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Welcome to Tantamount!Population: undefined/nebulous.Visitors to Tantamount are required to attend the orientation classes held at the Tourist Information Centre. Failure to attend these classes will be punished by Carrion. Tantamount takes no responsibility for injury, loss of life, spiritual dislocation or other harm caused to visitors who have not attended orientation.We hope you enjoy your stay,Tantamount Tourist Board.TANTAMOUNT, adj: equivalent in seriousness to. Italian 'tanto montare'= 'amount to much'.noun: a small, strange town somewhere near the Severn, known to move about.Come and visit this... charming place, complete with launderette dragons, maelids, witches, a serendipitous s...
a poetry collection that explores the descent into despair and its path to redemption in a realistic freedom
Her fate is sealed. Her death is inevitable... Carrie Rickard, leaving an abusive relationship back in London, tries to escape her past by throwing herself into her restoration project: Fairwood House, known to locals of Pagham-on-Sea as The Crows. Unable to resist as it whispers to her, Carrie’s obsession only grows when she discovers it was the site of a gruesome unsolved murder. As she digs deeper into the mystery, she awakens dark and dangerous forces. Cue an introduction to her foul-mouthed neighbour, Ricky Porter, who is as obsessed with The Crows as Carrie is, and who has several secrets of his own. Not least of which are what’s really under his hood, and what he’s got in the cellar... A chilling gothic horror novel of haunted houses, eldritch monsters and things that go bump in the night.
'I've felt for a long time that there must be more in the call to Baba Yaga's cottage than the fairytales tell us. Natalia Clarke has drawn on her Siberian heritage and personal insights in this powerful piece to show us how we might approach this powerful Goddess. This is a book for anyone drawn to dark Goddesses and Crone Goddesses. It's also the first map I've seen that explores the forests in search of wild Gods who will not make themselves comfortable in our homes or on our altars. It's groundbreaking stuff.' Nimue Brown A unique perspective on working with Baba Yaga, Slavic Earth Goddess of mystery, intrigue and ambiguity, through apprenticing into her magic. In this introductory work Baba Yaga is re-defined outside of the dogmatic portrayals and becomes one of the most powerful and influential figures in an individual spiritual practice. An accessible guide to building a devotional practice, Pagan Portals – Baba Yaga is a journey of discovery and collaboration with deity, written to aid your own psycho-spiritual progression and offer a unique presentation of how we might work with the Goddess, psychologically and spiritually.
How do you survive a mermaid's curse? Where lurks the immortal cat? Who cooks old boots in a stew? Is treasure really buried down under May Hill? Dive into these tales from forest, vale and high blue hill, on a journey that will take you far into the past, deep into other worlds and through the seasons of the year – all without leaving Gloucestershire! Strange and fabulous stories from all over the county are brought to life in this book by Stroud storytellers Anthony Nanson and Kirsty Hartsiotis.
ZELDA DAMERON BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON The Adventures of Zelda Dameron: Illustrated, by Meredith Nicholson. The struggle of a daughter to be loyal to an ignoble parent forms the basis of this novel. The author spoils an otherwise fine heroine by making her too eccentric and too rude. A note common to many books is apparent; the attitude toward lying seems to be that it is good or evil according to motive or end. In Ezra Dameron, pious miser, and Rodney Merriam, gentleman, the character-drawing is quite strong and clear. ZELDA DAMERON BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON
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rosalind at red gate From Meredith Nicholson
There was a daisy-meadow, that flowed brimming to the stone wall at the roadside, and on the wooded crest beyond a lamp twinkled in a house round which stole softly the unhurried, eddyless dusk. You stood at the gate, your arms folded on the top bar, your face uplifted, watching the stars and the young moon of June. I was not so old but that I marked your gown of white, your dark head, your eyes like the blue of mid-ocean sea-water in the shadow of marching billows. As my step sounded you looked up startled, a little disdainful, maybe; then you smiled gravely; but a certain dejection of attitude, a sweet wistfulness of lips and eyes, arrested and touched me; and I stole on guiltily, for who was I to intrude upon a picture so perfect, to which moon and stars were glad contributors? As I reached the crown of the road, where it dipped down to a brook that whispered your name, I paused and looked back, and you waved your hand as though dismissing me to the noisy world of men.