hellooooo here's my fourth (and last) halloween story of this year. sorry it's a day late; i was having trouble logging in to weebly. also, i went to a halloween party last night. it sucked but here's my costume i was a vampire. i thrifted the dress it was 15 dolllars and it had a red chiffon skirt with more velvet detailing
okay here's the story i brought back some old characters but i changed the sprit of Autumn's name so it wouldn't be so boring It was a dark and stormy night. The moon was high in the sky. Two days until Halloween. Tobias sniffed the night air as he padded along the path; he felt he would never get tired of the smell of autumn wind. Speaking of Autumn, Orla floated right beside him, walking on air, her red-brown hair floating around the tree-branch antlers that adorned her head. Tobias looked up. They had almost reached their destination: a huge black gothic Victorian that perched on the edge of a craggy sea cliff. The spirit of Autumn and the spirit of Halloween were paying a call on Scare and Pleasure, the immortal vampire-witch duo, overseers of jumpscares and Halloween parties. “Why do we have to walk?” asked Tobias. “You can fly, and turn into the wind and float on the breeze to wherever you want to go. Couldn’t we just do that?” “It’s a matter of respect, I think,” said Orla. “To show that we are actually committed to being here, we have to make the pilgrimage, I suppose.” This didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Tobias, but he knew enough not to question the archaic Autumn traditions that Orla followed religiously. Tobias was just grateful to be out and about; this near Halloween, his powers were growing. He was excited for Halloween night, where he would fly across the moon all the way to Alaska, his retreat until mid-August, where Orla would come and fetch him and they would begin preparations- turning leaves orange, ripening pumpkins, etc. Tobias, lost in his reverie, almost didn’t notice when him and Orla had reached the huge wooden door. It looked like a chocolate bar to Tobias, with a human-head door knocker in the center. Orla stepped forward, took hold of the handle, and knocked. As soon as the handle hit the metal again, the face’s mouth fell open and blood poured out. Orla winced. “Distasteful,” she murmured. Suddenly, the doors creaked open and a small goblin peeked out. “Hello,” it said. “Hello,” responded Orla in a cheerful but businesslike voice. “I’m here to visit Scare and Pleasure.” “And w-who may is say is calling?” “Orla Fomhar Duilleoga Oráiste, spirit of Autumn, and Tobias of the Pumpkin Path, spirit of Halloween.” The goblin scurried off, and Orla turned to grin at Tobias. “Like the new official title, Mr. Of the Pumpkin Patch?” Tobias flicked his tail in agreement. The doors opened once again, and the goblin reappeared. “Madam Scare and Lordess Pleasure will see you now.” It opened the doors so the two spirits could come in. “Wipe your feet, please,” said the goblin. Orla and Tobias complied, and then followed the goblin through an ebony-panelled hallway where candelabras jumped out at them and severed heads sang. Tobias shuddered when one of them came a little too close and he could feel its icy breath on his neck. Orla almost stepped on a ghostly rodent as it skittered from one mouse hole to another. They emerged into an empty drawing room, full of blood-stains, cobwebs, and strange things floating in jars of green liquid. There was a fire blazing in the hearth, over which hung an unusually large crow skull. Tobias looked around; where were their hosts? All of a sudden, the fire blazed green, and the face of an old woman appeared in it. Then came the arms and neck, as the old crone hoisted herself out of the fireplace. She was small, hunched and withered, with one eye larger than the other and straggly grey hair. She dressed in rags, severed limbs poking out of the folds of her clothing. “Ah, Autumn,” she said, in a surprisingly loud voice. “You left me no time to clean myself up.” She twirled on the spot, seeming to flash in and out of presence, and in between flashes, Tobias could have sworn that he saw the faces of several horror movie villains and victims. Finally, the form the woman landed on was that of Drew Barrymore at the beginning of Scream, but for some reason wearing a bloodstained wedding dress. “Sit,” she said in the voice of the old woman, pouring something the color of blood ot of a fine bone china teapot into matching cups. Orla obliged, although still she floated a few inches of the surface of the sofa, as usual. Tobias leapt up next to her and sat alert, waiting. Orla took a cup and began to sip politely. Madam Scare (for that’s who she was) muttered indistincly to herself, then yelled out, “Pleasure! We have guests!” A dramatic groan sounded from the top of the spiral staircase, fixing Tobias’ attention to the stairway. Lordess Pleasure was sliding upside down, on their back down the railing of the stairs. “So dramatic,” said Madam Scare in a stage whisper. Orla winked. Lordess Pleasure stood up as they reached the end of the staircase. They were dressed in a sheer red robe with huge fur-trimmed sleeves and a trailing train. Their black hair was in a short, marcel wave-esque style. When they smiled, Tobias saw their fangs, still dripping with blood, and they waved hello with black-clawed fingers. They sprawled out on a chaise longue and looked over at Orla expectantly. “Ahem,” she began. “I assume you both know why I’m here. The annual visit and whatnot.” “Indeed,” said Lordess Pleasure. “Well, as of every year, there are some things we need to address. First, good job with the horror mazes. I think people seem to be getting a kick out of them. Pleasure, the sexy costumes- I mean, do what you wish, but some of them are getting quite boring. Also, I would like it if you could tone down the attractive murderers in movies a bit, since it’s slightly problematic.” Pleasure began to protest, but Orla plowed on. “Now, I’m not telling you to stop completely, just tone it down. Fear- a few less remakes, a few more new horror movies. I think that’s all. This has been a lovely visit, but we really must be going. Thank you!” Orla stood up to leave, and Tobias followed suit. They walked back through the hallway and all the way down to the base of the mountain. “That was a bit anticlimactic,” laughed Orla. FIN
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helloooo
Here's my third Halloween story. I wasn't feeling very inspired this week, so it's not very long, but here it is. Alice wandered through the streets of her tiny hometown. Just when would she get to leave? College seemed so far, even though it was only three years away and then she’d be off at art school in London having the time of her life. She sat down on a bench near the graveyard to sketch, and she was soon joined by an old lady who seemed to have nothing better to do than to sit and stare out at the graveyard with a silly expression on her face. Alice blasted music through her headphones and tried to ignore her. Suddenly, there came the sounds of footsteps. Alice looked around and saw no one but the old lady, who looked very surprised. “Ah- you heard that too?” she asked the grey-haired woman next ot her. “Heard what, the footsteps?” was the response. “Yeah, I heard it. Didn’t know there was another one today. God know this town’s had enough fairy funerals.” “Fairy funerals?” said Alice. Before she could get a response, there came sounds of crying added on to the footsteps. A procession was emerging from over the cemetery hill. Two men dressed very oddly- almost victorian- carried a coffin. But something was wrong. The wood of the coffin was old and rotting. More people follwed behind them, mostly women and a few men dressed in the same strange attire as the coffin carriers. A few of the women were crying, but all their faces were void of emotion. It really was a very creepy sight. It was an open casket, but Alice couldn’t see who was being buried. She leaned forward to try and peer in, but the old lady's wrinkled hand slapped over her eyes before she could get a good look. “What the hell?” she said. “Don’t speak to me like that, young lady,” snapped the woman. “I was protecting you.” “Protecting me from what?” “From dying!” “Oh, yeah, becuase looking at a corpse would have made me drop dead on the stop.” “Yes, it would!” “How do you know?” “Cause it’s a fairy funeral!” cried the lady. “Would you care to explain what that is?” “Tch,” she tutted. “Fifteen years old and doesn’t even know what a fairy funeral is. Who raised you?” “Um-” “Only a few people can see them. They represent death.” “That’s it?” “Yep.” “Well, then, who’s going to die?” “Probably me.” “What?” “Yeah, well, since you’re young and you can see ‘em and now you know what they are, there’s no need for me to be around anymore. Say your goodbyes, I suppose.” Alice bit her lip. As annoying as the old lady was, she didn’t exactly want her to die. She was about to say something when the woman interrupted her. “There’s nothing you can do! As so as they drop the casket, I’ll drop dead, and then you gotta run.” “Why?” “Cause it’ll look suspicious, that’s why!” Alice refocused on the events unfolding inside the graveyard. Sure enough, the carriers were about to drop the coffin in. “Goodbye, cruel world,” said the old woman, then burst out laughing. Suddenly, she stopped. Alice ran. EPILOGUE “Awh, look at that- some poor old lady died the other day. Shame,” said Alice’s mother over the breakfast table. Alice gobbled down her cereal and rushed out the door without saying anything. She ran down to the bench where she had met the old lady. Alice realized she never even knew her name. Where the fairy funeral had been there was now a fresh grave. Alice began to cry. FIN Hi everyone! Here's my second halloween story of the month. I hope you like it!
Mr. Denby could practically feel his bones creaking as he patrolled the town catacombs. Halloween night, it was; the worst night of the year. Every year, some drunk teenagers would sneak in and pull some sort of practical joke. He sighed at the thought of last year’s “prank:” rearranging the ancient bone formations to read “Happy Halloween.” The cleanup had been agonizing. Had they no respect for the dead? he thought to himself. A voice in his head responded, “Apparently not.” Ah, but wait! Now, most would think Mr. Denby was mad, or perhaps having some strange internal dialogue. But no. The voice in his head was indeed the ghost of his dead lover. Insane, you might say! But no, only the voice of his bride-to-be, having appeared in his head the moment she died, only two hours before their wedding, as was wont to happen in these days. If it wasn’t for her, he would have killed himself years ago. But Desdemona’s voice insisted that he must stay alive and ensure that her grave was never, ever disturbed. Mr. Denby therefore decided that until Desdemona came to fetch him herself, he would not die. And that is how Mr. John Denby stayed alive for 138 years. Not only this, but he did not fall in love even once for 138 years! This gave him a rather biased perspective on love, as he believed that one’s first love also must be one’s last love. Mr. Denby spent his days patrolling the catacombs with his flashlight, stopping to re-light candles and pay his respects to Desdemona along the way. Sometimes, he would read, but once Edgar Allan Poe had died, there wasn’t really a surplus of literature about dead fiancees. It was a boring existence, and some might say a lonely one, but at least he had Desdemona. She kept him company. She was too good for him, but he supposed that if she wanted to leave, she would. He kept her picture in his pocket, yellowed and crumbling of its age. Still, Mr. Denby’s memory of her face was clear as day - as well as his memory of other parts of her. Lost in reverie, he found himself straying from his usual route. A nice change, he thought. “Yes,” replied Desdemona. “You should do this more often, I’m tiring of our path. Your footprints must be etched into the stone by now.” Mr. Denby chuckled. Then, suddenly, coming from an old broom closet, he heard a sound. Frowning, he got out his keys and started to unlock the door. He jiggled the old handle, and finally got the door open. Inside were two teenagers - older, maybe 16 or 17 - that sprang apart when he entered. The boy was dressed as some sort of movie character; he had annoyingly spiky hair and stood with his arm still pinning the girl to the wall. The girl, on the other hand, was blushing furiously and buttoning up the front of her costume- an angel. Ironic. *** Sylvie didn’t mean to end up like this. She had gone out with her friends on Halloween, finally over her jerky ex who had dumped her a few months before- and she had been having fun! But, she supposed, she must have had a few too many drinks, because all she could remember was kissing Jack and then him whispering something in her ear. He’d taken her away from the party into the old catacombs, and Syvlie had run giggling along with him all the way to a little closet in the wall. He’d locked the door (from the inside), and, well… What she really wasn’t expecting was to get caught. Jack had assured her that the old caretaker rarely passed by the closet, and yeah, they hadn’t seen him on their way in. So why was he here now? And what was happening to him? The caretaker’s original look of shock had been replaced by a very ugly one. He took a couple steps forward. Sylvie quivered. Her mother was going to kill her. She could just imagine: “THIS IS NOT WHAT GOD WANTED!” and church camp for another three months. This was what she got for dressing as an angel for Halloween. Jack, like her, was standing stock-still, transfixed. Sylvie braced herself for a very stern telling off; what happened was even worse. The caretaker pulled a switchblade out of the folds of his coat. Sylvie screamed. Was this old man going to try and kill them? Jack stepped forward: “Look, sir, we’re really sorry, it won't happen again- can we just go and promise to never come back?” The man grunted. “No one disturbs her grave.” “Er… what?” “INSOLENT!” shouted the man. He staggered forward; was he drunk or arthritic? Sylvie cursed inwardly. How could she have let the boy who’d broken her heart put her in this situation? A breakup was one thing, but getting murdered by a tiny old man with a switchblade? That was so much worse. Was it some kind of sick joke? She glared at James, but he didn’t seem to notice- or, if he did, he ignored her. Suddenly, things took an even stranger turn. The old caretaker’s eyes rolled back in his head. They both watched, helpless, as the man trembled in place. Then the air pressure shifted and Sylvie felt her ears pop. A chill washed over her, and she shivered. Strange, muffled whispering surrounded her. The man’s mouth began to move jerkily, but the garbled voice that came out wasn’t his. It sounded like a young woman. “Children,” it said. Sylvie could see that this description irritated Jack, but frankly, he had about the intelligence of an infant. “You have disturbed my grave. My fiance has protected me, but you shall plague these catacombs no longer. Leave now, and let you not return. I am feeling merciful.” Sylvie and James stayed paralysed. “LEAVE!” The old man’s body fell limply to the floor. They ran. Sylvie ran all the way home without even stopping to say goodbye. She couldn’t even fathom what had just happened. Ugh. Halloween really was the worst night of the year. EPILOGUE John opened his eyes to a blinding light. Standing over him- no, it couldn’t be- “Desdemona?” “Obviously, darling,” she smiled, her face aglow. Her green eyes sparkled, her dark hair was falling out of its careful updo. “Where are we?” “Ha! I think you know.” She offered a hand. “Come on. Let’s get married!” And together they walked into the afterlife. FIN Hello! So in English class we just finished a unit on Edgar Allan Poe, and since I am an Edgar Allan Poe stan, I thought I would do some reviews! Basically I’m going to give each work a rating out of ten, a small summary, a description of what I thought of it, and a color scheme that I associate it with (cause I feel like it).
Masque of the Red Death 9/10 Prince Prospero attempts to escape a deadly plague called the Red Death by hiding in an abbey. I love the symbolism of this story and the creepiness of the Red Death’s costume, but it’s not my favorite. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple (bright colors basically) The Raven 10/10 A raven represents the narrator’s descent into madness and grief. Obviously an iconic classic, and the atmosphere is amazing. Love Black, grey, purple Annabel Lee 10/10 The story of the death of a beautiful young woman. It’s so beautiful and the imagery is beautiful. I love how creepy it is, especially at the end! pale blues and greys The Cask of Amontillado 10/10 Montresor traps his drunk frenemy Fortunato in a catacombs and bricks him in. I LOVE THIS STORY. It’s so good and so funny black, stone-grey, white, wine-red Murders on the Rue Morgue 7/10 The narrator and his friend solve a murder. Even though this was a great story, it didn’t really feel like Poe, and that sort of bothered me. Orange, dark red, black, fire-yellow The Tell-Tale Heart 10/10 The narrator kills a man and drives himself mad. This was the first work by Poe that I ever read, and I stand by the fact that it is the best introduction to Poe. Red, grey-brown, grey, black That’s all the Poe I’ve read as of now. I want to read The Fall of the House of Usher soon though! Okay that’s it! Thanks for reading. As always, the new Halloween story will be out on Saturday. xo Lena Hey everyone! Happy Spooky Season! I'm continuing the Halloween writing tradition. If you don't already know, I post a spooky story or poem every week of October. Here's my first one!
Dear Rune, How are you? I am well enough. Of course, as today is the first of Octobre, this means that Hallowe’en is drawing ever closer. I am trapped at home, as always, by my responsibilities, but I do hope you will come to visit. Mother would love to see you, I am sure. In fact, she talks of you often. I think she misses you. As I have said, I have not been out in some time. Perhaps you might bring me some sort of treat? I am craving something sweet; sugar is so hard to come by. It has been so gloomy here, what with the weather and all. Your presence would be much welcomed. Without you it seems as though no one else understands me. Ha! Truly, there is no one who so much as wishes to understand me. The rats who scuttle in the walls and the crows who squawk outside my window are the only things keeping me company. Again, I must implore you to visit. I know that you are successful in the city; indeed, I happened upon one of your articles published in the newspaper- you seem to be quite the sensation! A woman journalist; ten years ago it would have been unheard of. What a society we are living in! Ah, and you must be wondering after Agathe. She has been keeping up with her duties, yet retreating more and more into a shell. I do not think housework is suited to her, but we no longer have any use for her as governess, after all, and she would not want to leave, this I know. Finally, I invite you once again to come and stay. It would bring me such joy! Love, Arachna *** Dear Arachna, Of course I will come to stay! I can leave behind my journalism for a while, it is no pressing matter. When? Love, Rune *** Dearest Rune, What news! I am cheered by this prospect. Come as soon as you can! Love, Arachna *** Rune, despite her seeming eager in the letter that she had sent, was not as excited by this visit as her sister. Still, it was too late now. After taking the steam engine all the way up to Maine, Arachna had sent the rickety old carriage, drawn by skeletal horses and manned by an equally skeletal manservant, who gruffly introduced himself as “Jones.” As the carriage rattled along the bumpy dirty road, Rune became increasingly nervous. It had been years since she had seen her sister, not to mention receive a letter from her. And judging by the contents of said letter, Arachna was not as well as she pretended to be. What was all that talk about the crows and rats being her only company? When Rune had left, Arachna had had a social life in the town. This was part of why she had felt fine about leaving. All had seemed well when she got on the train to New York. Rune was startled out of her reverie by the carriage jolting over a rock in the road. The horses struggled up the hill; they must have been exhausted. Luckily (or unluckily, depending), they had reached their destination. The old manor was surrounded by dry grass and leafless trees. The wood had greyed, and it seemed to be at a slant. Rune winced. The carriage shuddered to a halt in front of the door. Jones set down Rune’s bags for her and promptly left before she could thank him. Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell. A screeching sound emitted from it, echoing through the whole house. Rune heard light footsteps scampering up to the door, then a horrible creaking as the person behin it presumably tried to open the door. It sprange open, knocking back Agathe, the housekeeper, who had opened it. Rune smiled, “Hello, Agathe!” “Bonjour,” Agathe muttered nervously, then scuttled away once again. Rune picked up her bags and lugged them over the doorstep, closing the door behind her (with some effort). She turned around, then shrieked. Arachna was standing right behind her, wide eyed. Rune put a hand over her heart. “Oh, hello, sissy. You gave me a fright!” Arachna stayed silent. She grabbed Rune’s hand and led her into the drawing room. Run sat down on a cracking old couch, creating a large cloud of dust. Her sistr poured tea into a suspiciously dirty-looking teacup. The situation was worse than Rune had presumed, she thought to herself as she sipped her weak tea. The two sisters made awkward small talk for a few minutes, talking about Rune’s work, until their mother was brought up. “How is she?” Rune asked. Her sister looked down at her hands. “Um… not well.” “Ah.” “The transformation is already starting; I think-” Arachna took a shaky breath. “I think this could be her last one.” Rune gasped. “Oh. You mean…” “Yes.” “Can I see her?” *** Arachna led Rune all the way up to the attic, where their old mother was huddled in a corner, next to the broken window. She smiled feebly. “Rune,” she said, her voice cracking, “How good to see you.” Rune nodded. Her mother looked out the window sadly. “The bats are gathering. This may be my last-” “I know,” Rune cut her off. “Arachna told me.” “Yes,” her mother agreed. “Well, we knew it was coming. I’ve bided my time for long enough. The spirits are tired of waiting. We made a deal. You remember.” Yes, of course Rune remembered. It was impossible to forget walking into her mother at the center of a red chalk star, black smoke pouring out of her mouth, and her eyes rolled back into her head. It was impossible to forget the misty voices that came from everywhere and nowhere, telling Rune to give up as she tried to shake her mother awake. It was impossible to forget the look Arachna had had when she found the two of them sequestered in the attic. That was when their mother had started screaming. “Just a few years!” she had said. “Let me raise my children!” And the spirits had reluctantly dissipated. Still, every year, on Halloween, the spirits possessed Rune’s mother. She became huge, terrible, destroying everything, and attacking Rune and Arachna. The window had broken one year, and they had no money to fix it, so it stayed that way, and their mother stayed in the attic, muttering to herself. Every year, the transformations became worse and worse. There had been an interlude, and that was when Rune had left. Arachna hadn’t said anything, but if this was the state their mother was in, then that must have ended long ago. *** The weeks passed, until it was almost Hallowe’en. After the strange first day, Arachna had become much livelier, and they managed to have fun, even with the danger looming over them. Arachna only retreated back into her shell whenever they talked to their mother, whose paranoia was increasing as Halloween drew nearer. She would mutter about the spirits for hours on end, shivering occasionally. Rune did not pity her mother. How dare she do that to them? She had been about to leave them and become a ghost. What kind of mother did that to her children? Rune’s leave of absence was concerning her superiors. She received a letter a week from Hallowe’en saying that if she did not return by November 2nd, she would be fired. No matter. By November 2nd she would either be dead or back in New York. *** The day before Hallowe’en, Arachna suddenly broke down sobbing. “I can’t,” she repeated, rocking back and forth. Rune didn’t know what to do, so she just hugged her sister tight and hoped for the best. *** Hallowe’en. Arachna locked herself in her room. Rune didn’t know what to do, so she spent the day in the garden alone. She tried to absorb herself in the vegetables, and it worked. But it was almost sunset, and she was beginning to be concerned. Suddenly, from inside the house, there came a loud bang, and a bloodcurdling scream. Arachna. Rune sprinted back inside. No no no no no no. How culd she have done this to her sister? She was older, she was supposed to be protective. By the time she reached Arachna’s room, the door had been broken off its hinges and lay splintering on the floor. A huge creature loomed, taking up almost the whole room; it was like a spider made of mist, with their mother in the center of it. Her eyes were black, and her teeth had elongated into fangs. She- it- hissed, widening its maw over Arachna’s trembling, sobbing body. “HEY!” yelled Rune. The creature whipped around, then advanced on her. “Run!” shouted Rune. Arachna scrambled to her feet and bolted, tears flying. This left Rune with the monster. There was no stopping it, she knew. She had to let it run its course. So she ran, grabbing Arachna’s hand along the way, and they ran to hide in the cellar. They were safe- for now. Rune sat down, panting, and smiled weakly at Arachna. Her sister grinned back. No. No. No. Arachna never grinned. Rune stared at her. Her sister’s teeth grew into fangs, her face morphed. She levitated off the ground, and huge, misty spider legs emerged from her back. “No!” screamed Rune. The spirits’ voices surrounded her. “It is too late,” they boomed. “Your sister is dead.” Rune didn’t try to run. She didn’t fight. What would she be now, with Arachna dead? A hollow shell. Nothing left. She gave in. The last thing Rune saw before she died was Arachna’s face, grinning with those fangs of hers. FIN Thanks for reading!! Since this one was so long, my next post will probably be a poem, or a very short story. *woks away* okay. i’m going to try to write a good long blog post. i don’t know what to write about, though. what do you want me to write about
a. a story b. more chaos posts c. book/movie review d. book/movie recs thanks for the feedback please comment and don’t be indecisive!!! i’m going to do stats. remember when i said i would do that monthly? i should do it weekly. or biweekly. name: Lena pronouns: she/they relationship status: single pringle and ready to mingle last album i listened to: the rise and fall of ziggy stardust and the spiders from mars last thing i read: all the young dudes last movie i watched: the craft last tv show i watched: gilmore girls last person i hugged: isla last person i killed: [redacted] dream job: mycologist dream place to live: washington state celebrity crush: where do i even start most embarrassing thing i’ve ever put on the internet: kotlc fanfiction (no i wont put the link) idk what to write now obviously during october i’ll do my weekly halloween stories again, and post pictures of my halloween costumes. but it’s still september. so idk i started a halloween story yesterday to try and get ahead, but i don’t like it very much. 🍄Lena🍄 that’s my kahoot name we’re studying edgar allan poe in english class and it’s really fun, even though i keep having to explain the texts to people. yesterday i had to explain the plot of masque of the red death to five different people. tomorrow we’re going to work on the raven and im soooo excited this is really nerdy isnt it i’m in my marauders era. i’ve been reading all the young dudes nonstop for the last four days. i’m almost done and IM NOT READY FOR IT TO END UGHHHH speaking of ends i’m going to end this post here but before that a quote from my classmate “does urine have sperm” - sebastien 2022 *woks away*
hi everyone
happy thursday today i’m going to be talking about a book i read recently: song of achilles by madeleine miller first, a spoiler-free, calm and composed review song of achilles is definitely one of the best books i’ve ever read. i read circe, another book by the same author, a little bit over a year ago and i loved it. ever since then, i’ve been wanting to read her other books. also, if you’ve been anywhere near the book side of the internet, you’ll know that song of achilles has been getting rave reviews for years now. i’ve literally never heard any bad review of it. and i’m here to add to the hype. READ SONG OF ACHILLES. it literally changed my life. if you didn’t know, it’s a retelling of the trojan war from achilles’ bestie/companion/boyfriend patroclus’ perspective. and instead of them just being ‘close friends’ (i one read a retelling where they were referred to as ‘good chums’), it’s about them being in love. but to be honest, ‘in love’ doesn’t really cut it. they ARE love. the story spans from when patroclus and achilles met in achilles’ home palace to when achilles (SPOILER ALERT but not really since it’s a very well-known legend) dies. the writing is incredibly beautiful. i normally don’t like romance books, but this one was just so compelling and moving and beautiful that i devoured it. i don’t really know how to describe it, so here’s a quote from the book: “We were like gods at the dawning of the world, & our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.” like?? excuse me?? anyways yeah five stars from me. loved it. please read it. okay now we’re moving into spoiler territory BEWARE listen song of achilles was just ugh anyways yeah THE ENDINGGGG i was literally sobbing the final quote? the two shadows meeting?? and at the end thetis and patroclus bonding over their undying love for achilles even after he died UGH that got me emotional THEY HATED EACH OTHER BUT WHEN ACHILLES DIED THEY HAD NO ONE i was crying at 3am i was so mad at achilles when he didn’t try to save briseis from menelaus she was such a girlboss the book was just so ugh i don’t theres not a word for how amazing and beautiful and moving and gorgeous it was its indescribable “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.” I LOVE THIS BOOK i love love this book is just so my favorite part was when they were living with chiron cause there were no problems i loved how patroclus continued to narrate even after he died because he hadn’t had the proper burial rites that was such a cool detailllll actually that was probably my faovrite part and it justified why he was still narrating it was gorgeousssss i hated pyrrhus he was awful ALSO HE WAS LITERALLY 12 like??? achilles was kinda mid jk jk dont come for me it kinda gave jeo but like x1000 saddest death: patroclus cause of how achilles reacted least sad death: idk thetis kinda slayed ngl normally i hate sex scenes but i didnt mind these so much idk they were like poetry the whole book was like poetry deidameia did not eat when she was flirting with achilles during the dance i thought she was gay but then she wasnt it was disappointing the fanart of this books is awesome i wish we had gotten to see helen but also i liked the symbolism of fighting a war for a woman they never met achilles is like a sunset and patroclus is like right before and right after a sunset okay with that i will be ending this post read song of achilles slay *woks away*
He/him "You the when when you you the when"-Wyeth Ahearn "Just wing it"-Anthony Kiedis
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