I haven’t been a functioning member of society in all actuality. For the past two and a half years I was addicted to opiates and all the stuff that cut with heroin these days. I was given an opportunity to take a job that pays well along with some massive benefits instead of going to work the same summer job I’ve always felt more comfortable at. My life has been spiraling for the past month even worse after having finally quit this stuff. My skin and face aged, I lost track of working out, my mind would go places I’d never be able to pull back from. I’ve been eating mushrooms for the past week, one big dose at first but then microdoses since then to try and bring my self back to reality with some new clarity and perspective. Compared to how manic and bad my psychosis was, I’m now feeling more myself and human again. Before I truly wasn’t able to get out of the fight or flight state whatsoever and mushrooms did that for me, though I’m still lacking ego, confidence and assertiveness.
Anyways, I live in a big city where I never felt I’ve belonged and I’m now being pushed to take this job. I am so nervous and worried about how I will perform or interact with people, how people will perceive me. It’s a very serious job with serious rules. I’ve always done physical labor having worked in a kitchen and doing grounds work but this is in a massive corporate building containing the corporate Elves. I just want to be able to go into this with a more positive mindset so I don’t feel as stuck or bound to this. If I was using I wouldn’t have any worries about this thanks to the farce confidence it instills in me. I probably need anxiety/serotonin meds but I really don’t want that. I was 👌🏽 this close to using last night, but I know that will only make things worse.
Thanks for reading:/ I’m open to any tips or suggestions for anything .

THE BITTER TRUTH WEEKLY FORECAST with The Lady Bitterness
WEEK OF… April 2nd, 2023 - April 8th, 2023
Main Theme: Who Are You And What Do You Need?
Early Week - Sunday, Monday, Tuesday:
The first part of this week will be led by a very Mercurial energy. On Monday, we enter yet another mental shift as the Planet of Communication moves into Fixed Earth. I am talking about Taurus. This is the most grounded energy in astrology. Taurus energy appreciates material reality and all of the sensory benefits that are unique to this experience here on Earth. Taurus is self-reliant and finds its center through evaluating what is worth its time, energy and resources. There is a certainty about Taurus that comes from within.
As Mercury moves through this sign, our mental energy may become fixated on achieving this sense of stability for ourselves. This is a time to simplify our thoughts so that we can communicate a solid message when it is needed of us. Taurus is not concerned with every tedious detail. Instead, this energy is encouraging us to shave off the excess mental nervousness and stick to what we can see, hear and touch. The answers to our questions will come in the simplest, most matter of fact form during this time. There is no need to answer life’s biggest questions while Mercury stays here. Let’s focus on what is right in front of us so that we can create a stable life.
Having said all of that, there are some roadblocks in our way. As soon as Mercury puts up its feet in Taurus, it clumsily bumps into the Ruler Of The Underworld, Pluto. Aquarius has been the home of this powerful planet for just about one week. Although this will turn out to be a twenty-year influence overall, we are only in the beginning stage as of now. When Mercury and Pluto bump heads, we are placed in a position where we have to dig deep into our minds and pull out the fragments of painful truths that we have been hiding away. Pluto does not let us mess around with denial. It serves up the truth on a boiling hot plate and shoves it into our hands whether we are wearing oven mitts or not.
Aquarius and Taurus are two kinds of stubborn. Like I said, Taurus requires simplicity and won’t move a finger if something proves to be unsteady. Aquarius, on the other hand, requires innovation and will not back down from its grand idea for the sake of stability. Our most stubborn opinions will be put through the purification process of Pluto this week. We will learn where we are digging in our heels in protest to change. We will also have to acknowledge that as much as it is important to know our worth, it is also essential to contribute something valuable to the greater good.
Here lies the struggle. We are learning how to protect our energy and protect our resources while also knowing what we are capable of contributing to our communities. It is a slippery slope between giving too much of ourselves away vs not sharing our value with those who may really need it.
On Tuesday we have the final Chiron conjunction of this year. I have been talking about this asteroid for far too long now, but this lesson is one that has to sink in. By the grace of the stars, we are given a great deal of strength as the Sun casts its rays on this Wounded Healer. Wherever the Sun shines, we are revitalized. We feel capable, important and present. As it meets up with Chiron, the identity wounds we have been working through get to bask in the light of day. If all goes well, we will see with complete clarity the strength we possess from the experiences that have tested our integrity. The essence of who we are, never goes away. So, even if we falter or are intimidated into submission, this is only momentary. We are going through a time period where the energy of Aries is becoming more and more prominent. We have to learn how to respect our right to take up space and be self-permitting.
Mid-Week - Wednesday, Thursday:
Towards the end of Wednesday night, we will move through this year’s Full Moon In Libra. This comes about mid-way through this Aries Season. Like we have been discussing, Aries is the zodiac sign that focuses on Self-Advocacy. These past couple of weeks have been encouraging in a sense that we are working on making room for ourselves in our lives. This Full Moon will be reflecting back to us the impact our fuller presence is making on our relationships.
Libra is the other half of Aries. Both landing on either side of the Axis of Respect, Libra represents Mutual Respect. The shared consideration of each others’ needs and wants. This is a sign that ideally allows two (or more) people to be equally heard in a fair exchange of accommodating decisions. During this lunation, we will see with more clarity how our attempts to honor our own needs is leading to healthier relationships and relieving us of unhealthy ones.
I also want to mention the connection being made between Mercury and the North Node in Taurus. A sensitive point of Soul Growth, the North Node in Taurus is pulling towards a simplified lifestyle where we can prioritize our own sustainability. When Mercury crosses over this energy, our mindsets become more secure in this shift in our mentality. Moving away from emotionally rotting circumstances, into growing our own version of peace and serenity even if we may have less resources overall by doing so. The goal is inner security.
Weekend: Friday and Saturday
Over the weekend, this most significant energy comes from Mercury entering its Shadow Period. A few weeks before this planet begins its retrograde, there is always a ‘Shadow Period’ that marks the themes that we will be reflecting on during the actual retrograde. That begins this weekend. Whatever pops up during the next few days will come up again as we move through Mercury’s journey in Taurus. We may have to make certain decisions or have certain conversations, and this time before the Retrograde is bringing up what those conversations may be about. Then, during the few weeks of the Retrograde, we will reflect on our opinions, on the facts we know to be true, and eventually we will move forward once our minds are made up.
In Taurus, remember to keep our minds grounded and centered. What are tangible facts we can count on to be real and accurate? This is not a time to get lost in the clouds, but to think practically and realistically about the circumstances at hand. How can we build a more sustainable life that supports our health, wealth and sense of contentment?
Crystal Recommendations: Encouraging Satisfaction and Inner Fulfillment
Garnet
Obsidian
Jade
Jasper
What To Expect Next Week
Venus in Gemini
Sun/Jupiter

I’m trying to put in a new faucet for my kitchen sink and the issue I’m having is the main threaded pipe for the old sink has a faucet mounting bracket with no nut. I’m wondering how could I possibly unthread the bracket so that I don’t have to saw off my old faucet.

This is the first part of my novella, Lady Lu (the title is still in the works). A brief synopsis: this novella follows a week in the life of Lu, a poor cardboard collector who lives in Sham Shui Po, Hong Kong. As she encounters bizarre obsessions her mind indulges in and an amplified existence her body endures, she is forced to witness a world and a self that has changed beyond recognition.
Thank you so much if you chose to read it and provide feedback. It's a bit long, sorry, but I hope it's worth the read.
I.
Her hands can’t feel much now, for years of harsh tsaiguabu soaked in watered down dish soap, grainy trash bags, and surprisingly sharp cardboard edges have carved out valleys of veins and wrinkled palms and faded lifelines; they have dulled her senses. She can’t yet make up her mind as to whether she preferred that or not, because sometimes, numbness is the best antidote to incurable pain, but other times, the monotonous humdrum of that anesthesia takes away the simple joy of sensation, that which can be found in a slew of cold water washing away the sweat from a back-breaking load of cardboard. It is hard for Reality to keep her attention; she can no longer tell cotton from polyester by touch, or hot from cold. At least this helps her to better sink into the comfort of her bare stained mattress in the sweltering heat waves. They go up to forty degrees sometimes in the summer (some kooky old neighbors went out to put frying pans on the asphalt to see if the eggs could really cook and yes, they did cook) and old man Xu Pin right next door isn’t the most pleasant-smelling fella.
Still, the snap-crackle of fan blades spinning in a stumbling staccato rhythm welcomes her back to Reality. Although the fiery defiance of dawn’s sun rays has just begun to pierce through grimy windows, there are already voices echoing the halls. Some, like her, are cardboard collectors, whose work hours start from sunrise; some are restless sleepers, who make their early stirrings everyone else’s problem, loud bastards, the lot; and some are already offering their consciousness up for sacrifice. They cough their lungs out, day and night, a raspy version of a heartbeat in the background.
Lu pulls open the plywood sliding doors to let some sun into her windowless room. These plywood rooms are the newer areas of the subdivided apartments; on the other side naked mesh wire separates the exposed residents. Right opposite from her, she can see Xu Pin with a glass pipe, obscured by the half-opened door at certain angles.
“Lu! How the hell are you on this fine morning? Getting ready for work?” he says, gaunt face spasming in time with his stresses and intonation.
“Old brother, I’m telling you, stay off the drugs, ay. Your liver isn’t what it used to be.”
He waves it off, cracking a toothy laugh.“It’s not like I got much to lose.” Xu Pin laughs a lot, and it always comes from deep in his belly.
“Have you forgotten about Wednesday braised pork?” Lu replies and he concedes, laughing again, but once she’s turned her back, faint wisps of milky smoke waft over.
This conversation used to be an everyday occurrence, but soon enough Lu gave up because he’s heard the lectures enough times to know for himself, and if the glass pipe finds itself lit again in the middle of the night, then she supposes that’s his response. She understands though; you gotta do what you gotta do to instill just enough life back in these fizzled-out corpse-like bodies; it’s a defibrillator; it’s a half-plugged life support. Hers is work; her knuckles and stocky build are hard-knock strong, made for work. To not put herself to work would be a waste! She knows those fancy suit-clad men turn their noses up at her carts of cardboard when they aren’t ignoring her, but if the world was really left to their hands, the landfills would do as its name suggests: fill up the land. They want everything to be shiny new new, fresh out the oven, practically still smelling of the factories and the small overworked hands that assembled them.
She pulls out her folded cart from behind the fan, ducking under her multicolored hangers dangling on the pipes that lined the walls. Her walls are sparse, save some hooks for plastic bags, narrow shelves nailed there, and a calendar, to which the page with yesterday’s date still clings on, as if afraid to face the new day. She doesn’t have many material possessions, partially because her room is already struggling to fit a mattress and a shelf – any more and she’d be buried alive when they eventually topple over – and partially because she doesn’t see much value in material items. She only needs her fan to shoo away the heat waves and her TV to get through days when work ends early because the gods smiled upon her rival instead, Chan jie, that sneaky little somethin fast-walking to steal all her cardboard. Not many options other than her good old TV to keep her mind running: she would prop a lumpy pillow up, lie down, and stay there unmoving for hours on end, filling up her brain and body with news, gossip, travesties, anything really, to push out all the bits that belong to her. She wouldn’t have anyone to talk to at this hour either; in the afternoon, not many people would still be in their rooms — either they are working or finding a place, any place, to take a break from home. If she has enough energy, she’d get out her best outfit, comb through her hair and tie it up into a neat bun, and turn an Ikea-framed photograph that normally faced the walls around to talk to it. The photograph is frayed at the edges, the color fading to a sort of bruise-purple. It isn’t a very good picture if one pays closer attention: it’s out of focus and the boy in the picture is making the nastiest of faces, which she had told him a million upon million times not to do – “don’t put the same fingers you just put in your nose in your mouth!” Facing the wall is also a one-eyed teddy bear looking like it’s been to hell or worse, gifted to her from someone long ago. The cotton filling is ripped out in some places, so she sewed it back together, but it still threatens to bulge out of every seam. In short, the bear’s seen better days.
In any case, it’s not as though she has much money to spare for amenities after treating herself to a hearty bowl of braised pork belly a week, which is what’s kept her going for so long; really don’t underestimate the power of a warm meal. Although she has been the best cardboard collector on Yen Chow Street for three years straight now (in her opinion; there isn’t an official ranking), there’s not much money in it – she knows that. She had flipped through mountainous stacks of newspaper clippings, scramble of phone numbers scratched on post-it notes or the backs of receipts (that she saved up with an irrational dream of winning the lottery in mind), but she was met with voice mails or dismissive promises that scheduled a job interview that would never go anywhere. She couldn’t read and write either, so there went half the jobs she qualified for, and Wenhan had tried to teach her, in between loads of laundry or while she waited for the chicken thighs to marinate, but Lord, she could not tell this stroke from that line for the life of her. Her little brother, the smart one of the family, enjoyed the prestige at the top, while Lu’s teachers only sang praises of her inhuman cleaning speed and diligence for learning: respectable but misplaced.
“If you’re so good at cleaning,” her mother had declared, “then why don’t you come help me with our chores?”
Her father stood up from the stained armchair, which had been a loyal friend on lonely beer-filled nights to him. “No use for a half-brained girl to waste time there. I don’t want Lu-tang sissying around with a bunch of those snobby educated folks either but your mother begged.”
“Your father is right. You’re better off here, Lulu.”
There was no point in fighting them; it would take a million horses to bend their iron will. Lu used to think that their brains were once filled with liquid cement that solidified and hardened and cracked. In the meantime, she would do as they say, maintain peace, feign obedience, until her opening came and she would run without stopping all the way to the city, even if she were barefoot, even if the roads were soaked. The promises that her aunties had chirped about, glossy men and painted women, and the mysterious dangers her ah-ma had sensationalized, the bat-wielding criminals lurking around every corner, enticed her. And when the chance did come, she really didn’t hesitate. Freedom came at a hefty price, tooth and nail. Failure was not an option, and as long as she stays in the city, she hasn’t failed. She won’t give them the satisfaction.
She slides on red plastic slippers, the same ones the rich kids use to squash crickets out of boredom or cruelty and creeps down, rung by rung, down the ladder. This apartment is packed with tenants, sixteen of them to be exact, and though Lu moved in first six years ago, she’s still considered one of the newer residents. Only the top bunks were available at that time. And now whenever Yui Fong tai-tai complained of her heavy-footed earbud-despising upstairs neighbor thumping around at odd hours in the night, Lu would count her blessings and store this memory for when she curses the rickety metal ladder. In general, noise is a constant here: these coffin rooms are not forgiving of familial conflicts, or even the faint kow-pows of old kung-fu movies to remind them of an earlier, more mythical and therefore better time. They are stacked and crammed like kennels, fit for a dog, the rich would probably jeer during their fancy dinner parties. No, they wouldn’t waste time for such a topic, pitiful to them for sure – in Sham Shui Po, the scavengers scrabbling for scraps are swept away into these monstrous buildings: out of sight, out of mind.
Just last week, in fact, the government posted a clearance notice for the homeless occupying the bridge a few blocks away – really, eviction would be the right word for it, because it was their home, and wasn’t the government the one who said home is where the heart is with a cheery smile (well, she consoled herself, at least they will get more smile lines than anyone). It was because they were making quite a disturbance, because of all the sins, disgust had the strongest stench to it. She knew a lady who stayed there for a while once upon a time; she was always fired up about something, she remembered. That lady got up at six a.m. sharp every day to go for a jog, then came back with a renewed passion for life. She would ring Lu up, saying there was a horde of tourists near the bridge and she would talk trash about them, which Grandma Lu was always secretly giddy about. If a particularly ostentatious tourist were decked in white fox fur in Hong Kong of all places, they’d pray to Earth God for it to get hotter or rainy, at their own expense. “She’d look like a wet sewer cat,” said the lady. “More like a clump of ji dan gao stamped on by muddy boots,” said Lu. “God, these rich people! In this heat?” “In this air?” They’d have a good laugh, and a good laugh was the best medicine she’d tried so far. But staring was an abominable crime (this only applies to one direction), and the rich tourists felt slighted by this attention, so whispers of rumors that eviction was near flew around. Lu didn’t understand their annoyance; wasn’t the point of wearing such luxuries to show off? for people to gawk at? Sure there’d be negative attention amongst, but this was a small price for opulence, and evidence for one’s existence.
She went to the bridge a week later to see if any of them stuck around – that lady would, wouldn’t she? – but it was empty as a properly finished bowl of rice, dog-licked-clean. Keeping an eye out during her cardboard runs was easy enough, but she could not find a good enough reason for herself to justify any more searching, unless she admitted to herself that this lady made some impression on her akin to friendship, but for her, such things were weak links. One tear, one wound was enough; the disease would spread, and hopelessness would infect you. What she called hopelessness though, others called enlightenment. Clarity! they whispered, rubbing their hands together in cold winters, or fanning their sweaty necks in summer; as they jumped down Tsing Ma Bridge, they embraced the air, and though none of them were able to recount the tale, she assumed that flying was the most wonderful experience they had had, a last hurrah of sorts.
Palming the concrete wall surface wedged against her body, she squeezed her way down the hallway. The kitchen came into view; so did Yui Fong, hunched over a cutting board, who always said ‘early bird gets the worm’ and did as she preached.
“Oh, smells delicious!” Lu sidestepped onto grubby tiles.
“Don’t you lie to me now, Lu po-po; I only make steamed or boiled dishes.” Yui Fong had tried to get everyone on this floor to do the same, to no avail alas, because stir-fry glossed in oil and dripping in sauces was a siren’s call. But just wait, they’ll regret it; once they have a pat of their belly and take a look at the walls dotted with browning stains like burn holes in paper, the siren rears her head. Oil was impossible to scrub off, Lu had tried and will testify to this, let alone sixteen times that.
“How I admire you for it. Before I forget, do you want some turnips for tonight? The ah-bei there told me there’s a fresh shipment coming in today. I’ll be stopping by the market anyway so it’ll be no trouble.”
Yui Fong stopped her stirring. “Ah you’re too kind, Lu. That would be great. They say the secret to living to ninety-nine years old is turnip soup. I will save some for you.”
“Thank you, thank you. But ninety-nine years is too damn long for me, ha-ha.”
She catches herself eyeing the coffee jar; it’s been so long since she’s felt that miraculous shiver of energy, since her last doctor visit burdened her with the knowledge that her heart was ill-suited for caffeine. She resists; she’ll save that for an especially hard day.
Once again Lu finds her palm hugging the wall as she makes her way downstairs. Opening the main door – as always Fortune Guest House and fancy Vegetarian’s Paradise stand imposing. The sun splashes onto the city, just like the rain had done just moments ago (such is summer weather), the shine making the city look like it were wrapped in cellophane. Perhaps it is; she has never touched any of those new skyscrapers; it could very well be still in its protective gear to shield itself from the dirty outside world. Mannequin-like people in it safe and sound too.
One of the wheels on her cart is faulty, so it skids along the puddles spasming like a kid about to piss his pants in class. She hurries along the length of Yu Chau Street, stopping occasionally to pick up a spare cardboard here or there, but her main goal is the big Seven-Eleven two blocks down that hands stacks of them out and oh here the phrase ‘early bird gets the worm’ truly applies.
Big fruit lies in store, big fruit, she tells herself as she resists the urge to stop at some smaller stores first. She remembers this story her mother once told her – all her bedtime stories were just a cover for some secret moral lesson – the Lord says to Man, “here, pick the most beautiful rock you see. There are lots of precious rocks ahead of you, diamonds galore, but there is no turning back. Pick only one, and pick wisely.” The man passes by pebbles, then big slabs of rock, rubies, emeralds – now we’re getting somewhere! The world is his oyster, and oh the pearls it’ll offer to him! they make his mouth water! Man thinks, as long as he keeps going (the saying patience is a virtue drolled on in his head), the treasures can only get better. So he fights temptation, strangles it beyond its dying breath, and forgoes diamonds for something better; there’s always better. Tipping the balance, eradicating satisfaction end in crumbled hopes and clumps of dirt, which lay in wait for him at the end.
If she had the chance, Lu would never pass up tangibility for some abstract possibility in the clouds, in the fog. It’s given her good times, perhaps not excellent but good enough for her. So she gave hurried thanks, snatched the cardboard and didn’t bother to tie up the stack with pink plastic string, stumbling with her cart down down down.
And there she stands, in all her ghastly atrociousness, one hand on a leaning Pisa-tower of cardboard, one hand on her hip, smirking at Lu. The devil in plastic quilted jacket! Lu tsks and slinks off to queue for any remaining scraps.
“If it isn’t Lu po-po!”
“If it isn’t Chan jie,” she wishes.
“Got some more hours of sleep today, did you?”
“That must mean I look particularly good today then. You should try it, more sleep I mean. It’s not good to wear yourself out,” Lu entertains her. The alternative, staring at the dizzying traffic in the streets, isn’t a strong contender.
Finally it’s her turn and as she predicts, there isn’t much cardboard left. Well, bit by bit is how the pile grows. And now she’s determined, out of spite, to gather at least more than Chan jie; it won’t do to just submit to her gloating, no it won’t. The shadows tower over her; it must still be early morning. They cast down on metal garage doors, which sever them into wavering static, a little to the left or the right. Lu turns the corner onto Tai Nan street. Leather stench hits her without warning, recognizing her veteran status. Leather may be pretty but it sure doesn’t agree with the heat; at this rate it’ll taste worse than a piece of that over-boiled beef shoulder she had the displeasure of chewing at Fat Man Chou’s. She sees the signs hovering above, this company and that – Tong-De, Mian-Fong, they all sound the same to her – extending past where they’re welcome; they look like news headlines framing her. Imagine that! Her, smack in the middle of Headline Daily’s front page, still with the flowing black hair she oiled up and massaged every night in the dark, twirling around in that yellow sundress, some hot new celebrity on her arm. And the reporters, they’ll crowd in droves, “Lady Lu, look here!”, “No, here! Tell us, who are you wearing?” And she’ll say proudly, spine straight-up, “My mamma made it,” teeth all gleaming in the flash, white and pearly still…
It doesn’t have to be that; she’s never been a fame chaser. She could also join the other side and don a pair of glasses, notepad in hand, expose the corruption in glass towers and the seedy underbelly gorged with triad legends. A glimpse of a tattooed arm or the lack of an arm (for if you betrayed them, their infamous meat cleaver would kiss the outer skin, then force its way into the sinews, a brandishing of tough love) would spark rumors. It is in their nature that rumors exaggerate, but this time Lu isn’t so sure; the Triad’s name precedes them; there must be a reason. Aside from their chopping prowess, they apparently also had the magical ability to induce amnesia, like wizards! Lu’s seen on the news one day that all five eyewitnesses who were supposed to testify against a Triad leader suddenly succumbed to memory loss; at least with memory you’re more likely to get that back, as opposed to an arm. Well, those are all old dreams; she reminds herself to not get lost in the once-upon-a-times. One thing comes and one thing goes: even though she does live near the dark side now, her youth has dissolved like the black pigment in her hair. She’s much too concerned about getting by day to day to get into any of that.
To make up for her overactive imagination, Lu’s developed a skill to absentmindedly pick up cardboard like a drug-sniffing dog. Her tendons take over, and she lets them; she can do it blindfolded even. It’s a skill as worthy of admiration as, say, sprinting a one-hundred-meter dash. Come on, let’s see that Usain Bolt haul these stacks! (She’s impressed herself with her outstanding memory; apparently hearing the name once on the news, in passing too, is enough!)
Lu sifts through her latest cardboard conquests tugging at the hastily-tied strings. Her trusty pen-knife is always within reach in her pocket, which she checks daily to make sure there are no holes. First she slices the cardboard down with the precision of a butcher; corrugated wrinkles smiling at her. Then, using her fists, she pounds down to flatten them, stay there now don’t you move, she warned. The cardboard defers to her at once. Once they were spectacular too; this box once carried Korean strawberries in its arms, sailing across more seas than she’s seen; and this one? parts of a Philips lamp; then, cram school workbooks. Whatever was in them has gone on to live, not necessarily better lives, but living nonetheless.
Not before long though, her cart starts to wobble more than the stacks can take. They’re threatening to tip over at any minute now, so taking them to a nearby recycling depot is the best course of action, Lu decides. She’s saving up for a new cart, one of them fancy ones with a bell so she wouldn’t have to clear her throat to scrape out any hoarseness, and yell with a voice unexpected of such a short woman, “Excuse me please! Let me through for a second, thank you!” It’s tough to compete with caged canaries squawking, cars honking, and market-people squabbling. Plus, the cart has four functional wheels. She’ll have to get used to that.
Hearing the desperate bargaining at the bigger recycling depots, truckloads of’em, she can’t help but chuckle. She’s been in the game for so long, she knows all the neighborhood secrets. She knows that if you cut across the big parking lot, as swift as a mother cutting watermelon for her screaming children in the peak of summer, because at any time there can be a car jumpscaring the living spirit out of you, you can find, squeezed between an electronics store and a shoe store, a little-known depot. A kind old couple runs this place, complete with decrepit green-tinted walls and a permanently sticky floor; god knows how they’ve kept this place afloat. They are always generous with their weighing: if Lu’s cardboard weighed at seven point eight kilograms, Mr. Lam would wave it off and round up to eight. It makes a world of difference, five cents worth. The big depots would cheat ya and say “Oh it’s tattered, it’s no good…” isn’t it all the same recycled! Another thing they don’t have: Mrs. Lam’s various holiday dishes that she shoves in Lu’s hands because she already knows the ol’ song and dance of “Aiya, no, Lam tai-tai, you’re too kind…are you sure? Really are you sure?” Here Lu must cut in and say, before you think she’s selfish for not sharing this info with her fellow collectors, it’s every woman for herself in this line of work, it ain’t fair but ho-ho what part about any of this is?
This other trick she’s also acquired by way of close observation, not trade talk; at first she only attributed their early hustling to diligence, but soon she realized that Hong Kong humidity had its perks. In the morning, air – in the form of wet particles – gushes into her nostrils, sinks its melting claws in the unwilling cardboard, burdening it with added weight. While this exchange is going on, with hawk-like eyes, Lu swoops in and captures the heavy cardboard, heavy with promise of a few cents more.
“Altogether…twenty-nine kilograms. There you go!”
Ey, not bad. But still she inquires, careful to celebrate, “How much?” Prices fluctuate at the drop of a hat; now whose hat? big Boss up north, of course.
“Seven cents per kilo, just like last week,” Mr. Lam beamed. This plus some fruit money is just enough to live on; and every day at Mr. Lam’s recycling depot, the fate of the week has been decided: a good week or a bad week, all depending on whether there will be enough room in the budget for an extra helping of sausage. She pats herself on the back; she’s done a mighty good job today.
Off she goes, off to Apliu Street, the thieves’ market, plucking the broken electronic components out, before snatching away all the cardboard before anyone else even laid their eyes on it. She gallops with the feet of a horse and hauls with the belly of a supernatural spirit. That’s the norm though; it’s a hidden prerequisite to become a collector. Competition is fierce for a Tuesday, but it’s all about winning the long race, the war over mere battles. So when she feels sweat beads roll down to her eyes, which blink angrily at the salty intrusion, she decides perhaps it’s time for a sit-down.
There it is – her bench, glistening gray-green with glassy paint-like splotches on it, and all hers for the whole lunch break. In her pink velcro-stick bag hanging on the side of her cart she has tucked away a neatly-wrapped Seven-Eleven pork-floss onigiri. She savors every taste of that, no matter that it is cold and nothing like the homemade ones, certified Jiangsu authentic, and oh she imagines the smell leads her up to gilded temples, to yellowed wheat fields, wherever it would go, she shall follow… Amongst all the chewing, suddenly her tongue goes numb, eerily tasteless, more than before at least. The culprit: a plastic bit stuck in the rice. She never knew how to open these goddamned plastic wrapping, step one, step two, ah just rip it apart and be done with it! Maybe when she first came to the city – she admits, she treasured the way each strip would glide down its destined pathway, the instructions, like they knew the answers and if you just follow the steps, you’ll get there, they assured. Like hell they do. They’re just better at slapping the horses’ butts, then climbing up the social ladder with those same dirty hands; that’s not even to mention the ones already at the top, sitting there on human thrones.
Lu swears, next time – and this time it will be different – she’ll make herself a packed lunch instead of this convenience store junk. A strange feeling, to scold herself the same way she would to… no one in particular, any picky brat. It is at times like these when she feels so close to Sleep that she’d be grateful for the ever-present noise in the streets; now are those pots and pans she hears? Ah, Sleep would be so motherly and kind and She’d embrace her; hard to fight that and gravity off; her eyelids kept drooping. Being good at waking up on time every day means the biggest yawns, impossibly big; she could swallow her throat whole and suck out all the air around. But the shouts – she makes out signs as well so perhaps it’s from a protest – won’t let her doze off. That is good; it keeps her schedule in check.
Where to next? Her legs march to the beat of Sham Shui Po’s thumping heart; as her feet slap down onto solid ground, she imagines feeling the grainy texture of Poplar Street through her worn soles. Like a meticulously trained doctor whose finger presses down at the exact spot to find a pulse, without hesitant circling indicating trial and error, Lu needs not to wait for the city to tell her what it needs. The alleys coiling around main streets, the telephone wires that drape lazily off apartment balconies, hell, even the fly-swatters spinning in dazed anger – they divulge secrets to her. This is a shortcut, they say. Look out! The vegetable vendor is hosing down the street again, they say. Perhaps the city’s roots have taken hold of her, boring inside to twist together with her veins. The city is a good ally to have on your side; who else has been around longer than these stoic, silent observers? They lend a different sort of comfort than people, something more stable. Concrete is by far a stabler material than flesh.
As soon as Lu steps onto the zebra crossing, the red guy bumps out the green, and she is forced to take a step backwards. These motorcycles are ruthless; it’s hard to imagine a time when roads were for people and vehicles were relegated to the tracks. From the front, kicked-up dust from zooming cars veil her vision; from the sides, pedestrians wedge themselves beside her. Among them is a tour guide with uncountable orange ducklings following him by way of microphone-enhanced instructions and a muscle-shirt-clad gym rat whose armpits cast two droopy damp shadows. And his logic is to use something even stronger to cover up all that sweat. If there ever are more cockroaches in her room than she can thwack, it’ll be a good idea to invite him over; not even the roaches’ll dare approach this! She will never and can never forget the toxic fumes of that odorous body spray weaseling their way into the seams of her gangster Mickey Mouse shirt (actually, it’s spelled ‘Mikeye Mouse’ for copyright reasons). Bought it half off at the wet market; she supposes this manly body spray does fit the whole gold-chain aesthetic better than its original fish stink.
Although this busy bustle is transpiring all around, Lu feels calm at this intersection. Time stands still for her, but not for everybody else; they’re still hurrying to catch this bus, scurrying for work. Soon she will join them, once this red light turns green. For now though, the red light absolves her of the guilt that always comes with rest; it feels like the Lord has cupped a bubble around her to protect her from ever-marching Time. She watches them through glassy eyes, detached, in her own world, with her own set of rules. Queen Lu! her subjects would hail, donning the poofiest scruff-collars, scattered daisies on a meadow. As Queen, the first law she shall invoke? Free mandatory massage and needling for every citizen! Every week!
Blink, and it’s green. So starts the countdown. At the end of this countdown the bomb doesn’t go off, but the impatient motorcycles sure will. Hand gripping her cart, Lu tries to cross the road, and she could’ve, if only these bastards would stop their squeezing and give poor old Lu a fighting chance! Her cart has become a burden, getting stuck between indistinguishable skinny-jeanned legs. It’s twenty fourteen; shouldn’t they have invented flying cars by now? and by extension, flying carts? Oh the view she’ll have, sweeping over the blocky districts, dwindling dots still scrambling about, but that’ll be of no concern to her, not anymore… But enough fantasies! she clears her throat. She’s a woman on a mission; survival is her impetus. She yanked her cart, bouncing between legs, and it’s working, she’s moving ahead! Apparently not fast enough, red overtakes her. In her rush – everything whizzing by in streaks of light, a cacophony of roaring motors – the light sedates her with a poisonous intention, and this dizzying hum that vibrates in her brain transfixes her in one spot. As her mind constrains her muscles to follow the zebra stripes, also having to dodge the swerving bicycles, gravity becomes lighter, and floats up, her feet too – into the air – and she trips, having not quite yet mastered the art of walking on air. The curb grazes her lower leg, but she clambers up quick; she’s a resilient old woman (thanks to her long earlobes) – she always manages; and her foot steps onto the sidewalk before the first engine whir.
“Po-po, are you okay?” The voice rings clear and breaks her brief trance. A smooth pale hand sticks stiff out – whoever it is must not have worked a day in their life.
“That’s okay, no need.” Grasping a more stable pole instead, she thanks the young man anyway and prepares to get going. But he is so terribly insistent, and pushy; so are the pedestrians who cannot stand even a second’s time lent. He repeats, a glitching robot, “You must need some help pushing the cart;” hands waving anywhere but near it. Hasn’t he heard the nos that came before? So far all Lu sees is: more ‘help’; more mess. Swarms of busybees dodge them by a hair; if they didn’t, she wouldn’t blame them; they are blocking the sidewalk. They are the people she’d give side-eyes to, taking up the whole street and whatnot, hmph.
When the shadowed cloud descends and shields her from light’s prying piercing pupils, she hurriedly slips away into obscurity. What’s important right now is breaking out of this crowd, seeking space; perhaps under one of the rusty metal roofs? Lu feels like a general, commanding her cart-soldier to sniff out a possible pathway; this requires strategy, my friend; she’d direct the army to flank from both sides in a V shape, yes, a V shape like in Red Cliff. She rides on out on army horses.
Safe in isolation now, she leans against the ridged column. She’s glad it wasn’t a sprain: the initial sting would be momentary — she can stand that — but the dull throb that would accompany her every step: that she fears. You can’t shake that off; it’s a stubborn leech. Still, better that than forced kindness. The two types that exist in this man-eat-man world: forced and malicious. The former, borne out of guilt whose stains of repugnance can’t be done away, no matter how many spins, topsy-turvy perspective shifts you give it. One look at the eyes, avoidant and seeded with pity, and she knows. The latter drapes a cotton coat over her shoulders; as it rains, and it will, no amount of shaking can rid Lu of the increasing weight as the tension between each waterlogged particle in each thread of yarn drags her down. Your debt catches up with you; kindness racks up a high bill.
So she continues on her cardboard quest; she hates to leave things unfinished. Lu is the Tortoise, crawling slowly but surely, despite the chances of winning against the Hare initially seeming ghost-thin. And who is this Hare? Chan jie, for one, and those damned government inspectors too! The spirit of competition scratches her back, tingly with nerves alive; the sidewalk suddenly feels like a moving walkway, and she bursts forwards, always forwards.

Link to the original prompt.
And so it came that Amber chose sleep. Blissful sleep, of a kind that feels like a wonder as you dwell in it, of a kind that rejuvenates mind and body upon waking up.
Amber decided never to wake up again. Hell offered little in the way of second-rate mortality, only in strange aeons could death die, but both Satan and God were too old for weird Old Testament stuff and had cast off Cthulhu a long time ago.
Toby - previously named Satan but unsatisfied with the mismatching expectations of the newly dead meeting him - took note of Amber's fate. He wrote with a Montblanc pen, the notebook had been crafted with the finest leather and marketed at ridiculously inflated price, but you had to admit that the absence of noise it made when you opened it had something classy to it.
So here was Toby, dressed in his impeccable and absurdly expensive suit, standing on the lush grass of Hell, taking note while looking at the verdant hills rolling in the distance. It was a warm day in hell, but a fresh breeze kept its dwellers fresh.
Wonderful workplace, but it made customers think they got to the Heavens when they most definitely didn't. Sartre once wrote L'Enfer, c'est les autres - Hell is others. As Toby could testify, Sartre was full of it, and Toby made him cry a lot until Sartre accepted to write the sign:
Hell is others, actually no, it isn't, sorry. - Sartre
It hung at the entrance of hell right under the following sign:
Arbeit macht frei. Nein, eigentlich nicht, entschuldigung. - Rommel
Which itself hung right underneath this one:
Ye who enter here, abandon all hope. Or not. How was I supposed to know? I'm an artist, not a theologian. - Dante
Somehow, this got customers even more confused.
Currently though, this didn't matter too much, for Toby had decided to give Hell a new spin recently.
To newcomers, he gave the following speech:
"Hello there, fellas," eventual confetti would be thrown here, "welcome to Hell with a capital H," flamethrowers would melt the confetti in mid-air right there, "but it's not what you think it is. You can pick your poison. Wealth? Women? An unending buffet? A successful invasion in Afghanistan? The sky is the limit... But wait, we're already there."
At this point, Archangel Gabriel dressed in a Giorgio Armani suit, would join the conversation and say "I'm the archangel Gabriel, and this is my favorite Hell in the afterlife."
After the first speech, it was noted that the flaming confetti diverted the customer's attention away from the spoken words, and a customer asked if there isn't supposed to be only one hell anyway, which vexed Gabriel immensely. Schedule conflict made it hard for him to be there for each arrival anyway.
So instead, Toby sat on leather chairs with the newly dead around a mahogany desk, he offered them tea, and explained the situation.
And that's how Amber chose sleep.
They walked out together, to the open fields under a cloudy sky. Little need to find a bed inside, the grass offered ample comforts, the temperature was always just right.
"Good night," said Toby, tipping his luxury pen against his chin.
Amber. She had suffered a lot. Admittedly, her dossier contained a surfeit of excuses for why she would turn into a horrible person. Broken household, terrible neighborhood, all the little things life puts together to make existence just a little bit worse. And excuses were worth something. She was human, no being was expected to behave perfectly, except God and Toby. Others could - no, had every right - to falter, to be weak, to be exposed, to fail to learn a lesson, to reach an epiphany.
But excuses only take you that far. Circumstances of birth matter little, it is what you do with a life that makes the difference. Even the Pokemon movie got that part right, and Toby was the first to criticize it.
Leave life a little bit better than you found it, for yourself and others. There, that's all it takes to reach Paradise on the first try. What belief or lack of belief you have matters little, as long as you sincerely try to do things right.
Being blinded by belief and deluding yourself into thinking you're doing the right thing doesn't count though.
Amber didn't get that part. Turns out, there's a long swath of scorched Earth built on good intentions behind her. Poor kids.
Naturally, she would pick sleep. All her life, she only ever aimed to have a sanctuary to herself. A place where she'd feel safe, secure, where the world outside couldn't touch her. A perfect sanctuary doesn't exist, but it's a part of escapism that's essential to the human condition, it helps a mind to recover, provides place and time to grow. She never got that.
And now, in the best sanctuary of them all, she chose to sink into the cushion a little further.
Toby took his jacket off, rolled his sleeves up and sat under the shade of a nearby, lonely but tall and large tree.
Archangel Gabriel was doing his daily jogging, he saw Toby's muscular forearms and whistled.
"Fuck you," said Toby, "and come by at the office, I still owe you a snooker game."
Amber stirred in her sleep. What else could she do but dream? First she dreamed the usual happy nonsense. She had lots of material to make things up, an entire human life of experience and imagination.
This was eternity.
A mind can only mull over the same subjects over and over again before getting bored. So the mind goes deeper, to the parts that are never remembered upon waking up, because they hurt. The mind dreams about life. Not from imagination, but from memory first, with all the rose tinted glasses. The life is gone through a hundred times.
A thousand.
An innumerable number of times.
And with each passage, with each revival of what was, life is honed.
First comes the rose-tinted glasses. The good and the bad, polished into a more digestible story. Until, somewhere in eternity, the glass slips, and is lost in the great nowhere. Other tricks are used, wishful thinking as if it had truly been so, double thinking, re-framing words and select moments to influence a narrative.
But with each passage, what was not and what was becomes clearer, almost brilliant.
Until memories cease to be. And what's left is the naked truth.
In her unending sleep, Amber cannot rely on the forgetfulness of waking up. She'd scream in the void, no, that's not how it was, that's not what I did. I did better, I gave them something I never had.
Ah Amber, Toby thinks, now you know. You know you only deluded yourself into thinking you gave a safe home the likes you never had to those poor kids. No, Amber, you couldn't provide it to yourself, you certainly couldn't provide it to them either. Not with the veneer of that fake smile, not with this self-righteous belief to top it off. At least your own parents weren't nearly as hypocritical.
Sobs.
"Woken up, have we?" Toby asked.
Amber had buried herself under the weight of the truth. It's hard to sleep with heavy rocks compressing your chest.
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked.
"Who knows in this place," Toby shrugged.
"You're a sadist," she said between sobs.
Toby's voice became mellow.
"Amber. I haven't done a thing."
"I didn't... I didn't want that, not like that. Not like that."
"No point telling me that. A swig?" Toby handed her his flask, a shiny and clean metallic flask indicating that no matter how far this person is addicted to alcohol, at least they do it with class.
Amber took a sip, felt her throat burning, spit it all out.
"What the hell is it?"
"An expensive drink," mumbled Toby, "can't even trust these heathens to appreciate the good stuff. Anyway! follow me, we have somewhere to be and I got appointments soon."
"Just... just let me vanish."
Toby loomed over her, his shadows expanded, for the span of a singular moment, his faces showed the ugliness of eternal torture, horns made of calcified wants and disappointments, wings of cold and despair. And in that singular moment of dark glory, the devil said:
"No. Now get your ass up. Pretty please?"
Toby walked, and after some uneasy second-guessing, Amber stood up and followed him.
Hell was lovely as always. They went beyond hill and dale, crossed a forest where the smell of pine was an invitation to sit by a tree and look at the squirrels playing in the branches, they crossed a bridge over a lazy river, they walked in a prairie of dandelions.
"Where are we going?" asked Amber.
"To the foot of a mountain in Paradise."
"I don't deserve Paradise."
"Who cares? We crossed into it when we passed that bridge."
Amber pondered the information for a moment.
"That rickety old thing?"
"Yup. People are always surprised how close Heaven and Hell are. Anyway..."
It came into view. The mountain. A pillar to carry a universe, impossibly wide, the top disappearing among the stars, infinity made stone.
"Now," started Toby at the foot of the mountain, "normally I'd give you the whole speech about you're pardoned, God loves you, Santa Claus actually does exist. But," Toby opened his notebook, "I've got an appointment with... a little girl? Gabriel must have mixed the schedules again. So anyway, congrats. You're worthy or paradise, hurray, you're forgiven, yay, bla bla bla. But there's something after Paradise, Hell and the purgatory. There's more. I tried explaining that once with a powerpoint, but your minds can't really grasp it."
Toby started to walk away, while a surprised Amber was sort of hoping he would finish the explanation.
"Up there, there's transcendence, the real stuff, and incidentally why we haven't seen many people because Heaven and Hell are just a pit stop. That's where you're headed, it's where we're all headed."
Toby became smaller and smaller in the distance.
"How do I get there?" shouted Amber.
Toby turned around and extended his arms.
"What do you think?" he shouted back, "You climb!"

Built some in place cabinets and need to put the doors on. Doors cannot open on a standard hinge because they will hit the door trim. So it needs to be a pivot in place like the inset door hinges where the door is inset into the cabinet.
I didn't make this cabinet like that, so I need some hinges for the doors to sit on the outside, but open like the inset hinges.
Do they actually make those, or did I design myself into a hole here for this client?
They wanted them to match the cabinets their sinks sit on, but those are not affected by door trim to stop them from opening all the way.
Suggestions or links to hinges, or name/whatever?
My dummy self bought the inset hinges not paying attention, so. I'm kind of stuck finishing here and dont want to drive around wasting fuel on something that might be hard to find or special order.
As well, it's hard to use online sites, cause they show you the hinge picture, not the package that shows you the info you need, ugh.

Turin, gojid Cradle ecologist.
Date [standardised human time]: May 5th, 2120
(16 years, 4 months before the invasion of the gojid Cradle).
Turin was pacing rapidly. She had checked, unpacked, and re-checked their first aid supplies. She had cleared the house of clutter and gone over their contingencies. But all the busy work had been done, and now Turin had to face it. This was it; this was the trap that Juran had set.
Braq’s voice had been curt and desperate on the radio having signaled her from Ki-yu’s den. A pair of children had been spotted on the mountain pass cameras, right where the roht tracks had been found. He had warned her to keep back, be ready to call assistance. It made sense, and without a second buggy she would not reach them for hours on foot anyway. But that left her and Imdi to sit and wait. Turin could not allow her fear to rule her, it would only distress her son.
Turin made two shaky cups of tea, trying to distract them with his homework. It was a simple short essay, but the lad struggled with his letters at the best of times. Just sitting beside him, she reflected on how much Imdi had grown. He was still a little boy, helpless in his own way, but clearly a person besides. What a strange symbiosis parenthood is; we need our children as much as they need us. Her mind wandered to the two youths on the trail camera. It could only have been Yotun and Callio, they were the closest, and the most likely to go wandering.
Juran’s played us, she realised. Either we call for help and acknowledge that there are dangerous predators here, or we feign ignorance and become complicit. Either way…
“Why…?” she whispered absentmindedly.
“Why what, Mama?” Imdi asked beside her. She shook her head, giving him a casual pat.
“Sorry sweetheart, I got distracted.” If we call for help we damn ourselves, if we don’t we damn ourselves again. We can hide Ki-yu, but we can’t hide this…
Turin snatched up the radio when it burst into static. It was something of a relief, even if it was short-lived. The mountainous terrain interfered with the signal, but Braq’s broken voice told her enough. The girl is dead, all others injured. She stood there with the silent handheld pressed to her ear. She heard the ocean roar about her mind, crashing white water above a darkened abyss. Braq and Ki-yu are still alive. She took the thought and lit it as a lamp to light her cabin.
"No,” she whispered. He can play his game, but I won't.
Turin called the ambulance right away. It would be at least two hours before a first responder reached them from the city. At the very least that gave them plenty of time to hide their daughter away. She was shaking as she made the last of three calls, the ringing signal grating against her quills.
“What’s happening Mama?” Imdi asked, still sitting at the table. With a heavy breath, she sat beside him once more. He looked at her quizzically as she pulled him away from his homework.
“It, uh, it seems that Callio and Yotun wandered onto the property. They’ve been hurt.”
“Hurt?” he squeaked. “Hurt bad?” She nodded, trying to keep her expression calm rather than crestfallen.
“Oh, sweetheart… I’m so sorry…”
~*~
They heard the buggy coming before they saw it, the roar of its engine waking Turin from the windowsill with a start. Imdi awoke in her lap as she moved to her feet, rubbing his raw eyes groggily. A quick glance at the clock told her it had been about an hour. She updated the silent countdown in her head, a sliver of worry that she had called for help too soon.
“Oh,” Imdi whimpered, looking up at her with a tear-dried face.
“Shh…” she coddled him. “Don’t worry.”
The buggy came screeching to a halt outside, and Turin took a breath to steady herself. We just have to keep moving, crest one wave and then the next.
Braq’s silhouette was already exiting the vehicle as she charged out the front door and toward the buggy. The afternoon sun had crashed into a meagre pale sundown, the lightest of yellows across the western sky.
“Braq!” she called out, blinded by the vehicle’s headlights. She almost stopped before she reached them, the smell of blood was frightfully strong. “Wha-?!”
“Keep him back!” Braq barked, cutting off the engine and the lights before he leaned into the backseat. Turin set down their son with a quick kiss. She hurried forward as Braq pulled back. Their daughter hung limply in his arms. A strip of pale fabric had been tied tight about her tail, slowly staining scarlet.
“Oh, Protector…” Turin moaned, reaching for the girl. Her endarkened eyelids fluttered at her voice, lips drawing into a pained smile as she felt Turin’s paw on her face.
“Mama…” she mumbled.
“It’s okay,” Turin whispered, “you’re home now.” Yotun was sitting idly in the passenger seat, watching them intensely. The look on his tear-marked face was one Turin thought belonged on war veterans and cattle victims.
“Th-the girl?” she asked weakly.
“She’s on the backseat,” Braq said hoarsely, blocking her path as she tried to look around him. “D-don’t,” he groaned. “Just don’t.” Yotun slid out of his seat. Turin glanced over at her son who was fretting with his claws nearby. “Imdi go help Yotun inside.”
“O-okay,” he mumbled. His eyes went wide at the long gashes in the approaching boy’s forearm, but he just swallowed hard and took his other paw. “Is Ku going to be okay?” he asked worriedly.
“Ku…” Yotun wheezed, almost a laugh.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she murmured, nodding to the lodge. “Go on.” She looked up at her partner's haggard face, silently asking the same.
“Broken tail,” he said, “cr-cracked ribs I’d suspect.”
“Internal damage? A haemorrhage?”
“N-no I don’t think so,” he panted, hobbling past her toward the house. The breath left her at the sight of her beloved’s back.
“Braq!” she gasped. A pair of long diagonal slashes had been cut from shoulder blade to pelvis, broken spines hanging loosely. Whilst the bleeding had stopped, the exposed tissue was shifting and raw beneath his torn hide. He was also limping, she saw, a fearful bitemark around his right ankle. Turin wanted to scream as she started after him.
“I’m okay,” he grunted, shifting all his weight onto his left leg as he walked. No, no you’re not! “Looks worse than it is. You called the parents?” he continued, ignoring their torment.
“Y-yeah,” she mumbled as they hurried through the threshold. Imdi had sat Yotun on the couch and was carefully setting out one of the first aid kits. The skinny boy looked up stiffly as they entered. “At least Laenar and Arrut. They’ll be here soon. Teraka didn’t answer.” Braq let out a shuddering sigh.
“W-we need to get her sorted before they arrive,” he said. With a short yip of pain, Ki-yu reached out for the couch. Her dark paw gripped Yotun’s shoulder stopping them from passing, the boy wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the contact. Ki-yu’s voice was slurred and lethargic, each breath heavy and deliberate.
“Pretty… drawings…” she wheezed. “Remember… burn… the forest…” Yotun bristled. Turin reached down and gently unhooked her claws, taking some comfort in their strength still despite her injuries.
“Hide her,” she told Braq. He shook his head.
“I n-need to get Callio from the buggy.”
“No, you look after Ki-yu,” she said firmly. “I’ll go get her.”
“N-no, it’s bad, I ca-”
“Braq, beloved. Look after her.” Braq looked quickly from Turin to the girl in his arms, before reluctantly nodding. Ki-yu was still mumbling as Braq walked with her down to her hidden bedding room.
“W-woods… stars…” Turin heard her say.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Braq whispered to her. “Try and rest.” Imdi tugged at Turin’s leg.
“Baba’s hurt…” her son mumbled.
“I know,” she said, rubbing his scalp. “He’s just got to look after Ki-yu for a little while. Okay?”
“O-okay…” He looked at her more insistently. “Mama, is Ku gonna be alright?”
“I…” He should not have to see any of this. The words caught in her throat, so she just nodded. “Why don’t you go help Baba, hm?”
“Okay…” he mumbled, doddering down the gloomy hall after them. Turin wished she could join them, to hold them all close and whisper sweet nothings.
If I stop now, I’ll drown.
Turin moved to where Imdi had studiously spread out the first aid kit and crouched down.
“Hey,” she said as softly as possible. “I need to take a look at that.”
Yotun flinched as she touched him, from fear or pain she knew not which. Turin pulled the arm straight as tenderly as she could. Yotun whimpered as she washed out the wound but otherwise said nothing. He just sat there, numb, quiet, and broken. The mother in her wailed. I can mend his arm at least. She bandaged it carefully, gave him some painkillers, and told him to try and rest.
Still, even that task was preferable to what Turin had to do next. She retrieved some white sheets from the laundry. They were not true funerary shrouds, specially thickened to prevent the dead’s quills from piercing the fabric, but they would do.
The pre-night gloom was setting in as Turin stepped outside again. The cool air carried a crying choir of forest creatures, making Turin feel like she was standing in a dream. She walked stiffly out to the buggy, stopping before she had the chance to look inside. The smell had only grown, but it was more than mere disgust; a bubble of terror encircled the vehicle. Crushing down the thundering panic before it built, Turin peered into the buggy. On one backseat was a small body, partially obscured by a bloodied poncho. Callio’s creamy fur peaked from beneath the fabric in places, tinged a dark blue. A tide of azure had flowed down into the seats, building a dried pattern in the footwell.
Turin turned away, stifling a keen. She remembered their first meeting, how that harrowing confrontation had become a cheerful moment of play by the seaside. She was so happy, Turin recalled. So bright. No more… Collecting herself, she retrieved the rifle, wedged haphazardly into the driver’s door, noting how the metalwork had buckled around the central chamber. She shrugged the strap over her shoulder and turned back to the body. I will not flinch, she told herself as she pulled back the covering. We owe her that much.
She did not balk, but it hurt her not to.
Callio lay on her side with closed eyes, curled up as if asleep. She was as at peace as she could be. Turin spread the sheet across the ground and moved to lay the girl to rest. She shuddered and stopped when shifting the torso made the head turn unnaturally, biting into the back of her own paw to stop herself from screaming. This could have been Braq… or Ki-yu… or even Imdi… Oh, Protector… With a shaky sigh, she laid her down on the sheet and, as respectfully as she could, Turin enwrapped the girl in white. The death of her aunt had been the first time Turin had seen loss, felt grief. To see that plump woman, full of raucous laughter, fond of gaiety and song, reduced to a body enwrapped and entombed…
Turin decided that she hated pale sheets as she carried Callio inside.
She laid the body on the table, then placed the broken weapon on the counter. Yotun still sat stiffly on the couch, as unmoving as a statue. Turin covered the first shawl with a thicker sheet, the form appearing less and less like a person. Looking down she saw blood had soaked onto her overalls, all over her paws. The clothing was ruined, but Turin would never want to wear it again anyway. She stripped and tossed her clothing into the bin. It felt as though the smell had sunk through her skin. She moved to the sink, trying to scrub the blood from herself, but the sponge just came away blue. She turned on the hot water until it was near scalding, trying to clean beneath her claws. It sloughed off her, falling into the inky depths. Turin made a quiet sob, shaking her head to try and will away her wet eyes.
“Mama?” Imdi squeaked behind her. Turin coughed, drying her hands.
“Yes, sweetheart?” she said, quickly wiping her tears. The boy was looking at the body with tearful eyes.
“Wh-what’s happening?” Falling to one knee, she pulled him to her breast.
“Something terrible, love.” She kissed his forehead, the smell of him like a prescient memory, cleansing the nauseating tones of death.
“Mama… I’m scared.”
“I know, it’ll be okay,” she whispered, swallowing to stop her voice from breaking.
“I d-don’t want to be scared,” he whispered. “I wanna be fearless, like you.” Turin let out a tearful chuckle. She leaned back against the cabinet, holding her son’s head gently in her paws.
“I’m not fearless,” she told him. His dark brown eyes were searching her own, the scar on his lip twitching. “Wanna know a secret? Everyone feels scared from time to time.”
“Even Ku?”
“Aheh… maybe a little.” She smiled as she flattened his spines. My handsome little man. “Listen. There’ll be many times in your life when you feel afraid.” She curled a knuckle on his breast. “Where you feel it ball up, right here, and you want to run away and hide. That fear will always be there. But you don’t have to run and hide. That fear can make you strong and brave if you let it push you. And the only way to do that is to try. So,” she rubbed his cheeks with the balls of her thumbs, ”will you be brave?” He snuffled, his tiny face pulling into a fretted smile.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll try.” She brought her forehead to his.
“Good boy.” The soft fur of his face tickled her nose.
If I stop now I’ll drown.
“We’ll, uh, be having visitors soon,” she rasped, pulling back. “I… need to get ready… Why don’t you try and get ready for bed, hm?” The boy nodded a little reluctantly, disappearing down the hall once more.
Turin tried to distract herself by scrubbing through the security footage again, focusing her efforts on the hills around the attack. All trace of her needed to be cleared. But in the corner of her eye, she saw Imdi come toddling back. He sat on the couch beside the thinner boy.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” Yotun replied, his eyes foggy and distant.
“Your arm…” Imdi mumbled, glancing cagily at him. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah.” Yotun sniffed. He looked at the table, as though seeing it for the first time. The white cloth was a shroud over too small a body. “Your… ‘sister’… an arxur?”
“My sister,” Imdi said dryly, his gaze also lingering on the dead girl. “The arxur.” He sniffed. Then he sniffled. Very quickly he was crying, the quiet sound breaking Yotun from his stupor. An instant later the older boy was sobbing too and, in a moment that broke Turin’s heart, he put his working arm around the younger boy. The two leaned on each other for strength and cried.
Turin did what she could. She lit the fire, gave them blankets, and made some more tea. When she brought it to them, she found they had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Soon thereafter, Braq hobbled back into the room. Her beloved wore a weary, complex expression as he looked at the sleeping boys, but she could see him take note of, then close off the sight of the girl on the table.
“Passed out,” he reported, moving to her side. “She was in a lot of pain. I’ve, uh, put some ice on her ribs, best we can do is to keep her still for a bit.”
“Oh, she’ll hate that,” Turin mumbled. She nodded to the boys. “This one should be okay, at least in the arm.”
“He, uh… was brave.” Braq conferred quietly. “I think he tried to lure it away from… from her, but…” He shook his head. “Stupid boy… What about the cameras?”
“Just going over the more recent stuff,” Turin said. Braq groaned deeply, then hissed at the twisting broken skin of his back as he leaned forward. Turin stood and pulled him toward the better-lit kitchen.
“Come here, let me sort you out.” Grumbling, her partner begrudgingly followed her.
His ankle had started to swell, the skin a deep purple. They applied some ice to bring down the swelling, but it would need to be thoroughly washed as well. Making him swallow some painkillers, she laid him face down on the countertop to clean his back.
“What happened?” she asked as she brought some hot water and cloth.
“She’d caught scent of it, found a path it was using regularly. We set up the bait, had headed back to her den to check the cameras.” He hissed as she layered on the first cloth. “That’s when we saw them. They were heading –ah!– right for it. I-I drove as fast as I could but…” His paws shook with anxious energy. “I told her to stay back, stay hidden but she didn’t listen. Heh,” he snorted sardonically. “Good thing too.” He looked her dead in the eye over his shoulder. “She killed it. Damn near ripped its head off.” Turin focused hard on the cleaning, trying not to mull over the implications. The disinfectant stung more than the water, Braq’s back taught from stress, fatigue, and pain. Turin kept talking to distract him.
“If, um, someone finds it, they’ll see her teeth marks…”
“I hid that,” he said. “Gun nearly blew apart, but I shot it point blank. Should look like I got it.” Yes… that could work… She took the opportunity to wash the wound in his ankle, the mucky, bloodied fluid staining the floor.
“I’ll have to clean that up,” Braq groaned, his face pressing into the countertop. Turin chuckled, tossing down a towel.
“You better,” she said glibly. Now cleaned, she could see the clear paired punctures where the roht’s canines had dug in, one tooth piercing to the bone. She wrapped it up tightly.
“Lover… the paramedics will have to have a look at this.”
“Figured,” he grumbled. Now clean, she sutured shut the broken hide of her beloved’s broad back. It would scar, and he may even lose quills, but it would heal. Braq got up almost before the last suture went in.
“You should sit and rest,” she told him, grabbing his wrist.
“So should you,” he said without spite. His paw came up beneath her chin, and she saw in his eyes the same wailing despair she felt. If I stop now I’ll drown. Braq made to hug her, but she stopped him with a palm on his chest.
“Please don’t…” she pleaded. She needed to stay strong for now. He took her paw and rubbed it absently but nodded. With a shaky sniff, he gestured to the sleeping boys.
“One of us needs to talk to him,” he said. “Which one do you want?”
“I-I’ll do it. Go keep an eye on the kids.” She squeezed his paw and kissed it. “We’ll be okay.”
“I know.” he said, leaving her leaning against the counter. He at least seemed to believe it. Braq leaned over the couch and lifted his son as carefully as he could, wincing at the pain in his foot. He nestled him in the crook of his massive arms, and walked down to his room.
With a heavy sigh, Turin sat down on the couch beside Yotun, still curled up in sleep.
“Yotun?” She tapped his knee. He stirred quickly with a frantic, panicked breath, crawling across the cushions. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Y-you didn’t,” he mumbled, drawing the blanket about him.
“Is your arm still hurting?” The boy nodded weakly, not meeting her eyes.
“Here,” she gave him his lukewarm cup of tea, noticing how his paws twitched and shuddered. Turin wished she could give him some time to recover, to reconcile, but they only had minutes now at best.
“I’m… so very sorry, sweetie,” she said softly, “but we need to talk before your parents get here.” Yotun swallowed hard.
“What’d y-you tell them?”
“That you’ve been hurt, and that a predator did it.” Turin sighed. “But we’re not talking about that, are we? We’re talking about Ki-yu.” Yotun looked at her like she had grown antlers, but the expression passed quickly.
“I k-kinda guessed,” he whispered. “But it didn’t make sense. You’ve been keeping her here? This whole time?”
“Yes,” she said. “I wish you could get the chance to know her properly.”
“She… left me…” he mumbled. “Alone… in the dark…”
“Yes. And afterward she turned up here in the middle of the night, a shivering, broken wreck. I’ve never seen her cry so much.” The boy looked up at her mistily.
“She… cried?” He shook his head morosely. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all over now…”
“Is it?” Turin asked, willing fire into her voice. “She certainly doesn’t seem to think so. ‘Burn the forest?’” He flinched. “She knows the risks of her discovery, far better than anyone. She knows that if it comes to it…” Turin stopped before she broke down. “And yet, she risked it all for you. In a heartbeat. She put her trust in you, Yotun.”
“Sh-she sh-shouldn’t have… I-I’m just a st-stupid kid!”
“I-” The alarm wailed for a split-second before Turin turned reached over and turned it all off, hiding their security system.
“Wh-what was that?”
“Proximity alert. Someone’s coming.”
“My parents?”
“Most likely.” Yotun drew himself down. This isn’t working…
Braq came limping up the hall.
“She’s still asleep, secure,” he said.
“Okay,” Turin breathed. “Then sit down, for Kay-ut’s sake, before you make that worse.” He settled into the windowsill seat. Turin placed a paw on Yotun’s uninjured arm.
“They’ll kill her,” she said firmly. “If you mention her at all, to anyone, they’ll kill her.”
“M-my p-parents wouldn’t-”
“Yes,” Turin said with a sad smile, knowing as all parents do. “They absolutely would.”
”They’d tell someone else at the very least,” Braq sighed. “And then they’d come for us all.”
“A-and they’d burn it all down to find her,” the boy shuddered.
The hovercar’s thwopping was now audible.
“We shouldn’t have to ask this of you, lad.” Braq said. “You’ve suffered too much already. But I think you know we’d both be dead right now without her.” Turin’s stomach rolled. Yotun looked fearfully between the two of them.
“Y-you’re asking me to lie?!”
“From what she’s told us, you’re the closest thing Ki-yu’s ever had to a real friend.” Turin implored him. “We’re asking you to save her.” Braq looked out of the window as she said it.
“They’re here.”
A door slammed outside. If I stop now I’ll drown. Turin gave his arm one last squeeze.
“Our lives are in your paws, Yotun.”
Please, please, please save her…
“Yotun!” Laenar cried out desperately, the front door thrown open as they charged in. Turin backed off as quickly as she could, knowing better than to come between them now.
“Oh, my boy!” The mother fell to her knees beside him. “Thank The Protector! Oh, your arm! Gods!” Stopping in the middle of the room, Arrut drew a quick sharp breath, his eyes on the table.
“Mercy…” he said simply, the light from the fireplace casting long shadows across the room. Laenar made a muted gasp, pulling Yotun tight against her. “The girl…?”
“Callio.” Braq said quietly. It was almost a whimper. There was a long silence, the only sound Laenar’s muted breathing.
“Wh-where’s the ambulance?” Arrut asked weakly. “Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”
“Too late,” Braq murmured mournfully. “It… it all happened too fast.”
“There’s one coming now,” Turin said, rubbing her forehead. “To… collect the body.”
“That’s not an ambulance,” Laenar said weakly. Arrut pulled his eyes away from the table, falling heavily into the chair beside Braq.
“My… stars man,” he murmured. “The state of your back…”
“Think of your son, you idiot!” Laenar gasped. Arrut shot her an incredulous look back.
“The wounds clean. H-he should be alright physically-” Turin started.
“Alright?! He’s been mauled!” She pulled her son’s face up to her. “What h-happened? Why were you out there?” His expression crumpled.
“We wanted to see the woods,” he said quietly.
“Wha- Why…?” The pudgy woman suddenly glared at Turin. “You did this! You perverted pair of-!”
“Laenar!” Arrut yelled. “That’s enough!”
“No, I’m sick of these people! Sick of this place! Why don’t you just-!”
“Shut up, Mother, shut up!” Yotun started yelling. “I did this, this’s my fault!” He winced as he jerked his slashed arm at them. “Braq saved me!”
”You’ve been through a lot, you don’t-!”
“M-my fau-lt! My-!” His words became incoherent, a violent sorrowful wailing. Laenar relented, looking as broken as her son. The boy was inconsolable, unable to speak, so Braq recounted what had happened. The parents listened intently, not saying a word. He told them how they had suspected something was not right in the Brackwood, carefully leaving out the signs of roht they had kept to themselves. He told them that he had found a dead vyrryn and tracks in the snow and had been watching the cameras when he had spotted the children. Braq’s voice broke when he explained how he had not got there in time. As his voice trailed off Turin knew that he was replaying those dreadful moments over and over again in his head.
Arrut stood, rubbing his mouth.
“Why didn’t you call the authorities?” he asked. “If you suspected there was this roht creature about, why didn’t you call for help?” Turin and Braq shared a glance.
“Because it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Roht were never found here. They’re practically extinct.”
“So, what?” Laenar grunted. “You based your safety, all our safety, on your intuition?”
“No,” Braq said. “We’ve found… plasma wounds on animals, many fatal. Someone else has been in our woods.” He rubbed his face with both paws. “We don’t know who to trust.”
“And you think, what they’re trying to scare you off?” She scoffed. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe what you want,” Turin snapped. “We’ve got the photos to prove that someone’s been shooting our animals.”
“But… who would go wandering out here?” Arrut asked. “Most people are terrified of this place.”
Before anyone could answer, the sound of another arriving vehicle drew their attention, Braq glancing out the window. He leaned forward.
“Well… you were right,” he said. “It’s not an ambulance.” A quiet stillness came over them as the engine died; the gravel outside crunched beneath approaching steps. Moonlight filtered through the front window; the shadow of an impossibly tall man descended across their home. The phantom coalesced by the threshold, the figure looming for a moment. Then he straightened and knocked. Nobody moved. He knocked again, the noise rattling about Turin’s skull. She looked over at Braq and saw ire and worry warring in his eyes. A third knock, more insistent. Fuck…
Turin walked over and opened the door.
“Good evening Turin,” Juran said, giving her the slightest bow. His pale eyes hovered like pinpricks in the night.
“Juran. What’re you… doing… here…” Her voice left her as she saw who stood behind him. Juran strode past her as she struggled to form a thought.
“We were forwarded a rather desperate-sounding emergency call. Needless to say, we came as soon as we could.” There was a crashing, thundering sound in Turin’s ears. The other just stood there, looking at her expectantly. “Oh dear, nasty business this,” Juran was saying, stepping closer to the body. He clicked his tongue, as though examining shoddy craftmanship. “Very nasty business.” Juran looked quickly around the room, his eyes devouring all they saw. “And two survivors?” He clapped his paws together. “We were worried.”
“We?” Braq asked hoarsely.
“Oh, yes, I was meeting with an old friend.”
He strode in with the same confidence as the extermination officer.
“Teraka…” Arrut gasped. Juran stopped. Everyone stopped. They all just looked at him. Teraka looked nonplussed for a moment, but then he noticed the other parents’ gaze. His eyes passed over them questioningly.
“T-Teraka,” Turin gulped. “I couldn’t reach you… you didn’t…” The man looked at the body, then at Yotun. The lad was shaking, sobbing again in his mother’s arms.
“What is this?” Teraka hissed, his suave exterior melting away. Juran’s pale eyes narrowed, his head moving in a steady glacial turn to Turin. For the first time, she felt like she was actually looking at him. A long time ago, she would have called his expression predatory; now she would simply call it cruel.
“No…” Teraka gasped, pushing Juran aside as he staggered forward. He moved around the table like he feared it would cut him. Tenderly, he pulled back the sheets. It was… disturbing, how little the man reacted. He stilled, all that constant movement, those ceaseless platitudes quieted. He just stood there and looked.
“I suppose we’ve found what killed that brynn foal,” Juran said thinly. The chair squealed as Braq stood, her husband’s face contorting from the pain in his leg. Juran might have been taller, but Braq was undoubtedly the bigger man.
“Really?” he said, looking up at him. “’Cause I’d say that roht was only two or three years old. It would have been an infant when that brynn was killed.”
“Ah, quite right you are,” Juran said with a flash of teeth. “There must have been others.” Her beloved’s fists were held so tight the claws bit into his palms. “Well, regardless this will have to be thoroughly investigated. And of-” Juran was interrupted as Teraka strode over and struck him across the face. The tall man toppled into the bookshelf, clutching at his snout as their small library came tumbling down around him.
“Bastard!” Teraka snarled, his claws digging into Juran’s throat. A shout went out, Turin knew not from who, as the two men struggled. Laenar was gasping noisily trying to shield her son; Arrut and Braq trying to pull the raging father back but finding Teraka’s quills before them. Juran’s paws sinched tight around the smaller man’s wrists, and with a ferocious roar, he stood as quickly as he could, headbutting Teraka under the chin. Teraka staggered backward into the table, the legs screaming murder against the woodwork, Turin only barely stopping Callio’s body from sliding from it. The others were yelling at them, but the two men did not care as they traded blows like trained fighters. They fought viciously, reminding Turin of how Ki-yu hunted; no movement was wasted, no moment savoured. Teraka ducked under a wide backhand, jabbing with his claws for Juran’s chest. Juran blocked with his offhand, using his greater reach to keep Teraka at bay. He threw a brutal left hook that Teraka countered, then trapped. Growling in pain, Juran blocked Teraka’s follow-up, snatching a firm grip on the smaller man’s throat. His grip was so tight Turin saw his claws draw blood. Choking, Teraka kneed him in the groin, then palm struck him in the gullet. The two fell back wheezing, circling one another with quills out and eyes wide with rage.
“You’ve taken everything from me!” Teraka howled. Juran glared at him with his pale eyes, blood flowing down from his snout. “My job! My decency! My daughter!”
“You knew the cost!” he spat back. “It’s you who’ve betrayed my trust. I thought better of you…”
Surging in, Braq gripped Teraka’s left arm, trying to twist it around his back before the fight could resume. But the enraged father kicked the other man’s weakened leg out from under him, dropping him unceremoniously to the floor. With a bellowing cry, Arrut tackled Juran around the middle, the two crashing into the kitchen tiles. Teraka moved to make after them, but Braq took the opportunity to swipe out Teraka’s legs from the floor, evening the score. Growling like an animal, Braq pinned him on his back. Wrestling free of Arrut, Juran rose forward with murderous intent in his pale eyes. Fuck this! Turin snatched up the rifle where it still lay on the counter.
“Hey!” she snarled, the sound of her ratcheting the lever stalling the melee. The weapon had been damaged by the roht; Turin doubted it would fire at all, but the threat was sufficient. “I will not have any more blood spilled in my house!” Teraka struggled in Braq’s grapple.
“There is more at stake than this little shack!” the man hissed.
“Mind your words, Teraka,” Juran’s voice was as thin and sharp as a needle. “Or the cost will be far greater than one little girl.”
“Enough!” Turin roared. “Juran, we’ll cooperate with whatever investigation you deem necessary,” she barked, hiding the fearful lie behind the fire in her voice. “But for now, you’re leaving. I suggest you get that nose looked at.” There was a long and painful silence. The tall man regained his posture, wiping his nose.
“Thank you,” he said with a sickly-sweet smile. There was blood in his teeth. “My apologies for the disturbance, that was most unprofessional. I’ll be in touch.” With one last icy look at them all, he strode out into the night. Teraka struggled beneath Braq as his car shot up into the sky.
“Why’d you do that?!” he spat when he finally released him. “Why’d you do that, wh-why?!” And then he was crying, a pitiful, ruined wailing as he almost fell over the body of his little girl. They could not pull him away; he just kept crying. He was crying when Yotun left with his parents, and he was still crying when the ambulance finally arrived to take her away.
~*~
Ki-yu’s breathing had steadied, ice and a pillow across her chest seeming to help her sleep. Arxur were strong, and the bone had not shifted. The tail required more work —a splint and sutures— but the girl had slept through their treatment. With enough time, they were confident she would suffer no more than a new scar.
Turin's paw brushed across Ki-yu’s sheets, bloodied a fiery crimson. The mother swallowed a sob as she thought of Callio again. Ki-yu made a groaning sound, shifting slightly as her dark eyes flickered open. She peered up at Turin curiously, and for a second she almost seemed bemused. But then she felt her ribs, the ache making her whine.
“Hey,” Turin cooed, feeling the warmth of her scalp. “How do you feel?”
“Thirsty,” she rasped. Turin reached back for the cup of water she had brought.
“Here,” she whispered, bringing it to her scaly lips. “We’ll get you something to eat tomorrow.” Ki-yu gulped it down, then coughed slightly.
“I’ll be okay-”
“No, you’ll eat tomorrow,” Turin said, looking at her sharply. Ki-yu rattled a small huff but nodded.
“Wh-what happened?” she asked. “I thought I heard shouting…” Turin rubbed her paws on her knees.
“Teraka… I don’t think anyone would ever take that well…” Ki-yu scrunched up her face. A moment later recollection returned.
“Oh… I-” She started panting quickly, snorting out wet sobs. The girl dropped her head heavily onto her pillow, wet tears welling in her eyes. Snuffling, she started beating her snout against her bedding.
“Hey… sweetheart…” Turin purred, rubbing her shoulder. “Talk to me…” Ki-yu swallowed, a sound that was almost an Umph!
“I-I w-wasn’t f-fast enough, wa-sn’t good enough-!” The mother pushed her way onto the bed, laying her head on the damp pillow as she pulled her as tightly against her as she could.
“Shhh… You were superb.”
“B-but she-!” Ki-yu sniffled against her.
“You gave her a fighting chance, sweetie. You couldn’t have done any more.” Ki-yu was silent for a short moment, snuggling against her fuzzy chest. Turin hoped it gave the girl the same comfort as her.
“Yotun?”
“He’s gone home with his parents. So far, he hasn’t told them about you at all.”
“Wh-what happens now?” she asked weakly.
“We’ll sort that out,” Turin sighed. “Don’t you worry.” Turin sat up as a tiny figure draped in a long blanket waddled through the doorframe.
“Hey Ku,” Imdi squeaked.
“Hey dingus,” Ki-yu sniffled, making the little boy smile meekly.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Better,” she said, stretching out as she kept her eyes on the little gojid. “How about you?”
“Okay,” he mumbled, looking at her abashedly. “I, uh, just wanted to say i-it’s okay if you feel scared. I f-feel scared too, but…” He fidgeted with his claws. My brave little man. Ki-yu made a tired keen.
“Wanna stay here tonight?” she asked. He nodded fervently. Ki-yu smiled, spreading out the bedsheets. Imdi wriggled in beside her, the girl wrapping her long arms around him as she brushed down his spines.
“How about a song?” Ki-yu said with a wry smile. Turin sighed out a tired laugh.
“What do you think, Imdi?” she asked.
“All-mother’s prayer?” he replied. Turin always liked that one. It made her smile.
“Okay,” she said. “Just the one. Close your eyes.” The children settled in snugly, Turin singing as sweetly as she could.
“Kay-ut, All-mother, hear my prayer.
Hush, keep it quiet, simple, and fair.
Ki-ra hold your notes, Ki-yu stop your games.
And listen to children in their bedding frames.
A prayer for mummy, I know that’s right.
We played in the tunnels by candlelight.
The soft was clay, and the hard was rock.
Oh, All-mother save daddy, I almost forgot!
A wish for my sister whom I know the best.
I tell her I love her, and she gets the rest.
One more for brother, he lay next to me.
I’ve never adored another like he.
Oh, thank you Kay-ut for a lovely day.
For lighting your pyre to show me the way.
I’m forgetting someone, now who could that be?
Oh, of course! How silly! All-mother bless me.”
Her children were fast asleep as she finished the melody. Their peaceful stillness caused an ache in her heart.
“Goodnight sweethearts,” she whispered as she kissed their foreheads. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She rose and shut the door as quietly as she could.
Her beloved was sitting in bed with a wan expression. The paramedics had given both Braq and Yotun a once over and thoroughly chastised the man for staying on his feet. Her husband had denied being taken to hospital immediately, so had been ordered to remain bedridden until he would be collected in the morning.
“Can’t you sleep?” Turin said softly, Braq shaking his head stiffly. “No,” she said breathily. “I don’t think I can either. Th-the kids seem a little better. They help each other, I guess.”
“It’s Yotun I’d worry about,” Braq said numbly. “The lad… he’s been through a lot.” He drew in a deep breath. “And Teraka, thinking about it. No telling what he’ll do now. Goddess… that poor girl…” Turin scrubbed her paws in the basin, then threw some water on her face.
“What do you suppose he meant? ‘There’s more at stake than this little shack?’” Braq just shrugged absently. “I’ve been thinking, mutilating the roht was the right decision, but we also need to go over the house again.” She started pacing. “We should be as truthful as we can, go public with everything except Ki-yu. We knew there was something in the woods but couldn’t be sure. We also knew that Juran and Teraka had been killing our animals, we got some photos of their kills. We can use all that to make a case, bring it to the inquest.”
“Turin.” Braq mumbled.
“We’ll have to hide her as soon as possible, somewhere more remote,” she continued. “Deeper into the woods perhaps? Or find a den far across the valleys. But she can’t be too far removed so that we can keep an eye on her. She needs to be fed, so we’ll have to go stash her something…”
“Turin.”
“I think we should assume from now on that all our actions are being monitored, so that way-”
“Beloved…” Braq’s rough paw caught her wrist. He looked up at her earnestly. “It’s okay… you can stop now.”
“I…” The water flows in around her. “Every moment counts, we’ve got-“
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll start early. But… please… you need to stop.” Turin shook her head.
“N-no, I- if I stop-!” Braq’s eyes grew teary, and she felt her fear ball in her chest. She hugged his head close where she stood, her lover's tears wetting her navel. “I-I-” Braq lovingly pulled her down into a tight hug. She felt castaway; her boat beached on some forgotten shore.
“Oh stars, Braq…” she whispered, exhausted as the surf crashed about her mind. “I’m s-so scared…”
“It’ll be okay,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”
Together, on that little island, they sobbed themselves to sleep.
---
“Men at some times are makers of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”
– Cassius, in Julius Caesar, Act I Scene 2. Written by W. Shakespeare, 1599.
[Cover] - René Magritte
Links in comment.

21 Male 191cm 215lbs
diagnosed w/ Ankylosing Spondylitis, HLA-B27+, JIA, Myoclonic dystonia, asthma
prescribed: - Cimizia injection 200mg biweekly self administer - naproxen EC 500mg 2× Daily - Montelukast Na 10mg daily - Clonazepam 1mg nightly - Ropinirole .75mg nightly - albuterol 90mcg
About 30 mins ago I was walking on the concrete/ metal rimmed stairs of my dorm building and slipped because my shoes were wet. I fell down three steps and landed on my right forearm as first impact about midway from me elbow to wrist. Now there's a dark bruise (not black though) forming along my forearm and i feel a sharp pain up from wrist area when I try to grip anything. Other than the bruise it doesn't seem visually different than my other arm though.
Edited formatting for readability and corrected spelling

I'm absolutely devastated because i broke my headphones and i can't go out to buy new ones, since i can't go out without listening to music. Problem is, I cant do ANYTHING without my music.
My apartement is a mess. My desk is filled with junk. my kitchen is filthy. my sink is overflowing with dishes. I feel like im not getting forward with any school work i have. I'm absolutely frozen in place, knowing i can't do any of these things right now.
I managed to put my clothes in the washing machine but it feels like such a tiny step, i can't get myself to believe it should be celebrated. I know i shouldnt be telling this, but i cant help myself & think that if i were normal, none of this would be an issue.
I cant even get on meds because i can't get a diagnosis, as they are way too expensive and not entirely covered by my insurance (also because my previous encounter with a psych went awfully bad, they pretty much laughed at my face saying i had an attention problem but it couldn't possibly be ADHD, and that i was just "Gifted").
So yeah, I'm a mess today. Headphones broke, feeling like a dirty rat dwelling in filth, not getting anything done. sorry for the ramble

So a bit of history first
My dad (52M) and I (26F) have had a strained relationship growing up. I’m the eldest and have two sisters. My dad has always had quite a drinking problem, and growing up he was either not home (he was cheating on my mum and had another girlfriend in a different city) or when he was home I felt like I was walking on eggshells.
He’s never physically abused me but there’s always been verbal abuse, rage, intimidation, and manipulation. He can be extremely scary when he’s angry and usually, it would come from external stressors like work or marital issues, etc, then if something at home happened it would tip him over the edge and he would blow up. He and my mum would get into intense arguments in front of us and I remember him punching walls.
When I was around 16 I found out my mum was cheating on my dad (at this stage I didn’t know he had been cheating on her for a long time) and told her that she needed to tell him or I would. This caused a huge bust-up between them where he kicked her out of our house but they got back together shortly. My mum hated me for this for a while and used to tell my little sisters I was the reason this family was splitting up. This is also around the time when she decided to tell me about my dad’s many infidelities. This period of time in my life has never been spoken of or brought up ever again. I tried to talk about it once I left home as it had a huge impact on me but they got very defensive and warned me to shut up.
When they got back together they would have a lot of loud sex, to the point where from my room with the door closed I could clearly hear them both, and my bed would shake. This was really disturbing for me at that age and happened so frequently that I was too scared to have any of my friends stay the night for fear of them hearing. One night I ended up texting my parents to ask them to please stop as I don’t want to have to hear this. My dad responded with “no sorry we can’t” I remember feeling so disgusted with both of them and would constantly stay over at different friends houses to get away from it.
From then on my relationship with both my parents really crumbled. There were still good moments in our family but because of extreme highs and lows, it was hard to feel secure. My sisters and I would hear them having violent screaming matches, and my dad was so on edge he would end up screaming at us for whatever reason. It felt like there was no middle ground, just happiness or rage. I felt like a target because I was the oldest and ultimately I would try to challenge him and stand up to him which really only made things worse.
For this reason, I would never really feel that comfortable around my dad. He is the sort of guy who just demands to be respected, and doesn’t like anyone in our family to speak back to him, even if you only have a slight tone. I moved out when I was 18 and my relationship with my parents got a lot better with the distance, I almost forgot and buried the bad memories and carried on with my life.
Recent events:
Me (26f) and my partner (26m) of four years were in a situation where we were looking for a new place and my parents offered to rent a large house so that my partner and I could have one end and my mum and my sister could have the other end. We agreed because of our financial situation and it felt like a big enough house to be able to keep to ourselves. We still pay rent but it was cheaper than getting our own place.
So we began living together in December last year. At the end of January, my dad was having one of his out of control rages at my sister and her friend when my mum wasn’t home, so my sister and her friend were hiding from him in the bathroom. He screamed at them to come out and when my sister opened the door he grabbed her by the neck and pushed her out while also raging at my sister's friend who was frightened. My partner and I witnessed this and were horrified. This is when I stepped in and told him to leave, which he did. My sister was crying hysterically which really reminded me of my past self in a similar position, but for her, this was the first time he has treated her like this. So me, my other sister (now 23f) and my mum all stuck by my younger sister which lead my dad to avoid the house and all of us for a week, followed by sending us all an apologetic text about how bad he’s been feeling mentally and how he wants to leave for our sake and get his own place and see a therapist, etc. My mum ate this up and forgave him almost immediately. He kept saying he would seek therapy for his anger issues and we all ended up believing that part. Of course, no change happened. It was dusted under the rug and my poor sister was pretty much forced to get over it. Hasn’t been spoken about since and I hate myself for not doing more to hold him accountable for this.
Since then though I’ve felt uncomfortable around my dad in the way I used to feel when I was younger, I felt I did not really want to engage in much conversation with him but forced myself to keep the peace and be polite. He tries to play that part of a silly goofy dad sometimes, trying to break the ice by telling dad jokes and being all playful but this ultimately makes me even more uncomfortable because he’s never been that sort of dad in my eyes, as it can change in a switch. He does have a genuine funny side to him but so many negative things have happened that I find it hard to see him overall in a positive light.
Three days ago he brought his old motorcycle home. For context, my partner and I’s room is right next to the carport. On Thursday morning he started up the motorcycle and let it warm up, which jolted my partner and me awake, it was obnoxiously loud, so naturally, we were annoyed by this. I went to the lounge, I can see the bike is right next to the connecting wall to our room so, half asleep, I go up to my dad and say “hey dad that’s really loud can you please move the bike a bit further down the driveway?” He completely blows up at me, walking towards me swearing and yelling, telling me to fuck off, saying things like who am I to tell him what to do in his house. I began to back away and he followed me into the kitchen area while still swearing, so I quickly went back into my room and shut the door. At this point, I’m in total hysterics crying to my partner because I just can’t believe I’m dealing with this all over again. I called my mum and my sister, my sister was disgusted (she doesn’t have a good relationship with him and we share similar thoughts about him) and my mum was sympathetic for me too but said he’s under stress at work and she’s not getting involved.
So I sent my dad a text saying that it’s a disgrace that he thinks he can still speak to anybody like that and that we all pay rent here so we need to be considerate of each other and that he should have sought therapy when he said he would as I’m not going to be treated like this anymore. He responded by saying I’m selfish and full of shit and he’s terminating the lease (though he didn’t, it’s a bluff). I didn’t respond.
It’s been three days and I haven’t said a word to him. Nor him to me. I feel I want nothing further to do with him unless he starts therapy. But it’s extremely hard to cut him out of my life completely while living under the same roof. I’m at University right now so I’m pretty broke. But I’m planning to leave eventually, my partner and I just need to build up the funds to do so and find somewhere that isn’t so expensive.
My mum is currently pretending like nothing is wrong and won’t even talk to me about what’s happened or how I’m feeling. My dad has also now brought my sisters' affection by paying for her car repair payments too, something he wouldn’t normally do. She said she felt bad accepting it given the situation but she needs the money and now feels she can’t get involved the way she would like to. My parents have also planned a family dinner with my grandmother at the end of next week and it just makes me sick the thought of having to play happy families.
I feel like his behavior and rages are never going to change and the only person who is supporting me fully right now is my partner. The most obvious solution is to move out but I’m not in a financial position to do so right away. Is it even possible to just ignore him for 6 months or a year until I can leave? I feel so stuck and don’t know what to do. I wish I never moved in here in the first place I honestly don't know what I was thinking, I guess I thought it would be different or better as an adult but now I feel like teenage me all over again.
TLDR: My dad has anger and drinking issues and after years of dealing with it, the most recent events have tipped me over the edge but I’m stuck in a house with him because of my financial situation.

Thought I would give some background first as this has been going on for most of my life but you can skip to recent events if you don't want the history (sorry I know it's long)
My dad (52M) and I (26F) have had a strained relationship growing up. I’m the eldest and have two sisters. My dad has always had quite a drinking problem, and growing up he was either not home (he was cheating on my mum and had another girlfriend in a different city) or when he was home I felt like I was walking on eggshells.
He’s never physically abused me but there’s always been verbal abuse, rage, intimidation, and manipulation. He can be extremely scary when he’s angry and usually, it would come from external stressors like work or marital issues, etc, then if something at home happened it would tip him over the edge and he would blow up. He and my mum would get into intense arguments in front of us and I remember him punching walls.
When I was around 16 I found out my mum was cheating on my dad (at this stage I didn’t know he had been cheating on her for a long time) and told her that she needed to tell him or I would. This caused a huge bust-up between them where he kicked her out of our house but they got back together shortly. My mum hated me for this for a while and used to tell my little sisters I was the reason this family was splitting up. This is also around the time when she decided to tell me about my dad’s many infidelities. This period of time in my life has never been spoken of or brought up ever again. I tried to talk about it once I left home as it had a huge impact on me but they got very defensive and warned me to shut up.
When they got back together they would have a lot of loud sex, to the point where from my room with the door closed I could clearly hear them both, and my bed would shake. This was really disturbing for me at that age and happened so frequently that I was too scared to have any of my friends stay the night for fear of them hearing. One night I ended up texting my parents to ask them to please stop as I don’t want to have to hear this. My dad responded with “no sorry we can’t” I remember feeling so disgusted with both of them and would constantly stay over at different friends houses to get away from it.
From then on my relationship with both my parents really crumbled. There were still good moments in our family but because of extreme highs and lows, it was hard to feel secure. My sisters and I would hear them having violent screaming matches, and my dad was so on edge he would end up screaming at us for whatever reason. It felt like there was no middle ground, just happiness or rage. I felt like a target because I was the oldest and ultimately I would try to challenge him and stand up to him which really only made things worse.
For this reason, I would never really feel that comfortable around my dad. He is the sort of guy who just demands to be respected, and doesn’t like anyone in our family to speak back to him, even if you only have a slight tone. I moved out when I was 18 and my relationship with my parents got a lot better with the distance, I almost forgot and buried the bad memories and carried on with my life.
Recent events:
Me (26f) and my partner (26m) of four years were in a situation where we were looking for a new place and my parents offered to rent a large house so that my partner and I could have one end and my mum and my sister could have the other end. We agreed because of our financial situation and it felt like a big enough house to be able to keep to ourselves. We still pay rent but it was cheaper than getting our own place.
So we began living together in December last year. At the end of January, my dad was having one of his out of control rages at my sister and her friend when my mum wasn’t home, so my sister and her friend were hiding from him in the bathroom. He screamed at them to come out and when my sister opened the door he grabbed her by the neck and pushed her out while also raging at my sister's friend who was frightened. My partner and I witnessed this and were horrified. This is when I stepped in and told him to leave, which he did. My sister was crying hysterically which really reminded me of my past self in a similar position, but for her, this was the first time he has treated her like this. So me, my other sister (now 23f) and my mum all stuck by my younger sister which lead my dad to avoid the house and all of us for a week, followed by sending us all an apologetic text about how bad he’s been feeling mentally and how he wants to leave for our sake and get his own place and see a therapist, etc. My mum ate this up and forgave him almost immediately. He kept saying he would seek therapy for his anger issues and we all ended up believing that part. Of course, no change happened. It was dusted under the rug and my poor sister was pretty much forced to get over it. Hasn’t been spoken about since and I hate myself for not doing more to hold him accountable for this.
Since then though I’ve felt uncomfortable around my dad in the way I used to feel when I was younger, I felt I did not really want to engage in much conversation with him but forced myself to keep the peace and be polite. He tries to play that part of a silly goofy dad sometimes, trying to break the ice by telling dad jokes and being all playful but this ultimately makes me even more uncomfortable because he’s never been that sort of dad in my eyes, as it can change in a switch. He does have a genuine funny side to him but so many negative things have happened that I find it hard to see him overall in a positive light.
Three days ago he brought his old motorcycle home. For context, my partner and I’s room is right next to the carport. On Thursday morning he started up the motorcycle and let it warm up, which jolted my partner and me awake, it was obnoxiously loud, so naturally, we were annoyed by this. I went to the lounge, I can see the bike is right next to the connecting wall to our room so, half asleep, I go up to my dad and say “hey dad that’s really loud can you please move the bike a bit further down the driveway?” He completely blows up at me, walking towards me swearing and yelling, telling me to fuck off, saying things like who am I to tell him what to do in his house. I began to back away and he followed me into the kitchen area while still swearing, so I quickly went back into my room and shut the door. At this point, I’m in total hysterics crying to my partner because I just can’t believe I’m dealing with this all over again. I called my mum and my sister, my sister was disgusted (she doesn’t have a good relationship with him and we share similar thoughts about him) and my mum was sympathetic for me too but said he’s under stress at work and she’s not getting involved.
So I sent my dad a text saying that it’s a disgrace that he thinks he can still speak to anybody like that and that we all pay rent here so we need to be considerate of each other and that he should have sought therapy when he said he would as I’m not going to be treated like this anymore. He responded by saying I’m selfish and full of shit and he’s terminating the lease (though he didn’t, it’s a bluff). I didn’t respond.
It’s been three days and I haven’t said a word to him. Nor him to me. I feel I want nothing further to do with him unless he starts therapy. But it’s extremely hard to cut him out of my life completely while living under the same roof. I’m at University right now so I’m pretty broke. But I’m planning to leave eventually, my partner and I just need to build up the funds to do so and find somewhere that isn’t so expensive.
My mum is currently pretending like nothing is wrong and won’t even talk to me about what’s happened or how I’m feeling. My dad has also now brought my sisters' affection by paying for her car repair payments too, something he wouldn’t normally do. She said she felt bad accepting it given the situation but she needs the money and now feels she can’t get involved the way she would like to. My parents have also planned a family dinner with my grandmother at the end of next week and it just makes me sick the thought of having to play happy families.
I feel like his behavior and rages are never going to change and the only person who is supporting me fully right now is my partner. The most obvious solution is to move out but I’m not in a financial position to do so right away. Is it even possible to just ignore him for 6 months or a year until I can leave? I feel so stuck and don’t know what to do. I wish I never moved in here. What should I do? How can I do this or do I need to move out and find a way sooner?
TLDR: My dad has anger and drinking issues and after years of dealing with it, the most recent events have tipped me over the edge but I’m stuck in a house with him because of my financial situation.

For last 14-16 months I dread first and last week of the month. When I don't have a single penny left in my account, the office is for all stupid reasons delaying to release the paycheck. And I can't understand why I'm in this hot water despite having a paycheck amount enough to self sustain myself. And all of it is making me take one after another bad bad decisions. It's just overwhelming, causing panick attacks and bouts of depression. And making me feel ashamed.

1. I don't have any dependent. When I started working in the present place, despite my reckless spending I was able to have atleast couple of bucks extra in my bank account. After couple of months accumulation I was able to buy flight tickets to visit my home town, sometimes help family and friends when they needed money, even save a good amount.
   
2. My parents started from scratch their business right after I was born. So although I never faced any hardship as my parents were always generous spending money on my wellbeing, I was very much aware of the economic ups n downs surroundings me. As my father remained the generous soul in terms of money my mother become more and more anxious about money, and constantly making me anxious with that. Till now how much I save she will never be satisfied and will make me aware how I'm not saving enough or spending too much in a loop. After my diagnosis I had to constantly fight with her to make her stop talking about savings or money in front of me. But that anxiety of not saving enough is just so much inside my veins I don't know whether I will be ever able to get out of it.
   
3. After spending majority of lockdown in my home, when I joined the workforce my depression turned for the worst. I wasn't even able to function my day-to-day life. Initially I was trying to do anything that would give me any sense of feelings. I became a chainsmokers, constantly spending money on take outs, going to bara and all. This along with the post-pandemic inflammation dried the money out of my pocket quickly. Whatever extra buck I had I was long gone. Suddenly despite my monthly paycheck I was scrambling by the end of every month.
   
4. As I emptied my extra cash, and increasing became more irrational with my money, my depression made it impossible to even look at my bank balance. I would start a payment wishing it would be done because I have no idea whether I even have the money in my bank or not.
   
5. With the fear of seeing my bank balance being zero, I started relying more on credit. Up to that point I never liked the idea of credit. I guess because of my family history. But I felt let's just order this one meal with credit card, because I am feeling extremely low now, I will pay when I get the salary. Due to this I have to pay huge credit card bill for simply take outs and no other important spending.
   
6. As I have to pay my bills, the day I receive my paycheck I just become instantly dry in terms of money. Then I take vow to spend the month with extreme tight budget which I can never manage.
   
7. Due to this now I am behind with two savings policy which I was regular with and now one is in the verge of default. I can't even make myself to visit the bank to fix the issue. I just hope it solves itself magically.
   
8. After starting my medication and treatment on MDD and GAD, when I finally started to show positive response to the medications, I was finally able to face my sinking financial situation. I know in terms of credits and loans, I'm not in a extremely horrible situation like I know many others. I know I have a family to whom I can ask for help if I need. But I realised how much my depression caused me financially.
   
9. I know it's difficult, but I am trying to pay off all the debts one by one, get back to zero credit so hopefully I can recover my savings policies, start paying the monthly policy, and again build my emergency fund. I don't know how much it would be possible, because I know in upcoming 12 months I am going to shift and apply for different positions. The salary will increase but their will be atleast 6 months of economic hardship. And before that I want to get better. To be able to have a healthy relationship with my bills and money, where I don't have to stress like I was before the pandemic.
   

Ladies, I just want to know whether anyone have been recovered successfully from a situation like mine? Or I'm just worrying without any substance? How you accept the taxes we have to pay due to our mental condition? How you guys stop your finance affecting your mental well-being?

Soulmage

Odin appeared in my soulspace the next time I slept, which I'd expected to happen from the beginning. I'd tricked Odin into trading me invaluable knowledge for what amounted to nothing of use; now all I had to do to to come out ahead was not engage them any further.
The first time they appeared, we simply stood in opposite sides of the black-thorned space that represented my soul. I kept waiting for them to say something, but they simply watched me with a vaguely concerned look.
And they just.
Kept.
Waiting.
The first hour was fine. As a child, I'd done nothing but stare at the skies for hours on end. I would have laid down, but I still couldn't figure out how to move my body in soulspace, and besides, I was pretty sure my soul looked the same no matter what angle you approached it from. So I just had to hover there. Existing.
The second hour, I knew that Odin was trying to bait me into speaking. Why else would they be waiting so patiently? The spiteful part of me even cheered in joy. I was wasting Odin's time—time that could be spent planning another invasion or doing... whatever Odin wanted to do... with the students they'd poached.
All I had to do was nothing.
For three hours.
For four hours.
For eight hours.
I swore that the silence was pulling at my ears by the time my soulspace—thankfully, blissfully, finally—dissolved, signaling my return to wakefulness. I sat up, yawned, stretched, and got ready for another day of running experiments on the monkeys in the basement. A couple witches would be coming by later today—both to clean up after them and to harvest the excess emotions they generated—but other than that, the entire day would be a breeze.
The next day, when I fell asleep, it started all over again.
###
I cracked on the second day. Four hours in. There was only so much absolute, unmoving silence that I could handle, and eight hours a day of the stuff was unbearable. I started humming, at first. The wordless tune to every sea shanty to come out of the Crystal Coast. Then I started singing, looping through the verses of the Redlands Anthem that I knew, and making up a dozen more when I ran out. All that time, the Demon of Empathy simply watched me. Nodding in tune with the music.
That passed the fifth hour.
I started growing desperate by the time I ran out of possible rhymes for "dead." I ran through every dirty tavern song I'd heard growing up, then every dirtier tavern song I wasn't supposed to have heard growing up. I sang a song making fun of Witch Aimes, and a song telling Iola to go jump in a rift, and a song about the snowball fight I'd had with Lucet, and a song about how rifts, I wanted out of here, I wanted anything but to be left alone with my thoughts for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours on end.
Odin simply stood there as I sang. Watching. Waiting.
Listening.
###
"Odin keeps showing up in my soulspace," I said to Witch Aimes.
She grinned. "Perfect."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Wasting their time and attention on an academy student who knows nothing of value is the most stunning success the empathic backtrace program could have had," Witch Aimes said, scribbling something on a paper. It looked like some kind of form relating to the city's military. Word was that the Silent Peaks were gearing up for a counterattack.
"But I—" I started to speak, then hesitated. What would Witch Aimes do if she found out that I'd overheard one of the core secrets of the Silent Academy?
What would she do if she knew I'd already let part of that secret slip?
"Hm?" Witch Aimes asked.
"I... it's really unpleasant," I said. "You—you can sever the link, right?"
Witch Aimes gave me a concerned look. "What's Odin doing to you?"
"They..." I swallowed, then said, "Er. Well, uh, they're not really doing anything to me, per se. Just sort of standing there. But—"
"You want me to give up a tactical advantage that's distracting the leader of a nation we're at war with because Odin is standing there," Witch Aimes said, her expression going flat.
"I—"
"Get out of my office," Witch Aimes said, and a spatial rift deposited me back in my home.
###
On the third day, I finally said, "Hey, uh, isn't it weird how I can speak in soulspace, but not move my body?" I justified it as fishing for information, spying on the enemy, taking something from the monster who'd invaded my home and ordered the deaths of my friends.
It would have been more convincing if my voice hadn't cracked halfway through.
To my surprise, however, Odin immediately answered. "Speech is learned, while movement is instinctual."
"I..." I grimaced. "I have no idea what that means."
"Soulspace is where memories are stored," Odin said, bringing up the triple-plane diagram from earlier. "In order to affect a change in soulspace, you must invoke a memory. Speech is learned, and thus consists of invocations to memories; speech comes naturally to most sapient beings who enter soulspace. Bodily motion, on the other hand, is—with some exceptions for extensive physical training—instinctive, and does not naturally draw from memory. In order to move in soulspace, you must remember movement, not instinctively command it."
Remember movement, not instinctively command it. I tried calling up a memory of sitting in class—
—and abruptly, I was sitting in class, motionless fascimiles of my classmates arrayed around me.
Odin—who'd moved themself to replace Lucet at my side—said, "It's as easy as that."
And after that, the dam shattered.
###
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" The Demon of Empathy sat across from me on a stuffed straw couch. Considering that they were an extradimensional entity, the form they chose was surprisingly human: barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, and even wearing a pair of thin-rimmed glasses that weren't there the last time we'd met.
I sat down on my own couch. It was irritating and ill-fitting, but that just meant it reminded me of home. I was pretty sure Odin had done that on purpose. "I can tell you anything," I countered. "Whether I should is another matter entirely."
The Demon of Empathy leaned forwards, steepling their fingers beneath their chin. "Are you afraid of hurting me?"
Of course a damn Demon of Empathy would see right through me. It was an irrational fear—I'd experienced the Demon of Empathy's power and wisdom firsthand, and to nobody's surprise, even the vilest of the dark thoughts that whispered in my ear were nothing compared to what the ancient entity knew. And yet still I shrugged and said, "I'd hurt anyone else if I talked about it." Even myself, I thought, although I tried not to let it show.
The Demon of Empathy raised a hand, and the scenery around us blurred. I'd gotten better at understanding the strange place that lived in my dreams where the demon and I had our talks. One of its rules, apparently, was that the Demon of Empathy could shift the appearance of our surroundings at a whim. We appeared on top of a clock tower, watching my past self moongaze, lying down next to a girl with dark brown hair that flowed in the wind.
"Other people have confided in you," the Demon of Empathy said. "Does it hurt you when they speak of the dark thoughts that hound them?"
I hesitated. "It... doesn't," I finally said.
"How would you describe how it makes you feel, then?"
I bit my lip. For some reason, it had simply... never occurred to me to even ask that question. "When Lucet told me about what... what her 'boyfriend' was doing to her..." I struggled to find the words. "It felt right. It felt like... like she was lancing a boil. Taking that toxicity out of her heart before its infection reached her marrow."
I was pretty sure that wasn't how infected wounds worked, but if the Demon of Empathy noticed, they didn't say a thing. Instead, they simply asked:
"Then if others giving voice to their inner demons doesn't hurt you, why do you think your inner demons would destroy them?"
From anyone else, I would have snapped at them and clammed up. But the Demon of Empathy knew how to sound genuinely curious instead of challenging, how to set up conversation after conversation so that it was okay for me to be wrong because that meant I could become right, and I whispered, "Because it's just me."
My therapist—and as twisted and darkly amusing as it was that a Demon of Empathy was the closest thing I had to a therapist, that was what they were—simply regarded me with a calm, open gaze, wordlessly asking if I wanted to continue.
"With Lucet, it was someone else hurting her. And we could both hate him for what he'd done. But with me..." I held up a shaking hand, trying to see it as it was now, not as it had been. "It's just me," I repeated. "I'm the only one responsible for what I've done to myself. The voices that whisper in my ear? They're all my voice. Nobody else's. Don't you get it? I am the monster. And if I tell Lucet... won't she hate the monster too?" My voice grew pleading, and the Demon of Empathy opened his arms, and rifts forgive me but I embraced the demon, breaking down in sobs.
"I, too, am a monster," the Demon of Empathy murmured. "I have committed atrocities that would make dark gods jealous, and over my many, many years, I have learned one thing."
The Demon of Empathy pulled back, and their gaze was fierce. "I am the monster, yes. But I am also a therapist, and a leader, and a friend. And if I can be all those at once, you can too."
And something in my mind snapped. I saw the Demon of Empathy for what they were—killer, savior, truth and lie, angel, demon, therapist, spy—and I saw myself in every facet of their being.
If I can be all those at once, you can too.
I sniffled and leaned back, the effort strange even after how much time I'd spent getting used to the dream-plane we met in. I felt its edges begin to fray as I started my return to consciousness.
"Same time tomorrow?" the Demon of Empathy asked.
I nodded mutely, too stunned to do anything else.
"I'll see you then," the demon said, just before the world dissolved.
I awoke in my bed, the echoes of tears clinging dry to my face.
A.N.
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Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. For more, join the discussion at my discord, subscribe to bubblewriters, or support me at my patreon!

It needs a lot of work, I know. I want to remove the upper cabinets over the sink to open up the kitchen to dining area but I'm just not sure how to compensate for the loss of storage. That, and I want to incorporate open shelving somehow. Is it possible?? Would appreciate any thoughts!

Hi everyone, a popular Italian content creator called Sabaku no Maiku just had a Q&A about the lore of Elden Ring (base game for now), and I decided to translate the entire stream for the international community, until the youtube video comes out, at least.
For context, Sabaku has been a creator specialized in From Software's games for a long time, with heavy attention to the lore of the game, and especially to correct popular misinterpretations that are due to mistranslations or other creators not doing enough research before publishing videos on the topic. He worked with translators to get the most accurate possible interpretation of the original japanese meanings, and has been working tirelessly over the last year to do so for every description and dialogue in the game.
Over the year, he also gathered tons of lore questions from the community to answer in this stream and I'm here to translate it from italian so that everyone can enjoy it. Of course, I will only be translating the Q&A parts and I will be skipping over anything that is not lore-related from the stream. Even still, the stream was 2 hours long, so this is going to be a long one, and I'll probably split this into multiple parts, as some answers are actually quite long and the stream itself was also split into multiple parts, and will continue next week. Reminder that these info only come from the base game (no DLC yet) and only involve lore that we know for certainty (or almost), so no wild speculations here. Let's begin:

Q: What's the Elden Ring?

A: The Elden Ring is the most powerful Rune of the Lands Between, and it's central to the natural Order of the world. It's the pillar onto which nature's living cycle leans, in its life, death and change. However, the structure of the Elden Ring can be modified by whom is in its possession, that is the God of this world, and, through the removal or addition of Great Runes (the element that compose the ER), it's possible to modify the "law" (from the japanese "ritsu" , "law" or "rule") onto which nature depends.
The Elden Ring came to the Lands Between at the dawn of times, with the arrival of a golden meteor sent by the Greater Will. This meteor contained a Beast, that later transformed into the Elden Ring we know. It's not clear how this metamorphosis happened, but we can imagine it happened thanks to a process similar in concept to what we see happen to Goldmask, Dung Eater and Fia: After death, these tarnished gave birth to their own runes. It stands to reason to believe that the beast became the Elden Ring after its death and the creature we fight at the end of the game is all but a manifestation of its soul and its spirit world. Something we see with the Ancestral Spirit too, despite the two processes being fundamentally different.

Q: What are Runes?

A: Runes are the physical manifestation of Grace, which flows through the Lands Between and inside the eyes of its inhabitants. Runes share a lot of similarities to the Souls from Dark Souls: In fact, just like them, runes represent the core of the laws of life and of the universe itself. Specifically, they embody the power of Life, which can be used to empower our attributes. This last characteristic is fundamental to us Tarnished, but it also shows why Runes are so special in the Lands Between and why we, as Tarnished, are different from its inhabitants. Having runes inside means being blessed by Grace (which is the highest point of one's life) and, as a result, it means having superior qualities to regular human beings. This explains why the majority of the inhabitants of the LB are taller than us.
As a matter of fact, coming back to the similarities from Dark Souls, just like the most powerful souls can make you way stronger, possessing a greater Rune means having an higher density of Grace inside, and therefore more strength and vitality. This underlines how Runes, Grace and "Life" are deeply connected concepts in this world.
The similarities with Dark Souls don't end there though, as Runes can also manifest properties linked to their owner, like the Great Runes of the Demigods, or the Mending Runes, showcase. Or, in the opposite case, a Rune can also maintain an imperative principle even without its owner, remaining unchanged, like the Rune of Death (or the Lord Souls from DS, and, specifically, the Dark Soul). It's obvious how Runes are to the Elden Ring, like Souls are to the First Flame.
That said, there are also substantial differences between the Runes and Souls. While Souls were deeply connected to the concept of flame, Runes are instead linked the the concept of Gold and, especially, of a Sprout. In fact, runes are able to produce branches, leaves and plants in the world of ER, and this phenomenon showcases the "power of life" mentioned in the description of the Golden Rune (3)
Miyazaki himself, in an interview from Edge Magazine, mentioned how the image of a plant (and more specifically a tree) was, in his opinion, perfect to showcase a natural law that binds all, the process of birth, growth and death

"In Dark Souls, the theme of the Tree was already present, but Fire was the more prevalent visual element of the title. For Elden Ring, the Tree is obviously more noticeable from this perspective (...) This tree, with its shining golden leaves, fits my idea of something that physically represents the world (...) Since the tree is something that lives, grows and in the end, withers and dies. This image fits very well in the role of something that can impart Order, control those rules and make everyone abide by them. Since these will also grow, change and lastly wither and die. (...)" - Hidetaka Miyazaki, Edge Magazine
(EN: translation from english to italian to english again, so the wording will probably be different from the exact words of the original interview, which was also already translated from jp).

Therefore, Runes manifest plants and roots, spreading life and all aspect which derive from it This phenomena happens even in case a Rune is connected to a specific aspect of life. This is the case of the Deathroots (which generate Those who live in Death), which are nothing more than the ramifications of the Rune of Death, spread throughout the roots of the Erdtree when Godwyn the Golden was buried under it.
The second difference is that, in DS, souls are fundamental to maintain the life of a body, to the extent that, if removed, the body dies forever. This isn't the case for Runes. In fact, we have multiple examples of being which aren't "blessed by Grace" which, despite the absence of runes, live normally like anyone else. For example, the Albinaurics, the Omens and, most importantly, the Tarnished. Therefore, runes seem to be a sort of "bonus", sort of how it was in Demon's Souls: In this title from 2009, souls weren't the core of life, but instead of thought, and, if removed, wouldn't kill you, but it would remove your ability to think, making you a wandering zombie at the service of demons. We can imagine Runes carry out a similar function, in that, despite not being linked to the concept of thought, they could be the manifestation of life in its purest and crystalline form, sort of like a "code" that every living being possesses, from animals to people. You could speculate, that runes are not only the power of life itself, but also what ensures the evolution potential of living beings, making them more powerful, vigorous, and adept to improvement. That which "gave life its fullest brilliance" (or from japanese, "That which soundly (?) brightens the flame of life"), from the debut trailer.

Q (from Chat): Then why do you get runes when you kill Albinaurics and Omens?

A: The reasons are multiple. The first is, of course, the subtle line between gameplay and world building. But there's also the fact that, since the Shattering, runes were spread throughout the world and were absorbed even by beings that aren't "blessed by Grace" and therefore aren't normally born with runes inside them. So basically, they "stole" those runes, and couldn't really do anything with them.

Q: How can we be sure that the Elden Ring is the basis of life itself? Couldn't it simply be something that the Greater Will sent to the Lands Between to sort of "mark" its territory?

A: True, in the first days of the community speculation, it was a very popular theory that the Elden Ring was a kind of parasite, sent from the Greater Will to colonize the Lands Between. The theory became so popular than many fans treated it as anything but confirmed. Indeed, this theory can result, to a less discerning eye, as something quite plausible, considering how Elden Ring deals with cosmic elements and space creatures, and therefore can lead to believe that the title should be read as a sort of medieval game fused to sci-fi. The term used to refer to some of the divine forces at play, the "Outer Gods" (which we'll talk about at length later), immediately reminds us of the concept of Lovecraftian divine beings (even in japanese), and reinforces the idea that the game should be read as a mixture of fantasy and science fiction.
However, the more we delve deep in the descriptions and the esoteric narrative of the game, the more we can see that the theory not only cannot be confirmed, but even finds itself quite misleading if confronted with the objective info that the game gives us. Specifically, there's various proofs in game that underline the importance, in ER, of the Lands Between, not as a tool of control, but as the core of everything.
First of all, there's the Shattering. The moment the Elden Ring was fragmented, not only did the Golden Order crumble, but so did the entire island. Both the Two Fingers and Melina speak about the necessity of having an Elden Lord who could bring everything back together, because life in the Lands Between literally went downhill. If the Elden Ring was only a mere instrument of the Greater Will, its shattering wouldn't have represented such a terrible event for everyone. In fact, people don't normally die, and, with the rupture of the system, there is no more stability in the law of nature.
Moreover, there's also a few info that Ranni's quest gives us, to take into consideration. While she explains to us her plans for a new world where we become her consort and the Elden Lorn, the Lunar Princess mentions to us that she intends to keep the Order, and therefore the Elden Ring, far away from this land "even if life and souls are bound to it" (translation from japanese).
I shouldn't be reminding you how Ranni is by far the most opposed figure to the control exercised by the Fingers, vassals of the Greater Will, but despite that, she doesn't speak of destroying the Elden Ring further. She decides instead to take the ER and bring it with her, moving far away from the Lands Between, exactly because it's not possible to permanently cut the connection between the first Rune and the life that it generated. Rather, the ones who got the Lord of Chaos ending, have seen exactly what happens the instant we decide to burn everything down... It's clearly not possible to separate Life from the Elden Ring.
Furthermore, there is another clear evidence of the importance that the Elden Ring has in the workings of the Lands Between: If it wasn't such an important fulcrum of the natural order, then the act of removing the Rune of Death from it shouldn't have had such impactful consequences right? And yet, under the Golden Order, death doesn't exist and it's not seen as a natural process anymore (if not as a way to "return to the Erdtree"). This happens, again, because Destined Death was removed from the ER. Some could counter saying that the influence of the Elden Ring only started after this hypothetical parasite came to this world, but even this claim finds no validity, because the game itself shows us that the Elden Ring has existed in the Lands Between since the age of the ancient dragons, way before Marika and the Erdtree, when Placidusax was Elden Lord. And yes, Placidusax was an actual Elden Lord, not a "metaphorical one".
In short (EN: lmao), all the evidence that we gathered brings us to the conclusion that the Elden Ring isn't some kind of alien force, but the core of the Lands Between and the origin of every civilazione and creature that ever resided here. For further evidence, just look at the dialogue with Hyetta and the very first trailer, which showcase very well the role of the Elden Ring with statements like "that which commanded the stars and gave life its fullest brilliance" ( in japanese, "that which rules the stars that flow and soundly(?) brightens the flame of life")

Q: What is Grace?

A: Grace is the blessing of life which was brought to the Lands Between in ancient times, when the Elden Ring was formed from the golden meteor. Like we said before, Grace and Life are deeply intertwined concepts: In the world of Elden Ring, life finds it maximum manifestation in the so called Grace, a golden energy that, regardless of the form it takes, ensures life is at its highest peak. In fact, in japanese, the name for Grace is "shukufuku" (EN: in the document shown in the stream, the kanji for this word was also included, for those who are curious), which translates to "blessing" or "celebration of joy" - therefore it's not by chance that Melina tells us the golden light which guides us in our adventure is "the blessing of the Golden Tree" in japanese (and in the english adaptation). See? Runes, Grace and Life are connected.
Albeit it seems like Grace has spread far an wide thanks to the Erdtree's offset, Grace is harbored in almost all the inhabitants of the Lands Between, even the ones in opposition to the Greater Will, like the Nox. This is showcased by the fact that every mob, when killed, releases runes to use as an upgrade or as currency, and the fact the scales of the ancient dragons, despite preceding Marika's Order, were already covered in gold. (We also have all the golden eyes of beings that would normally be hostile too)
Besides taking the form of Runes, Grace can also manifest as other forms, like the droplets of golden dew produced by the Erdtree and the beams of golden light that guide us at the start of the game. It should be noted how, inside those streams, there's small golden leaves which dance in the air, more evidence to how Grace in the LB and its power of live are linked with plants and leaves.
It's never explicitly stated in any description, but we can imagine how whoever becomes the divinity of the Lands Between - that is to say, whoever inherits the Elden Ring - exercises also a direct control on Grace. In fact, it was Queen Marika to take Grace away from us, making us Tarnished, therefore, logically, we can assume it was also her that gave it back to us (exactly like she promised to, judging from her "spoken echoes")

Q: Wasn't the Greater Will the one that gave us Grace?

A: That's what the Two Fingers believe, but following the events of the game, we discover that the Greater Will is at last out of the game: in the sense that, like the introduction itself narrates, the Greater Will has abandoned the Lands Between and its inhabitants, leaving everything and everyone behind. The idea that our mission is blessed and wanted by the Greater Will is a belief which was matured by the old Two Fingers in the Roundtable Hold, who think the divine entity still watches over the world. However, the moment we reach the Erdtree, and it negates our access, the Two Fingers, shaken by the even, try to contact the Greater Will to get an explanation. For the remaining duration of the game though, they will never get an answer, which is pretty indicative to the fact that the Greater Will has been totally absent throughout the course of recent events.
Gideon Ofnir himself, in the description of Lord's Divine Fortification, has understoon how both the Fingers and the Erdtreee, have at last felt the weight of time and the Shattering, and that there's nothing holy left in our mission. In the end, we're trying to save what can be saved, in a stranded world.
The game, unfortunately, never confirms if the Greater Will can actually affect Grace or not, but what we know with absolute certainty, is that the divine entity is long but gone and, as such, should be excluded from any speculation post-Shattering. However, we know of another entity able to control Grace: Queen Marika, who, though reduced to an empty and broken shell, is still the Goddess i charge. It's not by chance that, in some Sites of Grace, we Tarnished can still notice some of her echoes, and comprehend them thanks to Melina.
It's therefore very likely that the Grace which guides us back in the Lands Between, "accross the fog", is exactly and extention of the Queen's will.

Q: But if Grace is guided by the Queen, then what are her objectives? What's Marika's plan?

A: To this question, unfortunately, we can't answer for sure, since what we know of the Eternal Queen is just fragments of information, spread here and there between descriptions and official sites. Some believe our action are part of a greater plan imagined by Marika herself, and this isn't completely wrong, in fact, Grace has called us back, which means the Goddess wanted our return in the Lands Between.
Without mentioning the fact that, judging by the echoes that Melina perceives in the Queen's bedroom, Marika sounds pretty determined in her choice to break the Elden Ring. Let's not forget about our smith Hewg, forced by Marika to forge a weapon which, by her will, would have to be able to kill a god like her. With this in mind, it's likely that Marika had some kind of plan.
However, let's not take for granted the idea that the Queen had a clear mind in her actions, on the contrary... In the Cinematic Trailer, Ranni tells us that after the Night of the Black Knives, Marika "was driven to the brink", - in japanese, Ranni even says, without wasting words, that she could have gone completely mad for the death of the son. We should also remember that the plot not only involved the Prince, but also other unmentioned demigods, (from the official Bandai Namco site).
Therefore, we cannot assume her actions weren't simply driven by her folly. Judging by her echoes, Marika seems to be fierce and ruthless in preserving her own interests, between her empire and her family. It's not absurd to think, then, that the psychological weight and the sense of failure in seeing her prized son die, together with other demigods, all members of her family, and the complete crumbling of the Erdtree system thanks to the Deathroots, must have driven her to madness.
If we consider as true the theory that the Gloam-Eyed Queen was also one of the demigods children, then Godwyn might not even be the first of her offspring to have to be buried by the queen's own hands. Moreover, it shouldn't be underestimated how heavy it is to be the one and only Goddess of the world, which, albeit granted with incredible power, still has to shoulder a great weight: many Empyreans will try to overtake the throne, betrayals and internal struggles... maybe even the removal of the Rune of Death from the Elden Ring might have played a role in damaging her mind, since as long as the Elden Ring resides inside her, as a matter of fact, she IS the Elden Ring, and therefore, by modifying it, she might have also influenced herself. It's not by chance that, in the intro, Marika was already shown with small cracks on her arms and shoulders.
*In fact, Marika doesn't seem to gain anything from her action, seen as it's apparent that, even after repairing the Elden Ring, she still remains an empty stone corpse. She never benefits from the new Order that we create, and only remains as a crumbled shell, literally, of her former self. *
In short (EN: again, lmao), our guidance could just be what remains of the lingering will of a mad queen. Maybe that's why many, like Roderika, refer to her as the one who cursed us. In that sense, we would find ourselves in this situation because of the whims of a mad goddess who, the moment something started to deviate from her plans, decided to bring everything she herself created, down with her. Maybe, that's also why, when Giden found the "last will of the Queen" he was shocked by it and found it an "unacceptable ending".
A goddess that was "way too human", both victim and executioner, who sacrificed herself for herself, cursing our entire world.

Q: But didn't Marika desire to challenge the Greater Will?

A: Not necessarily. This too, is one of the very first theories that was spread during the first few days from release, but, like the idea that Grace is the guide of the GW, this theory too does not align with what the game itself shows us.
Despite there being evidence that the gods and the empyreans have to be ruled by some sort of system by the Fingers, the game never shows us any instance of Marika, or other Empyreans, being forced to do anything. Queen Marika is only ever shown to take decisions by herself, from declaring wars to anything that breathes, to removing Destined Death from the Lands Between, to taking Radagon as his second consort. All of these are choices Marika made by herself. Marika's freedom reaches such a level that the Goddess was even able to shatter the Elden Ring, with no one able to stop her, and was only punished after the event. These don't look like the actions of a prisoner of her position. If anything, it seems like, as long as there's an Order in the Lands Between, the Greater Will leaves quite enough freedom to govern to the God in charge.
There's also those who believe that the Greater Will is in conflict with the Outer Gods for control over the Lands Between, but here we also need to remember a crucial detail for the comprehension of the divine dynamics of this work: Among the Empyreans, there is a candidate to the title of Goddess, Malenia, who has the Scarlet Rot inside, an Outer God in absolute opposition to the Golden Order. And yet, the Greater Will didn't seem to carte at all. In fact, we know that you become an Empyrean by being chosen by the Two Fingers, and therefore it's as if the Greater Will itself, through its vassals on land, chose Malenia as a candidate. In short, it doesn't look like this Greater Will is such a tyrannical being, as people like to depict it.
The only case where we see the Greater Will react with wrath towards the actions of someone is in the case of the Nox, whose "high treason" (from the japanese description of the Fingerslayer Blade) was the attempt to kill one of their Two Fingers. The same thing Ranni was trying to do (in which case she also committed "high treason"). So Ranni would have probably also be punished the same way, if she had tried to kill her Fingers before the Shattering. It seems, then, that the Greater Will intervenes (or used to intervene before abandoning the world) only when its emissaries are in danger. But apart from this specific case, it doesn't seem to interfere with any of the choice of the God in charge, as long as there's an Order in place, keeping things together.

Q: What is a Tarnished?

A: A Tarnished (in japanese called "asebito" which translates to "Faded") is an inhabitant of the world outside the Lands Between who doesn't harbor any Grace within. The Tarnished were born when Queen Marika removed the Grace from her first consort, Godfrey, and all of the warriors who fought alongside him during his conquests. When the last enemy fell, and the Lands Between found themselves under the complete authority of the Golden Order, the King and his men found themselves without Grace, and the Queen commanded them to leave the Lands Between and reach a far away land, to "look for conflict, to live and then die". It was then that the first Tarnished were born, and, with the promise that Marika would, one day return their lost Grace and the possibility to come back to the Lands Between, they would sail towards the outside world, to begin what was called "The Long March" (with a ship that would, unfortunately, get stranded and sink in the sea). The adaptation is not clear as to what this exile was for, but the original japanese text gives us some more clues: In fact, the Long March is originally called "chousei" , term which can be translated as "long military expedition" or "great military expedition".
So, despite never being stated explicitly, the purpose of the Long March was, very likely, to conquer the lands beyond, and expand the dominion of the Golden Order outside the Lands Between.
The Long March brought the Tarnished to expand into these lands, creating new countries and societies, like the Badlands ( "land of the barbarians" in japanese), Kaiden, the Lands of Reeds etc...
Unlike in Dark Souls, we know very little of these outside lands, but, thanks to the Confessor set, we know that a church was established outside the Lands Between, which is dedicated to spreading the teachings of the Two Fingers (while at the same time casting away the Prophets who spoke around a certain flame who would one day burn the Erdtree). We can say, then, that the objective of the Long March, was all in all achieved.
For obvious reasons, every single Tarnished is a descendant of the first Elden Lord and his army, so much so that the description of the Warrior class (in the character creation menu), explicitly tells us that all Tarnished were once warriors without distinction. That said, in recent times Tarnished became Astrologers, Priests, Sailors, Nobles and more. We can safely assume then, that the lands outside of the Lands Between are inhabited and populated.
After the Shattering, Grace was returned to the Tarnished, giving them a specific mission. Repair the Elden Ring and become Elden Lord. Like with Dark Souls' Undeads, guided by an alleged prophecy, towards "their destiny", the Tarnished will reach the Lands Between to reclaim the throne, finding themselves in need to challenge the demigods who, currently, possess the fragment of the Elden Ring. But the Tarnished still remain hated and despised in the Lands Between, seen as inferior and persecuted in the worst of ways. Which is why, their mission was never going to be easy.

Q: So why did Marika take Grace away from Godfrey and his soldiers?

A: Like everything that involves Marika and her plans, unfortunately we don't have answers for certain but, to dare try and make a theories, we could think that the main reason why Grace was taken away from Godfrey was for the fear that it would somehow be stolen by potential enemies. In short, Marika didn't want Grace to fall in enemy's hands.
From the gifts we can choose in the character creation screen, the so called "Keepsakes" (from japanese "katami", meaning "memento" or "souvenir") we have the possibility to chose a "Lands Between Rune", which, besides giving us a very important description to understand the nature of the Tarnished, subtly remarks how runes are physical objects, which can be carried around (even tho in our case, we carry it in our bodies, since we are Tarnished). This showcases how Grace can exist outside the Lands Between, and, if we take in consideration the amount of runes we found on corpses or inside tombs, Grace can leak outside the bodies of the dead. With a similar phenomen, whos says that Grace wouldn't have spread outside the Lands between, and be absorbed by the ground, plants, animals and other creatures? Queen Marika already has a lot to think about and definitely doesn't need a "second Land Between" to care for. Grace is hers, and hers alone.

Q: Then why is there a Rune among the starting Gifts? Doesn't that go against what was just stated?

A: Not necessarily. In fact, it's possible that this Rune was an excess of Grace which, by chance, landed in our hands after we were given life by it again.
Or maybe, and an answer that I personally prefer, it's more likely that it's effectively a leftover of Grace, that us Tarnished, as the protagonist, obtained outside the Lands Between. In the original description of the Sacred Tear item, it's explained that these are the "vestiges of the Grace of the Golden Tree, kept safe in the churches of all lands". Taken at face value, we could take for granted that the description references the churches of the Lands Between, but the description never mentions the island itself: Who says that "all lands" doesn't refer to the outside world too? In fact, those are churches dedicated to the teachings of the Two Fingers. So who's to say that these goblets containing Grace weren't the metaphorical Bible of the "missionaries" mentioned in that description, brought to the "savage" inhabitants of the lands outside to show them how good, generous and beautiful the Golden Order was? In the Cinematic Intro, we are shown a Statue of Marika inside the catacombs where the Tarnished were buried. Moreover, from the Keepsakes in the PC Creation Menu, we can choose items dating to a period following the exile of the Tarnished, like Miquella's Bewitching Branch, or the Golden Seen. Golden Mask himself is a Fondamentalist of the Golden order, a doctrine which was born only after Godfrey's exile. All this to showcase that the Lands Between and the lands outside did have dealings, trades and cultural exchanges.
It's therefore plausible that these items ended up in the outside world through some kind of commercial relationship or by pure chance (like the Golden Seeds mentioned before, who reportedly "flew out from the Erdtree, scattering across various lands" after the Shattering, or, like the small description of the Keepsakes mentions, were "stranded" from the Lands Between towards the lands outside.
Or maybe we're discussing fluff (EN: and I'm translating it, what am i even doing) and, for all we know, we could have just gotten them after our arrival in the Lands Between (even though the fact that they are called Keepsakes suggests that we've always had them with us, since at least before our deaths and subsequent revival).

Q: So what are the Lands Between? And what is found outside of them besides the Tarnished?

A: The Lands Between - making another comparison to Dark Souls (seen as good ol' Miyaz likes to repeat himself) - is the Lordran of Elden Ring: a legendary place, where the most ancient civilizations reside, and the the inhabitants are blessed by the Grace of the Erdtree (and therefore the Elden Ring). A sort of Eden, for those who are graced. It seems to be separate from the rest of the world, by a "sea of fog" which surrounds the island and probably makes it pretty difficult to find for whoever wants to reach it (EN: big Valinor vibes from the Lord of the Rings canon) - and as such, i'll have you notice, could make it seem like the call of the chosen Tarnished to be "divine", to the eyes of the inhabitants of the outside world, since these would be seen as the select few who have the chance to reach this magical and legendary place that is the Lands Between, land of Gods and Demigods.
To close out the question, I'd like to leave to you the original text describing the Lands Between: In fact, from japanese, it's called "hazama no ji", which roughly translates to "the land which stands inbetween" or "the land between things", from which the obvious english name. However, "hazama" can also be literally translated to "interstice" (EN: a "narrow gap" or "crack" for those like me that have never used this word in english) which would represent an acute reference to the Interstice in Berserk, ("hazama no sekai" in japanese), which is the dimension between the physical plane and the astral plane. So if we wanted to throw ourselves into some wild speculation (EN: i lied), we could theorize that Elden Ring's Interstice is so called since it's the connection point at which the physical world and the cosmic world meet, since it's the place where apparently meteors and cosmic creatures tend to fall. But this is just speculation!
[ This is the point of the stream where Sabaku realizes it's going to be impossible to finish the entire Q&A in one stream and hilarity ensues. This is also the point where I'm splitting this translation into two parts, so stay tuned for part 2 ]
EDIT: wait for a second as I fix the formatting

I'm prepared to get a lot of hate for this, but I really do need to get this off my chest.
I hate my cat. I really fucking hate him. I miss the way my life was before I got him, when it was just me and my dog. I got him when I moved out because I didn't want my dog to be alone when I was at work for long hours, and now it's one of my biggest regrets.
I miss being able to leave food out on the table without my cat shoving his face in it and/or knocking it over. As soon as he got big enough to jump onto my kitchen counters I banned him from the kitchen because I dont trust him and I don't want cat hair where I prepare food. He likes plastic and I'm afraid he'll end up eating some and choke. I don't want him eating something he shouldn't. I can't even have plants around anywhere besides the kitchen now otherwise he'll eat them and knock them over, and a lot of plants are toxic to cats and I don't want him to get sick or die. The worst part is he STILL finds ways to break into the kitchen. I've tried everything, gates, cat spikes, chili powder, even tried training him to stay away. NOTHING works, he's obsessed with getting into the kitchen because he knows he's not allowed in it. He will sometimes wait for me to fall asleep on the couch so he can break into the kitchen and wreck everything in sight. He consisently tries climbing on every single one of my shelves, knocking everything he can over in the process. I can't let him in my bathroom without supervision either because he climbs on top of the shower and I'm worried he'll jump and break his neck on the sink or something. He will fucking PISS on my front door when I take my dog out for a walk because he's angry I won't let him outside (also idc what your thoughts are about this but cats DO NOT belong outside, they ruin the ecosystem and are at risk of dying really horrible deaths). I even bought a cat carrier and a harness so I could let him join in on my walks with my dog, but that doesn't satisfy him enough. When I try to get him to walk with the harness he just stands in one place and refuses to move. He doesn't understand when the weather is bad and I CANT take him outside so he pisses by the front door. There's no way in HELL I'd ever let him outside without a leash because he's also prone to ripping his collar off immediately so I'm worried if he ran away and someone did find him they'd just think he was a stray. He definitely couldn't survive outdoors for long, hes been an inside cat all his life. I'm literally at my wits end. I used to love him, and technically still do, but FUCK do I wish I never adopted him. I dont want to rehome him because I couldn't do that to my dog or him, and I don't want to deal with the horrible judgment that would come from everyone I know irl if I did. It's not like I'd ever take my anger out on him, I still hug him and give him kisses. I still cuddle with him and make sure he's healthy and well fed... Just most of the time I fantasize about how much easier my life was before him.
I see a lot of parents talk about regrets of having children, but I pretty much never see anyone talk about regrets of adopting a pet. And honestly this has convinced me that I never want to have kids either.

i work at a US hotel in the kitchen. i have one more week left before i leave to start a new job in a new restaurant, and i am about to rain hellfire down upon my current employer… TL;DR i have cause and proof to call the Department of Health, the State Liquor Authority, and the Department of Labor on them.

1. state Dept of Health requires gloves be used to handle any ready to eat food that won’t be cooked before being served, and all the restaurant staff - even the servers - love to grab stuff and put it in the plates with their bare hands. when the chef and i spoke about it he agreed it was unacceptable and told me to direct the servers who i saw doing it to wear gloves or use utensils as per his instructions. one server was not on board, and i relayed to her the words of her boss [while saying it was a direct quote] which included a curse word. apparently he can say it but i can’t. lol. anyway, methinks the place is due for an inspection. also, this is not the only violation a health inspector is going to find.
   
2. a few weeks ago, a bartender served a guest and took payment for 2 beers meant for a kitchen employee that served that guest his food personally while out of uniform (both those things are against policy btw) and then that kitchen employee brought said beers to back of house while still on the clock and proceeded to drink with another one of the kitchen staff. also, said kitchen employee is only 19 and the legal drinking age is 21 for any non USians fyi. bartender knowingly serves someone who he did not check ID for, and a child drinks on the job. the manager in this story was notified of this egregious act but both employees somehow still have jobs. someone’s about to lose their liquor license and earn the hotel a massive fine. say goodbye to serving any alcohol this summer season!
   
3. meal break law in my state requires certain minimum lengths for meal periods, and they must be taken during specific hours, as long as the employee has worked over X amount of hours that shift. for example, you must take an hour lunch between 10am and 3pm if you’ve worked 8 hours. the same manager that is the star of this story was shocked when i asked for a break a few days after i started working there, and has cut my hours as a result of me asking for breaks. can you say illegal retaliation? he claims people will only get breaks if they ask for them, and that it’s up to manager discretion to give them even if someone asks for them. which is of course, breaking the law. furthermore, employee handbook says we get paid for our meal break, and yet he has for his entire career at this location been making employees punch out for meals, meaning there’s likely thousands of dollars owed to dozens of employees from over the years. my state’s dept of labor just LOVES thick, juicy violations like this that they can really sink their teeth in to.
   

moral of the story: don’t break the law, and if you do plan to break the law, don’t fuck over your employees while doing so, and if you do plan to fuck over your employees don’t fuck over the ones that are intimately familiar with the laws that govern businesses and food service establishments in your state and have direct contact with the heads of the appropriate departments of those enforcement agencies whose laws you are breaking. ✌️