8th of December 1897


Editorial

I love her. Too much, perhaps. From the days we have played together as children. From the moments we have spent together in the class chairs, in the tree branches, on the doorsteps of our rooms. I loved her through the storms and through the waves and through the falls.

I love her and I am determined to help her. That is my purpose, after all. Purposes be damned, Law knows I would help her no matter what. There is no coming back from beyond the snow. I know that well. Could I deny her? When I look into those tired eyes. How much pain and suffering can one soul bear? Not all by her own choice. We don’t get to choose why we live, perhaps only how we do it.

I love her and I will remain after she does not. I could never follow. I will hold her hand as her rowboat slowly departs for the Gate, our fingers slowly parting, neither of us wanting to truly let go. Or, perhaps, not both. I could never be angry with her. I have supported her decisions. I like to think I have helped her find the right path. We may not get to choose why we live, but we get to choose how we do it.

I love her and I will weep silent tears for years to come.

Perhaps the snow will not be so cruel.


Art of London

Sun-Filled Stories, Chapter One
Part III
by Cassius Mortemer

Another good distance of silence. The Devil still didn’t chase him away. The Author took that as an invitation.
“I noticed that you were not particularly bothered with those broken jars earlier…”
“You may not have any of these,”
“Not even a drop?”
Finally, the Devil stops walking, right on the side of the street. He was looking about, left and right.
“Do you need a cab?”
The Devil ignored him. How was he going to hail a hansom cab when his arms are full and he was trying his best to disappear into his own coat? The Author hailed them a cab, making sure the Devil gets on first. Mostly so he won’t just run away.

The Devil furrowed his dark eyebrows together.
“I don’t need help”
“That doesn’t mean you do not deserve it,”
The Devil pressed his lips into a tight line, but didn’t protest.
“You’re very easy to push around. Rather uncommon for a Devil”
The Devil continued to ignore him. The Author started grinning.
“You’re not dressed as flamboyantly as your hell-mates, either,”

The entire ride to the Forgotten Quarter kept on like this. The Honey-Addled Author asked question after question, all very innocent and polite (in his opinion). The Introverted Devil made a point of staying quiet, hiding deep into his own coat.
“Alright, I know you’re just ignoring me out of spite, but we’re already here and you’re about to burn a hole in your seat. Why are you so nervous? Surely it can’t be me, I’m a human!”
“It’s not you,”

The Author waited for an elaboration with barely-concealed impatience. The Devil sighed and shook his head.
“It’s the devils waiting for me,” he said, then got out of the cab, barely waiting for it to stop properly. The Author, obviously, followed.

Turns out, devils aren’t only unkind to humans. They also seem to enjoy bullying their own. The weak and the vulnerable. Like the Introverted Devil. It still wasn’t apparent what the honey was for, but the rowdy bunch of devils took every single jar. They were roughly grabbing, shoving, and teasing the Introverted Devil, and the Devil didn’t even attempt fighting back. The Author knew better than to directly interfere. Mostly.
“Excuse me, what is the honey for?”

The devils stop their teasing to stare at the Author. As if just now realizing he’s there. The Author cleared his throat.
“Just out of curiosity, you s-”
“Oho, what’s this? Brought a friend with you?” the Churlish Devil taunted. The Introverted Devil looked away.
“He’s not my friend. I just met him,”
But the Churlish Devil was still smirking. He approached the Author, and the Author attempted to avoid that. The Devil grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Not a bad soul, I must say,” he said.
The Honey-Addled Author didn’t know whether he was flattered or afraid.
“My good sir, my soul is not for sale!” he said.
“We’ll see about that.”


News of Art, Art of News

Festive Plays At Midnight – All-Bird Theatre Group Takes The Holidays!

While it has been some time since we have heard from the All-Bird Theatre Group, they have now announced their comeback with a full kabang! Introducing three new plays – a reenactment of A Christmas Carol, a festive Hamlet, and a Neath-based retelling of the classic tale of Bethlehem (fit for even the youngest of believers).

These plays will hit the midnight stages from the very first day of lacre-fall, and will be continued up until the tail end of the holiday season. Returning bird stars will all be present in various roles, and the production team promises a truly unique audience participation experience.

Best of all – attendance is all free! Donations will be accepted during performances or at the Mahogany Hall box office.

We shall, of course, give our impressions once the plays hit.

Do not be shy, London, support art, and we hope to see you there!


Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
I’ve not felt anything for a long time.
P. Dying


Dear P. Dying,
There are dark and bright days. On the poles, one can overtake the other. There is a need for balance, always. This too shall pass.

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