CROWNING GRACE

When I started production on a new rp blog last month, I had zero intention of leaving Enola or Edith in order to write there. However, after five days on this new blog, my entire perspective on roleplay has shifted dramatically. TL;DR I will not be returning to this blog. 

I began research to launch Enola in October of 2015 and launched in late November. It is now September, so I’ve been working on this blog actively for about a year now. In a year, I have just over 100 followers (about 20 of which have followed me in the last month) and 4 drafts waiting on replies, out of a grand total of maybe 6 threads, most of whom are with 1 partner. I have struggled for a whole year to get this blog off the ground and make it a success, and every month it did not gain traction, I just told myself I needed to work harder. Put in more effort. Find people. Prove myself. 

In 5 days on my new blog, I have over 60 followers and roughly 20 total threads, with 11 drafts waiting on replies. To be clear, it is not the follower count that I care about– it is the fact that I am in constant contact with people and have a constant influx of partners, activity, and shenanigans. I have had more fun writing on this new blog than I have in probably my last year of roleplay. It’s definitely been the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time. And this has opened my eyes to something I have failed to see for a year: the problem isn’t me, and no amount of work or effort is going to change anything here. I should have walked away a long time ago. So I’m walking away now. 

As much as it pains me to leave behind Enola and Edith, whom I have invested countless hours of work and tears into, I will not be returning to this blog until I have sufficient reason to believe it could prosper in the way that it was initially intended to. This is very sad for me and hurts my heart, but honestly it is a relief to know that the cause was not me, and that I won’t have to struggle with this anymore. If you’re reading this and you still have an interest in writing with my, my current blogs are

When I started production on a new rp blog last month, I had zero intention of leaving Enola or Edith in order to write there. However, after five days on this new blog, my entire perspective on roleplay has shifted dramatically. TL;DR I will not be returning to this blog. 

I began research to launch Enola in October of 2015 and launched in late November. It is now September, so I’ve been working on this blog actively for about a year now. In a year, I have just over 100 followers (about 20 of which have followed me in the last month) and 4 drafts waiting on replies, out of a grand total of maybe 6 threads, most of whom are with 1 partner. I have struggled for a whole year to get this blog off the ground and make it a success, and every month it did not gain traction, I just told myself I needed to work harder. Put in more effort. Find people. Prove myself. 

In 5 days on my new blog, I have over 60 followers and roughly 20 total threads, with 11 drafts waiting on replies. To be clear, it is not the follower count that I care about– it is the fact that I am in constant contact with people and have a constant influx of partners, activity, and shenanigans. I have had more fun writing on this new blog than I have in probably my last year of roleplay. It’s definitely been the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time. And this has opened my eyes to something I have failed to see for a year: the problem isn’t me, and no amount of work or effort is going to change anything here. I should have walked away a long time ago. So I’m walking away now. 

As much as it pains me to leave behind Enola and Edith, whom I have invested countless hours of work and tears into, I will not be returning to this blog until I have sufficient reason to believe it could prosper in the way that it was initially intended to. This is very sad for me and hurts my heart, but honestly it is a relief to know that the cause was not me, and that I won’t have to struggle with this anymore. If you’re reading this and you still have an interest in writing with my, my current blogs are

When I started production on a new rp blog last month, I had zero intention of leaving Enola or Edith in order to write there. However, after five days on this new blog, my entire perspective on roleplay has shifted dramatically. TL;DR I will not be returning to this blog. 

I began research to launch Enola in October of 2015 and launched in late November. It is now September, so I’ve been working on this blog actively for about a year now. In a year, I have just over 100 followers (about 20 of which have followed me in the last month) and 4 drafts waiting on replies, out of a grand total of maybe 6 threads, most of whom are with 1 partner. I have struggled for a whole year to get this blog off the ground and make it a success, and every month it did not gain traction, I just told myself I needed to work harder. Put in more effort. Find people. Prove myself. 

In 5 days on my new blog, I have over 60 followers and roughly 20 total threads, with 11 drafts waiting on replies. To be clear, it is not the follower count that I care about– it is the fact that I am in constant contact with people and have a constant influx of partners, activity, and shenanigans. I have had more fun writing on this new blog than I have in probably my last year of roleplay. It’s definitely been the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time. And this has opened my eyes to something I have failed to see for a year: the problem isn’t me, and no amount of work or effort is going to change anything here. I should have walked away a long time ago. So I’m walking away now. 

As much as it pains me to leave behind Enola and Edith, whom I have invested countless hours of work and tears into, I will not be returning to this blog until I have sufficient reason to believe it could prosper in the way that it was initially intended to. This is very sad for me and hurts my heart, but honestly it is a relief to know that the cause was not me, and that I won’t have to struggle with this anymore. If you’re reading this and you still have an interest in writing with my, my current blogs are

in one or more religions, angels are considered to be transcendent spiritual beings, who are depicted in the abrahamic religions and zoroastrianism as celestial intermediaries between god or heaven and earth, as carriers of god’s tasks, as guardian spirits, or as guiding influences. the nature and functions of angels are speculated and studied in the theological study of angelology.

The Art of Darkness describes Enola Sciotti as someone who “Thoms found to be a kindred spirit. She was worldly, exotic, and passionate, but their love was never meant to be.” Based on this, I’ve taken to consider that it ENOLA, not Edith, was the first of his wives whom he loved. I assume at this point, he’s viewed the marriage con as nothing more than routine, and he became adept at ignoring the women’s deaths, possibly becoming desensitized to it. But then he met his third wife, who mirrored his deep desire to travel, see the world, and find the same passion in marriage. And while he was very, very wary about how his feelings developed, he eventually came to love her.

In the meantime, Thomas stood beside his wife and sipped his coffee. It was hot, like she promised, but he ignored the burn on his tongue as he continued to drink. As the last worker walked away, he turned to her and nodded, his entire expression lighting up.

               “Better than before. We’ve fixed the issue involving the viscosity of                  the clay. The metal gatherers get stuck because the clay is too thick.”

          It seemed to Enola that the workers helping her husband did not quite know what to make of her. This was probably due to her gender or nationality. She often worried that her accent made it difficult for them to understand her, and made an extra effort to speak more like an Englishwoman around them. She was grateful for the help getting the pot out of the basket and thanked the man, making sure to enunciate the words.

           “I do not know. I fear I am doomed to stay in this house.             It is where I was born, and it is where I will DIE.”

His voice trembled at the last word, and he couldn’t help but wonder when that unhappy moment would be. Would he die an OLD MAN, regretting his decisions? Or would he die young, in defense of a belief he finally was brave enough to stand up for? Thomas didn’t know. Maybe she did, and wasn’t willing to tell him. Either way, he was prepared to be CLAIMED by the manor and whatever macabre presence lingered within. 

Thomas sighed, returning to his unfinished sketches. The ones he’d finished were safely tucked away in one of the binders. The loose papers contained his plans and modifications for the harvester, but he couldn’t find the right ideas to finish any of them. But out of sentiment, he kept them. Was he being SENTIMENTAL, then, to own a house that kept the souls of those who died within? 

It was then that he looked up, refusing to meet her eyes. Whenever he did, he remembered that final, fleeting moment when he saw her life drain from her eyes and heard the tea cup SHATTER on the ground. It was an image he didn’t wish to REVISIT over and over. 

          She gave the barest of nods, a movement so slight that Thomas may not have perceived it at all. His answer was as she suspected. His fixation with this place bound them both here, and she might urge him until his death to leave, but until he made that decision of his own volition, until something inside of himself changed, nothing externally would. Still, his late wife was a resolute woman, determined even in death. She knelt down to bring herself closer to his own seated level, her face looking up into his. "Thomas, we choose our own fate."

          The ghost knew that he would disagree. She knew that he would mistake her own fate for his, that he would assume that Enola had been given no choice in her innocence. It was common for those familiar with Enola's gentle nature to assume that her kindness was born of ignorance or simplicity, but Enola had no desire to reveal the truth or to discuss things that still made her heart bleed, even in death. "You must know by now that I forgive you, but I should think that isn't the issue. Tresoro, you must practice your own forgiveness. Forgive yourself; forgive the past. You have so much to offer this world." 

Why are you here? Because I’m afraid of myself.

“Where I come from, ghosts are not to be taken lightly.”

“You’re nothing but a spoiled child.” 

“My hands are getting rough.”

“This requires the perfect partner. Would you be mine?”

“It is a monstrous love, and it makes monsters of us all.”

“Don’t move. You’re heavily sedated.”

“I feel as if a link exists between your heart and mine. And should that link be broken by either distance or time, my heart would cease to beat.” 

“If you fall asleep, I won’t wake you.”

“You couldn’t leave me. You wouldn’t.”

“We’ve been dead for years. You and I in this rotting place.”

“My hands — feel them. Rough. The reflection of who I am.”

“You insist on describing the torments of love when you know nothing about them.”

“I won’t stop until you kill me, or I kill you.”

“Everybody has their place. I’ll make sure you find yours.”

“I can’t be alone.”

“Drink your tea. It’ll warm you.”

“I’ve always closed my eyes to things that made me uncomfortable. It makes it easier.”

“I’ve found warmth and friendship among you all.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your music.”

“His blood will be on your hands.”

“What you have is a toy and some fancy words.” 

“No one ever looked for them. Mercy killings, really.”

“Perfection has no place in love.”

“The things we do for a love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret.”

“Please trust me one more time.”

“This is your home now. You have nowhere else to go.”

“You promised you would not fall in love with anyone else.”

            “I feel it is only appropriate after making you wait, cara mia.”

          To her, he was an angel, and she had been waiting for him all of her life. It was a blessing to be lying in bed beside him, to be his wife, to have met him at all. What was waiting to start their family a few more months to the years she had spent in anguish? He just wanted to be sure that things were perfect, that they were ready. It was the mindset of a father, of someone who took his responsibilities and obligations seriously. He had honorable intentions to raise children in a household he himself had provided through the work of his own two hands.

He didn’t know many Italian names – just the ones of the women he’d met during that ball where he encountered his wife – and he didn’t want to mention these. She might remember an Allegra from the party, and he wanted her to think that he hadn’t been entertaining anyone else during their courtship.

Thomas returned the pressure of her embrace, seeking what comfort he could find in it. It was one of the few things he hadn’t lied about; he always worried that he would lose Lucille during childbirth. But he knew better than to admit it to her out loud. As far as she was concerned, his fears were always directed towards her. She WAS his wife, after all, and his sister was supposed to be second in terms of priority.

With his arms still around her, he added:

         “And perhaps you mean a midwife or a nurse, amore.           My sister believes that she can take care of it herself           but…if you insist. I shall speak to her as soon as           possible.”

He pulled away from her then, though he stayed close by her. Now and then he mentioned an English name, like Garrett or Julian. He and Lucille hadn’t had the chance to sit down and discuss what their child’s name would be, but they had agreed that it wouldn’t be ‘James’ or ‘Beatrice’. As the hour ended, he rested his chin on Enola’s shoulder.

          His wife leaned into his embrace, her face alight with possibilities. "Thank you, darling. That should do well. I'm surprised we agreed on so many! We'll have to work our way down the list," she teased, only half serious. Italian women did prefer large families, though, and they had plenty of space here. There was certainly no shortage of bedrooms, and in the summers they could play in the yard. They had time to get ready, if they were conscientious.

          Of course, being conscientious meant an organized approach and a solid plan to prepare for children. "I'm concerned about that crib in the nursery. It's beautifully crafted to be sure, but I worry that its structure may have weakened with age-- not to mention we'll need two. Oh, tresoro, how sweet would it be to have little matching culle for our room and Lucille's? Oh, they'll grow up as siblings. It's better, they'll never be lonely here. Cousins are best for a child."