Bobbin Lace Towel End
Russian, Orel province c. 17-1800s
Cotton or linen bobbin motifs show plant and animal forms in plain weave outlined with gimp (heavy cord); applied silk (est.) ribbon; overall: 30 x 39 cm
Claiming they had definitively identified the source of the ongoing surge in foodborne illness, Centers for Disease Control officials issued a statement Thursday linking the nationās cyclosporiasis outbreak to an ancient evil corrupting the Seven Sacred Diarrhea Crystals. āAfter extensive laboratory testing and data analysis, our epidemiologists have determined that the current outbreak of cyclospora infections was caused by the dark sorcerer Valnos escaping from the Prism of Binding and subsequently plunging the sacred crystals that govern the flow of diarrhea through our lands into chaos and disharmony,ā said acting CDC head Jay Bhattacharya, adding that residents in the states of Michigan and New York should avoid consuming bagged salads until Valnosā corruption has been purged from the Sacred Diarrhea Crystals with the Blade of Destined Digestion.
I just got a kindle and I'm looking for a fun book to binge read on it!! Something I could read for hours straight. I'd love a murder mystery (bonus points if there's a romance plot, and even more points if it's set in a beautiful location)!
Itās a reverse murder mystery, but since you tagged Agatha Christie, I *heavily* recommend Murder Your Employer by Rupert Holmes.
Three adults enroll/are kidnapped to the McMasters Institute, an elite boarding school that trains people how to murder very specific people in their life like an Agatha Christie villain (and how to get away with it.) Thereās a romantic subplot, and the campus is definitely beautiful. The book is framed as a textbook at the Institute using these students as teaching cases, and the side comments from the Dean are hilarious!
On the public domain side, the ArsĆØne Lupin stories by Maurice Leblanc are a great read (and free!) Lupin is Franceās answer to Sherlock Holmes. You may not know who he is if youāre anglophone, but you definitely know his descendants - he is *the* prototypical gentleman-thief. Several of the stories concern theft rather than murder, but Lupin solves his fair share of murders in Paris.
My HoK was a student at the Arcane University. who took the blame for a bar fight a friend (also a student) started because the HoKās student record was clean and could (probably) handle it better. Was NOT expecting to go to jail and was extremely freaked out even before Valen Dreth started taunting.
(No pronouns because my HoK is a trans man but doesnāt realize it until after mantling Sheogorath. Repressed gender dysphoria is a large part of why he accepted the mantle at all.)
Mr. Collins would be such a fan of ai. He would love it. He would have it write scripts for him to use for complimenting people. He'd ask it what to do in social situations and then when someone would tell him "I think that's a bad idea" he'd be like "my dear madam it's so good of you to be concerned but I think the highly esteemed Grok knows a little more about this than a lady like yourself" and then he'd go humiliate himself publicly.
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize thereās nothing in there. Not metaphoricallyāthe armor is literally empty. It doesnāt appear to affect him. If the armor stays mostly in the shape of a knight, he just gets back up to keep fighting. But with the chest plate off he just sits there, equally impervious to curiosity as I reach up into the cavity where his body mightāve gone. Stubbornly, no answers are found anywhere in there.
So I forge him a new breastplate and on the inside, because I know he has plenty of room, I put a little pocket. Not big enough to hold anything functional of course. Just a little extra piece to see what heāll do with it.
He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.
Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy whoās got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didnāt say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.
There are plenty of other forges. Iām not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. Weāre pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures Iād put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so Iām not sure why I asked.
Thereās not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs Iāve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though Iāve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where itās barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, Iāll never understand. But itās a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.
When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. Itās like heās watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. Iām careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. Thereās no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like heās looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. Thereās nothing there. I ask him whatās wrong, and again he points. Itās the most emotion Iāve ever seen from him, and itās barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.
I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When Iām finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesnāt put it on right away. I ask him if somethingās still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I canāt add anything else. Even if he could ask, thereās no room left.
Next time he comes back, thereās nothing wrong with his armorāhe lets me check to make sure. I ask him what heās doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. Itās in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but Iāll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but Iām not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. Itās candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. Itās flavored with cinnamon. Iām surprised he let me take it.
He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but itās my own fault so I canāt complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.
One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him Iāll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave itās dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where heās going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when Iāve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesnāt move to leave.
I ask if heās going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know heās not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him Iām grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him Iāve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him itās a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.
It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone elseās empty armor with trinkets. Iām not sure if thatās really why he does it. I tell him I donāt have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. Iām not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe itās nothing at all.
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I didnāt edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
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