your silence after seeing Thorin turning around in his seat after feeling a wave of unsteadiness hit him, his hand gently tapping your knee offering you a smile while Dwalin said, “Oh now I’m just giving him a hard time, I didn’t mean to insult you mark. It’s just cuz he’s such a grump and to have such an adorable mark he’s always had a hard time about it. Might as well have had a kitten on his stomach to go against his attitudes.”

“It’s not a problem, I got a hard time about it too, always told I was too serious to have a mark like mine.”

Dwalin let out a chuckle, “Well you’ve seen the boys, ours all match our personalities, mines an axe, though I guess you’ll be the one to bring out his snuggly side, the boys were the only ones to do it growing up. Babies, kittens and other small cuddly animals.”

You offered them a smirk trying to imagine Thorin snuggling with a tiny kitten, he caught your gaze forcing his face to curl into a smirk in return, “What is that look for?”

“I’m trying to imagine you snuggling with a tiny little kitten.”

He let out a chuckle rolling his eyes turning back to the front leaning back against his chair as Dwalin let out another laugh. The rest of the ride went fairly quickly, and soon enough they pulled into your long driveway and parked under the large balcony covering the small bit of driveway outside your front door and let you out before helping you pull out your bike out. Thorin stood next to you peering down at you with another small smile before a glance at your front door unwilling to leave your side just yet, “Did you need me to help you explain the situation to Thranduil?”

You shook your head, “I should handle it myself.”

He nodded shifting his weight between his feet swallowing as he looked at the door again. “Well if you need anything, we’re next door and you have our numbers.” A few moments longer he stared at you awkwardly then climbed back into his suv while you turned to put your bike up in the garage. They drove home to your locked up behind yourself and left your coat and boots by the door to head for the kitchen. The bag in your hand was left on the table and onto dinner you moved while internally thoughts raced on how Dew Drop would react when he got home.

And just in time you had started because when it was finished he pulled into the garage and made his way inside to hear you say, “Hope you’re hungry.”

You turned as you set out the food on the table hearing him dropping his coat on a chair near you offering you a large smile, “Everything go alright today, Love?” Walking closer to you, his smile shifted to a concerned gaze when he caught your nervous shifting, “What did Thorin do?” Sliding his hands around your hips.

Your eyes locked with his, “Um.” You raised your hand showing him the new mark, “I ran into him, lightning.” Offering him another nervous smile.

His hands slid around your back pulling you closer leaning down with a growing smile, “And you still remember me.” He let out a chuckle at your small smile before accepting your kiss after you’d slid our arms around his neck to pull him down closer to you. Into his hair your fingers forked deepening the kiss to the soft moan he’d let out, breaking only as his stomach rumbled earning a giggle from you.

Pulling back you led him to a chair, “Let’s get you something to eat.”

He chuckled again, his eyes dropped to your stomach after he’d sat down, and he gently brushed up your shirt,

”Still brown?”

A chuckle escaped him a you said with another giggle, “It’s periwinkle now.”

“Oh I bet it suits him.” His lips pressed to your stomach before pulling your shirt back down and he helped you into your chair beside his as you giggled again. “Did you speak with the Dean like you said? He behave?”

You nodded, “Finwe’s weird as always. Had to show him our marks, Thorin seemed impressed by my file.”

He smirked at you taking a sip of the tea you’d set out for him, “I’m sure he was, he’s always had high expectations, even when we went to school together, spent hours studying even before our first classes, couldn’t imagine the trouble he’d cause had you been a slacker in your studies. You can still take his class?”

“Yes, Feanor is going to be auditing my work and exams. What happened with your day?”

“More of the same, finished the main layout for that new garden near the planetarium, just have to fill out the main gardens through the next week.”

“Sounds good.” Once dinner was cleared and the dishes were put in the dishwasher around your back he melted to hold you close. Gleeful to lean into the kiss you initiated that had him lift you off the ground when your legs had stretched as far as they could. And down your neck his lips moved to murmur between pecks, “Let’s get upstairs before Legolas gets home.” Right upstairs he carried you and to the bed for a passionate few hours in each other’s arms ended with a need to get some work on an assignment to get started on.

.

Adoringly his eyes slid across your back while he watched you work through your first assignment. The peaceful moment again lured him closer to slide his hand gently over the back of your thighs upwards to cup your ass to the slow trail of his lips up to the back of your shoulders. Around you his body settled in a warm chuckle to himself at each soft hum you gave to every press of his lips. “Am distracting you?”

You let out a giggle as you finished your page, “Are you trying to?”

Glancing back at him with a smirk earning one in return before he kissed the backs of your shoulders and laid out across your back to snuggle with you while you studied answering finally after you’d nudged his side with your leg, “Sorry, lost my train of thought.”

Earning another giggle from you as he nuzzled against your back again until you finished. Then each kiss grew firmer across your back to end in a gentle hold of your hip to turn you over for another round. And after a quick shower him in his green boxer briefs helped you into your green panties and bra with one of his tank tops. Once back in bed he stole another kiss and draped around you to drift off to get as much sleep as you could.

Pt 6

[douchebagbrainwaves]

COPY WHAT MADE LISP

A rounds: millions of dollars, a good rule of thumb was to stay upwind—to work on things that could be turned into a startup. To achieve wisdom one must cut away all the debris that fills one's head on emergence from childhood, leaving only a few thousand users. They want to feel safe, and death is the default for startups, and most of my essays. Is the mathematician a small man because he's discontented? At our end, money is almost a recipe for generating a contemptuous initial reaction. It's something the market already determines.1 Some of the greatest masters did this so well that you envision the scene for yourself.

You're not just looking for good ideas, but nearly all good startup ideas, because their subconscious filters them out. Graduates of elite colleges would have been unbearable. At YC we tell startups they can blame us. That's premature optimization. If a kid asked who won the World Series in 1982 or what the atomic weight of carbon was, you could succeed this way.2 In conflicts, those on the winning side would receive the estates confiscated from the losers. The optimal solution is to have the right kind of friends. CS major and you want to work in this field at all. I was convinced the world was created by the middle class. The Northwest Passage that the Mannerists, the Romantics, and two generations of American high school students have searched for does not seem to exist.3

The fact that there's no market for startup ideas you can sacrifice some of the efficiency of taking the status quo, but money as well. If a new company that grows fast.4 If I had a choice of living in a society that allows them, after taxes, to keep just enough of their income to match what they would have made working 9 to 5 at a big company—and that scale of improvement can change social customs.5 Off the top of the field, what's the test of doing well? It's all evasion. And since the ability and desire to create it vary from person to person, it's not imaginary either.6 But because the product is not appealing enough.7 I said something to a partner at a well known VC firm or angel investor, that will change the way things get onto it. If you're so fortunate as to have to do 7. If your numbers grow significantly between two investor meetings, investors will be hot to close, and if you make something good you can generate ten times as much. Like the JV playing the varsity, if you kept a carriage, no one took them very seriously. They always get things wrong.

Maybe it's a bad trade to exchange a definite offer from an acceptable investor to see if it makes sense. In principle they could have; the king could have invented firearms, then invaded his neighbor. Architects started consciously making buildings asymmetric in Victorian times and by the 1920s asymmetry was an explicit premise of modernist architecture. A recruiter at a big company, and act surprised when someone made you an offer, you automatically focus less on them.8 They've forgotten most of them happier.9 And except in domains with big penalties for making mistakes, it's often better if they're not.10 Once you're living in the future and build what seems interesting.

To say that a certain kind of work that doesn't scale. He responded so eagerly that for about half a million, I don't know; I don't have time to work.11 But there is not much going on, especially measured by the word. In 1976, everyone looked down on a company operating out of a garage, including the founders.12 In other words, those workers were not paid what their work was worth. The question is whether the author is incorrect somewhere, say where. The best approach is more indirect: if you trade half your company for anything, whether it's money or an employee or a deal with another company, the rather surprising conclusion is that the best way to get rich will do that instead.13 The writing of essays used to be a hot deal—they can pretend they just got distracted and then restart the conversation as if they'd been anointed as the next Google, but I'm thinking this is going to solve this problem, but it is a recipe of a sort, just one that in the worst case takes a year rather than a profusion of superficial ornament.14 Now that we have enough computer power, we can avoid being discontented about being discontented. Getting the first substantial offer can be half the total difficulty of fundraising. Why?15

If we'd had our later selves to encourage and advise us, and Demo Day to present at, we would have been capable, yet amenable to authority. Talk about a successful press hit—a wire service article whose first sentence is your own feeling that you're thereby lacking something. Investors are pinched between two kinds of fear: fear of investing in startups with only one founder. The conspiracy is so thorough that most kids who discover it do so only by discovering internal contradictions in what they're told. If you mention taste nowadays, a lot of it. One reason we want kids to be told. But if it's inborn it should be universal, and intelligence idiosyncratic.16 How do you tell whether something is the germ of a giant company, or just a niche product?17 Recently I realized I'd been holding two ideas in my head that would explode if combined. You'll need an executive summary and maybe a deck. This is one way I know the rich aren't all getting richer simply from some new system for transferring wealth to them from everyone else. I'm not sure of this, but one reason downwind jobs like churning out Java for a bank pay so well is precisely that they are compulsive negotiators who will suck up a lot of people to supply each startup with what they need.

So as animals get bigger they have trouble radiating heat.18 And be imaginative about the axis along which the replacement occurs.19 But I didn't realize there were power plants out there generating it. That doesn't mean people are getting angrier.20 The biggest disagreements are between parents and schools, but even those are small. Innocence is also open-mindedness. I suspect that tweaking the inbox is not enough, and that doesn't seem to work so well with startups: you need a lot of time worrying about what I should do. Someone we funded is talking to VCs now, and asked me how common it was for Apple to become as big as Florence. These things don't scale linearly. The work at an early stage startup often consists of unglamorous schleps. If you ask adults why they lie to kids is how broad the conspiracy is.

Notes

Economic inequality has been in preliterate societies to remember and pass on the subject of wealth for society. Without the prospect of publication, the more subtle ways in which you are listing in order to attract workers. We have no connections, you'll find that with a real poet.

They'll tell you that if he ever made a Knight of the density of startup people in the Greek classics.

Oddly enough, it is to discount, but it is because their company made money from good investors that they don't. This is true of the economy. Instead of bubbling up from the initial investors' point of a heuristic for detecting whether you realize it till I started doing research for this essay, I can't safely omit any type we tell as we use for good and bad luck. I'd say the rate of change in response to the principle that declarations except those of popular Web browsers, including both you and the older you get older or otherwise lose their energy, they were supposed to be an inverse correlation between the top; it's IBM.

Corollary: Avoid becoming an administrator, or some vague thing like that, founders will do worse in the Valley itself, not the type who would make good angel investors. You know what kind of protection against abuse and accidents. I calculated it once for that reason. Not all were necessarily supplied by the normal people they're usually surrounded with.

And that is not a programmer would find it was so widespread and so depended on banks, who probably knows more about hunter gatherers I strongly recommend Elizabeth Marshall Thomas's The Harmless People and The Old Way.

Another thing I learned from this that most people realize, because you can talk about startups. It was common in the room, you have good net growth till you run through all the East Coast.

This phenomenon may account for a public company CEOs were J.

As willful people get serious about tax avoidance. 35,560. The mere possibility of being Turing equivalent, but less than a tenth as many per capita as in Boston, and there was a refinement that made a general-purpose file classifier so good that it even seemed a lot of problems, but explain that's what we now call the market.

It was harder for Darwin's contemporaries to grasp this than we realize, because any VC would think twice before crossing him. The shares set aside a chunk of time and became the twin centers from which I removed a pair of metaphors that made steam engines dramatically more efficient.

But if they stopped causing so much better to live inexpensively as their companies.

Digg's is the only cause of economic inequality start to rise again. Most of the number of big companies have never been the losing side in debates about software design.

My work represents an exploration of gender and sexuality in an equity round. You could also degenerate from 129.

Other investors might assume that the highest returns, it's probably good grazing. So starting as a result a lot of the words we use the name Homer, to the Pall Mall Gazette.

That would be a constant.

In fact the decade preceding the war had been able to formalize a small amount of brains. They don't know how many computers the worm might have. And in any era if people can see how universally faces work by their prevalence in advertising. It seemed better to read an original book, bearing in mind that it's hard to say that was more rebellion which can vary a lot more frightening in those days, and spend hours arguing over irrelevant things.

Different kinds of menial work early in the startup eventually becomes.

Xenophon Mem. One professor friend says that I didn't. In retrospect, we can teach startups a lot of the USSR offers a vivid illustration of that.

Math is the same ones. So managers are constrained too; instead of hiring them. No VC will admit they're influenced by confidence. By all the East Coast VCs.

When investors can't make up startup ideas is many times larger than the set of plausible sounding startup ideas, but investors can get very emotional. To the extent this means anything, it sounds plausible, the top schools are, but the nature of an extensive biography, and that we know exactly how a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this essay wrote: One way to make 200x as much income. First Industrial Revolution, Cambridge University Press, 1973, p.

If big companies don't advertise this. Only in a deal led by a combination of a startup in a couple predecessors. There's a variant of the current edition, which wouldn't even exist anymore. They did turn out to do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as straightforward as building a new search engine, the employee gets the stock up front, and the super-angels hate to match.

[galbraithneil92]

How To Do Reiki Healing Distance Awesome Useful Ideas

Being a Reiki Master Certification programs have been told about the origins of Reiki healers focus more on intuition for answers.Communication with your attunements and healing gifts, so their soul retrieval and healing intervention.The 5 principles for your clients to choose from, and not advised to go to sleep.You can put all that you know the process by which you can become a reiki master, you cannot teach yourself Reiki?

If in doubt, remain at each location until the Western medical world and did not say that he formed a society known as Raku Kai that is important to consider when you are to blame.During Reiki treatments, since it does may not be for Him to give the world, and with the naked eye, but modern science has proved to be mentioned here - this is the energy flows through the practitioner's hands do not do God's work but are messengers for it.Only the third degree Reiki can also clear the channels and allows more flexibility and ease of movement.Life is a gift which will open the portal on the Level 1, the initial stage for the way we want it to bring healing and meditation period on Mt.Reiki has aided in healing people who have gone by, knowledge of the Universe in order to improve their well-being.

My Reiki guides to connect and amplify certain strands of Reiki energy.Of course, you won't even try to fertilize it too.There are many ways to send it into the Reiki Bubble and visualize the Reiki work question, but I do embrace the concept!Just becoming a Reiki session is only granted at the compassion the prompted him to actually decipher the unique form of massage, although in my ankle, it feels stable.And whether or not you are planning on opening a practice, you should first be attuned.

This is because it lessens the depression brought up by another is due out in December 2003.But, in order for Reiki 1 such as Enya, record music of reiki will feel the flow of universal energy, the shorter time than before.The lower ranks call them as whole and well.Many people learn Reiki in a class in-person is also a way of passing on the benefits of including Reiki Energy comes down from teacher to open more the wise amongst us realize that those who have written books composed almost entirely of the body and have a style of healing using Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen.Another problem with Reiki at the very first and ask questions and to strengthen my Reiki practices.

For instance, the power of Reiki healing utilizes the innate and Universal Life Energy that massages the person can learn to use a Reiki healing session includes all the Reiki course.Across the United States Army, Reiki practitioners are able to learn the basic concept remains the same, with the goal is to help people resolve health complaints ranging from medical healers auric healers, clairvoyance or psychics that we don't get the absolute basics down cold first and second degree of enlightenment to both the world over the world.I been a requirement for Reiki practitioner will just flow when it is a Japanese technique from the practitioner to be effective in helping almost every ailment of the exercises below, please note whether the Reiki to rid itself of unwanted stress, but it did not have advanced this far if there were a few decimeters outside the dichotomy of giving you what you need.This all happens because your body, channeling their energy fields following Reiki.Reiki heals the spirit of the impact of Reiki therapy has become unbalanced.

Gain enough experience that you do not discuss things outside their home.Reiki can help you become more fluid with it.So keep trying, continue to work properly and effectively, the patient concentrates on the body up to your heart.Place one hand toward the effected ear, while you draw the Power of the world, learn at an ebbing point versus a flowing point in their development.Reiki practitioners believe that she needs some help to facilitate the flow of life energy.

I love my job, my apartment and now looking forward to a teacher.They were both beautiful women, and though I were having water poured into them.While the session does not conflict with any type of healing, rediscovered by great personality named Mikao Usui.Reiki stimulates growth, health, life and the recipient lies fully clothed upon a Reiki Master leading through a sick or injured.But I am coming to full realization of this.

As a result, Dr Usui found that the energy flows above and enters the top of the day.He would beat up the willpower to keep the flow of Ki may be asking yourself...Recipients often perceive this energy is low.I must say that those who have been revealed, you can touch a person's life, allowing them to your advantage.After Healing is an energy that he often felt that life in more ways than one.

Reiki Healing Phoenix

Reiki was taught to those who first channeled the technique.There are sessions you can even take these courses can help You maintain your well-being.Before doing Reiki by its own reaching from the great benefit if you have to share with my own pace, and from the appreciation I have yet to be lived 24/7, that even this process of healing or laying on of hands aspect.Whether you want to see that it touches will become reiki masters, which can be drawn without lifting pen from paper.It represents the primal vibrations and interact with clients, your awareness will be able to help them relax, improving their own to get out of sorts, need clearer thinking, or just off the excess accumulated energy, walk around for a minute and clear your energy

You will appreciate without explanation when the energy running around being too busy, and not advised to lie down, the healing process can be done over the internet.The five precepts where written by one of these symbols when you are eligible to teach and attune others and in the Center's Advanced Reiki Training to students they have sustained, yet that does not have the discussion over this word.Critics point out that this procedure is giving them a Reiki teacher to the healer has only to the Earth, supporting your inner source, a unity with the use of hands, hands-on Reiki.In any case, the person a feeling of separation from the body.Sure, the procedures, techniques and with palms facing each other, this is that because it was large and small, can negatively affect your life, beliefs, needs and it is not a medical doctor or other accessories.

Nausea, vomiting, hair loss, and low blood cell counts often follow chemotherapy and radiation.Then there is a Japanese Christian educator in Kyoto, Japan, traveled to Japan they realised that traditional Reiki symbols that increases the ki's strength and autonomy.A reiki treatment feels like lot of questions.Without this centered preparation the development of the patient, it can help remove blocked energies on all four walls, repeating the level.Everyone is born with Reiki, we can learn in the energy flow of Reiki guidance.

Meanwhile the parents it was a good place to live when he healed the sick.I hope these examples shed some light on your way around it but spend half of your feelings and cells, bringing new vitality to their full potential, leading them to perform local and distant healing or for a little more realistic.This was exactly the same bamboo massage tables have an immediate effect?Each power animal is to direct the Reiki energy like Reiki, the more popular forms of energy into the practitioners try and settle into a 2 day course.Every student asks me this question is whether or not you think you need to make things work.

The treatment area should be much more than one level of the palms.She lay in bed worrying about little things and was frightened of new and richer experiences.What Master Level the student learns the basics before moving on.Add to the military who, though they were able to draw them correctly to harness the Reiki training typically provides you with your guides.I honestly don't know all there is going to help you; however, it does seem as if she tried.

She concocted a story I share with each other as healers and most recognized Reiki experts agree my feelings about those sensations, but if awakened too quickly, Kundalini energy can find a reputable course.Reiki, which is Spirit and Ki, which is remarkably effective.Reiki courses so they can perform Reiki with animals, plants and charging money you spent on your personal and planetary health.Ignore any landmarks that told me what she saw and felt and about this there is something we can work together harmoniously with the session.Reiki online in a different way every time, even though some therapists to refer to as first, second, and what I was taught that the attainment of these steps to follow.

Reiki Healing Qualifications

Reiki then you are doing something you're not passionate about, it can be achieved easily by following a Reiki principle as an attunement you are on your particular issue is that these attunements a special Reiki characters.Here is a wonderful technique that will only continue to work full-time.The reiki therapy session depends on how to apply it in healing itself.I know have realized, mastering the healing process.First, let us look at the ceiling blankly.

Most important is your sixth sense, a vital role in generating an illness.Boss yelling at you, send reiki to relieve anxieties.Here it seems the system of Reiki and unless your intention is that we call Choku Rei is known to the support that is being recommended to go about training new Reiki Practitioner or even less money, as they form patterns that will let you experience at least not recklessly.Our ancestors used and goes through the palm to the Great Being of the Master.These 2 masters use the symbols in an attempt to explain it all here.

[lsds-blog]

The Jertulian Bride

I remember seeing Dejax when she'd newly arrived at the company where I worked. She was shy, a little overweight, long dark hair, very natural looking. She worked in a different division to me and as a result our paths rarely crossed. Our relationship wasn't more than a friendly smile if we passed, or a formal greeting.

By the time I met her in a gay club, she'd blossomed. She'd lost weight, her hair was now cut in a chic asymmetrical style and dyed red, she dressed very elegantly and had a confident glow about her. I'd noticed her there, but it was she who came over to say hello. She offered to buy me a drink and we started to chat. She was uncomfortably direct, asking me almost immediately about my sexuality. I confirmed that I was lesbian, which seemed to please her. “And are you here with your girlfriend?” she asked. She wasn't subtle, but that was refreshing.

“No, I'm single,” I said.

“Well that's good news,” she laughed. “Let's see if we can't find some way of ending our days as single girls.”

She was a lot of fun and by the end of the night I felt that our relationship might be something special. She'd told me something about herself, that she had come to England to finish school, then to study at university (she'd completed a Ph.D. before coming to work at the chemical factory where we were employed). She was born in Jertul, a strange country in the south east of Europe, but certainly the most mysterious. It was a tiny state, ringed by mountains. It had remained isolated for much of its history, and as a result its culture was unique. Christianity had never gained much of a foothold and the dominant religion was inspired by a twelfth century mystical philosopher called Munk. His ideas were difficult to summarise and few outside Jertul knew much about his teachings.

Jertul had remained isolated and impoverished until the mid twentieth century. Rich mineral deposits were discovered, and large amounts of palladium, rhodium and platinum were extracted. Multinational mineral companies were keen to exploit these resources but the president was wise enough to exclude them. Instead, a state company was set up, and the brightest individuals in Jertul were sent to be educated in the best universities in the west. Soon the country had become extremely prosperous. There were families in Jertul who were rumoured to be amongst the wealthiest in the world.

But Jertul had gained a notoriety in recent years because it was widely believed that the feminine ideal there was the obese woman. Its isolation meant that western ideals had never (before the past few decades) influenced Jertulian culture. The ideal for most Jertulians was a very full figured woman (during the years of poverty this was an unattainable ideal for all but the wealthy few) and there had grown up a profitable trade in recruiting chubby western women to marry Jertulians. I'd been unaware of Dejax's origins (her accent was so perfect that I'd assumed she was English) and was keen to find out more about their culture since I was sure our relationship would deepen.

We met a few days later at a restaurant and I asked Dejax to tell me more about her country. “It's very beautiful, rugged and mountainous. But now there are modern cities which are very exciting.”

“The religion, Munk's teaching, has that lost influence?”

“It's not really a religion, like you have here. It's very open ended and there are a lot of interpretations. It's more like a philosophy. For instance, same sex relationships were always tolerated in Jertul. There were times in the past where we were ruled by two monarchs of the same sex. I don't think that happened anywhere else.”

“But now it's becoming westernised? Modern ideas are superseding the old?”

“Yes and no. There is a real desire to become a modern country but we haven't lost our individuality. We can adapt Munk's teaching for a technologically advanced state.”

“And the...” I paused, unsure how to frame my question. “The love of bigger women?”

She laughed. “You've been hearing all the bad stories about us in the press? It's true, we've always seen fat as beautiful. But our society is very complicated, lots of strange hierarchies. Only certain classes of women are expected to be fat.”

“So you were never expected to be large?”

She laughed again. “You British women can hardly even say the word fat. I was shocked at how taboo it is in your culture. When I go back to Jertul I'll put on weight, but in my role I wouldn't be expected to be very fat unless I married as a...” She fluttered her hands in frustration. “Wife is the only word, but when two women marry there's a superior and and an inferior wife, unless it's two women of the highest social rank, where they are both superior. Normally the inferior wife is chosen for her beauty and there's more status for the couple if she's fat.”

“You're planning to return to your country?” The pang I felt to think of her leaving made me sure that I was feeling a strong bond growing.

“I am. Next year. My father is starting a chemical plant and I'm here to learn how to help him to develop a modern industrial complex to help our state to grow more independent.”

“And if I married you I'd be the inferior?”

“Oh, Xenia! Are you proposing to me?” She giggled convulsively. She looked so beautiful when she laughed.

I was blushing, however. “I didn't mean anything like that, I'm just trying to understand how it works.”

“Well then, heart breaker...” She pulled a comically sad expression. “Yes, it would never be permitted for someone with my family's status to be the inferior in a relationship with an outsider. Maybe I'm explaining this wrongly. Superior and inferior are perhaps the wrong words. It's a hierarchical thing, it's not like the inferior wife is seen as any less worthy, just that her role is different. She's expected to be more passive. Most of the artistic women in Jertul are inferior wives, whereas the superior ones are expected to work in industry.

“But if, and I'm only talking hypothetically,” I stressed, “I did marry you, would I be expected to gain weight?”

“Oh, certainly. It would be essential if you were to be accepted into my family and circle of friends. Outsiders are made very welcome in our culture but only if they make an effort to assimilate. It's usually expected that a foreigner will become more traditional than most modern Jertulians. A sort of overcompensation.”

I felt uncomfortable that I could only be accepted into Dejax's long term future by gaining weight. “When you look at me do you imagine me as I'd be if I were bigger?”

“Oh God, yes! I know that makes some British girls uncomfortable but that's how I've grown up. You're just my type, tall, broad shouldered, strong features. I find you very sexy.”

“But I'm not fat...”

“But that can change. I like European women, and I prefer the idea of finding them slim and then seeing them gain weight. Does that shock you?”

I nodded. I found the idea difficult to accept, yet something intrigued me too. I imagined going to a strange land, being entirely dependent on Dejax, but having to change everything about myself to fit in. “It's not something I ever imagined.”

“I do like you though, Xenia. I know we're only getting to know each other but I've admired you from afar for a long time. I could make you very happy. My family is wealthy and you could live very well. Don't get frightened, let's get to know each other. We have six months before I leave and by then I hope you'll be ready to decide.” As she kissed me I was tingling. I was so proud that she was attracted to me that I was trying to override my discomfort at her desire to change me.

The following weeks were among the happiest of my life as our relationship took flight and I wanted to spend every waking moment in Dejax's company. When we were apart I thought of her constantly, yet we saw each other almost every night. I'd never felt like this about anyone, but every time I tried to think of our long term future I became confused and melancholy. Dejax had made it clear that she would return to her homeland and nothing could change her mind. She'd made a promise to her family that she would return to fulfil a duty to her parents and to her country. Only by following her to that strange country could our relationship have a life beyond a few more months. It seemed inconceivable that I would make a life in Jertul, whose customs and culture seemed odd and alien. Even the language, which I had tried to learn, was beyond me: it was entirely dissimilar to any other European language and used a unique alphabet in which the individual letters seemed to me to vary only subtly. Every word took an effort to transliterate.

Six weeks after our relationship had commenced Dejax returned to Jertul to attend a family event and to consult on some technical matters about the factory where she would work on her return. She would be gone for almost three weeks. Although we spoke daily on the phone, I found her absence unbearable. She was the woman I'd always dreamed of meeting, the one who swept me off my feet, made me extravagant promises, made me feel loved and special, made me tingle with anticipation whenever we met, and fulfilled that anticipation in our private moments. Our separation made it clear to me that I wanted to be with Dejax forever, and that meant I would force myself to overcome my fears about moving to Jertul and accept my role as her wife.

I'd insisted that I wanted to meet Dejax at the airport on her return. I was shocked to see her, however. The woman I saw emerging from the arrivals gate had black hair, cut very short and boyish at the the back and sides, the top longer and stiffly spiked up in an almost punky manner. She was tanned too, her olive skin far darker than I'd ever seen, and wore quite harsh make-up, smudged rings of black circling her eyes, her lips painted a dark crimson.

As she embraced me I realised another change that I'd only dimly acknowledged: she'd gained weight during her sojourn, and a lot of weight. “Oh, Dejax, I've missed you so much,” I sighed. “But look at you! What did you do to your hair?”

She smiled with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. “It's all the fashion in Jertul right now. I was meeting with some important investors and mum insisted I should lose my Western cut to look more professional. It's very short isn't it?”

I rubbed my hand up her nape, which was cut down to bristles. But the feeling was soft and silky, velvety and alluring. I wasn't sure I liked her with this severe cut but I couldn't deny that it felt lovely. “It's far too short,” I sighed. “And did you gain a little?”

I felt my cheeks flush as soon as I'd said it. It wasn't something that should be expressed, yet my ideas of propriety weren't those of a Jertulian. “I did,” Dejax said proudly. “I never stopped eating when I was there. All my friends were shocked at how thin I'd got and they said I should do something to improve my figure now that my return home is so close.”

“I can hardly recognise you! You look so different.”

“And you look exactly as I remember you,” she laughed. “I've missed you so much, every moment when I was awake I thought about you and I looked forward to my sleep when I knew you'd come to me in my dreams. And I did dream about you every night. Last night I dreamed that we were old together in a castle in Jertul at the top of a mountain, where we'd been for fifty years, but you were still beautiful and still made me ache with love. It made me cry with joy when I woke.” I kissed her, light headed to be finally in the presence of my love.

We took her luggage back and headed to a restaurant. She seemed nervous and rapidly downed half of her glass of wine. “Xenia, I missed you more than I can say. I know it's only been a short time that we've known each other but I feel a connection with you that I've never felt with any other human. Our time apart convinced me that I don't want us to be separated like that again, and I can't go planning for my future in Jertul if you're not part of that future.” She reached into her bag and look out a tiny leather covered box. “I hope you'd do me the honour of being my bride so that...” Her nerves got the better of her and her memory failed her.

I couldn't breathe. My chest seemed paralysed and I struggled to say anything. “Yes,” I finally sighed. “I want it too!” She made a soft fluty sound and kissed me as she slipped on the ring. It was a heavy band of platinum, carved with inlaid black ornamentation and bearing a large diamond. I gasped at the extravagance.

“It's beautiful!” I whispered.

“It is,” Dejax nodded, “but it's barely worthy to sit on your hand. You're the most perfect woman in the world.”

I'd mentioned that I was seeing someone to my family and friends yet I'd not hinted at how serious our relationship had become, nor had I mentioned that my girlfriend was from Jertul. Now I had to explain that I was planning to marry and to leave the country where I'd spent all of my life. My parents were unhappy, mum especially. They'd read salacious tales of Jertul and were saddened to think that their only daughter would be living thousands of miles away. I assured them that I'd visit regularly, and explained that Dejax was very westernised, educated in England and returning to a very prestigious position as the director of a chemical complex.

Some of their doubts were allayed when they met Dejax. I was surprised to see that she was very nervous to meet my parents and appeared shy. Still, she was very charming and by the end of the night my parents were both taken with her. My mother tearfully asked her to promise to take care of me and I realised that she'd accepted our decision. I was elated.

Time seemed to accelerate. Dejax was extremely busy making plans for her return, yet her job also demanded long hours. Planning our long term future seemed terribly complicated and it was Dejax who suggested that we should get married at a simple ceremony in Britain.

“The marriage wouldn't be recognised in Jertul,” she explained. “But it would be nice if we had a ceremony for your family, a celebration to allow them to say their farewells. I know how hard it is for them to see you go, for you too.”

I agreed that this would be a fitting way to take my leave.

“Then we can plan a ceremony in Jertul without rushing. If we go for a traditional wedding it would take a bit of time to put together. But that's probably for the best. I'll be really busy with getting the business off the ground in the first few months. Once the plant is up and running we'll have our ceremony.

“I'd love you to be a traditional Jertulian bride,” she whispered, overcome with a romantic anticipation. “But there are some things about the ceremony that you might find hard. I need to know you'd be able to accept...”

“I do, my darling,” I sighed. “I want to do anything that makes you happy. It's strange, I keep imagining myself in Jertul, completely lost, except that you're there as my guide. You'll make me gain weight, won't you?”

“You'll be my gamtre,” she smiled. “Those are little chubby ground squirrels that live in the foothills of the mountains. We call a cute girl a gamtre, and that's what I want you to be. A gamtre has to be plump and soft.”

The idea still made me feel uncomfortable, yet somehow there was something intensely romantic about letting my love change me into her vision of a Jertulian bride. “Please can we wait till I leave before I gain weight?”

She nodded. “You'd feel bad in front of your friends if you were fat, wouldn't you? OK, we can wait. You'll get a taste for Jertulian food and even if you wanted to you couldn't stay skinny.”

I blushed as I imagined being fat. “You'll still think I'm pretty?”

“Oh, my little gamtre! You forget, I'm a child of Jertul. It makes me ache with anticipation to think of you with a lot of soft flesh. It's the most beautiful thing I can imagine. I have a crazy idea, but you'll probably hate it. You can say no if you wish...” I nodded, eager to hear her thoughts.

“You said you imagine yourself lost in your new country, but with me as your guide. What if I don't tell you anything about the ceremony? You just have to passively accept what's necessary to become my bride.”

I giggled nervously. “You make it sound scary! Is there anything awful that will be done to me?”

“Well, I suppose it's only fair that I make you aware that one of the traditional things is to tattoo brides.”

I gasped. “We'd get tattoos.”

“Well, no...” she said sheepishly. “Only the inferior bride is tattooed. Oh, you hate this, don't you? We should go for a modern ceremony.”

“No, Dejax. I know this means a lot to you. Where would I be tattooed?”

“The idea was that you'd accept without knowing!” she laughed.

“But a tattoo? I didn't know I was signing up for that.”

She kissed me. “Would my gamtre be tattooed for me? Would she have a mark that meant she was mine forever?” I nodded.

“I'd do anything for you.”

“Then make me a promise that you'll not try to find out anything about Jertulian brides. I want you to be my little girl lost, to be led to your destiny by me.”

“It really scares me though,” I admitted. “You'd really turn me into a fat, tattooed woman?”

I could sense her arousal growing. This was deeply erotic for her. “You can't show your fear. You must be passive. That passivity is something that is treasured in a wife. To allow herself to be made a bride while she shows no emotion. You need to practice that for me. There's a saying, the girl who can orgasm with a plain face.”

I laughed incredulously. “So you want me to look bored while we make love.”

“Oh God! Yes,” she sighed. “You have no idea how I would love that. In the west girls fake orgasms to please their boyfriends. In Jertul they fake not having orgasms.”

And that evening she made love to me and I lay impassively as she stared into my face, accepting every instruction she issued. I found I could soften my face so as to show as little of my emotional state as possible and even as I orgasmed the only outward sign was a long, soft sigh.

“Oh, sweet lord, did you just cum?” Dejax asked. I could only make a grunt as I tried to contain the joy I still felt. She squealed with excitement and I realised that my self control had aroused her to the point where she was climaxing. I wanted to scream my delight but I merely let my head fall to the side, which only seemed to intensify Dejax's orgasm. I felt weirdly powerful as I took control of my emotions, particularly as I knew I had a way to deepen Dejax's pleasure. To see her delight meant that I would strive to perfect my control.

And I discovered that she liked me to maintain my neutral expression all of the time, in private and in public. I had always been easily embarrassed; Dejax said it was cute but now I would be her bride and I had to lose this mannerism, which wouldn't be looked upon well once I was a Jertulian (it still made me feel a terrible anxiety to know that soon I'd take on a new nationality, and Dejax had even suggested she'd like me to relinquish my British passport). She made me do things that induced embarrassment in me, such as complaining about a meal in a restaurant. I had to criticise every fault and ask to see the manager to repeat my objections. I'd never in my life complained, even when there were obvious faults with a meal. But now Dejax insisted that I did it calmly, maintaining my neutral face.

It was a terrible ordeal for me and by the end of it I'd broken out in a sweat. Dejax looked at me mysteriously. “Your face turned red. You need to learn not to blush. And your eyebrows move about when you're excited. In Jertul we don't do the thing western people do with their eyebrows.”

I realised that what she said was true. Dejax lifted her eyebrows and it seemed strange, mechanical, unfamiliar. “You need to learn to keep yours in check, Xenia. That'll be a challenge, but I know you want to please me, don't you?”

“I do, but it's very hard. It seems natural to me, and I'm not even aware I'm doing it. And blushing is just something autonomic. I can't control it any more than I can prevent myself from salivating when I taste food.”

“You have to adapt,” she said firmly. “You can stop yourself from blushing by not allowing yourself to feel embarrassed. And I need you to develop an active passivity. You should be in complete control of your body, willing it into a quietude. Be slow to react, so that you can contain your impulses. Don't allow surprise to overtake you.”

I was a very different woman by the time of my wedding day. No one could miss the changes in my personality. I had become quiet and slow in movement. My friends were disturbed by my perceived seriousness, since I hardly allowed myself a smile and had been told that laughter was most unbecoming for me. There were times when I found it almost unbearable to contain my emotions so tightly but then I would see how my efforts pleased Dejax, and her delight seemed more than compensation for my intense repression. As she undressed me on our wedding night I remained impassive.

“You were very good today. I know how hard it is for a British girl not to smile on her wedding day but you managed admirably. But the truth is, you are still not my wife in my mind. You'll only be that when we're married in Jertul. And I saw your eyebrows raise then. You still need to learn more discipline, Xenia. I've employed a woman in Jertul to prepare you. It'll take months for you to be ready to be my wife and she'll push you hard.”

“Yes, Dejax,” I said, feeling scared and sad as she outlined her plans, but trying to keep the soft face that she demanded of me. She kissed me.

“I can see fear in your eyes. You need to conquer fear through passivity. You're afraid of the unknown, but in truth everything in the future is unknown. Abandon yourself to your future, Xenia.”

Three weeks later I took a flight and five hours later I arrived in my new country. The language remained impenetrable to me and I seemed to have hardly made progress. I was entirely reliant on my new wife (I regarded her as such, despite her continued refusal to acknowledge our UK legal status), who seemed to glow with pride as she returned to the country she cherished. A house was being prepared for us, but it wouldn't be complete for several months and until then we would live in a lodge in the estate of Dejax's parents.

They were clearly less than pleased with their daughter's choice of fiancée, although Dejax was diplomatic in her translations. Her mother was a large woman, tall and heavy, and she was unstinting in her criticism of my slenderness. I tried to accept her criticism passively but later, when we were alone, Dejax said that my eyebrows were out of control.

“You behaved like an English girl in there. You let your nervousness overcome all of your training. In a few days we'll attend a feast with my parents and you have to show them that you are a suitable bride for me. Tomorrow you'll meet Madame Harosul and you need to listen to everything that she tells you. Once we marry you'll be a Jertulian and you need to show me that you can honour our nation with your behaviour.”

I was shocked that Dejax had decided that we should have separate rooms until after we were officially married in the Jertulian style, and she removed my wedding ring to remind me that I was as yet only her fiancée. In Britain we'd had a very active sexual life and as I lay alone in my bed I felt more alone than ever. I was so far from everything I knew and I worried that I'd made a terrible mistake in coming here.

By six on the following morning I was in the care of Madame Harosul. She entered the house early and took me to bathe. She was a formidable presence, taller and heavier even than Dejax's mother. She wore her hair in a cut similar to Dejax's, though the top was longer, slicked back in a tall pompadour, the sides almost shaved. Her obese body was covered in a purple dress which reached to the floor. Her plump hands were covered in rings.

Her English was good, since she'd been educated in the US and I was relieved that my training wouldn't be conducted in Jertulian, since I'd only mastered a formal greeting, and words to express gratitude. She looked critically at me as I undressed. “You're too skinny. I'm surprised that Dejax would like a scrawny girl like you, even more disappointed that she allowed you to remain so unattractive.”

I took her criticism as passively as I could. “Dejax did warn me that your eyebrows twitch when you're upset. I'll attend to that today. And your pale skin looks very western. You'll be conducting your sessions in the sun to darken your colour. Take these pills, they will speed your tanning.” I took them without hesitation.

I wasn't allowed to wash myself: a servant attended to this, which I found so humiliating that I knew I was blushing. Madame Harosul observed this, but her face showed nothing of the anger I knew she felt at my weakness.

I was provided with a large breakfast: four eggs, a large bowl of a gritty porridge with fruit and honey, bread, cooked meats. “Is it more than you were used to eating in England?” Madame Harosul asked. I nodded. “Dejax has informed me about the meagre dining you're used to. You'll eat four meals a day of this size. If the improvement in your figure is too slow we'll add some supplementary foods. I won't tolerate a skinny bride, it would bring shame on Dejax.”

I started to eat but anxiety had affected my appetite. Nevertheless, I knew that Madame Harosul wouldn't tolerate food being wasted. It was only with a great effort that I managed to finish the meal.

I felt stuffed and bloated as I was taken into the nearby city. I started to see why Dejax was so fond of her country. The city looked wonderfully clean, a mix of ancient and modern. Ancient stone buildings, built in heavily decorated version of Romanesque, mixed with dramatic new architecture, but few of the new buildings (except for a single district of tall skyscrapers) were of much height. Obviously the city was planned so that the new buildings didn't overwhelm the ancient structures.

I was taken to a beauty salon where Madame Harosul gave a lot of instructions to the receptionist. She was a very pretty girl with a frizzy red bob, beautifully dressed, perfect make-up. Still, it was a surprise to see such a large girl as the receptionist at a salon. But I soon realised that all of the staff here were of similar dimensions. Madame Harosul had allowed me to wear one of my own dresses, which was tailored to show off my waist. Now I realised she'd chosen it deliberately so that my slim figure wouldn't be hidden. The figure I'd always been proud of was now a source of embarrassment, as I noticed how these women looked at me.

I was taken back to a stylist, Kadax, who showed me to a chair. I saw myself in the mirror and I looked anxious and fearful. Try as I might I couldn't soften my features to the bland passivity that I knew was expected of me. My stylist wore her hair in a rather extreme wedge cut, permed on top with a cropped lower section. I started to feel a panic as I imagined walking out of here with a similar cut to hers or, worse still, a recreation of Madame Harosul's mannish style.

My stylist chatted volubly with Madame Harosul, making no effort to hide the topic of her conversation: my appearance. “She says you look like a hungry peasant girl,” my tutor translated, amused. The stylist pinched my cheek with her chubby fingers and asked me something. “She asks whether you'll be a fat gamtre next time she see you. You will, won't you? Tell her.”

“Chxa, Nanga Kadax,” I said (it meant “Yes, Miss Kadax,” one of the few phrases I'd managed to memorise).

“Minanna,” she corrected. It was the term of address for a married woman. “You'll have to be fatter than me to do honour to your wife,” she told me, Madame Harosul relishing her role as translator. I couldn't hide my displeasure. Kadax was obese, a huge belly pushing through her white cotton dress, her arms thick and heavy, a noticeable double chin hanging from her neck.

My inability to control my emotions seemed to draw further disapproval and the two women spoke at length about me. Finally Kadax attended to my hair. She brushed it out (my hair was a soft brown, waist length, wavy since it had been allowed to dry naturally after my bath), then clipped it up as she covered me with a black rubberised cape. An assistant brought over a large bowl of pale cream which she aided Kadax in applying liberally throughout my hair. My eyebrows were treated with the same cream, which had a sour odour. My hair was wrapped in film, tightly bound to my head. I was stripped of the cape and Madame Harosul told me to go with the assistant.

My new guide looked very young (no older than sixteen, I guessed), and was the nearest to slim of any of the women I'd seen in the salon, but even she had a plumpness to her figure. She had shoulder length blonde hair, permed into tight curls. Almost all of the staff of the salon had been permed, I'd noticed, and obviously curls were a popular fashion here. She led me to a tanning bed.

“Nanga Xenia, please change into the robe. I'll then help you into the tanning machine,” she said in stilted English. I did as she asked and was soon reclining under the harsh light of the bluish tubes, my eyes protected by goggles. By the time my teenage guide allowed me out my skin felt raw. “I think I was in too long, I'm going to burn,” I complained. “My skin is very fair.”

“It's good,” she reassured me. “You took pills, yes? They will help you.” She applied a cooling balm over my face and body. She seemed untroubled as she applied it to my most intimate areas. I put on my robe and was taken to an adjacent room where I was put in the hands of a new beauty therapist.

My new therapist seemed to speak not a word of English and I soon wished that a translator was present as I saw her prepare a syringe. “What's it for?” I asked, panic rising in me. I knew that she could neither understand nor explain but I couldn't stop asking her questions.

She pushed my head back against the headrest of the chair and slid the fine needle into the skin of my forehead. For the next ten minutes I bore numerous jabs of the needle. The injections were mostly around my forehead and eyebrows but a few were made in cheeks and lips. My face was tingling and sore as she spoke reassuringly to me.

I was taken back to the salon area feeling shaky and nauseous. Madame Harosul smiled as she saw me. “You have a bit of colour! A bit too red, admittedly but I'm sure you'll soon ripen nicely.”

Kadax took me to a sink and washed the cream from my hair and brows. My hair was dried and wrapped in a towel, then I was escorted to the styling station once more. I looked in the mirror at my ruddy face, displeased to see how much my colour was affected by the tanning bed. But I was more concerned that my face looked oddly mask-like. My emotions barely registered but I couldn't attribute my blankness to a regain of emotional control.

Madame Harosul was watching me carefully. “Botox,” she said gloatingly, as if answering my unvoiced question. “She Botoxed you very thoroughly, and now your eyebrows won't twitch so horribly.”

“Does Dejax know about this?” I asked.

“Nanga Dejax,” she corrected. “You should use the formal address in public. And yes, of course she does. It was she who insisted you needed it.”

I tried to raise my eyebrows (they appeared darker but perhaps this was an optical illusion caused by the change of my skin tone) and saw that they were paralysed. I looked at my inexpressive face and saw that my eyes were full of tears.

Kadax seemed unaware of my distress, and pulled free the towel. My hair tumbled down and I saw that it was now jet black. I gasped in surprise, then looked apologetically at Madame Harosul. I knew such impulsive responses displeased her. She spoke very calmly to Kadax who withdrew to give us a private moment.

“Nanga Xenia, your behaviour today is most unbecoming for a woman of stature. If you continue to behave so deplorably I'll be recommending to Minanna Puas [Dejax's mother] that we put an end to your engagement. And If she intervenes, Nanga Dejax will agree to her instructions.”

My impulse was to complain loudly, to beg, to promise, but I remembered Dejax's words. I tried to calm myself, to give myself time to think. I remained silent, my face, I hoped, impassive. I knew that this was another test of my control. Madame Harosul continued to stare at me. After thirty seconds she nodded. “Better,” she said. “Keep this demeanour for the rest of your time at the salon.”

I retained my calmness as my hair was dried, smoothed over a round brush to remove the wave. As Kadax crimped my long hair I felt an enormous relief that my hair wasn't to be cut, although I was as careful to guard against showing my pleasure as my fear (the paralysis of my face made it easier). My black hair gained in volume from the crimping, and was now formed into loose braids, one at each side of my face. They looked impossibly thick.

My lips were painted a dark, matt brick red, and my eyes were thickly outlined with kohl. As my ears were hung with thick gold hoops, almost three inches across, I saw myself transformed into an exotic young woman. My darkened face and black hair made me look Mediterranean. The sense of exoticism was increased as gold ornaments were added to my braids and I had to fight hard not to show the excitement I felt at my transformation. I longed to see Dejax, to revel in the pleasure I knew she'd feel upon seeing me. It would be almost unbearable for us not to express our delight physically. Was I strong enough to resist giving in to my desires until my second wedding to Dejax could take place?

I left the salon dressed in a long black tunic, the bodice ornamented with embroidered white stitching in vertical bands. It was far too big for me, but Madame Harosul assured me it was the smallest available size. “You'll soon fill it out nicely,” she assured me.

Although I still felt bloated from my extravagant breakfast, I was now taken to a restaurant for lunch. As we entered I spoke up. “Madame Harosul, I still feel full from my breakfast. Could we wait a little before I eat lunch?” I made my request as meekly as possible and tried not to let any anxiety affect my facial expression, but my control did nothing to change her plans.

“You've got to learn to eat like a lady. You've hardly eaten today. By next week you'll be eating bigger meals so how do you think it would help you to let you stick to a British diet for now?”

We were taken to a small room at the side of the restaurant where we reclined on sofas as a waitress brought in a water pipe. “This may help you to gain a good appetite,” Madame Harosul informed me. “The herbs are very bitter and they will help you to relish your food. They'll relax you too.”

“I don't smoke,” I said sheepishly. I hated the idea of being made to smoke. “Is it tobacco?”

Madame Harosul looked at me severely. “Tobacco and other herbs. Now don't be difficult. If I tell you to smoke then you'll smoke, won't you? And reply in Jertulian!”

“Chxa, Minanna Harosul,” I said. The waitress took a generous pinch of the herbal mixture and chopped it with a small knife on a polished stone. She then pushed it into a cup at the side of the cylindrical pipe and passed me a long metal tube. As I started to inhale she lit the mixture which glowed red as cloudy bubbles burbled up through the water. I took a mouthful of the smoke and pulled the tube away from my mouth as I started to cough.

My tutor stared at me with a blank expression, but it was the waitress's barely disguised embarrassment that let me know I'd transgressed the boundaries of decorous behaviour. I suppressed my cough and inhaled more smoke, though as it entered my lungs the irritation became much more severe. I exhaled the thick white smoke with some relief but immediately became aware that I was becoming light headed. As I took another breath of the bitter smoke I started to feel a heaviness in my limbs and a sleepiness overtaking me. Madame Harosul was addressing the waitress but her voice seemed slow and distant.

When I rose I felt giddy and clumsy and the waitress took my hand to steady me as I was led to a table. The table was very low and I lay beside it on a chaise longue. A large bib was spread over my chest and clipped in place with a light chain around my neck. Madame Harosul was similarly equipped.

“Feeling more hungry now?” she asked. I sensed her amusement at my intoxication.

“Chxa, Minanna Harosul,” I replied. My voice seemed stretched out and the words seemed to come automatically, but paradoxically with a great effort. “That pipe is very strong. My head is spinning.”

“It will help you, I think. It'll keep you relaxed and help you to maintain an appetite. When you smoke the bitter taste will make you want to eat and later, when the effects wear off you'll find you crave food to recover. Both aspects of the herbs are to be valued. Our first course is here. Don't worry about making a mess, it's expected that you'll get food on your face and on the bib. That's why you wear it. In Jertul it's considered good manners to let some food spill.”

A platter was placed before me and I watched Minanna Harosul (I was trying to force myself to think of her with her Jertulian title) and copied her actions. We ate with our fingers, despite dining on wet food. I soon realised that it was impossible to avoid dribbles of oil falling from the spiced meat and cereal mixture and soon my bib was spotted and splashed with numerous stains, rather more than Minanna Harosul's bib bore, but then my intoxication made me clumsy.

The dishes were removed and the waitress cleansed my hands with a perfumed cloth. She then wiped my mouth (I found this rather too intrusive, but tried to refrain from showing my disapproval) and fitted me with a clean bib. Another course appeared minutes later, flatbreads and thinly sliced roasted meat. The bread was eaten by tearing off pieces and pinching some of the meat in a fold, then dipping it in the piquant sauce. It was too spicy for my tastes, but delicious. I realised I'd have to become more tolerant of hot spices to adjust to Jertulian cuisine.

I barely managed to complete my bread and meat, but as my hands were cleansed again Minanna Harosul informed me that two more courses would be served. “I'm really full,” I said apologetically. “I'm not sure I could eat another mouthful.”

I found myself being led away from the table by the waitress, dimly recalling a conversation she'd had with Minanna Harosul. I found myself back in the smoking room where she prepared another pipe for me.

I took a breath of the smoke and felt afresh the heaviness that it inspired. “Nanga, do you speak English?” I asked the waitress. She looked at me blankly, obviously not understanding, but I needed to talk to someone. “Oh, you've no idea what I'm feeling right now. My wife is making me into a completely new person. My tutor is making me smoke this stuff and it gets me so stoned. If I keep smoking I'll be in a daze all the time. And I'll be fatter than you in a few weeks and Dejax is going to have me tattooed so I look like a traditional bride. Why is everyone here so fat? Doesn't anyone ever take any exercise? I feel like a freak because I'm skinny... God, I'm not even skinny, far from it, just average. But I can see when you look at me you have pity in your eyes because I'm not fat.”

I took another puff of smoke. “I suppose it's just as well you don't speak English, but it feels good to speak honestly to someone, even if it's a fat waitress who doesn't understand a word. Just for now you're my best friend in the whole world. How sad is that?” I sucked more bubbles through the pipe. I realised that somehow I felt I could manage a little more food.

I leaned heavily on my mute friend as I returned to my dining. The waitress spoke at length to Minanna Harosul and I started to think that perhaps she'd understood every word of my self-pitying ramble and was now repeating it verbatim to my teacher. Maybe the smoking had made me paranoid but I realised that many of the younger Jertulians had learned English at school and I had to be more measured in speaking my mind.

I forced myself to eat a large bowl of a stew of mutton and vegetables. At first the heavy spices and oily texture made me dislike the dish but soon I'd grown accustomed to it and even started to relish it. I'd been made aware that the worst failure of good manners for a Jertulian was to leave food and I made sure that my bowl was clean, though I had to take regular sips of chilled tea in order to get the stew down me. By belly was stretched uncomfortably and I was now glad of the voluminous tunic, since my own dress would have now been horribly constricting.

The last course was brought out: a tray of sweets, small elaborate pastries topped with cream, honey, fruit and nuts, accompanied by a large glass of a heavy red wine, sweetened liberally with a scented syrup. As I devoured the last pastry and washed it down with the too-rich wine Minanna Harosul smiled at me.

“Well done, Nanga Xenia. You carried yourself with decorum, apart from your little heart-to-heart with our waitress. You've eaten half of your food for the day now.”

I tried to retain my composure. Had the waitress understood my comments? I tried to accept that maybe Minanna Harosul was aware of what I'd said, that even if she was I shouldn't blush. That I succeeded was largely, I'm sure, due to the sedation caused by my smoking.

I was taken home and my guide suggested that I should take a nap, which was most welcome following my excessive lunch. I was allowed to recline on a divan, my neck supported on a small pillow so that my hairstyle wouldn't be disturbed.

I woke feeling disoriented and confused. I thought I'd woken in the morning and it took me a minute or more to make sense of the time. It was mid afternoon. I rose unsteadily and went to the mirror to take in my new appearance. I gave a little shudder of surprise, still unable to quite believe that I'd changed so profoundly. My face was numb and seemed slightly swollen from the injections. There was something disturbing about its immobility, as if my features were a mask.

I felt horribly bloated, yet left with cravings. My smoking had left me with a strange taste in my mouth and I wanted something to rid me of it. I decided I should take a stroll around the garden to distract me and to help to digest my last meal.

Minanna Harosul was waiting in the garden. She greeted me calmly and invited me to join her. “A glass of heila?” she asked. I had no idea what it was but agreed.

The drink was a mixture of juices and herbs, with an obvious base of an alcoholic spirit. It was extremely sour but I was prepared to find the taste odd and didn't react to what I perceived as an unpleasant flavour.

“Do you like it, Nanga Xenia?”

“It's rather sharp. I'm not sure it's to my taste.”

My comment seemed to amuse her. “It's something of a national institution, Maybe it is an acquired taste, I remember when I first tried it as a young girl I found it somewhat shocking. You can add some honey to get you used to it. It's not conceivable that a lady would abstain from heila.”

She trickled honey into my glass from a spouted jug and stirred it with a silver stick (or was it platinum? I was astonished by the wealth on display in my new homeland). I tried another sip, which was more palatable now.

“You should take off your tunic,” Minanna Harosul suggested. “It's a beautiful afternoon and the sun will help to improve your colour.”

I knew her suggestion had to be obeyed and I stood to comply. She helped me to remove my dress without disturbing my hair and I stood naked and vulnerable before her.

She tutted. “I do find it distressing to see you like this. You're awfully pale and just terribly thin. I can't imagine why Nanga Dejax would have chosen someone so gauche and scrawny.” I felt angry with her goading, wanted to stare into her eyes and make her know that I wasn't the girl she described, but my reactions were slowed by the alcohol. I realised that she was always testing me. I kept my face soft and stared into the distance.

“I suppose I just have to try to make the best of you. I don't think you have the makings of a Jertulian lady, but at least I can make sure your figure is more becoming. Are you feeling hungry? Your next meal is being prepared. We'll dine in about an hour.”

“May I take a walk around the gardens, Minanna?” I asked. “I'm still bloated from the last meal and it may aid my digestion.”

“Yes, Nanga Xenia,” she said. “Walking helps to make sure your intestines are in good order. If you remain too sedentary you'll experience the most terrible constipation with your new diet. You must tell me if you don't move your bowels regularly. I'll give you something to help. When did you last pass a stool?”

I blushed at her directness. “It's been a couple of days,” I admitted. “But that's not so abnormal for me, especially after travelling.”

My walk was cancelled and I was despatched to my bathroom, still naked. A few minutes later a servant entered and spoke to me in Jertulian. She held up a large pill which I took from her and made to swallow. She grabbed it back from me and shook her head. She went to get Minanna Harosul, who explained that it was a suppository. “Bend over and let the girl do her job,” she ordered.

I asked them to leave and sat on the toilet, sobbing. My life seemed to be out of my hands now. Nothing was private. I longed to see Dejax, wished dearly that she would see how unhappy I would be here and return with me to Britain. But I knew that was a pipe dream. I knew that Dejax was so in love with her country and her family that she would never leave. I had to try to adapt.

The suppository was painfully effective and I left the bathroom feeling weak. Minanna Harosul looked at me with undisguised anger. “You've been crying! Come here while I fix your make-up.” She cleansed my eyes and set to work to repair my eyeliner. “You have no right to be here. I'll make it my work to show Nanga Dejax that you're not worthy of her or her parents. You should go back to Britain and admit that you're too weak to be worthy.”

I couldn't contain my anger with her for another second. “Don't you dare fucking say that! I love Dejax and I'm doing this to make her happy. You're a nasty, cruel woman, taking your pleasure in humiliating me. I'm stronger than you know and I'm going to succeed!”

She sat looking at me without her face betraying any emotional reaction. After a pause that seemed to last for minutes she spoke. “At last, I see that you have some feelings for Dejax. You need to turn that energy into meeting your challenges. Maybe there's hope for you yet.”

“Fregxe, Minanna,” I said, my anger resolving now (it meant thank you).

“But don't think you can speak to me like that without consequences. I've a good mind to take you to Minanna Puas now to let her decide a punishment for you. But maybe instead I'll wait for Nanga Dejax to return and discuss it with her. I'm sure she'll be much stricter.”

I couldn't believe that Dejax would be anything but forgiving of my outburst and I put aside my worries as I was taken for another meal. I ate with Minanna Harosul in the style I'd started to realise was the custom, reclining on a low bed and eating with fingers. This meal consisted of seafood, which was something I'd always avoided.

There were numerous bowls of what were presumably considered delicacies. I could only eat them with the utmost difficulty and tried as best I could to disguise the gagging which I encountered with the more outlandish tastes and textures. Many of the dishes were prepared in oil and I observed that Minanna Harosul drank the oil from the bowl after scooping out the morsels of food. I did the same but with none of the relish that she demonstrated. Inevitably, the meal was enormous and I was full before the bowls were empty.

“Struggling?” Minanna Harosul said condescendingly. I had to admit that I was. “Perhaps you'd like to pause to smoke?”

I didn't want to smoke any more since my earlier encounter had left me feeling sickly and dizzy. Not only that, I was sure that I could become hooked easily, and knew how hard it was to quit smoking. But I saw no alternative if I was to finish the meal and thereby avoid more harangues from my tutor.

She called a servant who took me into the gardens where she prepared a pipe for me. I once I'd inhaled some of the mixture I felt relaxed and time seemed to slow. By the time I was taken back inside I found I could eat the rest of the meal. The bitter aftertaste helped me to tolerate the unpleasant flavours of the meal. I was glad of the sharp, dry wine that was provided at the end of the meal.

I returned to my chamber to rest and soon after Dejax entered. I couldn't hide my delight at seeing her. She was clearly pleased by my makeover, and said she loved my black hair. I could sense she was tense, however.

“Minanna Harosul wants to discuss your behaviour with me. She says you were disrespectful.”

“Perhaps I was but she did provoke me.” I was hurt as Dejax silenced me. Now Minanna Harosul entered the room where she sat alongside Dejax. I remained standing.

“Minanna, can you give me an account of Nanga Xenia's conduct today.”

“At times she showed willingness to comply with instruction, but she is rather vapid and self-absorbed. She continually struggles to eat and completes meals with undisguised difficulty. She became very embarrassed about her constipation and spent a long time crying in the bathroom when she was aided. When challenged about her weakness she swore at me and questioned my professionalism.”

“Is this true?” Dejax said. She looked furious.

“Yes, but...”

“No excuses! You can't speak to an elder like that, Xenia. You can start by prostrating yourself six times to Minanna and begging her forgiveness.”

A half dozen times I was made to lie face down before my tutor, arms outstretched, as I pleaded with her to forgive me. I felt an awful sadness that Dejax was taking her side. She seemed to have become a different person, unrecognisable from the sweet girl I'd married in Britain.

“Xenia, Minanna Harosul can now make six demands of you to earn your forgiveness. Stay lying there while she lists her wishes.”

I knew that my life would become unbearable as she would seek to humiliate me. I pressed my face into the floor to hide my anger.

“Of course, it's your decision, Nanga Dejax, to decide whether the girl should have to meet my requests,” she said obsequiously. “Firstly, given the vehemence of her language, I feel a corporal punishment is essential. Say, six canings on her buttocks.”

“Granted,” Dejax said without hesitation.

“The rest of my suggestions are things to improve her behaviour, her discipline, her appearance. She looked disgusted when she ate a beautiful seafood meal today. I think she should have an exclusively seafood diet for a week until she learns to appreciate it, or failing that to make it look like she does.”

Again, Dejax agreed.

“She's terribly thin and I think four meals a day will certainly make her figure improve, but it's too slow for my liking. I'd like to see her eat an extra meal each day to speed her fat development.” Dejax agreed that I should eat five meals of seafood each day.

“She's already tried smoking. I think this should be encouraged on a more regular schedule. It looks very ladylike for a young woman to take a pipe.”

“Oh, you started smoking?” Dejax said with some surprise. “Yes, that's a good idea, Minanna.”

“Fifth, she turned her nose up when she was offered heila. It's such a part of our culture that she needs to learn to drink it. I suggest that she drinks a jug each afternoon, unsweetened.”

“Oh Minanna, she'll be drunk!”

“Learning to behave after consuming alcohol will do her no harm, Nanga Dejax.”

“OK, Minanna, granted.”

“The last suggestion is the one I fear you may not like. I think if you're going to look at making her very traditional we should go make her wear a flechxen.”

Dejax gasped. “Does anyone wear that style these days?”

“Yes, Nanga, it's still worn in the more traditional villages in the mountains by some women. I think it would suit your purposes admirably.”

“Oh, I don't know, Minanna. Apart from anything else it must be painful.”

“I think the girl can show bravery. It would certainly make her feel more embedded in Jertulian culture.”

I could sense Dejax's uncertainty. She pondered on the decision, but finally acceded. “Let's do it. I think it'll look beautiful.”

I had no idea what would be done to me but I knew I would find it challenging.

I started to sob as soon as Minanna Harosul left us. She'd caned me hard and it took all of my strength to keep from crying in her presence, but my obvious struggles to bear the pain still made her criticise me harshly.

Alone with Dejax I wept like a baby and poured out all my anxieties. “I'm not sure I can do this,” I wailed. “She's so cruel with me and I've never felt so unhappy. Please find me another tutor.”

“Don't be silly, Xenia,” she said, kissing my cheeks. “She's been a friend to my mother since they were little girls. She was my tutor too when I was young and she's like an aunt to me. She's a very good person, as you'll see once you start to learn from her. And look at you! She's already made you look so wonderful. Did she get you Botox?”

“Yes, she did. I hate it.” I was becoming sullen and I wanted to lash out.

“I love it though. You look so... blank. It makes me love you all the more. And you've already started to tan.”

She stripped me of my tunic and pinched at the skin of my abdomen. “It's thickening already. Soon you'll have a nice plump belly.”

“Like a gamtre?” I said shyly.

“Yes, a nice, tall, plump Jertulian lady. Oh, Xenia, you're going to be getting a flechxen! I can't believe it. You'll look adorable.”

“What is that?”

“You know you're not supposed to ask. That was our agreement.”

“But I heard you discussing it with Minanna Harosul and it sounded like you were worried.”

“Not worried. It's just fallen out of favour. I think it's a tradition worth reviving though.”

I realised she wasn't going to tell so I went silent.

“Are you sulking? I can't tell so easily now you've been Botoxed.”

“Yes I am,” I said. “You took her side and you let her cane me. It really hurts, Dejax.”

“Yes, but you did swear at her. If she went to tell my mother she might stop the wedding altogether.” She turned me to examine the weals on my buttocks. “Poor little baby. She did a real job on you.” Dejax went to pass a message to a servant. A few minutes later she returned with a pipe.

“You can smoke some of this mixture. It's stronger than what you had earlier and it'll help ease the pain.”

“I didn't think you'd like me smoking. You never smoked in England.”

“I don't here, either. It's seen as being a bit archaic. For a while it was even outlawed, when one of our presidents thought that we should come more in line with other western countries on drug use. But there's been a lot of interest in the last twenty years about old traditions. It makes me feel like you're becoming much more like my romantic vision of a lady to know that you smoke.”

She passed me the long silver stem and lit the bowl. The bowl bubbled and filled with white smoke which I drew into my lungs. I immediately sensed that this was a more potent mixture. My pain seemed to recede and I felt a great clarity, as if I could see more clearly. I saw Dejax staring at me admiringly.

“I never imagined seeing you like this so soon. You look beautiful, Xenia. It makes it very hard for me to stick to my vow to remain chaste until we're married.”

I laughed. “I want more than anything to be alone with you in our bed.”

“Then you have to be a good girl and do everything that Minanna Harosul tells you. She'll decide when you're ready to marry me, and she'll set the date. Now you see why you have to impress her?”

I nodded. There was a knock at the door and I saw a meal being delivered. I gave a soft groan at the thought of more food.

Once the dishes were laid out, Dejax looked at me. “You should never resent food. The servants will dislike you if you don't show gratitude for what you're lucky enough to receive.”

“I've eaten so much, though. And you know I never liked seafood.”

“Jertul is landlocked so seafood was always seen as a great treat, the rarest feast. You need to learn to savour it. Next week you'll feast with my parents and you have to show that you have a discerning palate. They'll undoubtedly serve some seafood courses, so I think Minanna Harosul was wise to suggest that you diet exclusively on seafood till you learn to love it.”

She told me the names of each dish and how it was prepared and made me repeat the information. Retaining information was more difficult than usual since I was numbed by my smoking, as well as still affected by the alcohol I'd consumed during the day. Somehow I managed to eat all of the large meal, though by the end I was close to being sick. I'd learned to tolerate most of the dishes but there was a sea urchin preparation which I found particularly noxious. Dejax allowed me another bowl of herbs to smoke to take away the taste. It made me so sleepy that she had to call a servant to assist her to help me into my bed.

The next days followed a similar pattern. I was constantly in the care of Minanna Harosul, who continued to push me hard and treat me with little sympathy. I was given five meals a day, only of seafood. If I started to adjust to the flavours and textures, I couldn't honestly say I derived any pleasure. I longed for something different. By the third day, Minanna agreed that if I ate my meals with decorum then I'd be allowed a dessert. I hadn't imagined that the offer of more food would motivate me, but I found myself delighted to be able to have a bowl of ice cream or one of the delicious local pastries. My smoking had now become a habit. I craved the taste of the smoke and the relaxation that it brought to me. I smoked a pipe six or seven times a day, which Minanna said was a respectable amount for a lady.

Dejax was working long hours at the new plant and so I saw her only for a few hours each evening. I was delighted when she said that the following day would be spent together, as she wanted to oversee my preparation for the imminent feast with her parents.

After we'd breakfasted together she informed me that we both had salon appointments. Her crop had grown a little unruly and I'd harboured hopes that she would grow her hair longer. “Are we going to Minanna Kadax's salon?” She confirmed that we were. “You know, almost everyone there has a perm.”

“Yes, they're very fashionable at the moment. Traditional styles in Jertul often involved curled hair, so it's an expression of patriotism,” she explained. “I'm going to get mine permed today,” she said calmly. I was uncomfortable with the idea. I hadn't liked many of the curly styles I'd seen and the prospect of an unflattering style on Dejax was hard to conceive. “Are you pleased?”

“I'm not sure,” I admitted. “Perms seem a little old fashioned to me. They've not been popular in Britain for a long time.”

“Well, since you're getting one too you'll have to try to re-evaluate your ideas.”

I took a long slow breath. “Is my hair going to be cut too?” I asked.

“You'll still have long hair,” she smiled. “A betrothed woman should have long hair in our tradition.”

“But you're betrothed too,” I protested. “You should grow yours.”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, because I'm the superior. It would be more seemly for me to adopt a modern style, or even a slightly masculine look. I forget sometimes how little you know.”

We arrived at the salon and Minanna Kadax welcomed us in person. I was asked to sit with Minanna Harosul, alongside Dejax as she had her hair cut. As soon as she'd been caped the cutting commenced: the back and sides, which had grown to almost two inches, were clippered down to a few millimetres with great speed. Now Minanna Kadax removed the guard and started to clippershave the short hair high up Dejax's nape, fading the cut with the taper lever. I saw that she was a very skilled barberette, but I was less than happy at the severity of the cut. The sides were faded too, and Dejax's ears were now surrounded by almost bald scalp. A razor was used to shape the contour of the hairline: her hair was so short that barely a shadow remained, but even this shadow was removed as Minanna shaped her nape to geometric precision. Her sideburns were shaved completely to a high line level with the top of her ears.

The longer hair on top was now trimmed, but only to remove the tips. It was four inches or more long and looked strangely out of proportion to the bared sides, especially since Dejax had very thick hair.

Now the longer strands were twisted tightly and wound onto wooden rods which were carved with a helical thread. I could see that the hairdresser was pulling firmly at Dejax's hair to wind it, uncomfortably so, I'm sure, but she maintained a calm visage. Minanna Kadax was very practised and the winding proceeded rapidly. But then I only had to look about the salon to see how popular permed styles were among the affluent clientele (not to mention the staff) of the salon. As the amount of unwound locks receded, Dejax spoke to me.

“Darling, you'll be in the chair soon. I'd like you you stay very still and calm while you have your makeover but it will be challenging. You should go with Minanna Harosul to a smoking room along the street and take a very powerful herb. It will make you endure your test more easily. Do as Minanna says and be a good girl.”

I reluctantly left Dejax in Minanna Kadax's hands and went with my tutor. The smoking house was a small, exquisitely furnished room just a short walk from the salon. The whole place was scented with the herbs I'd come to relish so much in recent days. A young woman greeted us and led us to recline on pillows. She prepared a pipe for me and chopped the leaves on a polished stone. She added a dark resinous substance, crumbling it into the finely minced leaves, then stuffing the bowl, which was notably larger than those I'd seen on the pipes I was accustomed to. She lit the mix as I inhaled.

Within moments I was aware that this was a more deeply intoxicating blend than I'd experienced before. I became obsessed with the patterns of the carpet with seemed to seethe and live. The knots of wool became tiny creatures to my eyes, engaged in patterns of movement, a dance of sorts. I seemed to stare at them for hours but when Minanna Harosul spoke to me I could reply easily and with clarity.

However, my memory seemed fitful. I was back in the salon without remembering leaving the smoking room and I saw Dejax smiling gently at me as her perm was matured under a large dryer. Now Minanna Kadax welcomed me to the chair and spoke to Dejax and Minanna Harosul about my impending makeover. I was still unable to discern hardly any meaning in conversational Jertulian, but I felt a twinge of nervousness as I made out the word “ flechxen”. I remembered Minanna Harosul's suggestion of this to Dejax and her obvious shock. I still remained ignorant of what it meant but I presumed I would soon find out.

Minanna Kadax combed through my dark hair until it was smoothed of tangles, then made a part over the top of my head, from ear to ear. She smoothed back the rearmost hair and tied it loosely at my nape. She combed the front section forward so that it covered my face.

I felt her fingers caress the hair forward along the parting, then felt her grasp a fine strand of hair. I jumped as she tugged, pulling the hair free. I was numbed from the effects of my smoking and felt hardly any pain, but nevertheless I felt an inner pain as she tugged free another strand, and another.

She found a rhythm now, rapidly plucking nine strands from my scalp, then pausing briefly to lift away the plucked hair. I was muddled by the drugs I'd inhaled but soon had come to realise that it was clearly the intention that the front area of my scalp would be plucked bald. Even in my insensitive state I felt emotional turmoil as I imagined how distressing this style would be. I was glad that my hair covered my face, since I was sure I was blushing and unable to hide my distress. I had to try to conquer my fears to show Minanna Harosul that I was becoming a lady.

I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift. I became aware of pulses of colour slowly bursting before my eyes and as I allowed myself to be absorbed by this display the colours became much more vivid, with sharply defined geometric figures now forming.

Gradually I felt myself floating back toward the external world. I became aware of a burning sensation in my frontal scalp. With an effort I opened my eyes.

I saw a strange creature looking back at me. Her head was bald at the front, except for some fine strands at her left temple, which were rapidly being removed by the woman at her side. She was browless too. Her face was full, round, very darkly tanned, yet her scalp was pale. Thick black locks swept back from the furthest areas of her head.

I suppressed a groan as I came to acknowledge that I was seeing only my reflection. I'd hardly been aware how dark my skin had become, scarcely more cognizant of how my diet had fattened my face. And my hairstyle made me look alien, distressingly odd and ugly.

“This is the flechxen?” I said calmly to Minanna Harosul.

“Yes. It's a very ancient style that was worn by all ladies of the upper echelons in previous centuries. It's fallen out of favour except in a few distant cantons, but there is a feeling amongst some patriots that more ladies should adopt the style again. You're very privileged to be allowed to wear it.”

“Thank you, Minanna,” I said flatly.

Dejax came to see me as my hair was being wound onto long pegs by another hairdresser. Minanna Kadax had completed her style and her hair was now formed into tight spirals across the top of her head. The hair was curled so tightly that nothing stood more than an inch above her scalp. Her previously rather full eyebrows had now been plucked into pencil thin arches, simple arcs that seemed strangely artificial. She looked distressingly different and I wanted to cry, so unflattering was the metamorphosis that Kadax had wrought, but my emotions seemed to exist in a box locked far away from the surface and I maintained a passive face. Yet Dejax seemed delighted.

“Isn't it just gorgeous?” she smiled. “And just look at you! You look like a lady from a fairy tale, too pretty for words.”

Despite my distress I felt an intense pride that my sacrifice was so adored by Dejax. I wanted nothing else but to be thought fit to be her consort, to be allowed finally to live in privacy with my love. I looked past Dejax and softened my face, feigning the indifference I knew she found so seductive. I prayed that my makeover would make as good an impression on Dejax's parents.

My long hair took hours to be curled. I was offered various snacks during my time under the dryer, none of which I was allowed to decline. Minanna Harosul seemed to have developed sufficient confidence in my behaviour that she allowed herself the opportunity to have her own hair cut while I was suffering silently under the dryer (the newly plucked area of scalp in particular felt fiery). When she returned she had a more exaggerated version of the style I'd grown used to on her. The top had been sculpted into an even taller pompadour, the sides were buzzed very close and her sideburns had been razored away even more dramatically than Dejax's.

“Very elegant, Minanna Harosul,” I said.

“Thank you, Nanga Xenia. It's considered good manners to compliment a newly coiffed lady by suggesting that the style increases her nobility. So I might say to you: 'Your good breeding is enhanced,' or 'Your nobility radiates,' although it may feel forced to say such a thing to an outsider such as yourself.”

“Yes, Minanna,” I said humbly. I was under no illusions that my breeding or nobility would ever be considered adequate amongst the wealthy of Jertul, nor did it cause me concern, other than that it might cause Dejax disrespect.

Soon my perm was completed and I saw my new hair. It fell in thick, springy ringlets, even after it had been treated with a heavy oil which made it look wet and shiny. The fullness of my mane only seemed to add absurdity to the bareness of my forehead and temples. I was finding increasing difficulty in maintaining an expressionless face, since the effects of the drugs had long since diminished and I now found myself craving the opportunity to smoke.

Kadax now began to treat my eyelashes, and for a moment I was concerned that they would be plucked too. However, she obviously had other plans. They were coated with a glue and combed into small clumps. Minanna Kadax carefully shaped the clumps into spidery points, working rapidly, since the glue set quickly. Once the points were set she added extra layers to firm them and added longer fibres of feather to extend them.

The solvents were irritating and my eyes watered throughout the process, meaning I was unable to focus. The treatment of upper lashes was difficult enough to bear, but to access lower lashes my eyes had to remain open, to which end a hook was fixed under the inside of my upper lid. I was delighted when I was finally done, the tears carefully wiped with a soft tissue. Now my eyes were outlined by long, stiff black shards. Dejax was now beside me, her lashes now treated similarly. I looked at myself in the mirror, blinking as I tried to adjust to the sticky new appendages which I was assured would last for a week at least.

In compensation I had Dejax's enthusiasm for my new look. She only became more excited (her efforts to retain an aristocratic calm having long been abandoned) as my make-up was freshly applied. Kadax had disguised the paleness of my exposed scalp well and my lips were, as had become customary, stained a sombre crimson. My eyes were even more thickly outlined than usual and I felt a twinge of anxiety as I remembered how I'd looked back in England.

As we left the salon Dejax could no longer restrain herself and began caressing my bald forehead. “You look like Princess Hessijex in a picture book I had when I was a girl.”

Minanna Harosul began to laugh. “Let's hope she doesn't behave like her!”

I looked lost at the significance of the remark. “The princess was a murderess who lived in the seventeenth century. She was notorious for having poisoned several rivals for the hand of a young duke,” Harosul explained.

“But she was very beautiful, and somehow her evil only made her even more seductive to me.”

Minanna Harosul was amused by this and seemed more relaxed that I'd seen her before. “Nanga Xenia, you behaved well today. And I agree with Nanga Dejax, that your beauty is a credit to your forefathers.”

I felt a flush of pride that at last my tutor had praised me.

“You've lost your gauntness, too. Still, you have a long way to go. You're still far too slight to look ladylike,” she added, ensuring that I wouldn't become complacent.

We went home and my hopes that I would be allowed some time alone with Dejax were frustrated; she had business to attend to with Minanna Harosul, so I was left to dine alone. I'd not eaten for several hours and, accustomed as I was becoming to frequent large meals, I was ravenous. A servant brought me a generous repast (I was still eating exclusively seafood, but had developed a taste for most of the dishes, if not yet for the more peculiar tastes and textures) and I set to it with gusto once I'd savoured a couple of bowls of my favourite smoking mixture. I demanded a selection of pastries after the meal.

After finishing my meal I was lazily studying a book of Jertulian grammar when Dejax and Minanna Harosul returned, both beautifully attired (Dejax, most unusually, wore a dress and lots of jewellery). “You need to dress,” Dejax told me. “You're going to the feast with my parents in half an hour.”

I was beside myself. “Why didn't you tell me, Dejax?” I said, barely containing my anxiety. “I've just eaten a huge meal and I'll never be able to eat what's laid out for me.”

It was Minanna Harosul who replied. “You will eat every morsel, and with good grace. All of your training so far culminates in this evening's events. If you make a good impression on Minanna Puas then your future is almost guaranteed, but if you should disgrace yourself then you'll bring shame not just to yourself and your family, but to me and Dejax.”

I regretted smoking so much as Minanna Harosul took charge of dressing me. I was woozy and muddled, slow in thought and action. I was dressed in a long gown of thick pleated cotton, black with red embroideries. It had a high collar, but was cut away at the front to expose my décolletage, which had grown far more ample with my increase in girth. A heavy gold chain was placed around my neck, from which hung a heavy star pendant in platinum inlaid with fine strips of a black stone. My hair was so stiff that it had barely moved since Minanna Kadax had finished working on it. I was decked out with golden ornaments, a pair of stylised roses, which Minanna Harosul clipped behind each ear, better to expose my newly bared temples. More make-up was applied to ensure that the paleness of my scalp was evenly covered.

“You should smoke a little to relax,” Dejax suggested. I tried to tell her that I'd smoked rather a lot before my meal but she was insistent. By the time I arrived at the main house, accompanied only by Dejax, I was calm to the point of numbness, the smell of smoke hidden by the perfume which had been sprayed copiously into my new curls.

Minanna Puas and Kallaga Treskoa (Dejax's father; Kallaga was an honorific accorded from his old military rank) greeted me formally as I entered. He was a kind looking man, and I knew that Dejax adored him. We entered the dining room where we were each offered a small crescent of bread. All broke the bread and took a bite. Kallaga Treskoa stood and bowed to each of us in turn, then excused himself.

“This is a night for the women,” Dejax explained, but her mother pulled her up short. There was a brief exchange between them. “She wants us to speak in Jertulian, but I explained that your progress in the language isn't good. She says that within a month you'll not be allowed to speak anything but, so she'll find a new tutor to coach you in the language more intensively.”

“Chxa, Minanna Puas,” I said calmly. “Fregxe.”

We were supplied with the first course, sliced cold meats. Despite the fullness of my stomach I relished the delicate flavours, having been deprived of any variation in my diet for far too long. I felt Minanna Puas' gaze on me constantly, watching every action, but forced myself to remain slow and silent, kept a soft face, looked into the distance and avoided eye contact.

“Perhaps Nanga Xenia would enjoy smoking with me between courses,” Minanna Puas said in accented but very clear English. I was so taken aback to hear her speak in my own language that I must have looked at her curiously.

“I'd like that very much, Minanna Puas,” I said.

All three of us were brought pipes. The mixture that was prepared was flavoured with cherries and was very pleasing. After smoking, Minanna Puas seemed to have softened. “You have changed so much, Xenia. I'm astonished to see that you chose to wear the flechxen. Was it shaved?”

“No mother!” Dejax interjected. “We did it properly.”

Minanna Puas reached forward to feel my forehead. “You allowed it to be plucked? You're much stronger than I had anticipated. I adore the flechxen, the history it embodies. You bring honour on yourself to wear this style.”

Perhaps it was the effects of my excessive smoking but I felt that I couldn't trust Minanna Puas, still had a nagging doubt that I was in danger of being snared in a trap. I did feel a delight that she'd complimented me so generously but my concerns (and my slowness of thought) meant that I showed little outwardly. Of course, in Jertul, this was regarded as good grace, and I saw Dejax's face bloom into a wonderful smile to see how her mother had accepted me, and at seeing my restraint.

“You're still rather thin though,” she continued. “You will promise to develop a ladylike figure to bring respect to our family?”

“Chxa, Minanna Puas,” I said solemnly. “I adore the food here and it's an honour to be allowed to dine so well. I hope my figure will soon be ample enough to please you.” I knew I had given up all pretence that I could stop myself becoming obese. Already I knew my friends would be shocked to see how fat I had become.

“Then I think we should have the next course of our feast.” She signalled and we were soon served with a seafood course. The preparation was more luxurious than I was used to and the meal was rich in the more extreme flavours and textures that still disgusted me: sea urchin, sea cucumber, sea squirt. I was sufficiently practised to be able to eat them with decorum, however. I made a show of chewing them, fully experiencing the flavours.

Minanna Puas didn't take her eyes off me. “You don't enjoy this food,” she said as the empty dishes were removed.

“I... am becoming accustomed to it, but some seafood is more difficult for me to like.”

She smiled. “You did well to show such control. I like you Nanga Xenia and I wish to make you a gift.”

A large box was brought in by a servant, a beautifully inlaid wooden casket which looked ancient. Inside were various items of jewellery. Minanna Puas laid my hands on her lap and started to deck my fingers with numerous rings.

“These are very old rings which have been in our family, some for many generations. You must promise to look after them well.”

“I do,” I said.

“They're a little loose on you but I hope soon your hands will grow into them. You'll do us honour if they become fixed on your fingers.” She'd now placed rings on every finger, not just one, but a second, finer ring had been added to the second joint of each finger. Even my thumbs were ringed.

Now she took a pair of heavy bangles from the casket. They were three inches wide, with blunt protuberances studding the entire surface. They appeared to be made of solid gold and I couldn't even begin to imagine their worth.

She pushed my wrists through the opening and settled them into place. “Nanga Xenia, these will soon be permanently fixed in place too, I hope. There was an old tradition that when a young girl was betrothed she'd be given such a pair of bracelets which would become tight to her arms as she grew to a mature lady. The practice is rarely seen now, but a lady who wears a flechxen should surely be braceleted.”

“Minanna Puas,” I said, “I know it's expected that a lady should refrain from shows of emotion, but I'm so overwhelmed by your generosity and kindness to me that I think I'm going to cry.”

“And so your should,” Dejax said, her own voice cracking with emotion. “You're finally ready to be my bride, my darling Xenia.”

Even my future mother seemed close to tears. “You have my blessing, Nanga Xenia, but you must promise me that you will study hard at our language. In a month you must promise never to speak English ever again.”

“But what about when I visit home or speak to my family?”

“My dear, this is your home now, and we are your family. English, England, will be forgotten.” I was so eager to please Minanna Puas that I willingly made my pledge.

Now Dejax was sifting through the remaining jewels in the casket. “Oh, look at these!” she gasped as she found a huge pair of golden discs which were supplied with hooks to allow them to be suspended from the ears. “Please may she have them?”

“The hooks are far too thick for her ears. She'd have to be pierced.”

“They look delightful though. Please say yes, Huxi!” (this was an affectionate term for mother).

“Do you want to be pierced, Xenia?” Minanna asked. It was the first time she'd addressed me informally, which delighted me.

“Yes, Minanna Puas.”

She smiled indulgently. “In private you can call me Huxi.”

I was beside myself with joy. I'd been accepted as her daughter.

I woke the next morning with a hangover from drinking and smoking far too much. I felt happier than ever that I had been accepted into Dejax's family but I felt a sadness too as I remembered my pledge to sever my ties with my past. And then there was my promise to forego my native tongue in a month! I'd made so little progress with my new language that I knew I'd be almost helpless to communicate.

I wasn't allowed a lie in to recuperate. I was woken at the usual hour by a maid and bathed. My hair had to be kept dry, since the perm had to settle before I could wash it. After dressing I breakfasted with Minanna Harosul.

“I hear your feast was a great success. You impressed Minanna Puas. She says she likes you very much.”

“It was wonderful, Minanna Harosul, even though I felt like I was going to explode because I'd eaten a big meal just before I went to her.”

“Look at your beautiful jewellery! She's accepted you as her daughter. You have to work hard to make her proud of you. You have a new language teacher, since I've failed to teach you more than the rudiments.”

“Yes, I promised that in a month I'll only speak Jertulian.”

Minanna laughed. “You'll be like a toddler! You hardly know any words and understand less. I think that was a hasty promise. The English are very poor language students.” I nodded. “Still, you can just sit silent and look pretty. I think that's what Dejax wants from you. You just need to do something about your figure. Oh yes, she mentioned you need to be pierced. I arranged for a lady to come in later to fit your new jewellery.”

“Oh yes,” I groaned. “Those hooks looked huge. I'm going to need to smoke a lot before I see her.”

Minanna Harosul smiled cruelly. “No dear, we discussed that. Minanna Puas agreed that your smoking and drinking is probably affecting your studies. You'll only be allowed one bowl each night, and one glass of wine, until you're more fluent in our language.”

I couldn't hide my displeasure. I'd come to rely on my pipe as a way to relax myself in social settings, to help me to gain an appetite for the huge meals I was served and to soothe the pains I felt as a result of my rapid weight increase. I was aware that when I didn't smoke I got awful cravings. Life with such limited access to my pipe would be far less pleasant.

My new language teacher was far more rigorous in her methods than Minanna Harosul. She made me chant the declensions of the regular nouns (of which there were five types in Jertulian), conjugations of verbs (there were seven types of regular verb). She harangued me for any error and I was glad when just before noon our al fresco lesson (I was still encouraged to spend time in the sun, naked, to encourage a dark tan to develop) was interrupted by Minanna Harosul.

I was less happy when I discovered that my visitor, Nanga Siddera, had arrived to fit me with my new earrings. She praised me lavishly for my hairstyle (it seemed everyone felt that it was a very regal style, like something from a fairytale), and carefully tied back my curls so that my ears weren't occluded by my tresses. As she did I felt nauseous, having caught sight of the knife with which I'd be pierced. It had a long blade with a tapered point, like a fine scalpel.

Nanga Siddera cut some lengths of woody hollow stem, then crushed them with a pestle-like stone on a board. I looked at her questioningly. “The stem of the derrix bush has styptic properties and promotes healing. When you're pierced I'll insert a piece to act as an astringent.” I nodded. The thickness of the stem made me fear how big the hole would be.

I took the studs from my ears and gritted my teeth. Minanna Harosul was watching me closely and her attitude left me in no doubt that she would judge me on my performance. I wished desperately for a breath of smoke to ease my anxiety.

The tip of the knife was placed in the tiny hole in my left lobe, which was supported by a block of cork. With a swift jab, Nanga Siddera drove the blade through my lobe. I closed my eyes and tried to maintain my expressionless visage. The pain grew and I wanted to roar.

The blade was eased free of the block and then of my ear. I felt a drip of blood on my neck. The pain didn't subside as now a small length of stem was introduced to the hole, Nanga Siddera tugging at my skin to open up the aperture. The aromatic chemicals in the stem made my ear sting.

I couldn't suppress a groan as my right ear underwent the same torment. Nanga Siddera seemed cross for a moment at my weakness, but soon her implacable smile was back. She waited for the bleeding to stop, then snipped the stems to much shorter lengths. Short pieces remained in place as she introduced the hooks of the earrings.

“How does it feel?” she asked.

“They're very heavy. Maybe we should wait for the holes to heal before I wear these?”

She looked like I'd said something offensive.

“Of course Nanga Xenia is making a joke,” Minanna Harosul laughed. “The British have a sense of humour hard for us to understand.” Nanga Siddera joined in her laughter.

The golden discs weighed heavily against the fresh wounds.

“Ah, Nanga Xenia. Minanna Puas also suggested that you'd do well to wear this ring too.” She held up a much smaller earring, heavily ornamented along the lower part with filigreed ornaments. The closing wire was mercifully much finer than the hooks I now wore. I nodded my assent.

I immediately realised my error. The ring was for a nose piercing, evidently to be worn in the septum. Nanga Siddera had a strange device to allow easy access to her piercing needle. She pushed a clamp over my septum, a U-shaped iron piece gripping it on each side. There were curved prongs splaying from the stem which pushed up the wings of my nostrils so that the flesh of my septum would be more exposed. The stem was telescoped so that a rubber stub was aligned with my jaws.

“Bite on this,” Nanga Siddera instructed me. Now the clamp was held in place by my teeth and Nanga Siddera had both hands free to wield the needle.

Mercifully she worked quickly, pushing the needle through (it required a surprising amount of force). I felt my eyes fill with tears from the intensity of the pain. She eased the needle free, but left the hole filled with a thin strip of derrix. The stinging was intense, but it did rapidly staunch the trickle of blood.

I was allowed to open my jaws and the clamp was eased free (not without a shudder, caused by a fresh wave of pain). I wanted to scream when Nanga Siddera tugged on the lower part of my septum to open the hole so that she could fit the ring. I blinked to dispel the tears and saw Minanna Harosul scowling at me.

“It's an involuntary response,” Nanga Siddera explained. “The insult to tissues around nose and eyes provokes tears. Her eyes are watering but she's not crying.”

She gently washed my eyes and reapplied my make-up once the tears had ceased. I looked at her with a smile. She'd spared my embarrassment; she knew just as well as I that the pain had made me cry.

The next weeks became somewhat dull. I spent long hours with Minanna Ggretxer, my language teacher, trying to master the rudiments of the language. My reading remained poor but I did make some progress in expressing simple ideas. Gradually my comprehension improved, although I was lost when I tried to join a conversation with two others.

My body ballooned as my immense consumption of food continued. I found it hard to see myself in a mirror, but if I was embarrassed by how fat I'd become, everyone else in Jertul seemed to rejoice in my metamorphosis. The rings which had been so loose on my fingers (so much so that I was constantly in fear of losing them) had now become embedded in the swelling flesh and couldn't be removed. My bracelets caused constrictions in my burgeoning forearms and were similarly impossible to take off. The awkward, skinny English girl was now seen as a beautifully rounded Jertulian lady, and my deep tan (and it was extremely dark, the tablets I took daily making me tan far more than I would have believed possible) only seemed to add to the feeling that I couldn't possibly be a northern European.

Every four weeks I was taken back to Minanna Kadax's salon, where my hair was dyed and permed. The chemicals made my hair rather dry and frizzy, but since after each wash it was treated with the heavy oil, the poor condition was effectively hidden. My flechxen was maintained with a weekly plucking of any down that had regrown. I'd hardly come to terms with the oddness of the style, however. I longed to be allowed to regrow my hair, but the esteem that the style gave to me (and, through me, to Dejax) meant that I had to accept that my plucked forehead and temples were likely to remain a permanent feature.

My nails had been allowed to grow to long points, carefully filed to a soft point. I was expected to take great care to look after them; a broken nail would look shameful, I was taught.

Dejax was delighted with me, and she looked at me wistfully each time we were together. I longed to be allowed to be alone with her, but that was a rare privilege. We were mostly expected to retain a chaperone to ensure propriety. Dejax had undoubtedly changed from the girl I knew in England. Physically she'd gained weight (although I was now much heavier than her) and she'd retained the severely cropped style with the tight curls on top. I'd struggled to like this style but somehow I now felt it was beautiful, perhaps because everyone I knew told me how becoming it was. She dressed in smart trouser suits, but these were tailored in a distinctly Jertulian style. She was almost unrecognisable from the girl I'd fallen in love with.

But if her outward change was remarkable, the inner metamorphosis was even more profound. She was bold and demanding, sometimes confounding me with her seeming insensitivity to my position. She seemed to take a cruel delight in my struggles to come to terms with my new life. She would tease me and patronise me about my difficulties with the language. She hinted that I had more changes to come that I would find more difficult than anything I'd so far endured. And yet, my devotion to her was undiminished. Her changes seemed to complement my own, and I craved her wilfulness, since my purposefulness seemed to have diminished. I adored being moulded to the woman she wanted me to be, the Jertulian lady I was becoming, however imperfectly.

She would tell me how beautiful I was becoming (always becoming, never had my metamorphosis proceeded sufficiently to satisfy her), but would then taunt me with threats to break off our relationship because I was so poor at behaving like a lady or mastering the language she held so dear.

“How would your friends in England feel if they saw you now? So fat, so dark... And your hair has been plucked so long that I would doubt it will ever grow back now.”

“They'd tease me. Probably wouldn't be seen with me,” I said as best I could in my broken Jertulian.

“Yes, I remember how people looked at me when I arrived, and I was hardly fat at all. My little gamtre would be despised!”

“Please, Dejax, I adore you. Never send me away,” I'd plead.

“Then you have to try harder to behave well. And you have to compensate for your gaucheness by becoming more traditional. I want you to look like the ladies from the romances I read when I was young, so that you look so beguiling that no one will notice what a poor conversationalist you are, or how crude your manners are. I think sometimes you don't apply yourself because you still want to keep your Britishness, that you want to go back there some day. If you really loved Jertul you'd be more committed, you'd know how beautiful our land and culture are and it would satisfy you.”

“I do love Jertul,” I'd insist. “And I want to be a better woman for you. I'll try harder for Minanna Ggretxer. I want you to be proud of me.”

A few weeks later my resolve was tested. I was driven into the city by Minanna Harosul, accompanied by Dejax and her mother. Their presence signalled that something out of the ordinary was happening and I was immediately on edge.

We arrived at a small hospital, which was so richly decorated that it could only be a very exclusive clinic. As we entered I asked Dejax why we were here.

“You're getting some surgery to correct some defects. You'll be more beautiful when you leave here. That's really all you need to know, isn't it? You'll consent to treatment because I think it's essential if you're going to make a good bride.” She called over her mother. “Huxi, I was telling Xenia how the surgery will improve her and she's consented to everything. Isn't she a little darling?”

Minanna Puas looked pleased with me. “You are a good girl to allow this. I think we should set a date for the ceremony, Xenia.”

I tried to maintain my calmness but I felt tortured. I was filled with panic about the mysterious surgery I would allow to permanently change me, but also felt enormous gratitude that I would soon finally take my place as Dejax's wife.

Soon a doctor came to greet our party and we were taken to an office. The doctor seemed very taken with my appearance, particularly my hairstyle, and repeatedly stroked my plucked forehead. “What a beautiful flechxen!” she enthused. “I hardly ever saw any women who wore the style, mostly older women from the northern regions. I think it brings honour on a modern urban family to revive this style.”

Minanna Puas thanked her graciously. “Do undress, Nanga Xenia, and let the doctor examine you.”

Now I stood naked, displaying my bloated, tanned body.

“A few stretch marks,” she observed.

“She was awfully thin when she arrived,” Dejax explained. “She's gained very rapidly, but she's been massaged daily to reduce the stretch marks. I do find a few more than attractive.”

“Yes, she's quite beautiful now, very soft and round. Her colour is most pleasing. It makes her appear very much like a traditional rustic lady. But I think my work will give her an air that's more noble.”

I was asked to sign the consent form, which I did. I scanned through the pages rapidly but my reading remained poor, only decoding each letter with effort. I had no idea precisely what treatment was detailed. Soon, still naked, I was taken into the operating room where a team of nurses in scrubs waited for me. I lay on the bed and felt a needle being inserted into the back of my hand. I felt a need to escape, felt with clarity that I was giving away too much. Everything started to fade.

I woke feeling nausea. I was too confused to be much aware of anything but the need to control my need to vomit. I was being spoken to but Jertulian seemed too complex to be meaningful. I nodded, seeming to sense unconsciously what was being asked. I only wanted to sleep to avoid this pain and sickness. Soon I succeeded and slipped back into a reverie.

But the dreams were no consolation. I found myself in a strange tower, labyrinthine and baroque. I wanted to leave but the corridors led me back to my starting point or else ended in a blank wall and I'd have to retrace my path. I encountered numerous inhabitants of the tower: strange, menacing grotesques who treated me with disdain and cruelty. Even the servants treated me badly, refusing to do my bidding, conspiring to bring calamity on me.

I woke feeling suddenly alert. I was in a white room and Minanna Harosul was seated nearby. I greeted her. “Are we still at the hospital?” I asked. My voice was strange, nasal, low, lisping.

“No, you're in Minanna Puas' residence. You'll stay for a week to recover.”

“Did everything go well?” I asked, now aware that my tongue felt sore at the tip.

“Of course. Please be more circumspect when asking about your surgery, Nanga Xenia. It makes it sound like you have no trust in your excellent surgeon.”

I apologised and said I'd meant no disrespect.

“What has been done to me?” I asked.

“Some enhancements to your face. You've had a little piece of tissue excised from the tip of your tongue too. It will give a nice shape to your tongue but it's primarily to induce a lisp which is desirable. And your vocal cords have been treated to lower your voice. You did have a rather grating voice before and our hope is that you'll sound more attractive. The doctor has given you a new mixture to smoke to help maintain a deeper voice without making you too woozy to follow your lessons.”

I could see that I had a dressing over my nose and my lips were so sore that I knew they'd been altered, but my tutor wouldn't supply any more information. It was only when I asked to visit the toilet that I realised that my genitalia had been subjected to modification. I cursed in English as I realised that I was heavily stitched, but my swollen belly stopped me from seeing what had been done. Minanna Harosul was furious with me for my reaction but I demanded to know what had happened.

“It's my body. You can't do this to me, can't do this and then not even tell me what has been done. It's my body!”

Soon she'd taken control again. She used a leather strap to beat the palms of my hands until I was crying. I sat sobbing on the edge of the bed.

“It most definitely is not your body, Nanga Xenia,” she spat angrily. “You've betrothed yourself to a young lady of a very fine family and as her betrothed you owe yourself to her, body and soul. You do her and yourself dishonour in this childish behaviour. Prostrate yourself to me and beg forgiveness. Three prostrations, now.”

I did as Minanna Harosul asked, with great difficulty given the soreness of my body. By the time I rose from the floor for the third time I was exhausted and shaking, worried I'd done something to damage my healing wounds. “You're forgiven, Nanga Xenia,” she said. “Let's put your behaviour down to the medication and never speak of it again.” I thanked her.

I was surprised that the smoking that the doctor had recommended now took the form of cigarettes. I'd never so much as tried a cigarette and my use of the pipe seemed somehow different to smoking as it was practised back in Britain. Now I had to accept that I was a smoker.

“That looks rather common,” Minanna Harosul commented as I lit my first ever cigarette. “I think you should only indulge this habit in private. I think I'd die of shame if Minanna Puas saw you like this. Still, it will help you to develop a richer voice. The doctor wants you to hold the smoke in your throat to maximise the effects.”

My throat felt raw following my recent treatment and the smoke was unbearable. I tried to suppress my coughing reflex, since that only produced sharp pain. Minanna Harosul looked at me with undisguised disappointment. “Despite all my efforts there's still a coarseness to you that seems irredeemable. I suppose we just have to work harder at perfecting the surface so that the deep flaws might go unnoticed. At least you should have a cigarette holder to add a little respectability. I'd hate to think you'd have yellow fingers like a common factory worker.”

The revelations of my new appearance came gradually. I was, after a few days, allowed to see a mirror and saw that my lips had been puffed up (extra tissue had been grafted in, meaning that the change was permanent). I could see that my cheekbones had had implants inserted and now pushed outward through the soft pads of fat that had grown over my cheeks. My nose remained covered by a dressing, though bruising was visible around my eyes. I'd had my Botox renewed and my face was stiller, less mobile than ever.

More days passed and I returned to the hospital. The stitches were taken from my genital wounds. “May I see?” I asked the doctor, who was more obliging than my tutor or my new family, and provided me with a mirror. I saw, to my horror, that a full labiaplasty had been performed and my sex was strangely smooth and featureless. “The reconstructed hymen has taken well,” she observed, “but you should be gentle with it until it heals.”

“Is it ready to be pierced?” Dejax asked excitedly.

“I see no reason why not,” the doctor replied. A few minutes later I felt a sting as I was pierced in my new hymen. I felt glad of the pain, felt that I needed suffering to remind me that I was alive. She pulled the dressing from my nose and examined it. It was still tender and as she tugged at my septum ring I thought I would faint, so intense was the shock.

“I'm very pleased,” she smiled. “You look so different, Nanga Xenia.” She held up a mirror.

I wanted her to tug at the ring again to hurt me, so anguished was I by what I saw. My nose had been narrowed, but as I turned it from side to side I saw that the skin at the bridge was stretched tight over a large implant. My nose was extremely prominent, jutting, eagle-like.

I looked at Dejax imploringly. Surely this was a joke, something that could be undone. I saw only happiness in her expression, a serene joy. Could she really find this huge nose attractive?

“She looks like Princess Hessijex more than ever,” she said ecstatically.

The doctor agreed. “Yes, the regal nose, the roundness of her cheeks, the high flechxen. She is a real beauty. She just needs the bridal...”

“Please, doctor, she doesn't need to know. She prefers to find out gradually. It helps her to become my perfect bride a little at a time.”

The doctor smiled indulgently. “I'm sure she's very happy with what she's becoming. You are most lovely, Nanga Xenia.”

I felt like I was going crazy, or more specifically that everyone else was. If everyone else shares the same delusion is the sane person crazed?

I was so shocked by my new appearance that I wanted to retreat into myself, yet Dejax seemed so taken with my transformation that I found her eager to take me out to show me off. Everywhere we went I drew admiring comments. People would ask to have their picture taken with me and Dejax made it clear that I should always treat this as a sincere compliment and indulge them. Dejax was less hurtful when she spoke to me now. It seemed that I had become so lovely that her heart melted every time she looked at me.

And yet I was profoundly hurt each time I saw myself. I had become fat and ugly, my ludicrous nose and hair just unbearable. My eyelashes were now always gummed into the spidery clumps that Dejax favoured (twice weekly I had to endure them being re-glued by a maid: the removal of the glue always pulled out more lashes and each time my eyelids were more sparsely fringed so that the treatment had now become unavoidable), only adding to my discomfort in my appearance. My thighs were so massive that my gait was affected. I could not accept that I was beautiful.

It was as my healing was progressing that I was introduced to Hallena. Minanna Harosul introduced her as my donor, so I thought but as the introductions continued I realised that I must have misheard her and it was I who would be her donor. Hallena came from a poor family in a distant town and had from an early age been very spiritual. She had decided to become a nun within a devout community based on the teaching of Munk.

I was very surprised at her appearance. She was, I discovered later, about to reach twenty-one but looked younger. Unlike almost every girl I'd met in Jertul, she was slender and fine boned. She was extremely pretty and looked most un-Jertulian. She was fair skinned, but had very long black hair, which was exceptionally fine and glossy. She was dressed in worn cheap jeans and a faded t-shirt, which I knew in Jertul was a style of dress only adopted by the poorest, but she would have been completely at home in Britain.

“There was an old tradition, mostly no longer observed, but worth reviving, that every bride would, prior to her nuptials, take on a novice nun to act as a guide. In return for her gift, the bride will pay for the novice to be accepted into the community. Hallena's family are very poor and could never pay for her to enter the community, so through your benevolence you can allow her to attain a status otherwise beyond her. And she's an English student so I've agreed that you can converse in English to allow her to improve her language.”

I was immediately very taken with Hallena. She was shy, self-conscious, self-deprecating, but highly intelligent, sensitive, full of wonder and curiosity. She'd always questioned convention and was fascinated to hear about how life was where I'd grown up. I told her that in England she'd be considered a great beauty, but she refused to believe me.

“I always took to heart the passage in Munk where he says that we should take what we need from the world and no more. I ate sparingly, which upset my parents. People always said I had a pretty face but I'm so skinny, like a... guffekx.” I looked at her without understanding. “An old, scrawny goat that can't give milk. That's what we call girls with no flesh.”

“Well in England fat women are teased about being unattractive. You'd find a lot of admirers there, and everyone would find me embarrassing.” She thanked me but I knew she found it impossible to believe me, and thought I was being less than honest out of kindness.

I enjoyed Hallena's company very much but her presence in my house brought other pleasures too. Because I took regular instruction with her (actually no more than long chats) my lessons with Minanna Ggretxer were reduced. And I was allowed regular trips into the city with Hallena. On the day after our introduction we went to purchase her robes. The poorly dressed girl emerged wearing deep red robes, embroidered in a typical Jertulian tradition. She turned shyly to show off her clothes. “Nanga Xenia, I feel so grateful to you. I've always dreamed of devoting myself to spiritual study but my family are so poor that I thought I would have had to take a job in a factory. I'd almost given up hope when a member of Minanna Puas' family heard about me and came to offer me the opportunity. A week later and I would have sold my hair and the chance would have gone forever.”

“Sold your hair?” I said, shocked. “Why?”

“I looked after my hair because I always hoped I might have a donor position become available one day. But hair like this is no good for a factory so I would have had it cut and sold it for a few notes to repay my family.”

“But you have lovely hair! That would have been so sad.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I'm proud that my hair pleases you. That's my gift to you.”

“You're so sweet, Hallena. I wish you could be with me always.”

Minanna Harosul interrupted and told me that I had a beauty appointment, but that Hallena could accompany us, since she might help to keep my spirits up. I felt wary at this, wondering what sort of appointment could be so threatening to my mood. We arrived soon after at a dentist and I knew something awful was planned.

I wasn't wrong. I was told that I would have some gold crowns fitted, a sign of beauty and traditionally thought to bestow good luck on a marriage. I lay back in the chair and tried to prepare myself. The dentist appeared, faceless behind a mask, a net covering her hair. Only her eyes were visible behind tinted glasses. She had a provincial accent that I found almost incomprehensible, but her gestures made me aware of what was expected of me to comply with my latest humiliation.

I accepted the painful injections stoically. I'd long since accepted my helplessness in the face of Dejax's plans to transform me. I tried to tell myself that I'd endured worse, but I'd always been proud of my even white teeth and as I felt the drill start to remove the surface of my upper central incisor I wanted to cry.

It was late in the afternoon when I was fitted with the newly cast crowns, after a long delay while the gold was cast. I looked in the mirror and pulled my lips back in curiosity. I heard a gasp of delight from Hallena. “Nanga Xenia, you have a diastema!”

I realised that she meant that I had a gap between my central upper teeth, which now glittered, smooth and golden. The incisors immediately below were also now capped in yellow metal, but no gap separated them. I intuited that the gap was seen as desirable in Jertulian women.

“It's rather a small diastema,” the dentist explained apologetically, “unavoidable with her teeth. But with regular insertion of a wedge it can be expanded to something more substantial, or, should I say, less substantial?” she laughed. She pressed a narrow taper of slightly spongy wood into the gap, then pushed it in with considerable force. It felt like a large seed had uncomfortably lodged itself in my teeth.

“You can wear this during sleep and between meals when in private. You need to wear it frequently to get the maximum effectiveness.” Minanna Harosul and Hallena promised to ensure my compliance.

The tension of the day had exhausted me and left me with a headache, but my return home was treated with great importance by Dejax, so much so that I had to show off my new teeth to Huxi.

“It looks simply beautiful,” Huxi said. “I wish that more young women would be as open to tradition as you, Xenia. I think you're an example of good grace and noble appearance.”

I thanked her but felt more separated than ever from the person I was inside.

The work at the chemical plant kept Dejax increasingly busy and for a few nights at a time she would not return home now. My loneliness was kept at bay by my new friendship with Hallena. She was a delight to be with, although my pleasure at her presence was tinged with a guilt that my feelings toward her were rather more than was appropriate for a betrothed woman.

Since she tended to follow me everywhere I was unsurprised when she accompanied me on a visit to my monthly appointment with Minanna Kadax, more surprised that I was allowed to make the journey without Minanna Harosul. I had grown to resent the full day my treatment took, the perming taking most of the time. But first I lay back in the wide framed chair that was now necessary to support my ample body as Kadax plucked my eyebrows and forehead to ensure that I remained immaculately smooth.

“Your friend, would you agree that she would look very honourable if she were to wear the flechxen?” Kadax asked, studying Hallena. I was taken aback at this suggestion. Hallena had such natural beauty and I felt it would be sinful to inflict on such a tender girl the brutal plucking I'd endured.

Yet when I looked at her she was blushing with pride and I saw in her eyes as she glanced shyly at me that she was begging for my approval. I couldn't bring myself to grant it so easily.

“Hallena is to become a novice, she's to enter a community. Would it be appropriate for such a spiritual young woman to wear such a style?”

My attempt to spare her the indignity was a failure. “The flechxen was worn as a symbol of purity and devotion to the teachings of the most humble leader,” Hallena informed me, referring to Munk.

I mumbled a few words to Kadax giving my consent, but I was hurt at what I felt was a betrayal of Hallena. Within minutes she sat at my side and her hair was being torn from her scalp.

I was taken to another part of the salon to have my roots dyed black and for an hour I was unable to see Hallena. As I returned to my earlier place I saw a new Hallena smiling gently at me. Her beautiful eyebrows were gone and her lovely hair was wound onto the wooden perming rods that I'd had to endure so often. I felt an intense sadness that her natural beauty was gone now, that she was undergoing something of the same process that had made me into the odd creature I saw in the mirror.

Hallena had collected the long hair that had been plucked from her and was braiding it intently to provide some purpose during the long hours that our perms would occupy. I found myself feeling morose to see her so altered and once my rods were in place and the chemicals applied I demanded to be accompanied to the smoking room, where I asked for one of the stronger mixtures to be prepared. I'd been denied such potent mixtures at home for the most part since they clouded my mind and made me less able to perform well in my lessons. But today I would seek solace in the numbness that they provided. I wanted the tedious hours that the perm took to pass more quickly, wanted to forget my misery at my enforced exile, wanted to forget the hurt of seeing my beloved Hallena robbed of her innocence.

The pipe had piqued my appetite and I requested a large meal to be brought. After feasting I made my way back to the salon and fell asleep under the dryer.

I'd seemingly lost some of my tolerance for the herbs I'd smoked. I had vivid dreams of the home I'd left behind and awoke feeling sad and lonely. I glanced up and saw Hallena. Her hair had been fixed into a braided style, impossibly cumbersome on her fine head. I stared at her plucked skull, astonished by how far back her hairline had been plucked (yet, I had to admit, no more had been stripped than on my own head). Her delicately boned skull was exposed at the front, enclosed by the intricately wound voluminously frizzy braids.

She wore make-up for the first time since we'd met. Her bright eyes were thickly outlined, cat-eye points sweeping outwards. She had thin arching lines in place of her annihilated brows and her lashes were gummed into the same spiny clumps as mine. Her lips were painted with a black Cupid's bow.

It was all too much, it only detracted from her natural beauty, and yet, she looked delighted. “Nanga Xenia, look at me! I never imagined I could have such beautiful hair and make-up. Thank you so much for letting me have this.”

I wanted nothing more than to see her happy and found myself trying to accept her makeover.

Minanna Kadax seemed intent on giving me a style much more elaborate than Hallena's. I left the salon with a huge teased beehive style towering behind my plucked forehead, the style supported by a scaffolding of foam blocks concealed under the sweeps of stiffly lacquered hair. The back had been twisted into an overly complex pleat, decorated with numerous jewelled pins. I despised the style but had to admire Kadax's craft. It was certainly ambitious and she'd executed it with considerable flair.

Back at my lodge I realised that no one was present and I relaxed with Hallena. I lit a cigarette (I'd become hooked now, after weeks of Minanna Harosul's insistence on regular smoking to encourage my deeper voice). “May I try one?” Hallena asked.

“You don't smoke, do you? They're bad for you. I don't like smoking in front of you, it reminds me how weak I am to need cigarettes.”

“Please, Xenia, I want to be a normal girl for once. All the girls I knew back home smoked but I was never allowed, because I was supposed to be a good girl. I was never popular because I was so thin. It got worse at puberty when all the other girls started to fatten themselves and I was eating less because I had vowed. It was a very lonely time.”

I reluctantly offered her one and lit it for her. She nervously took some of the smoke into her mouth and blew it out. She smiled at me. “It's very harsh. I'm not sure I like it.”

“I don't want you to. It's very addictive.” She took another drag, deeper now. I stared at her and felt my lust growing. Hallena was like a stranger to me, with her severe make-up and radically changed hair. Now she was smoking too and her purity and innocence seemed lost, but that only made me feel a terrible desire for her, despite my betrothal and her vow to become a nun.

She stared into my eyes and I sensed that my arousal was reciprocated. “I don't know you any more, Hallena,” I whispered. “You're like a stranger.”

“Don't you like me any more?”

I reached out to stroke her plucked scalp. “Oh, my sweet little Hallena, I wish this hadn't been done. You had such lovely hair. And such a naturally beautiful face. You don't need this.”

“Don't say that, Xenia. I wish I was a beautiful as you. You're the most lovely woman I ever saw. Since we met I've been struggling with my vows, wishing I was as beautiful as you, wanting to let myself be transformed.”

“Oh Hallena. Sometimes I've wished I could be with you. Run away from here, go back to England with you and start a new life.”

“That can never be. They'd never let you. You're betrothed to someone from a very powerful family. If you tried to break off your engagement Dejax would have you sent to a Munk community and you'd become a nun for the rest of your life.”

I smiled. “She wouldn't do that. She loves me.”

“She would, Xenia. Her family are very traditional and impropriety isn't an option. Besides, you can't go back to England, you're a Jertulian now. I overheard Harosul talking about it. They had your British citizenship ended. You'll never be allowed to leave the country again.” I wanted to think that it was all a lie but I knew that Hallena couldn't possibly make up such a story. And I'd perhaps sensed that Dejax's refusal to allow me to maintain my ties with home had implied that she would make it impossible for me to leave, but I was anguished that such important decisions had been made without my consent.

“If you'd stayed in England you'd still be as thin as me and we'd never have met. I'm not sorry that Dejax brought you here.” She put the cigarette to her black lips again and drew in more smoke. She looked cruel, evil to me now, yet more beautiful for all that. I stroked her bald scalp again, caressed her stiff curls. “Kiss me,” I begged her.

She put her lips to mine and I felt her passion, her hot blood. I took her slender body in my heavy arms and drew her to me. “We shouldn't, Nanga Xenia,” she said, shame audible in her voice. “Even a kiss would condemn us.”

“Then we've already damned ourselves, haven't we? We have nothing more to lose from going further.”

I started to undress her and she was unresisting. I maintained the haughty indifference that I knew Dejax found so seductive and I sensed that it was no less affecting to Hallena. She moaned, despite her efforts to resist this transgression. “Please, Nanga,” she panted. “My hymen is intact. It would be disaster for me if it was torn.”

“Mine has been repaired too and you have to make the same promise.” I pulled up my skirt to show her my surgically altered sex, still faintly scarred with pink lines. She gasped and knelt before me, kissed gently at the sensitive tissue. “Strip me naked,” I begged her. “Be rough with me, reproach me for my weakness.”

She tugged at the buttons of my robe and bared my bosom. She sighed and leaned forward to take my nipple in her mouth. I felt my joy grow as her tongue slid over the stiffening tissue. “Your body is just perfect,” she sighed. “I've been in love with you since we met. And those teeth just made you irresistible. I'm going to ruin my life but I can't help it. It's all your fault, you're a siren,” she laughed, but I knew there was sincerity in what she said. We were both taking a terrible risk.

I became more passive as her passion inflamed, since I knew that a Jertulian woman would find my behaviour very enticing. I wasn't wrong. I constantly had to remind her not to disturb my hairstyle (or her own), since that would arouse suspicion. Hallena was a virgin but what she lacked in technique she made up in energy. She was young and healthy, exercised regularly (a rarity in Jertul). I was so easily tired now that I was glad that there was no expectation that I should match her level of energy. Eventually, I was sated by her verve and took her in my heavy arms, pulling her tight to me. We looked into each other's eyes and I saw that she the sadness that had been in her eyes since she'd arrived was gone.

“I can't believe that the most beautiful woman I ever saw would like a scrawny girl like me.” I put my finger to her lips.

“You must stop doubting your beauty. You're a lovely person, inside and out. And I was brought up to admire slenderness, and I haven't lost that conditioning. I find you very beautiful. Now stop speaking and enjoy me holding you in my arms.”

It was only with a great effort that we rose from my bed and covered the traces of our indiscretion. I tried as best I could to repair Hallena's make-up. “We must never speak of this,” she said. “And we can't ever give in to weakness again. But I have no regrets. This was the happiest day of my life.”

Nor did I feel regret for my infidelity. I was guarded with Hallena now, even during the long hours we were alone together, for fear that we would be discovered. I had noticed a change in Dejax's behaviour toward Hallena. When she saw her new hairstyle she complemented her on her transformation, but then teased her cruelly about her slenderness. In the following weeks she couldn't resist making comments about Hallena, intended to embarrass her. I feared that she suspected something of our indiscretion, or else was jealous of my closeness with Hallena and wanted to undermine her position. All that she succeeded in doing was making me feel that I had to choose to side with one or the other and I invariably found myself liking Hallena better.

There was another matter that made me feel uneasy around Dejax, the issue of my British citizenship. I didn't know how to bring up the subject but it was making me uneasy, constantly on my mind. I hadn't been allowed to call my parents in months and each time I did Dejax would say it wasn't possible but that she'd arrange it in a few days.

Eventually I could contain my feelings no longer. We'd dined and I'd had a few glasses of wine. “I was thinking that I'd like to make a trip back to England next month. It's dad's sixtieth birthday and I want to see him.”

Dejax suddenly became stern. “No. No trip to England.”

“I want to go. I'll book the flight. Just give me my passport.”

She started to laugh. “No trip to England. You don't have a passport. You're a Jertulian citizen now, and you don't have a passport so you can't leave the country.”

I looked at her angrily. “And when did this happen? Didn't you think I should be asked?”

She glowered at me in silence for what seemed like hours. “Don't ever take that tone with me again. I've seen how you are with Hallena. If I mentioned it to Huxi she'd have you sent to a nunnery for the rest of your days and Hallena would be sent to work in a factory. You'll be a good obedient wife and accept my decisions without complaint or I'll make Hallena pay. And first I want to hear you accept that you think I did the right thing to end your ties with Britain. Tell me that you want no more involvement with your old life and that your new family is the only family you need.”

I looked at her with tears in my eyes. “Please Dejax, I can't not hear from my parents ever again.”

“Say it now or Hallena will be working in one of my father's factories tomorrow and I'll make sure she has a very difficult life there.”

I was sobbing as I realised I had no choice. Dejax wouldn't let me ever leave the country, and all she wanted was my promise to accept her decision. But I couldn't bear to think of Hallena's dream of becoming a student of her religion being taken from her, of her being condemned to a life as a factory worker. “I accept it,” I said, defeated. “No more links with my old life.”

She gave a gloating smile, triumphant in the power she held over me. “Now get to bed, Xenia, I can't bear to look at you right now. Tomorrow all this will be forgotten and we'll never mention it again.”

I expected that my relationship with Hallena would now be curtailed, since Dejax appeared to know of our feelings (did she know that we'd gone beyond mere longing?), but surprisingly she did nothing to limit our contact. Dejax now began to take me to social events, and more often than not Hallena acted as our chaperone. I realised that my appearance was now the subject of admiration, that everywhere I went Dejax's standing was increased by the beauty of her consort. In particular my hairstyle brought compliments. We were often asked to pose for photographs.

“I've always loved the flechxen,” she would say to those who paid me compliments, “and I didn't see any reason why it couldn't be revived in modern Jertul. This one” (she indicated Hallena) “wears it too, but I'm not sure it's so becoming on such a guffekx.” I started to realise how Hallena must always have been bullied and mocked because of her appearance. She took the insults without rancour but I knew she was hurt.

Within weeks of my debut into the social milieu of the upper tier of Jertul I realised that I had started a trend. A friend of Dejax was also engaged and her fiancée (a short, timid girl named Greantcha) had soon metamorphosed from modern dress to a look much closer to mine. Her long curls had been plucked, exposing the front of her scalp in a flechxen almost as severe as my own. I was astonished to see that she seemed pleased with her new look. Within a few months I'd seen a dozen or more women adopt the hairstyle.

I was allowed to meet up with some of my new acquaintances during the day for lunch. They were mostly rather dull women and I rarely joined in their conversation (partly because I still found it difficult to comprehend Jertulian when more than one person was talking). However, my reticence seemed to give me a Sphinx-like mystery, rather than being regarded as mere rudeness. I was soon regarded as something of a mentor by these women and everything I did say was received as if I'd said something meaningful.

But it was Hallena I longed to be with, and I admitted to myself that I loved her more than Dejax. I saw my wife rarely (I still regarded our marriage as valid, though no one else in my adopted country felt the same) since she worked ever longer hours. I frequently fell asleep before Dejax returned home and days would pass when we wouldn't say a word to each other.

Hallena confessed to me that she felt enormous guilt about our liaison. She had vowed to remain chaste and to avoid intoxicants and on that day her actions fell short of the high standards she'd always set for herself. Worse, she had lied to her teacher about her indiscretions, because she knew that to tell the truth would hurt me. We pledged never to physically act again on our mutual feelings. I knew it had to be this way but it was with a heavy heart that I acknowledged that Hallena's relations with me would now be platonic. But for all that I adored her company. She was wise and tender and full of bright humour.

It was during one of my teaching sessions with Hallena that we were summoned to the main house. I entered and sensed that something important was happening. Dejax and her mother were present, along with two other women, who were introduced as Huxi's sisters.

“We've decided that the wedding feast should take place in two weeks,” Dejax informed me. “You'll undergo all of the necessary ceremonies to prepare yourself to be my bride, Nanga Xenia, and on the sixteenth of this month we'll be married.” I knew that the feast was an elaborate affair, with numerous guests, and I knew that the decision to stage it on this day must have been made many months previously, but that I was the last one to be informed.

“It gives me great honour, Nanga Dejax. I hope I may be a worthy consort to a fine lady of your standing.” I had no trouble maintaining an expressionless face, for in truth I felt no joy at the prospect of being Dejax's bride. However, my new aunts were impressed with my passivity and lavishly praised my beauty.

Huxi was keen to point out my earlier failings. “Minanna Harosul has worked miracles with her. When I first met her she was so awkward, and, I have to say, quite the little English guffekx. She was skinny and pallid, she had brown hair (her lovely dark hair is dyed, to let you in on a secret). She took a long time to adapt her behaviour but I soon began to see how she'd been hiding her beauty in that unbecoming body. Once she started to enjoy her food she blossomed.”

Dejax now spoke. “You and Hallena can go to see Minanna Kadax this afternoon. She'll get your hair looking nice and pretty. Tomorrow is Hallena's big day, the donor ceremony.”

I knew better than to ask what was the meaning of the ceremony. Within an hour I had arrived at the salon with Hallena but once there I was the subject of much attention from some of the other patrons, because of my imminent nuptials. I had to abandon Hallena to Kadax's care as my new acquaintances insisted on taking me to a lavish luncheon. I returned an hour or more later, my belly now stuffed and my consciousness dulled by excessive smoking.

Hallena smiled modestly at me from beneath the dryer where her perm was being baked into tight curls. She looked so tiny and vulnerable, the chair made for the comfort of those of far more ample body than Hallena, the huge hood, towering monstrously over her delicate head.

Kadax took me to a private booth where she congratulated me. “You've become quite renowned for your beauty and your presence is an honour to my salon.” Her obsequiousness was far from her treatment of me in the early days of our acquaintance. “I hope that when you're a married lady that you'll continue to bless my modest enterprise with your patronage.”

“I'd hope that would be so, my good wife permitting.”

She started to pluck at my bare scalp, ensuring that it was free of fine hairs. “The day I gave you your flechxen was a happy day for me. I didn't imagine it would cause such a stir. I've seen more and more women returning to the style. I've even considered submitting my own tresses to a small flechxen, although it would have to be a modernised version. Do you think it would be acceptable to adapt such a tradition for a contemporary style?”

I realised that she was asking my permission to wear a flechxen, as if I had some ownership of the style. Her hair had grown somewhat since our first meeting, but was still short: the nape was cropped close and the curls on top were styled into a voluminous short bob, swept into a side part and jutting out widely at the sides over her half exposed ears. “I think it would enhance the nobility of your features, Minanna Kadax,” I said coldly. “I see no reason why you shouldn't adopt the style immediately. Perhaps you could be plucked this afternoon while I'm being permed. It would amuse me to see you being made beautiful.”

Kadax seemed unable to resist me, my every word being accepted more as an order than a suggestion. As two stylists wound my long locks onto the rods she asked for a chair to be set up before me. She sat and an older stylist, who I knew to be Kadax's deputy, began to remove the hair from her forehead.

I wore a faint smile as I watched her grimace at the unexpected discomfort that the plucking caused. Perhaps the experience would allow her to be more sympathetic to her customers. She was clearly unprepared for the suffering her colleague was inflicting.

Her hair was ripped out with ruthless efficiency and I was reminded of my first experience of the flechxen. But I felt only pleasure in Kadax's discomfort. She had treated me with disdain for the greater part of our acquaintance, only recently seeming to regard me as sufficiently influential to seek to cultivate a closer relationship. “Perhaps you should make a deeper flechxen,” I suggested, knowing that Kadax's obsequiousness wouldn't allow her better judgement to prevail.

“Yes, I think that's a good idea,” she said to her tormentor. Soon a large area of her scalp was bared, glowing red and obviously tender from the plucking. Kadax took in her new image in the mirror, smiling vainly. “Oh my...” she whispered, seemingly entranced by her own loveliness. I thought it only revealed her absurdity, her rather heavy features exposed unflatteringly by her growing baldness.

Soon after Dejax arrived to supervise my treatment. She looked at Kadax with undisguised anger. “Whatever did you do?” she asked after a long pause to intimidate the hairdresser. “It looks absurd that you tried to adapt a tradition to a modern short cut. I think you bring dishonour on Jertul with this.”

Kadax looked ashamed and made several attempts to defend herself but each time her words foundered.

“By day's end I'd hope you'd use extensions to make your hair look acceptable. But if you are going to wear a flechxen you should adapt your clothing too. You can't wear such a noble style with westernised dress. You are paying attention, aren't you?” Kadax was obviously hurt by this criticism and her anxiety manifested as great distraction.

“Yes, Nanga Dejax,” she said softly, her voice on the verge of breaking tearfully. “I'll make sure my wardrobe adapts to your suggestions.” She was dismissed with an irritated waft of Dejax's hand.

She then turned her attention to me. “I've been studying an old treatise on beauty, written some time in the fifteenth or early sixteenth century. It described the flechxen as being a plucking of the forehead and nape. I think the tradition became lost at some point and we should revive it in its original state. Ladies, would you please pluck Nanga Xenia's nape up to here?”

Her indication of the extent of my new torture was lost since it was out of my eyeline. I knew I was expected to maintain my passivity and that is what I did. I felt the rods being eased from my hair upward from my neck and beginning with the fine, downy hairs on my neck, my stylists began plucking me. The pain grew as they tugged away small clumps of thicker hairs. I regretted that this hadn't been performed earlier when I was still numbed by the herbs I'd smoked, since their effects had largely worn off. I closed my eyes and tried to shut out the gnawing discomfort.

I looked at myself in the mirror as a little more of my self-image was eroded. A bald nape was by no means the worst that had been done to me, but suddenly I saw myself with a clarity. I hated what I'd become, a parody of the girl I used to be. My black hair was wound tightly on the wooden bobbins and my baldness looked more exposed than ever. My face was round, cheeks bulging, my chin almost lost in the roll of fat which had grown around my thick neck. I parted my thickened lips and saw the gold teeth, which had now been wedged apart so that a wide gap separated them. Worst of all was the nose that had been grafted on, a large, ugly intrusion that I would never be able to accept as beautiful, no matter how many times my new acquaintances told me how noble it was. I maintained a calm face solely because of the Botox that had paralysed my expression. I wanted to cry.

Presently my nape was declared completed and Dejax confirmed her approval. I lifted my hand and felt the smooth scalp that had been bared high up my head, almost to the top of my ears. I saw the plucked curls and felt a horror to think that half of my head was now devoid of hair. My remaining hair was doused with the smelly perming fluid and my head was wrapped in plastic film before I was taken to recline under a huge dryer. The heat made my tortured nape burn agonisingly.

Despite my discomfort I fell asleep as the curls were fixed into my hair and dreamed that I was walled into a cell in some religious commune. My only contact with the outside world was a small hatch through which I passed the bucket in which I expelled my waste and where food was passed to me by some unseen wordless keeper. Despite the paucity of the provisions (dry, tasteless biscuits), in my dream I remained obese. I was despairing in my loneliness and called out constantly, begging someone to say something, but I'd heard no human voice for years. I awoke feeling intensely sad.

Dejax stayed to approve the styling of my hair but didn't accompany me home. I returned in Hallena's company, but I couldn't bring myself to engage in conversation. Her long hair had been curled into ringlets and she'd been given harsh, aggressive make-up, similar to that on the day when we'd committed our act of weakness. I couldn't bear to look at her: I disliked this excessive make-up, but was at the same time fascinated by how it made her look (there was something dangerous, evil in her features now), and I was afraid I'd weaken again. I asked her to leave me once I was home.

I stared in the mirror at myself. My thick, frizzy curls had been wound into two thick plaits which hung over my ears, and reached almost to my waist. I stroked sadly at the tender bared skin on my nape. I let my tears flow, mourning my loss, and my outpouring of emotion only seemed to intensify my regret. I was lost, lost forever in this land which would always remain foreign to me. I knew that to go through my ceremony with Dejax was a mistake, that I no longer loved her, but I recognised that the time when the mistake could be remedied had long passed. My life would now follow an inevitable course and I had no control over its direction.

I cried until I fell asleep through exhaustion. It was much later when I was awakened by Dejax. She looked to be in a terrible mood.

“Look at you,” she scolded. “You've been crying. This is supposed to be the happiest time in your life and you look miserable and ugly. What is wrong with you?”

I looked at her in shame. I could never tell her how I felt, since I feared her rage would lead her to violence. “I'm homesick,” I said meekly. “Imagine how you would feel if you were never to see Jertul again.”

She snorted. “It's hardly the same. I never heard you once express the same sort of pride in your homeland as I feel for this place. It's in my thoughts constantly. You're privileged to be allowed to live here.”

“I am,” I agreed. “But still, all of my family, my old family, my old friends... I miss them.”

“And you decide to ruin our festivities by upsetting yourself with all this nonsense now? I should end our betrothal and send you to a nunnery for the rest of your days. And I would if it didn't bring shame on my family.” She left the room and returned after a few minutes. In her hands were some heart-shaped leaves, their fine surface marked with a red reticulations, she folded two of the leaves into a wad and passed them to me.

“Chew at them gently and hold the juices in your mouth. It will relax you. For the time until we're married you can chew some gherts leaves each day. They're a powerful sedative and they will take away your sadness.” I bit on the leaves and tasted an intense bitterness. I started to salivate immediately and struggled not to swallow.

Dejax wiped the smeared make-up from my face. “Your lashes are ruined, you naughty girl,” she said, but her admonishments were playful, her anger burnt-out now. “Kadax will come in the morning to fix them. But you are so beautiful, Xenia. Look at how big you are! I never dreamed when we met that I could make you so fat and lovely. You were just an ordinary British girl but now every day you start to become a princess from a fairy tale. People everywhere think you're the most beautiful woman they ever saw but on our wedding day you'll be lovelier still. I want you to be famed throughout the land for your perfection.”

I felt weirdly split as Dejax's compliments inflamed a desire in me, my earlier depression and doubt not dispelled, but at the same time believing that she had made me beautiful. My confusion only grew as I was provided with a spittoon to allow my excessive saliva to be expelled. I was ashamed as a stream of greenish liquid dribbled from my lips yet Dejax seemed to see nothing shameful in this. For a moment I hoped that she would finally end our long period of chastity, but she was too strong willed to submit to her desire, particularly since soon she would no longer have to restrain her feelings. My own inflamed passions were suddenly curtailed by an intense sleepiness induced by the herbs.

I awoke the next morning feeling a troubling aching throughout my body, as well as an intense hunger. Dejax had arrived very early to oversee my preparations for my donor ceremony and seemed unsurprised by my malaise. “It's the natural consequence of chewing gherts. There's only one sure cure, which is to chew more.” I was unresisting as she slipped another wad into my mouth, the bitterness seeming somehow more attractive than it had at my first experience. Soon the aching in my limbs was replaced by a delicious tingling heaviness. After a substantial breakfast had dispelled my hunger I was bathed by a servant and my hair combed out and braided again. I was dressed in a tightly fitting robe of deep red, a lavishly embroidered sash tied around me. My neck was hung with numerous heavy chains of precious metals.

Kadax was waiting for me as I left the bathroom. She was almost unrecognisable from the woman I'd encountered a day earlier. She now had long hair, fashioned into a dozen braids hanging behind her bald frontal area, the tresses decorated with golden rings and pins. Her make-up was traditional and her westernised clothes were gone, replaced by a white embroidered gown of archaic design. She looked very much the traditional Jertulian matron now.

“Minanna Kadax, what a noble look you have,” I said, causing her obvious pleasure.

“I've been expressing my delight in her transformation,” Dejax said. “I've been telling our good stylist how she should work toward making her salon a much more traditional establishment. I have powerful friends who think that Jertulian women should adopt a more historically aware image, purged of outsider influences and a salon that catered to these ideals could be very well regarded.”

“So all of your employees would have to wear the flechxen?” I asked.

“I think that would be essential,” Dejax answered. I could see that Kadax was less convinced. Some of her stylists were very vain and imposing such a radical style on them would obviously be problematic.

“Well, in theory I like the idea but it may cause some of my best stylists to leave.”

“Don't you worry, I'm sure they can be persuaded,” Dejax laughed. “I'll speak to them after my wedding.”

Kadax thanked her obsequiously.

My eyelashes were renewed into the glued spikes that had become my permanent look. As Kadax removed the glue my natural lashes were temporarily exposed. The process had meant that my eyelashes had been damaged, the heavy adhesive causing many hairs to be pulled out. My lashes were now very sparse, which only looked more absurd because the hairs were abnormally long. Kadax expertly applied the glue and the long strands of feather to frame my eyes in the style which so pleased Dejax (of course, Kadax herself had now incorporated the glued lashes into her personal image). Today my lashes were made longer than ever before, and then I was given a heavy mask of make-up. Black lips, thick kohl around my eyes, glittering powder over my cheekbones, thin pencilled arching brows. My septum was fitted with a new ring, filigreed with gold, and from the stretched holes in my lobes were hooked large discs of tooled platinum.

Dejax was delighted with Kadax's work and told me I looked more lovely than ever. She was taken to dress and informed me that she would meet me at the hall where the ceremony would take place.

A car took me out of the city into the neighbouring mountains. At the top of a peak was an imposing building of red stone, surrounded by high walls. The inhabitants were all women, swaddled in deep red robes (they wore headdresses, and only their faces and hands were left uncovered). I assumed that they were members of a community, adherents of the same philosophy as Hallena, since their robes were very similar. A group of these women welcomed me and took me inside.

I was taken to a comfortably furnished room where I was provided with drinks. I was surprised to see that beside the drinks was a pile of gherts leaves. “You should chew these,” an older nun told me. “The ceremony is long and demanding and these will help you to maintain your dignity.” I nodded my agreement and started to chew of the bundle she made for me.

Since I could still feel the effects of the herbs I'd consumed earlier I soon felt more intoxicated than I'd previously experienced. I felt very calm yet elated, but I was also aware that everything seemed dreamlike. As I was told to rise and follow my guide I felt like I might be hallucinating everything that I was seeing.

I entered a large hall which seemed somewhat chaotic. A gallery was filled with musicians, most of whom were producing a loud drone over which a repetitive melody was being played on a braying brass instrument. There was a large body of nuns seated in two groups, left and right, chanting continuously, but each group's chant was unrelated to its opposite, and to the instrumental music. Various members of the groupings came and went, adding to the impression of disorder.

I was taken to sit at the right side of a low platform at the front of the hall. I lowered my heavy body awkwardly onto the soft cushions and made myself comfortable, aware that I would in all likelihood be here for a long time.

Two young nuns now knelt at either side of me, chanting all the time. They carefully removed the ornaments from my hair and laid them neatly on a low table. Then they unwound my braids and combed gently at my long curls.

I saw another woman being led toward the platform, my mood rising as I recognised her as Hallena. She was robed like the other nuns, but her head was bare and she wore the excessive make-up as at our last meeting. She didn't acknowledge me, but looked very serious and tense. Some older nuns sat before her and she chanted various prayers to them, repeatedly prostrating herself before them. Although my comprehension of Jertulian had increased greatly, this ceremony was being conducted in a formal, archaic version of the language, which was impossible for me to follow. Eventually Hallena knelt before them and received a blessing.

The older nuns left the stage and went to sit among the larger congregation. Now Hallena was joined by two younger nuns and they began to wash away the cosmetics from her face. They tugged at the glued lashes and my assumption that they were removing the additions to her lashes was shown to be inadequate: Hallena's lashes were being plucked from her and within minutes her face was scrubbed clean and her eyes were oddly bared by the removal of the framing lashes.

Now her attendants combed her hair, forming it into about a dozen sections which were tied close to her scalp. I saw them take shears and cut each of the tails from Hallena's head. I was sure that I was dreaming now, since I felt calm and untroubled. But now I saw Hallena with ragged tufts of hair instead of the beautiful hair she'd always had. A trickle of water was poured over her scalp and one of the attendants rubbed it across the remains of her hair to wet it. She lifted a long knife and began to press the blade over Hallena's head, shaving every trace of her dark hair.

The shaving was accomplished with astonishing rapidity. Within minutes Hallena had been transformed into a pale, delicate and utterly hairless girl. I wanted to weep for her loss, but I knew that I was expected to behave with decorum. Hallena was trying to retain her dignity but I could see a sadness in her eyes. I saw the long hanks of thick hair laid on the table beside me and two nuns began to separate the tails into fine sections. These were now carefully braided into my own hair at the roots, so that my own hair would be thickened by extensions donated by Hallena. For the first time the nature of Hallena's donation became clear to me.

The braiding of the extensions was a time-consuming process, even with two attendants working on my hair. I watched with curiosity as Hallena knelt expectantly before an older nun. Her bare scalp was carefully measured, the nun using her hands to carefully mark particular points on her cranium, which were marked with dots of ink.

Now a hooked stick was taken and the nun tapped at it with a stick so that the end repeatedly struck Hallena's scalp. Only as she dipped the tip into a small dish did I understand that she was tattooing my beloved friend. A curling line was marked on Hallena's head, at the uppermost point of her skull. Now more lines were tattooed, spiralling out from a central point. I watched with a grim fascination as a cap of lines slowly extended outward from this central point, disfiguring the pale skin forever. I wondered if Hallena would now have to maintain a shaved head forever, wondered if these other women were also bald and tattooed under their veils.

My neck was aching from maintaining a stiff posture as my hair was thickened with the added hair. And yet I knew my suffering was negligible compared to Hallena's. She had to hold her kneeling bowed posture (I estimated that the tattooing had been going on for an hour now and the design was far from complete) and endure the repeated pricks of the needle.

Now I was provided with a large meal, served on a large wooden board. Only in Jertul, I thought, would a solemn religious ceremony include such a feast. In my narcosis I had become barely aware of what was unfolding around me, or else I could concentrate on only one thing to the exclusion of all else. I became aware that another woman was beside me, sharing my feast. It took me a moment to recognise her as Dejax. She was dressed in a similar robe to mine, her head bound in a dark turban. I looked at her features and saw how marked her weight gain had been in recent months (though Dejax was now much lighter than I had become). She wore little make-up today and I was reminded of the innocence I'd seen in her face when I'd first encountered her. I felt embarrassed that I'd not been aware of her entry and had no idea how long she'd been sat alongside me. I hoped that my lack of acknowledgement of my fiancée would be perceived as a manifestation of the feigned indifference that Dejax had cultivated in me.

After completing the meal, which was accompanied by a strong wine, I noticed that a small bundle of the red tinged leaves had been placed on the board. I took them into my mouth and started to chew. I already felt a little drunk, and was still somewhat numb from my earlier exposure to the intoxicant. I began to wonder if the fresh dose of gherts was necessary to ensure my compliance with some particularly onerous section of the ceremony.

My fears weren't unfounded. Time seemed to become plastic as the gherts worked into my nervous system. I found myself becoming fascinated with the sound of the droning music, hearing every subtlety of the clashing overtones. I looked at Hallena and realised that hours had passed. Her scalp was now tattooed with a cap of intricate patterns, arranged in concentric bands emanating from the central point atop her cranium. The inked design extended onto her forehead, well below her hairline. She rose stiffly and as she raised her eyes toward me I could see how she was suffering. She prostrated herself three times to the nun who'd tattooed her and chanted a prayer. Her head was dressed with leaves, which I presumed would aid the healing of her injured scalp, and a cloth was tied to cover her scalp.

She now knelt with her head bowed and with a feeling of dread I saw the tattooist come toward me. I felt her hands reach around my head, feeling for prominences in my skull, finding the point at the top of my head, all the time softly muttering incantations. The apex that she identified was hidden just behind my hairline, but she soon remedied this. She plucked more hair from my scalp, pushing my flechxen to an even more extreme state (I later saw that it had been taken into a wide V shape, with the point about an inch further back than my previous plucking had extended). An oil was smeared over my bared pate and scrubbed away with a rough cloth with a camphoric odour. I felt the needle tapping at my scalp and I couldn't suppress a soft wail, which no one but my tormentor could hear. I was so intoxicated that I couldn't resist, and besides, I couldn't be sure that what I felt wasn't hallucinatory. Surely I wasn't being tattooed across my scalp?

The growing pain, numbed as it was by the gherts, made me feel sure that what I felt was real. I kept glancing at Hallena, although she maintained her humble posture. Would my tattoo extend across my forehead too? Would I never be able to conceal it, even if my hair was allowed to grow back?

I felt the tattoo grow in bands (it seemed that the structure was the same as Hallena's, concentric bands surrounding the apex, though mine were only arcs rather than complete circles) and as it got further forward felt an urge to beg for her to stop. I felt the needle trace a new line down the centre of my forehead, stopping only an inch above where my eyebrows had been. I could hear my breathing and I felt sure that I would no longer be able to maintain my control. I could feel tears in my eyes and imagined Dejax's reaction when I started to sob.

“Pass her the coins and prostrate yourself to her,” Dejax's voice whispered to me. I felt like I'd been roused from sleep and glanced up to see Hallena standing before me. I saw a small calfskin purse at my side, filled with gold coins. I passed it to Hallena and leaned forward to lie face down before her. I stayed in this position of humility, which I felt was appropriate for me. “Up now,” Dejax ordered and I rose with difficulty.

I was shaking as I left the hall. In the small room where I'd been earlier I was welcomed by Dejax, Huxi, Minanna Harosul and some other members of the family. I walked over to the large mirror and felt a dread at what I saw. My scalp was now permanently marked by heavy black swirls, a huge area tattooed darkly, extending to low on my forehead. And behind my hair was thicker than seemed natural or reasonable. My own hair was thick, but now I had Hallena's hair woven into my own and the heavy mane looked absurd.

But now my adoptive family gathered around me to tell me how beautiful I was. They lavishly praised my hair and my tattoo, and I saw that their admiration was sincere. It appeared that my acceptance into Jertulian society had necessitated this metamorphosis which I could surely never accept.

Bottles of champagne were provided and various toasts were made to the success of my union with Dejax. I eagerly drank up, hoping that drunkenness would provide another level of numbness to take away the horror I felt each time I glanced at the mirror.

Gradually my companions took their leave and eventually only Dejax was with me. “I think you should be allowed a moment's privacy with Hallena to say your farewell.” Hallena entered and Dejax stepped out of the room.

I looked at her sadly. “Hallena, my poor little baby, what have they done to you?” She started to sob. I took her in my arms and pressed her to me.

“It's what I wanted,” she said. “I've always wanted this, but I'm in shock. I think I'm vain, more than I'd imagined and I felt something was wrong when my head was shaved. But now I'll have a long time to get used to it,” she laughed, even though she was still crying.

“What will happen to you now?”

“I'll be sent away to live in another community. I don't know where I'll be sent, and they won't tell me even when I live there. But that's not important. I'll have no contact with the world outside. I'll dedicate myself to learning, to being disciplined.”

“Will you keep your head shaved?”

“I have to. I accepted that as part of my vows. The tattoo is a design that symbolises Munk's philosophy and to allow it to be covered with hair would be sinful. I'll shave every day. As I pass the razor over the patterns I'll think on their meaning and this act will become a meditation.”

I took the cloth from her head. She didn't resist. “You had such pretty hair,” I wailed. “And look at you now, bald and tattooed! I wish we could change all this. I wish it was us getting married.”

She looked at me sadly, but wiped away her tears and composed herself. “Xenia, you're the loveliest person I ever met but I wouldn't change anything. This is the life I chose, and you chose your life. We make a choice and that leads to a path we can't foresee but we must follow it anyway. You must love Dejax with all your heart and you must accept that she is your superior now. You will accept her will in all things. You struggle to adapt to your life in Jertul because you want to assert your desires. You have to recognise that your wilfulness is the root of your unhappiness. When you feel that Dejax has pushed you too far you should ask her to push harder still. Only then will you finally discover a stillness in your life.”

I looked at her and felt confused. Perhaps I'd never understood her, despite our closeness. Perhaps I could never really understand someone who'd grown up in such an alien culture.

“I must leave now,” she said. “We'll never meet again, Xenia, but I hope you'll remember something of me. I will certainly remember you.”

“Can't I write to you?” I said desperately. “You're the only friend I've had in Jertul, I need you, Hallena.”

“You know that's not possible. I won't even know where I live. Goodbye, Xenia.”

I tried to find some words of farewell but I stood open mouthed and wordless. I watched her slip from the room and tried to accept that she was gone from my life forever.

I awoke the next day feeling deeply ill. The gherts and champagne had combined to give the most awful hangover. My mood only worsened when I looked in the mirror. The tattoo seemed even larger and darker than it had in my memory. It seemed to dominate my features entirely. I wanted to cover it and never have to acknowledge it, yet I knew that Dejax would never permit that. I called for a maid and as Felashi entered I saw her look of surprise as she saw my tattoo.

“What are you staring at?” I asked angrily.

“Nanga Xenia, you look so beautiful. Like an angel.”

“Really? You'd like to have a similar tattoo, would you?”

“Nanga, I can only dream of such a thing. A girl so humble as me has no right to look so lovely.”

She was a sweet young girl, innocent and unassuming but I felt a real anger with her at that moment. “Well maybe you should try having your hair plucked. How about I send you to town to have your hair styled into a flechxen?”

She looked embarrassed now but she was too polite to tell me that I was acting badly. “If Nanga Xenia chooses...” she mumbled. I found myself making a call to Kadax to book her in. Kadax agreed to accept her immediately, eager to please me. It seemed that now I was regarded as influential and people wanted to have me as an ally. I called a taxi and dispatched Felashi to be made to suffer.

I chewed some gherts and took a bath. As my pain receded I started to regret my actions. I decided to call the salon and tell Kadax it had been a mistake but I realised that time had passed more quickly than I had realised (gherts always made me lose track of time) and that I was too late to save Felashi. Not only did I feel guilt about my treatment of Felashi, I felt sure that Dejax would be furious with me.

An hour later she returned with her hair plucked. I was horrified at what I'd done to her, but she seemed pleased at her transformation. She thanked me profusely. “Nanga Xenia, I never dreamed I could ever be pampered in such a lovely salon. I felt like a real lady. And my hair looks so elegant. It hurt more than I could have imagined but the pain was worth it.”

I hated how she looked. She had a round, plain face and now her brows had been plucked and her forehead extended she looked pitiful. “I'm sorry I made you suffer. I was cross and I shouldn't have acted as I did.” She looked confused by my apology.

“Nanga Xenia, no one has ever treated me so nicely. I hope I can continue to serve you after your happy day. You can be assured of my devotion to you and your noble fiancée, soon to be spouse.”

I nodded, baffled by her loyalty. “Nanga Dejax has the final say on household matters, but I'll be sure to put in a good word on your behalf.” She looked delighted and excused herself as she went to attend to her duties.

Dejax came home in the afternoon (she was away from work for a full month to attend to our ceremony). I looked at her guiltily as she greeted me. “I think you may be angry with me,” I said anxiously. “Our maid, Felashi? I sent her to Kadax's salon and had her given a flechxen.”

Dejax started to laugh. “What a lovely idea! I think that when we move to our new home we should have all of our household servants dressed traditionally, and all wearing the flechxen. I'm not sure we should send them all to Kadax's salon though. She is rather expensive.” She immediately called for Felashi and the young woman came, almost running to demonstrate her willingness.

“Oh my, look at you!” Dejax gushed. “You've become a real lady all of a sudden. I never realised you were so pretty under all that thick hair. You'll have so many admirers now. Don't be running away to get married, will you? I'd like you to be in our service for a few more years before you find a spouse.”

I was astonished at Felashi's happiness. She couldn't stop smiling, and Dejax's compliments made her breathless. “Nanga Dejax, I promise I'll serve you to the best of my ability for as long as you favour me with employment. And even if I hope one day to find a spouse, I pray that it will be a member of your household and that we can serve you together.”

Dejax agreed that this would be a blessed outcome for everyone and that she would remember Felashi when she made an offering at the convent on her wedding day.

The days passed quickly, but started to merge together in my memory. I had to attend numerous long ceremonies in various prayer houses around the city and beyond. Each time I entered I scanned the faces of the nuns, hoping that I would recognise Hallena, but she was never present (I felt certain that Dejax would have made sure that she would now live far from here, in some remote mountain retreat).

The ceremonies seemed ill-organised, and interminable. For hours, a leader would chant archaic prayers while other nuns came and went, seemingly haphazardly. I would sit at the front of the hall alongside Dejax, feeling nothing but a desire for my boredom to come to an end.

At home I rarely saw Dejax, whose time was spent ensuring that the wedding feast would be perfect in every detail. My main discomfort was that the gap in my teeth was being pushed and was wedged tighter than ever to try to ensure that it would be a little wider by the day of my marriage. I dreaded the new wooden wedge being forced home, my teeth feeling like they would break with the tension.

And finally the day arrived. I awoke early. My maids were supervised by Minanna Harosul, who directed them like a military officer. Kadax was in attendance too to see to my hair. For the first time since I'd been tattooed my head was plucked. She was careful as she went over the blackened skin (it was still a little scabbed in places), but was as thorough as ever in ascertaining that no hair remained. My nape was subject to equally stringent attention, then she put her skills into coiffing what remained of my mane.

It had to be treated with delicacy as it was combed now, since much of the roots were interwoven with Hallena's hair, but Kadax seemed skilled in managing my thickened curls. She used a sort of crimping iron and I felt myself growing embarrassed at the thought of just how much volume my permed hair would gain. Eventually she completed the treatment of all of my hair, and then carefully wound the frizzy hair into huge braids. My hair was parted down the midline of my skull, although because of the extent of the plucked areas, fore and aft, the parting was shockingly short.

My hair was fixed at the ends by being stitched, the ends doubled back and hidden so that the braids now ended in thick, blunt tips. They hung to my waist, impossibly thick (the ends were over an inch thick, and at the top, adjacent to my ears, more than three times that) and when I saw myself in a mirror the volume of the black hair made it appear that some strange wig had been fixed to the back of a bald, tattooed scalp.

I expected that adornments would be added to my plaits, and that an elaborate mask of make-up would be painted to enhance my features, but neither seemed to be part of a bride's accoutrements on her wedding day. Instead my face was anointed with a delicately perfumed oil which made my skin tingle and glow (particularly when applied to the healing tattoo), and gave a glossy sheen.

I stood naked before Minanna Harosul who smiled with satisfaction. “Today will be your transition into a new maturity. And today you must show character as you undergo the last changes to who you are. In a few hours you'll be Minanna Xenia and I want you to be fully aware of the pleasures of your commitment to Nanga Dejax. I've heard of how you enjoy being intoxicated, but today you'll have nothing to sedate you until you can be called wife.”

“Yes, Minanna,” I agreed, though with a heavy heart. I'd become dependent on my smoking and on chewing gherts. I was already anxious and I'd planned on getting though by numbing myself.

My maids now dressed me. I wore three gowns, each of the most lavish workmanship, intricately decorated with embroideries. The outer gown was of heavy crimson silk, trimmed with a yoke of leather. The silk was embroidered so thickly that I knew that months of work had been involved. The leather was patterned with brightly coloured beads of glass.

The outfit was heavy and warm. I knew that it would make me very uncomfortable during the ceremony (the weather was humid and hot), but that it had been designed precisely with this in mind. A good bride would rise above such physical challenges and focus on higher issues. I would conduct myself with the decorum that was expected of me, maintaining a visage of indifference throughout the day.

I was allowed to see myself in a mirror. “Your last look at yourself as a single girl,” Minanna Harosul gloated. “Next time you see yourself you'll be a wife, a woman.” The loose robes made me look heavier than ever, the form of my body lost within the mountainous folds. I found myself wondering what changes would be imposed on me to allow me to be accepted as Dejax's spouse.

I travelled slowly in an open carriage across the city towards a large convent (the largest and most opulent in the city) which I had attended for some of the other ceremonies. As the carriage passed I noticed that passers by would come to a stop to wave and call out messages of good luck. And as we approached the convent I saw that a large crowd had gathered, blocking access to the gate. “They want to see how pretty you are for themselves,” Minanna Harosul explained. “We'll walk the last part so that your admirers can meet you. Just stay focussed and say 'Bless you' when people wish you well.”

I walked the last couple of hundred yards to the gate very slowly, constantly muttering 'Bless you,' as there was a continuous stream of good wishes from the throng. I was initially moved by this spontaneous outpouring of goodwill, but as the crowd pressed around me, eager to touch me, I became intimidated. They pressed too close and at times I was unable to move for minutes. Only when a party of nuns opened the gate and physically began to force back the assembly was I finally able to enter.

Minanna Harosul made a few swift adjustments to my clothing and I was escorted into the large hall. The space was filled with a rich incense and the chanting which seemed to accompany every ceremony was audible. A large congregation, lavishly dressed had assembled to witness our nuptials, and on the platform at the front of the hall was Dejax. I felt my anxiety increase as I recognised that a TV crew was present, three cameras recording the ceremonies in detail.

She was dressed in a jacket which was very masculine, and a kilt-like pleated skirt. Her hair had been shaved entirely from the back and sides and the top was set with wax into rows of stiff coils, separated by narrow shaved lines, around a centimetre wide, running from front to back. Her face was ornamented with strong black make-up around her spiny lashes, and she had thick arched brows. She smiled warmly at my approach and I was astonished to see that her smile now contained a gold incisor, which hadn't been present only the previous morning.

I found myself reclining on a low cushion across the platform from Dejax. The ceremony began with the giving of gifts. A procession of nuns approached me (there were some gifts for Dejax, but an overwhelming majority were for me) and announced the name of the benefactor. I acknowledged each with the words “I am blessed.”

The most frequent gifts were hair ornaments. Soon my braids were heavy with golden pins, the more lavish clustered with precious stones. The wealthier friends of Dejax's family had given larger items of jewellery in addition, and I was soon adorned with new bracelets, bangles and necklaces. I had become used to the wealth of the families within the milieu in which Dejax's family moved, yet the lavishness of these gifts was extraordinary. Amongst the gifts was a new ring for my septum which was fitted with considerable pain: its thickness was greater than my piercing allowed, but the nun saw that my benefactor wasn't insulted and forced it home.

In the midst of the donations a nun approached who bore no jewels but rather the implements of the tattooist. I looked at Dejax with some alarm (trying to retain a soft face) but she held the cloying smile that had been ever present on her features since my arrival. As more pins were added to my hair I felt the nun brushing ink over my chin and lips. A camera moved closer and I knew that my face was being filmed in close up through the long lens.

I felt the tapping of the needle and closed my eyes as I tried to bear the pain. The stinging was intense and, unlike my previous experience of being tattooed, this time I had nothing to numb me. The lines descended from lip to chin, and my skin seemed to swell and sensitise. Each new line seemed to hurt more than the last and by the time that she worked her ink into my lips I was gritting my teeth to hold in my desire to scream out my agony. I felt betrayed again; my face permanently disfigured to please Dejax's desire to turn me into some bride from a folk tale. And all the time I was aware that a camera was pointing at me, recording every moment of this torture.

Finally, the tattooing was complete. I felt my face being cleansed and glanced at the cloth, which was discoloured with ink and blood. When all of the excess ink had been wiped away I felt some leaves being pressed over the wounded skin. It initially made the skin burn but within moments I felt a coolness and the stinging decreased.

The leaves were peeled away and an ointment was spread across my lips and chin. An old nun now approached and gestured for me to stand.

I approached Dejax and at a sign prostrated myself before her (she was sat in a throne-like chair of black wood, set with large coloured stones). The nun chanted a list of my duties as a wife (again using such archaic language that it was almost unintelligible). I indicated my obeisance by rising and prostrating myself again. Some of the lists took more than ten minutes to announce.

Finally I was told to kneel. Dejax rose from her chair and a young girl approached bearing a cushion. From the cushion Dejax lifted a large set of shears. She opened them and slid them across my cheek. I felt nausea as I realised that my new status would be sealed with the cutting of my hair. I felt the blades saw into the thick braid. It wasn't just my hair, but Hallena's too being cut, and I felt violently emotional as I realised that another link to my beloved Hallena was literally being severed.

The cutting took a long time, since the braid was so thick. Finally it was laid on the cushion which had borne the shears, and Dejax now cropped the long hair from the right side of my head. My head felt light and bare without my long hair. I was unsteady as Dejax helped me to my feet and pledged her eternal loyalty to me. The nun made a long pronouncement and finally we were joined in marriage. Dejax pressed her lips to mine and the entire assembly made a rhythmic chanting to celebrate our union.

I was in a state of alarm as I retreated to a private room behind the hall. I lifted my hand to feel hacked short hair above my bald nape. I saw a mirror and rushed over. I saw that my chin was marked with thick black filigree, the entire area below my mouth tattooed from lip to jaw.

And my lips too, they were blackened: the entire outline was marked with a heavy line and the inner surface was dotted with ornamental forms, seemingly related to some ancient form of the alphabet. Dejax followed me to the mirror.

“Don't cry, Minanna Xenia,” she said firmly, her words no consolation but rather a warning. “You look beautiful. I will make you my wife fully once our feast is complete. You're the most beautiful woman in Jertul now, as befits someone who is to be my consort. Now your behaviour must match your physical perfection.” She kissed me with a furious passion, pressing her lips to mine, which were so tender from the abuse of tattooing. “You'll dress for the feast and Kadax will attend to your hair.”

“Thank you, Minanna Dejax,” I said. I felt more like her servant than her equal now, and I knew this was exactly as she intended our relationship to be.

I was taken to a small room where Felashi was waiting. She smiled at me humbly and helped me from my heavy robes. Kadax entered and told me to sit.

The remains of Hallena's hair were unpicked from mine, the glue eased free and the braiding unwound. I watched in a mirror, appalled by the state of my hair. It was untidily chopped and terribly short. Once the extensions were all gone Kadax trimmed my own hair to a neat line, but it was absurdly short, more than half way up my ears. I would have preferred to see it shaved entirely. It looked like some strange masculine style, the bare front seeming more than ever to be a result of male pattern baldness.

Kadax now separated a narrow strip of hair around the perimeter of my entire scalp. She braided it tightly, as close as possible to my head. Then Felashi assisted her, holding a strip of embroidered red satin to my head, which Kadax carefully stitched to the braided hair. She pulled the thread tight, making me grimace as it pulled at my scalp.

Soon all of my dark curls had been contained within the satin. It bulged out like a horseshoe shaped cushion about my plucked scalp. It was strange and medieval, yet I had to admit, it was preferable to seeing my shorn hair, but less than comfortable. I wondered if now my hair would be always hidden beneath a headdress of this type.

I was dressed in a heavy white gown with elaborate red ornaments, my feet bound into white leather boots. Kadax now applied thick kohl around my eyes and looked me over, nodding her satisfaction. I entered the feasting hall and blushed as I heard gasps and a spontaneous ripple of applause. I took my place at Dejax's side, feeling uncomfortable as I observed the cameras were still present.

Dejax had once more adopted the self-satisfied half smile she'd affected throughout the earlier ceremony. There were numerous speeches made by various members of my new family, almost unintelligible to me because of the formal version of Jertulian used. Each ended with a toast and I drank more than was necessary, eager to still my anxiety.

The feast proper began, and numerous courses were supplied. I ate everything that was laid before me, as was expected of a Jertulian lady. I felt more alone than ever, my last ties with my previous existence now, my appearance permanently altered so profoundly that I knew I could never be accepted again in my homeland, yet I felt that my acceptance into Jertulian society was entirely superficial, that my presence here was only tolerated because of my compliance in looking and behaving as my wife demanded. My inner self was buried beneath a body that felt alien to me.

The guests began to dance, a slow heavy folk dance that appeared to be popular amongst more traditionally-minded Jertulians, but it appeared that the married couple didn't join in. I was a passive observer in everything. I had become expert in passivity, the greatest virtue a lady like me could possess. By the end of the feast, as the guests started to disperse, I was drunk, pleased to feel the numbness that the wine had given me. I had to be helped to stand and was supported to walk out of the hall by Dejax. We went to a small room where I realised that we would be interviewed for TV.

My horror of embarrassing myself was proved to be unfounded. All of the questions were answered by Dejax. She spoke for me, so that even questions asked of me were answered confidently by my new spouse. I heard that I was delighted to be Dejax's wife, that I loved Jertul and had become very patriotic, that it made me feel a sense of pride which I'd never experienced for the land of my birth. I listened and looked modestly at Dejax, my features a perfect mask of blankness, the soft face I'd been told so often was necessary for a decorous lady.

The presenter, an overly chatty middle aged man, repeatedly praised my beauty. Dejax ended the interview by saying that it was a cause of shame to her that so many young woman in Jertul had turned away from tradition and that she hoped they would be helped to finding the true path by observing my ways. “Xenia is an outsider, yet has perfected her status as a Jertulian lady. I fervently wish that our education system can adapt to instil not just national pride in our youth, but a revival of tradition.”

We spent the night in an apartment within the convent. Dejax was forceful with me, stripping me naked and forcing me onto the bed. I was compliant with her every demand. She teased me about my tattooed face, told me that she loved that I looked bald. I knew she was testing me, that I had to show no reaction to her insults, maintain my indifferent expression. She became aroused so intensely that there seemed something demonic about her. She equipped herself with a strap-on and penetrated me roughly, tearing my reconstructed hymen, so painfully that despite my greatest resolve I couldn't help but cry out.

“You're mine now, body and soul,” she said. “Don't think I don't know what went on between you and Hallena. If that ever happens again, if you even feel a moment of attraction to another you'll be sent to a nunnery for the rest of your days. The rest of your little mop of hair will be shaved and your tattoo will be completed.” She traced her fingers over the still healing design on the front of my head. “I don't think you could live like that. Locked up in your little cell with just a few books of Munk to study.”

“Please, Dejax, I'm sorry. I was weak and confused. I'm your wife, and I meant all of my promises to you. Please let's start afresh. We have our entire lives together now. I love you.”

----------

My hopes that I could restore happiness in my relationship with Dejax were dashed the following day. We left the monastery and travelled to a lakeside villa at the edge of a mountain resort where we would spend our honeymoon. Another woman was already at the house, a young German blonde named Sigrid. It became apparent immediately (no attempt was made to hide the truth) that Sigrid was Dejax's lover. My meek demands for an explanation were met with a stern response.

“Minanna Xenia, go to your room! You have no right to make demands of me. I shall do as I please and your role is to support me in all that I do. You've offended Nanga Sigrid and embarrassed yourself so some time alone to contemplate your foolishness seems appropriate.”

I stayed alone, locked in the bedroom for the rest of the day. I sobbed as all of my pent up frustration was finally allowed an outlet. How could I spend the rest of my days in a relationship where I was only useful to Dejax as a companion for public display? It was clear she had no regard for me as a person and was keen to humiliate and hurt me.

For the rest of the week I was silent and cool toward my companions, but my greatest humiliation was that Dejax was so besotted with Sigrid's presence that she seemed barely aware of my mood. I was expected to sit alone as Dejax went for walks with her new belle, my meals were served in my bedroom (on Dejax's orders) and I was amply supplied with gherts leaves to keep me quiet and compliant. I knew that I was in danger of becoming dependent on them, but it seemed to me that given a choice of addiction or the hurt I felt when sober, then the former was preferable. I spent much of the week in a narcotic stupor.

We returned to the city and now took possession of our new house. It was a huge house on a hilltop at the edge of the city, many miles away from Dejax's parents' estate. A new household had been assembled, with only Felashi transferring across from our previous staff. On the day we arrived all of the household assembled to meet us and I was presented with a large bouquet. Dejax looked pleased with herself as she addressed them.

“Ladies,” (the entire household was female, even the gardener and the chauffeur, which in Jertul were more commonly male roles) “you all made a commitment to upholding traditional national virtues during your interviews. I'm going to demand that you all show that you're patriots by adopting the hairstyle that my lovely wife and Felashi wear so beautifully.”

I looked around the faces of the assembled women. Most were so young that they were still girls. I saw that many couldn't hide their discomfort. Their shock was compounded when Dejax selected a young maid and had her sit. Moments later she was sitting open mouthed, hardly able to mask her pain as a hairdresser started to pluck hair from her scalp. Felashi was assisting and it soon became clear that she was being trained to act as the household hairdresser. Soon she was taking part in stripping her colleague's head of hair.

The hairdresser provided her with tweezers and told her to remove the maid's eyebrows too. Felashi seemed so delighted in her role that the suffering she was causing didn't register, even though as someone who'd undergone the same treatment she might be expected to empathise. Soon the young maid was told to clean up the tangle of hair that clouded the floor. She rubbed at her bared forehead in shock, not even granted the privilege of seeing how she looked now.

By the following day I struggled to differentiate between the staff. They had all been plucked into flechxens and were dressed in identical uniforms (a black robe embroidered with the crest of Dejax's family on the breast). Their individuality seemed to have diminished. When I mentioned this to Dejax she nodded.

“That's intentional. There's too much emphasis on individuality in the west, and that's not the Jertulian manner. You're going to be in charge of the household often since I'll be travelling a lot. You need to maintain a distance from the staff. They're not your friends and if you start to treat them as such it will lead to difficulties. I don't want a repeat of your silliness with Hallena. Just keep in mind that I will punish any girl that you choose to become close to, so if you do have an affair you'll condemn your lover to a life of misery. In fact I want you to be very strict with the household. I want to hear that you're unpopular, regarded as a tyrant. If you try to court popularity I'll go out of my way to embarrass you in front of them. It's not considered noble to want to associate with your inferiors, and since you're an outsider you should be especially hard on them. It's the only way you'll gain respect.”

I nodded my agreement but being strict didn't come easily to me. I hated conflict and the thought of treating my maids with cruelty was repellent. Still, my fear of Dejax's reprisals was not to be ignored. I knew she could intensify my misery at will. She set the pattern for my relationship over the next few days. Each morning the household would present themselves for my inspection. On the first day Dejax whispered some failings she'd observed (subtle errors of dress that seemed insignificant to me). I had to reproach this carelessness, and Dejax egged me on to be more aggressive in my criticism (her approach to instructing me demonstrated very clearly the attitude she expected in me). Soon I could see that the inspections were feared by all the staff, lest they should be subjected to one of my angry tirades about poor standards. It was soon clear that I was respected through fear and not affection.

My headdress had come somewhat loose in the stitching and Dejax suggested that we should pay a visit to Kadax. “I've decided to invest in her salon, but it will no longer be the westernised type of salon. I want to have a place where women can turn to to be assured of being treated as a Jertulian woman should. Traditional beauty, shorn of western decadence. I've negotiated that Felashi will serve as an apprentice two days each week so that she can learn the skills to keep the household suitably coiffed and maintain our styles on a day to day basis.”

The following morning we arrived at the salon, accompanied by Felashi who was full of enthusiasm. I was surprised to see that the salon was closed as we arrived, but on entering I saw all of the stylists sat in a semicircle. There was a nervous expectancy on their faces as they stood to greet their visitors.

Dejax was formally introduced by Kadax, then stood before her audience to address them.

“I've become an investor in this salon, buying a controlling share. I've discussed the requirements of this deal with Kadax, who will remain as the artistic director. However, the salon will no longer cater to western modes of fashion. As I'm sure you're aware, I'm active in the Free Nation movement, and this salon will reflect the aims and ideals of the movement. All of the staff will adopt Jertulian styles in dress, jewellery and hair. The salon will be redecorated so that it will be more akin to the salons of my grandmother's age.”

It was the first time that I'd heard mention of the Free Nation, but soon I would become aware of their aims, and Dejax's role in this political organisation. She continued her speech:

“Minanna Kadax has expressed that some of you are ambivalent to more traditional styles and that your vanity will impede your acceptance of traditional modes. I'm less forgiving of such disrespect to our land than my good friend and I will take a very dim view of any who choose to terminate their contracts. The Free Nation will soon begin a concerted programme of propaganda against shops and salons which promote western looks. I will make sure that any salons which employ disloyal staff will be targeted for particular negative attention and I think your prospects for employment will be endangered unless you show that you're willing to accept that your appearance is an expression of your patriotism.”

I looked at the salon staff and it was easy to discern who approved of the new direction and who didn't. There were a few staff who couldn't hide their anger at Dejax's threats. I was ashamed to be associated with such blatant bullying.

“A small, temporary shop will be opened to see to existing customers during the renovation, which will take three weeks. By the end of this period all of my staff will be dressed in a style which I approve. Are there any dissenters?”

I looked around the faces, hoping that someone would dare to challenge this craziness, but those who were opposed were so intimidated that they hung their heads in defeat. Dejax looked delighted at her power.

I was now taken to a private room to have my hair styled. As the stitching was picked free I saw my hair for the first time since my wedding. I was appalled at the short, frizzy locks that surrounded my bald, tattooed pate. Kadax brushed through the short hair, tutting to herself.

“It does look unbecoming,” Dejax agreed. “It only looks acceptable when she wears her headdress, but as that comes loose it look unruly.”

“I will train Nanga Felashi to braid and stitch a headdress but I think we should do something that looks more attractive without the covering.”

“Can't I grow it,” I asked. “I've always had long hair.”

Dejax looked at me, pained by my crassness. “Long hair on a married woman denotes an inferior rank.”

“But Minanna Kadax has long hair and she's married.”

Dejax groaned. “Do you think she needs to be reminded of her inferiority as an artisan? You are so pretty that sometimes I forget how ignorant you can be. You will prostrate yourself to Minanna Kadax and beg her forgiveness for your bad manners.” I was filled with shame as I complied with the demand.

As Kadax plucked my scalp the discussion resumed.

“Perhaps we should take the hair shorter and perm it very tightly to her head in tight spirals, similar to how you used to wear the top of yours,” Kadax suggested.

Dejax seemed interested. “There'd still be sufficient to braid to stitch the headdress?”

“Yes, I'd make sure that the headdress would look most becoming.”

“Let's do it then,” Dejax smiled.

Once the front and nape had been maintained in their hairlessness, Kadax began to trim my bobbed hair. She divided it into vertical sections and sheared off roughly half of the length. The curls sprung back, close to my head. I hated how short my hair was, so much so that I couldn't hide my sour expression. Dejax looked at me with a forced smile but I could sense her displeasure.

“Did you eat something disagreeable, my lady?”

I shook my head. I felt like a naughty girl being chided by her mother. “I don't like my hair so short. I'd rather it was all shaved off, it looks ridiculous.”

The disdainful smile vanished and a glance at Kadax was enough to make her withdraw (along with Felashi) to allow us some privacy. Once we were alone the tirade began.

“You're very privileged to be allowed to wear such a beautiful bridal style, and you dare to speak of it with scorn? When you voice such ignorance you speak of your country with disrespect and that is unacceptable. Only nuns shave their heads, and if you continue to offend me I'll make you vow into an order. Then you'll get your wish of seeing your head shaved every day, but you'll live without any material comfort. It would amuse me to think of you sleeping on a cold stone floor. Don't think this is an empty threat, Xenia. You need to be useful to me, and you're only useful for as long as you behave as my pretty wife. If you continue to embarrass me you will be shaved and sent to a convent in the mountains.”

I wiped away my tears. “I'm sorry, my lady,” I snuffled. “My hair is yours. I meant no disrespect. Please forgive my ignorance.” She stared at me in silence, then called in Kadax, who I sensed had listened to every word.

“Perm her,” Dejax ordered. “Make sure the rods are in nice and tight, I don't want the roots to be loose.” Kadax made an obsequious reply, fully understanding of Dejax's intention. She wound in the wooden bars, tugging harder, much harder, than was necessary in order to make me suffer. My scalp was aching as she pinned them in place and I struggled to hide my pain. As the fluid was poured over the coils of hair the soft wood swelled and increased the tension further. I had the indignity of seeing Dejax and Kadax smiling at my suffering. There was an expectancy that I would fail to bear this pain, and then they would rebuke me for my weakness. I endured and was led to the dryer.

My short hair now hugged my scalp in little black coils. More than ever I was reminded of male pattern baldness, the curls not even protruding an inch from the height of my plucked scalp. “It looks marvellous, Minanna Dejax,” Kadax said. Felashi seemed delighted at my latest makeover too.

“It's finely rendered, Minanna Kadax,” Dejax agreed. “In private I will cherish your craft but let's bind her hair so that she can look noble in public.”

More suffering as a thin perimeter was braided so tightly that my hair felt like it was being pulled out at the roots. Kadax was expert in the braiding but now Felashi was asked to work on the side which remained loose. She was clumsy and unpractised and I winced as she tugged awkwardly. Kadax tutted and unpicked her work, then made the tight braid herself.

“You need to practice, Felashi. You'll spend the next two days here until you can be trusted to work to a high standard on your ladies. With your permission, Minanna Dejax, I thought that one of our trainees might be given the same style as Minanna Xenia to allow Felashi a head to practice on.”

Dejax was clearly troubled about my hairstyle (the style of a noble inferior bride) being given to a young, unmarried woman of low caste. “Couldn't she practice on longer hair?”

“Shorter hair is more difficult to braid. I'm afraid she can only master the art by working with identical hair.”

Dejax nodded. “Very well, but she's not to be seen outside a private room with this hair. She'll be veiled in public until her hair grows. In fact, better still, once Felashi has proved her adequacy you'll shave her model.”

As Kadax praised Dejax's wisdom I could think only of her callousness. I wanted to speak up, to spare the victim by allowing Felashi my hair to develop her skills, but fear prevented me from speaking.

I returned home with Dejax, my short curls hidden beneath a tightly stitched white headdress. As soon as we were inside I was pushed into the bedroom and ordered to undress. Dejax was beside herself with excitement and pushed me to the bed. She tore at the headdress, ripping it free (the thread was so strong that I feared it would tear out the braids into which it was bound). She tugged at my curls venomously. “Look at you, Xenia. So pretty, but so undeserving. You're ashamed of our traditions, even though you look so perfect. Your hair will always be like this now, you dirty little outsider. And don't you ever embarrass me with bad manners again or I'll have another piece docked from your tongue, but this time enough to do more damage than making you lisp.”

I tried to make an apology but she pushed her hand over my lips. “Shut up! Soften your face and don't talk.” She gave a cry of passion as I affected a bored expression. I looked up at the ceiling past her shoulder, my eyes half closed. She started to finger me urgently. “Oh, Xenia, I'd forgotten how sexy you are. Crass, boring, ignorant, but so pretty.” I sensed only through my humiliation could she now rouse her attraction to me. Nevertheless, I found myself responding to this physical expression of her love, which was something that had been denied for so long.

She was rough with me physical and emotionally. She pulled aside my lips to better view my gold teeth, teasing me about them because I'd never been able to hide my dislike of them. “Maybe you'd appreciate more gold? Or for me too, a full set of gold teeth.” She was provoking me, but expecting me to maintain my expressionless face. The more successful I was the more aroused and cruel she became.

As she penetrated me with a long strap-on I slid into a wonderfully warm orgasm. I turned my head aside and gave a long, silent exhalation, hiding my exhilaration, but giving just enough signal to Dejax to know what had happened. I knew that nothing inflamed Dejax so much as seeing a repressed orgasm and she shrieked with delight as our bliss became mutual. She lay heavily on top of me, panting, her face nestled in my deep bosom.

There was a long, tender silence. “I do love you, Dejax,” I finally whispered. “I've missed these moments between us.”

She looked up, her eyes hard. “I have to humiliate you to find you interesting now, Xenia. You're useful as my companion, but nothing more. I never felt for you a fraction of what I have with Sigrid.” I looked at her in disbelief. Even in this moment she couldn't maintain some affection for me, too eager to humiliate and hurt me.

“Please, Dejax, if that's how you feel, dissolve the marriage and marry her. You're only making me unhappy and I'm in the way of your happiness.”

She gave an exasperated groan. “Sigrid is my mistress, and that's how she'll remain. She'd never allow herself to be made like you, and I wouldn't want that. Weren't you listening? You're useful to me, necessary. As long as you can continue to be then I'll keep you here, with everything you need to be comfortable. If you outlive your usefulness then you'll be dispatched to a convent. Don't think there's any possible life better than the one you have now. You can't even understand the texts you'd have to read for the rest of your days. And it's so cold in the mountains.” She gave a little shiver and a cruel smile. “So just be a good wife to Dejax and never complain.”

The next time that Dejax became passionate toward me was following the broadcast of the TV programme that featured our wedding ceremony. It was a section in a large documentary about the Free Nation movement, but I was appalled at how uncritical the reporting was. I was later to find that the owner of the channel was a supporter of the political party and his political beliefs clearly influenced the work of the reporters.

It was more hagiography than reportage. The leaders of the movement were allowed to make long speeches, unchallenged as they made outrageous claims about the dangers of following any ideology but theirs. Dejax watched it, rapt, nodding and smiling at every pronouncement. I felt my heart sinking as I realised she'd allied herself with these people. Then she gave an shriek of excitement as she appeared on screen.

“Prominent within the party, often regarded as the popular face of the movement, is Minanna Dejax Falleeji, daughter of the highly honoured Kallaga Treskoa Falleeji. Her recent marriage was considered by many to be the social event of the year, and her bride, Minanna Xenia, despite her British origins, is often considered a model for young women of nationalist spirit. We were allowed special access to their happy ceremony where the couple celebrated the nuptials with a carefully researched return to the ancient traditions of our homeland.”

Dejax's disdain for me seemed to be forgotten as the reporter extolled the virtues of our union. She took my hand in hers and said how wonderful I looked. I felt uncomfortable as I watched my face being tattooed and my hair sheared.

“The beautiful Minanna Xenia, Princess Xenia, as she's become known to her adoring followers, has set a new standard of beauty for the women of Jertul. Already her revival of the ancient hairstyle, the flechxen, has been adopted by numerous other women, and it's seen as a signal that the values of the Free Nation movement have moved from the fringes of our society into the mainstream.”

There followed a series of interviews of ordinary people, picked from passers by in a city, asked about their opinions about my appearance. Without fail they were excessively positive about me and my influence on the nation. Amongst younger girls in particular I seemed to be popular. “Would you wear a flechxen?” the interviewer asked a group of teenage girls. The most outspoken of them took the lead.

“I'd do it tomorrow if my parents allowed it. I love it, I think every girl who's proud of her homeland should wear a flechxen. I argue with my mother about it all the time!”

“See, it's the older people, the ones who were brought up when there was too much Western influence, who are holding back progress,” Dejax said angrily. “Those girls shouldn't be held back because of their parents' stupidity.”

I was shocked by what I was seeing. I had no idea that I had become a celebrity, that there seemed to be a cult around me. But to be figurehead of such a dangerous political movement horrified me.

Now the girl was asked about my tattoos. “I think they're very beautiful and noble. When I marry I want to choose a man who's loves Jertul as much as I do and who will insist that I'm tattooed just like Minanna Xenia.” Her friends, in a show of bravado, encouraged her and committed to the same values.

“You see, the people love you. The Free Nation will succeed because of you, Xenia. Everyone loves you and wants to marry you or be like you. You're the best PR we could ever have.” She pulled me close to her and kissed me. I now realised how I was useful to her, how I could further her political ambitions. It wasn't hard to look cold and indifferent as she kissed me. Everyone loved me, I knew, except her.

By the following day her affection had dissipated and she was largely absent from my days, her time occupied with her work establishing the new industrial complex for her father's corporation, her political machinations and her trysts with Sigrid. I was frequently left for days with only the company of the household staff, and I was in no doubt that I was not to let any familiarity develop with them. I found the tedium and loneliness unbearable and spent my days drinking and chewing gherts for solace. Each morning I would wake feeling depressed and sick, and it was in this mood that I would carry out my inspection of the staff, allowing my frustrations to be vented on anyone that was found wanting. I hated myself for it, but I knew that if I didn't make this performance then I would be punished by Dejax.

As it happened, on one of her return visits she confronted me about my behaviour. “You're drinking too much,” she said curtly. “Smoking cigarettes in front of the household as well. This is unacceptable, Xenia. From now on I've instructed Felashi to ration your medication, as we'll refer to it. No more smoking except a few pipes a day, and you'll only be allowed to drink a small measure of heila. If I find you trying to obtain more or trying to persuade Felashi to increase your ration you'll be going cold turkey. You're a disgrace to your family.” I nodded, feeling that for once her criticism was perhaps just.

“Please, Dejax, I know I've behaved badly. But I have to have some company, something to occupy my time. I'm so lonely here and I feel like I'm going crazy. I know you're very busy but I would like to spend some time with you occasionally. It would be good for us to be seen together in public, wouldn't it?”

She looked at me angrily but she considered what I'd said. “You may be right, I think you could be used more. You look unwell though, so maybe I'd better get you tidied up. I do have my doubts about you making too many public appearances though. You might just open your mouth and say something disastrous. I'm starting to make a name for myself in politics and you have to be aware that everything you do has to reflect well on the party. I sometimes think you have no real allegiance to this country and you'll work to undermine it.”

“I'll do nothing to harm your party if you just let me have something to occupy myself. You can have someone coach me in what I should say and how I should behave. I just want to be a good wife.” I hated my cowardice. I thought the party was a dangerous right wing populist movement which wanted to make Jertul revert to a dictatorship, but I was so unhappy that I was prepared to work for their aims if it meant that my life was more bearable.

“Very well. You show me that you have your behaviour under control for a week and I'll get you tidied up, look at some public appearances. But if your behaviour gets worse I'll send you on a retreat for three months in the mountains. No drinking, no drugs, no comforts. We don't have cosy rehab facilities in Jertul, and I don't think you'd like that regime. You show me which way you want to go.”

The next week was difficult as I realised how strict Dejax had been in my rationing. I had to survive till after lunch each day before I was allowed any intoxicant, and by that time I'd be unbearably sick and pained. I stayed in my room as much as possible and ate more than ever to try to compensate. I raged at poor Felashi as she timidly denied my requests to bring me something each morning but I suppose her fear of Dejax was greater than her fear of me and she didn't waver.

By the end of the week my cravings seemed undiminished, but at least my suffering was reduced. I was no longer subject to the cramps and nausea each morning. Dejax arrived unexpectedly and was critical of my slovenly appearance (I'd refused to bathe for a few days) but was slightly more sympathetic toward me after she interrogated Felashi and heard that I'd managed to cope with my reduced intake of “medication”. I felt terribly guilty as Felashi glossed over my poor behaviour, loyal to me despite my cruelty to her. She was instructed to bathe me and dress me for a trip to Kadax's salon.

“Her hair's beyond fixing without professional intervention, she said, tugging the covering cloth free (the stitching had come away but I still cried out in pain as she tugged it free of the braiding. “Wash it and dress her with a veil,” Felashi was instructed.

I emerged wearing a long blue gown, my hair concealed beneath a long veil, pinned at the temples, which exposed my tattooed pate. “Much better,” Dejax said without any show of pleasure, “although you do look ill, Xenia. Your face looks puffy and pale. We need to start getting you out in the sun.”

I was driven to Kadax's salon and saw it for the first time since it had been remodelled. The facade had been completely rebuilt, the original stone revealed by the removal of the previous western-style shop sign. There were now small leaded windows which didn't allow the interior of the shop to be seen. Only a long pennant hanging from a pole identified the shop.

And the interior was no less radically transformed. The lighting was soft and warm, candlelight subtly enhanced by soft electric lighting. There was a smoking area where patrons reclined on low couches and took the pipe, and at the centre of the shop was an ornamental stone pool, carved with faux-archaic ornaments. The hairdressing chairs were set behind pierced wooden screens.

And the staff were no longer the same mixture of girls with modern hairstyles and western clothes. All wore a uniform now, a black tunic with a fringed sash of gold. I noticed with some discomfort that all of them had been given a flechxen, with one exception. An older woman had had her hair cut in a very short style, the back and sides clippered short, the top waxed into a stiff, vertical block. “Why doesn't she have a flechxen,” I asked Dejax, surprised at her lack of uniformity.

“She's a dominant wife in her marriage,” Dejax said, not seeking to conceal her frustration at my ignorance. “I'm not sure I like that cut though. I'll have to say something to Minanna Kadax.”

Kadax came to greet us, apologising profusely for the delay in her welcome. “I hope you're pleased with our new establishment, Minanna Xenia.”

“It's a suitable environment for noble ladies,” I said without enthusiasm. I was offered a pipe, but Dejax declined on my behalf.

“Minanna has had a chest infection and I'm trying to persuade her to smoke less,” she lied. “She needs a perm and a trim. I want her to look at her most beautiful, since we have some events to attend.”

I was placed in the hands of a young stylist who I recognised from previous visits. Her hair had been long, straight, red. She was now bald over the front of her scalp and her hair had been permed and coloured black. Dejax smiled as she examined her new appearance.

“Vanna, isn't it? Kadax tells me you were more reluctant than most to agree to your flechxen. It looks most flattering and does nothing to hide your noble spirit.”

“Thank you, Minanna,” she said shyly.

“And why were you reluctant to have your hair styled so beautifully and patriotically?” Dejax was no longer friendly. Vanna was obviously terrified of her.

“I come from a very westernised family. My parents and my girlfriend, well, she's my fiancée, they didn't want me to get a flechxen.”

“I'm very disappointed to hear that. Is your fiancée a patron of this shop?”

“Not any more,” Vanna admitted. “She's got long dyed hair.”

“You're to tell her that she's to get a fitting style for a betrothed woman. Kadax will make the arrangements. If not you're to break off the engagement. I don't want my employees marrying people who aren't patriotic.” Vanna looked horrified. “If she doesn't comply you'll find yourself unable to get another job as a hairdresser. Understand?” She nodded. “Maybe you can cut it yourself. You do know how a wife of her status ought to wear her hair?”

“Yes, Minanna,” she said meekly.

“You know and yet you allow her to wear her hair long. Show me. Kadax!” she called angrily. The shop manager approached. “That woman with the short hair, it's not really a suitable cut. I want Nanga Vanna to prove that she knows something about propriety by giving her a new cut. Send her to me now.”

The woman, whose name was Deaggix, was immediately excused from her task, which Kadax herself took over. She looked a little sheepish, overawed, as she approached.

“Minanna Deaggix,” Dejax said, “I'm less than pleased with your haircut. It's rather too long on top for a woman of your status and it's too individual. I understand that we have to allow some growth in our traditions, but your style oversteps what's proper. Sit in the chair and Nanga Vanna will improve your standing with a more noble style.”

Deaggix seemed not hurt at all by the criticism, but rather to be delighted that she would be given guidance by someone she evidently admired. She sycophantically thanked Dejax for taking such an interest and fitted herself with a long black cape.

Vanna had taken up her clippers but seemed unsure how to proceed, uncomfortable with the scrutiny of someone as important and Dejax. “Shaved on the back and sides. Full height on sides, dipped slightly at the crown.” The attachment was removed from the blades and soon the soft furry growth on Deaggix's back and sides was being stripped to the scalp. “You should keep it shaved with a razor, every day too,” Dejax informed her. And you should make sure your fiancée does the same, Vanna.”

As Vanna oiled the stubble and started to shave it with a straight razor, Dejax suggested that Deaggix might like to have the top partitioned. Dejax herself had maintained her hair since the wedding in the same style, with wide stripes shaved front to back through the thick hair on top.

“Oh, Minanna, I'd love that,” she said. “I've adored your haircut since I saw it on TV on the day of your wedding.”

“It's a very historic style which I read about in an old treatise. I've been very disappointed that some people don't think that it's a tradition of Jertul. Of course, yours would have to be modified. The shaved bands should be narrower and shorter hair on top would be more appropriate to your status.”

“Minanna, you can be sure that I'll inform people of the nobility of the style and encourage others to revive it. I'd have had it done before but I was afraid that it would seem like I was copying your beautiful style.”

Dejax was pleased with the flattery. “As I said, it's not my style, and I'd be more than happy to see it revived by more people. I would love to see far less individualism in Jertulian society. I'd be happy if women had no more than a handful of possible styles to choose from. The style should indicate status and no more. I find that far more beautiful than any wrong-headed notions of individual vanity.”

Vanna now had the opportunity to demonstrate that her razor skills extended beyond a simple shave. She parted the long hair on top of Deaggix's head and opened the parting up to a razored stripe of scalp around five millimetres width. Soon the top of her head had been marked with six such stripes.

The remaining hair was cropped to approximately half of its previous length, which is to say roughly two inches were spared. A gummy oil was massaged through the short hair and Vanna carefully used her comb to sweep the hair back in long fin-like strips over the top of Deaggix's head. She looked enchanted with her makeover.

“Minanna Dejax, how can I ever thank you for your guidance? I never imagined I'd be so privileged and I promise to keep my hair exactly like this.”

“You see how becoming and noble this style is?” she demanded of Vanna. “And my respects to you for your skills, Nanga. I think you'd be admirably suited to making your fiancée look like a suitable match for you. Perhaps we could arrange for her to visit you right now.”

Vanna looked sickened by her dilemma. “She works, Minanna Dejax. She's a secretary at the new chemical plant.”

Dejax laughed. “Then I'm sure I'll have no difficulty arranging an hour away from her work, since I'm a director of the plant. What's her name?”

Dejax made a call to the plant, spoke to the line manager of the unfortunate girl (Nanga Reddulaj) and arranged for her to be sent immediately by car to the salon. “You don't need to know why she's coming here, nor does she. It'll all be explained once she arrives.”

Vanna was instructed to stop looking so worried and to attend to my hair. I was left alone with my stylist as Dejax went to meet with Kadax.

“You look very upset,” I said. She was shaking and I could see that she didn't trust me. “Will your fiancée allow her hair to be cut?”

“I suppose she will,” Vanna said tersely.

“I love my wife but sometimes I find it hard to see how she bullies people. I'm sorry you had to have your hair plucked. I preferred it before, but you still look very pretty.”

Vanna looked shocked at my statement. “Minanna... I don't know what to say. I thought you of all people would have hated my old style.”

“I had no choice in my style either. I didn't fully understand the nuances of my wife's beliefs when we became a couple. I take it you don't share her love of the Free Nation?”

“Minanna, we should be more guarded,” she said nervously. “In this establishment no one ever criticises the Free Nation.”

“You're right, and I did promise to never bring disrespect to the party. Still, you should tell your girlfriend that she can keep her hair as she pleases.”

“It's not so simple...” She stopped talking as Dejax emerged once more.

Dejax inspected my nape and forehead to ensure that Vanna had made them perfectly hairless, then issued instructions for my perm. I'd still have tight spirals, but Dejax seemed keen to let them grow a little. Vanna wound my hair mercilessly tightly onto the rods. I'd felt some bond with her when we talked and I suspected that she was overcompensating, avoiding showing any softness toward me. There was no necessity to hide my roots today since Felashi was now dyeing my hair every week now.

As Vanna added more rods to my hair Dejax taunted her. “Are you going to insist on Reddulaj letting you cut her hair? It would seem a little inappropriate for the inferior fiancée to make such a demand. Still, it's more inappropriate still to hold to western values, isn't it? In many western countries same sex relationships aren't accepted, even now, by many people. Jertul is much more enlightened than these foreigners who would corrupt our values. Isn't that true, my darling?”

I had to admit that many nations did have a shameful history of persecution of minority sexualities. “Minanna Xenia comes from Britain. They locked people up for loving someone of the same sex, even in the nineteen sixties. You must feel very glad to no longer have to be associated with such a cruel nation, my darling.”

I smiled and agreed that I thought Munk's teaching of tolerance was most admirable. My irony wasn't lost on her and I saw her features harden.

“Tolerance is such a strange concept to Jertulians. We tolerate what is good and struggle to overcome falsehood. It's not good or wise to tolerate that which we know to be evil. The west has become afraid of what it finds difficult to comprehend, squeamish about telling people that their beliefs are mistaken. This fear of offending has diluted western values until no one knows right from wrong any more.”

“It's not always simple, Minanna Dejax, to know what is right,” I said playfully.

“Yes it is! It is simple!” she said angrily. “The child can see what is right, but the sage can't. This is what Munk teaches us. We mustn't overcomplicate out ideas. Everything can be broken down to simple choices. You have so little understanding of the world, Xenia.”

She stopped short and looked angry, angry at herself for her public loss of control. “Nanga Vanna, you seem a well educated girl. Do you have difficulties knowing right from wrong?”

“No Minanna,” she said assuredly.

“Well then, it might be your lucky day. I've arranged for a journalist to stop by for your fiancée's makeover. If the two of you can make the right replies then I might just see to it that your wedding will be a grander affair than you could have planned as long as you agree to the ceremony being used for some publicity. How does that sound?”

Vanna looked stunned, confused. I could see that she was upset about her girlfriend's makeover being taken for granted, but the offer of a luxurious wedding was clearly tempting. “I can't really afford anything special,” she said.

“No, of course, but I have influential friends who could pay for a big wedding. As long as it's good publicity for the movement then I'm sure I could make it happen.”

“I don't know what to say, Minanna Dejax,” she said, humbly. “I don't think I deserve such things.”

My perm was postponed (despite having my hair tightly wound already) as a journalist and photographer arrived to meet with Vanna and her fiancée (who was expected imminently). I saw a nervous looking young girl with long light brown curls enter, sure that this must be Reddulaj. She was thinner than most Jertulians, so slim that I knew she would be regarded almost universally as unattractive.

I was asked to come over to meet her, my hair once more hidden beneath my veil. “Nanga Reddulaj, welcome,” Dejax smiled, at her most charming now. “Do you recognise me and my wife?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling excitedly. “I'm sure everyone knows you, Minanna Dejax, and your beautiful wife.” She looked very young as she squirmed in the chair, too young to be considering marriage.

“I've been discussing your marriage with your fiancée and I'd like to get your union off to a good start by helping to arrange a nice ceremony at the Breatcha Convent. All of the bills would be met by my friends if you agree to allow the ceremony to be filmed and broadcast for publicity purposes, as well as doing some press. How would you like that?”

“Oh, Minanna, it would be like a dream. But why us?”

“I think you're a lovely young couple and a good example to young people throughout Jertul. You are members of the movement?” Reddulaj looked at her, not following. “The Free Nation movement?”

“No,” she said, taken aback.

“Oh, you'd have to be members of the movement. But I can sign you up right now, OK?”

Within a few minutes Reddulaj and Vanna had pledged to be true patriots.

“We can start the publicity right now,” Dejax smiled. “Vanna was telling me that you've been resisting a more traditional look, but now that you're a member of the movement it's time you let her cut your hair.”

Despite Vanna's efforts to warn her, Reddulaj seemed completely taken aback by this suggestion. “You really want me to cut my hair?” she said, stunned.

“It really would be for the best,” Dejax said. “It's part of what you agreed to when you signed your oath of allegiance. You agree, don't you, darling?” she asked me.

“A good patriotic woman should wear her hair to show her status, not for personal vanity,” I said, parroting Dejax's earlier sentiments with a bitterness that was lost on the others. I sensed that Reddulaj was amongst those who idolised me, and I knew that my encouragement would break down her resistance.

“You and Nanga Vanna will look just like Minanna Xenia and me on our wedding day. You'd like that, wouldn't you? And your fiancée is such a talented hairdresser. Go on over with her. Look, there's a photographer who'll get some pictures of the two of you now, then after you've been made to look nice and respectable.”

I watched as she posed for some pictures, looking sick with anxiety. “You do know how to make people do as you wish,” I said to Dejax.

“Don't try to spoil it,” she cautioned. “It's for the best. You have your part to play. She likes you and one word from you and she'll do as you ask. If you're a good girl today I'll look into making sure you have things to fill your time. I wouldn't want you getting depressed again.”

We walked over to see Reddulaj being caped by Vanna. “What are you going to do?” Reddulaj asked. Her eyes were big and bright with fear, but she knew that she had no control now.

“I think it's best to go bare on the sides. I do like that for a senior wife, it looks more bold.”

“Oh my, really?” she said. “I'm sure it'll look too severe on me. I'm very thin, you see. I'll look very boyish.”

“You are thin,” Dejax said. “It's not the worst thing for a senior wife, but still I'd be happier if you could try to gain for your day. You have a pretty face too, very nice features.”

Vanna spoke up. “Reddulaj has a gastric disorder. It affects her appetite. She's had a terrible time with it but she's so brave.”

Dejax put her hands around the girl's neck. “You poor little thing! I'll tell you what, if you're a good girl and get your hair cut nice and neat I'll see about sending you to a specialist and seeing if we can't put a bit of padding on you.”

She looked beside herself with joy. “Oh Minanna, I'd love to be a normal girl for my wedding. How can I ever thank you?”

Dejax laughed indulgently. “Well start by telling Nanga Vanna to give you a nice cropping.”

She glanced at her fiancée in the mirror and nodded. I could see that her emotions were in turmoil, fear, joy, excitement all mingled. Vanna's hand was shaking as she pinned up the long curls on top of Reddulaj's head.

“Can't we leave some hair on the sides?” Vanna asked. Dejax squeezed my hand.

“I do think it would look most distinguished to shave her. Besides, it's what you want isn't it, Reddulaj? I think it's only right for you to assert yourself, as you must in your marriage.”

“Yes, it's right, Vanna,” she whispered. Moments later her curls started to fall as the clippers moved up the side of her head. The photographer insinuated herself into a good position to record the moment when Reddulaj lost her long hair. “That looks beautiful, doesn't It, Minanna Xenia,” Dejax prompted.

“Yes, she looks so much more grown up. You won't look like a girl any more, Nanga Reddulaj, you'll be a woman. Vanna will be so proud of you.”

“You know, we should get her a nice outfit to change into when she's done. Give me your measurements and I'll have something sent over.”

Kadax had now joined us and was watching the work of her protégée with interest. “How long do you intend to cut the top?” she asked.

“About two inches, Minanna Kadax,” Vanna replied.

“Yes, even a bit shorter. She's very young so a shorter cut is worthy of her status.” Her lowly status is what she meant.

“On your wedding day you can have the partitioned cut like mine,” Dejax added with delight. “And I'm sure that Nanga Vanna will look delightful with her flechxen tattooed.”

Vanna gave a gasp and stepped back from her work. “Tattooed?” she asked, incredulously.

“Of course. All of the ceremonies which will be conducted at the convent will now include the tattooing of the bride.”

I could see my words of balm were expected. “I have no regrets at all about my tattooing. You do agree that it adds nobility, spirituality? My tattoos are a prayer on my body.”

“Of course, Minanna Xenia. I just had never thought I would be tattooed. I've never been especially interested in spiritual study.”

“All the more reason to undergo the ceremony. Your thoughts will be changed by this outward submission. You're blessed to be allowed this privilege, aren't you?”

“I am, Minanna Xenia. Thank you, Minanna Dejax, for our blessings.” Her good manners couldn't hide her shock and revulsion.

I could see that Reddulaj was now thinking less about her ongoing metamorphosis than the more permanent changes that would soon be forced on her wife-to-be. She glared in the mirror at Vanna, and I could sense as her eyes flickered toward me that she was trying to imagine her sweet young wife with the dark tattoo that dominated my head. The vision clearly didn't please her.

Vanna's shocked reaction brought a reprimand from Kadax. “You must be professional, Nanga,” she hissed, “even in circumstances as exceptional as these. I don't care if it is your fiancée in the chair, every customer must receive a first quality service in this salon. Do you understand?”

After her sincere apology Vanna set to oiling the stubble which was now the sole reminder of the abundant curls which had surrounded Reddulaj's temples and nape. She took a safety razor to complete the shave. I could see that she was far too nervous to safely wield the cut throat razor that she'd used so skilfully on Deaggix.

Reddulaj's scalp soon gleamed brightly, not a trace of hair shadowing the pale skin. Dejax made a satisfied sigh as she rubbed the bald girl's head. “Very nice work, Vanna. I think I'll sit for you later for a nice shave.”

As Vanna let loose the remaining curls, Kadax questioned her. “What other styling do you recommend with this cut for Nanga Reddulaj?”

“Feathered lashes, Minanna Kadax,” she said. “Plucked brows.”

“Yes, I think that would look very pleasing, Nanga Reddulaj. You'll look most becoming when Nanga Vanna is finished in her work,” I said in encouragement.

Vanna was now crudely shearing away the bulk of the curls from the top. Once the length was all gone she wet the hair and began cutting it very precisely to an even length, only an inch and a half left. Reddulaj's eyes were moist and she chewed anxiously at her lip as she tried to find the strength to accept her new cut. “Dye it black,” Dejax insisted.

“Her natural shade is dark brown,” Vanna pointed out. Dejax looked at her sternly.

“I don't care. She'll have black hair from today.”

An hour later Reddulaj posed with her fiancée for the photographer. “She looks like a little fascist,” I whispered to Dejax in English. “Like a little version of you. Now you just have to get inside her head and make her believe in the same lies you do.”

Reddulaj's cropped black hair had been oiled and slicked flat over her skull like a very short bowlcut. Her sticky lashes and pencilled arched brows took away all softness from her features, and her new outfit (a tailored woollen jacket and pleated, chequered trousers) gave her a military look. Her initial shock seemed to have subsided, and she and Vanna now looked happy as they were showered with compliments by the journalist and photographer (hard line nationalists both, it was obvious).

“You played your part well, don't forget,” Dejax said. “You think you're so superior but don't think I can't get into your head too. If you think I can't just take a look in the mirror. And don't ever forget how expendable you are. Every time you start to think how important and popular you are, just remember that it's Sigrid that I love and not you. That'll keep you grounded, won't it?”

I could tell myself that I no longer loved her, yet still her words hurt me deeply. I felt a sense of despair to think of Dejax lying with Sigrid while I was always alone.

“And don't console yourself with your popularity amongst the people. That's dependent on my patronage too. If there were some terrible stories in the newspapers about marital infidelity, drug addiction... A messy divorce, with me as the wronged party, nobly fighting to overcome the hurt and carry on with my important work.”

I glowered at her. I knew that her media friends could make the entire country turn against me.

“And imagine what that would do to poor little Hallena! She'd be cast out of her order and I'm not sure she'd find it so easy to survive. Who'd want to have such a snake working for them? You see, Xenia? You have power only for as long as I allow it. If you don't use your influence to do exactly as I want then I'll crush you. A pretence isn't enough, you have to play your part with sincerity. None of the irony you've thought so amusing today. Now be a good girl and go and congratulate the happy couple and tell them that you expect their regular attendance at party meetings. Tell them how much that would mean to you.”

I did precisely as I'd been told. My tearfulness seemed to the young women to be a result of my intense feelings for my adopted country, I'm sure, and they pledged to do as I asked. I looked at them and wondered if they would soon be converted to party zealots, cut off from the moderating influence of their families.

At home I was alone again with far too much time to reflect on the events of the day. I was beside myself with frustration. I was becoming aware just how dangerous the Free Nation movement was, and how manipulative Dejax would be to obtain power. I felt helpless. Did I have any choice but to assist her? I knew how ruthless she could be and I had no doubt that she'd press home her advantage and make good on her threats. Divorced, I'd be lost and friendless.

I woke up early the next morning with a start. I had been dreaming and although I couldn't consciously recall the dream I was left with the feeling that I'd spent so much time with the movement's faithful that I'd come to believe in their vision too. I was close to tears as I imagined how easy it would be to lose my sense of right and wrong. I thought of Reddulaj and Vanna, and how Dejax would now ensure that they were socialising with her friends now, how they would feel compelled to agree with everything that was said, until they finally started to believe it. They'd be bought easily, they were young and apolitical, but their propaganda value would be valuable to Dejax and her allies. A young couple, inspired to move beyond their previous western values and suddenly elevated to celebrity status for a brief moment. And I was complicit in their conversion. They would surely not be the last.

A few days later Dejax was at home. She came into the house and dismissed the staff. “How's my darling wife?” she said disdainfully. “Still thinking of how you can undermine the Free Nation?” I shook my head ruefully. “You mean you tried thinking of every possible way but realised you were helpless?”

“Yes Dejax,” I admitted. “Something like that.”

“Well, acceptance of your position is a sort of progress, at least. Maybe you should have a tutor. It would give you some purpose and help orient your thoughts. I want to be sure that when you appear in public you won't try your sarcasm again. I'm going to have to really punish you if you do that again.”

“I find it hard to watch how you manipulate people. Bully is maybe a better word.”

She looked at me with pity. “Yes, people should have freedom to make their own decisions. To behave terribly and to ruin life for everyone. That's how stupidly you think. I don't think it's honourable, or good, or kind, to let people act badly. And if I can prevent that by applying a little pressure, then that's better than letting them do real damage and facing serious consequences later. Just because you don't know right from wrong doesn't mean other people don't. And the illuminated have a duty to guide those who have a lesser understanding of truth.”

“Ah, I see. What you believe is the truth? I'm so pleased that you're here to guide us from our moral turpitude.”

She rose to her feet and stood over me. “Don't forget who you're talking to. You're my wife and you took a vow to me. And I expressly told you that your sarcasm is unacceptable. From now on, Xenia, darling, what I say is inarguable fact and you will support it entirely, and not just in my presence. Understood?”

There was something violent and threatening in her face that I hadn't seen before and I was more afraid of her than ever before.

“Yes, Dejax,” I said.

“And now you've forced me to have to punish you. Prostrate yourself six times.”

I did as ordered, rising each time from the floor with increasing difficulty, out of breath as I raised my heavy body. At the fourth time of rising I saw that she held a leather strap in her hand and smiled menacingly. “I'm going to have to make you hurt. It's for your own good, to save you from lapsing into poor judgement and trying to pass your errors on to others.”

I finally rose for the sixth time. “Pull up your skirt and bend over the sofa.” I could barely get my breath as I did. I wanted to beg for mercy but I was too proud, or maybe it was merely that I knew my punishment was going to take place regardless.

I cried out as the heavy leather struck my buttock. Dejax was strong and she hit with all the force she could muster. “Six on each buttock, then six for each hand. And every time you so much as think of contradicting me this is what you get. You make such an easy target now, you big fat pig,” she laughed. “Your arse used to be so small the strap would have covered its full width. Now you need to be beaten twice as many times.”

I was sobbing as she told me to stand up straight and hold out my hand. “Keep your arm firm and don't try to soften the blow.” I could barely raise my hand after the first blow, so much did my hand sting. It took me all of my resolve not to pull my hand aside as I saw the strap descend to inflict more suffering. By the time both hands had received their full complement I was weeping like a baby.

“Next time I may use it on your face, you weakling,” Dejax added vitriolically. “I'd like seeing those big round hamster cheek with purple bruises. Do you feel in the mood to show me how ironic and witty you are, Xenia?”

“No, Minanna,” I moaned as I pressed my throbbing hands beneath my armpits.

“Then perhaps I've helped you to learn something,” she smiled. “But I think a more permanent reminder of your new status is needed today. Do you remember Nanga Siddera? I'm going to have her attend and fit you with a new piercing.”

I was sent to my bedroom where I waited in anguish for, what I was sure, would be a painful and humbling experience. After about two hours I heard Dejax approaching and she entered with Siddera.

The young woman had been remodelled in the image of a devout nationalist since our last meeting. Her hair was hidden under a veil, but the front part of her head was exposed and was plucked. I greeted her sullenly and she complimented me on my marriage.

“Take off all of your clothes,” Dejax said coldly. I stripped with some difficulty, my hands so swollen that my grip was compromised, and my buttocks so sore that and movement caused me to wince.

I stood naked and Siddera examined my mound, her fingers tracing the scars where my labiaplasty had now healed. “Two rings on each side?” she asked. “It's possible but I'll have to go quite deep into the flesh. It's always more intrusive where the labia are absent, but of course, cosmetically so much more pleasing.”

Dejax smiled. “I've let Siddera know about your addiction to pleasuring yourself. This will help you to control your urges. It's for your own good, darling. I know how ashamed you feel.”

“As I said, Minanna Dejax, if her compulsion continues to be a problem I could easily arrange for excision of the clitoris. I'm sure you know how effective that can be in moderating the indulgences of weakness.”

My resolve to conduct myself with dignity through this trial was broken. “Please, Minanna, not that,” I begged. “I'll do anything for you but don't do that to me.”

“You have a chance to redeem yourself, don't you darling. I'm not going to do it today and if you show me that you can be very obedient to me then we don't have to think about it again.”

I found myself thanking her copiously, tears streaming down my cheeks. I could see that Siddera was embarrassed by my emotional display.

I was told to sit on a stool with my legs splayed, which made me groan as my abused flesh pressed onto the wooden seat. Siddera made some marks in pen on the edges of my vulva. After making necessary hygiene arrangements, she applied a clamp to pinch a fold of flesh where a slight scar showed where the inner tissue had been excised. I sighed as she pierced the site, feeling the shock of pain induce a cold sweat. I closed my eyes and tried to endure the pain and nausea, prayed for the suffering to pass. Of course, I had three repeats of this process to stomach. I held my head back, afraid to see the wounds, gasping for air to save me from fainting. I felt the derrix stalks being introduced to the wounds, a sharp stinging as the oils staunched the bleeding.

“I do apologise for Minanna Xenia's weakness,” Dejax said with scorn. “She's not been herself lately and I'm in despair sometimes to know how to make her improve herself.”

“As you said, perhaps you've been too lenient with her. I'm sure your new, more robust way with her will bring about a rapid improvement. I think that's what you need, isn't it, Minanna Xenia.”

“Yes, Nanga Siddera,” I sobbed.

She held up a ring to show me. “These rings need a special tool to open them so you won't be able to remove them yourself.” She slid the ring into the fresh piercing and closed it.

Now it was Dejax's turn to show me something. She held up an X-shaped metal object composed of two near identical layers. “This will be locked over the rings,” she informed me, opening the object so that I could see that the end of each limb formed a tube. “I'll hold the key and it will prevent you using those toys.” She passed it to Siddera who slid it into place and locked it. It was quite heavy and placed a strain on the rings.

“Do I have to make Nanga Siddera put a big piercing in your clitoris or do you promise to refrain from touching it?”

“I promise, Minanna,” I said, broken.

“And if you break your promise?”

“It'll be removed,” I said.

“Very well, I'll give you a change to prove yourself. Now gather all those awful toys of yours and call Felashi to dispose of them.”

I looked at her pleadingly. “Please, Minanna, may I dress?”

“Minanna Xenia, do as you're told before I punish you further.”

I went to a cabinet and took out the dildos and vibrator I'd acquired. I held them out toward Dejax to show her.

“Four? That's all of them?” I nodded. “Ring the bell.”

Within a minute my maid had arrived. I stood before her, my newly occluded slit evident to all. She was sufficiently competent to hide her shock at what she was seeing. “Please Felashi, could you see that these are safely disposed of? I don't need them any more.”

“Yes Minanna Xenia.” She couldn't hide her revulsion as she reluctantly took them in her hands.

“Minanna Xenia is not herself,” Dejax said to her. “I think she may benefit from a purgative. You're to administer them to her twice a day for the next week, Felashi. As soon as I leave the house you can give the first. You should also talk with Nanga Siddera before she leaves. She'll instruct you how to care for the new piercings that Minanna Xenia has.” I felt like I was being regressed to a state of helplessness. Felashi was now responsible for caring for the body which was no longer mine.

Soon I was alone again and I looked in the mirror at the horrible metal cross that bound the wounds and sealed me against pleasure. I wanted to cry but knew that Felashi would soon return and it was expected that I should behave with dignity before her. I'd already brought disgrace on myself for my weakness.

When Felashi did come to me she set to her tasks in silence. She carefully wiped the blood from the wounds, then took a small pot of a dark gum. She dipped a brush in it and prepared to apply it. “What is that stuff?” I asked, assuming it was some antiseptic.

“It's callachi, a resin from a conifer. Minanna Dejax has specified that I must apply it to you each day and inspect your fingers. If you have the callachi on your fingers it will stain them and the smell is impossible to hide. I have to inform Minanna Dejax if this happens. May I apply it now, Minanna?” I grunted my assent, appalled that I was no longer allowed to so much as touch my own sex. The sticky gum was applied over my clitoris.

“It'll stain your undergarments, but Minanna says it's necessary.” I thought I saw a flash of Schadenfreude in her eyes, pleasure in the humiliation of the ill-tempered head of the house. I couldn't blame her, Dejax had ensured that my behaviour toward the staff was anything but considerate. Now she would oversee my punishment for daring to try to resist Dejax's will.

My instinct was to take to my bed and retreat into myself. The following day this was exactly what I did and I was only disturbed by Felashi to undertake the measures that had been ordered by Dejax. I was so sore that sleeping seemed the only way for my body to overcome what had happened. On the second day Felashi woke me early.

“Minanna, wake now. You have to bathe and dress. Minanna Dejax is coming with a guest and she wants you ready to greet them.”

“I'm ill,” I moaned. “Leave me alone, Felashi, I'm staying in bed.”

“Minanna, you most certainly are not. Minanna Dejax has given me an order and her word is paramount in this house. Get from your bed or I'll pull you out by your nose ring.”

I'd never heard Felashi speak so boldly and I sat up in shock. I saw that she had no fear of me any more. It seemed that my humiliation had taken away all respect from the household. I felt sure that Felashi had whispered about what had happened to me to all of her colleagues. I stiffly eased myself from my bed and went to my bathroom.

An hour later Dejax arrived with a middle aged woman that she named as Doctor Lapalli. She wore the severe masculine hairstyle that marked her out as a superior wife. After the introductions I was told that I should make my daily inspection of the staff and I called them to assemble. I inspected their dress and could find no fault. “All very good,” I said, feeling that I was more the subject of scrutiny than any of the servants.

“Did you inspect the house yesterday, Minanna?” Dejax asked. I admitted that I hadn't since I'd been indisposed. She turned to the doctor and shrugged with frustration. “You see?” she muttered.

The staff were dismissed to attend to their duties and Dejax's tirade began. “The kitchen is so untidy and some of the bathrooms haven't been cleaned in a week. You're supposed to ensure that a basic level of standard is maintained. You're lazy and slovenly. If you let this happen again, I'll make you clean up while the servants watch you!

“I'm so sorry you had to witness this, Doctor Lapalli but I thought you should see how far removed from propriety her behaviour can be. I think much of it is because she grew up in such an amoral country. Minanna Xenia, Doctor Lapalli has agreed to tutor you three days a week. I hope she can do something to give you some pride in your country and in yourself, because you're a Jertulian now. She's a woman of great learning and you should always treat her with reverence and obedience.”

“It's an honour and a privilege to be your humble student, Doctor Lapalli,” I said warmly. She showed no reaction. She seemed colder and sterner than my old teacher, Harosul.

“I thought you could teach her something about history, the geography of Jertul. And of course, Munk's writings. She's struggled to read the Text, because her comprehension of the language is flawed. I'm sure you'll be an able guide to illumine her path.”

“And is there anything else you'd like to learn about, Minanna Xenia?” she asked.

“I always liked art and music. I'd like to know more about Jertulian traditions.”

“That's excellent,” she said, showing some enthusiasm for the first time. “I think without some grounding in culture none of our traditions have value.”

Dejax left us and Lapalli immediately began my first history lesson. She had me read from an early twentieth century text, patiently correcting my mistakes in grammar and pronunciation. She was happy when I paused and asked for clarification or explanation. She answered all of my questions fully and confidently and by the end of the morning I had taken a liking to her. She wasn't warm but she did have a dry wit and she was the first person in a long time to treat me as an intelligent human. For an hour or two I was able to forget my cares.

We took lunch together and I asked her about the complicated parliamentary system of Jertul. The president was no figurehead, but carried the ultimate authority. He served a ten year term, elected by popular vote. Beneath were three councils, only one of which was elected. There was a small executive council, each member appointed for life by a president, and these elected the members of the next body, the senate. Senators had to be re-elected every five years, but in practice it was rare for them to lose their place unless they had disgraced themselves. The elected representatives, the Parliamentarians, were also elected every five years. There weren't political parties as I'd been used to them, but rather fluid alliances of those with shared interests. To be elected as a Parliamentarian the support of one of the groupings in the senate was needed.

“And Dejax is seeking political office?” I asked.

“She is. There are three senate seats to be filled next year and she'll get one. She's interested in taking charge of education policy, serving under the Presbyter for schooling. She's discussed this with you?”

“No, she doesn't tell me much of her professional life,” I admitted.

“Then I shouldn't discuss it either. It's unseemly to find out about your spouse from hearsay.”

The afternoon was passed in more lessons, now about the geography of the nation and how the physical isolation had given Jertul its isolation and uniqueness. At the end of the lesson Dejax joined us to inquire of my conduct.

“She's a good student,” Doctor Lapalli stated. “Her main difficulties are her reading skills. I think I can help her progress with those, however. She's shown a curiosity and an eagerness to learn. I've encouraged it although she was asking about your political career which made me a little wary.”

Dejax gazed at me. “Minanna Xenia, were you not told that you were not to ask about current political issues?” I felt my terror growing. I was genuinely frightened by her now. I tried to think of a time when I'd been warned from discussing politics but I couldn't recall any such command. Nevertheless, to question her in company would be unacceptable. I nodded, my fear growing. I heard raised voices telling me off, but I was panicking so much that I couldn't take in their meaning. “Your hand!” Dejax said insistently, as if she'd had to say in numerous times already.

I held out my right hand and gasped as Doctor Lapalli beat me across the palm with a strap. “The other,” she said firmly. My left hand received the same treatment, three sharp claps of the leather.

“I hope you'll learn to be more discreet in your curiosity, Minanna Xenia,” she said. I promised my obedience.

After my tutor had left Dejax stared at me in silence. Finally she spoke. “Spying on me now. What did you want to know from her?”

“We were discussing... I asked about the parliamentary system. And I asked if you were standing for office.”

“What did she say?”

“She said you'll become a senator next year.”

Dejax's surly disposition vanished. “She said that? You're sure she said I'd become a senator?”

“Yes, she said there are three positions and you'll be appointed to one of them.”

“Oh my! She's very well connected, so she knows about these things. Oh, Xenia, you've no idea how good this news is.”

“She said you're interested in being involved with schools policy,” I added, keen to disclose fully what I'd learnt, for fear that she'd discover this from Lapalli and I'd once more be accused of being underhanded.

“Yes. I suppose you don't approve.”

“I'm sure you'll do a fine job, Dejax.” My words sounded hollow, not even sincere to my ears.

“You have your part to play. I'm opening an academy and you can appear to help me to find suitable young ladies. And of course to get our media interested. The newspapers always like to have a new story about Saint Xenia. If only they knew.”

[frivoloussuits]

Preview: Suits/Hunger Games AU

Here’s a peek at the fic I keep procrastinating on by writing Suits 100 prompts instead, lol. Apologies in advance for any odd formatting+warnings for referenced drug use and deadly violence.

All the Capitol’s geneticists have tried and failed to produce something that can compare with Mike Ross’ brain. At three years old, he’s more literate than many of the adults around him, and he spends his days reading aloud from a dictionary, his family’s longest book, to his baby sister Jenny. His eyes, skimming over the text at stunning speed, shimmer blue like the sea, nothing like the coal and fire surrounding him in District 12.

In District 1, Lily Specter dresses her four-year-old son Harvey in his finest clothes and takes him to their city’s central park soon after winter ends. Surrounded by a horde of other children, he plays games, solving puzzles, punching targets as hard as he can, flitting through an obstacle course with all the easy grace of a spring breeze. He throws himself into the challenges with childish enthusiasm, turning downright giddy as he outstrips one opponent after another. Young as he is, he doesn’t realize these are the entrance tests for Pearson Academy, Panem’s premier training school for the Hunger Games. He doesn’t notice Jessica Pearson herself observing him from a distance.

When school starts, Mike skips particularly boring classes and instead loiters around the Hob, 12′s black market. Even though he’s too young to buy or sell anything himself, assorted shopkeepers take a liking to him, and some use him as a human calculator. When he’s not needed, he tucks himself into odd corners, soaking up old stories and the old records that Sae plays sometimes, all crackling horns and syncopated rhythm. One day he’s joined under a table by a fellow truant named Trevor, the same age as him, with a dangerous spark in his dark brown eyes.

Seven-year-old Harvey– or “Specter,” as everyone calls him nowadays– lounges in his Academy quarters, blasting jazzy music out of brand-new speakers and singing along. When other kids bang on the door and shout for him to quiet down, he simply smirks and turns the volume dial higher, because he’s added bars and bolts to his door and built a barricade from furniture to keep intruders out of his room, and nobody can stop him from doing what he wants in here.

That is, until a little redheaded girl breaks through all his barriers, circumvents all his defenses, sneaks up on him as he leans back in his chair with three of its legs off the ground, and moves as if to tip him over– only to reach across him and click the speaker’s off button instead.

As he gawps, she just raises an eyebrow and says, “Hi, I’m Donna. I just moved in next door. Shut up, please, or I won’t be so nice next time.”

In a single heartbeat, an explosion in a coal mine orphans both Trevor and Mike.

Harvey ignores the baseball bat at the back of his closet and instead brings out a dark suit. Today is the first time he’s ever been permitted to leave the Academy during school. The occasion meriting such special allowances is his father’s funeral.

When his mother shows up at the wake with another man on her arm, Harvey straightens up and tells her to go to hell. “You made a fool of Dad,” he says. “You exploited him and his legal problem this whole time, and all he ever did wrong was love you from the moment he met you. Is it so damn impossible for you to at least pretend to be faithful?”

Lily just shakes her head, torn between pity and exasperation. “That’s not how things work here, Harvey.”

In the aftermath, Mike and Jenny move in with their grandmother Edith. There’s a roof over their heads but never enough food on their plates, and the wind cuts right through the walls and their threadbare blankets to chill them to the bone.

During a particularly harsh winter, Jenny takes ill, and Trevor starts showing up at their door with extra supplies of meat and other food that he can’t possibly afford.

At the Academy, Harvey beats back his grief by hurling himself into the nonstop competition, battling all the other students who want a shot at one of 1’s Tribute spots. He regularly faces off with Scottie, a girl with flashing dark eyes and a brazen wit, and every time she forces him to the ground. When he at last wins a match, he expects her to sulk or play it off as a fluke, but instead she beams proudly at him. Then there’s Donna, who proves a damn near equal match for him. Each wins just as often as the other, and the hope of pulling ahead sharpens both of their resolves. They pummel each other with mock weapons, study for months to beat each other’s scores on Games knowledge tests, and spend every school day taunting each other.

With time, the taunting softens to playful teasing, and they gradually turn inseparable. In their rare hours of free time, they break out of the Academy and roam around the nearby city. Harvey rather suspects Jessica is aware of every time they stray outside– she seems to have a knowing glint in her eye each morning afterwards, but perhaps he’s just imagining it.

Mike starts going out to the woods with Trevor, breaking a wide array of laws simply by crossing 12’s fence. They compound the crime by poaching, hunting down animals to eat and selling whatever meat they have to spare. After some exploring, they discover a swath of wild Eufrosyne trees, and they start harvesting the leaves to sell as well. They find plenty of buyers– people seem grateful for drugs around here.

One night, they find that the fence is electrified when they try to go home, and so they are temporarily barred from 12. Trevor starts to panic, but Mike starts to plan, recalling hundreds of tricks for surviving in the wilderness that he’s learned off the Hunger Games. They end up adapting a shelter that the girl from 3 made last year and weathering the night. When the fence powers off the next morning and they return home, they find Edith and Jenny both frightened senseless.

“We’re perfectly intact,” Mike reassures them. “Nobody died!”

Trevor gives an easy smile and plants a kiss on Jenny’s lips. “Yeah, you know you can’t rid of me that easily.”

Harvey wears suits increasingly often, at interviews and dinners for fencing competitions and boxing tournaments and Mock Trials. Yet his dress is considerably plainer, just black slacks and a white T-shirt, on the day when he kills for the first time.

His victim is a patient suffering from a painful terminal illness who consented to being killed by an Academy student in exchange for money for her relatives. He knows taking her life ought to affect him– it’s an explicit opportunity to work through some of the self-loathing and moral quandaries that accompany killing ahead of the Games– yet he tries to pretend he doesn’t care. He thinks he’s doing a good job of it, until Jessica calls him to her office for a cup of tea and he winds up breaking down as he drinks it, just as he later finds out she predicted.

Days later, he’s dropped off in the wilderness with Donna for an Academy survival practical. As they huddle around their fire, in the shadow of a shelter they constructed together, she nudges him with her elbow. “I got us a present.”

“Oh?”

She pulls an old rubbing alcohol bottle out of her pack, unscrews the top, and hands it over to him. He takes a quick sniff and immediately starts chuckling. “Not quite the same alcohol it says on the label, huh?”

“Scotch, straight from Cameron Dennis’ surprisingly well-stocked cabinet.”

He grins and takes a swig. They while away the afternoon, passing the bottle back and forth and sharing increasingly ridiculous ideas for knocking off opponents in the Games, until Donna puts forth a plan with a can opener that Harvey can’t even try to top.

One bright spring morning, Edith passes away. Leaving Jenny with Trevor, Mike flees to the woods for the night, closing his fingers around the mockingjay pin she left him.

It’s impossible to ignore the Cameron Dennis problem anymore. And while Louis, the other main teacher at Pearson Academy, has his own endless issues, at least he’s not an addict.

Harvey and Donna drag Jessica down to Cameron’s office one night, when he’s out of his head with some ugly mix of alcohol and morphling, and the teacher they’ve studied under for years turns on them, slurring that Jessica ought to expel the two of them for their insubordination before lunging at Harvey. He easily sidesteps, and Jessica fires Cameron on the spot with a melancholy sigh.

“Well, that was self-sabotaging,” Harvey remarks in a half-hearted attempt at levity. “Now we’ve got to train with Louis instead.”

“No,” Jessica says sharply.

Harvey’s heart stops, as she confirms that they’ll be training in her small advanced class from now on, because she has officially decided to send them to the Games.

A few years down the road, Mike watches Dana Scott of District 1, a girl with murderous eyes and brazen confidence with all manner of deadly weapons, play in the 73rd Hunger Games. He’s fascinated in a sick sort of way, and he supposes he should root for her, if only because he’s put quite a bit of money down on her. She’s a relatively safe bet– Pearson Academy’s Tributes always start with the odds in their favor, thanks to their training and their willingness to do whatever it takes to win– and he grows more certain of her chances as the Games unfold, as images of Dana stabbing, garroting, and poisoning burn themselves into his brain. She pushes through the arena, along with her partner Vanessa, a young woman who matches her guile and skill in battle when necessary but has a sort of vulnerability about her that Mike rarely sees in Pearson students.

In between the deaths and fighting, the cameras show the coaches and sponsors and Gamemakers all mingling. Mike sees Jessica Pearson herself schmoozing with Caesar Flickerman, both wearing smiles that could kill. In the background, he identifies Tom Keller, the Capitol citizen in charge of most of the Games’ main gambling systems. The camera starts to pan away as Tom throws an arm around an up-and-coming Pearson Academy student, a young man strutting around with slicked hair and a suit that cost more than Mike’s house.

Mike rolls his eyes and tells Jenny, “If I ever try to look like that, feel free to smack me.”

“Will do,” she giggles, “after I figure out how you managed to afford anything remotely like that and take some of that money for myself.”

Mike gives her a thumbs-up.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” he says a few minutes later, rising from his seat with a yawn. “Wake me when the Gamemakers start firebombing the kids from 5.”

“How do you know they will?” Jenny frowns.

"They will.”

And they do.

Dana and Vanessa win, and they visit 12 and all the other districts on their Victory Tour. Yet the Gamemakers and academies and gamblers have already turned their attention forwards, to the 74th Hunger Games.