Its Rare That I Find A Completely Instrumental Song That Reminds Me Of Rafal (forewarning: This Is An

It’s rare that I find a completely instrumental song that reminds me of Rafal (forewarning: this is an entirely subjective interpretation), so I present to you: "All Night" by Parov Stelar. To me, it seems to track his character progression, Rise through Fall.

It starts out quick; Rafal doesn't spare anyone a second glance aside from Rhian, generally.

A certain part, in which the music speeds up, the tension mounting, conveys a sense of urgency, reflecting the speed of his return, his overpowering need to get back.

It's got creeps of emotion that are ruthlessly quashed, like how Rafal cuts his ties with others, as he suppresses and denies his humanity the right to interfere in what he does for his own sake (and sometimes the balance), and the recursiveness just feels obsessive. The song always returns to the regular and methodical, the walking pattern.

Then, it slows around the midpoint and deepens in pitch, as he genuinely starts to struggle in Fall as his powers start to fail him, while he has a limp, and he obliterates any attachment he feels to almost everyone, only to not win.

Favorite season and why??

I would say the fall since it’s more moderate in temperature. And while it can be cold at times, I enjoy windy weather.

This photo from Pinterest provoked a thought in me:

Light is traditionally characterized as good and celestial while darkness is not. And yet, people find refuge in the darkness, how it can be comforting, as an excess of searing light can be blinding. And that reminded me again of Rafal turning into a shadow and Rhian turning into light towards the beginning of Rise and the subversion, of course. (This is sort of an offshoot from my flame versus non-existent shadow/Pans/eternal youth symbolism post and its companion post.) And of how James reacted to each of the brothers' souls: the reassuring, probably less volatile, unchanging quality to Rafal's and the deep-rooted instability of Rhian's.

The reaching motion in the photo also reminded me of a line from TLEA and how Rhian was foiled in being both extreme, strait-laced Good and extremely and throughly Evil—partly because he expended too much effort every time, and never allowed himself the chance to inhabit a natural state of being.

"The more you chase the light, the more darkness you find."

This also happens to relate to an idea I once heard in a class, that people (in general, not the Woods denizens themselves necessarily) consider Goodness the default state of being because Evil cannot produce any Good of its own, nor can it be anything more than the hollow "ape of Good" (or God, in some contexts). All it can do is imitate Good because it lacks all that Good has (the heavenly virtues? Perchance, think: patience versus restlessness?). And thus, Evil is the perversion of being. It is (was, in Rhian's case, as he had no "healthy" outlets for emotional release or catharsis, unlike Rafal's seemingly instinctual violence) deprived of being and parasitic toward the Good.

Also, have more photos from my Pinterest because why not?

Rhian, drop your morning/night routine!

Rhian: In the morning, I don't "wake up" like most do. Instead, I simply get out of bed since I'm usually up all night attempting to fall asleep. Repose rarely overtakes me, and my mind's always reeling. I may have to commission a sleeping draught from a witch one day.

At this stage of the morning, Rafal is usually still out cold, and it doesn't matter how loud I am, so I listen to the morning Kingdom Council spellcast reports from a mirror I've ensorcelled at full volume and review the Putsi market trends as I start on my routine.

The Gillikin Gazette's updates about its ongoing cathedral construction are my favorites though—its flying buttresses rival Camelot's dated, heavier Romanesque designs. I only manage to catch those reports on Saturdays though since I have to be out of the tower and on my way at an early hour most days. Oh, and I tend to cast a spell, so my bed makes itself while I busy myself with more important tasks.

Firstly, I need my ermine slippers and silk dressing gown. I shower and usually start with a facial, rosewater, or whichever magical cure-all I'm currently using to remove my under-eye shadows with.

Though, Rafal's been a bother about the cucumbers I go through. He thinks I'll drain the Woods' supply and that he won't have any left for his sandwiches. Mind you, that isn't true in the least.

I use charcoal imported from Akgul to remove impurities of the skin, and that's been rather effective as of late. I also ice my pores, page through Maxine's progress reports, and keep tabs on the lackadaisical performers. Tracking's very important at a School like ours, you know.

On some occasions, I do my own makeup, but really, it seems to me that only the Evergirls care if they notice at all. These days, I've been fond of whipped beetroot tinctures and orchid cologne. Then, I arrange my hair, dress suitably for the day's activities in whichever clothes I pressed the night before, and polish my boots. I polish Rafal's too. He doesn't notice or care—thinks we're immune to disease and scrutiny—but he's missing the point. It's about image, of course. And I worry that he'll bring bird mites from his Stymphs indoors, and that would not only be unseemly for a School Master, but a disaster of inordinate proportions, even if our health isn't at risk. Think of the parent complaints we'd receive, if we had an infestation. The picket-lines would never end!

When I head out, Rafal's almost always still asleep, so I bring us back breakfast, and wake him then.

Well, I say "wake him," but rousing him isn't as simple as I've likely led you to believe. By now, it's turned into an awfully elaborate burlesque. I switch mirror channels to the Jaunt Jolie Music Hall's Cricket and Brass orchestra production of the day. If that fails, I bang a ladle on our breakfast's silver cloche over him. And if all else fails, I shout "FIRE," "INVASION," or even "PIRATES" if I'm desperate and running late, and that does the trick. I still haven't figured out if he's been deluding me though, or if it's his dreams that leave him with those horrid little grins.

Yet, this particular song-and-dance of sorts has been more of a recent development. His clarion-belled alarm clock from Geppetto's broke last month, and he hasn't had the time to replace it. The flight's a day's trip, and this new class of Nevers cannot be left alone for more than a day because he's sure there'll be either an outbreak of some pox or of some general pandemonium since he doesn't think I'm capable of maintaining order. I'm more than capable in truth.

We eat then, he in his pajama shorts and shirt and black stockings with the runs I chastise him about throwing out everyday, and me in my typical smart attire.

At the end, I wash up, sit, and wait for him to set the dishes to scrubbing themselves, comb his hair, and dress. After that, we split off to our respective sides for the day, and I see him again at dusk.

"Bye." or "Morning, brother." is as talkative as he gets at this time of day before he vanishes into the Tunnel of Trees or crosses the Halfway Bridge into the smog, unless he has a storybook victory to congratulate himself over or another point to bolster his side of an argument with—arguments I naively believed we'd already put to bed the night before.

After a full day of overseeing classes, Rafal legs it over the window sill when he returns and showers immediately when he gets back. Then, he grades papers and exams. On days when he's exhausted by puppeteering mock battle raids or Storian knows what he subjects those poor children to, he passes out in bed fully-clothed without showering, and showers in the morning.

All the while, I perform my nightly skin- and hair care routines, snuff out the candles, and get in bed with an eye mask, in my attempt to get a good night's sleep, often sooner than he goes to bed because he reads news updates and whatever musty tome he's tearing through late into the night.

Sometimes, I wake in the middle of a night terror and realize he's still up marking or reading or scheming, so I confiscate the candles at that point and force him to sleep. Rarely does he listen, and I've stopped bothering most of the time as he reads by the light of his fingerglow instead, contrary to all sound advice. He doesn't view sleep as necessary seeing as the Storian sustains us, but he has no sleep troubles, so I suppose that's an easy conclusion to form if you're him. The latest remedy I've resorted to is tucking lavender into my pillowcase, but I've had not a drop of luck.

A Random list of your favorite things??

Books

Language in general

Dated words (attonce, hereupon, thence, hither, hitherto, ere, erstwhile, anon, wight, redoubted, etc.)

Poetry

Comic strips

Symbolism and motifs

Irony

Double meaning and loaded sentences

Literary analysis

Windy weather

Earrings and rings

Really salty foods (prosciutto, chorizo, french fries, muenster cheese, manchego, olives, sardines)

Knights, especially when they are upon their horses, flying their colors

Closed endings/cadences in music, 3/4 time signatures, staccato, orchestral swells

Evenings

The concepts of Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) and the scientific method

Germanic fairy tales

When Death is personified in stories

When the devil is outwitted (one of the best tropes ever!)

Art Deco

Gilded or damascened things, including frames, mirrors, weapons, etc.

Polished surfaces

Ink

Rapiers (or espadas roperas)

Gothic/Medieval/Renaissance art and architecture

Psychology—consciousness, abnormal psychology, a little Freud and Jung

Fate intervening in fictional contexts

Birds

Italics

Monologuing

Theatricality and perversity (I'm usually keen to watch it go on in the context of fictional plots.)

POV: Rhian and Rafal go ice skating

Rafal: Keep up, Rhian. [he clips as he glides past Rhian as if in flight, posture ramrod straight, elbows out, hands tucked behind his back.]

[Rhian stalls at the edge of the lake from where he hadn't yet moved since lacing up his skates.]

Rhian: I still don't think it's a Good idea to skate over the Wish Fish. They're hibernating at this time of year, and the surface is thawing. It may not be safe.

Rafal: [scoffs from afar as he turns round a bend, completing his first circuit.] Safe? That's why I froze it over again.

Rhian: You could've harmed the fish!

Rafal: Don't be daft. I didn't. How could they sense our presence if they're dormant? You told me you wanted to skate, didn't you? Well then, wish granted. [He spun on his heels to skate backwards in a shower of ice chips, flung out both his arms to gesture at the lake below, and leaned into a passive-aggressive, obsequiously low bow, before straightening up again.]

Rhian: [firmly] But not here, not over their rightful home. Besides—you can grovel before me [he pauses] and them for forgiveness, another day. [he snipped primly.]

Rafal: You can't be scrupulous about everything in this world, or you'll never get anything done. Now, are you joining me? I gave my undeserving Nevers and that miserable Humburg a holiday today, so we could get out of the tower. [snidely] Or will I get the pleasure of watching the coward slink away from a challenge once again? It's not a good look for Good, you know.

Rhian: [mutters offhandedly under his breath] Wish you'd learn your lesson...

Rafal: What was that? [he calls back as he approaches Rhian at the edge, beginning to skid to a stop.]

[The ice beneath Rafal gives out in that instant and he falls through, into the pitch dark water, with one last gurgled shout, the fish shimmering under the surface, twinkling back at Rhian, dimming as Rafal kicks up sediment.]

Rhian: Nothing. [he said wide-eyed and guilelessly.]

[Rafal resurfaces, coughing up clouded, brackish water, dragging himself back over the edge of the broken ice, and glares up at Rhian.]

Rafal: [menacingly] Tell me, brother. Whyever would that happen, hmm? [he pressures. Yet, the effect is spoiled as he pulls a wriggling, silver-scaled fish from his jacket pocket and tosses it back into the gaping hole.]

Rhian: [hesitates, lips curling for a moment before he gloats:] Told you as much. The ice was bound to fall through. You never listen.

Rafal: [waves a hand dismissively.] Bah! My spell would've held if it weren't for, for—well, I just know you interfered, somehow.

Rhian: [grins, beside himself with mirth, having swallowed a laugh.] Let's get you inside. [He holds out his gloves as a peace offering to Rafal.]

Rafal: [bats them away into a snowdrift.] Don't need them. I'm cold no matter the weather.

Rhian: Inside and out. [he sighs.] Just when I thought you'd grown out of temper tantrums, you double back with twice the force...

Rafal: Can't expect any better from Evil. [he grins and yanks at Rhian's scarf, causing Rhian to stumble forward. Then, he takes off before Rhian can grab him out of the sky by his coattails, flapping stiffly in the chill like tail feathers.] Last one back's got to deal with the pots! [he crows.] And, they're on strike, again, so you ought to polish them.

Rhian: [breaks into a fervid sprint] RAFAL! YOU OLD CHEAT! I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FIG ABOUT WHO'S BACK FIRST—AND YOU WILL POLISH THEM IF I HAVE TO DRAW MY LAST BREATH TONIGHT!

Rafal: NOT A CHANCE IN THIS CENTURY!

Rhian: THEN I'LL WAIT A MILLENNIUM FOR YOU TO ACT YOUR AGE AND LEARN TO KEEP HOUSE!

Rafal: LIKE I SAID, NOT A CHANCE. [he cackles at the prospect in the distance.]

Rhian: IF YOU THINK THAT'S AMUSING, YOUR EAR CANALS MUST BE FULL OF WATER!