There is not a castle of black stone, hung by a thread from an upside-down mountain in the far horizon. Servants of defect stars do not live in this castle, compiling compendiums of their masters’ empty words. There are no cats whose words cut minds as hot iron cuts skin.
If such castle did exist, no one would have seen it.
There are no answers to questions which no one has. There are no questions which no one can answer. There is no way to ask such questions.
No reckoning is inevitable.
Art of London
Apocyan, and a Portrait of a Colonist
by Tris Ghost
Visit their gallery, observe more art.
Landscapes of Dreams
by A Waste of Orange
Lastly, we are delighted to present in this edition, the work of a delightful fan of ours.
A Dashing Goose
by an urchin from one Plurnes’ orphanage.
This delightful youngster has our greatest and deepest thanks, as well as a surprise waiting in their mailbox. Thank you!
News of Art, Art of News
Stolen River, Alight With Feathered Passion
With the mild excited irreverence of Whitsun gone, London’s streets are being cleared of be-shelled wonders and things can return to relative normalcy. With such normalcy comes the false-summer, and moreso, the season of theatre! For this joyous occasion, the All-Bird Theatre Troupe has prepared a special performance!
For the celebrations of time’s passage, our beloved feathered thespians have come out not with a play, but rather a circus-like extravaganza of aerobatics, song, and fireworks.
On the Stolen River, five days a week, between morn’ and eve, a gilded boat glides through the waters, east to west and back again. On this boat, the All-Bird Theatre Troupe’s performers will regale all onlookers with wonders beyond imagination!
From the shores of the river canal, watch peacock swarm the sky! Observe as feathered aerobats dash through rings of fire! Songs, dances, shows of light! The All-Bird Theatre Troupe invites all to watch!
Station At Marigold – The End Of The Line
After a long time of arduous work, the Great Hellbound Railway has, at last, finished its full development. The GHR line has been merged into the Moloch line at the station at Marigold, mere leagues from the very gates of Hell.
Marigold stands proud and lonely, the last order of separation of any semblance of law that might exist from Hell’s furnaces as they forge the devils’ own reality. At this station, you will find no station building – after all, it is not under the GHR’s purview. Instead, a single lonely bench on which a stationmaster sits greets those brave enough to let a train carry them the distance.
Marigold itself is a plain plane, a desert which, from the right angle, might be impossibly lit by the fires of what it guards, just enough to perhaps remind one of a desert from the surface. Here stand tall an empty amphitheatre, the Edict of Towers, [REDACTED].
Hell itself, so close yet so far. It is not for those sensitive of flesh and spirit to attempt and reach its gates. It is not for those without reason, without determination, or without guide. It is not for those without luck on their side. Hell, the final frontier, does not open its gates to merely anyone; all the same, there is a quarter of Hell reserved for those who may find themselves visiting therein.
The GHR, in a public statement, have thanked and congratulated the many workers and managers of this great project, and wish to invite all citizens of London to board its trains with a buy one get one free promotion on first-class tickets.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
Change does not come easy. There are many obstacles to overcome, in one’s mind and outside of it. Fears, terrors even, uncertainties, and such beautiful, amazing moments. Pray tell – where is a good place to find a good scone to take one’s mind off of such thoughts?
Dear Sweet Tooth,
Corner of Spite and Veilgarden, behind a bend in the pavement, an unsigned door, windows with a floral design, and a lazy tabby with a cut ear.