Spring has come to the world. Despite the damp darkness of the Neath we can feel the ease in the air. Warmer, lighter, breezier. Couples walking in parks whistle together; zailors sing louder and rowdier; laughter emanates throughout our fair city’s streets.
Spring is here, we know, for we can feel the sunlight in our dreams. Such is enough, of course. The surface, now, may be too far gone for us. Such is good, of course. There are no regrets I have of coming here.
Not all share my sentiments, I am aware. Still, it is important to give ourselves to the present. To enjoy one’s situation if at all plausible. It is plausible, is my firm belief. The Neath brings wonders of its own. Its treasures, delicacies, vices, and oh the secrets.
Do not fear, dear London. We shall not be brought down by the drab reality they want us to succumb to.
Rejoice, dear London, for spring is here.
Art of London
Memories and Roses, Part V
by Professor Wensleydale.
Now, I would need to make sure that this project was favorably reviewed. Onto the court of Her Enduring Majesty!
The footmen greeted me, and I had a few people to talk to: the duchess; Mr. Huffam; and the functionary.
I followed the cats, and the Duchess spoke to me. “Tell me something- what brings you here?”
“I’m here for some advice as to what would please the Court’s tastes. I’m restoring an epic from a long time ago.”
“Throw in some romance.”
I quickly gave Mr. Huffam a note, asking for a few favorable reviews of my work.
And the functionary? He was having a hangover, so he wasn’t able to speak to me. Oh well.
Shadowy is increasing…
Melancholy is increasing…
Restoring an Epic has increased to 6!
You’ve gained 1*Surface-Rose Petal(new total 8).
News of Art, Art of News
A Theatrical Escape – Development In The Clay Case
Over a month had passed since the series of murders in a local theatre. The main suspect, a clay man and former stagehand of said theatre, is still at large somewhere in the Neath. The Constabulary and private detectives have been hard at work – here are the facts developments. We warn that the details may not be suitable for those of weaker constitution.
All the victims have been slain by the method of garrote. The chain used was small and sharp, easily opening the victim’s necks. More disturbingly, none of the murder victims have come back to life, thus it is impossible to question them for the killer’s identity.
Yes, all but one have died – the most recent victim was a decoy, a lookalike of the Celebrated Actress. Her murder was interrupted by an ambush squad and she was quickly hospitalized. Though her consciousness had slipped away, her recovery has been progressing well, and she is nearly in a good health for questioning.
The Clay Fugitive, as mentioned, is still at large. Not much is known of this clay man. He came from Polythreme, as they all do. He looked for honest work, as most do. His coworkers say he was hardworking and kept mostly to himself. As the murders had swept through the theatre, witnesses report, he became more and more nervous. Jittery, panicked if approached. What dark secrets may he hide…
Here is where the available police records end. We have it on good word that it is as far as the Constabulary had gotten. Of course, we at the Gazette have a reputation of investigative journalism to uphold – and many contacts in the world of art. Here is what we now know:
The Clay Man was well liked within the theatre. It is said he had a true passion for the art, intently watching the plays, the plots, the actors. To most his alleged actions have come as a shock. Indeed, he has made a good friend of the Humbled Stagehand who swears that his comrade is incapable of such cruelty.
In the dark of the morning during a clandestine meeting, a person of prominence (who shall remain unnamed) has spoken up. There has been word, they say, a rumour going ‘round, of a plot to get rid of certain players. The stakes are high, they say, the Egyptian is breathing down their neck.
What may the truth be? Is the Clay Fugitive truly the culprit?
We shall keep you updated, dear London.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
Is it the futility of mankind to be stuck in a cycle of hoping?
The human nature is one to be pondered upon, yet I fear never to be solved.