All Angels From Heaven Above - Chapter 1

All Angels from Heaven Above - Chapter 1

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

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The walls of Lethe Academy carried its ghosts the same way blood stained the walls of Jerusalem: just because it was impossible to see them, it didn’t mean they weren’t there. But, just like any dark past, they’d always come back to haunt innocent generations, which were ignorant of the crimes committed before their existence in the world. 

So, when all the papers in the city of Agraés published that Death had visited the Academy, none of their elders were surprised; but the young ones, anxious to hold the world in their hands and naively believing apt to do such inconceivable feat, watched it all with attentive and morbid curiosity, very little moved by the death of one of them.

Not that it mattered now that she was already dead, though Adra Anoixi while walking through the dark wooden floor of the store, her steps producing a hollow sound on the floor while her black dress rustled against the surface. She faced the three girls, as dazzling as goddesses, who waited for her in front of the counter, facing the entry. All of them wore the most expensive dresses money could buy and had their hair done in a way Adra would never use on a day-to-day basis.

Or to a funeral, like the one they were going to.

“Here it is,” she gave them the incense as it was asked.

The girls looked at Adra for a second longer than necessary before one of them — the taller one, with black dark skin — took the incense from her hand with a last look of contempt. 

Without any more words or thanks, they left the store, imperious as just demons could be, leaving her payment on the counter to not have to touch her. Adra looked to the ceiling with an impatient sigh.

“I should’ve given them the fake incense” she murmured to herself, remembering the terrible smell of that specific product. “It’d be deserved if they whisk away everyone with that stink.

But since the death at the Academy, the sales were low. The city hadn’t been receiving as many travelers as it used to every week and that was worrisome: if the tourists started to avoid the city because of superstition, a lot of stores would be forced to close.

If Witches & Daughters were one of them, that would break her mother’s heart. And that wasn’t acceptable, not when the store was a gift from her father, Kia’s only love.

Despite the lack of humans visiting Witches & Daughters, demons were interested enough in her to buy some cheap trinkets that humans made the mistake of thinking were magic. If they did it for mockery or because they believed the same as humans, it didn’t matter to her. What did matter was that the store would survive another month's savings from debts and debt collectors.

Many hours passed until the bell above the door rang again with the presence of other people in the dusty store, full of dried herbs, crystals, and other natural products. Happy to have something to do, Adra got up from the small chair behind the counter and raised her eyes to her new client.

The man in front of her wasn’t older than Adra herself and watched her with his black eyes full of glow — like a star —, there was a silver earring in his right ear and his brownish lips were curved in an arrogant smile. A demon, but not any demon: Adra could feel his power making her shiver, even two meters away from him. 

Powerful and handsome as Death: that was a dangerous combination, especially when talking about a fallen angel.

Adra was immediately suspicious and curious, and that made her frown: it wasn’t common for such a powerful demon to enter her store and Adra didn’t like what it could mean.

“It was way too easy to find you, miss Anoixi,” he said, his voice calm as a breeze.

Every single one of Adra’s instincts were alert at his words, the coldness in his expression. Carefully, she slipped her hand to the slit of her dress, just below the carpet, feeling the dagger’s hilt her father had given her.

“I wasn’t hiding,” Adra said, raising her chin proudly. “So, I’d imagine that finding me wouldn’t be a problem.”

She was, after all, one of the best witches in Agráes and people would look for her often, but never a powerful demon like that one in front of her. The shadows whispered to Adra as if feeling her uneasy with the demon’s power, even though he didn’t seem menacing.

“How can I help you?” Adra asked then, her voice professional, but the warning in them was unmistakable.

She didn’t think he’d do something bad, but being alert near demons was already an instinct for a long time now, especially those ridiculously handsome.

Her words made the corner of his lips tremble up as if he was finding all that quite funny for reasons Adra could only imagine, his dark eyes shining mysteriously.

Adra didn’t smile back, even though the amusement was taunting the corner of her own lips too.

The demon wore a dark gray overcoat, black social pants, shirt, and shoes — Lethe Academy’s uniform, she easily recognized. He walked to the counter, watching Adra carefully before saying anything else.

She didn’t move, uneasy under his scrutiny, but didn’t recoil from the slow and interested eyes of the demon, choosing to hold the dagger tighter instead, just in case. Finally, he smiled, still politely, and said:

"I am looking for you, Adra."

She didn’t ask how he knew her name. Most demons knew her because of her father, as was expected, but the fact that he had that little bit of advantage over her bothered Adra.

Despite her grip on the hidden dagger, Adra trusted that the demon wouldn’t dare to attack her. She knew that, in a power match, she couldn’t defeat him, but demons knew witches didn’t fight with their powers only. So Adra just arched an eyebrow while calmly asking:

“And what do you want?”

“Damian Kolasi” the demon introduced himself and held out his hand. Adra looked at it for a couple of seconds before shaking it.

Fortunately, her free hand got to keep holding the dagger.

“And do you know how to answer a direct question, Damian Kolasi?” Adra asked slowly.

The man laughed lowly and Adra was forced to suppress a shiver so he couldn’t notice the impact he had on her. The demon, however, looked at her like he knew exactly his effect.

“I want to make a deal with you.”

Absently, he walked away from her, examining the store. Damian gripped and shook a jar full of eyes. All of them false, of course — the eyes. Despite the gossip going around between the humans, no witch had the need to use anything but their own minds to yield their powers.

Adra watched him, expressionless, while he roamed through the place, picking up random products and crouching down to get a look at what interested him. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was disappointed. That demon looked dangerous enough to be interesting, but it looked like Adra was wrong.

“Any witch with common sense knows she shouldn’t make deals with demons, mister Kolasi,” she said, her voice stable and unperturbed. “So, your answer is no.”

“I don’t want... favors, Adra,” said Damian, and there was an edge of tension in his voice, something dark and gloomy that made Adra shiver. “I want you to join Lethe Academy as a student. The first witch student. I think you heard that there’s a place available.”

A rude way of saying that one of the students died, no doubt. Adra raised an eyebrow to him, but the demon just crouched to analyze the crow’s feathers in one of the lower shelves, without realizing his own lack of empathy.

Meanwhile, Adra’s mind was like a scorching cauldron about to overflow. The Lethe Academy had never had a witch among its students, since all the vacancies were destined to legitimate children of demons. 

As she was possibly the only witch who was the legit daughter of a demon, maybe she could enter, but it would have consequences for her father, so Adra never asked this of him, even when her fascination for the school was evident every time she got near it.

The fact that that unknown demon had entered her store and simply handed her oldest dream to Adra could only be some fucked up kind of prank.

“What do you want in return?” she asked this time, knowing very well how tricky the words of a demon could be. 

Damian smiled at her as if pleased with her question and got up from where he had crouched to look at the crow’s feathers, walking towards her again.

“I knew you’d be more intelligent than your friends,” he said and Adra rolled her eyes.

She filled in the information that Damian had already spoken to other witched about that ridiculous idea, however. It’d be useful to ask about that to her coven later. For now, she had to deal with a demon.

“Answer my question.”

“I already told you,” he said quietly, trying to judge her skills in detecting his bullshit. “I want to help you to become the first witch student in Lethe Academy.”

“I heard you the first time,” Adra said, raising her chin. “But I want to know why you want me at the Academy. I’m not stupid enough to think it doesn’t come with a price.”

“You’re the first witch I found that thought about indulging me,” Damian said with a satisfied smile.

“That’s because no other witch is interested in going to that place,” she said in an explanation tone of voice, but impatient nonetheless: “Far too many demons.”

“You don’t like us, do you?” he didn’t expect an answer so Adra didn’t give him one. The hate between their species was obvious and had good motives to exist, and yet, there he was, searching for a witch to help him in whatever it was he wanted help with. Even so, it was intriguing and Adra couldn’t deny to herself the shadow of curiosity present at the back of her mind. Damian analyzed her again and clicked his tongue. “I wonder what’s different about you.”

That was a dangerous question and the way he tilted his head to the side, looking at her, intrigued, was even more so.

“What do you want in exchange for the available place?” Adra asked again, tired of walking in circles with that annoying man.

“I need a witch to do a job for me,” said the demon with a dangerous smile forming on his face while his dark eyes made Adra want to recoil because of their intensity. She stood stubbornly still. “You see, I have a hunch about the murder of my... colleague.”

“You don’t know if it was murder,” Adra said, frowning.

All the papers had said was that the cause of death was a mystery and no one could say for certain if it was murder, suicide, or just an accident. No other detail. It was that, among other things, that made people so nervous about that situation.

“Oh, but I know,” he said, walking toward her again with that damned smile on his face. 

Adra had her dagger in his neck before Damian Kolasi could lean over the counter and the demon froze. She would rather go to prison for his murder than allow him to do something to her, thought Adra, alert to his every move.

Instead of being annoyed, however, Damian Kolasi laughed, looking even more amused by Adra. He looked at her like a cat would at a bird whose efforts to escape its claws were useless, even when she was the one holding the blade.

“Oh, you really are sweet, aren’t you?” he asked as if there was not a dagger about to slit his throat.

“I wouldn’t say that about someone who could kill me,” she said and he smiled, gloomy.

Adra frowned, allowing Damian Kolasi to lean over to her a bit, leveling their eyes, his face near enough that she could see the cracks of his lips.

“You’re so dangerous, candy” he smiled as the sweetest of the poisons when he said that as if he was satisfied with that. “Anyway, there is no motive for violence, I’m not going to attack you.”

Adra didn’t lower her dagger. She knew better than to trust a demon.

“How can you know that was a murder?”

He looked at her, incredulous.

“Do you really think that a completely healthy, right-handed young adult would stab herself in the ribs with her left hand, even in an accident?” Asked Damian as if Adra was stupid and she hissed at him, her shadows gathering around her, reacting to her feelings before she could control them. 

Damian’s black eyes followed that power, showing a little bit of preoccupation for the very first time.

And admiration.

Adra frowned — it was the first time a demon that wasn’t her dad looked like he was awed by what she could do. The shadows retreated, reacting with confusion to Adra’s control and shock. No one had seen her power without fearing it, not even other witches, because unlike them, Adra controlled them as easily as she breathed.

“And how do you know all that?” she asked.

“Oh, I found the body,” he said as if it wasn’t a big thing while shaking his hand to dismiss further explanations. “Criminalistics classes did the rest.”

Adra’s grip on the dagger relaxed a bit. Lethe Academy for Demonic Arts trull offered criminalistics classes, just like anatomy and necromancy lessons, each one depending on the year one was. It made sense that, if Damian Kolasi had found the body, he’d know all that. It would also make sense, however, if he was the murderer.

“And why, exactly, do you want me to enter in the place of your colleague?” she asked again, watching while the smile crept back to Damian’s perfect face.

“I have a hunch.”

“A hunch,” she repeated.

“I think the murderer at Lethe Academy is just at the beginning and you’re the only one that can help me to catch them, candy,” said Damian.

With a quick move, he took Adra’s dagger from her, twisting her wrist slightly before nailing the blade to the wood of the counter with a yellowish paper and backing away from her, smiling before pulling the doorknob.

“Meet me at this address in a week at six pm if you want to know more about it, Adra Anoixi. I’ll be waiting.”

Damian Kolasi laughed when Adra threw the dagger at him, missing by a few centimeters before he closed the door behind him.

She watched as he walked away through the street as if he had just had a nice afternoon tea, incredulous with the nerve of him. Then she circled the counter to catch her dagger from the doorframe.

When she turned, a simple letter had appeared at the side of Damian Kolasi’s address. Adra groaned when she recognized the letter’s handwriting.

Go to Chapter 2

To Decadent Poets - Chapter 6

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

The man, the beast and the insect, at its shadow Live, away from hunger and fatigue: In its branches take shelter the ditties And the loves of the mockingbird. — Olavo Bilac, Old Trees

Although he was used to a comfortable life, Chris wasn’t prepared for Taigh Hill: that wasn’t any mansion, it was a manor. Just the entry hall could encapsulate his entire house with space to spare, and he didn’t even talk about the decoration.

If anyone told Chris a king had lived there, he wouldn’t hesitate to believe it. The stairs to the second and third floors, which began across the hall, formed the shape of a tree, splitting into branches to reach each side of the two floors up. In the middle of the first store, a huge tapestry that had a story sewn into it was laid on the wall above a fireplace.

The housekeeper, however, didn’t allow any of them to take in their initial surprise, walking towards the stairs as if the place was nothing at all. For her, who took care of the place every day and all day long, it might not be, but fuck, Chris thought while the three of them jogged side by side to keep up with the rigid woman while still trying to take in everything, wishing they had a thousand eyes just so they could see it all.

There was a huge chandelier hanging from the high ceiling of the entry hall and the sounds spread, sounded, echoed throughout the place, especially because Miss Turner couldn’t stop talking, the echoes heightening the annoying tone of her voice. Chris was an inch away from telling her off when the echoes faded away and they entered a closeted corridor.

“You mustn’t make much noise because Mister Elliott’s wife has regular migraines and, if you do make noise, you’ll go to bed without dinner,” said Miss Turner severely without turning, as if she was sure she’d be heard, it didn’t matter by who. Chris considered some old people really sounded like that, shrugging to his thoughts while exchanging an exasperated look with Oliver. The boy smirked a bit, sarcastic, just like Chris had seen a couple of times during their trip together. “Oh, and I was warned that Mister Elliott’s eldest, Miss Ellen, doesn’t want you going inside her saloon. I ask that you respect it.”

“She has a saloon?” Chris asked the only one of the three there who seemed akin to breaking a couple of rules. Of course, he was the only one who could question them: he was somewhat akin to family, after all.

“Yes, she has, Mister Evans,” said the housekeeper, turning a bit, her voice polite. “It was a request from Miss Ellen herself to her father and uncle she matured.”

Although Chris thought the idea of giving a saloon to a nineteen-year-old girl was ridiculous, he didn’t say anything, shrinking back to the horizontal line, which was formed by him, Oliver, and Noah Kurtz, not realizing his shoulder brushing the second’s for a moment.

When Noah seemed to shrink, however, Chris looked at him. The boy, however, didn’t look back, making it clear as day he had no interest in speaking with Chris. The boy, for once, just shrugged internally and stopped so as not to bum pinto Miss Turner. She, on the other hand, had stopped in front of the fourth door to the right in the corridor.

“Your room is here. Mister Elijah wanted to put you in separate rooms but Mister Elliott thought it’d be best if you were sleeping in the same room so you could socialize and not being stuck in your own worlds.”

The woman obviously respected the two men she was speaking about and that made Chris feel a little less apprehensive about the godfather he never met and his family. If their employees liked them, that was enough to say they were likable enough. The housekeeper let them pass by her and scan the room while she kept speaking:

“Dinner will be ready at six pm and I’ll come get you when the time has come for you to go downstair today. For now, I’d suggest you use your time correctly and unpack or go explore the garden before it’s dark. And don’t forget to be quiet around the library!”

“Why do we have to...” but Chris didn’t have the chance to make his question, once the housekeeper closed the door behind her as she left before he could speak. The red-haired boy frowned, then whistled. “Is it me, or she doesn’t seem to like us very much?”

He was left to laugh alone and, when he turned to know the reason why at least Oliver didn’t comment, he found the boy turned to the bed he’d chosen, the one nearest the window. Meanwhile, Noah put his bag on the bed nearest to the door, leaving Chris with the bed by the wall. Even weirded out by the silence, Chris resigned himself to unpacking just like Miss Turner had suggested.

The beds in the room he’d share with the Other two boys could accommodate him and the others, plus at least more nine people put side by side. Chris didn’t doubt they could sleep the three of them in the same one with space to spare. It seemed the bed of a king, just like everything about that manor seemed to reek of royalty. There were even curtains on the beds: they were golden, just like the sheets and the blankets.

Chris wanted to say something to break the ice he felt around the two boys behind him but, before he could think of something, Noah left the room leaving his suitcase on the bed without unpacking it or saying anything.

“Kinda rude,” Chris commented quietly, raising an eyebrow at Oliver, who was still in the same position, silent as a crypt. Weirded out by this behavior, Chris went to his friend, brushing his shoulder gently with his own. “Hey, is there a problem? You can talk to me if you want.”

“It’s nothing, it’s just…” Oliver said, no doubt trying to lie because it was obvious there was something wrong. The boy sighed mourningfully, and said: “I miss my dad.”

There was more about it Oliver wasn’t telling him but Chris didn’t pressure him for more information. He couldn’t forget that, as much as it didn’t seem like it, he had met the other boy just some hours ago and there were limits Chris didn’t really know whether he could cross or not.

Therefore, all he did was sigh while sitting in his bed and smiled at his joined hands and separated knees.

“I also miss my mom.” Chris scrunched his nose at the reminder of Maxwell but didn’t say anything out loud. Instead, Chris talked about Jane and how amazing she was. Oliver looked over at him for the moment Chris began to describe his mother, his blank eyes making him look more German than ever but the boy still took a seat by his side, listening silently: “My mom loves to paint. She’s great and has always dreamed of being a painter but she gave up this dream when she married my dad, considering my grandpa wanted her to stay home to take care of me. My dad… I’ve never seen him agreeing with my grandpa but he also doesn’t disagree with him. My mom has the prettiest, softest hair I’ve ever seen and she smells like rosemary.”

Chris closed his eyes to imagine Jeane by his side, smiling at him the way just a mother could do. Looking at him the same way she smiled when Chris was younger and his biggest worry was whether or not she had made ginger biscuits.

Oliver stayed quiet for a long time after that, allowing Chris to recover from the onslaught of feelings after he talked about Jeane. He gulped, swallowing down the tears.

“My mother’s name was Liora,” the blond boy said in a murmur, so low it seemed like a whisper, his eyes staring at something Chris couldn’t see. Then, hesitating, as if he feared Chris was going to start yelling at him or something, Oliver added: “She was taken by the Führer before we left Germany.”

Chris knew “Führer” was a word they used to refer to Hitler. So the magnitude of it all hit him like a punch, comprehension making his heart beat painfully, cutting his airways. He couldn’t help but look at Oliver with pity, although he knew that was certainly not the desired reaction. It was just that Chris couldn’t help it: it was like Oliver’s pain had spread to him, because, after all, wasn’t it his own as well in a certain way?

All of those crimes committed against the Jews, the black people, Romanis, different peoples… wasn’t it his pain as well? They were humans. They were people, they could’ve been people he passed by on his way to school, they could be his professor, his friend’s parents, and relatives, they could’ve been his relatives. It could’ve been him.

Chris saw the pain as his duty. He had to feel the pain for all of the families destroyed by Hitler and by the war that was happening. He had to feel pain because it was the least, he could do if it really mattered for him.

But Chris didn’t say any of that. He didn’t ramble about how concentration camps or did a monologue stating the obvious — all human beings should be respected. No, Oliver knew all of that, he didn’t need anyone to talk his ear off about it. He needed to be heard, or his privacy respected, whichever he preferred.

“Do you want to talk about her?” Chris asked then, as delicately as he could even though he could still feel his disgust for Hitler leaving his tongue heavy and sticky, making it hard to swallow.

In his nape, there was a shiver being born. Oliver kept silent for longer this time; his lips half-open in almost words.

“No,” he finally exhaled, getting more comfortable in Chris’ bed, his back straight. “I was just worried because it’s my first time away from my dad since they took her and I don’t want him to… spiral because of it again.”

The worry in Oliver’s tone was palpable and, for a moment, Chris felt a bit envious about his relationship with his dad. He wanted Max to care enough about him and Jeane to actually mourn if something happened to them. He wanted his father to care.

Admitting that even to himself was like a Punch to his stomach. Chris knew trying not to care would be useless someday but until then, making these mistakes wouldn’t be allowed. He shouldn’t have to beg to have his Father in his life, he shouldn’t have to beg for anyone’s love. Love was something to be freely given, selflessly and happily given. Love was something to be offered, not something to be stolen.

After all, that was the reason why Chris thought it was ridiculous when one of his friends said he’d stolen a girl’s heart. It was ridiculous because they really thought that trying and trying and trying the same way everytime would give them a different outcome. If a girl wasn’t interested in giving him a chance, Chris just moved on to the next girl to interest him: it wasn’t so hard to hear a no after you got used to it.

Anyhow, he was digressing, Chris realized when Oliver shook his hand in front of his face, catching his attention back.

“Did I daydream for a bit?” Chris asked, embarrassed, and Oliver chuckled.

“For quite some time, actually,” he just said.

“I’m sorry”, said Chris with a sigh, turning in the bed to look straight at his friend. “I didn’t know what to say and ended up thinking about my own dad.”

“It’s okay, I can’t expect people to know what to say to something like that.” Oliver smiled, clearly embarrassed and a bit worried. “What did you think of Miss Turner?”

“I think she looks like a Woman from the last century, but who knows? She could surprise us.” Chris answered and shrugged as he laid on the bed, supporting his head with his fingers crossed under it, looking at the ceiling.

“She seems a bit nicer than those women.” Oliver also shrugged but didn’t lay down: he preferred to stay seated on the soft mattress. “What about the other boy... Noah?”

“He’s... quiet.” Chris shrugged again. “I still don’t know what to think of him, actually. I didn’t have the time to get to know him.”

Oliver made no comments, nor did he disagree about anything in regards to Noah. The two boys stayed quiet for a while, the silence of people that had nothing to talk about. So, to break the ice, or maybe to get some alone time, Oliver got up and said:

“I should write to my dad and tell him we arrived and it all went well. I promised him I would.

“Hm, I need to write to my mom as well, although I didn’t promise anything,” Chris said, closing his eyes as the Journey began to take a toll on him. He could feel his body getting heavier and his mind slower. — I’ll just sleep for a bit. Wake me up in an hour, please.

He didn’t even hear Oliver’s agreement before he was out.

Chapter 7 - Coming Soon...

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Do you know what breaks my heart?

Knowing that Odysseus probably still feels so guilty he can barely breathe, he's just suppressing it and filling the void with Penelope.

That's why she's finally showing up more plainly in this second part because Odysseus needs to believe that something will be worth all the guilt and all the suffering and that something is Penelope.

That's why she sings that she "will take the suffering" from him, because that's his hope, that's what he needs to believe because otherwise, it was all in vain.

And you know what's even worse?

Even if he does reach Ithaca, and even if he does have his "happy ending" (which I have no idea if it'll happen because I never read The Odyssey but I know enough about Greek Mythology and tragedies that I don't think so), it'll not be happy.

It'll be so bittersweet it makes my heart ache in ways I can't even bear.

I imagine Odysseus will never be able to swim with Telemachus and Penelope again, even if it's just a river, because he'd not know to differentiate between siren Penelope and real Penelope then.

I imagine he will never be able to look at his sister the same knowing that he caused her husband's death and so will she.

I imagine he will have to face his other men, who will know (or so Odysseus will think) that he sacrificed several of them to be there again.

I imagine he will have to discover all over again how to be a father to teenager Telemachus who doesn't even remember what is like to have a father, let alone see Odysseus as one.

I imagine if he will ever sleep in peace again, fearing that the gods will find him there once and for all.

I'm not crying, you are!

My TikTok has decided against my will that I'm a young American voter and can't stop sending me Kamala Harris election propaganda...

I need to go back to communist/socialist TikTok ASAP

Because if I don't I might start sharing my opinions on the lib feminism and weaponized racial identification to masquerade genocidal agendas and I'm too lazy to deal with the backlash even if I do have a small account

To Decadent Poets - Chapter 5

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

Once upon a time, there was a girl no one called for. No one uttered her name. (She didn’t have one) - Isabela Penov, The Impossible Lullaby.

Annie Wood was filled with expectation to meet the boys who’d be her company in Taigh Hill during the years of war but none of them seemed comfortable enough to start a conversation. Despite the terrible situation, she couldn’t say she hadn’t been expecting anxiously for the arrival of her uncle’s godson and the children of his two closest employees.

She was tired of walking around Taigh Hill alone like a too-colorful ghost haunting the sunny mansion, considering her sister, Ellen, seemed to be too busy with the clothes and jewelry she could lend from her mother to go to the city balls — and with her fiancée, of course.

Even Annie’s mother was more worried about the balls than her own youngest daughter, so Annie spent her days passing from one adult to the other. Sometimes she’d stay with her uncle Elijah in his office or the library but it wasn’t healthy for a teenager to be always inside the house, so it wasn’t rare that he ended up making her get out. Other times her father could spare some time with her but those were rare and, therefore, very loved also.

She didn’t think there was a human being she liked more than her dad.

Jamie Turner, however, was a close second. When he wasn’t working as a butler in Taigh Hill, he usually distracted Annie with his magic tricks and taught her to play poker (under the condition that she’d never bet, of course). But his obligations to the huge mansion usually didn’t allow Jamie to elongate those moments.

So, anyone could imagine how much Annie was excited to have some company her age to shake things up a bit. However, the boys didn’t seem at all comfortable and two of them didn’t even seem to be trustworthy.

She liked Noah and his shy, and calm manners. It didn’t take long for him to grab a book from the suitcase he’d brought, burying his face in it through the rest of the journey. Judging by the cover, Annie could see it was a book of poems and she got curious, just like the other two boys, Oliver and Christian.

She noticed when Evans poked Krause, pointing at Noah reading, and they exchanged a look like they were laughing at the fact the boy was reading. Annie frowned almost immediately, guessing the two were mocking the poor third boy.

Annie hated that kind of boy, who mocked everyone else because they thought so highly of themselves. But at least she already knew who she was gonna befriend: uncle’s godson wasn’t as interesting as she thought he’d be.

“Miss Wood, please!” Marjorie, her housekeeper, took Annie from her stream of thoughts and she soon realized why: while she was thinking, her body had been slowly sliding until she was seated at the edge of her seat, not even a bit worried about her posture.

Annie didn’t care that much but Marjorie, although loving, had always been very rigid regarding “christian” morals. Which basically meant Annie simply needed to, in the older woman’s mind, be a virginal lady at fourteen (almost fifteen) years old.

Which was obviously just a delusion. Teenagers were stupid and they’d always be stupid. This was the premise of being one, after all: making a lot of idiotic mistakes and regret bitterly, having their hearts broken by someone who wasn’t even worth it, fighting with their families, slamming their bedroom doors when they were made… things like that.

It was simply Annie’s purpose to be anything by a well-behaved lady.

But, of course, to her mother, whatever Annie firmly believed (or didn’t believe in) at her young age wasn’t important. So, she was tossed aside to etiquette lessons and to catechism with Marjorie during at least one-third of her week. Which was very, very boring.

Lest you misunderstood her, she knew it was important to learn about Jesus’ story and how he cared for the poor and vulnerable but there was just something in the way Marjorie spoke about it Annie couldn’t bear. She meant, how did the same man who preached about loving thy neighbor could dictate she couldn’t wear pants and more, punish her for it?

Uncle Elijah used to say Marjory had too much religion and too little faith but Annie wasn’t sure about that either. She’d seen the housekeeper getting emotional while she prayed, she’d seen her feeling God. Annie thought Marjorie let religion dictate her faith and that was dangerous: the Woman trusted more on others than herself — that was the problem.

At least, that was what Annie thought.

“We’re not far now,” said Marjorie suddenly, looking at the lawn that surrounded Taigh Hill. Annie followed the woman’s eyes when she grimaced and smiled as she saw Jack with his giant case on his back entering the property.

She couldn’t wait to get to know him but she needed to distract Marjorie first, since she thought the wanderer wasn’t a good influence on her. He mom as well didn’t think it was right of Annie to talk to someone from a lower social class. Elliott, on the other hand, was always making conversation with the man and Annie simply adored Jack.

Fortunately, Marjorie was too busy with the boy’s arrival and guiding them through the mansion, so Annie could manage to escape an run around. The first thing she did was run to Jack, who was ringing a little bell.

“Jack, I’m so glad you came!” She greeted him joyfully, watching as the man with a gray, thick beard, smiled at her, good-humored as always. “Do you have another quatrain for me?”

“Oh, Wood girl,” he greeted her with the same enthusiasm as she did even though he was almost thirty years older, his discreetly toothless smile illuminating his face through the thick beard. “Of course, I always have a quatrain for such a smart girl like yourself!”

“Declaim it, please!” She asked as he took off the bag from his shoulders, putting it on the ground. He opened the bag to reveal at least a dozen leather books, all of them about different matters, and the letters of their titles shining in gold on the covers.

She got to her knees to look at the volumes, listening intently as the vendor’s voice got deeper as he declaimed the small, funny little quatrain:

I’ll put your portrait On the pig stall So when me pigs need aid I’ll remember your love conquers all.

Annie laughed at the little rhyme, which Jack declaimed with an improvised and funny performance, throwing his arms around as he acted what he was declaiming.

“This was the worst love quatrain I’ve ever heard, Jack,” she said as her laughter died, and the old man, who was already laughing with her, laughed even more. He had a loud laughter, as happy as an adult could have.

Annie smiled at the books in the bag but soon the old salesman squeezed the tip of her nose between two curved fingers, daring her:

“I bet you can’t come up with one better right here and now, Wood girl.”

Annie smiled and looked around, watching the gardens of Taigh Hill’s property attentively, the quatrain rolling off of her tongue with scary ease:

Don’t give me yellow flowers For desperation is yet to come Give me little pink flowers So, I may yet return home

Jack, who always wore a black hat, took it off from his balding head and saluted her quatrain, clapping like a proud grandfather. It warmed Annie’s heart immediately and she didn’t hesitate to get up and thank her small, loved audience.

It was at that moment she saw Noah walking through the lawn. Annie didn’t know exactly what Marjorie had said or where she went with the boys but it seemed it didn’t take much time after all. Noah had a book in his hand and he was walking towards one of the huge willow trees next to the maze’s bush wall.

According to the map Annie had seen at the library, the maze on Taigh Hill’s property was gigantic and it even had a small stone fort in the Middle — a reminder of its feudal times, forgotten now — but she never managed to find it for real. On the other side of the mansion, there was a long set of lawn and a lake, in which Annie loved to swim when it was warm enough, which didn’t occur often.

Impulsively, Annie called, raising her voice:

“Kurtz!” The boy looked around, seemingly confused for being called by anyone.

When his eyes found Jack, who watched curiously, and Annie, the girl gestured for him to get closer.

Hesitant, Noah went to them, his skinny body seemed to shake in the breeze, which had gotten the tip of Annie’s nose cold and the joints of her fingers hurt. He was really pale, enough for the wind to make his cheeks blush, and he was tall. Annie reached just his chest, as she realized when he got close enough.

Noah also had bright brown eyes like those Annie had seen when she did charity work with underprivileged kids. It didn’t make sense but that wasn’t a matter to ask about in a casual conversation. He didn’t say anything as he got close, maybe too shy to strike up a conversation, so Annie turned back to Jack, smiling.

“Jack, this is Noah Kurtz, he’ll live with us for a while.”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Noah,” said Jack, taking off his hat once more as he smiled in a friendly manner. “Why don’t you pick a book from my magic bag, huh?”

“I’m grateful, but...” the boy began to say, biting his lower lip hard. Je kept one hand in the pocket of his old tweed jacket while holding the same book from the carriage with the other. In general, Noah seemed hesitant, as if afraid of being himself. Annie could almost see his stiffened back through the fabric of his jacket. “I don’t have money to buy any of them.”

“Well, good thing my books are not for sale, then, Master Noah,” said the salesman as he’d once said to Annie the first time they’d met in the nearest city. “I’m a dream-sower, an enemy of the ignorance that plagues our lands. All of my books are a gift, not a product.”

“He lives off of selling antiques,” Annie kindly explained to Noah, smiling when she noticed the boy’s brown eyes shining in excitement. “You can choose one.”

“Just one per month,” Jack warned as he often did, and then he turned to Annie. “Oh, Wood girl here is quick as a little mouse at her reading. No doubt she already finished the one she got last week.”

Innocently, Annie smiled, knowing Jack’s accusation was right on track. The book (which had been great, by the way) was already tucked away in the small library she was slowly building for herself.

As she saw the timid smile on Noah’s face, however, all Annie could think of was that she might actually gain a friend from all of this.

Go to Chapter 6

Know more books from the Author

All Creatures on Earth - Volume 1

Hey, guys! That's my book here, I decided to post a few chapters (or maybe more) after translating it from Brazilian Portuguese to English. I really wanted to share this work and hope you enjoy it.

Buy the entire work on Amazon through this link!

Here's a quick summary of the book:

Title: All Angels from Heaven Above

Series: All Creatures on Earth

Tags: Dark Academia, Murder Mystery, Fantast, witches, demons, angels, colonialism, imperialism, political intrigue, hate to love, friends to lovers, friends to enemies, hurt without comfort;

If you liked... you're gonna like this: Vicious, The Atlas Six, The Shadowhunters Chronicles, Stalking Jack the Ripper, etc.

Trigger Warning: the story deals with themes of grief and also mentions child neglect, physical and psychological abuse, as well as a few gory depictions of murder, and mentions addiction, though barely.

Add: The book didn't have a Sensitive Editor, so any problems with how people of color, disabilities, or queer people are portrayed can be discussed directly with the author.

Synopsis: Adra is a witch in a world of demons, which means problems all on its own, but when your father is murdered by the same person who is killing teenagers inside the mysterious Lethe Academy, she won't hesitate in the face of hardship to enter the school and hunt down the person responsible for it.

With Damian Kolasi, a cheating demon who's also charming as Hell, and his friends' help, Adra is prepared to take revenge on her father's killer. But what seems to be a simple case of assassination becomes embedded into a political web Adra didn't expect to fall into, just like she never expected her body to react to Damian as intensely as it does whenever he's near.

Sometimes, we can't get everything we want. And Darkness conquers all.

Summary (with links):

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Coming Soon...