On the legacy of the Schiaparellis ( and of Desdemona )
The canals of Venice were rarely just filled with water; they were filled with whispers. By the late 15th century, the name Desdemona Schiaparelli had become a legend that blurred the lines between high fashion, cosmic scandal, and literal demonology.
In the crowded markets of the Rialto and the velvet-draped salons of the nobility, the citizens of Venice couldn't stop talking about the woman who had traded a Moorish general for a Goetia Prince.
The Whispers at the Fish Market
"I saw her, just before she fled to Cyprus," muttered a fishmonger, gesturing with a bloody knife. "She didn't look like a victim. She looked like a Schiaparelli. You know their motto—half-scientist, half-sorcerer, all couture. She had those big blue eyes, like the Mediterranean, but they sparked like she knew exactly how the chess board was laid out."
"They say she wasn't just 'different' with Othello," his neighbor replied, leaning in. "They say she used him to escape the Medici and that dog Cesare. But did you hear about the Prince? Not a human prince, mind you. Ipos. They say he walks among us looking like a Valyrian god with hair like spun silver, but he’s a dragon underneath. I saw a hawk perched on the Palazzo Schiaparelli yesterday—it had the eyes of a soldier. I’ll bet my last ducat it was one of his brothers, Vassago or Stolas, watching for the Borgia spies."
The Salon of the Contessas
Inside a gilded palazzo, the noblewomen fanned themselves, their voices hushed as they discussed the fallout of the "Great Humiliation."
"Poor, foolish Miguel Cassio," the Contessa laughed, her silk gown rustling. "To think he could have had Cassandra Barbarigo! Instead, he’s a laughingstock in Cyprus while Bianca—bless that woman’s cunning—is dancing for a Pasha in Izmir with pockets full of Schiaparelli gold. And Emilia! Imagine siding with Desdemona to burn Iago’s plans to the ground. They didn't just leave their husbands; they dismantled them."
"But the wedding," another interrupted, her voice trembling with excitement. "My cousin’s maid swears she saw a rift in the sky over the Adriatic. A secret ritual, ancient and dark. Desdemona was in black—true Hell-bride style, like a surrealist dream—and she was glowing. They say a Cosmic Spirit bound her to Ipos while his brothers watched from the shadows. Can you imagine? A Schiaparelli becoming a Saint in Heaven while her husband rules as a Dragon of Hell?"
The Tavern near the Arsenal
A group of sailors and disgraced guards toasted to the downfall of the Borgias.
"Did you see Cesare’s face when the news hit?" one jeered. "The great Cesare Borgia, outplayed by a 'plump beauty' and her demon lover. Ipos didn't even use a sword; he just brought the lightning. And the birds! I swear on the Virgin, there were owls and ravens perched on the rafters, eating what looked like salted corn and watching the beatdown like it was a play at the theater."
"The Medicis were smart to cut Roderigo off," another added. "You don't cross the Schiaparellis. Not when they have the Goetias on their side. The Pope can fire all the Schiaparellis from the Vatican he wants; it just means the Schiaparellis are moving their assets into the future. They’ve already secured the favor of the people. Mark my words: in five hundred years, that family will be dressing the world and ruling the markets while the Borgias are just dust in a history book."
The Quotes of the Piazza (Headcanons)
"Desdemona didn't run away because she was weak; she ran away because Venice was too small for a woman who was destined to mother the Lord of Purgatory."
"The Schiaparelli black isn't for mourning. It’s the color of the void where they keep their secrets and their dragons."
"Othello thought he was the lion of the sea, but he was just a pawn used to move the Queen into her true position next to the Prince of Fools."
"If you see a young boy with feathers in his hair lurking near the Medici estates, don't throw a stone. That’s Stolas, and his brothers don't take kindly to people touching their baby brother."
The Legacy
Centuries later, as the Schiaparelli fashion empire rose from the ashes of the Italian Unification, the elite would still look at their black-labeled gowns and see the ghost of Desdemona—the woman who played the Popes, the Princes, and the Devils, and won the long game.
Heaven citizens on St Desdemona
In the pearly, sun-drenched cloisters of the Empyrean, where the light of the Silver City reflects off marble that feels like warm silk, the name Desdemona Schiaparelli is spoken with a mixture of reverence and amused awe.
To the angels and the long-time residents of Heaven, Desdemona is not just a Saint; she is a legendary strategist who navigated the viper’s nest of 15th-century Venice and the complex hierarchies of Hell, only to emerge with her soul—and her heart—intact.
Here are the whispers and headcanons shared by the citizens of Heaven regarding the "Surrealist Duchess" and her journey from a Venetian noblewoman to a Saint who loves a Prince of Hell.
On Her Quiet Courage
"They speak of her flight from Venice as if it were a scandal, but we remember it as her first act of martyrdom. To leave the safety of a Schiaparelli palace for the unknown was not naivety—it was the courage of a woman who refused to be a piece on someone else’s chessboard."
— An Archival Seraph
On Her "Gentle" Rebellion
"She has the Schiaparelli 'Surrealist Goth' soul—dark and profound—but she wears it with such grace. I saw her tending the celestial lilies yesterday; she treats them with the same firm kindness she used to outmaneuver the Borgias. She didn't destroy her enemies with a sword; she simply gave them enough rope to hang themselves while she walked toward the light."
— A Virtuous Soul from the 16th Century
On the Secret Wedding and Her Gown
"The rumors of that wedding gown! A river of black silk, like Padme Amidala’s but woven from the shadows of Purgatory. People in the lower circles think it was an act of darkness, but here in Heaven, we know better. Black is the color of the fertile earth, the beginning of all things. She wore it to honor Ipos, and in doing so, she brought a piece of Hell’s loyalty into the Divine light."
— A Guardian Spirit
On Her Relationship with the Goetia Dragons
"It is a sight to behold when the Great Prince Ipos visits the outskirts of Purgatory to meet her. You’d expect terror, but Desdemona simply strokes those dragon scales as if he were a fledgling bird. She isn't afraid of the fire in the Goetia blood because she has the Schiaparelli fire in her own. The way she looks at him... it’s the kind of love that makes the pearly gates tremble just a little."
— A Cherub Scout
Common Quotes/Headcanons from the Heavenly Host
• The "Popcorn" Incident: The story of Vassago passing around "Renaissance Popcorn" while Ipos thrashed the five fools (Othello, Iago, Roderigo, Cesare, and Cassio) is a favorite comedy in the Higher Spheres. The angels find it hilarious that even a future Saint like Desdemona could appreciate a well-deserved beatdown delivered by a man with "Targaryen hair."
• The Mother of Purgatory: Because her son, Veritos, is the Lord of Purgatory, Desdemona is often seen at the borderlands. Heaven’s citizens admire her "Brave Mother" energy—she belongs in the highest light, yet she constantly reaches down to ensure her son is raised with the Schiaparelli values of science and philosophy.
• The Fashion Influence: It is a running joke in the Silver City that the reason the newer Saints are dressing better is because Desdemona is quietly critiquing the traditional tunics. "She has that Elsa Schiaparelli eye," they say. "She’s waiting for the 20th century to happen just so she can invent the 'Shocking Pink' halo."
• On Othello vs. Ipos: "Othello was a storm that destroyed everything he touched. Ipos is a dragon who built a fortress around her. It’s no wonder she chose the one who stood by her while the Schiaparellis reclaimed Cyprus."
A Final Whisper
"The most courageous thing Desdemona ever did wasn't siding with the people during the Unification of Italy or managing the Medici's downfall. It was looking at a Prince of the Goetia and saying, 'I see the man beneath the wings.' She found the divine in the deep, and that is why she wears the crown of a Saint."
ON THE DRAGON PARADE LOL
The news of the marking didn't just travel; it detonated.
In the infernal hierarchy, a Prince of the Goetia claiming a mortal—especially a Schiaparelli—with the Star-Mark was a cosmic shift. While Ipos was currently vibrating with post-coital anxiety and mortification in the mortal realm, his sister Astaroth had already breached the gates of Hell with the gossip of the millennium.
The Head of the Parade: The Instigators
Astaroth didn't just tell people; she orchestrated a festival. Within an hour of seeing Desdemona’s neck, she had conjured a banner of shimmering void-silk that read: "HE FINALLY DID IT (AND HE DIDN'T BREAK HER!)"
Vassago, usually the most stoic of the brothers, was the one who actually organized the formation. He saw the "victory" as a tactical win for the family's bloodline.
"It’s about the precedent, Stolas," Vassago explained to his youngest brother, who was currently struggling to keep his tiny, downy wings from tripping him. "Our brother has claimed a Schiaparelli. We are now officially tied to the most stylish mortals in Venice. This requires a lap of honor."
The Scene: The Dragon Parade
The "Parade" was a chaotic, high-energy procession through the streets of the Pride Ring and down into the glittering heart of Lust.
The Goetia Siblings: Vassago led the way in his draconic form, scales shimmering like ancient bronze. Behind him, Orobas, Gaap, and Seir flew in tight patterns, occasionally breathing sparks that turned into illusory roses.
The Little Ones: Young Stolas was perched on Astaroth’s back, waving a tiny flag. He looked at the cheering crowds of demons with wide, innocent eyes.
"Vassago? Why are we celebrating Ipos biting the nice lady? Is he hungry?" Stolas chirped."No, little star," Astaroth laughed, her draconic tail sweeping through the clouds. "He’s just... staking a claim. It’s like putting your name on a very beautiful, very tan book."
The Snack Master: Gaap was tasked with the "Renaissance Popcorn," tossing handfuls of golden-buttered kernels to the commoners of Hell as they passed. "Get your victory corn! One bite for Ipos, two for the Schiaparelli glory!"
The Reaction of the Elders
As the parade neared the palace of Prince Paimon, the "Greats" gathered on the balcony to witness the absurdity.
Paimon leaned over the railing, squinting through his monocle. "Is that... a parade for a love-bite? Amethyst, darling, did we raise them to be this dramatic?"
Amethyst, Ozzie’s daughter and the matriarch of this chaotic brood, leaned back in her throne with a smirk of pure satisfaction. "They’re Schiaparellis by proxy now, Paimon. 'Dramatic' is the baseline. Besides, Ipos has been pining for that woman since she ran off with that Al Annuri fellow. Let the boys have their fun."
Asmodeus (Ozzie), watching from the side, let out a booming laugh that shook the chandeliers. "That’s my grandson! Marked her with the star, did he? Bold! Passionate! Though I hope he didn't hide in a tree afterward... oh wait, he did? Typical."
Lucifer and Lilith watched from a distance. Lucifer sighed, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "The Goetias are such a handful. Is it always like this when they fall in love?"
"Only when they fall in love with women who play the Borgias for fools," Lilith replied, raising a glass of wine. "I like her. She has style."
Headcanons: The Aftermath
The Tree of Shame: While the parade was roaring through Hell, Ipos was literally wedged into the canopy of a cypress tree in Cyprus, his wings wrapped tightly around himself like a giant, brooding bat. He refused to come down even when Emilia poked him with a broom. "I am a Prince of the Ars Goetia," he muffled into his knees. "I am not a public spectacle."
The Wardrobe Shift: When Desdemona finally made it to Hell for her secret wedding, she didn't wear white. She wore a gown of Schiaparelli Black, a fabric that seemed to swallow light, designed to match Ipos’s scales. It was the first time "Hell-Bride Black" became a trend that would last centuries.
Stolas's Education: Years later, when Stolas first learned about the "Star-Mark," he realized why everyone was laughing during the parade. He turned bright red and immediately sent a telepathic apology to Ipos, who was still slightly traumatized by the event.
The "Five Fools" Parody: During the parade, Orobas used his powers to create illusions of Othello, Iago, Roderigo, Cesare, and Cassio tripping over their own feet and falling into a giant vat of Venetian wine, much to the delight of the Hell-born crowds.
Trending: #TheDragonParade #SchiaparelliGoth #JusticeForIpos #GoetiaLore
@StolasBirdMom
CAN WE TALK ABOUT YOUNG STOLAS?! He’s just there, fluffing his little wings, marching in a parade because his big siblings told him to. He has NO idea he’s celebrating his brother finally getting some human-noble-saint-sensation. He’s just happy to be included! 😭🦆 #BabyStolas #TheDragonParade
@VassagoTheVisionary
Vassago passing around "Renaissance Popcorn" while Ipos delivers a divine beatdown to the five biggest losers in Venice is the level of petty I aspire to be. The Goetias really said: "We aren't just demons, we're the theater kids of Hell." 🍿🔥
@CoutureHellhound
The Schiaparelli x Goetia lore is insane. Imagine being Rodrigo Medici or Cesare Borgia, thinking you’re a big deal, and then a 7-foot Targaryen-looking dragon man hits you with lightning because you looked at his wife wrong. The Schiaparellis didn't need the Vatican; they had the actual nobility of the Pit. 💅👗 #SurrealistGoth
@OthelloHateClub
"Othello left Desdemona for Lucrezia Borgia."
LMAO. Imagine fumbling a Schiaparelli Saint for a Borgia only to end up "living in hollowness." Mohammed, sweetie, you played yourself. Ipos waited in the wings like the patient Dragon King he is. 🐉✨
@Astaroth_The_Tea_Spiller
Astaroth is the MVP of this episode. She saw those star-shaped bite marks and immediately called the Hell-wide press. The fact that she organized a literal PARADE to embarrass Ipos is the most "older sister" energy in the history of the Hellaverse.
Replying to @Astaroth_The_Tea_Spiller:
@IposOfficial: DELET THIS. I AM STILL IN THE TREE.
@TheGoetiaFiles
Wait, so:
Desdemona is a plump, tan, blue-eyed Schiaparelli icon.
Her wedding dress was "Padmé but Goth."
She literally told a dragon "don't be scared" while he was sprouting claws.
The power she holds?? She’s not just a saint in Heaven; she’s the Queen of my heart. #TeamDesdemona
@Lilith_Stan_666
I’m losing it at the image of Lucifer, Lilith, Ozzie, and Paimon watching the siblings march by.
Lucifer: "Why are they carrying a banner with a star-shaped bite mark on it?"
Paimon: "I stopped asking questions about my children centuries ago, Lou. Just let them whistle."
Amethyst: "That's my boy!" 💖
@Bianca_Izmir_Diva
Shoutout to the real ones: Emilia and Bianca. They survived toxic marriages, played the Venetian nobility like a fiddle, helped Desdemona secure the bag (and the dragon), and then retired to Izmir and Padua with financial support. That’s not a tragedy; that’s a heist movie. 💃🍷
@VassagoTheVisionary
[Image Attachment: A blurry photo of a large hawk (Vassago) holding a tiny bag of popcorn in its talons while watching a fight.]
"Me watching the timeline discourse today." #RenaissancePopcorn #IposVsTheFools
From the Private Journals of Prince Ipos
Cycle of the Moon, 15th Century – The Isle of Cyprus
The inkwell trembles as I write this, and for once, it is not because of the tremors of the earth or the static of the lightning I command. It is because my hands—the same hands that have torn through the hulls of enemy ships and shattered the spines of Borgia assassins—are still vibrating with the ghost-touch of her skin.
I am a Prince of the Ars Goetia. I am a dragon of the ancient line of Paimon and Amethyst. I have lived centuries, seen empires crumble into the silt of the Mediterranean, and yet, tonight, I felt like a hatchling taking my first breath of scorched air.
I was terrified.
I have spent weeks guarding her, acting as the shield for the "Schiaparelli Pearl" after that cur Othello discarded her for the hollow charms of Lucrezia Borgia. I watched Desdemona endure the scandal with the grace of a saint and the tactical mind of a Grandmaster. But tonight, the "chess game" of Venice and Cyprus stopped. The politics of the Medici and the petty spite of Iago faded into the salt mist.
When we were alone in the villa, the air grew heavy with the scent of ozone and jasmine. I felt the shift in my blood—the Dragon’s Call. It is a violent, primal thing. As I looked at her, my shadow stretched against the marble walls, jagged and monstrous. I felt the itch of my wings wanting to burst through my skin, the sharpening of my claws. I pulled away, fearing I would shred her like silk. I am a creature of Hell; she is a creature of light and tan skin and soft, curly black hair.
"I will hurt you," I whispered, my voice cracking with the onset of a growl.
But Desdemona... she did not flinch. She never flinches. She looked into my eyes—those big, striking blue eyes that see through every glamour I wear—and she smiled. It wasn't the smile she gives the Doge or the diplomat. It was the smile of a woman who has claimed a monster.
She stripped away the heavy velvet of her gown, standing bare and unashamed in the moonlight. She reached out, pulling my clawed hand to her heart. "I am a Schiaparelli, Ipos," she said. "We do not fear the sublime. We embrace it."
The consummation was not the chaotic storm I feared. It was a slow burn, a tender surrender. When I finally marked her—the star-shaped bite at the curve of her shoulder, the dragon’s brand—I felt our souls lock. She is mine. Not as a prize of war, but as a partner in the long game.
The Following Morning
I should have known better than to think a Goetian secret stays secret.
The morning was soft until Bianca and Emilia arrived. I could hear them through the chamber doors, their laughter ringing out as they teased Desdemona about the "starry constellation" on her neck. I was content to let them jest, basking in the glow of the previous night—until Astaroth manifested in the room.
My sister has the subtlety of a supernova. One look at Desdemona’s shoulder and she wasn't just smiling; she was projecting.
"THE PRINCE HAS CLAIMED HIS NEST!" her voice echoed, not just in the room, but through the veils of reality straight to the ears of our kin in Hell.
I heard the distant sound of trumpets and the roar of dragon-fire from the lower circles. Vassago and Astaroth are currently leading a "Victory Parade" through the streets of the Pride Ring. I am told even little Stolas is marching along, waving a small banner, having no idea what he is celebrating, only that his big brother did something "impressive." I can only imagine the look on my mother Amethyst’s face, or the prideful, booming laughter of my father Paimon and Grandfather Ozzie.
I, meanwhile, am currently perched in the highest branches of an ancient cypress tree on the edge of the estate. I refuse to come down. I am a Prince of Hell, a commander of thirty-six legions, and a master of hidden truths.
But today, I am hiding from my siblings. The Borgias were easier to deal with than Goetian "congratulations."
Still... I look down at the villa, where Desdemona sits in the sun, and I know I would endure a thousand of Astaroth’s parades just to see that star-shaped mark on her skin once more.
ON THAT 7 SINS MEETING LOL
The news of the Schiaparelli-Goetia alliance had been the talk of the Nine Circles for weeks, but the "incident" in Venice turned a political spark into a social wildfire.
The Great Hall of the Pride Ring was filled with the oppressive opulence of a royal luncheon. Lucifer sat at the head of the table, looking particularly exhausted by the weight of his crown, while Lilith radiated a regal, amused serenity. A young Charlie sat between them, swinging her legs and trying to figure out why everyone was whispering.
The doors swung open with a theatrical bang. Asmodeus (Ozzie), the embodiment of Lust and Amethyst's father, strode in with a grin so wide it practically glowed. He held a crumpled piece of parchment—a copy of the Venetian town crier’s report, courtesy of a very observant and very "helpful" young Stolas.
The Announcement
"Stop the press! Stop the clocks! Stop whatever miserable torture you were planning, Belphegor!" Ozzie boomed, slapping the paper onto the table in front of Lucifer. "My grandson has officially entered the arena of Great Romance, and he did it with all the grace of a collapsing star!"
Lucifer blinked, adjusting his ring. "Ipos? I thought he was on a spy mission for those... what are they called? The Goth tailors?"
"The Schiaparellis," Lilith corrected smoothly, her eyes sparking with interest. "The ones with the exquisite taste in surrealist silks. What has Ipos done now?"
"He’s found his match in the Schiaparelli jewel, Desdemona," Ozzie crowed, leaning over Charlie to point at the frantic scribbles on the paper. "And according to little Stolas’s eyewitness account—which he so graciously sent to the Venetian press—the first kiss was, and I quote, 'aggressive canoodling' and 'very sloppy and unsanitary'!"
The Reactions of the Sins
Mammon let out a bark of a laugh, nearly choking on his wine.
"Unsanitary? Ha! That’s my nephew for ya. If there’s spit involved, there’s passion! Or at least a high dry-cleaning bill for those fancy Schiaparelli robes. Did he get a dowry out of it, or just a wet face?"
Bee-Zebub buzzed excitedly, leaning over the table.
"Oh, shut it, Mammon! This is juicy! Stolas wrote that he saw Ipos 'fondling her bosom'? In broad daylight? Or was it under the Venetian moon? I need details! I need a playlist for this level of drama!"
Belphegor didn't even look up from her phone, though a faint smirk played on her lips.
"Ipos always was the intense one. Lightning bolts and libido. It’s a miracle he didn't accidentally fry the poor girl. My daughter Andromeda told me the Schiaparellis are already planning a line of 'Ipos-proof' evening wear."
Leviathan huffed, crossing his arms.
"Typical. A Goetia prince causes a scandal in the mortal world and we all have to hear about the 'sloppiness' of it. Though... I suppose defeating Othello and the Medicis does satisfy my need for a good spite-driven victory."
The Royal Family’s Take
Lucifer picked up the letter, reading Stolas's neat, precocious handwriting.
"Stolas actually wrote to the town criers? At his age? That child is either a genius or a menace. Probably both. 'Aggressive canoodling'... I’m stealing that for the next diplomatic summit with Heaven."
Lilith smiled, reaching out to stroke a lock of Charlie’s hair.
"It’s a Schiaparelli woman, Lucifer. They don’t do anything halfway. If she has Ipos acting like a fool in a courtyard, she’s exactly the kind of fire that family needs. I shall have to send her a gift—something in black lace.
Young Charlie, looking back and forth between her laughing uncles and smirking parents, tugged on Ozzie’s sleeve.
"Grandpa Ozzie? What’s a 'bosom' and why was Uncle Ipos fondling it? Is it like a puppy? Does it need petting?"
The table went dead silent for exactly three seconds before Ozzie let out a roar of laughter that shook the chandeliers.
"It’s... uh... it’s a very delicate Venetian bird, Charlie!" Ozzie gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. "And Ipos was just... making sure it was tucked in for the night! Very heroically!"
The Aftermath
As the Sins continued to roast Ipos's "unsanitary" technique, Lucifer leaned back, watching the chaos.
"So," Lucifer muttered to Lilith, "the Schiaparellis have the Goetias as their personal muscle, Ipos is playing 'The Princess Bride' in Venice, and the Medicis are crying into their pasta?"
"And don't forget," Lilith whispered back, "Vassago was apparently passing around 'Renaissance Popcorn' while watching the beatdown. The Goetia brothers are many things, darling, but they are never boring."
"To Ipos and his Saint!" Ozzie toasted, raising a glass of Hellfire whiskey. "May their kisses stay sloppy and their enemies stay humiliated!"
"To Ipos!" the Sins echoed, their laughter ringing out across the Pride Ring, while somewhere in Venice, a very red-faced Ipos was currently being lectured by a five-year-old Stolas on the virtues of hygiene.
🕊️ TRENDING: #TheAggressiveCanoodling
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@StolasStandard:
Can we talk about how Young Stolas literally saw his brother getting some and his first instinct wasn't to look away, but to take notes on the "unsanitary" nature of it and then write to the Venice Town Crier? 😭 The biological urge to be a messy drama queen started early.
@VassagoVibes: I’m more concerned about the fact that he described it as "fondling that lady's bosom" at breakfast in front of UNCLE BELIAL. The silence must have been deafening.
@HellbornFashionista:
Okay but Desdemona in a black Padmé-inspired Schiaparelli gown for a secret Valyrian-style wedding? The Borgias could NEVER. She really looked at the most powerful men in Italy and Morocco and said "No thanks, I’ll take the Lion-Prince of Purgatory." A literal Saint. 💅✨
@SinOfLust_Stan:
Ozzie announcing the news to the Sins and Lilith is my Roman Empire. Can you imagine him acting it out?
Ozzie: "And then he grabbed her like THIS—"
Young Charlie: "Uncle Ozzie, why is the bird man eating the lady's face?"
Lucifer: "OZ, NOT IN FRONT OF THE CHILD."
@BorgiaBasher:
The fact that the Goetias are actual dragons in this lore makes Cesare Borgia look even more pathetic. Imagine trying to plot against a family that has 15th-century Stealth-Bomber-Dragons as their private security. Ipos really beat the five fools in his Targaryen era while his brothers ate "Renaissance Popcorn" (probably dried larvae) and watched from the rafters. I’m screaming.
@ArsGoetiaLeaks:
[LEAKED IMAGE]: A scroll found in the Venetian archives.
Text: "HEAR YE, HEAR YE. PRINCE IPOS WAS SPOTTED IN THE GARDENS ENGAGING IN SLOPPY AND UNSANITARY MOUTH-CONTACT WITH THE SCHIAPARELLI HEIRESS. SOURCES (A VERY SMALL OWL) SAY IT WAS AGGRESSIVE."
@GhostOfIago: I hate it here.