Countryside corn stove thermostat

Hi all. I decided to make corned beef last week. I've been curing it and now I have it cooking on the stove top. Mostly. I plan to make sandwiches, but I was going to make corned beef and cabbage tonight. All of the recipes I found seem to imply that the corned beef is raw at the time of cooking. But I'm cooking it right now. So if I want to make corned beef and cabbage, how do I do that exactly? I imagine the recipes that I've read that include boiling for hours are no good for cooked corned beef. It didn't even occur to me that I shouldn't cook the beef yet, I always assumed that corned beef was sold cooked.
EDIT: Thanks, everyone! Learning to cook isn't easy, especially now that Google returns ads instead of meaningful search results. This sub rocks!

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 239: Standing Start
A wine bottle rolled against the side of my boot.
Amidst a gallery of stunned faces and open mouths, it was easily the second most lively thing here.
The first was a clockwork doll clutching at her stomach in pain.
“Ahahahha~ ahahaha~ ahah … uck … ack … ughh … ahahaha~”
I pursed my lips.
Still, I said nothing.
For one thing, this was precisely what happened when one ate the mouldy cinnamon rolls combined with any grass growing by the side of the road. If Apple refused to eat something, then so should she.
But for another–
“What … What is this … ?”
It was because the first response was reserved for the baroness.
Her words came out in a quivering tone, matching the disbelief upon her face.
Frankly, she had to do better than that.
Only the wine from the bottle I nudged away dribbled into the soil. And also the line of drool from a comatose farmer. But I didn’t want to think about that.
Still, it was an excellent benchmark. Until her tears could properly overpower the sour aroma from the Château de Riaré Hensoise, I would deem her bawling to be incomplete.
She had a long way to go.
“How … How are you still …” she began, slowly rising from her seat. “This … This is impossible–”
I offered a tidy smile alongside a flick of my hair, relishing in the moonlight adorning my figure.
“I agree. It shouldn’t be possible. But I assure you, my skin is 100% natural.”
“E-Excuse me … ?”
“No magical enchantments. No unicorn elixirs. No witchly glamors. Just a healthy sleep schedule of however many hours I desire and a diet of fresh strawberry shortcakes.”
The baroness mouthed silently at my secrets being revealed.
A strange way of offering her gratitude. Other princesses hounded my door for this knowledge. Given her pale, blotchy skin and lips as dry as a pond in a desert, she should be pleading for more.
Instead, she pointed at the fallen drunk beside us.
“This … This shouldn’t be possible … no, wait … the clockwork doll … did she–”
She suddenly snapped towards Coppelia, her eyes widening.
“Uuh … ahaha … ugh, it hurts ... ahaha … it hurts so much … ahaha … my tummy … aha … oh no … I’m … I’m seeing daisies … aha … I … ugh … I think I need help …”
Coppelia hugged her stomach, writhing like a freshly hatched caterpillar. Her eyes darkened as hiccups of laughter assailed her defeated form.
The baroness pursed her lips.
Then, she turned to Renise instead.
“Did you–”
“A-Amazing! … I … I have no idea what you did … but it wasn’t just wonderful … it was beautiful! The colours! The warmth! It was like a rainbow come to life!”
With a smile worthy of any attendant, the maid brought her hands together in polite applause. Naturally, to be praised for my brushwork was nothing new to me. Nor was the sight of stars shining in her eyes with greater brightness than any in the night sky.
Why, that even came whenever I left my bedroom.
“You … how did … how did you defeat him … ?”
The strands of the baroness’s golden hair began to frizzle as she turned towards me. All I saw were her tonsils. Bright red and healthy. She should be pleased.
“This was … this was no common man … do you know who he is … ?”
Without offering a chance to ignore her, she stamped a foot, pointing at the fallen drunk with maddened jabs. The man offered no defence, now as spent and drained as the bottle beside him.
I raised a brow.
“Indeed, I do. He’s a farmer who made poor life choices. And between leaving his farm and offering his pitchfork to an overly ambitious baroness, the greater was you. My congratulations on being the superior mistake. I acknowledge your triumph.”
Bwam.
The baroness promptly slapped her palms down on the table.
“This man … is Willem of Hagel,” she said, her teeth gritted together. “A man desperate and cursed.”
“Yes, well, to be a peasant is a dire thing. But it could be worse. At least he isn’t nobility.”
A mouth further widened before me.
Indeed, this was a terrible time to realise her affliction. But I was no famed angel of healing for nothing. There was a cure for ambition. And it involved copious amounts of tears.
I was still waiting.
“There is no world in which you should have been able to defeat him … not if half the tales about him prove true … he is a famed opponent … all the while you are … you are …”
Suddenly, her eyes left my face for the very first time.
No longer feeling that my cheeks were in danger of being poked, she swept her eyes upon my person, as though hoping to find some blemish to signify I was as false as a field of corn.
She stopped at the sword by my side.
And also–
“A copper ring,” she said softly.
Suddenly, my 29th house of cards I was subtly constructing collapsed.
… T-The ring!
The blot on my finger! The insidious badge of shame! The symbol of the Adventurer’s Guild!
Why, I’d taken it for granted that my masterful disguise was impervious! But this was no ordinary noblewoman I was seated across!
This … This was one I’d previously sat across before!
I’d made a terrible mistake!
I was mesmerising! A beautiful princess as charming as I was modest!
There was utterly no scenario in which I’d be forgotten!
I … I should have removed the copper ring!
“O-Oho … ohoho … w-what copper ring?” I said, my hands vanishing below the table at a speed con artists could only nod at. “Ah, do you refer to the ruby inlaid ring I often carry on my hand? The one which changes colour depending on the longitude and latitude? In that case, you may very well have briefly spied something which resembled a copper hue. But it is in fact a thing of unparalleled beauty and craftsmanship. Not a disgraceful copper ring.”
The baroness slowly looked up at me, her eyes blinking.
“No. I wasn’t mistaken. I … I recognise that ring. It is a copper ring, the same size and shape as those worn by … adventurers.”
My mouth widened in horror.
At once, I immediately sought a plant pot or a heavy book. Something to immediately erase the past few seconds of her memory.
Why … if she knew my secret, then the shame would haunt me all the way until I’d found something weighing at least equivalent to a standard hardback!
“I see,” she mumbled, as much to herself as me. “I understand now …”
The baroness removed her palms from the table.
She stood up straight, a hard expression upon her face. One which calculated with each passing moment the optimal way to exploit this devastating information.
Then, she took in a deep breath–just as I began assembling the playing cards into a thick pile.
“… it must be a legendary artifact.”
As I began eyeing her temple … I blinked in non-understanding.
“Excuse me?”
She nodded, her frown harsh enough to permanently crease her skin.
“To wear such a plain, ugly and shameful ring … one which utterly demeans your history, your worth and your pride, destroying any semblance of dignity you possess–”
My hand went to my stomach, struck by as much pain as Coppelia had experienced in a single moment.
“–indeed, to wear a ring so easily mistaken as one belonging to adventurers, the vermin of the world … it must be a truly terrifying artifact.”
I blinked.
And then–
“Ohhho … ohoohho! You … You see the truth of it!”
The baroness squeezed her fists by her side.
“I knew it.”
I nodded, my bangs bouncing against my forehead.
“I-Indeed … ! This ring I carry on me … it is a masterful item of supreme quality, passed down along generations of my family! Why, its appearance matching those of rings worn by adventurers is no coincidence! Theirs are based on this very design! Although they have since tarnished it, it was forged back in the first days of the kingdom when copper was greater than gold! Poured within it is knowledge now lost to time! A power beyond compare, called upon from the depths of the Royal Vault!”
The baroness sucked in a hateful breath.
“Then that explains it,” she said with bitterness ringing throughout her voice. “You were able to defeat such a powerful adversary through the use of your family’s ancient heirlooms.”
“Indeed, this powerful ring with a rare ability I cannot disclose defeated a terrifying farmer! Therefore, there’s no need for you to relay any suggestion that I’m anything but a princess, as far removed from the Adventurer’s Guild as hygiene is to their members!”
The baroness gave no response.
A respite which lasted far too short.
“... I see, then it means the plan continues. Different, yes. But I’ll not be deterred.”
She smiled, the familiar sight of aristocratic opportunism mixed with an utter denial of facts shining within her grey eyes.
I could only react with horror.
“Plan?” I replied, convinced she was well and truly several sandwiches short of a picnic. “Do you mean the plan currently lying in a fallen heap beside us? Did you not just say I defeated your farmer? Your only plan now is to decide which part of the ground you wish to offer your forehead to.”
The baroness shook her head with renewed confidence.
“I think not. To defeat Willem of Hagel, you must have expended every effort you had available. Not a crumb of power could be spared, for to underestimate him would have resulted in your certain loss. Meaning …”
Without hesitation, she gave a multipurpose wave of her hand.
“... You’ve nothing left but a sword you cannot wield, and two retainers against all of mine. One of whom is incapacitated. The other a maid.”
She continued to keep her hand raised. Her simple call to arms.
It took several moments before she cared to even look around her.
A sad thing.
If she had, she would have realised the curiosity of her hoodlums was less than their prudence.
She would have noticed the eyes without loyalty, seeing only the fallen figure of a drunk they’d been led to believe was more than a farmer now watering the ground with his drool.
And she would have noticed the state of her dress, as dishevelled as her ambitions as those she relied upon slinked away in search of newer gutters to inhabit, following instincts she could learn as the last of their feet shuffled into the darkness.
The baroness paled.
It was far too early for that. She had no idea Apple was currently resting in her tavern, and wouldn’t be helping her haul all of the goods which needed delivering to a place less damp than here.
But I could sooth her forthcoming backache with a smile, at least for the assistance already provided.
“You have my gratitude,” I said, brushing a speck of … countryside from my lap. “For so long as the nobility continues to concoct slapdash schemes with no hope of success, the kingdom can continue to assign blame on you when all else goes wrong. When the mobs come calling and heads start rolling, it ensures a steady queue of necks can be offered before ours are reached. That is why the nobility continues to exist, you see, despite the ceaseless treason. So allow me to offer a word of advice when next you wish to survive in a position of responsibility. When fleeing, the best defence isn’t to run faster–it’s to trip the person beside you. And this means better hiring practices.”
I glanced pointedly around me.
All this empty space and not even a single eyepatched second-in-command to use as a distraction? An amateur mistake. One the baroness now realised as her mouth opened wordlessly, the realisation of her solitude only now dawning upon her.
Yet all it invited was a newly wrought defiance.
“I do not mean to flee,” she said, her fists tightly clenched. “I am Arisa Sandholt. And even should I be captured here, you would not be afforded a night’s rest. I am not alone. Whether tonight or tomorrow, this kingdom will fall. I am not alone in planning its demise.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, please. Planning my kingdom’s demise is what everyone does.”
“What?”
“If it’s not being actively planned, it’s because someone’s in the middle of planning how to formulate a plan. And then once they’ve finished planning, they wonder why their plan didn’t work as planned. This is not a cause for concern. It’s a sign the world is still spinning the correct direction.”
The baroness feigned a dignified silence.
It was far too late, of course. By default, nobility had no dignity.
Still, I accepted the effort, and filled the silence with a tidy clap of my hands.
“Now, since you’ve no intention of fleeing, you can be useful instead. I’ll require a full inventory of your stock. I intend to requisition every single item you have in your possession. Every grain. Every crown. And every odd piece of tableware, carpet, candleholder and painting you might have.”
I pointed at the barn. A tragic thing to requisition. But if I was fortunate, it’d grow lacquered tiles and bay windows in the short steps between here and there.
Suddenly, the baroness’s eyes widened. The needless defiance dropped alarmingly from her face.
“Wait … what do you mean by that?”
I paused for a moment, puzzled by her reaction.
This was hardly the complicated part.
“I mean exactly what I mean. This should come as no surprise. I will be emptying every corner of the property you’ve misappropriated, including whatever manner of tunnels you’ve carved for your use. Rest assured, I’ll be employing the talents of my retainers extensively. With or without your cooperation, every single inch of your abode will be inspected by myself for the Royal Treasury’s benefit.”
She blinked between Renise and Coppelia. Although one was dressed as a maid and the other now appeared to be napping on the ground, their skills when it came to matters of unearthing valuables in my kingdom’s underbelly was not one I doubted.
Nor, from the way the baroness gulped, did she.
“I can do it,” she said suddenly.
I looked at her in confusion, uncertain what ploy this was.
“... Excuse me? Do what?”
“The items of value. I can bring them out. There’s no need to personally see to such a thing yourself.”
“While I’m in full agreement, I can hardly trust your reliability in this manner. And besides, I’ll hardly be playing the mule. I shall be supervising while closely assessing every item.”
Once more, the tonsils came out.
An appalling disregard of decorum. There was only one time that nobility was permitted to look so horrified in my presence. And that’s if they were copying my own after I discovered a list of marriage suitors posing as a napkin beneath the dessert spoon again.
“E-Even so … as the one who wronged you, I insist on not troubling a princess any further. If you give me a few moments, I can acquire the most important valuables for you in a fraction of the time you’d spend on finding them.”
“A few moments to hide them, you mean. No, I’m afraid that anything you wish to stuff beneath a floorboard will need to be appropriately examined first.”
I leaned away in mild alarm as a bead of sweat ran down the baroness’s face.
A moment later–
She finally did what only someone in her position could.
Adhering to the instincts of all nobility, she swept up her dress and suddenly dashed away.
Except it wasn’t towards the dark forest, to be lost amidst the shadows and the jaws of whatever awaited her there. It was back towards the barn.
I watched as she stumbled several times before even reaching the steps.
“... A desperate sight, no?” I said, with a sad shake of my head. “To throw away all semblance of the image she’d hoped to craft. Now she flees like a frightened towngirl. She should know that escape is now impossible.”
Beside me, Renise let out a hum.
Far from chasing after the baroness, she collected the pack of cards I’d assembled for memory wiping purposes. She began to build a house of cards.
I looked at her in puzzlement. She gave a strangely pained smile in reply.
“I believe we can offer her a few moments.”
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Just purchased a home and had the gas company start the service last week. Currently it’s unoccupied and everything is off, including the thermostat.
Received my first bill and it’s averaging a therm a day. Isn’t this too high? Is there a gas leak somewhere?
There are only 5 appliances that use gas.

1. Stove - Never Used
2. Fireplace - Never Used
3. Dryer - No dryer installed
4. Tankless Water Heater - Never used as it’s unoccupied
5. Furnace - Thermostat is off

My hands are shaking as I write this, I have to document my story incase something happens to me in the next few days. I'm not sure where to begin but I suppose here is better than anywhere.
I've always had this weird feeling, this sensation inside of me that I was older than I actually was. By the time I was twelve, my soul felt as though it was forty. By the time I reached twenty, I felt like an old woman. I would watch people around my age acting foolish, and I always thought, "What a bunch of children." So it was no surprise to anyone that when I turned twenty-one, I left my hometown and college and decided to spend the summer alone by renting an old farmhouse in an insignificant town on the edge of an even more insignificant border.
When I told my mother, she had a veritable fit, unable to find the words. She spluttered and raged around me for days before I finally left early one morning to avoid her guilt and frustration with my choices. I was not sure why I craved solitude at such a young age, why I found solace in being alone and removed from society.
In high school, I had changed unexpectedly, cutting my long blonde hair short and dying it black, getting piercings that my mother loathed and claimed no young lady should have. You see, my mother was raised proper, as she called it. Good family, good husband, and finally a good life. She despised her perfect life being squashed by my alternative looks and feelings of the same world. She just didn't understand me or the world as it changed around her. I felt like I was just a trophy to her and my father, her perfect angel who had been tainted by my own demented thoughts.
I never told my parents where I was staying, one last rebellious mission before leaving for a few months, and it took me only a few hours to arrive at the farmhouse where I would be staying for the next few months. The land around the farm was dead or dying, old crops rose out of the dry dusty earth and had turned black and forgotten, as if this land was the example of dreams long forgotten and empty. A single dreary lane connected this desolate farmhouse to the rest of the world. On the outside, it was drab and looked as though it would fall apart. It had two stories but still seemed cramped and small, as if it were a single floor tied to the ground.
Across from the house, bordering the tall weeds that had reclaimed much of the farmland, stood a maudlin-looking faded red barn, one door propped open in a dejected manner revealing naught to me but shadows, dust, and a little mystery.
Next to the barn, staked into the ground on an old-looking cross, was a ragged scarecrow. It had drab brown clothing, but its face was oddly realistic, like it was watching me with a disapproving manner. Straw poked through its joints at odd angles like they were trying to break free from their confines. The scarecrow obviously didn't do its job as it was covered in no less than three crows.
I parked my car next to the barn and stepped out into the dusty yard before the farmhouse that I would make my home for the next few months. I checked under the front mat for the key and put it in the lock.
With a satisfying click, the door fell inward into the farmhouse. Surprisingly, the inside of the farmhouse was modern, clean, and looked quite inviting. I could smell the fresh paint on the walls, and everything was so white. The realtor had told me she would stop by tomorrow to collect the rent, and she had tried to chat my ear off on the phone about all the renovations she and her son were doing on the place.
I sighed with contentment and tossed my bags beside the door. I dug around in my bag and removed my camera, my father's old film shooter as he called it. I had taken up the hobby years ago for what I called capturing the oddity in the world.
I explored the small house a little more; the ground floor consisted of a single room and small bathroom with a shower. The bedroom was upstairs and was the only room, the stairs connected directly to the white and pink monstrosity that was the master bedroom. The pillows had laces on them and almost made me gag from the cuteness. There was even cute white lace curtains on the window with little flowers stitched onto them.
Out of the only window of the room, I could see the barn and the scarecrow. I aimed my camera at the pair and snapped a photo. From this angle, the scarecrow appeared to be staring straight at me. It stood next to the left side of the barn in a dejected manner like a chastised child.
A shudder involuntarily ran through me at the sight, but I moved on back downstairs. It was getting close to dinner time now, and I had brought some food with me.
After a few minutes, I had my dinner on the stove cooking and the crickets chirping outside the open window. As I sat down to eat next to the window, I felt at peace for one of the first times in years. The solitude of this old farm was exactly what I needed. The window supplied a nice breeze that wafted through the place, it smelled of grass and warm summer nights, made me feel at peace. The simple dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a glass of wine was all that I needed right here, right now in this moment.
That night I climbed into the frilly laced bed and sunk into the claustrophobic mattress. I felt like Goldilocks in the mama bear's bed as it was altogether too soft. From my perfumed bed, I had a good view out the window. I had left the porch light on, and it cast an eerie glow across the yard. The barn loomed ominously, stalwart against the light of the porch, like it was protecting the shadows from the battering ram of light. The somber scarecrow leaned against the left side of the barn.
With a small jump, I thought I saw its arm move slightly. I peered through my camera using the zoom to get a better view of the scarecrow. It was completely still in the night, and I laughed quietly to myself at my silliness. I had always enjoyed horror movies, but there was no chance I was living in one. I settled back into bed and put my camera down. Within a few minutes, I fell into sleep's warm embrace.
What felt like only a few minutes later, I sat up in bed. It was still dark out, I could hear crickets chirping through the open window, and I strained my ears for a moment.
I thought something had woken me up. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as a cold breeze wafted in through the window. I pulled the frilly blanket up around myself when I heard it. A thud sounded below me, shaking the whole world into silence. The crickets stopped chirping, and my heart felt like it had stopped beating. Someone was in the house. I hadn't locked the door or closed the kitchen window, and now someone was downstairs. A second thud sounded like a boot on the staircase. Then another and another as something was slowly moving up the stairs towards the room.
I don't know why I did it, but something came over me. I wasn't big or especially brave, but my normal cowardice in social situations changed instantly. With a dash, I tore across the room, flicking on the lights, ready to face my attacker, to defend myself against male or female. I would fight, and I would win.
But as the lights turned on, ready to strike with my foot, nothing was there. The staircase was empty, and upon further inspection, the entire house was empty. The kitchen window was open, and I shut and locked it securely before checking the door. Nothing. I sat down on the couch, my heart pounding out of my chest, as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"I must have still been half-asleep," I said aloud to the room in a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves. It failed horribly, but I went with it. What else could you do in a situation like that?
After locking up the house, I went back up to that frilly four-poster bed in the bedroom and stared out the window. Nothing was in the yard except my car, the barn, and the same old sad-looking scarecrow staring across the yard.
Day 2
The next morning, I woke up to the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Despite the strange events of the previous night, I felt strangely refreshed, as if the morning sun had chased away the shadows that lingered in my mind.
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and headed to the kitchen. As I brewed a pot of coffee, my mind wandered back to the events of last night. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or was there really someone in the house?
Shaking off the unease, I decided to explore the farmhouse in the daylight. I wandered through the room, admiring the modern renovations that clashed with the rustic exterior. The farmhouse had a charm to it, despite its eerie surroundings.
As I made my way outside, the cool morning air greeted me, and I took a deep breath, letting the serenity of the countryside wash over me. The barn stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky, and the scarecrow seemed to watch me as I crossed the yard.
I approached the barn, curiosity getting the better of me. Pushing open the creaky door, I stepped inside, the musty scent of hay filling my nostrils. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
I explored every nook and cranny of the barn, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. In the corner of the barn, hidden beneath a pile of old blankets, was a small wooden chest.
My heart racing with anticipation, I lifted the lid of the trunk and peered inside. What I found took my breath away. It was a collection of old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting scenes from a bygone era. They were of a man with his family, two young kids, and a beautiful young wife. The man had yellow blonde hair, almost like straw in texture, but he smiled so happily with his family.
I sifted through the photographs, my fingers trembling with excitement. Who had left these behind, and why? Each photograph seemed to tell a story, a glimpse into the past of this forgotten farmhouse.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a sudden noise jolted me back to reality. It was the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
"Hello?" The dreamy voice of a woman called to me from the entrance to the barn.
I slammed the lid of the trunk shut, closing the memories up in a flurry as I spun around to be greeted by a quite pretty woman with blonde hair and a pink suit skirt combo. She had bright pink lipstick, that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, and quite shiny and sparkly blue eye shadow on her lids. I myself only wore black eyeliner. This woman was like Barbie in her proportions, thin waist, long hair, and large tracts of land, as my father would have said.
"Oh, hello," I said simply, always awkward in normal social situations.
If she noticed anything odd about me, she breezed over it in an easy manner. Taking me by the shoulders, she led me out of the dusty barn and into the yard.
"You must be Polly. We have been waiting a while for you to come. I simply must know what you think of the renovations to the house. Aren’t they just to die for?" The lady said all in one breath, as if she didn’t need air to speak.
"Yes, they are quite nice..." I started before she cut me off, not in a rude manner but instead in one that she would have continued on even if I had just told her I was not Polly and instead I was a mass murderer looking for my next victim.
"You see, me and my son Eli—yes, Eli, you stop lurking in the shadows over there," she said, continuing on as I noticed a younger man leaning up against the barn. He wore simple clothes of jeans and a white t-shirt but had a handsome face. His hair was brown and hung slightly over his eyes.
"I hope you don’t mind if my son here continues working on some renovations while you stay here? Strictly on the outside of the house, mind you. A fresh coat of white paint would make this little beauty shine. We would have finished by now if not for the accidents," she continued, completely unabashed by my silence.
"Sorry. But you are the realtor?" I said, trying to regain my feet under me.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, dear!" she said with an affable cackle.
"Yes, yes, I am Barbara, but all my friends call me Barb. That over there is Eli. Eli, come say hi," Barb said while her painted talons rested firmly on my shoulder.
Eli stomped over, keeping his eyes low, in a sort of moody way that actually intrigued me, sort of.
When he glanced up at me, I noticed he drank in me from head to toe, and for the first time, I realized what I was wearing. An old rock t-shirt of one of my favorite bands and, of all things, my black pajama bottoms with cartoon bats on them that said "happy halloween."
I felt my face blush crimson as he made eye contact with me. He had very mysterious eyes of blue that seemed to cut right through my soul.
"Nice shirt," he said while gesturing to me. His voice was quiet and uncertain, as if he didn’t get much practice with the art. Knowing his mother, it seemed highly accurate.
"Thanks. Do you like them?" I asked.
"Oh, he likes all sorts of things, don’t you, Eli? Honestly, you two can gab on forever. But miss, I believe we have a small matter of payment," Barb said, drawing the conversation back to herself.
"Of course. Let me go get it," I said as I went back into the house and retrieved the envelope with the rent money in it.
Barb grabbed the envelope in her bright pink talons and snapped a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. With quick fingers, she leafed through the cash, counting it. As she counted, her normal bubbly personality seemed to disappear, giving way to what I gleaned was her true thoughts and feelings before the facade slipped on once again.
"Mmkay, perfect honey, this is the right amount. Now you have my number, so you call if you need anything. Like I said earlier, Eli will stop by from time to time to work on painting the house. I promise you he won’t be an imposition, just pay him no mind," Barb said in a sweet voice as she popped her gum in between each word.
"Eli, come on, please, I have an appointment in town," Barb said to her son, and they both climbed into a garish pink convertible with jewels hanging from the mirror wrapped in a gold chain.
Barb waved one last time as she sped off out of the driveway, covering me in dust as she spun the wheel around.
With their departure, I went inside and retrieved my camera. I spent a few minutes shooting a few pictures I thought were worthy. I re-entered the barn and pulled the old trunk out into the sunshine. Inside was only a handful of photos, some old clothes, and what looked like some old heirlooms. A beautifully old candlestick and a few leather-bound books lay at the bottom, covered by an old tablecloth. The tablecloth was a nice white with intricate swirling patterns inlaid around the edges.
Why would these things be packed away in here? They were so beautiful. I decided to bring the stuff inside for further inspection. As I lifted the trunk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the tall grass at the edge of the property. I stared for a minute, but nothing moved again. I must be getting jumpy being alone like this. After last night and then this, I was just imagining things.
I brought the items inside and spread them out. I put the tablecloth on the table, and it hung low to the ground. I placed the candlestick by the window and took out the photos again, spreading them out.
The photos told me a story of a loving family that obviously lived in the farmhouse before me. They had a photo next to the barn, with a brand new looking scarecrow in the back. The man even had his arm around it; it looked so much cleaner and proper in this photo. I stared outside at the sad-looking scarecrow.
I took my camera and the photo and went outside to stand next to the scarecrow. His post hung kind of crooked in the earth like it was weighed down by the scarecrow.
I snapped a photo of the scarecrow as it was, then examined the original photo. I began resettling the post in the ground, but it kept sagging. I decided to pull him out of the ground and move him while I added more dirt to his hole. With some effort, I reseated him into his original hole. He already looked better, but I straightened his clothes and pulled out the last bits of straw that stuck out of his clothes. When I was finished, I looked back at him and took a photo, smiling while I did so at my work.
I then spent some time sweeping the front porch and banging the dust out of the cushions before I curled up on a wicker chair with plump cushions for a few hours reading a book I had brought with me.
I felt quite content at this place. The sounds of the crickets began again, putting me at ease as the sun began to descend. I had spent the entire day just relaxing, and it was perfect. I sat sprawled out in the chair, too lazy to go and make dinner or even move. My bladder was full, but I waited until the last moment before dashing inside and relieving myself.
That's when I noticed it, out in the yard. It seemed as if the scarecrow had moved closer. Once shrouded by the barn slightly, it now had moved a few steps into the light from the porch. My heart dropped at the sight. Not again, I must be asleep on the porch in the chair. I pinched myself, trying to wake up, but all I received was a sore arm.
I closed my eyes, then rubbed them, hoping to dispel whatever plagued my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed the scarecrow was even closer. Halfway across the yard now, it sat menacingly, hanging crooked in the dirt. The scarecrow seemed to be staring at me with an intense gaze. The slits in its face were open now, and in the porch light, I swear I could see human eyes underneath the mask.
I moved towards the front door, locking it in a swift motion. I was shaking now, and it took me a minute to relax. I never took my eyes off the scarecrow for fear of it moving again.
My cellphone was upstairs, so I couldn't flee without the scarecrow moving again. I breathed out slightly and unlocked the door, letting it swing in with a creak. The night outside was silent, as if everything was holding its breath. The usual crickets that plagued me with their song day and night had fallen quiet. I stepped out onto the porch; I needed to go confront this demonic entity. Something about this still made me think this was a prank.
"Eli, is that you?" I called out to the scarecrow.
No response, of course. I steeled myself and put one foot off the porch, never taking my eyes off the scarecrow before me. Something seemed to be dripping from its head as I approached, a dark slime that seemed to be melting from its joints as it stood there silently, except for the constant drip of the liquid on the dry dirt before me.
I walked around the scarecrow, determined to figure out what was going on. As I circled it, my vision darkened for a moment as I faced towards the light of the house. I jumped as the scarecrow's head turned to face me as I looked away. The black liquid drained faster from the being, forming a shallow pool at its feet.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I fled, taking my eyes off the scarecrow. I made a mad dash for the farmhouse. Behind me, I could hear the pounding of feet. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. My voice rang through the silence as I grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door as I felt a strong grip fall on my shoulder.
I turned to defend myself, but nothing was there. The scarecrow was gone, the wooden cross had vanished, as had the pool of dark liquid in the dirt. The world sprung back to life; the crickets began chirping loudly, and my heart restarted. I slammed the door, and the air from my force scattered the photographs on the table. I ran upstairs, leaving the lights on in the house, and dove onto the bed, wrapping myself in the frilly blanket like a set of frilly armor.
I snatched my camera from the bedside table and held it close, determined to document the rest of the night. I held it in shaking hands as the noise downstairs began—the sound of boots crossing the floor to the stairs and the careful but heavy steps of ascension as they climbed closer and closer to me.
This time, I didn't lunge forward as the light was already on. I glanced out the window, but the scarecrow was still gone. I focused my camera on the stairs and waited as the steps came closer and closer. A shape began to form as the head of whatever was coming up the stairs crested the floor. Then a plain brown mask with slits where the eyes would be. It froze for a moment, then slowly turned its head towards me. Inside the slits were human eyes that seemed to be leaking dark red blood.
In the light, I could see it now. I snapped a photo of the beast, the flash setting off a reaction in the beast. The scarecrow moved so fast up the stairs it was a blur. My scream echoed throughout the house as it lunged at me. Filthy hands pinned me down, and the deep crimson liquid began pouring out of every joint of the scarecrow. It began covering my face, my eyes, and getting into my open mouth. I spluttered and kicked at the beast, but my blows had no purchase, as if the scarecrow on top of me had no substance to itself.
I coughed and spluttered on the liquid as it began to fill my mouth faster and faster. I tried not to swallow any, but it tried to find purchase as I was held down.
"Polly?" A nervous voice called from below.
Suddenly, as if the angels had called, the pressure dissipated, and I crashed to the floor in a heap, trying to spit the blood out, but nothing came—it was gone. Footsteps pounded up the stairs again, and I flew back in fear, closing my eyes.
"Oh my god. Polly, are you okay?" A voice said, and gentle hands grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot open at the human touch, and I grabbed Eli into a tight hug, where I promptly began sobbing in fear, my whole body shaking as Eli awkwardly hugged me.
"Don't worry, it's going to be okay," Eli said patiently to me as he hugged me back gently and began stroking my back.
I shivered in a choking sob and fell into his arms, desperately wanting to believe him, and for some reason, I did.

I go through pretty bad depressive episodes, during which I find it VERY hard to bring myself to cook and eat. On top of that I’m a rather picky eater, which limits my options even further.
Criteria I’m looking for realistically: - Minimal dishes afterwards: The more dishes to do after cooking, the less inclined I am to make the meal. Things that can go in the dishwasher are fine.

• Minimal active cook time: A thirty minute recipe where most of it is passively waiting is doable, thirty minutes of standing over a pot, etc, is not.
  
• Microwave meals are preferred: I’m open to specific suggestions of just boxes of frozen foods to try by as their own meals in the microwave.
  
• Stove and oven for a single meal is not ideal: I’m open to using the stove or oven on a day with extra energy to prepare microwave meals for the next few days, but generally I don’t feel it’s worth the energy to use either for one meal with no leftovers.
  

Specific meal examples (my repertoire as of now):
Single meals: - Smoothies: My typical smoothies are some combination of bananas, frozen strawberries, chopped apples, vanilla or strawberry yogurt, peanut butter, almond milk, and ovaltine. Any specific smoothie recipes or other ingredients are welcome.

• Chicken nuggets: frozen nuggets in the microwave for just a few minutes.
  
• Frozen taquitos: frozen in the microwave for a couple minutes.
  
• Instant ramen: stove or microwave.
  
• Cereal: just a bowl of cereal and milk, occasionally with fruit.
  
• Fruit: I’ll pick at grapes or strawberries or other fruit in the fridge, I’ll chop up a few apples when I have energy to eat as snacks or in smoothies for a few days, bananas, clementines, etc.
  
• Frozen veggies: my go-to’s are corn and broccoli.
  

Meal prep: - Pasta for days: Boil a box of pasta on the stove. Put sauce only on what I’m going to eat (and eat it). Put the leftovers in a ziploc bag. When I’m hungry again, take a serving of cooked pasta out of the bag, microwave it, put some sauce in a small bowl, microwave it, combine the sauce and pasta. First meal is 20 minutes on the stove with a pot or two to wash in the sink, but I can have pasta for days after for 3 minutes of prep and no dishes that can’t go in the dishwasher. THIS is the kind of meal prep I’m hoping for.
I’m open to any suggestions I can get - even if it doesn’t meet all of my excessive criteria, I’d love to hear any and all ideas! Thank you so much in advance <3

I've been pretty ok with my impulses recently but I have had a recent job change, huge relationship stress that is now fixed, and making new friends. Ever since this all happened, I've become severely fixated on the need to check several things in my apartment before leaving in the morning and recently it's caused me some negative impact at my job such as being late. At my last job, my OCD extended to only checking my faucet at my sink, and my door lock. Now that all this change has happened, I now check my faucets at my kitchen and tub, my fridge doors, windows, thermostat, light switch, all three outlets I use, stove top, and locks on my doors. I'm driving myself crazy, and it's never been this bad before. I have tried checklists, videotaping myself doing my "checks", pinching my arm, writing it down, and repeating to myself that I did it and I still end up late. This routine affects about 40 minutes of my morning routine, and I end up inevitably one or two minutes late to my job. (My job allows 6 minutes early clock in, but one minute after my start time is considered tardy. I receive 12 tardies maximum before termination, I've got about 4 or 5 left.). Please! I need emergency advice, or methods to try. I'll keep responding to this post as my methods work/don't work and share my experience with each of you.

My family home is called the jolly anglers, we moved in when I was 1 year old in 1978 And parts of it goes back to medieval times as a wayside hovel, still has the original inglenook fireplaces. Was a public house/guest house for many years before we moved in, I will add a picture of it my mother has from Victorian times when I go round tomorrow, The earliest record of it that I've managed to find is in the 1841 census when William Rivett is the innkeeper. It was acquired by Steward & Patteson from Ferrier & Co. in 1884 and was still an S&P brewery pub when it served its final pint in 1952.
At some point between 1901 and 1911 the Angel changed its name to the Jolly Anglers possibly coinciding with a change in landlord. We think the poet Jessie Pope who moved to Fritton village after her marriage in 1929. Maybe referenced it in her collection of verses entitled Three Jolly Anglers, published in 1913. In the 1900’s they also added on a tearoom.
Over the years my mum could of and should of written a book about the paranormal happenings at the house that many of us experienced and have had three different paranormal investigating teams visit the house. I will take and upload pictures of historical features when I’m over there tomorrow. Dad built a indoor pool in 1988 and found many seashells deep down when it used to be linked by sea. And had a small jetty and boats used to moor up to visit it. (It’s now in the middle of the countryside) and over the years water has receded over a mile away in distance but many years ago the sea linked into The lake nearby and in pre-medieval times was largely dug then to extract peat for burning. The village where the house resides seems to have been known to our Roman heritage for ‘in a small hillock’ lying about half a mile north of the lake near to our house.
People always want to hear the paranormal side of my parents house which was part medieval wayside hovel then inn and a pub after that in Norfolk uk. so I’ve written some of the strange things that have Happened in my parents house ‘the jolly anglers’
Where do I start.. we moved into the house in 1978 and in the first six months mum was in tears and Wanted to leave again as she was scared to death of all the strange happenings, Dad was working away offshore at the time and they’d used all their money to buy the old house so knew they couldn’t just up and leave, dad wasn’t one for giving in but he also wasn’t the one living it daily. Half the time it was just mum, me as a 9month old and my older siblings 15 and 17. now they say teenage energy can cause spirits to be active in houses and it attracts them so Maybe that could’ve been why they all saw a lot when I was a baby in the house.
One night mum was in bed and I was in the cot in the same room when she woke up and heard rustling coming from the staircase which is open and goes straight into their bedroom , she then in the dim light saw a black shadow floating up the stairs and move very slowly to my cot, she was in shock and couldn’t move for a while and watched it float across the room and as the figure leaned in to my cot, mum was petrified and put the side light on in panic and the shadow just disappeared, she said the noise sounded like crinoline dresses how the material rustled as someone walked along, maybe in the Victorian era.
Another time My parents also whilst in bed heard an old honky-tonk type piano play downstairs, cigar smoke and voices several times in the first six months of living there- note they had no piano nor smoked. Dad always went down to investigate with his double barrel shot gun but everything went silent whenever he opened the door at the bottom of the stairs.
They lived with daily bangs, strange voices,knocking and footsteps all through their lives and also others myself and my siblings have heard these also on a regular basis, my brother and a friend of his whilst in the lounge one evening saw the start of what looked like a red woman’s dress coming down one set of stairs in the old area which was originally the pub.
The pub area is my parents best lounge and was once two rooms but dad knocked Them both into one big one, when it was a pub one was a smoking room and the other was the bar room which still has a bar in it but not the original one. My father purchased it from a old retired landlord of a demolished pub in Great Yarmouth. this room has a staircase each end one staircase goes into my parents bedroom, the other staircase the opposite end goes up into a small hall and off that are two bedrooms, one was my brothers And the other was my sisters, But I slept in there with her frequently. My parents built a small bedroom downstairs which was a section of the larger bathroom which decades before was called the parlour room not the bathroom, we do know from history records that one of the landlords children many years ago died in the house of tuberculosis a young girl about eight years old. My auntie used to sleep in my old small bedroom when she visited us and one evening Was petrified when she saw what looked like flickering candles moving under the doorframe, on another occasion she heard breathing which sounded raspy and a female crying. She ended up sleeping in my brothers room and refused to stay In my little bedroom after the two events.
Tins In kitchen have flown out of cupboards and dented the radiator, pictures have flown off walls and ornaments also have somehow landed other ends of rooms not just dropped downwards, small dancing white lights Have been witnessed by several people in Different areas of the house also seen by Paranormal research team. All teams have picked up Things and seen things and even been poked by a entity. Psychic mediums have come to the house and said there are many spirits including a woman who had several children and drowned herself, one Young man With a club foot who lived at the pub, and In those days would of been called a imbecile who owned a black dog Which haunts the house too, my mum later investigated documents to this claim and she saw on the 1899 census that in fact a man classed as a ‘imbecile’ was residing at the residence.
Now before the psychic talked about the woman, when I was a little girl about three, my parents tell me I had an invisible friend, apparently she was a lady in a red dress so I said, she used to push me on the swing outside and I used to talk to her and she’d play with me and my toys a lot, I said she was a nice lady that liked children. Years later a neighbour from the village was at one of our parties and was talking about the history of her family, they had lived in our village for many many years and she had been doing some family research and had recently found out that her great great grandmother had been pulled out of the lake which is near our house. she Apparently had drowned herself because twins were prevalent in her family, she had had two sets and was pregnant again, her husband had recently died And she couldn’t take it anymore, she was very poor and when they took the body from the river they didn’t have funeral homes in those days in villages, so they always laid the bodies out in a cold place.. which was normally the local pub cellar, where in fact she was laid out to be buried in our pub cellar and they held the post-mortem there too which she had documents of. which funny enough was my playroom as a child And freezer storage area. Now no one knows if she died wearing a red dress but it was sense that she loved children by the psychic so everyone thinks that that is the lady in a red dress that was my invisible friend as a child. There was an incident once where a family friends child was over with his mum and as 3 year olds do they open doors and investigate, unfortunately he opened the cellar door and fell to the bottom, now they are big concrete steps to the bottom of the cellar, My father saw him enter the seller But didn’t see him fall but when He rushed to him he was standing at the bottom of the steps not even crying, they all checked him over and said ‘are you okay? and he said ‘the lady got me’ and Pointed to an area in the cellar, Apparently gave everyone there goosebumps. Another occasion at a party there was a nonbeliever there who was joking about ghosts and what people had seen and said to a group of people ‘it’s a load of old nonsense’ the moment he said that the old heavy wooden front door creaked open and no one was there behind it, apparently he went very pale and flustered, many people witnessed that.
Also people have seen figures in the corner of their eye or movement for years and we all got used to the footsteps, taps and bumps as it is an old house and has had a lot of people walk through it, it ended up just a thing you got used to and mum didn’t leave after six months dad convinced her to stick it out and things did calm down but never completely stopped. When my grandmother died my father saw her sitting on the end of the bed looking at her daughter, When I was very ill as a child in bed I saw a man in a black suit which I thought was the doctor and I started talking to him asking where my mum was and he disappeared. One if my nieces has seen a lady sitting in a old velvet chair in one of the bedrooms, My other grandmother when she stayed over once heard what sounded like rings being dropped into the sink, as all bedrooms have a sink in, as it used to be a guest house. As a teenager I moved from my sisters old room into my brothers old room at the back of the house and one night I woke to see a very tall man in a black cape, we have no street lights in the village and I never shut my curtains as we are not overlooked, so the moonlight was coming through my window and he must’ve been 6 foot five tall as his head nearly reached the ceiling, and I could see in the light he had fair hair which was slicked back and parted at the side, but he didn’t move it was like a picture in a picture book I couldn’t help but be quite mesmerised for a few second on how clear it was, but I lost that feeling and suddenly jumped up and ran out of that room, Didn’t even bother putting a light on I woke my parents up and I burst into tears, that really shook me up. After that event i even changed the layout of my room so I wouldn’t wake up in that position again. Another time I woke and I heard loud footsteps going round the bed but strangely the footsteps were like heavy boots and they were at my Ear level not on the ground, to this day I still find that very strange and they sounded amplified too. Another time a man with scraggly long hair poked his head out from one of the sloped ceilings in my room also. Each time I’d shoot out of the room and sleep in the other bedroom for a few days Before I felt safe to go back in and sleep.
Me My Husband And our 2 year old daughter left at four in the morning once after a family wedding because my daughter was crying, my husband picked her up out of the cotbed and she pointed to a Corner near the stairs and said ‘man there’ she has autism and her speech was delayed at that age but she was psychically scared of something that night She did not settle there which was very unusual for her, it scared my husband so he said ‘we are going home now! When we got to our own home she slept peacefully, I believe a spirit was Being a nuisance to her.
One of mums best friends was spiritual and told me that I had a gift and that I saw spirits, It’s something I never wanted and it scared me every time, even in my own house grown with a daughter and husband of my own I still see ‘people’ as I call them in my own home at night and every time I see them I always think it’s an intruder before ever thinking its a spirit lol And I always ‘fight not flight, I run at them to attack and always end up running into my bedroom door lol.
My dad has been dead 15 years and when he died, he died at home in bed and the house was very active again for a while but my father built a lot of the new part of the house with his own hands so we all knew he would have a lot of energy there when he passed.
Mum Now on her own at the house and she Will be 80 in 2022 she now has Limited mobility but she is very stubborn and has no intention of leaving, it’s far too big for her to cope with but she has a Gardner and cleaner and I help her a lot with shopping, she says when she leaves this house it will be in a coffin.
My daughter is 11 and she stays with her nan ny every Friday night, it’s her routine and my mum loves having her, she stays a few days a week when it’s summer holidays and school holidays and she loves the house, but I feel she is spiritual too so can sense things but it doesn’t bother her to sleep on her own in my sisters old room next door to my mums. until about a year ago she told my mother that she had seen her grandad in mothers room where she slept on occasions and he asked her questions like ‘what does she like to do. After that she now sleeps down stairs, which is now where mother sleeps also now due to mobility.
Well That’s some of the stories anyway, there’s many more but these are the ones I can remember off the top of my head.
Other experiences…
A friend saw a bearded gentleman’s faced reflection as she passed by a mirror.
Mum saw a grotesque male face in gray similar to what Satan May look like for a split second in her Own reflection once in a mirror in the bedroom hallway.
I heard My music box draw click opened and the music started playing when I was trying to go to sleep one night as a child, I removed it from my room after that. My mother also had heard that too on occasions
I had china dolls in my room when I was a young teen and once one of their arms flopped down, got my dad to remove them and now are still in their hall way on a shelf.
One night mum felt really hot while trying to sleep she felt the heating was on too high so went to turn The heating down, the thermostat was in the lounge downstairs, as She went to to the thermostat she suddenly saw the door to lounge opening, all where asleep upstairs. She said she ran so fast up the stairs that she ran out of the top of the nightdress and ripped it, she Was shouting when she ran upstairs to my sister to grab me out of the cot and get in my brothers bedroom they then barricaded the door with his wardrobe and Didn’t sleep at all that night till morning when they all investigated together, apparently My brother complained and said ‘it’s roasting hot up here mum’ she replied ‘you will have to bloody sweat as I’m not going down till morning!
going up to bed one night she’s turning all the lights off in the lounge, she had a gold Latch she used to flip down to secure the door in lounge to the rest of the house, one night after she had done that as she walked to the stairs she suddenly heard the latch flick up and the door slowly open, another scarper up the stairs and lock the door behind her and put covers over her face.
all the bedrooms have either key locks or bolts on the inside of every Bedroom door due to travellers Visiting the pub years ago could rent a room for the night if they wanted as guests, Mum very much appreciated the locks and bolts as she did think it was mostly intruders to start with. It’s funny when you look back on it all and you think to yourself.. spirits can get through locked doors and bolted doors! but at the time it makes you feel really safe and secure that They will stay behind a locked door and funny enough most of the time They did.
Many times dad was armed with his shotgun quietly sneaky round the house after hearing bangs bumps and knocks..it’s a big house with many steps, levels, twists and turns so could take him a while to do a sweep search of the house, mum said she was always so relieved when he came back up to bed and said ‘no ones broke in’ but then both equally Perplexed on what the noise was that they heard in the first place.
Paranormal investigators along with mum and her teenage grandson witnessed all the glasses in bar which are stored upside downs start to all clink together several times.
Years later they went from a latch lock In lounge area to a battery operated alarm door lock so if it’s switched on And door opens, a alarm sounds. Which she set religiously. In middle of the night she heard the smoke alarm going off, when she went down half asleep and groggy to investigate she couldn’t smell any smoke so she got a stool and checked the smoke alarm and in her groggy sleep state she suddenly realised the noise was coming from the door which had been opened, she hastily shut door and used the old bolt and ran upstairs.
Mum was tidying behind the bar one morning after a family party we had the night before when she felt something or someone grab her shoulder, there was no one there.
There is a small American Indian doll high up on the bar (is still there) and one day my parents noticed I was playing with it as a toddler, they say there was no way possible that I would of been able to get that myself they said ‘how did you get that down from there? I apparently said ‘the lady gave me it!
So many to recall but these are some throughout the 46 years of my life.
Added..
Many lights started to flicker for over a month after his death touch lamps especially, also the solor lights outside the back door used to go in and off and we sat and watched them several times and spoke to dad sure that he was trying to Communicate with us. Many lights started to flicker for over a month after his death also the solor lights outside the back door used to go in and off we sat and watched them several times and spoke to dad .

We make some AMAZING food. But what about when you're lazy as fuck? Can't be bothered to eat but know you have to? Help some fellow CAs and maybe yourself.
Dump a can of (something) along with a can of (something else) and somehow it works. What are your cans?
Ramen? We all know the classics. Add an egg. Any other favorites that really get you going? I was once suggested that you add cream cheese and it makes it taste kind of like fettuccini. An old favorite of mine was to add a can of french onion soup, but then aldi stopped supplying that can. Rude. But if you can find it, it's lovely.
My most recent post here was even a trash recipe, but it looks good. 1 can of black beans, a can of corn, a can of diced tomatoes. Let these heat while setting rice in a rice cooker. Combine it all. Easy easy. Before or during or after, add jalapenos or don't! Be as lazy as you want. Rice plus black beans supposedly gets you a complete protein. This is nutritious and yummy to boot.
More recipes? If you want rice but don't have a rice cooker, put two cups of water, cover, get to boil. Add one cup of rice and shove the heat to where it barely boils (but does boil!). Stir once in that first moment. Cover and wait 12 minutes. Done. You have rice. You can test it at 11 minutes, it might take up to 15 minutes depending on your stove. But you don't need to stir at any point. You don't need to drain. Food is done. Ultimate lazy rice.
We got some other classics out there. PB&J. Yum. Peanut butter on both slices and the jelly on whichever after. This prevents the jelly from sogging the bread if you have the peanut butter on both first.
For something that people will look at you for and ask if you're broke, try spaghetti with butter and garlic. Simple, easy, absolutely delicious. You can even just use garlic powder. If people claim you're broke, don't tell them the truth of that, it's irrelevant. It's actually delicious on its own. I've loved this despite any monetary quality. Add any other spices that make you happy, but butter and garlic spaghetti doesn't fail.
These are just the ones I've learned for pure laziness. I know we can all make phenomenal recipes. You guys can cook. But when you can't be bothered, what are the defaults that you turn to?

When I pen lines, fresh thoughts of Vincent van Gogh strike me! How, with palette and brushes, he breathed life's scenes onto blank canvases long ago: coasts, countrysides, sunflowers, and ears of sheathed,
ripe, yellow corn, to then capture picturesque events, and folks, in arresting, deep shades. Rime, more grounded than Van Gogh's lofty, grotesque portraits of man's rustic dominance and prime,
yearns for the greatness of a beautiful mind, and the sublime immortality of art; with Van Gogh's troubled life, what hope I find now liberates my Pierian soul's heart!
Ironic? How a painter's life and death, can still inspire another's creative breath.
© The Bipolar Bard. All rights reserved. 12 March 2024

When I pen lines, fresh thoughts of Vincent van Gogh strike me! How, with palette and brushes, he breathed life's scenes onto blank canvases long ago: coasts, countrysides, sunflowers, and ears of sheathed,
ripe, yellow corn, to then capture picturesque events, and folks, in arresting, deep shades. Rime, more grounded than Van Gogh's lofty, grotesque portraits of man's rustic dominance and prime,
yearns for the greatness of a beautiful mind, and the sublime immortality of art; with Van Gogh's troubled life, what hope I find now liberates my Pierian soul's heart!
Ironic? How a painter's life and death, can still inspire another's creative breath.
© The Bipolar Bard. All rights reserved. 12 March 2024

When I pen lines, fresh thoughts of Vincent van Gogh strike me! How, with palette and brushes, he breathed life's scenes onto blank canvases long ago: coasts, countrysides, sunflowers, and ears of sheathed,
ripe, yellow corn, to then capture picturesque events, and folks, in arresting, deep shades. Rime, more grounded than Van Gogh's lofty, grotesque portraits of man's rustic dominance and prime,
yearns for the greatness of a beautiful mind, and the sublime immortality of art; with Van Gogh's troubled life, what hope I find now liberates my Pierian soul's heart!
Ironic? How a painter's life and death, can still inspire another's creative breath.
© The Bipolar Bard. All rights reserved. 12 March 2024

When I pen lines, fresh thoughts of Vincent van Gogh strike me! How, with palette and brushes, he breathed life's scenes onto blank canvases long ago: coasts, countrysides, sunflowers, and ears of sheathed,
ripe, yellow corn, to then capture picturesque events, and folks, in arresting, deep shades. Rime, more grounded than Van Gogh's lofty, grotesque portraits of man's rustic dominance and prime,
yearns for the greatness of a beautiful mind, and the sublime immortality of art; with Van Gogh's troubled life, what hope I find now liberates my Pierian soul's heart!
Ironic? How a painter's life and death, can still inspire another's creative breath.
© The Bipolar Bard. All rights reserved. 12 March 2024

When I pen lines, fresh thoughts of Vincent van Gogh strike me! How, with palette and brushes, he breathed life's scenes onto blank canvases long ago: coasts, countrysides, sunflowers, and ears of sheathed,
ripe, yellow corn, to then capture picturesque events, and folks, in arresting, deep shades. Rime, more grounded than Van Gogh's lofty, grotesque portraits of man's rustic dominance and prime,
yearns for the greatness of a beautiful mind, and the sublime immortality of art; with Van Gogh's troubled life, what hope I find now liberates my Pierian soul's heart!
Ironic? How a painter's life and death, can still inspire another's creative breath.
© The Bipolar Bard. All rights reserved. 12 March 2024

This passage from "The Reverse of the Medal" really stood out to me. Stephen enjoying a leisurely stroll through the English countryside on his way to Ashgrove Cottage.
For the first mile his road was a lane between high banks and hedges, with woods on the left hand and fields on the right – well-sprung wheat and hay – and the banks were starred all along with primroses, while the hedges had scores of very small cheerful talkative early birds, particularly goldfinches in their most brilliant plumage; and in the hay a corn-crake was already calling. Then when the flat land began to rise and fall this lane branched out into two paths, the one carrying on over a broad pasture – a single piece of fifty or even sixty acres with some colts in it – and the other, now little more than a trace, leading down among the trees. Stephen followed the second; it was steep going, encumbered with brambles and dead bracken on the edge of the wood and farther down with fallen branches and a dead tree or two, but near the bottom he came to a ruined keeper’s cottage standing on a grassy plat, its turf kept short by the rabbits that fled away at his approach. The cottage had lost its roof long since and it was filled tight with lilac, not yet in bloom, while nettle and elder had overwhelmed the outbuilding behind; but there was still a stone bench by the door, and Stephen sat upon it, leaning against the wall. Down here in the hollow the night had not yet yielded, and there was still a green twilight. An ancient wood: the slope was too great and the ground too broken for it ever to have been cut or tended and the trees were still part of the primaeval forest; vast shapeless oaks, often hollow and useless for timber, held out their arms and their young fresh green leaves almost to the middle of the clearing, held them out with never a tremor, for down here the air was so still that gossamer floated with no perceptible movement at all. Still and silent: although far-off blackbirds could be heard away on the edge of the wood and although the stream at the bottom murmured perpetually the combe was filled with a living silence.
On the far side, high on the bank of the stream, there was a badger’s holt. Some years ago Stephen had watched a family of fox-cubs playing there, but now it seemed to him that the badgers were back: fresh earth had been flung out, and even from the bench he could distinguish a well-trodden path. ‘Perhaps I shall see one,’ he said; and after a while his mind drifted away and away, running through a Gloria he and Jack had heard in London, a very elaborate Gloria by Frescobaldi. ‘But perhaps it is too late,’ he went on, when the Gloria was ended and the light had grown stronger, a brighter green, almost the full light of dawn. Yet scarcely were these words formed in his mind before he heard a strong rustling, sweeping bumping sound, and a beautifully striped badger came into sight on the other side of the brook, walking backwards with a load of bedding under its chin. It was an old fat badger, and it grumbled and cursed all the way. The last uphill stretch was particularly difficult, with the burden catching in hazel or thorn on either side and leaving long wisps, and just before the entrance the badger lifted its head and looked round, as though to say ‘Oh it is so bloody awkward.’ Then, having breathed, it took a fresh grip on the bundle, and with a final oath vanished backwards into the holt.
‘Why do I feel such an intense pleasure, such an intense satisfaction?’ asked Stephen. For some time he searched for a convincing reply, but finding none he observed ‘The fact is that I do.’ He sat on as the sun’s rays came slowly down through the trees, lower and lower, and when the lowest reached a branch not far above him it caught a dewdrop poised upon a leaf. The drop instantly blazed crimson, and a slight movement of his head made it show all the colours of the spectrum with extraordinary purity, from a red almost too deep to be seen through all the others to the ultimate violet and back again. Some minutes later a cock pheasant’s explosive call broke the silence and the spell and he stood up.
At the edge of the wood the blackbirds were louder still, and they had been joined by blackcaps, thrushes, larks, monotonous pigeons, and a number of birds that should never have sung at all. His way now led him through ordinary country, field after field, eventually reaching Jack’s woods, where the honey buzzards had once nested. But it was ordinary country raised to the highest power: the mounting sun shone through a faint veil with never a hint of glare, giving the colours a freshness and an intensity Stephen had never seen equalled. The green world and the gentle, pure blue sky might just have been created; and as the day warmed a hundred scents drifted through the air.
‘Returning thanks at any length is virtually impossible,’ he reflected, sitting on a stile and watching two hares at play, sitting up and fibbing at one another, then leaping and running and leaping again. ‘How few manage even five phrases with any effect. And how intolerable are most dedications too, even the best. Perhaps the endless repetition of flat, formal praise’ – for the Gloria was still running in his head – ‘is an attempt at overcoming this, an attempt at expressing gratitude by another means. I shall put this thought to Jack,’ he said, having considered for a moment. The hares raced away out of sight and he walked on, singing in a harsh undertone ‘Quoniam tu solus sanctus, tu solus Dominus, tu solus altissimus’ until a cuckoo called away on his left hand: cuckoo, cuckoo, loud and clear, followed by a cackling laugh and answered by a fainter cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo far over on the right.

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 237: A Reverie For The Soul
Words failed me.
As a princess, pitchforks symbolised the weapon of the peasantry.
They were instruments more lethal than any blade or knife in the dark. For they represented the final curtain. The ending act of my kingdom, lifted as the banner and weapon of revolt amidst a fanfare of blood and flames.
As great as the shadows cast by the lances of our enemies, none were as black a void as ordinary tools cast by a mob rallying to the cry of revolution.
That’s why–
As I watched a literal farmer bend his knees, not to reach the ground in prostration, but to leap towards me like a warrior with a trident, all I could do was tremble with horror.
It was the most gruesome of sights.
Neither a battlefield strewn with the corpses of the deceased, nor a tarte aux pommes baked without a generous layer of pecan nuts could instil in me the trepidation I felt, touching my very bones.
Indeed … to be attacked by a farmer with a pitchfork was one thing, but to be attacked by only a single one was an utter humiliation!
In all my darkest dreams, no sight of my family’s throne being emptied involved anything less than the entire populace of my kingdom’s peasantry rising against us!
And yet … all I saw before me was a single dishevelled farmer, wielding a pitchfork blunted by soil, barely fit to ward away the foxes which trespassed upon his land!
Where was the raucous shouting?
The complaints heard high into the heavens?
The frenzied bloodlust of an uncontrollable crowd?
There was no legion of witnesses to my end! No loyalists turning away in fright! No servants stealing away with the last of our ornamental cutlery!
This! This was a disgrace!
I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea … and I refused to contemplate being struck by anything less than an entire mob!
That’s why–
“Absolutely not!!”
Starlight Grace burned with righteous ire as it met a pitchfork swung to meet the side of my head.
Insults upon insults. Not only did this man deem it appropriate to attack me without a riot in the backdrop, but he didn’t even have the heart to impale me!
A lazy and slovenly swing. The very image of a farmer chewing a sprig of wheat while batting insects from the leaves. Did he not know the fate of all those who failed to murder us at the first attempt? When it came to attacking royalty, the rules were clear!
One chance only! No practice rounds!
Thus, the hazy eyes of the farmer widened against the sight of Starlight Grace’s burning light.
“How–”
He mouthed a word of surprise. But there could be no complaints. Especially as every error made was a lesson. And the mistake of offering anything half-heartedly to royalty was the greatest he’ll ever learn. Whether it was their tears or their ire, I expected to ignore nothing but the best.
Sensing his peril, the drunkard twisted his pitchfork, seeking to catch my sword within the metal prongs. I opted to strike at the feeble wooden shaft instead.
Indeed, a pitchfork was no weapon of war!
It was a farming tool. And against the ruthless edge of my sword, it could do nothing but shatter the moment my sword … hmmmmm?
I blinked.
As expected, Starlight Grace burned bright in my hand as it struck the wooden shaft.
Less expected, however, was the lack of any splintering.
Instead of two pieces of a broken pitchfork dropping to the ground, I was met by the feeling of a thousand condensed pillows where the sword had struck … followed by the sight of ripples.
The wooden shaft shook like a tiny pond barely reacting to the skimming of a falling leaf.
And then–
Tendrils of smoke began to creep from it, twisting as it clawed at my sword’s blade.
I removed Starlight Grace at once, horrified by the sight.
How … How dare this man!
Nothing was allowed to touch my sword! Not even when I stabbed it!
Paying no heed to my distaste, the side of those prongs went to make a bump upon my delicate head. A clumsy challenge matching his proficiency. Unable to envisage himself as more than the untrained farmer he was, he allowed his dawdling sweep to pass over my ducking head.
But that did not make him undangerous.
With the grace of a brick, he wrenched his pitchfork overhead before crudely bringing it down. As I hopped away to shield my hair, the pitchfork swiped down with enough vigour to send a plume of dust around us. A moment later, he was several paces away, facing me with a poise filled with caution.
No longer assuming the stance of a farmer holding a pitchfork in anger for the first time, he narrowed his cloudy eyes, doing what he could to see through the haze.
The casual disregard vanished, replaced with his knees lowered and ready, his hands clutching the shaft much like a soldier guarding with a spear.
It wasn’t enough.
After all–
This man … had clearly been utterly duped!
I was aghast.
Why, not only did he manage to allow his soul to be slowly drained by a random devil … but he didn’t even gain any power from it!
Far from being empowered by the hells themselves, he was fighting like … yes, a farmer!
Even with my lack of training, I could tell he knew as much about fighting techniques as I did!
What did he hope to do by blithely swinging his pitchfork? Accidentally whack someone who knew what they were doing into his foes?
I despaired for the lost potential. To be sucked into some bizarre inner world clearly had some novelty value … but only if he used it correctly!
Why, if he learned how to shape the corridors of the Royal Villa, it’d be positively lovely!
Not for me, of course. But for those who didn’t have access to the real thing. I was certain commoners and nobility alike would pay even for a mock experience. We would earn the income without needing to clean after their soles.
The possibilities were endless!
“The young baroness never warned me you were a swordswoman,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “In fact, from the way she spoke about you, I figured you were just a regular princess.”
“There are no such things as regular princesses. We all have our talents. Mine happens to be all of them.”
The drunkard gave a smile.
It’d lost its lazy edge, instead becoming as hard as the grip around his pitchfork. The sudden seriousness and accompanying ignorance regarding his own strength only caused me to groan inside.
“Gotta admit. Wasn’t expecting this. Amidst all my travels, I never once heard about a Contzen being skilled for anything other than vileness.”
My mouth widened at the only attack he’d successfully struck.
“H-How dare you … ! What is this slander?! Who would dare speak ill of my family?! I … I will have them deported! Regardless of which country they’re in!”
“You’ll need to deport a lot of folk, then. All the streets, bars and alleys across the continent know the wickedness of royalty. Your family is no exception, I’m afraid. It’s said the halls of your castles are paved with the tears of those who serve you, such is their misery.”
I was horrified.
That … That was clearly a lie!
Why, if I could use the tears of my servants as paving material, this entire kingdom would be fully urbanised by now! That clearly wasn’t the case!
“I ask that you not listen to the deceit of those who envy my kingdom. Indeed, you need only listen to the sounds of joy coming from those who reside in it. Although I suppose that’s difficult while flailing a pitchfork like a feather duster. Is the reason you grow crops here and not outside because you’ve forgotten how to use it?”
The man chuckled. And for a moment, it seemed that a hint of genuine amusement managed to find its way back into his voice.
“I might not use it as intended, but I use it well. That you can strike back is impressive. I’ve downed foes wreathed in flames, the likes of which would never even enter your nightmares. And most of them fell before their claws were even raised.”
Oh, I had no doubt he had.
Wielding a pitchfork as he did, I expect even fiends from the abyss were easy to dispatch while laughing on the floor.
He would not receive such joviality from me.
Indeed … I recognised him for what he was. A truly devastating foe. Perhaps not to the majority of people with functional eyes. But certainly to a princess.
I had the most to lose.
Why, to be defeated by a wayward swing of a pitchfork was the most humiliating way to go! My ghost would be shunned by my family!
No, I could afford no complacency. Especially when even victory wouldn’t come without loss.
To have it noted that a drunkard with a pitchfork counted amongst my victories was appalling. Such an entry would be the thickest blot in a page already speckled with far too many lowly foes.
… Fortunately, I was more than a beautiful princess!
I was a beautiful princess with retainers!
And this meant … I could simply have Coppelia defeat him instead!
“Ohohoho …” I stood up straight, barely covering my lips as I smiled. “Is that so? Then allow me to repay the thought. I, too, am impressed.”
“I’ll take that as a fine compliment.”
“Don’t. I wasn’t referring to your skills with a pitchfork. But by your lack of awareness.”
The drunkard blinked at me.
Then, he swiftly changed his footing, turning to glance at the barn where he’d allowed his back to turn.
Ohhohoho! Too late!
Because behind him, my loyal handmaiden was already–
“This. Is. So. Amazing!”
Yes!
She was already watching from a gap in the barn door, not at all striking the man’s unprotected back!
To my grief, Coppelia was busy shaking the shoulders of the maid beside her, whose wide eyes were either derived from my handmaiden’s excitement or from her failure to rush to my assistance.
“Isn’t this great?! Look! We get threatened and now the princess is the one to protect us! It never happens this way! Doesn’t sitting back feel amazing?”
The drunkard closely studied the two retainers squeezed in the barn doorway.
And then–
He completely turned away from them, his focus on me once more.
“O-Ohoho … oho … i-indeed, notice now the futility of your actions! Why, despite there now being two of them, none of my retinue feels the need to immediately throw themselves at you as a distrac–”
Suddenly, the drunkard threw his pitchfork.
My horror was complete.
Leaving any semblance of civility to die a swift and ignominious death, he offered no warning before sending his farming instrument towards me.
It was all I could do to judge each muddy prong with the wide eyes it deserved as the thing swept past the side of my face. There was no bump awaiting the end of that throw. Only a hole as large as the crater which promptly appeared behind me, sending a small explosion of corn and soil into the sky.
My mouth widened in disbelief.
“E-Excuse me?! What was that?! You do not attack me in the middle of my sentences! That … That is a cardinal sin!”
The drunkard paused for a moment, his body still in the completed motion of a throw.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“As … As you very well should be! I do not meticulously comb my hair in the small hours of the night while kept up by the sounds of dancing mice just so that my only joy is destroyed by a drunkard’s lack of chivalry! How dare you! That throw was clearly meant to murder me! … Do you not have orders to capture me like the princess I am?!”
“Sure I do. But you’re not a princess waiting to be captured. Least not while you’re still standing.”
The drunkard leaned over the cart beside him, before promptly retrieving his next weapon.
It was … a shovel.
“No,” I declared at once. “Absolutely no.”
He held the shovel much like he held the pitchfork–without any intention of using it to farm.
I was aghast.
Was I truly supposed to defeat a farmer with a shovel?!
“If it makes you feel better, I rate myself more with a shovel than a pitchfork.”
“Wonderful. Then I suggest you impress me by digging an exit. That is a farming tool, not a weapon. I expressly forbid you from throwing it, utilising it as a spear or otherwise adopting it for any purpose other than its intended function.”
The man offered a shrug.
“You asked for it.”
He slightly raised the shovel … before striking it into the soil.
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then–
Crack.
A fracture appeared in the shape of a lightning bolt.
It lasted just as long.
Crraaaaaaccccccck.
All of a sudden, the very ground broke.
A groan filled the stale air. The weeping of a broken soul as a thin layer of dirt and weeds abruptly gave way to swaths of endless void where neither light nor warmth could reach … including beneath the feet of a stunned princess.
A chasm began to open like a leviathan’s maw to swallow me whole.
Why … I was delighted!
So this man could alter his little dream world, after all!
How wonderful!
This alone increased his worth significantly over every other farmer to have inadvertently signed away his soul to an infernal contract!
If he could split the ground asunder, then I saw no reason why he couldn’t also remove all of it as well!
Naturally, interior redecoration was never a fast process. Especially so given that the ground was only parting at the pace of two divorcing snails. But I was patient … and so was everyone who would shortly be visiting a purpose designed version of the Royal Villa where no matter where the dignitaries vomited, the carpets would always remain clean!
Indeed, there was much to consider. Ticket prices being one of them. But also skipping away from the hole opening up beneath me.
“Apologies for this,” said the drunkard as he leaped towards me, shovel outstretched. “But trust me, this will hurt me more than–”
“[Spring Breeze].”
Poomph.
Faced with the man’s nauseous breath, I sent a delicate puff of wind directly into his face, propelling both him and myself away. A moment later, I ended up skipping as my feet landed amidst the waist-high corn, performing a perfect hopscotch as I came to a stop.
Somewhere, I heard the sound of applause.
Just as pertinently, I heard the gasping of a drunkard who’d experienced the odour of his own breath sent back towards him. He’d landed far less neatly. Sitting up from the ground, he wore an expression of shock as he peered over the chasm which had failed to consume me.
He gingerly touched his stubble. And then he gulped.
“You … You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” he said, his disbelief carrying clearly over the gap. “That technique … everything, everything should be limited here …”
I gave a flick of my hair, indulging in the cheering of my watching retainers. Yes, even if it was just Coppelia. I hoped Renise was learning.
“Hm? And why is that, exactly?”
“Girl … this is my soul. You should have no power here. My [Soulscape] does more than empower me. It enfeebles all who I draw into it. This … This isn’t right.”
In response, I offered the most cursory of smiles.
“Oh? … Is that what you think?”
“What?”
“What meaning does your soul have to me? It doesn’t matter how deep into the depths of your, frankly, subpar quasi-plane of existence you invite me. Nor does it matter how high you cloud its edges. I still sense my kingdom all around me, just as I do a countryside farmstead overtaken by a baroness soon to repair it with her own hands. And here in my kingdom, I do not recognise any jurisdiction other than my own. My authority is absolute.”
The man blinked at me, as though wishing the haze away.
He could have been wearing a blindfold. I had little doubt he could see the natural radiance from my silhouette as clearly as I could the beads of sweat rolling past his brow.
Slowly, the man rose to his feet.
The shovel he left alone, discarded by his side. And then he did something I could not have expected.
“Heh …”
He laughed.
“Hah … hahah …”
A hollow laugh devoid of feeling. Like something expelled by instinct. A spasming of the diaphragm.
But a laugh nonetheless.
“My instincts were right,” he said, his lazy smile returning with abandon. “You … You’re dangerous. You might just be able to defeat me. Even here.”
Suddenly, he took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. The wrinkles on his forehead quivered with the force of putting his mind to work on something while hindered by a cloud of drunkenness.
A moment later–
Fwoooof.
He decided to meet my earlier request.
Breaking out into a heavy sweat, he raised his palms as a … yes, an ominous dark orb of ultimate power appeared between them, burning darker than a thousand blackened hearthfires squeezed together.
“Not wholly sure if this is right,” he said, his eyes wincing even as he opened them again. “But just for you, I’ll do this. May as well take this seriously. A big part of me hopes you defeat me. But I don’t think you can, even if you struck me with that sword again and again. Whatever you might think, this is more than my soul. This is my battlefield. And only I choose when I fall.”
I blinked.
The orb shuddered as it grew, licking its surroundings with lashes of undiluted power.
Despite its black colouring, it was the most beautiful thing here. A spot of imagination in a world of faded bleakness.
And so–I nodded in satisfaction.
Naturally, I doubted its effects. I trusted more in the lethality of his farming tools than whatever he thought advanced magic was. But that didn’t matter.
After all, to outside appearances, it seemed very much like a spawn of destruction in his hands.
And that … was wonderful!
A drunkard with a pitchfork/shovel?
Beneath me.
But laughter followed by suspect orbs of doom?
Why, that was a megalomaniac at the height of his power!
Indeed … I could work with that!
My smile blossomed on my face. The only source of colour amidst a backdrop of monochrome memories.
But that could be changed.
“A shame you’ve prepared a truly dull battlefield, then,” I said, lifting Starlight Grace … but not towards my invigorated foe. “Let us amend that, shall we?”
“What?”
I offered an angelic smile.
And then I peered around myself. At a canvas without an easel. Most would deem it unsalvageable.
But most were not me.
Thus … I flicked at a nearby leaf with the tip of my sword.
It twisted. A swirl of watercolour which sought to return to its dull shape. I didn’t allow it.
Instead, I flicked at it again.
And again. And again. And again.
“Your soul may be wounded,” I said, idly taking a few steps into the field. “But no more than mine at the sight of such amateurism. So rejoice. I shall reward your first steps into the world of creativity with a reference to take with you long into the future.”
A moment later, I allowed my sword to sweep around me … just as I would if I were in the corner of my atelier, surrounded by a dozen palettes and a thousand more possibilities.
And then–
I began to paint.
“May you use it in your days of bleakness, when inspiration is as dry as the schemes of my kingdom’s nobility. By the palette's grace, let shadows and light be cast into permanence. Painting Form, 5th Stance … [Revision Reverie]!”
My arm brushed aside entire swathes of colours.
I pirouetted upon my heels, the sword in my hand twirling as much like a brush in my hand as it was a baton held by a conductor.
All the colours followed like ribbons in my wake, forming a palette in every direction.
A shade of leafy green here. A blot of barren soil there. A touch of a pale sky hanging overhead.
And then–
I swept around … and around … and around …
Trails of different shades merged as I spun, dancing from spot to spot as I directed the colours to my heart’s desire … until the very landscape of a broken soul began to change.
“Ohhohohhhohoohoohohohooohoho!!”
Here it was!
Nurtured through Father’s insufferability when he refused to burn or throw away all my works I deemed below standard, here were the results of my labour!
[Revision Reverie]!
The ability to repair any work, no matter how much I wished to do otherwise!
For when the alternative was to have a bad piece forever kept upon the walls to be ruthlessly judged, to make it serviceable before the eyes of high society was a matter of life and death!
A field of faded colours and lack of detail?
Pedestrian.
Because if I could fix a wobbly chin … then I could fix anything!
“Ohhohohohoohohohooohohohhhoohohohohohoho!!”
Thus–I went to work!
Shrubs rose from the dull grass, teeming with matched couplets of yellow lilies and white gardenias!
Barren soil lifted to become the warming trunks of deciduous trees!
Dashes of pale colour flourished to become a spring blue dotted with clouds as fluffy as the coats of jumping lambs!
I danced without pause, willing the entire world to change around me, until what was an endless expanse of lifeless crops became a garden filled with movement, and a uniform backdrop of faded colours became sharp and distinct, brimming with motion and vigour.
But I didn’t stop there.
With a smile in search of perfection, I gracefully skipped towards the barn, life and song trailing behind me as nightingales in my wake.
And there, I used its red to its fullest.
Peonies growing as bouquets amidst the fresh grass.
Ladybugs fluttering against snow white petals.
Red currants dotting the hedges.
And … the pièce de résistance …
Apples for the trees!
I took in a deep breath as I finally ceased, the last swirl of paint dribbling into a bundle of carnations.
And then–I nodded.
It wasn’t my orchard, of course. But it was certainly a garden. And by my design was grander than any which could be found under the sun, real or otherwise.
“Ah … ah … ahhh …”
I turned around.
There, fallen upon the ground, was a drunkard on his knees.
The haze had cleared from his eyes.
Suddenly, they were bright and blue, boasting memories as vivid as the garden now blooming around him. Gone were the lines of self-reproach on his face. The dirt caked into his skin fell as tears washed them away, and what remained was a man in the prime of his life.
Not a single blemish could be seen.
“Ohohohoho … welcome to my garden,” I said, gesturing as I spun around, my bright smile the light to lift the colours even more anew. “Would you like a brief tour?”
The man looked up at me.
And then he blinked, his eyes taking me in for the very first time.
“That’s … fine … I think … I think I can see everything … from here …”
He let out a youthful smile, devoid of the mistakes of the past.
The next moment–
A white light filled my eyes.
Even then, the apples from the trees continued to brightly shine … all the way until they were replaced by a sweeter sight instead.
A baroness peering at me in utter shock, sitting across from me at a tea table.
“Aahhahahahhahahahaaahhahahahahahaaaha~”
And also Coppelia rolling on the hard, muddy ground in raucous laughter, smacking the ground as she did so.
Yes, that I could do without.
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Summer Sublease Available! (anytime from June 17 - August 24)
Hi everyone! My roommate and I both go to UCLA are looking for 1 to 2 people interested in subletting our spots in a 2bd/2bath at the luxury 540 Midvale Apartments, which are just ~10 minutes from both UCLA and Westwood! (you would be living with two female UCLA undergrads who would be in the other room)
Total rent is around $1300 per month, including all amenities (electricity + gas, water, sewage, wifi, etc. are all included!). Our room is the master bedroom, so it comes with its own connected bath and a large floor-to-ceiling closet (with 2 separated sections for 2 people)!
The apartment comes with:

• a four-burner gas stove, lots of pantry space, AC + heating easily controlled with a NEST Thermostat, ceiling fans, dishwasher, oven, refrigerator, microwave, and a balcony.

The apartment would also be fully furnished with a toaster, air fryer, blender, floor lamp, a desk chair, a twin-sized bed + mattress, a large sofa, bar stools, and a shoe rack all in pristine condition!
The gated apartment complex also allows residents full access to its:

• Resort-Style swimming pool and spa (+ rooftop jacuzzi!)
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• BBQ/ Picnic Area

Here's a video tour of our exact unit and at the 0:20 timestamp you can see our room specifically!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6YUSNfTkwQI
Please message me on here if you are interested or would like more details! I’d be more than happy to answer any questions and even give an in-person tour

Summer Sublease Available! (anytime from June 17 - August 24)
Hi everyone! My roommate and I both go to UCLA are looking for 1 to 2 people interested in subletting our spots in a 2bd/2bath at the luxury 540 Midvale Apartments, which are just ~10 minutes from both UCLA and Westwood! (you would be living with two female UCLA undergrads who would be in the other room)
Total rent is around $1300 per month, including all amenities (electricity + gas, water, sewage, wifi, etc. are all included!). Our room is the master bedroom, so it comes with its own connected bath and a large floor-to-ceiling closet (with 2 separated sections for 2 people)!
The apartment comes with:

• a four-burner gas stove, lots of pantry space, AC + heating easily controlled with a NEST Thermostat, ceiling fans, dishwasher, oven, refrigerator, microwave, and a balcony.

The apartment would also be fully furnished with a toaster, air fryer, blender, floor lamp, a desk chair, a twin-sized bed + mattress, a large sofa, bar stools, and a shoe rack all in pristine condition!
The gated apartment complex also allows residents full access to its:

• Resort-Style swimming pool and spa (+ rooftop jacuzzi!)
• 24-Hour Fitness Center
• 24-Hour Laundry Rooms
• Study Lounges
• Amazon/Package Lockers
• BBQ/ Picnic Area

Here's a video tour of our exact unit and at the 0:20 timestamp you can see our room specifically!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6YUSNfTkwQI
Please message me on here if you are interested or would like more details! I’d be more than happy to answer any questions and even give an in-person tour