Search Results for 'ink'

It was good to be digging again. The relentless heat of the summer over, the days were perfect for excavating the next hole in her garden. It was hard work and slow hacking off bits of earth almost as hard and dry as concrete, but each day the promise of new finds became more tantalizing and encouraged her to keep working at it. There was not much more of the top layer to remove now before Truella could expect to start seeing bits of pottery and whatever else the deep dark earth had to reveal about its past.

Unable to see any particular connecting link to the dig (and Truella was usually good at that), she had become obsessed with Cromwell. Maybe she’d find a postcard from Cromwell; everyone seemed to be getting strange postcards these days. The idea of a postcard from Cromwell had wafted into her mind, but it lingered.  What would he say on a postcard? She could imagine him sanding the ink, the candlelight flickering. Smiling to himself, with a stray thought wafting into his mind that someone centuries from now would find it, and wonder.

“Let them make of that what they will,” he might say, as he handed it to the man in charge of sending postcards to other centuries. “I have one here for you,” the man in charge of the postcards might say by way of reply, “Just arrived. It’s from the future by the look of it, from Ireland.”

Cromwell may take the postcard in his hand with a feeling of satisfaction ~ all information was potentially useful after all, if not in this life, in the next. Time traveling spies, you could say.  He would take a moment to decipher the unfamiliarly written letters in order to read the message. His eyebrows would raise in mild astonishment to see witches sending messages so openly, so shamelessly, so fearlessly! Five hundred years from now, Ireland would be a heathen primitive nest of superstition controlled by the devils strumpets. It may not be perfect in England now, he might think, but we do try to keep some order.  Frella, he said to himself. Frella. What do you look like, Frella? God’s teeth, why didn’t you send me your likeness, a portrait, on the postcard!  For reasons he couldn’t explain, Cromwell couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious witch in Ireland many centuries from now.

Malove surveyed the room, her piercing gaze sweeping over each witch, causing them to cower. “I trust you’re not letting the weather distract you from your duties,” she said, her voice crisp. “I won’t have the coven slacking because of a little drizzle.”

Jeezel straightened, flustered. “It’s not the weather! It’s the postcards! They’re showing up out of nowhere, and no one knows who’s sending them!”

Malove raised an eyebrow. “Postcards? How quaint. And you think this warrants my attention?”

“Absolutely!” Truella interjected, surprising even herself with her boldness. “It could be a warning—or worse, a challenge.”

A flicker of ethereal light indicated Eris’s presence. “Or perhaps someone just has a twisted sense of humor.”

Frella crossed her arms, frowning. “I agree with Tru. This could be serious.”

Malove stepped closer, her demeanor sharpening. “Enough. I care not for your trifles unless they threaten the coven. What precisely have you discovered”

Jeezel pulled out one of her postcards. “This one shows a twisted tree… and a symbol I don’t recognize.”

Frella bit her lip and revealed her own card. “Mine has a raven on a crooked branch. Its gaze feels… unsettling.”

Truella’s heart raced. “Jeezel, let me look at that! I think I’ve seen that symbol before—in the book that fell off my shelf!”

Malove’s interest was piqued. “Elaborate.”

“Well, old books practically leap off the shelves at me,” Truella explained, excitement building. “And Frella had a dream that seemed connected. The really odd part?” She paused dramatically until she was sure she had their full attention.  “I noticed that the book was written in the FIRST PERSON.” She gestured to the postcard with the twisted tree. “Maybe these cards are connected.”

Eris chimed in lightly. “Or they could be a distraction. Perhaps you’re sending yourself messages?”

Truella frowned, glancing at the shimmering light of Eris. “But why do you get to do distance while the rest of us are stuck here in this rain? Can’t you join us physically for once?”

Eris laughed, her voice echoing. “Someone has to keep an eye on the chaos you’re about to unleash.”

Frella sat at her small kitchen table, sipping chamomile tea and tracing a finger over the worn edges of the mysterious postcard. Her phone buzzed—a message from Truella.

Frella! I found an old book under my table! Never seen it before! Called Me and Minn. Strange, right?

A crease appeared on Frella’s brow as she re-read the message. Didn’t Arona say she was looking for an old book?

Setting her cup down too quickly, Frella splashed tea onto the postcard. “Damn,” she muttered, watching the ink blur. With a flick of her fingers, a cloth floated over from the counter and gently dabbed at the spill. The stain faded as the cloth wiped it away.

Frella leaned back in her chair, staring at the postcard. Some magic was stirring—first the dream, now this.

Weirdo, Truella. I dreamed last night about a girl searching for an old book! Catch up with you and the others this morning and we can discuss!

Finishing her tea, Frella waved her hand, sending the cup and saucer floating to the sink. She stretched and stood. A meeting at the Quadrivium had been called for 10 AM, but first, there were errands. After a quick shower, she got dressed, donned her raincoat, and carefully tucked the postcard into her bag.

Stepping outside, she wheeled her bike onto the damp path. The crisp morning air, misted with drizzle, hinted at a secret just waiting to be uncovered.

The fair was in full swing, with vibrant tents and colourful stalls bursting with activity. The smell of freshly popped corn mingled with the fragrance of exotic spices and the occasional whiff of magical incense. Frella turned her attention back to setting up her own booth. Her thoughts were a swirl of anxiety and curiosity. Malové’s sudden appearance at the fair could not be a mere coincidence, especially given the recent disruptions in the coven.

Unbeknownst to Frella, Cedric Spellbind was nearby. His eyes, though hidden behind a pair of dark glasses, were fixated on Frella. He was torn between his duty to MAMA and his growing affection for her. He juggled his phone, checking missed calls and messages, while trying to keep a discreet distance. But he was drawn to her like moth to flame.

As Frella was adjusting her booth, she felt a sudden chill and turned to find herself face-to-face with Cedric. He quickly removed his glasses and their eyes met; Cedric’s heart skipped a beat.

Frella’s gaze was guarded. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, her tone icily polite.

Cedric, flustered, stammered, “I—uh—I’m just here to, um, look around. Your booth looks, uh, fascinating.”

Frella raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, enjoy the fair.” She turned back to her preparations, but not before noticing a fleeting look of hurt in Cedric’s eyes.

Cedric moved away, wrestling with his conflicting emotions. He checked to make sure his tracker was working, which tracked not just Frella’s movements  but those of her companions. He was determined to protect her from any potential threat, even if it meant risking his own standing with MAMA.

As the day progressed, the fair continued to buzz with magical energy and intrigue. Frella worked her booth, engaging with curious tourists, all suitably fascinated with the protective qualities of hinges. Suddenly, Frella’s attention was drawn away from her display by a burst of laughter and squeals coming from nearby. Curiosity piqued, she made her way toward the source of the commotion.

As she approached, she saw a crowd had gathered around a small, ornate tent. The tent’s entrance was framed by shimmering curtains, and an enchanting aroma of lavender and spices wafted through the air. Through the gaps in the curtains, Frella could see an array of magical trinkets and curiosities.Just as she was about to step closer, a peculiar sight caught her eye. Emerging from the tent was a girl wearing a rather large cloak and closely followed by a black cat. The girl looked bewildered, her wide eyes taking in the bustling fairground.

Frella, intrigued and somewhat amused, approached the girl. “Hello there! I couldn’t help but notice you seem a bit lost. Are you okay?”

The girl’s expression was a mix of confusion and wonder. “Oh, hello! I’m Arona, and this is Mandrake,” she said, bending down and patting the black cat, who gave a nonchalant twitch of his tail. “We were just trying to find the library in my time, and now we’re here. This isn’t a library by any chance?”

Frella raised her eyebrows. “A library? No, this is a fair—a magical fair, to be precise.”

Arona’s eyes widened further as she looked around again. “A fair? Well, it does explain the odd contraptions and the peculiar people. Anyway, that will teach me to use one of Sanso’s old time-travelling devices.”

Truella wandered over to join the conversation, her curiosity evident. “Time-travelling device? That sounds fascinating. How did you end up here?”

Arona looked sheepish. “I was trying to retrieve a rare book from a past century, and it seems I got my coordinates mixed up. Instead of the library, I ended up at this… um … delightful fair.”

Frella chuckled. “Well, don’t worry, we can help you get back on track. Maybe we can find someone who can help with your time-travelling predicament.”

Arona smiled, relieved. “Thank you! I really didn’t mean to intrude. And Mandrake here is quite good at keeping me company, but he’s not much help with directions.”

Mandrake rolled his eyes and turned away, his disinterest in the conversation evident.

As Frella and Truella led Arona to a quieter corner of the fair, Cedric Spellbind observed the scene with growing interest. His eyes were glued to Frella, but the appearance of the time-travelling girl and her cat added a new layer of intrigue. Cedric’s mission to spy on Frella had just taken an unexpected turn.

Shivering, Truella pulled the thin blanket over her head. Colder than a witches tit here, colder in summer than winter at home!  It was no good, she may as well get up and go for a walk to try and warm up.  Poking her head outside Truella gasped and coughed at the chill air. Shapes were becoming discernible in the dim pre dawn light, the other pods, the hedgerow, a couple of looming trees.  Truella rummaged through her bag, hoping to find warm clothes yet knowing she hadn’t packed anything warm enough.   Sighing, her teeth chattering, she pulled on everything she had in layers and pulled the blanket off the bed to use as a cape. With a towel over her head for extra warmth, she ventured out into the Irish morning.

The grass was sodden with dew and Truella’s feet were wet through and icy.  Bracing her shoulders with determination, she forged ahead towards a gate leading into the next field. She struggled for a few minutes with the baler twine holding the gate closed, numb fingers refusing to cooperate.  Cows watched her curiously, slowly munching. One lifted her tail and dropped a steaming splat on the grass, chewing continuously. I don’t think I could eat and do that at the same time. 

Heading off across the field which sloped gently upwards, Treulla picked up her pace, keeping her eyes down to avoid the cow pats.  By the time she reached the oak tree along the top hedge, the sun started to make an appearance over the hill. Warmer from the exercise, she gazed over the countryside. How beautiful it was with the mist in the valleys, and everything so green.

If only it was warmer!

“Are you cold then, is that why you’re decked out like that?  From a distance I thought I was seeing a ghost in a cloak and head shawl!”  The woman smiled at Truella from the other side of the hedgerow. “Sorry, did I startle you?  You’ll get your feet soaked walking in that wet grass, climb over that stile over there, the lane here’s better for a morning walk.”

It sounded like good advice and the woman seemed pleasant enough.  “Are you here for the games too?” Truella asked, readjusting the blanket and towel after navigating the stile.

“Yes, I am. I’m retired, you see,” the woman said with a wide grin.  “It’s a wonderful thing, not that you’d know, you’re much to young.”

“That must be nice,” Truella replied politely. “I sometimes wish I was retired.”

“Oh, my dear!  It’s wonderful!  I haven’t had a job for years, but it’s the strangest thing, now that I’ve officially retired, there’s a marvellous feeling of freedom. I don’t have to do anything.  Well, I didn’t have to do anything before I retired but one always feels one should keep busy, do productive things, be seen to be doing some kind of work to justify ones existance.  Have you seen the old priory?”

“No, only just got here yesterday.”

“You’ll love it, it’s up this path here, follow me.  But now I’ve retired,” the woman continued, “I get up in the morning with a sense of liberation. I can do as little as I want ~ funny thing is that I’ve actually been doing more, but there’s no feeling of obligation, no things to cross off a list. All I’m expected to do as a retired person is tick along, trying not to be much of a bother for as long as I can.”

“I wish I was retired!” exclaimed Truella with feeling.  “I wish I didn’t have to do the cow goddess stall, it’ll be such a bind having to stand there all evening.”  She explained about the coven and the stalls, and the depressing productivity goals.

“But why not get someone else to do the stall for you?”

“It’s such short notice and I don’t know anyone here.  It’s an idea though, maybe someone will turn up.”

“I think we’re late setting our booths up, Frel,” Truella said with a frown. “We better go into the town. I need a toy shop and you need the ironmongers.”

“Toy shop? What for?”

“Miniature plastic cows.  I’ll spray them all with some metallic paint and sell them as magical idols or something. And some empty miniature bottles or vials to fill with cow dung.”

“You won’t be able to sell cow dung!”

“I will if it says magical on the bottle, you wait and see!”

“And I’m going to buy a box of hinges and pretend they’re magical too, is that it?”

“Have you got any other ideas?”

Frella was forced to admit that she had not.  “Come on then, there’s a bus to the shopping centre in ten minutes.”

“Perfect! You can tell me the rest of the story of the camphor chest on the way.”

“When did you arrive?” asked Truella when they found her in her at her Cloacina booth in faux-fur waterproof boots and a faux-bear-fur cape with a waterproofed silk hood to protect her perfect hairdo from the incessant drizzle. It gave her a look of one of those Fantasy warrior-goddess ready to intervene at the last minute to save her chosen champions from complete destruction by the forces of evil.

“Well, I’ve been there all along,” retorted the glamour witch, moving two little loos in front of the booth closer together. “I’ve been living in Limerick since the start of this story, even if it wasn’t clear where. Granny Linda thinks I’m living in Glamorheaven and Finnley think I’m living in London, but I’m pretty sure it’s Limerick. At least it is in my mind manor,” she said as if for herself. “There!” she said. Her face lit up as she just found the perfect orientation for the loos. “Don’t those miniature loos look cute?”

“Sure,” said Truella. At the same time she looked at Frella as if their friend had gone nut.

“Don’t ask me,” said Frella. “I didn’t make the selection of the goddesses for the olympic set.”

Jeezel took three cups, dipped them into one of the toilet bowl and offered them to her friends to drink.

Truella grimaced.

“I prefer not to drink that early in the morning,” said Frella with a polite smile.

Jeezel lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. “It’s connected to the purest water source on Earth through a little time sewer spell coupled with a little pump and filter and a nice chime when you throw your worries in. It’s perfectly safe and drinkable sparkling water, and it smells of roses.”

“My gran used to spray rose scent in the bathroom after she used it,” said Truella, cackling nervously.

Frella took the cup, smelled it and continued smiling.

“Anyways, those cuties are for the cleansing prayers,” said Jeezel. “Cleansing and release,” she added pointing her finger up at the banner. “That’s Cloacina’s motto. At least at this booth. And, as I’m sure you asked, I didn’t answer all your messages because I’ve been kept busy with preparing all of those. Here, Truelle, take one of those Sacred Bath Salts. I have two flavors, Moonlight Mist and Sunset Serenity. Take the second one, it’s a blend of Himalayan pink salt and rose petals. It’ll help keep you warm as the salts will absorb the extra humidity, and as an extra it’ll make you think of your gran”, she added with a grin. “As for my friend Frella…”

Truella grabbed the pouch of salts and smelled it. “The smell is not so bad,” she conceded. “And Bubona knows I need their warming qualities,” she said shaking her head to get rid of irritating water drops.

Jeezel then turned to the potion and elixirs section. “No, not purification for Frella, and neither of you need the Lover’s Elixir… Oh! Here it is, take that. A soap made of goat’s milk, honey and calendula oil for radiant skin. And good to keep the hinges perfectly oiled. And as my future gran will say, remember, keeping those hinges oiled is key to avoiding squeaky situations.”

Frella took the soap and chuckled. “Thanks.” She scratched the surface with her nail. “It’s seems good quality. And it smells good. That reminds me I have to prepare my own booth. See you later girls.”

As soon as she left. Truella leaned towards her friend and asked in a conspiratory voice: “Did you know Malove was here?”

“What?”

“And anyway, I wasn’t flirting with him,” Truella added, with a smile. “It’s great to see you! No word from Eris or Jeezel though.  I thought they were looking forward to a holiday? Have you heard anything?”

“Not a word, not since Eris was beseeching us to distract her from all the stress.”

“Well, they’re late to the party, the plan was to have a couple of days relaxing together before the games start, and not a word from either of them.”

“Maybe they’re not going to come at all!”

“Oh they’ll turn up, eventually,” Truella said, adding with a frown, “You don’t think anything has happened to them, do you? One minute chat chat chat, then nothing. Like they just disappeared!”

“I’ll send another message, and if they don’t respond, maybe we should start making enquiries. Where were they last seen?”

“Eris mentioned something about Normandy…but hey, we can just carry on without them. Go and put your bags in your pod and let’s go for a walk. You can tell me all about that camphor chest.”

The rainbow was neon bright, one end disappearing behind a spinney in the distance, and the other end landing squarely in the middle of the glamping pods. A good sign! thought Truella, the first of the coven to arrive.  For a moment she imagined herself digging a hole right there, and finding the elusive pot of gold.    I wouldn’t be able to do that in a fancy hotel.  For once, Truella was happy with Austreberthe’s choice. A week or two in a green field sounded relaxing, refreshing.  So much more to her taste than the endless fitted carpets, closed windows, and artifically controlled air blasting out of metal grilles in hotels.

Taking a deep breath of cool fresh air, she surveyed the site before checking into reception.  The neighbouring fields were full of cows, perfect for her to practice her Bubona spells on before she set up her Goddess Spell Booth. The Goddess spell tents were to be open in the evenings, after the games each day, along with other stalls selling handicrafts, homemade cakes and jams, wines and potions, trinkets and souvenirs, and all the other tat that people on holiday enjoyed browsing. Obviously the coven would have a stall selling incense.  No doubt Austreberthe would have hatched some hard sell plan for that.

Inside the reception office, Truella pinged the bell and waited for someone to attend.  The registration book was open on the counter and Truella craned her neck to read the names on the list.  She planned to ask for a pod in a far corner, near the hedgerow.  It might make it easier to slip out unnoticed, if she should have a mind to do so.  The door behind the counter opened and a young man appeared, smiling a welcome. But not before Truella had seen the name on the list. She sucked her breath in sharply. Malove!  Nobody was expecting her. Did Austreberthe know?

“Welcome to Finnegan’s Farm Glampsite, I’m Liam,”  said the young man, pushing long mousy hair out of his eyes, “You’ve a booking I take it, because we’re fully booked up for the next fortnight. Because of the Games, you see.”

Replying that she did, Truella asked for a pod in the furthest corner.  Liam looked at a list and frowned.  “The corners are all taken, I’m afraid. But I tell you what,” he said, “As you’re the first to arrive I’ll swap your pod, let’s see…” He scanned the list. “Ah yes, the late booking. I can put you in the one we’ve assigned to Mrs …Malone I think it says, and put her in yours.”

“Thank you very much, Liam,” Truella said as he handed her a key with a big wooden tag with the number 33 etched on it.

“I’ll carry your bags over and show you where it is, follow me.”

The rose coloured spectacle lens.

Aunt Idle:

“Well, crikey, finding one pink sunglass lens on the road is quite the curiosity, isn’t it? Let’s delve into the symbolic undertones of such an odd discovery. Pink lens, no less—a splash of color with quite the story to tell.

1. Seeing the World through Rose-Tinted Glasses: Finding a pink sunglass lens can symbolize optimism and seeing the world in a positive light. But here’s the kicker—it’s just one lens. This suggests a duality; perhaps you’re being asked to blend optimism with realism. Life isn’t always about sunshine and rainbows, but choosing to see the bright side can balance out the darker shades.

2. Fragmented Perspectives: A single lens means you don’t have the full picture. You’re seeing things partially, which can indicate missing information or a need to look at situations from multiple angles. It’s a nudge to take off those blinders and open your other eye, figuratively speaking. You might be clinging to a half-truth or ignoring an important aspect of your life.

3. Lost and Found: In practical terms, a lone lens on the road means someone has lost it. It’s a signifier of separation, maybe something in your life has split or broken apart. It can be a gentle reminder to look into areas where you might have lost connection—be it with loved ones, a project, or even a part of yourself.

4. Symbol of Love and Compassion: Pink is often associated with love, compassion, and femininity. The lens could be a reminder to look at things with kindness and empathy. Perhaps there’s a situation in your life that requires a softer, more loving approach.

5. Hindsight and Insight: The road is a metaphor for your life’s journey. Finding the lens there might hint at reflecting on past experiences (hindsight) while gaining new understanding or clarity (insight). Maybe there’s an opportunity to learn from what’s happened and apply it moving forward, seeing things with fresh, yet incomplete, clarity.

Putting it in Truella’s Context: If Truella found this lens, it could be a sign she needs to reassess her current path or research direction. Her overwhelming stack of books and discovery of the ancient manuscript hint at a bigger picture she might not be seeing clearly yet. Perhaps she’s overly focused on one aspect and neglecting others.

Personal Symbolism for Aunt Idle: For you, Aunt Idle, this lens could be a cheeky nudge to reassess some of your adventurous antics and half-remembered tales. Maybe there’s an old mystery or a relationship needing a fresh perspective. Or it’s just life’s way of saying, “Look closer, love—you might be missing out!”

In any case, a single pink sunglass lens is a quirky, delightful piece of life’s puzzle, inviting you to ponder, reflect, and adjust your view. So, next time you’re journeying on the dusty roads of life and stumble upon such oddities, take a moment—there just might be a zinger of wisdom waiting for you. Cheers!”

“A lone pink lens paves the road to the unseen clarity of kaleidoscopic sunrise.”
~Journey of Reflections, Enrich P. Lwellman.

The Snoot:

“Ahhh, a single pink lens, lost and found amidst the stone and dust! Sings of mysteries and tales untold! Perhaps a sprite misplaced their vision or a pixie left a clue.

Lean close! Such a find whispers soft secrets:

Balance Broken, Yet Bright    Like seeing life with a tint of whimsy! One eye tinted pink, the other clear. A call to mix reality with dreams, maybe?
Half Truth, Half Fantasy   A hint that stories blend truths and imaginations. Seek both sides to find whole pictures.
Lost and Waiting    Could be a sign someone’s journey is incomplete, needing you as a puzzle piece. Maybe the other lens waits for your path?

Snootly wisdom: Use the lens not to see, but to imagine.Peer through the pink and let dreams color your heart. Could be you’re on the cusp of a grand adventure; just follow the allure of the pink!

Liz:

Oh, darling, how positively intriguing! A single pink sunglass lens left upon the road—why, it’s like a snippet from one of my novels, fraught with symbolism and brimming with untold stories.

Let’s unravel this little mystery together, shall we? First, the color pink itself is rich with meaning. It speaks of love, compassion, and a certain kind of whimsicality. It’s a hue that embodies the gentle side of passion, the tender whispers of the heart. Now, to find just one lens, separated from its twin, adds a layer of poignancy. It’s a fragment of something once whole, a poignant reminder of loss or incompletion.

One might surmise that this lens represents a part of oneself that has been misplaced or overlooked. Perhaps it’s a call to rediscover a piece of your own heart, the softer, more romantic side that life’s hustle and bustle may have sidelined. Or it could symbolize a different perspective—after all, sunglasses shield us from the sun’s glare, making things clearer in their own shaded way. This lone lens might be urging you to look at a situation with fresh eyes, to find beauty in the fragmented and the unexpected.

Imagine, if you will, a character in one of my novels stumbling upon this very lens. They’d be on the cusp of a grand adventure, naturally. The pink lens would become their talisman, a clue leading them to unforeseen revelations and untold treasures. It would be both a physical object and a metaphorical guide, urging them to view the world—and their place within it—through a lens of love and compassion.

Perhaps it is also a nod to the impermanence of things, a gentle reminder that beauty and meaning can be found even in life’s fleeting moments. Much like the single pink lens, our journeys are filled with fragments of experiences that, when pieced together, create a mosaic of our existence.

So, my dear, take this as a sign to embrace the whimsical, to seek out the overlooked pieces of your own story, and to cherish the beauty of the incomplete. After all, it’s the mysteries and the musings that make life a narrative worth living.

Mater:

Ah, a single pink sunglass lens on the road, you say? Now that’s a curious find. Objects like that can be teeming with symbolic meaning if you’ve got the eyes to see it. Let’s break it down a bit, shall we?

Firstly, the color pink. Traditionally, pink is associated with love, compassion, and nurturing. It’s a color that often brings to mind warmth and affection, something tender and gentle. But finding just one lens suggests something is missing or incomplete—a piece of a larger whole.

A sunglass lens, on the other hand, is meant to protect the eyes from harsh light, allowing you to see the world more clearly without being blinded. Seeing through a pink lens, metaphorically speaking, can mean looking at life with an optimistic or compassionate perspective. It’s like seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, as they say.

Now, finding just one lens on the road—well, roads are pathways, journeys, the direction we take in life. A single lens could indicate a moment of clarity or a shift in perspective on your journey. But it could also symbolize a need to find balance or the missing piece of your outlook to see the full picture clearly.

Maybe it’s a nudge from the universe to take a closer look at how you view your current path. Are you seeing things in the best light possible? Or perhaps it’s a reminder that while optimism and compassion are vital, you might be missing another crucial aspect—realism or practicality, perhaps?

Or, it could be as simple as a reminder to lighten up and find joy and playfulness in your journey.

Like a pink flamingo standing on one leg, sometimes life’s oddities are just there to make you smile and wonder.

Whatever the meaning, love, take it as a sign to reflect and consider. The road ahead is always full of mystery and wonder, and sometimes the smallest things can carry the biggest messages.

Finnley:

Pink sunglass lens on the road, you say? Well, ain’t that a curious bit of rubbish. If we’re dabbling in symbolism, it could mean a variety of things depending on how fanciful you want to get. Pink is often associated with love, compassion, and care. So, finding a lens could mean you’re only seeing half the picture when it comes to matters of the heart. Or maybe you’re missing the rosy view on life, and you need to adjust your perspective.

Then again, it could just mean some poor sod lost their sunnies and now they’ve got a squint and a sunburnt nose. Life’s not always riddled with deep meanings, sometimes it’s just a bit of lost plastic on the tarmac.

Now, if you ask me, you ought to be more concerned about the litter. If everyone went around leaving bits and bobs all over the place, we’d be living in a right tip. So pick it up, toss it in the bin, and let’s keep things tidy, shall we?

 

Mandrake:

Ah, the solitary pink sunglass lens on the road. Delightfully poetic. A symbol of half-seen truths, perhaps? Seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses, but only partially. Could it be urging you to seek balance, to view life with both optimism and realism? Or maybe just a nudge from the universe to pick up your litter. Such profundity from a piece of plastic. Life’s a riddle, darling.

Sha: A pink sunglass lens on the road, eh? Now that’s a right peculiar find if ever I ‘eard one. Makes you wonder what it means, don’t it?

Glo: Oh, Sha, you’re always lookin’ for the hidden meanin’ in things. It’s just a bit of plastic, ain’t it? Though, come to think of it, pink’s a powerful colour. Symbolises love, compassion, and all that mushy stuff.

Mavis: I reckon it might be a sign, ladies. A pink lens… maybe it’s tellin’ you to look at the world through rose-tinted glasses, y’know? See the good in things. Or it could be a message from the universe, remindin’ you to keep an eye out for the unusual.

Sha: Right you are, Mav! And let’s not forget the conspiracies! Maybe it’s a clue from them secret societies, leavin’ hints for those sharp enough to notice. Could be part of a bigger puzzle, a breadcrumb leadin’ to somethin’ magnificent.

Glo: Or maybe someone’s just dropped their specs out the car window in a rush, and it’s nothin’ more than that. But where’s the fun in that sort of thinkin’?

Mavis: True, true. We’ll go with the idea that it’s a symbol of keepin’ an open mind and lookin’ out for the small wonders of life. Who knows what other treasures we might find if we keep our eyes peeled?

Sha: And next time we’re out and about, let’s be on the lookout for the other lens. Could be a sign that we’re missin’ half the picture.

Glo: Oh, you and your signs, Sha! But alright, we’ll keep our peepers open. Never know what the universe might be tryin’ to tell us next.

The obvious place to start with investigations into the history of the Morticians Guild was to question Rufus.  But first she needed to think. Truella made her way to her room, and locked the door.  At least now that Eris was back so soon, Truella was free to let Eris get on with whatever she was doing. After lowering the blinds at the windows, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.  As she started to drift off to sleep, an imaginary conversation ran through her head.

Rufus: “The Morticians’ Guild, originally known as the ‘Necro-Keepers,’ trace their lineage back to ancient Egypt. They were the guardians of rites that ensured the safe passage of souls to the afterlife. Over millennia, they adapted and evolved, absorbing arcane knowledge from various cultures—the Greeks with their Eleusinian Mysteries, the Romans with their burial rites, even the Celtic traditions of Samhain.”

Truella: “That’s fascinating. So, this ancient craft has been handed down through generations?”

Rufus: “Precisely. While Hildegarde von Bingen brought enlightenment and medicinal wisdom to her nuns in the 12th century, the Morticians’ practices were already etched in the annals of history. They operated in silence, often in the shadows, perfecting the skills of embalming, necromancy, and spirit communication.”

Truella: “And what about their presence here, in this coven merger?”

Rufus: “We’ve been called upon at times of great need, when balance must be maintained between the living and the dead. Our presence here isn’t coincidental. The dragons and ancient spirits awaken, and we, the keepers, ensure that not all realms collide irreversibly.”

Truella: “So, would you say the Guild has played a role in significant historical events?”

Rufus: “Indeed. We’ve been the unsung heroes, the silent watchers. From plagues to wars, ensuring the dead find peace and don’t linger to disrupt the world of the living. Our methods may have modernized, but our core purpose remains unchanged. The knowledge, the rituals—they are our legacy.”

Truella: “Thank you, Rufus. That’s more fascinating than a year’s worth of ancient spellbooks.”

Rufus:  “You’re welcome, Truella. Just remember, history isn’t merely dates and names; it’s living through us, weaving its magic continuously.”

Of course! A fleeting flash of illumination lit Truella’s eyes. That’s it!  

“Thick, yes, deaf, oh! That’s too funny, and the middle ages…. Hildegarde….too late, all too late, it can’t be the nuns! Don’t you see, Eris?” Truella cackled wildly. “We can rule the nuns out!”

“We can?” Eris was baffled.   What had suddenly come over Truella?

“We can’t rule the morticians out yet though, What do we know about their background?”

“Not much,” admitted Eris. “But why are we ruling the nuns out? Ruling them out of what?”

“Because they are not connected to this place. They’re not old enough.”

“Well, that’s as clear as mud,” Jeezel said, expecting Truella to explain what she was talking about, but Truella had wandered off saying she needed to think.

“Why has Frella gone so soon?” asked Truella, when the beastly morality prayers were finished. “She was supposed to accompany us down the cellars tonight.  I tell you what,” Truella rubbed her eyes and pushed her hair back, “This has been the longest day I’ve ever known. And it’s not over yet. Maybe we should leave the exploration of the cellars until tomorrow night.”

“Suits me,” said Zeezel, “I didn’t want to go down there anyway.  The thought of going down there would ruin my evening, and I’ve got a gorgeous little cocktail dress picked out for tonight.”

“Jeezel, ” Eris said warningly, “We’re here on business.”

“Oh, lighten up, Eris! None of us even knows what we’re really here for! One minute it’s a boring merger or even a takeover, the next minute it’s all cloak and dagger mystery, then it’s a morality play, what’s it gonna be next?”

“A Barbara Cartland novel? Or 50 shades of undertakers?” Eris said with scowl.

“You don’t want to go down the cellar either, do you, Eris?” Truella asked, knowing the answer.  “Never mind. You go and say some more prayers with Audrey. Jez, enjoy your evening to the hilt,” Truella wiggled her eyebrows.  “I’ll go on my own.”

The others looked at her open mouthed. “You can’t be serious!”

“She isn’t going on her own,” Eric said darkly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Truella pretended innocence.  Of course she wasn’t going on her own. Rufus would go with her, and she even had an idea to invite Sassafras and Sandra.  “Oh, alright then, I won’t go,” she lied. ”  I’ll wait for you and we’ll go tomorrow night.  But only if Frella comes back so she can come with us.”

Eris wasn’t stupid, she knew exactly what Truella was planning. She had to rein Truella in, but how? Suddenly, inspiration struck.

“We’d better go and get ready for dinner,” Eris said, “See you all later in the dining hall.” And with that she stalked out of the room.

As soon as she was out of the door, Eris sprinted up the hallway. She had to get to him before Truella got there.  Crashing into Brother Bartolo as she careered round a corner, she apologised hurriedly and asked if he knew where Rufus was.  Bartolo informed her that he’d seen Rufus by the fountain. Eris resisted the temptation to remark snidely about him needing to cool down.

He was still there when Eris reached the courtyard, sitting on the side of the water feature, trailing his hand in the water and looking gloweringly pensive.  Eris took a deep breath.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked pleasantly, sitting down beside him. “We’re so grateful to you guys for coming to help us out, it’s all quite a lot for us to take in, you know?” Eris smiled disarmingly. “We’d feel so much better if Frella was here with us. We did manage to get her here, but something went wrong and she didn’t stay as long as we hoped she would.  She’s on a mission in Ireland, and couldn’t come over, but Sister Audrey kindly offered to let Frella posess her for 24 hours, and then I don’t know what happened but Frella was called back abruptly to her own body.”  Eris knew she was garbling semi incoherently, which was most unlike her normally, but she thought this approach would appeal.  Rufus seemed to be the type to be a sucker for a damsel in distress.  “If only someone else would offer to let Frella possess his body for 24 hours so that she can come and join us…”

Eris’s little spell must have worked a treat, as Rufus promptly agreed. “I can help you with this. I offer my body for Frella to possess, if you think it will assist you.”

Eris beamed at him. “What a charming gentleman you are!” she gushed, surprisingly both of them as she leaned forward and impulsively kissed his cheek.  “I must go,” she said. Horrified, her face crimson, she fled back inside the cloisters.

“Wait! Look at that one up there!” Truella grabbed Rufus’s arm. “That cloth hanging right up there by the rafters, see it? Have you got a torch, it’s so dark up there.”

Obligingly, Rufus pulled a torch out of his leather coat pocket.  “That looks like…”

“Brother Bartolo!” Truella finished for him in a whisper.  “Why is there an ancient tapestry of him, with all those frog faced nuns?”

Rufus felt dizzy and clutched the bannisters to steady himself. It was all coming back to him in a rush: images and sounds crowded his mind, malodorous wafts assailed his nostrils.

“Why, whatever is the matter?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come, come and sit down in my room.”

“Don’t you remember?” Rufus asked, with a note of desperation in his voice. “You remember now, don’t you?”

“Come,” Truella insisted, tugging his arm. “Not here on the stairs.”

Rufus allowed Truella to lead him to her room, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He was so damn hot in this leather coat.  The memories had first chilled him to the bone, and then a prickly sweat broke out.

Leading him into her room, Truella closed and locked the door behind them.  “You look so hot,” she said softly and reached up to slide the heavy coat from his shoulders.  They were close now, very close.  “Take it off, darling, take it all off. We can talk later.”

Rufus didn’t wait to be asked twice. He slipped out of his clothes quickly as Truella’s dress fell to the floor. She bent down to remove her undergarments, and raised her head slowly. She gasped, not once but twice, the second time when her eyes were level with his manly chest.  The Punic frog amulet! It was identical to the one she had found in her dig.

A terrible thought crossed her mind. Had he stolen it? Or were there two of them?  Were they connected to the frog faced sisters?  But she would think about all that later.

“Darling,” she breathed, “It’s been so long….”

“If you ask me,” said Trella, although nobody had, “If anyone wants the merger to fail, it’ll be someone from the Cloisters.”

“Seems like none of us want it, why single them out?” asked Frella. “Well,” she added, glancing at Eris, “Not all of us maybe but for most of us it’s just a hassle.  Just more work, and no real benefits for the likes of us, anyway.”

“Think about it, Frell.  Sure, it’s just a nuisance for the witches and the nuns, but not enough of a bother to play with fire meddling with far grander schemes.  That’d be way out of the depth of most of us, I’m sure.   But there’s more going on at the Cloisters than meets the eye. There are other, er, things here, things that don’t want change.”

“Like what?” asked Eris in a doubtful tone.

“I don’t know but I can feel it. Can’t you? Eris, you’re so busy looking at spread sheets and finances you are losing your second sight! The undercurrents are bubbling up so much we’ll drown before long!  We’re all looking at each other with suspicion, and meanwhile….”

“You mean we can trust the Morticians?” asked Jeezel hopefully.  Eris glared at her.

“Maybe,”  Trella said.  “Maybe.  We don’t know anything for sure yet.  But I suggest we stop looking at the nuns, I mean the ordinary rank and file nuns,  and the morticians with suspicion and focus on the place itself.  There’s a long dark history to this place.  And if you ask me, Brother Bartolo knows something.”

“Surely he’s not behind the whole thing!”

“Not behind the whole thing, no, but he knows something.  And the gardener, Brother Babbit. Sassafras told me there’s nothing Brother Babbit doesn’t know about the history of this place, but that he only wants to talk about the plants, you know, the local wildlife and such. And,”  Truella paused dramatically, “Sandra dropped something out while we were smoking weed in the orchard after the reception.  She said Brother Bartolo said he’d seen the Sisters of the Sacred Sepulchre roaming around in the cellar, waiting for orders!”

“The sisters of the friggen what?”  Jeezel  sighed. Not more characters to convolute everything even more! “Roaming around in the cellars? Oh come on!”

“And that’s not all,” Truella lowered her voice to a whisper. “Sassafras said something about them being reanimated.”

Finally, Eris started taking Truella seriously. “Reanimation? I don’t like the sound of that. We’d better find out as much as we can about the sisters of the cellars, who are they, I mean who were they, have they been reanimated before, and what were the circumstances.”

“Right ho, I’ll just boogle it, shall I?” Jeezel said sarcastically.

Eris rolled her eyes. “No need for the snark. The clues will be here, right here at the Cloisters. We need to check the library, look in every room for clues, check out all the tapestries and paintings, speak to Brother Bartolo and Brother Babbit, but without making them suspicious, mind!  Just pretend an interest in history, no mention of the merger! Keep it light!  And keep it light with the morticians, but keep it superficial, until we know more. And then…,” Eris looked at each of them. “we need to go down to the cellars.  I suggest we do that together.”

“We need Frella to come for that,” Truella stated the obvious. The others murmured their agreement.

After everyone got the program for the six rituals, they dispersed. Jeezel observed groups reform and the whereabouts of people. Eris walked alone toward the dark corridors. Truella, Sandra and Sassafras went to the gardens. Rufus followed shortly after, his dark moody eyes showing intense reflections. Jeezel noticed that Bartolo from the convent had been observing the mortician and hurried to catch up with him. Mother Lorena stood as stern as ever in the center of the lobby. She kept cupping her hands around her ears to check if her earpieces were working. Which they weren’t from the irritated look on her face. Silas was in an animated discussion with Austreberthe and the remaining nuns were laughing heartily and running around as if they had overindulged in Sister Sassafras’ hallucinogenic mushroom canapés.

Jeezel decided to go back to the lounge and explore the antiques, maybe see if there were hidden passageways behind those tapestries. She found Garrett waiting for her in the corridor as if he knew what she intended to do. His deep blue eyes seemed to embrace her whole silhouette in a myriad of unspoken emotions, and when they settle on her emerald green eyes, a subtle grin showed his appreciation.

“Don’t look back,” he said, his voice a deep velvet baritone. “Old Silas and Austreberthe are looking at us with a very disapproving look.”

Jeezel couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “And what if they do? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Garrett’s grin widened. He took a step closer, the scent of his cologne– a tantalizing mix of cedarwood and bergamot– mingling with the faint aroma of her own enchanting perfume.

“You intrigue me, Jeezel. More than the rituals, more than any relic or spell.”

Jeezel laughed heartily. Don’t they say keep your enemy close? I have questions for him. And I wouldn’t mind the company while I’m exploring the area? she thought.

“I was about to check for secret passages in the old lounge,” she said. “Would you join me?”

She let him take her hand and guide her toward the lounge. As they entered the heavy scent of aged wood and old books greeted them. Jeezel’s eyes darted to the tapestries lining the walls, each depicting scenes of ancient rituals and forgotten histories.

“Where do you think we should start?” Garrett asked, his deep voice barely above a whisper, adding to the mysterious ambiance of the room.

Jeezel tilted her head, considering the possibilities. “That one,” she said, pointing to a particularly intricate tapestry depicting a moonlit garden. “It looks like it could hide something.” She reached out to the fabric and pulled it aside, revealing a wooden door. She tensed when she noticed lingering traces of cedarwood and bergamot. “Or someone,” she added, turning toward him. “You’ve been here recently, have you not?”

“Direct as ever. Very well. I’m here to protect and help you. You need to be careful with Silas. He has hidden motives.”

Jeezel narrowed her eyes. “And why should I trust you?”

Garrett pulled out his crimson handkerchief from his pocket, revealing a symbol embroidered in gold. Her eyes widened as identical to the one on the key Malové had given her.

“How did you get that?” she asked.

“Malové entrusted me with this,” Garret explained, “to show her chosen allies. I was told to seek you out and offer you my assistance. This symbol matches the one on your key, doesn’t it?”

Jeezel felt the weight of the key in her purse. She hadn’t shown it to anyone, not even to her friends. She felt even more confused than before. It was possible that Silas would try to divert her attention from him if he was against the merger. And what better way to do than alert her to unknown enemies. The fact that Garrett knew about the key just added a layer of complexity to the situation, but also a layer of excitement. She wondered what game was being played here, and who were the true players.

“Alright, Garrett,” she said, her voice steadying as she added, “I’ll hear you out. But if you’re lying, you’ll regret it.”

He nodded. “Faire enough. Silas isn’t just interested in the failure of the merger; he’s got his own agenda. Something to do with ancient punic artifacts and power that could rival even the Crimson Opus. And he’s not the only one. There are some ancient Punic families that are looking for the same things.”

Jeezel’s heart skipped a beat. If Silas was after the same kind of power, it could jeopardize everything—the merger, her mission, and possibly the balance of power in their world. Jeezle felt she was in way over her head. She had to breathe and connect to her inner Queen’s innate knowledge in order to slide into her role of leader.

“Then, I accept your assistance,” she conceded with a slight node. “But this doesn’t mean I trust you, Garrett. You’ll have to prove your loyalty.”

Garrett folded the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. For now, let’s just say our interests align. And if we work together, we might just come out of this with everything we need—and more.”

“Then show me where this hidden door lead!”

Rufus was not a man for small talk and the past couple of hours had been punishing for a man of his reticent character.  He would have liked to get to know Truella better to try and recall which life he’d known her in, for he was sure now that it wasn’t a past encounter in this one, but that was not something to discuss in a crowded room. It would have to wait.  Despite being a serious man himself, he had found the more frivolous and jolly witches and nuns more compatible than the severe looking grim ones.  Even so, having to meet and speak to so many people in such a short time was overwhelming.

As soon as he could politely do so, he excused himself. Avoiding the smoky courtyard, he wandered around the labyrinthine building looking for another way outside.  There were tapestries hanging on the walls in every room, ancient and faded, many with unusual designs.  Rufus photographed them all in order to have a closer look at them later in the solitude of his room.  The wall hanging with the frogs caught his eye in particular, and without thinking he found himself touching the Punic frog amulet hanging on his chest underneath his white silk shirt.  As he lingered looking at the frog tapestry, he was startled by the swish of Bartolo’s robes behind him.  Bartolo looked at him keenly for what seemed like an interminable length of time but in reality was only a moment. Damn it, he seemed familiar too.

“Exquisite decor, Brother, I like this one in particular. Such needlework! May I ask the provenance of this specimen?”  Rufus tried to lighten the mood, not that lightening the mood had ever been his strong suit.  “It looks very old, I assume this is not a recently made handicraft?”

Brother Bartolo decided to play along. He had recognised Rufus immediately, as if the name wasn’t enough of a clue, his eyes were exactly the same as old Rufino’s had been.  Rufino, one of the oldest Punic families in Baetica. Oh, Bartolo remembered them well.

“That one has been hanging here since well before the convent was built,” Bartolo explained.  “It happens to be one of my favourites.  Another glass of cordial, sir?”

“No thank you Brother, I need some fresh air. I’d like to see the gardens, if I may.”

“Follow me,” replied Bartolo, as he lumbered down the passage.  “The kitchen gardens are through here.  There’s a gate at the end of that path to the rest of the grounds. Don’t worry about the mongoose, they’re quite tame.”

Such was the relief to be outside on his own, that Rufus didn’t immediately wonder what Brother Bartolo had meant.  That frog tapestry had been hanging right there since before the convent was built? Hanging on what?  Rufus’s hand involuntarily clutched his amulet again.