#not a reply

[randombrowngirl]

I actually don’t owe you anything

[ask-loz-moviecast]

I decided to add two more characters to the au, as of right now i dont think ill make more but i just wanted to add these two

Elli 🔔(Ilia) Shawn 📜 (Shad)

They're already on the list in the master post :) but yea!!

Also ill probably make a list of fun facts for the cast in case you guys needed something to ask about (and possibly another with their ages/gender cause why not- or maybe ill make that all one list)

[whispering-brushes]

On Edgar's Fourth Birthday Letter

A quick note before I begin this breakdown of my opinions: There will be heavy citations of the original text. And I do mean heavy. Like, I will go paragraph-by-paragraph, while occasionally bringing in other sources from Edgar's lore as needed to make my case. This will be especially prevalent when I need to compare/contrast how Edgar talks in other cases, or how a contradiction may be present.

I am fully aware that my interpretation is not the only one, nor is it the be-all, end-all of Edgar understandings, but I'm attached to him for reasons I don't fully comprehend and I want to see him done justice and frankly, this letter upset me and the longer I thought about it, the worse it got.

Thanks to the mycelium for looking at my initial thoughts and trusting that I was onto something, and that I wasn't just being overly negative! I do think Edgar would look up to Patty, but it was the matter of how we got there, how the thought processes were, some of the things Edgar was caught saying that were. Utterly incorrect. There's unreliable narration and then there's completely whiffing the actual feelings on Sarai. We'll get to that. (That part is the most egregious to me, and yes it did have me seething.) No time to waste, let's get this thing going.

The most beguiling aspect of this manor lies in its uncanny ability to strip human nature bare. The fierce debates—charged with wagers and resolve—the intricate webs of plotting and rivalry—are far more captivating than any play the outside world could conjure. The burning desires that smolder in their eyes confirm the truth of my choice. This place, indeed, stirs the depths of inspiration in ways unknown to common men.

So, we're starting off with Edgar discussing how people seem to act differently in the manor. Bear in mind, Edgar left his home due to getting sick of the gossip and hypocrisy he had to deal with on the daily. As such, I do not believe he would think that the plotting and such would boost his inspiration. If anything, it would sap such a thing further. He came to Oletus to leave that behind, why did it follow him? The appreciation of honest desire and admitting the truth of one's nature is one thing. The ever-present scheming and trying to act for one's benefit alone is another entirely. (Also, calling the thing he tried to run from "far more captivating than any play the outside world could conjure". I disagree.)

I cannot fathom what price the organizers have offered, but I can feel the urgency in their blood, a palpable desire to claim victory in this shadowy game. Though none among them possess the faintest grasp of the true essence of art, their ignorance does little to hinder my progress. Amid the clamorous din, I draw ever nearer to the creation of my masterpiece.

There is absolutely a heavy amount of arrogance here in the "none among them possess the faintest grasp" and the talk of everyone's ignorance, how it doesn't stop him. And in it all, the concept of that singular masterpiece. Something that feels incongruent with how Edgar is trying to get back on his feet, create in a way that he finally enjoys. I'd say the masterpiece would be secondary.

First off, the idea of 'real art'. Who was it that introduced the idea of such a thing but Sarai, on that letter in deduction 6? (A tenth birthday present, no less.) There is a reason Edgar is so dismissive of people who claim to know. Such definitions end up being all too self-serving and contradictory upon any length of thought. Such people who make definitions make them only for power's sake, only to claim they are superior, not out of any interest in art or creation. So, it stands that when Edgar speaks of 'real art', he holds about as much stock in the idea as a colander holds water.

That said, he does seek inspiration, though 'inspiration', too, is not meant alone. It means a place where he is not exploited for his talent. It means a place where he can truly see and experience how life is as beautiful as he knows it to be (as taken from deduction 10, which is paraphrased in my blog title!). It is the lightness he feels when he sends that parting letter to his father.

Also, "cannot fathom the price". It is said in his character introduction that he didn't come for the prize money. So if that was mentioned in his letter along with other things, he should know that it's a possibility for the others.

Yesterday, Miss Nair offered me a shade of mauve that seemed to dance with the dimming twilight. This morning, Mr. Baden, ever generous, bestowed upon me indigo. Yet, Miss Dorval's color remains elusive. I had hoped to find in her the final, vital hue—the one that would complete my work. This woman, claiming to be led by divine forces, may yet be the key to unlocking the sublime and the eternal. Though I have little interest in the god she speaks of, the ritual she performed in the candlelight last night possessed a haunting beauty—an aesthetic allure that mesmerized me.

Okay, we have to talk about Edgar and his color comparisons. These are very different from how Edgar speaks of the colors his mother and sister, and eventually Sarai, gave him (or rather, Sarai's color that he took for himself). The colors of those three, in his first birthday letter, are the colors left behind in their deaths. Colors of sickness, colors of neglect. And then, a color that came from fear, but now speaks of freedom.

It's very different from Vera and Jose, as it's difficult to see what methods of death would lead to mauve and indigo specifically (also the specific shades are telling). There could be symbolism in mauve being the first synthetic dye and indigo being a common blue dye that comes from a powder which starts green before its processing, but... I don't know, I think it was matching Vera's outfit and Jose with the sea. It could be anything, really. The point is the usage of the people around Edgar giving colors is very different.

In addition, he can't quite place Patricia. That elusive color might be telling, but there's also how he mentions that he doesn't really care about the trappings of religion, and yet the ritual is beautiful. And yet it fascinates him. It's not said what happens in this ritual, but he could be talking about the way lighting can affect so much, with how a few candles can accentuate features in such a striking way.

The effect of the ritual on Miss Dorval was unmistakable, even if it served only as a balm for her soul: where once she wavered, now she stands firm, resolute in a way I have never seen before. More curious still is the sight of the woman, who has long scorned the very notion of painting, stopping before my easel, her face caught in stunned disbelief. She demanded a discarded draft. The agreement to witness the ritual had been struck beforehand, and the content of my work bears no connection to it—there is no risk of secrets being exposed. But what did she find so captivating? I am consumed with curiosity...

Okay here we go. Let us consider. An agreement was made to watch the ritual. And Edgar honored it. So hey, Patricia's more confident now. And she's interested in Edgar's things. (Also, side note: the use of the word 'demanded' is. Telling of how Netease tends to characterize Patricia...) Perhaps Patricia sees that the agreement was honored, that Edgar engages with her, and wishes to engage with Edgar in return. Considering Patricia's background, it isn't surprising that she couldn't imagine painting, especially as a career. We don't know what the work was, but art can mean many things to many people. Perhaps what Patricia saw was different from what Edgar saw, and was personally relevant to her.

The rain persists, and so I am forced to shift my easel into the conservatory—at least there, I have space to breathe. Perhaps today, the Muse is at last upon me. Since the early hours, a growing sense of inspiration has coiled around my senses, fed by the stillness of my surroundings.

First of all, Edgar and the Muse. I know Edgar and inspiration are a whole Thing, but I feel like Edgar would see no need for a muse. After all, the world around him provides inspiration enough, beauty enough. He does not need one main subject or one singular driving force. It also is telling that, hey, being able to paint in the quiet is a comforting thing actually. Knowing that he doesn't have to deliver or appear any way for another is likely good for him, with how he's had to curate his presentation his whole life.

And then, the long-missed voice of Mr. Sarai cuts through the rain-soaked silence, and at that moment, my paintbrush and my heartbeat seem to beat as one. He said: "If you wish to create a true masterpiece, you must leave something of yourself behind."

That line that I hate. Edgar would not miss Sarai. The reason he killed Sarai was because he was hitting a boiling point due to Sarai's lying and lack of actual investment in him. His father had left two of his loved ones to die, and Sarai, who he thought understood, until he learned better. Until he saw through, as he saw through so many others. Sarai is used as a comparison for people who only covet the Valden family's power. As such... yeah he was not missed. The best I can give him from my Edgar is a "ugh, I hate that he was right."

In that instant, I realized what Miss Dorval took from me was not a mere scrap of paper but the very essence of my art projected onto the soul. That elusive color, the one I had sought so long, had always lingered beneath the surface. I had touched it, yes, but never fully embraced it. If an artist dares not surrender themselves to their work, how can the creation ever hope to achieve its true, final form?

And in the span of exactly one paragraph, we get here. The elusive color she sought from her was not actually hers, it was his own color. (Which. Uh. Is something, now that I write that down.) He is allowed to meet his feelings and the nebulous and unknown and vulnerable parts of himself and show them. It has not been safe to do so, hence why he never embraced letting his emotions become visible.

A rough draft is the roughest, barest part, the art before it is cleaned up to something palatable, but also the art before it is refined. It is at its rawest form, for the better and worse. How could he let himself embrace such things when he was never allowed to?

(I imagine my Edgar, upon recalling the words from Sarai, would reject them on reflex or be uncomfortable at BEST accepting them, at least being slow to do so. That man is not one to open up easily, even in his art. He is not one to let others see what's inside him at the drop of a hat. Or at least, he doesn't want others to.)

In addition, the final sentence, in context with Edgar letting himself be sacrificed in that manor game, is certainly something. He just made this discovery, this realization, and... proceeds to give everything such that there will be nothing left of Edgar Valden afterward. One might say this is because this is his singular masterpiece, and this will be success for him, but I direct such a counterargument to my previous discussion about why Edgar is not aiming for a singular masterpiece, but rather the ability to create and live for himself and within the world he loves. Besides, is it really his work he's surrendering to, or is he doing something else, like giving up after the place he ran from his old life to revealed more of the same ways of humans lying and deceiving for their own gains? I don't know if I have a good answer. Even so, it feels strange to me, the idea of Edgar taking that sacrifice. At least in my mind, he has something to live for, at least in the things the world can still show him that he has not seen yet.

[whispering-brushes]

(Hello! The askbox has been cleared and. I... have a few opinions on the 4th character day letter for Edgar.)

(Okay, I have a lot. Mostly negative. And quite frankly, I can and will go paragraph by paragraph to describe said feelings. I am considering putting such a ramble/thought post in here if you all are willing to read it! Since this is an Edgar blog and all that.)

(I will likely only vaguely take this letter into account for my characterization, as I feel that while there are some things that could happen, there are a lot of details in how we get there and the way Edgar thinks that just don't line up with my portrayal at all, as well as having other disagreements with certain parts in the letter when comparing to other parts in Edgar's lore. Overall, I just... don't agree with how he was handled this time around. There are so many parts where I feel like, well, he wouldn't say that.)

[whispering-brushes]

(Quick little thingy: If you want me to friend you please make sure you aren't set to decline friend requests!! You can turn the setting on again once we've done the thing but with auto decline it doesn't seem like the request goes through in the first place...)

[ginwhitlock]

every day I battle the block button over something minute and stupid as is gods will

[peacock-trickster]

Hiatus...

So, I know this ask blog is basically a desert at this point, but I’m going to have to for sure call a hiatus here for now.

While I still may make art on the side every once in a while, (Trickster art not pertaining to replies can be found here @kasukaniy) I cannot set aside time for this blog for the foreseeable future. Both parents retired from their previous jobs recently, my dad’s the only one making actual income, and he just tested Covid positive. My mom might be too. I’ve been searching for a job and once I get one, I’ll be too busy to allocate time to here. Maybe once all this settles down I’ll be able to gather the motive to bring this blog back to life.

Until then, thank you all very much for the asks and love, even if I never did much.