Just having some fun

zooophagous:

prokopetz:

skittles-n-gravy:

perpetual-galaxies:

Jack is hardcore as fuck

scare me like one of your french girls

For money money, the most interesting thing about this confrontation is how completely it inverts the final scenes of a typical Disney film. In most cases, the hero is physically and/or supernaturally outmatched, and triumphs through determination and ingenuity; here, the villain spends the the whole fight running scared, while the protagonist casually no-sells everything that’s thrown at him. And there’s no ironic Disney Death keeping the protagonist’s hands clean, either. Jack just straight-up murders Oogie with malice aforethought while Oogie is running away - and by having Santa Claus himself strike the final blow, the film legitimises Jack’s killing of Oogie as the morally correct course of action.

You don’t fuck around with the motherfucking pumpkin king

zooophagous:

prokopetz:

skittles-n-gravy:

perpetual-galaxies:

Jack is hardcore as fuck

scare me like one of your french girls

For money money, the most interesting thing about this confrontation is how completely it inverts the final scenes of a typical Disney film. In most cases, the hero is physically and/or supernaturally outmatched, and triumphs through determination and ingenuity; here, the villain spends the the whole fight running scared, while the protagonist casually no-sells everything that’s thrown at him. And there’s no ironic Disney Death keeping the protagonist’s hands clean, either. Jack just straight-up murders Oogie with malice aforethought while Oogie is running away - and by having Santa Claus himself strike the final blow, the film legitimises Jack’s killing of Oogie as the morally correct course of action.

You don’t fuck around with the motherfucking pumpkin king

(via alegitteapot)

huffingtonpost:

This Is How Much The Female Portrait Has Evolved In The Last 500 Years

Art history books have a reputation of showcasing dead, white, European males — DWEM — and the (mostly white) women they handpicked as muses. Portrait after portrait reveals a woman’s face through a man’s gaze, casting a rather unsavory light on the tendency of artists to eroticize, objectify or idolize the female form.

See the full video for a striking look at the female portrait.

(Souce:  artFido)

(via gw117lbs)

cryok:

I WILL NEVER NOT REBLOG THIS CUTE ASS COMIC

cryok:

I WILL NEVER NOT REBLOG THIS CUTE ASS COMIC

(Source: aloadofjibberjabber, via barryallensnephew)

sixpenceee:

Cracked.com has been a great source of entertainment for me in high school. Their articles are written in a comical way that will make you laugh as much as it makes you learn. 
The 7 Most Unintentionally Creepy Places on the Internet: These are seven websites that prove the internet can still make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end
5 Real Murders More Terrifying Than Any Other Horror Movie: Real killers are real scary
Creepiest Urban Legends That Happen to be True: (Part 1) (Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)
6 Terrifying Experiment Parents Did On Their Own Kids: Some people’s actions really make me wonder
5 Most Terrifying Diseases Doctors Can’t Explain: The oddities that exist in our world
Creepiest Places on Earth: (Part 1)(Part 2)
The 7 Most Horrifying Museums on Earth: My personal favorite
The 6 Strangely Convincing Real Life Curses: Coincidence or something more?
The 7 Most Ridiculous Ghost Stories From Around the World: A cultural experience
The 5 Creepiest Disappearances That No One Can Explain: It’s like they vanished into thin air

sixpenceee:

Cracked.com has been a great source of entertainment for me in high school. Their articles are written in a comical way that will make you laugh as much as it makes you learn. 

  1. The 7 Most Unintentionally Creepy Places on the Internet: These are seven websites that prove the internet can still make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end
  2. 5 Real Murders More Terrifying Than Any Other Horror Movie: Real killers are real scary
  3. Creepiest Urban Legends That Happen to be True: (Part 1) (Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)
  4. 6 Terrifying Experiment Parents Did On Their Own Kids: Some people’s actions really make me wonder
  5. 5 Most Terrifying Diseases Doctors Can’t Explain: The oddities that exist in our world
  6. Creepiest Places on Earth: (Part 1)(Part 2)
  7. The 7 Most Horrifying Museums on EarthMy personal favorite
  8. The 6 Strangely Convincing Real Life CursesCoincidence or something more?
  9. The 7 Most Ridiculous Ghost Stories From Around the WorldA cultural experience
  10. The 5 Creepiest Disappearances That No One Can Explain: It’s like they vanished into thin air

permguerrero:

memes are people too 

(Source: deezyville, via pilts)

horror movie opening scene

white girl: i dont like this abandoned insane asylum, zack.

white boy: come on, amanda, 10 years ago tonight, the famous blood skull killer committed his last murder right here and then vanished.

white girl: you're just trying to scare me.

white boy: lmao

they continue walking for a few seconds

*white couple hears noise*

white girl: babe what that??

white boy: i'll go investigate

*leaves her alone*

*choking noises*

white girl: zack!!!

white boy: ha ha just kidding!

white girl: asshole!

white boy: im just playin babe

white girl: that wasnt funny but ur still cute

*playful kiss*

*things turn sexy*

*hear noise*

white boy: i'll go investigate

*he leaves and then there's a silence for a long time*

*maybe a thud*

white girl: zack! this isnt funny anymore zack!

*she walks and he dead*

white girl: ahhh!!

*killer shows up with sickle or quirky weapon that distinguishes him from other horror movie villains*

white girl: ahhh!!!

*white girl runs*

*dead end*

*hides*

*thinks she free n safe*

*guy catches her*

*cuts her*

*she dead*

opening title slashes across screen: BLOOD SLICE IN 3-D

theonqreyjoy:

oceanflowerbird:

The best kinds of laughter:

  • Laughing so hard that your laugh becomes silent and you sit there clapping like a fucking seal
  • Feeling a six-pack coming up
  • Tears coming out of your eyes

#you know you’re fucked when its a combination of all three

(Source: poetgrl, via memory-reduction)

roy-ality:

3giraffes-3africa:

Emma Watson Delivers Game-Changing Speech on Feminism for the U.N.

By: Joanna Robinson || Published: September 21, 2014

Earlier this summer, fresh from college graduation, Emma Watson, was named a U.N. Women Goodwill Ambassador. Though the ripples of her involvement over the past six months can be seen online (crashing the U.N. website, using Twitter to denounce a sexist politician in Turkey or respond to the gender politics of the recent celebrity nude photo hack), Watson’s power in person is an entirely different matter.
The actress gave an impassioned speech on feminism and gender at the U.N. Headquarters in New York this weekend to launch the “HeForShe” campaign which aims to galvanize one billion men and boys as advocates for ending the inequalities that women and girls face globally.
Watson’s speech, which was met with a thunderous standing ovation, not only called for action from male allies, but clarified a persistent misconception about feminism in general. She said:

I decided that I was a feminist. This seemed uncomplicated to me. But my recent research has shown me that feminism has become an unpopular word. Women are choosing not to identify as feminists. Apparently, [women’s expression is] seen as too strong, too aggressive, anti-men, unattractive.
Why has the word become such an unpopular one? I think it is right I am paid the same as my male counterparts. I think it is right that I should make decisions about my own body. I think it is right that women be involved on my behalf in the policies and decisions that affect my life. I think it is right that socially, I am afforded the same respect as men.

Watson is pushing back against recent campaigns like Women Against Feminism. As Watson puts it elsewhere in her speech, these campaigns portray the feminist cause as “man-hating.” By involving both genders in the “HeForShe” campaign, Watson hopes to abolish the “us vs. them” mentality.
Watson is potentially in an even better position than many of her peers to do so. Her role as Hermione Granger, the universally-adored heroine of the Harry Potter series, gives her an automatic in with male and female Millenials. This is a rare case where an actor being conflated with their role might be a good thing. In this way, her wide-spread influence on young minds (still forming their opinions on gender roles and advocacy) is even stronger than other high-profile defenders of the f-word like Beyoncé.
Watson’s Harry Potter association also carries with it a disadvantage –– the fear she might not be taken seriously. She addresses this concern in her speech:

You might think: who is this Harry Potter girl? What is she doing at the UN? I’ve been asking myself at the same thing. All I know is that I care about this problem and I want to make this better. And having seen what I’ve seen and given the chance, I feel my responsibility to say something. Edmund Burke said all that is need for the forces of evil to triumph is for good men and women to do nothing

That Harry Potter association will always follow Watson. Even U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon joked, “She’s been waving a magic wand. I hope you use your magic wand to end violence against women!” But with her serious approach to advocacy, it’s impossible to laugh off Watson’s message.


Good souls do this with fame.

roy-ality:

3giraffes-3africa:

Emma Watson Delivers Game-Changing Speech on Feminism for the U.N.

By: Joanna Robinson || Published: September 21, 2014

Earlier this summer, fresh from college graduation, Emma Watson, was named a U.N. Women Goodwill Ambassador. Though the ripples of her involvement over the past six months can be seen online (crashing the U.N. website, using Twitter to denounce a sexist politician in Turkey or respond to the gender politics of the recent celebrity nude photo hack), Watson’s power in person is an entirely different matter.

The actress gave an impassioned speech on feminism and gender at the U.N. Headquarters in New York this weekend to launch the “HeForShe” campaign which aims to galvanize one billion men and boys as advocates for ending the inequalities that women and girls face globally.

Watson’s speech, which was met with a thunderous standing ovation, not only called for action from male allies, but clarified a persistent misconception about feminism in general. She said:

I decided that I was a feminist. This seemed uncomplicated to me. But my recent research has shown me that feminism has become an unpopular word. Women are choosing not to identify as feminists. Apparently, [women’s expression is] seen as too strong, too aggressive, anti-men, unattractive.
Why has the word become such an unpopular one? I think it is right I am paid the same as my male counterparts. I think it is right that I should make decisions about my own body. I think it is right that women be involved on my behalf in the policies and decisions that affect my life. I think it is right that socially, I am afforded the same respect as men.

Watson is pushing back against recent campaigns like Women Against Feminism. As Watson puts it elsewhere in her speech, these campaigns portray the feminist cause as “man-hating.” By involving both genders in the “HeForShe” campaign, Watson hopes to abolish the “us vs. them” mentality.

Watson is potentially in an even better position than many of her peers to do so. Her role as Hermione Granger, the universally-adored heroine of the Harry Potter series, gives her an automatic in with male and female Millenials. This is a rare case where an actor being conflated with their role might be a good thing. In this way, her wide-spread influence on young minds (still forming their opinions on gender roles and advocacy) is even stronger than other high-profile defenders of the f-word like Beyoncé.

Watson’s Harry Potter association also carries with it a disadvantage –– the fear she might not be taken seriously. She addresses this concern in her speech:

You might think: who is this Harry Potter girl? What is she doing at the UN? I’ve been asking myself at the same thing. All I know is that I care about this problem and I want to make this better. And having seen what I’ve seen and given the chance, I feel my responsibility to say something. Edmund Burke said all that is need for the forces of evil to triumph is for good men and women to do nothing

That Harry Potter association will always follow Watson. Even U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon joked, “She’s been waving a magic wand. I hope you use your magic wand to end violence against women!” But with her serious approach to advocacy, it’s impossible to laugh off Watson’s message.

Good souls do this with fame.

(via dlubes)

americanwizarding:

To Bettina it was like some wonderful, terrible dream, and she could hardly believe it was happening. Ms. Clarke from the the Department of Secrecy and Obfuscation (Bettina like the word ‘obfuscation’ with all its round a flowing sounds - it looked like  the way it was spelled and what it meant and she had used it whenever possible over the past few years) had been in her life for five years (ever since she had made the book start reading themselves to her because her mother was too busy) so she knew magic was real, but today was the day. Today she started at the Laveau Academy. 

She reached one small hand underneath the dark purple folds of her robes and touched the letter that was carefully folded in the pocket of her slacks. It was the Letter. Her Letter. Written in an elegant emerald ink on real vellum and signed by the headmistress herself: Lady Dimon. She must have read it a hundred times, so technically she knew what she was supposed to do, even if she couldn’t quite believe it. The instructions were quite clear: wait at the gates of the Old Belle Cemetery until midnight and then find the oldest tomb in the westernmost corner and…

Bettina shook her head, trying to think about it as a creeping fog coiled up her ankles. She had assumed Ms. Clark would be coming within her, but the old witch had only levitated her trunk out of the car, given her a brief hug, and wished her luck before driving off. She couldn’t even call her parents, and the nearest gas station was several miles away. The Letter had assured her she would be perfectly safe, but peering through the wrought iron gates she could only remember the ghost stories surrounding the cemetery, and the shapes of the hunched tombstones and and weird shadows in the mist were making her nervous. 

“Hello!” A bright voice said suddenly from behind her, making her jump and shriek in surprise. 

Behind her was a boy, probably around her own age and looking at her quizzically. He had a round, dark face, with curly hair. Beneath his purple robes was a slightly stocky body, and a small chest wobbled behind him on four stout, strong legs, “Sorry!” he said, just as brightly, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Laveau Academy? I’m Bart. Bart Whittle.” He held out a pudgy hand. 

“Uh…yes. Hello.” she said, taking it tentatively, “I’m Bettina. Bettina Wells. Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was coming.” 

“Oh yes. But just us I think. My family lives in Adams county. You’re from around here?” she nodded and started to respond but Bart kept talking, “Cool! First year? I am too. My sister, Lucy, graduated last fall from Laveau, but its my first year too. My father is a Laveau alum. My mother went to Salem. Did you get your chalk?” He produced a length of white chalk from a pocket in his robe.

“Er…yes. I did.” she fished around and held it up, and his smile broadened.

“Great!” he turned to the gate, “I wonder if this is a test?” he asked absent-mindedly, reaching out to touch the metal, “It’s almost midnight you know.”

Bettina blinked, “A test? We’re being tested?” she asked, feeling slightly panicky. 

“Oh yeah. Dad says everything at the academy is a test, all the time. I wonder if it starts now…” he drew a length of wood from inside a sleeve, “But I don’t think we can use magic until we get to campus…and I never learned an opening charm that would work on iron like this. Do you know one?”

“No.” Bettina said, but drew her own wand from her pocket. It was 11.5 inches long and made of cyprus wood with a sea-serpent spine at its core. She still remembered how it had produced bubbles when she’d picked it up the first time, “I…I don’t really know much magic yet.” 

“Oh! Are you muggleborn?” he peered at her, “My mother was muggleborn. Grandmother was very upset. Calls me a blight on the family honor. She says my existence is an insult to all good and decent wizardkind.” 

“That’s terrible!” Bettina said, appaled. Ms. Clarke had warned her about purism, but…

“Oh, its okay. She’s a terrible old bat, but she cares really. She turned my cousin Sterling into a goat when he tried to hex me last christmas. She says I may be filth but I’m still family and you take care of family. What was that?” 

Bettina was so mesmerized by the boy’s story she hadn’t even noticed the faint, distant tolling of church bells, but now she heard it clearly and frowned. The nearest church was miles away, but this thought vanished as she watched the wrought iron shake a little and then swung quietly inward, the old chain uncoiling like a clanking snake. The pair looked through the gate.

“The oldest tomb, right?”  asked Bart, “Northwest corner?”

“Yes.” the girl replied, looking cautiously around, “Do…do you think its safe?”

“Oh yes! My mother counseled the Weeping Widow that haunts this place last fall. She’s actually quite nice, she just died in mourning. You know how it is.” he held out his wand and stepped through the gate.

“Your…mother counseled  a ghost?” Bettina asked, following him and holding out her own wand even though she couldn’t do much more than shoot sparks from the end. 

“Oh yes. She works for the Spirit Division of the Board of Intranational Magical Peoples. The IMP Board. You know?” he waited for he nod and then kept walking, “She’s a ghost whisperer…” he continued in this vein for several minutes as they walked through the cemetery,and Bettina marveled at his apparent need to talk consistently without stopping to breathe. She wondered if it was a magic talent, like her ability to make books read themselves, but either way it was soothing and made her forget her fear for a little while, and eventually they found themselves at the crumbling tomb.

“Alright,” Bart said, making his wand vanish up his robe again and drawing the chalk, “Ready?” 

Bettina nodded and drew her own, and together they dashed three harsh “X’s” onto the side of the tomb and signed their name before stepping back. They stepped back and Bart drew a single piece of paper from inside his robes, “Want to go first?”

“Uh…no. You go first.” She said nervously. This was the part she was dreading, and her hands trembled a little bit as she drew her own scrap of paper out.

Bart smiled, “Ok! See you on the other side!” He knelt and slid his paper beneath the door and stepped back again. A moment passed and suddenly the crypt doors swung open. To Bettina it looked like an empty mausoleum,but Bart’s smile vanished into an awestruck look and he stepped forward into the shadows, “Oh coo-” and he was gone and the doors closed.

Bettina swallowed nervously and looked down at her the blank paper in her hands.

“Once you’ve made  your honors to our founder and told her your name, you must make an offering for the gate to open,” the letter had said, “Write what you want. Not whatever you want, not some passing whim, dear student: speak your heart’s desire. Tell our founder what you want truly desire…the thing you will pursue while you are in the halls of her school. Write it down and send it to her and come to find your destiny.” 

Bettina thought about it, eyes wide in the moonlight. She thought about Ms. Clarke and the strange way her handbag seemed to hold whatever the needed. She thought about the real magic shops she been to in New Orleans, and the queer old men and women and their enchanted fetishes dancing on the end of silver chains. She thought about Bart’s chest and its little, wobbly legs and the way he’d vanished…and then she drew her pen from her pocked and smoothed the paper on the tomb’s cold face. 

I want to understand, she wrote. 

She folded the paper and slid it beneath the door, waiting in terror against the possibility of a wrong answer. Somewhere in the cemetery a woman sobbed quietly, and an owl hooted. 

The door swung open. Inside was no empty shell of stone, but another graveyard. An old man smoked a strange, black cigarette just on the other side, leaning on a long wooden staff. In the distance she could see Bart walking towards the open gates and the manor house that seemed to hover over the dark waters beyond them. The man had golden eyes and a little smile and he waved her to come through, “Aye, Ms. Wells. We’re expecting you…come on! The feast starts soon.”

Bettina stepped through, and the door shut behind her.

americanwizarding:

To Bettina it was like some wonderful, terrible dream, and she could hardly believe it was happening. Ms. Clarke from the the Department of Secrecy and Obfuscation (Bettina like the word ‘obfuscation’ with all its round a flowing sounds - it looked like the way it was spelled and what it meant and she had used it whenever possible over the past few years) had been in her life for five years (ever since she had made the book start reading themselves to her because her mother was too busy) so she knew magic was real, but today was the day. Today she started at the Laveau Academy.

She reached one small hand underneath the dark purple folds of her robes and touched the letter that was carefully folded in the pocket of her slacks. It was the Letter. Her Letter. Written in an elegant emerald ink on real vellum and signed by the headmistress herself: Lady Dimon. She must have read it a hundred times, so technically she knew what she was supposed to do, even if she couldn’t quite believe it. The instructions were quite clear: wait at the gates of the Old Belle Cemetery until midnight and then find the oldest tomb in the westernmost corner and…

Bettina shook her head, trying to think about it as a creeping fog coiled up her ankles. She had assumed Ms. Clark would be coming within her, but the old witch had only levitated her trunk out of the car, given her a brief hug, and wished her luck before driving off. She couldn’t even call her parents, and the nearest gas station was several miles away. The Letter had assured her she would be perfectly safe, but peering through the wrought iron gates she could only remember the ghost stories surrounding the cemetery, and the shapes of the hunched tombstones and and weird shadows in the mist were making her nervous.

“Hello!” A bright voice said suddenly from behind her, making her jump and shriek in surprise.

Behind her was a boy, probably around her own age and looking at her quizzically. He had a round, dark face, with curly hair. Beneath his purple robes was a slightly stocky body, and a small chest wobbled behind him on four stout, strong legs, “Sorry!” he said, just as brightly, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Laveau Academy? I’m Bart. Bart Whittle.” He held out a pudgy hand.

“Uh…yes. Hello.” she said, taking it tentatively, “I’m Bettina. Bettina Wells. Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was coming.”

“Oh yes. But just us I think. My family lives in Adams county. You’re from around here?” she nodded and started to respond but Bart kept talking, “Cool! First year? I am too. My sister, Lucy, graduated last fall from Laveau, but its my first year too. My father is a Laveau alum. My mother went to Salem. Did you get your chalk?” He produced a length of white chalk from a pocket in his robe.

“Er…yes. I did.” she fished around and held it up, and his smile broadened.

“Great!” he turned to the gate, “I wonder if this is a test?” he asked absent-mindedly, reaching out to touch the metal, “It’s almost midnight you know.”

Bettina blinked, “A test? We’re being tested?” she asked, feeling slightly panicky.

“Oh yeah. Dad says everything at the academy is a test, all the time. I wonder if it starts now…” he drew a length of wood from inside a sleeve, “But I don’t think we can use magic until we get to campus…and I never learned an opening charm that would work on iron like this. Do you know one?”

“No.” Bettina said, but drew her own wand from her pocket. It was 11.5 inches long and made of cyprus wood with a sea-serpent spine at its core. She still remembered how it had produced bubbles when she’d picked it up the first time, “I…I don’t really know much magic yet.”

“Oh! Are you muggleborn?” he peered at her, “My mother was muggleborn. Grandmother was very upset. Calls me a blight on the family honor. She says my existence is an insult to all good and decent wizardkind.”

“That’s terrible!” Bettina said, appaled. Ms. Clarke had warned her about purism, but…

“Oh, its okay. She’s a terrible old bat, but she cares really. She turned my cousin Sterling into a goat when he tried to hex me last christmas. She says I may be filth but I’m still family and you take care of family. What was that?”

Bettina was so mesmerized by the boy’s story she hadn’t even noticed the faint, distant tolling of church bells, but now she heard it clearly and frowned. The nearest church was miles away, but this thought vanished as she watched the wrought iron shake a little and then swung quietly inward, the old chain uncoiling like a clanking snake. The pair looked through the gate.

“The oldest tomb, right?” asked Bart, “Northwest corner?”

“Yes.” the girl replied, looking cautiously around, “Do…do you think its safe?”

“Oh yes! My mother counseled the Weeping Widow that haunts this place last fall. She’s actually quite nice, she just died in mourning. You know how it is.” he held out his wand and stepped through the gate.

“Your…mother counseled a ghost?” Bettina asked, following him and holding out her own wand even though she couldn’t do much more than shoot sparks from the end.

“Oh yes. She works for the Spirit Division of the Board of Intranational Magical Peoples. The IMP Board. You know?” he waited for he nod and then kept walking, “She’s a ghost whisperer…” he continued in this vein for several minutes as they walked through the cemetery,and Bettina marveled at his apparent need to talk consistently without stopping to breathe. She wondered if it was a magic talent, like her ability to make books read themselves, but either way it was soothing and made her forget her fear for a little while, and eventually they found themselves at the crumbling tomb.

“Alright,” Bart said, making his wand vanish up his robe again and drawing the chalk, “Ready?”

Bettina nodded and drew her own, and together they dashed three harsh “X’s” onto the side of the tomb and signed their name before stepping back. They stepped back and Bart drew a single piece of paper from inside his robes, “Want to go first?”

“Uh…no. You go first.” She said nervously. This was the part she was dreading, and her hands trembled a little bit as she drew her own scrap of paper out.

Bart smiled, “Ok! See you on the other side!” He knelt and slid his paper beneath the door and stepped back again. A moment passed and suddenly the crypt doors swung open. To Bettina it looked like an empty mausoleum,but Bart’s smile vanished into an awestruck look and he stepped forward into the shadows, “Oh coo-” and he was gone and the doors closed.

Bettina swallowed nervously and looked down at her the blank paper in her hands.

“Once you’ve made your honors to our founder and told her your name, you must make an offering for the gate to open,” the letter had said, “Write what you want. Not whatever you want, not some passing whim, dear student: speak your heart’s desire. Tell our founder what you want truly desire…the thing you will pursue while you are in the halls of her school. Write it down and send it to her and come to find your destiny.”

Bettina thought about it, eyes wide in the moonlight. She thought about Ms. Clarke and the strange way her handbag seemed to hold whatever the needed. She thought about the real magic shops she been to in New Orleans, and the queer old men and women and their enchanted fetishes dancing on the end of silver chains. She thought about Bart’s chest and its little, wobbly legs and the way he’d vanished…and then she drew her pen from her pocked and smoothed the paper on the tomb’s cold face.

I want to understand, she wrote.

She folded the paper and slid it beneath the door, waiting in terror against the possibility of a wrong answer. Somewhere in the cemetery a woman sobbed quietly, and an owl hooted.

The door swung open. Inside was no empty shell of stone, but another graveyard. An old man smoked a strange, black cigarette just on the other side, leaning on a long wooden staff. In the distance she could see Bart walking towards the open gates and the manor house that seemed to hover over the dark waters beyond them. The man had golden eyes and a little smile and he waved her to come through, “Aye, Ms. Wells. We’re expecting you…come on! The feast starts soon.”

Bettina stepped through, and the door shut behind her.