Latest Posts by daisiesinchampagne - Page 2

The Awakening Of The Poet, Gabriel Ferrier (1899)

Lamia by Herbert James Draper (1909)

The snow Queen by Artuš Scheiner (1863 – 1938)

Edmund Dulac - The Snow Queen Flies Through the Winter's Night (1911)

Narcissus and Echo by Solomon Joseph Solomon (1895)

Illustration from The Two Brothers for Grimm's Fairy Tales by Elenore Abbott (1920)

Lilla Weneda - Michał Elwiro Andriolli (1836-1893)

Bargain

“Go now, be useful for once,” Mother said before shutting the door behind me, leaving no time to say my goodbyes.

I didn’t blame her—she did what needed to be done. Our family was abundant: me, my seven siblings, Mother and Father, and our remaining grandparents, all cramped within the confines of our modest home. Our so-called estate wasn’t much to speak of—a few sheep, a handful of goats, and two geese that were nearing their imminent death due to a hole in the shed, barely standing against the cruel winter winds.

The countess didn’t pay much for me, but it was just enough to get the family through the winter. I was to stay at the estate and serve her until I reach the age of twenty, but deep in my heart, I knew that I would never return home. I didn’t mind the arrangement, I was somewhat happy to not be a burden any longer. Mother tried time and time again for a son—a strong pair of hands to share the weight of the farm—each time she was met with another daughter. Among ourselves, we’d joke that she will keep going until the animal barn is occupied. Mother’s womb was cursed, but resilient as she was, she refused to give up.

I stood outside the door for a moment, shivering as the cold gnawed through my thin coat. I allowed myself one fleeting moment of sadness, one brief pang of longing for my sisters’ familiar chatter, only while I was still close to my home. Once I began my journey up to the mountains, there would be no room for such indulgence.

I took a step, then another, and then another, slowly starting to make my way through the village, eery silent on this cold winter day. My shoes were not nearly sturdy enough to withstand the slush and wetness of the melting snow, and so my feet felt cold and slippery inside of my boots. I told myself it was fine—the Countess’s castle was sure to be warm.

I knew the way well. As little girls, my sisters and I would venture towards the castle on playful escapades, pretending we were princesses invited to a grand ball. The construction loomed over the village, a monolith of cold grey stone crowned with towers so tall they would often pierce the clouds.

The Countess herself never descended to the village. Her affairs were conducted through written correspondence with the chief, and though no one had ever seen her, she was regarded with a mixture of reverence and gratitude. Food, money, and work trickled down from her estate, and as long as those needs were met, her anonymity was unquestioned.

At last, my long journey came to an end as I stood before the grand entrance of the castle. I reached for the heavy iron knocker and let it fall. The door creaked open almost instantly, as if the mistress herself had been standing just behind it, awaiting my arrival.

“Welcome, girl.”

Before me stood an impossibly tall woman, her presence commanding and severe. I had to crane my neck just to meet her piercing gaze.

“My lady,” I stammered, dropping into the deepest curtsy my frozen knees would allow. Mother had insisted I show gratitude, no matter how much my pride might protest.

“Come in, now,” she hurried me inside, no doubt after seeing my red cheeks and blue hands, bitten by the frost.

The castle’s interior was nothing short of magnificent. Ornate rugs cushioned every step, golden trim gleamed on every surface, and a grand piano stood in the corner of the vast entry hall.

“Let me help you with your coat,” the Countess said, a faint smile curling her lips as she tugged the coat from my shoulders and let it fall carelessly to the floor. “Shall I toss it? You’ll be given new clothes, of course.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

I didn’t care. Had she told me to strip naked and burn every scrap I owned, I would’ve gladly complied.

“Now,” the Countess continued, her tone clipped but not unkind, “your room is prepared, with your uniform and other necessities waiting inside.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

A question lingered on my tongue, and I couldn’t go any further without my curiosity being unfulfilled. “Will I be sharing my room with the other girls? When will I meet the rest of the help?”

The Countess paused mid-step and turned her head slightly toward me, her voice soft but final. “There are no other girls.”

I dared not ask more.

She led me down a series of silent corridors, the only sound our footsteps against the polished stone floor. The air felt heavy, as though the walls themselves were listening. The Countess moved with fluid grace, her steps purposeful, until at last, we stopped before a wooden door tucked away in a secluded wing.

“This will be your room,” she said simply, opening the door and stepping aside to let me enter.

The chamber was modest but clean—a narrow bed, a small writing desk, and a wardrobe stood against the stone walls. On the bed lay a neatly folded uniform.

“Rest. I will call for you when I require your presence.”

With that, the Countess turned on her heel and shut the door behind her, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing faintly in the still air.

I was left alone.

***

The next day I waited and waited, but the servant bell never rang. Mother had always told me that the help should neither be seen nor heard, so I remained hidden in my room until I the relentless growling in my stomach became unbearable. It was when the night befell that I decided to exit my room and make my way downstair to fetch a bite to eat. Thankfully, my mistress had walked me through the kitchen the day before, sparing me the need to trouble her.

The kitchen was located in the basement, to the left of an expansive wine cellar. On the far side stood a large entrance framed by double doors. The air grew colder as I descended, and shadows danced along the stone walls, cast by flickering sconces.

In the kitchen, I rummaged through the pantry and cabinets, but to my dismay, I could not find so much as a loaf of bread. It struck me as odd—peculiar, even—considering the Countess's tall and robust figure.

Resigned to another night of hunger, I turned to leave, the cold flagstones chilling my bare feet. But just as I reached the doorway, I froze. The faint sound of shuffled footsteps echoed from beyond the double doors, followed by the creak of one slowly swinging open.

A rancid stench hit my nostrils, making my stomach lurch violently. I kneeled above a cauldron, gagging and retching, but with nothing in my stomach, I could only produce bile, burning my throat and mouth as it went up and out.

Then I saw it.

A figure stood in the entrance of the kitchen, looking not at me but past me, its eyes milky and unseeing. Its skin, sickly pale and stretched taut over sharp bones, looked as though it might tear with even the faintest movement. It swayed slightly, head twitching with an unnatural rhythm. Its skeletal frame was draped in a garment I recognized instantly—a black dress, identical to the one I wore.

I couldn’t scream—the bile in my mouth sealed it shut. With every ounce of strength I had left, I scrambled upright, my feet slipping briefly on the slick floor. I bolted for the stairs, shoving past the creature with my elbow as I fled, its frail frame giving way beneath my desperate push.

I fled upstairs, breathless and desperate to escape the oppressive confines of the castle. The grand front door loomed before me, heavy and unyielding, refusing to budge no matter how I tugged and clawed at its gilded handle. Behind me, a faint rustle stirred the silence, and I turned sharply—there she was.

The Countess was poised elegantly, half-lying upon a couch, a glass of deep red wine balanced delicately in her pale hand. Her presence, though unexpected at this late hour, brought me relief. Whatever horror lurked in the shadows of the basement seemed distant in her commanding presence.

"There you are," she said, her lips curling into a serene smile. "What has frightened you so, my dear?"

I tried to respond, but my voice faltered, choked by the sobs racking my chest and the tears streaking my cheeks.

“You look terrified, girl,” She said, putting her glass aside. “Come on, sit with me.”

I sat down beside her, struggling to contain my shaky hands.

“I saw…” I began, my voice quivering as I struggled to produce a sentence. “I saw someone in the kitchen.”

The Countess's smile did not waver, her emerald eyes studying me with detached amusement. "Oh? Did you now?”

"It—it looked human," I stammered, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear. My arms wrapped around my torso as though trying to physically restrain the terror bubbling within me.

"Hush now, child," she cooed, reaching out to stroke my hair with a gloved hand. "There are no monsters in this castle. Perhaps some warm chocolate would soothe your nerves. Would you like that?”

“If you’d be so kind,” I managed. She was not surprised in the slightest, and I began to think that perhaps it was my exhausted and hungry body was the one playing tricks of me.

She reached for a small bell and gave it a faint ring. The chime echoed through the halls, fading into an uneasy silence. Time stretched unbearably, the stillness gnawing at my frayed nerves.

After a glance at the clock, the Countess sighed lightly. "You'll have to forgive my maid. She's unwell."

I smiled. It wasn’t a servant’s place to judge the quality of the help.

At last, footsteps echoed from below—slow, uneven. From the shadows of the basement stairs emerged a frail figure, clutching a tarnished silver tray with an unsteady grip. The dim light revealed her hollow eyes, sallow skin stretched tight over sharp bones, and the unnerving twitch of her head with every step.

I sprung up, my body trembling as it slowly approached us. The Countess’s plump hand tugged on mine, forcing me back down on the couch. She didn’t let go, her fingers tightening with surprising strength.

"There," she said with an air of finality as the creature set the tray before me. "Your chocolate.”

The cup was chipped and stained, its contents a vile concoction of yellowed milk and clumped cocoa powder. A foul smell wafted up, coiling into my nostrils and threatening to turn my stomach.

“Go on,” the Countess urged, nodding at the cup, her smile sharpening at the edges.

I looked at the monster, flailing and struggling to maintain its balance. My body once again betrayed me, my hand shaking so violently the drink almost spilling on my dress.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to take a sip. The sour tang hit my tongue, mingling with the bile already souring the insides of my mouth. I gagged, barely managing to swallow.

"Not to your liking?" she asked, her eyes alight with amusement, like a child observing a caged animal.

She plucked the cup from my shaking hands and handed it back to the creature, who accepted it with jittery fingers.

"Well," the Countess said lightly, her voice carrying a chill that cut through the suffocating warmth of the room. "You've had your treat. Now, it's my turn."

Without hesitation, she tightened her grip on my hand and yanked me closer. Before I could scream, her teeth sank into my neck. A sharp, searing pain shot through me, and I cried out, my voice breaking into gasps and sobs. My limbs felt impossibly heavy, and my eyes could no longer see, as my body slumped into the Countess's arms as she finally pulled away.

The world swam in and out of focus. Distant voices murmured, but their words were hazy and disjointed.

"If she dies, you may have the scraps," the Countess's voice floated through the fog.

"If she survives... well, you might just have yourself a little friend."

I took a painful breath.

Αrt by Ulla Thynell

Sleeping Beauty by Nadezhda Illarionova

Illustration from Les LIaisons Dangereuses by Georges Barbier (1934)

Inspired by The Siren by J. Waterhouse

It’s been a while since I got to play my lyre. Musical instruments make the most wonderful sound when you play them out of the water, but the last time I went up, my trusty friend got carried away by waves and collided with the cliff the second I let go of it to adjust my hair. Now its pieces are resting among the debris at the very bottom of the ocean, with many other instruments I had broken over the years. To be fair, I could dive in and fetch it, but the whole ordeal of connecting the pieces together and fixing it up will undoubtedly prove to be very tedious. 

As my fingers glided along the strings, I heard a heavy splash coming from the side of the shore. In the early hours of the morning, birds and land critters are far from plentiful, and it was only natural for me to turn at the loud sound. There I saw him: a creature, blissfully splashing in the water, unaware of my close presence. He was beautiful. With a merman’s physique and masculine features, the tail was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I observed two equally long arm-like appendages, which, frankly, didn’t take away from his charming presence. It was becoming troublesome to both look and play at the same time, and so I gave up on the latter activity. The abrupt stop of music, however, hasn’t escaped the creature’s attention. He turned his head towards where the sound of my lyre was coming from, and it finally happened: I’ve been discovered. I wasn’t afraid, on the contrary, I quickly tried to present myself in the best light, adjusting my wet hair with a hand free of my lyre in an attempt to give it more volume, which proved to be quite difficult now that I was out of the water. He called out to me a few times, each time louder than the previous one, and all I could think about was how funny his voice sounded when he was yelling what I believe were various words. I laughed, and he went silent. Did I startle him? As I began to curse myself over the careless mistake, the creature dove into the waters and made a quick way towards me, working the bottom limbs similarly to a mermaid tail. Only when he arrived at my rock, he noticed our most striking difference — my tail. With childish wonder, he reached out his arm to barely touch it, sliding his hand back and forth along the scales. “Do you find it revolting?” I asked, and his hand went still, as his eyes locked on mine. His response was short, said with a low and calm voice. 

I didn’t understand his language, and he didn’t understand mine, but neither of us needed words to communicate. By sitting close to him, being in his presence, it felt like he understood me better than anyone had: my mother, my own kind. Boldly, I rested my head on his shoulder, inhaling the unfamiliar scent. We stayed still for a while, uninterrupted, until the sun has fully risen. Only then he gently pushes my head off his shoulder, giving me time to adjust to my new position. As he departed, I wasn’t afraid that I might not ever see him again. On the contrary, I could feel that he too knew of a special connection we now shared. I sat on my rock a while longer, thinking about my future, the sea-dwelling suitors, and him, him, him.

The Bath of Venus (1898-1904, oil on canvas) | Charles Shannon

My December reads. The Woman in White has been attempted many times, but I'm determined to finish it this time around. Feeling powerful and capable now that I've discovered audiobooks.

Two Elves by John Quincy Adams (Late 19th - Early 20th Century)

“We are never more ourselves than when we think people aren’t watching.”

― Stuart Turton, The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle 

No spoilers

Can’t believe my first post is about a book I would never have picked up under normal circumstances. I’m not big into the murder mystery genre, however, during one of my daily walks, I had to pick an audiobook on my phone quickly before my hands froze off. 

The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle was a very convoluted read, with many characters and even more twists. I’m not the smartest reader out there, so having to take in every single detail and process every unpredictable turn really took a toll on me and manifested into a whooping 2 week reading time. 

The start was intriguing but pretty slow, and the tempo doesn’t pick up until around page 100. I enjoyed reading about every single character, and can definitely appreciate the effort that went into world-building and a cohesive story (considering how many characters and plot lines the author had to keep track of), however, I can’t help but think that the story was a tad too convoluted. 

I don’t believe in numerical ratings so I will give it a “Pretty Good, But Not My Favorite.” I would absolutely recommend it, especially if you enjoy this kind of genre. It’s a very unique and one-of-a-kind read with an intriguing mystery twist.