#(unknown.)

Unknown, In the style of Alexander Rodchenko.

Signed " b” (archaic Cyrillic “yat” symbol), upper right front. 

🌕

Pretty, ain't she?

the wizard breezes down the stairs at calcifer's behest,   somewhat surprised that someone could have managed to breach his magic to send a note beneath the door.   they were usually delivered by postman.   besides that,   his doors are all well protected,   and anything physical would have slid into an empty house in porthaven,   or an abandoned shop in market chipping,   or a dark building in kingsbury.

the note isn't difficult to spot,   a white square upon the wooden floor.   howl moves down the few steps to the doorway,   swiping it up.   he unfolds it curiously,   absentmindedly climbing back into the main room,   where he stops the moment he spots the red ink.   the king's men don't write to him in red ink,   nor do they send him letters that aren't clearly addressed as from the king's court.

he quickly realises what a mistake he's made to even touch this letter.   it's a short two sentences,   but it's enough to send the icy thorn of dread straight through his chest.   horrified,   the skin of his forearm crawling as though he's been poisoned by some terrible demon ( and with her,   she may as well be ! ),   howl crushes the paper in his fingers with frightful urgency,   balling it up as tightly as he can.   he brings his fist up to his mouth,   breathing through a small opening in his fingers.   in his palm,   the paper melts,   and a moment later    as he suspected    he feels the sharp sting of something burning and stabbing into his hand and bleeding into the tendons of his fingers.   with his strength most concentrated in his arm,   he sends a wave of dispossession magic through his hand before it can do any more damage.   if he had thrown this to calcifer to burn,   it would have poisoned it.   perhaps it might have even killed him.      [ killed them both.   ]

anyways sherlock holmes is our autism icon and we will love him as such :>>>>>>

if time heals all wounds,  these are still far too fresh for his liking, too deep, too real to how badly they could have been.  how much could have been lost.  not uncommon, then, to find him taking refuge in the woods.   familiar, and calming;  but most importantly, away from the house that is suddenly too crowded, with too much unspoken discord  [  if only from him ] to be anything less than suffocating.  he should have known that his tranquility wouldn’t last forever, stopping mid-turn to the next page in his book when the air shifts; the spell of the forest broken.

“       ————     i would watch my step if i were you.      𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒     but this is still their land.  their benevolence may not extend to those who have not yet earned their favor.   but,  if you try to, i wish you the best of luck.  you’ll need it.     ”

                        there’s an audible crackle of static,  the hum of it louder than it usually is :    his heavy lidded gaze far more sinister than come hither,    even as he leans in close.    too close for the comfort of most,  certainly,   with a shark-like smile that gnawed on overlords past.      “     care to repeat yourself,   dear?        ”  

it’s never easy with them, is it?  of course,     neither of them have had easy lives,   despite what some liked to think. they were good at pretending, but it was nice not to   ——    to see all the edges, all the flaws,   and be seen in the same way.   perfection was an illusion, and they didn’t have to live up to that anymore.