Jul 1, 2025
Favorite shadowhunter last name
Wrayburn
Branwell
Voting ended onJul 2, 2025
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Favorite shadowhunter last name
Wrayburn
Branwell
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Favorite shadowhunter last name
Branwell
Pangborn
In her 1837 diary paper, Emily Brontë drew a sketch of herself from the back, sitting across from her sister Anne in voluminous sleeves, their private papers strewn about them. With quick ink strok…
Based on a photograph I took in November 2013, Luddenden is a small village near Halifax in West Yorkshire. www.colingreenphotography.co.uk
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A trove of manuscripts acquired from the Brontë family in the 19th century, all but unseen for the past century, will be auctioned at Sotheby’s.
@l-branwell
It hadn’t been a complete lie when Magnus had told Alexander that an old case suddenly needed his attention. He had finally found someone who had been missing for well over a decade. But, as the person had already reunited with her father, it was hardly pressing. Important, yes, but not enough to cancel his plans.Â
But just because the girl had been found didn’t mean Magnus still didn’t have questions. How could he have missed this? She had been so close. Valentine hadn’t even given her a false name, let alone a manipulated past as he had with Jace.Â
Yes, he had found her. But too late for anything to matter. She and her father had found each other without his help. Still, questions pressed in, an itch he could not scratch.Â
Coffee’s appeared in hand, and the warlock gracefully lowered himself onto the park bench. “Lydia Branwell,” he said with a small smile. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding.” He held up one of the coffees to her. “This town does seem to attract everyone.”Â
Life is a passing sleep Its Deeds a troubled dream And Death the dread awakening TO Daylights Dawning beam We sleep without a thought Of what is past and oer Without one glimpse of consciousness Of aught that lies before We Dream and on our sight A thousand visions rise Some dark as Hell some heavenly bright But all are phantasies We wake and O how fast Our mortal visions fly Forgot amid the wonders vast Of immortality In visionary joys Or dreams of grief and gloom We start to hear the thunders voice Arouse us from the tomb And we arise With wildered gaze to see The aspect of those morning skys Where shall that waking be ? How will that future seem ? What is Eternity ? Is Death the Sleep ? Is Heaven the Dream ? Life the reality ?
The Works of Patrick Branwell Brontë: Volume 2, 1834-1836.