I belong in a gothic castle full of winding staircases, endless candlelit corridors, and the dead bodies of mysterious strangers hidden behind the walls; I belong in a gothic castle with elaborate skeleton keys to every room, a wardrobe full of satin and lace nightgowns, a canopy bed full of cobwebs; I belong in a gothic castle where a handsome, devilish stranger loves me, loves me not, loves me; I belong in a gothic castle
This sculpture is located in Guildford’s Castle Grounds in a walled garden behind the bowling green, near the house that Lewis Carroll used to rent. It was created by sculptor Jeanne Argent.
Charles Dodgson, otherwise known as Lewis Carroll, the famous author of many works including Alice’s Adventures Through the Looking Glass, was a frequent visitor to Guildford where he enjoyed walking in the downs and was inspired to write some of his nonsense works including ‘The Hunting of the Snark’.
“As the confines of the castle walls faded behind me like a bad dream, I took my first full breath in weeks. I had no idea where this journey would lead me; what opportunity might present itself. I could only hope it would bring me closer to the standing stones of Craigh nd Dun. If so, I was determined to reach them, knowing this time, I must not fail.”
(so, uh. that letter in percy’s pocket, huh? sure did read kind of like a suicide note… sure hope someone in vox machina picks up on that… sure hope this severely traumatised early-twenties kid gets some explicit mental health support real soon…)
warnings for discussions of suicide, mild suicidal ideation, brief mentions of canonical torture, mental health issues
“So,” says Scanlan, when he finally finds Percy. He’s high up on the ramparts of Castle Whitestone, on the thin walkway that runs behind the crenellated wall, just… standing. Watching. His coat, still torn through with bullet holes and stained russet-red with dried blood, his blood, flaps faintly in the breeze. “I’m sure the others aren’t going to appreciate me telling you this, but we found that letter of yours.”
The air up this high is cold, far colder than it is on the ground, and the wind is something fierce. It bites at exposed skin, grabs and tugs at any loose items of clothing. Though Scanlan’s sheltered somewhat by the wall, waist-height for humans and head-height for gnomes, Percy’s hair is blown back against his scalp, the tails of his coat snapping audibly behind him. In the several long seconds it takes Percy to answer, Scanlan can’t help but wonder whether his words have been stolen away by the sound of the howling almost-gale.
“Letter?” asks Percy, eventually, absently, still staring that thousand-yard-stare out over the quiet streets of Whitestone and the misty forest beyond. He doesn’t seem entirely there, if Scanlan’s being honest – hasn’t since they brought him back. As though death has filed his edges down, numbed him. As though he’s missing something.
People are so harsh on Snow White saying that she’s not a “modern woman” and they talk smack but she has a golden heart and if someone almost killed you and you had to run away through a forest when you’ve been living behind castle walls all your life you’d be tripping too.
♔ - Being a princess had its perks. Wanting for nothing. Constant safety behind the walls of a castle. Food at your door whenever it was called for. It was the perfect life in most people’s eyes, but to Emma, it was a prison. The gilded decor and shimmering jewels were all too much for her, hiding the cage she felt trapped inside of. The most freedom she had ever gotten was being allowed to learn sword fighting from the king’s guard. For a time, that had been enough to sate her thirst for adventure, but now that her skill had surpassed most of them, she was bored again.
She had been forced to hide in the castle for the last nineteen and a half years. When her parents were to be married, the former queen, Regina, had made a threat that she would ruin their happiness, and since that day, they have done everything in their power to prevent that from happening. There were only rumors of a princess, and, save for the people who lived in the castle, no one had ever seen Emma’s face. At least they didn’t know they’d seen her face. Around the age of sixteen, she’d begun to sneak out of the castle, stealing away in the thick of the night with the help of Johanna, her nursemaid, and a couple of the dwarves. They held love for Snow, but watching Emma grow up while Charming and the queen planned a retaliation against Regina, they had all drawn closer to her.
A simple peasant dress, given to her by her friend Lily, who worked in the kitchens, was Emma’s disguise tonight. Tan, canvas fabric, fashioned into a hooded cloak by Johanna, hid her face and noticeable white-blonde hair, as she snuck out of the castle for what felt like the hundredth time in her life. The crisp, night air washed over her skin, like a layer of magic that protected the secret of her royal blood. It was only a ten minute walk through the forest and into the town. She never quite knew what she would do when she got there, but she always figured something out. -
“This sculpture is located in Guildford’s Castle Grounds in a walled garden behind the bowling green, near the house that Lewis Carroll used to rent. It was created by sculptor Jeanne Argent. The sculpture was created when a friend of Jeanne Argent entered a drawing of 'Alice Through the Looking Glass’ into a competition and when the drawing won, Jeanne made the sculpture in response.”