A wanderer, Arcana’s mornings usually start with a swift exit from wherever she slept, apart from on occasions where she manages to stay with friends. In those cases, she relishes the extra warmth, the extra security, the extra companionship. She’ll eat whatever she is offered, and if nothing is? Then she’ll eat nothing for the morning. She’s used to it regardless - and makes use of the free coffee a day offered at her local café. The liquid warms her stomach and the caffeine sharpens her senses.

She needs it, as she begins her daily search for work. Knocking on doors, passing through the high street for the hundredth time. She only has a guaranteed place on Saturdays, one of the local bars taking her in for a low wage and a hot dinner. It’s more then she can ask for, and they pay her off the books. It gives her a few extra pence on her wage. The bar she works at is calm early on, the patrons growing louder with every sip. She’s a smooth talker, calming drunken lashing outs with a laugh and a smile, even if she’s left a few with a cut lip.

It’s early night, where she truly shines. She’s not one to do the same thing time after time, her world forever changing. Some nights, she treasures the urban world she crawls through, visiting a variety of mysteries and rumours. She spends a night a week with Absolute and Abel, drinking a little too much in a joyous trial of forgetting everything for a few hours with friends, before she has to think about sleep again. She often sleeps at Limerence’s place, the other yokai a sure bet for a peaceful and safe night under a heated roof. She’s grown accustomed to her, appreciating a short spell of a film on the sofa before curling up there. Lim always leaves her with two blankets and a hot chocolate. It’s joy.

04:00 - Awake, or mostly, bright and early. Today, as winter takes its hold, not so bright. And cold. And damp. Turn the ovens on, start the fire going. At least the kitchen’s warm. Pull the dough out of the pantry and set it over the cast irons to ease the chill. Get a kettle boiling and snooze until the whistle blows. Pour myself a cup of tea. My ‘breakfast.’

05:00 - Dough’s rising, doubled in size, going into the ovens. Sourdough and rye today. Plus the staple loaves of wheat and grain. Tea’s gone cold. Forgot it on the counter while I rolled out the croissants. Almond and chocolate today. Some are hazelnut. Danished filled with cream cheese and apricot jam.

06:00 - Bread’s done and cooling, sitting on the racks while the pastries bake. Can hear Val out front getting the register set of the morning. Flour and sugar’s being weighed, butter cut, eggs counted. It’s a cake day today. More eggs and sugar and butter for frosting.

07:00 - Someone opened the flood gates and let the rabble in; right. Valiera. Letting customers in. Figures. All the pastries are plated and presentable. Val must have snuck in.

08:00 - Goddamn it, why are people so loud. Idiotic gossip, prattling on about color swatches and interior design, what little nicknack they got for some asinine reason or another. The door’s shut. There’s foam around the door. I can still hear them.

09:00 - Initial rush is over. Chocolate and red velvet today. Rose buttercream for the former and basic cream cheese for the latter. Might see if the cafe has any vegetable scraps this afternoon to make sunrise muffins for tomorrow.

10:00 - Preordered cakes are finished. Val’s off delivering them. FInally some peace and quiet. Door’s locked. Knock and whimper all you want, no one’s getting in without a key.

11:00 - Why is there so much chocolate? How did I get so much chocolate. I didn’t order this. Did Val? Well it can’t just sit there…

12:00 - Made truffles. And frosting. I’ll use it tomorrow. The ganache is chilling and setting in the cellar. A sandwich has appeared on my workbench. She’s trying to feed me again. My tea’s warm, too. Maybe it’s a new cup…? Yes, a different blend. I didn’t even see her come in. The woman’s gone again, probably out buying more boxes or ribbon or something else we ‘need.’

13:00 - Lunch was surprisingly tasty. The deli’s finally made corned beef that didn’t eat like rubber. Good for them. Kitchen’s cleaned ready for the second part of my day. Flour’s weighed, more eggs and butter cut and counted. Making brioche braids for tomorrow. More sourdough while the starter’s still viable. Maybe ciabatta tomorrow, too. Need to get more seed mix from the grainery tomorrow, and cake flower.

14:00 - Making bread dough.

15:00 - Still making dough. Punching the brioche down. I can hear familiar voices out front. Sounds like the three from up the lane. The sound of cups clinking confirms it. Maybe they’ve brought in a new blend.

16:00 - Even more dough. Punching down the brioche again.

17:00 - Tired. Dough’s all finished and locked in the cellar, covered in cool cloth. Bell finally stopped ringing out front. Means Valiera’s locked up for the night. Meatpie on my bench means she stopped in to bring me my dinner… and look, she remembered to leave the preorders for tomorrow’s cakes. Lovely.

18:00 - Mise en place for the preorders are done. Most of it is made already. She’s clever like that. Time to lock up, everything clean. Time to go up stairs.

19:00 - Winter’s definitely settling in. .Already dark. I don’t usually bother with candles as I go up to the loft and undress, sliding under the covers. Long day. Tomorrow’ll be filled with more of the same. Except someone wants marzipan bluebirds on their cake. Bet they won’t eat them. No one does. Just stare at them, gush over how ‘real’ they look. Then the candies spoil and they end up in the trash… Ugh. Tired. Not important. So long as I can keep doing what I’m doing…

20:00 - The dreams start…. Disingenuous. They aren’t dreams. Flashbacks. Haunted memories… Fire turning the sky black. Arrows falling from the roiling smoke like rain. The air thick, burning my lungs. I can feel them, now. I can always feel them, like they’re still there. The muscles remember, even if my eyes have forgotten. Powerful gusts behind me set the earth getting smaller and smaller under my feet. The smoke gives way. Soldiers fall on their back. How powerful they once were. I used to be fierce. Used to be unstoppable… now I spend my days elbow deep in flour and yeast.

04:00 - I wake. I look in the mirror as I roll out of bed. I can still feel them, but I know they aren’t there. I can’t see their haunting silhouette in the reflection. The scars on my back remind me that they’re gone. It’s cold again, enough to make my nose snuffle when I breathe. That’s all it is. Just the cold. I get dressed and head downstairs to start a new day.

It is perhaps a measure of how little changes in times of War—indeed, I should say in continuing times of War as Peace is only such a distant and fleeting dream. England has been at War for the majority of my life. It defies the imagination. Perhaps we have failed to adapt to Peace, more accurately, and a return to war is simply a return to the routines of which we’ve become indoctrinated. Although I am credibly certain of a severe reproof if I should recount that thought, to more than the Faithful Silence of a Journal.

Today was Sunday, and the Service was moreso dry and lackluster than usual. Or perhaps I am simply uninterested in the subjects of the sermon? I almost wish for the quaint Colonial Imagery. I say almost with the barest hint of snobbery. I wonder if it is simply how Proximity to the Pastor inspires a lessing of that degree of awe and impersonal respect granted to any Man of God? Or perhaps it is simply the knowledge the Pastor in Question cannot be expected to remember the existence of his flock when presented with Literature. I should not carry on so on my free day, of course, but I shall hide my mirth when we resume lessons tomorrow, fear not! I shall not for the world distress him, or moreso than James and I must in the future.

It gives one pause to acknowledge such a thing, of course. I do, however, Protest Strongly against the idea that I must keep such a Nursery Promise! Indeed, I have not the least desire to Marry James. While I do acknowledge the need to keep promises, I do not see the least why such an agreement between two children should dictate the course of two lives. I very much wish for my Season in London. Moreso, I have a Decided Chance of having my Season. Is it very wicked of me to say so? Ah! Faithful Friend! Judge me not. I have convinced Papa, dear man, and Aunt to allow no Whisper of my Engagement. This shall be my escape from this wretched countryside existence. I shall find a Fine Beau in London and marry him and remain there.

Until then I shall very Faithfully and Docilely attend to my Studies and Tasks. Sadly flat, certainly.

Why today I have been overseeing the Stores. We have many greens set aside for Winter, certainly. The Strawberry Preserves are all very nice, as are the many other berries. I am glad to report the Apple is of particular excellence this year.

I am also incredibly annoyed to have such duties. This, if nothing else, should Prove my Unsuitability for Marriage to James. I shall not be a good Helpmeet. I should rather declare myself the Charlatan of a House than that Common Phrase I Shall Not Deign to Write.

I should not like to be forever toiling over the Books and the Stores and the Arrangements. Although I also thus doubt a wish to Mistress of a Fine Estate. A London Townhouse seems a Far Better Proposition.

Adieu, my Confidant! I am for Supper and Sewing by the Fire after.

Morning comes. It’s no different from night in the deepest parts of the demon realm, where Shichi has existed, alone, for so many years.

He doesn’t eat. The former exorcist-turned-demon lord no longer has the so very ‘human’ traits he once took for granted. He never tires, except of existing – ‘existing’, rather than ‘living’, really. Could one really call his painful and unending existence a life?

Shichi’s weighted down with sin. The blood of so many on his hands, something that would never go away. The presence of his demons, gone forever. They’d given their all to restore his sanity, but Shichi sometimes wishes they had just let him be killed by the humans he had hurt so much.

The red sky overhead is unchanging. Shichi marks the passage of time with scrapes in the warm earth of the demon realm. Light streams down as the twin suns of the demon realm move overhead, casting long blood-colored shadows over the humble garden Shichi now calls home.

They called it Eden, once. Shichi contemplates the irony as he spends his days drifting through the garden and its frozen, lifeless beauty. Humanity was once driven from paradise, but Shichi will live forever in that so-called paradise. It just hurts, that’s all.

Night falls. The boundary between night and day doesn’t really exist in the demon realm, but Shichi’s body still remembers the time when he was young, traveling where wanderlust took him during the day, and warm hands on his skin during his nights. He tries to sleep, sometimes. More often than not, he ends up high in the tallest tree in Eden, trying to reach for the midnight sun.

But sometimes, he sleeps. Sometimes, he dreams. He remembers those people he loved, like the ice dragon who had been his first love, and the young exorcist who had come to him years before. In his sleep, he smiles a real smile as he relives those happy days.

But morning comes, and he must wake. When those blood red suns begin to creep overhead, the dream ends, and he’s alone once more.

The sky calls me, it always has. I have never not heard its siren song, not that I mind in the slightest. It’s the first thing I hear when I open my eyes, and the last thing to sing me to sleep at night. Sometimes I like to sing along, even. Especially first thing in the morning. It’s harder to resist then, all bright and new and shining with a new day.

They say that life is an adventure, and I certainly agree with that. Every day is an adventure. Get up in the morning, promise the sky that I’ll be visiting soon, and make sure to eat. Gotta get energy to fly, after all, and where would the fun be if you couldn’t? Not that every day is always the most fun or anything, but you can’t let that get you down. And of course you need to stretch and limber yourself up, if you’re going to go out and do things. Could hurt yourself if you didn’t.

Much as I’d like to take off then and there, I generally try to at least spend the morning visiting all my friends and family. They often say that I’m a ray of sunshine and I wouldn’t want anyone to be sad because I didn’t show up. Besides, friends are almost as much fun as flying.

Once that’s done, though, it’s even more fun when you combine friends and flying with adventure. We’ve had many an adventure exploring the caves around town after a good lunchtime snack, though sometimes I go out alone if everyone else is busy. Sometimes even I gotta stick around the town and lend a paw to whatever’s going on, but when it comes down to it, what I do best is what I do most days. And that’s exploring, since I’m such a good flier and all.

Now, not everyone can fly, which I feel is a shame, but most of them don’t seem to mind and it’s useful to have some people of all sorts when you explore. We’ve found some pretty amazing places by doing so, and even some really scary ones. The worst ones are when someone ends up hurt, but if you don’t go out and try new things, what’s the point in living?

And there’s been times when we’ve found someone who really needed our help and what would the world be if we didn’t try to find those people? A sadder and lonelier place, that’s what. I don’t like sad and lonely and so that’s why I make sure to spend every day making the most of it, and helping others do the same. It doesn’t have to be anything big, either. I’ve rescued pets from trees, stopped to smell the roses, and even helped rescue people from a rockslide. It’s all helping out and making things better.

Sometimes we’ll even go and camp out if we go too far, but usually we all finish our explorations of whatever in time to get home for dinner. And of course then there’s stories in the town square, or around the campfire; of old adventures, of old friends, new friends, hopes, dreams and all that stuff. Sometimes people will even get out instruments and play or sing and dance. I’ll usually join the singing, and the dancing for that matter.

It’s almost a shame to put an end to all of that and go lay down to sleep, but even the sky has to rest. When night falls, her song is quieter, slower. Everything has to end sometime, after all, otherwise there would be no point for a new beginning. And that’s the best part of the end of every day, I think…

Falling asleep knowing that it’s ending so tomorrow can begin.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeak. Brigade’s joints screeched in protest as he rolled to the edge of the berth. The former soldier gritted his dentals and focused on puckered weld mark along his inner thigh. The ridges and valleys of the hideous scar flowed with an ease that had been lost to him for years. He could only escape into the tumultuous landscape for so long, though.

His aches had their own sparkbeat, and they called him back into formation. Throb. Throb. Throb. The steady march was his way of knowing that a new day had begun. Brigade reached for the cane leaning against the edge of the berth and grasped the handle with shaking hands. His optics drifted upwards. He smiled.

Brigade’s apartments were small, but luxurious compared to where he had to recharge in the war. His desk, where he spent a large part of his morning, was shoved into the far corner. It was piled high with datapads detailing the movements of various troops. Even after his forced retirement, Brigade could lose himself in their marches. His spark was far from this cramped space, moving in time with the troops that labored in distant space, and being able to travel to such far stars made him shiver with the thrill of being alive.

With a grunt of effort, the massive mecha hauled himself to his pedes and began to shuffle towards his morning reading.

His first sight was a red sun.

As Brigade’s optics onlined, the sound of blaster fire rattled the interior of the transport ship. He did not know how he knew, but like all Made-to-Order soldiers he was aware that they were fighting the Second Great War…. But who were ‘they?’ All he knew for certain was that ‘they’ were the flashing, crimson light surrounding him, and that he was built to silence them.

The newbuild’s helm snapped around, trying to seek the answers, and his optics locked on a likely candidate. A nearby porthole revealed a glowing red creature, the sun that the ship was orbiting, but to the likes of him it seemed to be a terrifying beast. Suddenly Brigade understood why he existed. Such a monster had no right to be, and he stumbled towards it with every intention of putting an end to the Second Great War.

Thunk. His massive hand slammed into the glass of the porthole, causing it to begin to crack in a spiderweb pattern. Until that moment he had not realized his own power. One more hit and the obstacle between him and the enemy would shatter. His fist clenched.

An unknown voice cried out behind him, “Behind you, idiot!” Not knowing how he understood the words, Brigade still rushed to heed them. His helm pivoted around just in time to see someone cradling a laser rifle. Brigade froze in confusion, but the pain of the first strike was enough to teach him truth. The real enemy. The monster. Those like him.

The world was without light, without mercy.

But there was one thing that Brigade could grasp, and that was the agony. Every part of him burned as if he had been thrown into the red, red sun. Without seeing, his crimson optics bled streams of light. Through the haze he recognized voices, but not the words that they said.

“I can’t believe this happened to Brigade. He was one of our best.”
“He’ll never survive. The damage is too great.”
“We have to do something!”

A probing touch along his inner thigh, searching a weeping gash, brought a cry of agony to the warrior’s lip components. Brigade briefly shouldered through the haze, the pan reminding him just how alive he was. And he only had one response to this new discovery. “W-why?” he whispered.

If not to end the Second Great War, what was his use? He was a born and built soldier. He could never be anything else, even if he could no longer conquer the sun.

A Day In the Life of Myrddin ap Sucellos

There isn’t a morning, as such, in the city of Elysium. That sun, partially dipped below those distant moments, never dips any further down from that point in its orbit. In all fairness, nor is it a sun as we know it. A flaming ball of gas one point four million kilometres in diameter might have fitting in a pocket dimension approximately twenty one kilometres long. A faint fug of twisting smoke overhangs, the warm rays casting red light through the purple haze. In the core of the city, below the pounding streets, Myrddin slumbers. Slumbers. And slumbers some more.

He begins his day, or rather period of waking, in his very own home. It bears little resemblance to the buildings above, which twist and turn down twilight streets. This is a glittering womb of ametrine quartz, the city heart. From the centre rises a spring. Once a font of clear water, it has grown sluggish and sticky over years forced to serve the burgeoning population. Oozing, bubbling a livid red it rises to the pinprick of light at the top of the cave. It was from this pulsing well that he was born,and resides above still. Lying limp as a ragdoll across one particularly large bubble, Myrddin makes little to no effort to awaken on his own. The job falls to his attendants, smaller sprites birthed from the core. These gelatinous beings do their best to rouse their young master, tugging at clothing, at hair. Their names? Squinty and Bubbles. More often than not they’re swatted away. Such pests. You just can’t get the help these days.

Rising at last, slowly each eye cracks open until his warm skin is alive with darting irises. The only pair to remain closed as this located where one would usually expect one’s eyes to be. For the inhuman among you, that’s front and centre on the face. No, that pair are saved for best. He sits up, impressively bleary, after a good hour of poking at and prodding, to ruffle one hand through his tufted hair and ponder. He reaches up to grab at an sub-bubble, plucking out whatever food seems most pickled in the sludge. He goes through his daily mantra of cursing his father. After all, Sucellos is the one who gives him chores...

Born from the city and inseparably intertwined with its fate, none are better suited to aiding its citizens. None would be so in synch with their hopes, dreams, wishes, yearnings… Unfortunately, Myrddin is a spoilt child masquerade as a man. For the bulk of his day, the teen chooses instead to slack off and play. There is a regular cohort of like minded individuals, youngsters from species as numerous as the group is populous. Some might call Myrddin’s role mediator. Maybe, boss? Others see him as more of a bully. For now the bulk of his day is spent in the streets, spiralling in and out of the fog as easily as breathing. The rules of the games change with the wind, ever dependant on the whims of the little overseer. Little do they know, this will one day take on a new, dangerous form. Lunch? You could call it the meal after breakfast. He doesn’t care for it. Doesn’t technically need it. Doesn’t stop him from snatching, grabbing from market stalls as he goes by. A torn loaf here, slightly bruised apple there… Myrddin has no qualms with pointing the finger of blame at any member of his group but himself. It isn’t as though he can be brought up on the charge. He’ll melt away, back into the unchanging dusk.

But he can’t avoid it all. Eventually, word catches up to them. The father. Myrddin would probably argue the instigator. After all, without Sucellos, there would be no Myrddin,no game and no trouble. So who really can be at fault here? Certainly not the younger. Sucellos has an alternative perspective on the matter. Calling his son back into the central plaza as soon as he’s made aware of his awakening, it’s often nearing the end of Myrddin’s waking period by the time Sucellos can track him down. The hated time. Instruction. Training. Education. They eat dinner in silence, mostly.

What is there left to say?

Returning to the warmth of the core, Myrddin settles back down into the comforting glow. Each eye closes, his consciousness expanding out… Off… Away into the very stones of the streets above.

...::::::...

Today, just like every other day, Lumina wakes up at 6 am sharp. Though some people might balk at such an early awakening, Lumina doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, she quite enjoys getting an early start. Not one to lounge idly in her bed, Lumina jumps to her feet and runs out of her room, eager to face the new day.

As soon as she’s in the hallway, Lumina bumps into her mother. Sybil is already dressed for the day and her hair smells faintly of lavender; she gets up even earlier than Lumina does. She reaches down to ruffle her daughter’s hair affectionately and calls her “a real early bird”. Lumina grins brightly in response and skips to the bathroom.

After getting cleaned up and changing into her day clothes, Lumina quickly walks to the kitchen. The room is brightly lit thanks to the sunlight streaming through the enormous glass window. The morning light casts everything into sharp relief and Lumina stands in the doorway for a second, dazed. She shakes the feeling off quickly enough and steps forward to help her mom make breakfast. Sybil is there to lend a hand too, though as smart as she is, she’s always been rather helpless in the kitchen. At one point she drops the bag of flour they’d been using to make pancakes, coating the wooden floor in white powder. Beatrice only laughs good-naturedly and gives her wife a kiss on the cheek.

Eventually, the pancakes are ready and all three sit down at the ornate oaken table to eat. In this household, breakfasts are especially important. Both Sybil and Beatrice have a lot of responsibilities, so Lumina likely won’t see her mothers until late in the evening. It is therefore vital for them all to spend some quality time as a family whenever they can.

...::::::...

Aunt Rubin comes by shortly before Beatrice and Sybil leave for work. She is both a caretaker (Beatrice calls her a babysitter but she isn’t really because Lumina isn’t a baby anymore, mom!) and a tutor. She teaches Lumina how to read, write and do math. Lumina isn’t particularly good at any of these, but she tries her best. It helps that she enjoys learning, even if she doesn’t like tests very much.

The lessons last until lunchtime, interrupted every once in a while by an anecdote from Aunt Rubin’s past when she gets distracted by Lumina’s endless chatter. After lunch (a simple peanut butter sandwich; Aunt Rubin, just like her elder sister, possesses exactly no cooking skills at all), Aunt Rubin takes Lumina to Aunt Zorya’s cottage.

Now, Lumina loves her house, she really does. She’s lived there her entire life and she knows its every nook and cranny. Outside of her room there is a big oak tree and when she’s older she’ll build a treehouse there and it’s going to be great. Still, despite all that, there can be no doubt that Aunt Zorya’s cottage is special. It’s a one storey house with cream walls and a brick roof’s in an unusually bright red color. The walls are fairly short, but the building sprawls around, almost as if someone took a rolling pin to a normal-sized house and flattened it like a pancake. Inside, there are numerous small rooms that contain only various shelves and cabinets overflowing with mysterious objects.

Still, the most exciting part? The garden.

Aunt Zorya’s garden is enormous, bigger even than her house and full of all kinds of plants. There are flowers, of course, and vegetables planted in neat rows, and even some fruit, and vines that cling to the side of the building and crawl inside when nobody’s looking. The garden is where Lumina spends most of her afternoons; under the watchful eye of Aunt Zorya she learns about plants, about soil and about all the little beings that live therein. Today, Lumina helps her Aunt weed the small patch next to the rose bushes; it’s not the most exciting job but it is, as her Aunt says, a necessary one, so Lumina doesn’t mind. Besides, the roses smell really nice, almost as if they’re grateful for the help.

Just when the weeding is done, Charlotte comes by, and she and Lumina spend the rest of the afternoon playing together. Charlotte is Lumina’s best friend and they play together as often as they can. When they grow up, they’re going to work together too, though they’re not sure what they’re going to be doing just yet. Last week it was being pop stars, and then opening their own animal clinic, or a petting zoo. Today, Charlotte describes with stars in her eyes a cute little bakery she saw the other day, so: baking it is. The girls make plenty of mud pies and decorate them with some sticks and grass. When they bring some to Aunt Zorya to try, her face does a strange little twitch and she thanks them, but tells them to leave the soil for the plants who need it more.

She doesn’t get it, which is a shame, but she’s a cool enough adult to be forgiven for that.

...::::::...

The air grows cold and the sky begins to darken when Beatrice arrives to pick Lumina up. Playtime’s over; Lumina says goodbye to her friend and her aunts and she takes Beatrice’s hand as they walk back home.

Dinner is a quiet affair; everyone is tired after a long day of work. Still, today is especially lucky because Uncle Sal came for a visit. He doesn’t always find the time, but when does, it’s great. Not just because he’s a valued and loved family member, but because he also just so happens to be an amazing cook. Lumina enthusiastically digs into her meal and she has to be reminded a couple of times not to talk with her mouth full as she attempts to eat and tell everyone about her day at the same time.

After dinner, Lumina takes a bath and changes into her pajamas. She tells the adults goodnight; Sybil gives her a kiss on the forehead and Uncle Sal smiles amicably. Beatrice walks with her to her bedroom and tucks her in. Before turning off the light, she wishes Lumina sweet dreams and Lumina closes her eyes, content. The door clicks shut.

A warmth spreads from her chest. Her limbs are heavy, but it’s alright. The night is silent, save from the muffled sounds of conversation from the living room; the adults are still talking. Lumina smiles and before she knows it, she’s asleep.

Most of Eirian’s morning start the same, seeing as taking a job with the Guard is not something you do if you like days off, weekends, and regular hours, at 5am with the blaring of a radio alarm clock and the accompanying the buzzing of a cell phone.
This morning’s song on the radio was All Along The Watchtower, though that changes daily.

With out fail Eirian rolls to stare accusingly at the two alarms on her bedside table in an attempt to develop telekinetic powers until six eyes and a cold wet nose appear to dominate her field of view. If she’s too slow to move or manages to hit the snooze buttons that cold wet nose will be pressed against her side or toes out whatever part of her is exposed to be snuffled at. Donna being the ever helpful hound that she is when it’s time for breakfast.

After that treatment Eirian’s up but not awake, stumbling around her apartment all but dragging her wings and trying no to trip on 294lbs of excited monster dog. Her apartment isn’t large but it isn’t small either and she’s been living her long enough to navigate it with her eyes closed so she’ll stumble in the general direction of her back door, which leads out onto a little yard and patio. It’s fenced but Donna can and does jump it and no one minds it one but, Divine Hounds don’t need much watching.
Dog fed and out side it’s through her morning rituals, coffee, food, shower, clothes, coffee for the road and she’s out the door by 6am with Donna on her heels and rolling into work to clock in at 6:15 since her apartment is just on the other side of the massive Ourborous hall, heart of Avalon’s Capitol city Dearbhaile, where the city Guard is headquartered.
Eirian’s position is Guardsman, equivalent to a detective, though her post is dealing with the great city’s wall which faces the wild woods beyond. Which means the majority of her day is spent in the offices along the main gate dealing with the sort of things that happen when you have a city of creatures backed up against an untamed landscape of even wilder creatures and all of it is steeped in so much magic that a dragon having an argument with an angel in the street is only cause to be annoyed about the crappy insulation of your apartment. Everything from monsters getting a little too curious about the city and needing to be chased off to breaking up smuggling operations, Eirian works solo for the most part because she specializes as a tracker and first responder when things go sideways so she’s always being called in by others, both because she’s a war-mage trained Nephilim and has a Hunter Hound at he side, and there’s nothing a Hunter Hound can’t track.

Barring anything truly weird or catastrophic Eirian breaks for lunch pretty close to noon and spends most of the time in the open air market in the main square which sits down the hill under Ourborous Hall’s watchful post. She likes watching everyone go about their errands there and the food in the collapsible markets is generally the fastest and best in the city, so long as you’re not to worried about health that is. That hour wasted and her lunch split with her hound shadow Eirian is back at work, when not actively doing something her Captain usually tasks with helping with the massive amount of paperwork involved with the wall guard, which ends up being the exact reason Eirain is very good at finding things to actively do. Plus if she’s not at her desk no one can tell her to clean it.

By the time Eirian finds her way off the clock, often after dark or just latter she’d really like if something serious is going on or not, it’s a stop at her desk if she’s not already there and then any errands that need running if it’s not too late and the walk home through the huge gardens around the hall the separate and it’s residential areas like her wing of apartments from the surrounding city. The gardens are for the most part closely grown and well lit and beautiful and it’s on of Eirian’s favorite thing to walk through at night with Donna at her heels or bounding up and down the path if the hound still has energy to spare, it always servers as a wonderful detox from whatever stresses her day has held and means that by the time she finds her way to her door she my be absolutely beat and occasionally battered but happy to be home.

By the time she falls into bed, usually after something that vaguely resembles food (hello box macaroni and cheese and frozen veggies) and a little puttering around doing whatever around her home needs doing and making sure her insistent hound is fed it’s on the nearside of midnight (Eirian often thanks her unconventional heritage for only needing a few hours of sleep). Another day behind her another day ahead of her more often than not she’s asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

Rowan’s days stretch long as sleep is only something she likes, not that she truly needs unless she expends a great deal of energy. So if she sleeps at all she rises with the dawn in her forest, be it the early golden dawn of summer or the late hesitant dawns of winter. Though her favorite are the misty crisp ones in the fall. She’ll rouse Soli from his sleep, as even if she stays awake all night reading or crafting spells and items in her comfortable home beneath a stone fall and a hill at her forest’s heart, Soli will usually find a perch on her shelves and fall asleep not long after sunset. He claims that it’s his right if she’s going to prod him awake at the crack of dawn, someone around here has to get some sleep not that they often need it.

Still though, she rousts the grumbling black crow at the crack of dawn and they head out to check over the forest Rowan watches over. Her wood are nestled between a craggy reaching mountain range and a rocky coastline, the heart of the woods nearest the mountains is undisturbed by man for the most part but as you near the coast farms and towns appears along the great wood’s edges. The people here know of the spirit or whatever it is that haunts the forest, and they show the woods their due respect in return for respect from it, Rowan ultimately likes the people there, or at least the ones that know the rule, and shows it by bolstering harvests and protecting their beasts from sickness where she can, also making sure that travels along the few roads through her words are safe on their journey so long as they don’t give her a reason to dislike them. Rowan’s trees grow bigger and lusher than forests with no spirit but because of her connection to the forest, it has a much more active spirit all its own, which is one of the reasons she spends most of her time wandering her woods or flying over them, checking for anything amiss of any kind or making sure her friendly towns are doing well and many other things. Sometimes though, she just wanders her wood’s boarders out of curiosity or looking for a little well-deserved mischief to create. Anything to break up the days.

Inevitably she ends up lingering near the farms, they’re always just so interesting, even if Soli stays close when near them, not wanting to be mistaken for a common crow. Rowan has been seen more than once by farmers and shepherds, but they are mean who live by the earth and woods and know better than to make a fuss. Some even least our spare treats for the local spirit if they find signs of her around, which Rowan enjoys immensely. Not because she desires any form of tribute or anything, but because she loves the food and drink people make, and when the festivals role around sometimes she’ll make herself look as human as she can and wander among them in delight at the sound and color. Most days though she just lingers and watches. Hunters have seen her to, though less often as she actively avoids them, the golden antlers that crown her head have earned her far too many stray shots for her liking.
Not a day goes by the Rowan doesn’t at least spend sometime flying, even if it’s just the for the fun of it, storms do little to ground her unless they are truly ferocious and the feeling of wind under feathers is far to great a temptation to pass up, particularly on warm slow afternoons with clear skies and no reason to stay on the ground. with no fear about being seen at all Roawn and Soli will chase each other from mountains to coast and back, if there’s a good wind that is.

Though Rowan is uninclined to pay the setting of the sun much mind Soli is distinctly a day birds and takes refuge in her antlers as soon as it’s too dark for him to see well. If her home is near they’ll return to it for the night, if not often Rowan will simply wander all night or find a tree or comfortable place to perch for a time or to sleep away the slower hours. Night is also a good time for sneaking though, and occasionally when the moon is dark the spirit will creep right up to the homes of men, out of curiosity or plans of her own it depends, but both are best done when there is no one awake to see.
Most nights though, she finds her self at home and warm among her books and softly crackling fireplace, curled up with a familiar story or writing or something until dawn comes to draw her out again.

When he opens his eyes, snow is falling.

It covers the mountain and piles thick on the branches of the naked trees, glimmers beneath the rising sun. The wind skims across his back, ruffling his fur with a chill hand. His mouth opens wide, curling back from his teeth, and he shakes the yawn away and flows into a stretch. With the last of his sleep shed, his eyes are bright and the mountain beckons.

He roams the white slopes chasing the wind, weaving in and out of trees with dancing leaps and skimming over frozen streams. Snow swirls about his feet and he snaps at the air, twisting his body in an upward spiral. The air is sharp and cold, and he runs until the sun is a high, brilliant light in the sky.

Near the foot of the mountain, the village has woken. He slips in amongst the calling voices and winds his way down the snow-trodden streets. There is a shallow dish on the doorstep of a small home, dried flowers gathered in jars behind a window. The thin film of ice breaks with a stamp of his feet, and he laps the honeyed water with his tails slowly swaying. Before he goes, he leaps onto the windowsill and breathes upon the glass. As he slips away, frost crackles and crystalline flowers bloom.

Dark is coming by the time he is halfway up the mountain. He stops to watch the sun sink away, the last of its light flashing against the snow. The sky goes purple, blue, and then it is deeply night. As the first of the stars begin to glint overhead, he twirls in place and dashes up the mountain, soaring as though he rides the wind.

He slows only when he touches down on the wide, white expanse of the snow-covered peak, and gazing out into the night, she is there. She turns at his arrival, and a smile comes to her face as he runs forward. All around, the snow is aglow with moonlight.

Thump, thump, thump.

Mika groaned softly as she began to wake up. Who could be at the door? It couldn’t be her companion. Mika’s companion wasn’t due back until late that night.

Thump, thump, thump.

With a stretch, and a yawn Mika forced herself from the cozy confines of her quilt and made her way to the front door. What greeted her, or who rather, was a surprise as visitors were rare despite her home being only an hour or so outside of the nearest town. This visitor was a rust colored, blue eyed dog ineki holding a leather bound journal.

The dog ineki’s name was Tamshir, and, after she explained what she did in the cave as well as why she paid Mika a visit, Mika took her to a large table in what was Mika’s garden. The area in which they sat was bathed in a perpetual twilight by the many luminous mushrooms of various sizes that populated this section of cave. Several softly glowing lanterns surrounded the table and gave Tamshir a little more light to write by. On the table was several teapots filled with various teas, as well as sandwiches, and small cakes which Mika called “petit fours”.

“Eat what you want!”, Mika urged Tamshir. “Refreshments are always good with conversation, no? I made today’s petit fours. They’ve turned out really well, I feel.” Mika had been under the weather for a few days, and was quite thankful for Tamshir’s company.

After taking a long sip of her tea Mika began recounting her typical day:

“Usually, I wake up around… 5 AM. I need to as that’s one of the best times to catch fish which is what my companion, and I do everyday to earn a some nuggets. Not to mention they make delicious food!”

“But, yeah, I usually roll out of bed pretty early, and my companion, Klotho, is usually already up. Usually she’s pouring over some books. And she always jumps a little whenever I say ‘good morning’.”

“We then get all of the food we prepared the night prior, and bring it out to this table. In fact we don’t really have a set breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s pretty much a free for all buffet whenever we’re hungry aided with a little magic to keep everything delicious. We bait the hooks of our fishing rods, set them in the water over there, and enjoy the morning. We talk about what we did the day before as well as our plans for the rest of the day. We keep that up until about ten o’clock.”

“At that time we put out rods away, sort through our catches, and pack the things we might need for the day. I head to town, and Klotho goes off to wander in the caverns. I don’t know where she goes. She just sort of disappears until late at night. Though she’s been here for the past few days because I caught a cold. I’m surprised she’s not here right now all things considered.”

“Anyway, I head off to town to sell off some of the fish we catch, and pick up groceries. Then, I find a nice place close to the busiest place in town, and eat lunch there. I enjoy people watching, and soaking up the atmosphere albeit from a distance. The hustling, and bustling is nice. Being around people is nice.  After that, I do a little bit of window shopping, and I sometimes buy a little something. I love looking at all of the pretty things there are to wear! At around three I head home.”

“Once I get home I get to work on something I really enjoy: potion making! It’s the medium through which I express my magical prowess. Which is something I’d thought I’d never say as I thought for a long time that magic was something I couldn’t do. I love working at potion making, and perfecting my craft. There’s something satisfying about getting a difficult recipe right, or finding that a recipe you thought up works well. In fact,” Mika said as she stretched out the deep red wings on her back and a grin spread across her face, “I gained these, and my antlers from one particularly difficult recipe.”

“The rest of my day isn’t always the same. Sometimes I read over some of the books we have, sometimes I go looking for potion ingredients. I do the later more than the former. Newt eyes, and false nuggets are fairly easy to find if you know where to look. While stuff like monster’s miasma is considerably more difficult. I mean considerably more difficult. At the end of the day I return home, make my part of tomorrow’s meals, and then head off to sleep.”

“Speaking of the end of the day,” Mika said as she took the last sip of her tea, “it’s getting late. I’ll help you get back to the main path back to town. The tunnels surround this place can be difficult to navigate if you’re not familiar with them. I’m surprised you were able to find my home in the first place!”

A soldier in war, Kisaragi rises before the sun. He’s only seventeen, but he’s been training for the war since he was seven. Ten years of fighting, of pain and hardship leads him to these days, the same day again and again of fighting and watching others die. His roommate rises even earlier than him, given that he’s an insomniac.

His bedroom is in his school, the school of war. His school and his home all his life.

Despite his grim life however, Kisaragi is still as cheerful and bright as the sun, with a smile that never abated. Breakfast is hence a noisy affair, with him and all his teammates. Kisaragi only ever eats his favorite circular milk bread in the morning, a kind of comfort food that gives him strength for the rest of the day.

After breakfast, Kisaragi and his team head out to the battlefield, to fight and die for their country.

He’s a Interactor, one who summons beings of other dimensions to his will. But they are not his minions, they are his friends.

They call Kisaragi a nightmare. Someone not quite sane, or stable, because every time he’s out on the battlefield, all he does is laugh. Laugh and laugh as though he were playing some game, even as he’s doused in the blood of his enemies. The smile never wavers, even when he’s hurt, or when he hurts others. Most disturbing of all perhaps, was the nature of his smile. It was never cruel, or demonic. It was the carefree and cheerful smile of a child playing a game, the happiness of a person without a care in the world.

Considering the context, it was terrifying.

As the morning progresses, so do their battles. Kisaragi and his team are normally called back around lunch time, to rest and recuperate. Kisaragi often has to change his clothes, since they’re so often soaked with enemy blood. Then they all have lunch together, a simple cheap meal, but one that tasted that much better with companionship. The smile still never disappears, and people whisper of how strange he might be.

The afternoon progresses much the same as the mornings, fighting and killing. Kisaragi doesn’t really know what to feel about it all. Once upon a time he might have been horrified, but years at a war school has already desensitized him beyond any kind of emotion towards battle. The only thing that moves him to emotions are the safety of his friends, and that of his summons. The smile remains brightly and blankly on his face, a simple mask.

At night is when Kisaragi finally has time to himself in the comfort of his room. There he lets his mask slip, lets the hidden grief show through in a place where his teachers could not see and disapprove.

It hurts, but he still smiles anyway. He is the sun, the ever present sun that all his friends had come to rely upon. He cannot fall, or they all will.

He draws the covers up around him, a nest of cloth, and wonders if it will be his turn to perish tomorrow.

He sleeps.

4:00am: For Mika, the day begins before dawn. Angels run on very little sleep in general, and getting a solid five hours is plenty - indulgent, even. As is usual, he leaves a single jasmine flower on his pillow next to Holly’s sleeping face, before carefully extricating himself from the warm nest of blankets and pillows that make up their bed. It’s a habit he’s gotten into recently, and if Holly has noticed, he’s said nothing about it. Smiling softly, he leaves the cat demon to sleep for a few more hours.

After washing up for the day, Mika heads downstairs to put a kettle on for tea. Assam white for Holly, earl grey with milk and honey for Samael, golden osmanthus oolong for Remiel (their resident freeloader), and ceylon white for himself. Sometime during this process, Rem joins him in the kitchen - gratefully collecting his mug of tea and flashing Mika a sunny grin before shuffling off.

5:00am: Normally at this time, Mika would feed the numerous squawking birds that have made their way to the exotic pet store side of Birds of Paradise, but it seems Rem had an early start today and has already done so. Exchanging a few polite words with Remiel, who is currently elbow deep in cleaning fluid and scrubbing out their raven, Poe’s birdcage, Rem insists he has the cleaning under control. Mikhail gives Poe a scratch under the chin and heads for the greenhouse. Mika heads in for an extra, blissful hour of quiet - sipping his tea and flipping through the newspaper on his “smart phone”. Why is the phone smart? Samael gave it to him and he’s trying to figure it out, but it’s difficult. He keeps pressing buttons he shouldn’t and the screen is just so darned sensitive? Also the words are so small. He sighs and gives up, resolving to pick up a physical paper tomorrow or something.

6:00am: It’s time to head into the greenhouse. He’s got about two hours before sunrise, and this is usually when he does the re-potting. Putting on his work apron (orange, with the shop’s logo printed over the breast pocket), he gets to work.

8:00am: Samael blearily stumbles into the greenhouse, steaming mug of tea warming his hands, just as the sun is beginning to rise. Most of the re-potting has been finished. He washes his hands and catches a granola bar that Sam tosses him.

9:00am: The shop opens. It’s Sam’s turn to watch the shop today, and Rem joins him, taking a chance to tidy up before the customers begin trickling in. Mika pops his head in to make sure everything is okay, and heads back to the greenhouse.

10:00am: The calendar says that the deadline for wedding arrangements is coming up, and Mika gets to work on the complicated arrangements of flowers. The couple asked for white lilies which, Mika snorted, aren’t those usually used for funerals? The greenhouse is currently filled with dozens of lily arrangements, and Mika quickly puts up a sign warning Holly to stay away (that pesky lily allergy). He’s still got about a hundred more arrangements to make.

12:00pm: When Mika leaves the confines of the greenhouse at around noon, the store is already bustling with activity. Holly is currently trying to sell a particularly bitey cockatoo to a customer and, if Mika were being honest, he would not miss that bird. Remiel was ringing up someone who had bought a truly garish bouquet made up of about a dozen mismatched flowers. The customer must have requested a custom arrangement, because there was no way anyone in his shop would have created such an eyesore willingly. He waves everyone over for lunch.

Lunch is a simple affair. It’s sandwiches today - Mika and Rem’s filled with grilled vegetables and cheese, Sam’s has the same, with the addition of a chicken cutlet. Holly has his usual - cubes of steak, served raw. Dia and Fortuna, the nephilim owners of Castle in the Pie, the bakery across the street, stop by with a bag full of warm pastries.

1:00pm: It’s back to the grind, and everyone slowly trickles out of the back room and to their respective posts. Mika disappears into the greenhouse once more. Those lilies aren’t going to arrange themselves, after all.

3:00pm: Holly wanders into the greenhouse to ask Mika a question without reading the sign up front and immediately erupts into a fit of sneezing. Mika, in his rush to exile Holly from the greenhouse, knocks over several arrangements by accident. They share a cup of tea in the living room while waiting for Holly’s eyes to stop watering.

4:00pm: If Mika never sees another white lily, it’d still be too soon. He adds the finishing touches on the last of the wedding arrangements, and, with a dash of magic, ensures they will stay fresh and lively.

5:00pm: It’s closing time for the store, and Mika has more or less finished the arrangements for the wedding venue.

6:00pm: It’s Samael’s turn to cook, which… mostly means burnt dinner. The menu for tonight is burnt beans and burnt rice, with sour cream and burnt tortillas on the side. Mika makes a mental note to start teaching the kid how to cook because this isn’t food, it’s a tragedy. Holly snickers at them over his plate of raw steak.

7:00pm: Time to wash up for bed.

8:00pm: A long and tiring day, Mika curls up in bed with a good book, reading until Holly wanders in. They huddle together in the nest of blankets and talk quietly, laughing over everything and nothing. It’s their time now, to bask in the warmth of each other’s company.

12:00am: They drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep - a content smile on their faces, their fingers intertwined.

I was in the middle of writing up my reports when I heard someone walk up the stony path. I glanced up from my writing as I saw her walk up to the door and knock. I just stared at her from my stump, waiting for her to realize no one was home and leave. It didn’t take long for her to notice my gaze as she could probably sense me looking at her. I looked down at my written words when I heard her making her way towards me, wishing I never heard her, wishing I never decided to sit outside this house on a lonely stump. I could see a shadow being cast now a little ways to my right. I took notice that she was holding something as I studied it. She started to clear her throat at an attempt to get my attention, and let’s just say it worked. I looked up at her, my uncaring eyes etching their way into hers that I swore I saw her shiver. I looked from her eyes to what she was holding and saw a journal of sorts. It was different from my own, so I knew she was just a traveler and not someone of my kind. I looked back at her eyes, but saw their gaze was elsewhere, looking away from mine while her lips slightly quivered in an attempt to form words. Letting out a sigh of defeat, I started the conversation.

“What is it you want to know?”

She now looked at me, shocked? Surprised? I didn’t have the nerve to care what her emotions were doing. I just knew I wanted her gone so I could go back to my reports.

She let out a slight squeak in her voice before her words came out in an audible tone. “I ummm…. I was just on my way…”

My patience was wearing thin at this point. She looked determined on her way to that door only a few seconds ago, but now she lacks the confidence to speak? Was my aura really that chilling right now? I tried to think of something pleasant, something that would get rid of her tremors and chattering teeth. In no time I saw her confidence return followed by a quick clearing of her throat.

“I’m sorry about that.” She finally let out, a small smile curved her lips. “I was in the neighborhood asking the locals about how they spend their days, and I was wanting to know about yours as well? Are you willing to share?”

My first thought was to tell her no and to leave me be, but I wasn’t exactly the same as her and I felt that sending her away would cast more foul judgment on me. I tucked my quill into the journal and closed it. If I was going to talk I shouldn’t be distracted by my work in the process. Before I could have a say in the matter she already opened up her journal, quill in hand. She looked from me to the journal and then back at hers. Without even looking at me she asked, “What’s with the journal?”

“Work.” I replied back. Half annoyed and half curious as I saw her writing my response down.

“Do you always carry your work journal around? Is it part of your everyday routine?” She said, again not looking at me.
Fully annoyed, I just grunted. I placed the journal down next to the stump and crossed my hands and legs over. My posture was as straight as it could be, and I could swear I might have been hunching over the whole time as I grew a few inches. Her gaze finally left her journal and looked at me. I could tell she saw how aggravated I was with her questions.

“I thought you wanted to know about my day, not about my journal.” I let out in a huff.

“Yes! Yes! That is what I want! Haha, sorry. I was just interested to learn I’m not the only one carrying around a journal these days.”

She looked back to her journal, the quill in her hand slightly shaking.

“Shoot!” I thought to myself. I was doing it again. My aura must have went back to being frosty, like it naturally does half the time. Again I tried to think of something to change it, something that would make the cold melt. Once I saw the quill stop, I knew my thoughts were holding true. Before she could question me any further, I just told her about my average mornings.

“In the morning, I drink a cup of black tea while reading the paper. I usually do all of this in my bed as I don’t really like to socialize. Plus the tea adds a nice aroma to my room. After cleaning up after myself, I take a shower, get dressed, and go down to the local…. temple if you would call it that. From there it is usually the same routine. I’ll receive a letter by flight mail, take a …. train to my … friend’s house, and write my observations. Sometimes I sit back and watch, but most of the time I tend to write as you saw me doing earlier.”

I stared at her as she continued to write down my words. I wished I could just move on to my afternoons and evening by now, but now I can understand Dysis’ and Eugene’s impatience with me when I ask the questions and they have to respond. Funny how the tables have turned.

“So do you write in your journal in the morning and the afternoons?” She asked.

“Is it already afternoon? Have I been writing up my report for that long?” I thought to myself. I had to take a quick peek at my watch on my ankle to check the time. “Shoot! She is right!” I thought again. I had to think. Usually my reports do not take me this long to write up, but considering that the elements of the contents have changed, I guess using some of my afternoon time wouldn’t hurt. I used her question to talk about my afternoons, wishing for this conversation to be over with.

“Usually no.” I finally said. “Most of my afternoons are of me under a tree or somewhere isolated. I tend to … read … a lot, so I like to be left alone if possible. If I’m not reading I’m usually sitting on top of someone’s roof. Why? I don’t really know myself. Maybe it is because roofs are the closest buildings to the skies. If I’m not on a rooftop, you can see me on the ground making potions. Okay, maybe not in the outdoors, but in a closed and isolated building where safety is key.”

I didn’t want to go into further details. She wasn’t someone of my kind so the less she knew, the better off she was. What these potions were used for and why I write up my reports shouldn’t concern her, but seeing how it is engraved into my everyday routine with the war still plaguing our minds, I guess it was one bit of information I could fess up to someone outside the knowing. I hated this. Not being able to talk to anyone outside my own, not being able to communicate with those who were innocent to what is happening in the skies above them. I hated not being honest with my mates, spying on them because of the crimes I had committed. Nothing in life was fair, and it still reigns true in the afterlife. Lost in thought, I barely heard her next question.

“Then, what about your evenings? How do you spend those?”

It didn’t take me long for a lie to form at the tip of my tongue. The last thing I could say was the truth. Do I say I spend my evenings chasing after creatures left unseen? Do I say I spend my nights spying out windows and pillars to see my friends and their loved ones? The truth was something I had to keep to myself, knowledge that an outsider should never know. The lie leaving my lips was something I would never dream of, but seeing how my cold nature made her tremble I could tell she was innocent and would not know the realm of pleasure.

“My evenings are spent at the local brothel. Despite my need for isolation, I also crave warmth. Sometimes from a man, sometimes from a woman. I won’t go into details as I can see the topic is making you… uncomfortable.”

I was right. Everything from her posture was telling me she was believing in this lie, a lie I so wished I could take back. “Why!?” I thought again. “Why did I say I sleep with someone? Why couldn’t I say I spend my nights reading some more? Why did my mind go to someplace Eugene would frequent?” I wanted to apologize, but before I could she closed up her journal. Still shaking and looking uncomfortable, she thanked me for responding and left. As she walked off the property I grabbed my journal and opened it up. I took the quill in my hand and continued to write from where I left off. Writing to forget what I just said, writing to remember what I should have been doing before I was interrupted.

Rapunzel’s days are fairly consistent. When you’re stuck in a tower, there’s only so much you can do. For this reason, her days have a fairly set routine. Even though she wishes it weren’t this way, there’s nothing she can do about it.

Upon waking up in the morning, her very first thing to do is tend for her hair. She splits it in half, and counts 100 strokes for each side. Starting from the roots of her hair, down to the very end. Doing this 100 times each side is very time consuming, and can get quite boring. So as she does this, she likes to sing. If you were to pass her tower at dawn, you would be able to hear her melodic voice as she sings out the window, brushing her hair over and over.

After this, she pulls her hair into any style, just so that it won’t brush at her feet as she goes about the rest of her day. After all, it does get in the way. Her next task is to cook herself some food. Her favourite is fruit salad, as her mother likes to bring her fresh fruit most days. The berries around the land are absolutely delicious.

Next up is to clean the tower. From the floor to the roof, even in those tricky nooks and crannies, most days Rapunzel will clean the tower. She likes to have it spotless, and has become quite efficient at this. If she keeps up with the mess, it never builds up. So it is quite smart to spend a little bit every day, rather than spend a whole day every now and then on something so boring.

The rest of the day is now Rapunzel’s to do what she pleases with it. Her favourite thing to do is paint. She likes to paint the sky, as it changes daily. Everything else in the tower and beyond Rapunzel has painted, many many times. The repetitiveness of her life does get to her sometimes.

When she’s not painting, she likes to read. However, once again, you can only read the same book so many times before you get over it. She’s read each book in her tower about 100 times. She doesn’t think she can bare to read any of these books again. She’s been begging mother for a new book for a while now, so hopefully she will get one for her birthday. If she doesn’t though, she has been considering writing a book. Maybe about a damsel in distress, tucked away from civilisation in a tower…

Fortunately for Rapunzel, all this is about to change with the arrival of her Prince Charming. (Or er… something close enough.) She doesn’t quite know it yet, but she will never have the same boring routine again…

Taken from the Diary Journal of Dahlia, for future generations of guardians of the wishing shrine to read, and appreciate my awesomeness.

Sooooo, a few people have been encouraging me to log more about my duties at the shrine, something like blah blah blah posterity, blah blah preserve traditions. Well, to the future guardians who will be reading this… let me tell you that I am not really a traditional girl. Sure… I am the guardian of Victiore Town’s famous shrine, and I take it very seriously, and I follow the traditions… BUT let me tell you (did I already say let me tell you?) I try to keep things hip, help improve stuff I guess. BUT I am getting off track.

First: some background. So this can be all official or whatever. My name is Dahlia, and I am the current guardian of Victiore’s world renowned Wish Shrine. My job is to maintain the shrine, the little gift shop, and to just… be around so my magic can help the shrine do its job. Oh yeah, I’m magical. I can’t really explain it, but I have this innate magic in me that helps people’s wishes and dreams come true. It’s awesome. That’s why so many people visit our town’s shrine. It’s legit, like hella legit. Like legend states a child is born with this magic every generation to keep it going. And I (dramatic pause) was that child!!!

My day begins with, well waking up. Duh. I like to sleep late! A pretty girl like me needs beauty rest!!! Haha. Well really I just love sleeping. You know that feeling when you are snuggly in bed and your alarm goes off (mine is always SNOOZED at least twice) and you are at the peak level of comfort? Mmmm, the best, right? Anyway, I like to sleep in so, I often have to get busy kind of quickly… so I’m in the habit of showering the night before and laying out my clothes for the day. My breakfast is usually on the go… like a breakfast sandwich or a pop tart or something, unless my brother Basil is in town, he always wakes up early and cooks.. YUM! I always tell myself I’ll go straight to the shrine, but I always make a detour down the main strip of our small town. Gotta make appearances. I know everyone who lives here, its not hard seeing as the town is so small, and I’m kinda the center of it. Sometimes the shopkeepers give me free food or stuff like that. I tell them its good luck, and hey it probably is!

When I arrive at the shrine, my first job is lighting all the lanterns. There are a bunch, it gives a nice ambiance. The shrine is actually built into a small cave. Very rustic. The lanterns are the only lighting in there, so they’re pretty important. Don’t want nobody’s grandma tripping! That’s probably not her wish… sorry grandma. I usually remember to light them… like 99.% of the time. After that its clearing out wish tags if there are too many, sweeping, and then maintaining the little gift shop. During the busy tourist season, I have extra help, but most of the year its all this gal! I restock the shelves and figure out what I should have on special, usually stuff that’s been sitting around a while. The shop sells a lot of traditional gifts, maps, postcards, all that typical stuff. I’ve been slowly sneaking in some cool stuff though too! I keep up on popular stuff, stuffed animals are especially popular! I got a bunch of Jirachi stuffed animals right after pokemon go came out (the shrine is a pokestop!!! but we tell people no cell phones inside the cave, or no wishes!!!) and they sold like hot cakes. I like thinking about what will sell well. The store is my little creative outlet.

During the day its also my duty to do blessings and guide people into the shrine if they need it. I am pretty extroverted, so I love meeting people and listening to their wishes. People are usually very sweet, and are super happy to meet me. It’s nice being so magic. One of the things people do is attach their wish tags to me, I keep my hair long for that reason. Its extra good fortune for your wish to be carried by the shrine guardian, even for a short time. I don’t mind it, sometimes I forget to take them out after work and I guess those people have a really strong chance of having their wish come true. Most of my day is going between the shop and the people. I take a lunch break around midday, sometimes earlier or later. The main part of town isn’t that far from the shrine so I just put up my little ‘back in ten minutes sign’ and grab something. I really love fast food… so its usually that, though sometimes I will be all healthy and get a salad. Sometimes.

The afternoon is more of the same. I take some time to do ordering for the store during lulls. When no one’s at the shrine I like to play games on my phone. The store computer is really old and you can’t really do much but the essentials on it… so no YouTube for me. I always forget to bring my phone charger (I should just leave one in the store) so sometimes my phone dies and I resort to playing minesweeper on the ancient computer. I am not that good at it. As soon as someone shows up I am on it though! I take a lot of pride in my shrine and the shop, and I love being the best hostess ever!!

At the end of the day, I tidy up and take the cash profits from the day to the bank on my way home after I close up. The money from the shrine goes to both the town and me. I’m kinda an institution in the town so I don’t mind that a good amount of the money goes to shrine maintenance (like paying for my supplies and stuffed animals haha) and festivals. I get more than enough to pay for my needs, especially since my home is owned by the town and I don’t need to pay any rent, or utilities. Just the perks of being magic like me.

After I get home I change out of my shrine outfit pretty quickly… its time to relax. I watch a lot of TV and surf the ‘net. Netflix is the best thing ever invented. Sometimes I will go out to a cafe with friends or go to a movie, but mostly at night I just chill. I normally eat dinner on the couch or in bed. Then its off to sleep… so I can do it all again tomorrow!!!

Short Background:
According to google translate, his name means “Tender” in Spanish. He is a young prince and a very sweet boy. He can be a bit mischievous, but he is also very gentle, charismatic, and loving. His best friend/rival (frenemies!) is Chouko. Every day always involves her in some way.
Tierno has no consistent schedule, so this will just be any random, typical day.
Most days begin with Tierno gently being awoken by his mother, Lady. She is a very kind, sweet lady, full of elegance and grace. She is of the royal line, meaning Tierno is a little prince. Though many tasks are unnecessary and could be fulfilled by others, she places great value on responsibility and respect. For this reason, she chooses to take care of many of the household responsibilities, such as cooking. Even little Tierno must clean up after himself and has some small responsibilities. Tierno will sleepily roll out of bed, and rubbing his eyes patter over to the wash area. Splashing some water on his face always helps him wake up and become presentable. Even at breakfast, just after waking up, you must always be presentable. By this time, the entire area smells delicious and he heads over to see what his mother has made today.
Tierno’s favorite breakfasts are owls and monkeys. His mom is truly a fantastic and creative chef. Occasionally Chouko will join them for the meal and arguments always ensue over who gets what. Chouko always wins once his mother gives him “the look” telling him to be a proper gentleman.
Though Lady has strong beliefs in responsibility, she also knows that children must be allowed to be children. There is nothing that she wants more in the world than for her son to be happy. Because of this, he always has mornings off to play. After breakfast, she packs him snacks and lunch if he has chosen to go out and sends him off, reminding him to arrive promptly in the early afternoon. Tierno thanks his mother, gives her a quick hug (even though that can be unseemly) and races out the door.
Tierno races out so fast, quickly getting ahead of Chouko. He turns his head, sticking out his tongue and laughing. This movement causes him to slow and get distracted. Not expecting this, Chouko is unable to slow down and comes crashing into him. The two roll around laughing and kicking, making a mess as usual. They finally come to their senses and get up. Tierno even pauses a moment then helps her wipe the dirt off. Not a moment later, he’s off running, leaving her to catch up again. He sets off on the usual path towards their hideout. It’s not truly so secret, but they like to pretend it’s their own little world. It’s this beautiful little clearing, not too far. Animals often wander around, there’s a small pond with beautiful crystals in it, and many kinds of flowers all around. The place truly feels magical. They have a treehouse there that Tierno’s mom had built for them. He drops his snacks into their house, they pick up their toy wands and weapons and soon their adventures begin. Tierno always plays the evil wizard and Chouko plays the valiant lady knight. Sometimes he even wears this silly old costume with a beard. However, their time is running out and he must head home soon. He forces her to surrender (evil always wins!), smirks at his victory, and then they head home.
Tierno’s afternoon with his mother mainly consists of lessons. They work on reading and writing, art, literature, science, magic, and history mainly. It is very important for him to be well educated in many subjects. He doesn’t need to master them all, but he must have a good understanding. This will allow him to delegate tasks later on and understand the lives and concerns of his world and people. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but secretly his favorite subject is art. He also loves science, but nothing makes him happier than to create something beautiful and he really is very talented. This is one of his favorite pieces he’s ever worked on.
After his lessons are done, he always helps his mother prepare dinner. At any time now, his father may return home. When he arrives early enough, he often helps in meal preparations and it can become a fun family event. Except on the rarest of occasions, the three will always eat dinner together. This meal is usually just them, though on special occasions they will allow visitors. It is meant to be their sacred family time, and they try to keep it sacred just for them.
After dinner is his mother’s free time to indulge herself and Tierno’s father-son time. This is often when most of his art is created. It’s a passion he shares with his father and he has learned a lot from him. His father was never formally trained, so his techniques and ideas are always creative, interesting, and unique. Tierno is hugely inspired by his father. During his lessons he often focuses on more formal technique and famous works, but with his father he can do anything and be anything. Tierno has no official bedtime, so they will spend all their time until they’re exhausted or occasionally his father has other responsibilities to attend to and must cut them off. After a while, Tierno’s hand will usually start slipping and he’ll began to yawn constantly. At this point, his father always insists he go to bed, despite his son’s many protests. Tierno always tries to stay awake, but despite this, every time, as soon as he hits his bed he falls instantly asleep.

Amare wakes up far too early in the morning and stumbles out of bed still half asleep to stoke the hearth. Today she opts for the poker, too sleepy to use magic safely. It takes her several minutes to wake up fully, the fire warming her out of chilly sleep. She helps it along, drawing heat through air and stone until her whole cavern is toasty - just the way she likes it.

The stone of her home catches the light of flames, red-orange-golden sandstone polished smooth and shimmering with the heat of the fire, a subterranean sunrise. She trails a wing along one wall, swirling patterns in stone forming at her touch. It’s a mesmerizing manifestation of her magic, a change wrought carefully over many years.

Once she’s collected herself, and the fire’s roaring, she ambles into the pantry in search of breakfast. There’s not much; a stunted, wizzened apple, the end of a loaf of bread, a handful of nuts. She makes a mental note to buy some supplies while she’s in town today. The nuts are toasted on a flat rock, next to the bread and a kettle of water drawn from the well in back. The apple is gnawed on as she wanders outside to inspect her garden and the glowstones curing on a rack.

The kettle hisses, and it’s time for breakfast. She pours herself a cup of tea and settles down to eat. When she’s done, she washes her mug and “plate”, then herself. The fire dries her off in seconds, washing away the chill of the water.

She grabs a basket of glowstones and heads into town. The jewelers each buy a dozen of them, and the rest go to supply and equipment stores - in the caverns, a persistent source of light is always useful. Then she heads further out, towards the old quarry, in search of good stone and crystal to use in her work.

She spends several hours in the quarry, among dust and stone as old as mountains. Last time she found a long vein of clear, hard quartz, and today she follows the vein until its conclusion. Crystal cleaves cleanly from rock beneath her claws, and she loads chunks and sheets of quartz into baskets and packs. Once she has enough to last until her next visit, she heads back.

On her way through town, she buys a small cart’s worth of supplies - fruit, bread, flour, mushrooms, dried fish. By the time she’s done shopping, she’s carrying several times her body weight in cargo.  She stops by a stall to buy a roasted duck slathered in garlic and sauce, which she eats with relish on her way back. Though she prefers meat, it’s harder to get down here.

After making her way back home, she stores her groceries in the pantry and settles down to work. The newly acquired quartz is separated into baskets - pieces suitable for making glowstones, pieces that can be used for jewelry or as spell reagents. She bathes the best pieces in a gentle breath of flame, burning away any magical or physical impurities within them, and sets them out to cure in the firelight.

For the rest of the afternoon, she works on the stones that are ready to be enchanted, drawing firelight into the quartz. It’s slow, methodical work; but it soothes her. Little by little, her basket of new glowstones is filled. Their light is still irregular and lopsided, but in a few days they’ll settle into an even and reliable glow.

It’s only when the fire starts to ebb that she pulls away from the consuming work. She stands, stretches, and breathes new life into the fire before putting her baskets away. It’s almost time to eat, and she selects a dried fish and half a mango from the baskets of food in the pantry. She gnaws on the fish, but savors the sweet fragrance of the mango.

There’s nothing left to clean up, so she pulls her door shut and locks it, then curls up on a plush rug by the fire with a thick, velvety blanket. Though she picks up a book to read, she can barely keep her eyes open long enough to finish a sentence. The fire sinks low again, and she pulls the blanket close and lets sleep take her.