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16th of August 1898


There is little I can say to express my sheer disappointment in my own abilities. To truly encompass the depth of my regret, to properly grovel at the feet of the world.

Dear readers, I will be the first one to say that the state of the Gazette had not been up to standard in recent months. I could make excuses, throw blame at the busy times of the very recent months, point out the understaffing and competition of the world of journalism, yet such would benefit no one. So it stands that I, as the Editor in Chief, am fully responsible for all that this paper is, produces, and stands for – and I simply do not feel as though I live to my own desires.

As such, I hereby vow to embetter myself, to strive for greatness, and to bring nothing but improvements in the coming months.

To all the artists who had supported our humble paper for so long – thank you.

And to you, my dear readers – thank you a million times more.

– R.

Art of London

Various Portraits
by Elvira Blake, pen name Millea

Mayoral Term

Edward, yet

News of Art, Art of News

E_____’s Exquisite Confections – Moloch Street Stall Open!

Several months had passed since one Mr. E_____’s company, the E_____ Confectionary, had entered London on the streets of Veilgarden. This mysterious shop’s doors remained closed for a rather questionable while, yet progress was quite visible. With a coat of new paint, shiny new hinges and lamps, a lovely door of oak and candy floss pink drapery, gentlepeople of the Ministry of Health had on several occasions entered the store.

Sooner yet after these visits, private clients were seen visiting the small shop, each from a diverse walk of life. Soon, the word of Mr. E_____’s confections had spread wide. The fudge, sublime, the chocolates, unmatched, the caramel – oh, by the stars, the caramel. From the highest echelons of society to the lowest rags of the common folk, everybody had heard the name.

With such novel ideas, heavenly tastes, and rather affordable prices, all things considered, it is a surprise that the shop had not taken London with much more of a bang. Perhaps it was the riffraff of technological progress combined with the mayoral elections that had allowed E_____ Confectionary to go by unnoticed. Whatever the case may be, there is clearly more yet to this sweet-toothed businessman.

Why, of course, the very newly-opened Moloch Street small stall, a queer sign above letting all traingoers know that E_____’s Exquisite Confections can be found for sale there, is nothing but clear proof of this. In spirit of the Veilgarden shop, the stall as if popped into existence overnight. Its windows yet dark, doors yet locked, and fliers hanging about announcing no clear dates, rather clear advances in flavour. Soon, they claim, honey shall be the new fashion. Prisoner’s Honey, yes, diluted as such to not yank one’s waking body into the land of the dreams, but only to thin the veil between our world and Parabola itself. The sweetness of this honey, and the wonderful realities it can bring, all safely wrapped in a sucker.

Such are bold claims, we will be the first to agree, yet we cannot help but feel further excitement. After all, E_____ Confectionary is, if nothing else, tantalising beyond belief.

Sweet tasting, dear London.

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
What a walk! Would you not agree? Shame for the time.

Dear Lost,
A lovely night doth not need a filled schedule. Do open a bottle on me as well.


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