>tfw no German single player campaign in Battlefield 1 despite German soldiers being dragged into a doomed two front war through a complete political fuck up just like their British, French, and American counterparts and similarly forced to endure the horrors of trench warfare
There is magic in one thing becoming another, and magic again in crafting stone into dragons. It couldn’t be done they said. To give life to something that had already lived? Impossible. So far only one artisan has managed the feat and then only twice.
The first dragon is small and mottled and cheerfully assists the university’s gardener with the bonsai, fascinated with the tiny trees. The second dragon is larger, long and sinuous, its body carved from an entire ancient tree. It takes off into the forest almost as soon as it comes alive, blending with the trees and protecting them from fires and lumber folk.
aka Chapter 1 of the Maggie Companion Piece is up!
Chapter 1: Revelations 1 - 4
Maggie’s parents aren’t soulmates.
She doesn’t know that when she’s younger, but it explains everything when she learns it.
It explains why they never talk about Revelations in her house – not before she had her first, and not after. It explains why everything she knows about soulmates and what is going to happen on her fifth birthday comes from kindergarten playground gossip and from tv shows.
Two days before her fifth birthday – before her first Revelation – Maggie’s friend Cassie reminds her to take pictures of her arm and put them in her Revelations journal to keep them safe. Maggie tells her that she doesn’t have a Revelations journal.
The next day – the day before her birthday – Cassie’s mom gives her a Revelations journal at pickup.
Maggie realizes later that Cassie’s mom thought they just couldn’t afford a journal, not that her parents actively didn’t want her to have one.
So when Maggie wakes up on her fifth birthday, she kind of knows what she’s going to find. Animals on her arms. She knows one arm will be about her and the other arm will be about her soulmate, but she doesn’t remember which will be which.
It’s still very early, the digital clock next to her head starts with a 3, and it’s still dark, and she can still hear the crickets outside her window. But she pulls her flashlight from under her bed and silently drags the covers over her head and turns on the light, huddled in her little cave, careful not to wake her brother.
On her right arm, from wrist to armpit, are drawings of sharks. Intricate and detailed and designed. Maggie has never seen anything so pretty in her entire life.
And Maggie loves sharks – she has four books about sharks on her bookshelf right this minute, and Ms. Dana her kindergarten teacher said she would give Maggie another one for her birthday – so she figures out this arm must be the one that’s about her.
So she looks to her left arm, which she remembers is her left because it’s the arm she doesn’t throw with so good, and she sees a snake. A big, thick, strong snake coiling around her arm.
There are snakes sometimes in the cornfields, and they really scare Maggie. Some of them are poison, and their neighbor’s dog got bit by one and he died, and they didn’t have a funeral but they buried him in their backyard and sometimes when she’s playing outside by herself Maggie brings a flower and lays it on his grave.
But Maggie’s learned at school that her soulmate is a wonderful person that she’s supposed to love, and Maggie guesses that maybe she should trust her soulmate and not be so scared of snakes anymore.
She promises herself, solemn and silent and serious, huddled under her covers in the dead of night, just hours after turning five, that she’ll try.
had either forgotten how to, or had yet not woken up to start singing.
of dawn was curious. It was different than the quiet at night, and different
than the quiet of the day. It had its own color, like the sky; not blue or
black, rather an incredible mixture of a wide variety of colors in constant
change; from the black to the purple, going through red and orange, yellow
tones, even pink here and there, before starting to eventually turn into the
blue of day.
Right in those moments, the sky was in that stage of constant
change with no definitive color. The light that peered through the curtains was
scarce, but its shape and intensity changed along the colors of the sky, both
being controlled by every inch that the sun moved up.
light, in constant change, also made of the ink feathers and the lines of
muscle look different with each variety. It was not as obvious as it was on the
colors of the sky, but the change was there; a shadow that could have been here
disappeared after five minutes into the changing light of dawn, and a feather
that could have been illuminated enough could have turned darker, depending on
how the play of shadow and light moved on the canvas.
Ignis liked to imagine
that, if he could record this and if he played it at high speed forth and back,
maybe the subtle change of light could make the feathers look in movement, as
if though the bird was in plain flight. But he liked it like this; slow, too
slow for anyone to notice as it changed, and only able to tell by comparing
‘this moment’ to ‘five’ or ‘ten’ or ‘fifteen minutes ago’. He did have as much
time; he had, like usual, woken up too early.
always nagged him about his ‘caffeine overdose’, but Ignis never considered
that to have any influence on his sleeping habits. He had always been an early
bird, so far he remembered. That he was also becoming a night owl did not mean
he was not an early bird anymore. He had to admit he got poor hours of sleep,
but to him that did not matter; why on Eos would he want to sleep, even if he
could, when he had this absolutely beautiful and
worth-more-than-any-money-could-ever-pay canvas right at his side, in front of
him, for him to admire?