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  • House Spaces 218
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  • i like a quiet life, you know me ϟ
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  • A Tale as Old as Time Book Necklace
    alexmonroe.com
    A tale as old as time, what better to celebrate this story than with a book? Where all great tales begin and magic can come to life.
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    • Vintage Style Love Romantic French Pastel Photograph Art Print - Je t'aime
    • Oblivion Is All You Crave: 8x8 fine art photography print
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  • Siren Story NUMBER 8
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    SIREN STORY SURGE ends today with a rather looooong story (Laura didn't know about our 500 words limit, but we will forgive her, won't we?). You can read about how it all started here. Please welcome our 8th and final SIREN AUTHOR, Laura Morrigan, a time-traveller from the 19th Century, who accidentally found herself trapped in Modern Day Australia when the sherry that powered her time machine was drunk by thirsty New South Welshmen. While awaiting rescue, she spends her time writing, watching urban fantasy and period dramas, and looking at pictures of lolcats. She is addicted to Gothic and steampunk literature, and in the process of creating her own steampunk world. Photo by Noukka Signe Siren Story NUMBER 8 by Laura Morrigan This story is set on the Australian farm where I grew up as a child. We didn't have cows, but we had blueberry trees, and two rivers, and a lot of long grass. The place has a timeless feel to it. I used to hear her voice, out at the back of the property, down near the river. I would hear her song when I was lying in the grass on summer afternoons, daydreaming. At first I thought it was part of my dreams, but it would carry on, long after I awakened. It was a long time before I realised it was her voice that gave me those dreams. I met her on a long, lazy summer when I was eight years old. The grass was bone dry, and as high as my waist, in the back paddock, where my daddy never mowed. It was so dry, I wasn't afraid of leeches. I was striding through it, pretending I was an adventurer, in my gumboots and my straw hat. I saw a flash of red towards the river, and made my way towards it, thinking it might be a robin, or some other bird. Imagine my surprise when I found a girl, a girl, bathing in the river. She was tall and slender, with long, curly red hair, and freckled skin. Kisses of the sun, my mumma called them. She was also naked. I could see her breasts, and I had to look away. Her lack of shame made me ashamed. “What are you doing in the river, miss?” I asked her. “Did you lose your clothes?” She gave a silvery laugh. “Oh, no, just bathing!” her accent was odd, and I could not place it. “You do know that this is my daddy's land don't you? He'll be angry if he catches you here!” She laughed again at this. “Your daddy hasn't caught me once, yet! And he won't. Most grown men can't see anything beyond what they understand to be real. Anyway, if he comes too close, I'll sing my other song”, she opened her mouth, and the most horrible sound came out, a sound I will never be able to describe. I felt like my brain was melting, and running out of my ears, and felt nothing but the will to run away. Dark, grim images of war, of corpses dead but still walking, filled my mind. I stumbled away from the river bank. The girl closed her mouth. In an instant, the terror was gone. It was a summer afternoon again, and I was in the most peaceful place in the world.I would no more think of leaving it than this girl would. Besides, I was curious now. “How did you do that?” The girl smiled. “ I would have thought that was obvious. I'm a siren.” I looked at her blankly. “Like at the fire house?” “No, silly, haven't you ever read a book? We used to lure sailors into the sea with our voices, back in the old days. We were famed for our beautiful song. You've heard it yourself, you've dreamed the dreams.” I thought of the dreams I had, lying in the grass in summertime, that sweet, elusive song, that I thought a part of them. “That was you?” “It was.” She smiled at me, the sweetest smile possible, and I could not believe that she would ever hurt me. After a while, I stripped down to my underwear, and we played in the water together, splashing each other and laughing, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and I had to leave. The next few days, we played together in the river, the sun making my skin as freckled as hers. But the days began to get longer and colder, and she talked of swimming back upriver. She would not tell me where she was going. One day, she was simply gone. I waited for her for years, but she never
    • (FRANCE, ART HISTORY) A collection of books. : Lot 157
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  • www.fm-static.blog.cz Quote Book:
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  • text me about it
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  • Why Christians Fight About What the Bible Says
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    As a Christian ethicist and an ordained Presbyterian minister, I value the Bible a great deal. I study it often and read it with my children. I think the real source of disagreement within Christianity is how we approach the Bible.
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  • Kinfolk Volume 14
    needsupply.com
    Kinfolk magazine sets itself apart by emphasizing a laid-back philosophy to dining and entertaining with little or no how-to information. The Publication's title hints at its subject matter: entertaining, food, drink and community, all presented through lush photographs, essays and stylish art direction. Editor Nathan Williams collaborates with over 50 artists—photographers, illustrators, writers, and designers—to produce the quarterly publication, which is printed in the USA.
  • Siren Story NUMBER 8
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    SIREN STORY SURGE ends today with a rather looooong story (Laura didn't know about our 500 words limit, but we will forgive her, won't we?). You can read about how it all started here. Please welcome our 8th and final SIREN AUTHOR, Laura Morrigan, a time-traveller from the 19th Century, who accidentally found herself trapped in Modern Day Australia when the sherry that powered her time machine was drunk by thirsty New South Welshmen. While awaiting rescue, she spends her time writing, watching urban fantasy and period dramas, and looking at pictures of lolcats. She is addicted to Gothic and steampunk literature, and in the process of creating her own steampunk world. Photo by Noukka Signe Siren Story NUMBER 8 by Laura Morrigan This story is set on the Australian farm where I grew up as a child. We didn't have cows, but we had blueberry trees, and two rivers, and a lot of long grass. The place has a timeless feel to it. I used to hear her voice, out at the back of the property, down near the river. I would hear her song when I was lying in the grass on summer afternoons, daydreaming. At first I thought it was part of my dreams, but it would carry on, long after I awakened. It was a long time before I realised it was her voice that gave me those dreams. I met her on a long, lazy summer when I was eight years old. The grass was bone dry, and as high as my waist, in the back paddock, where my daddy never mowed. It was so dry, I wasn't afraid of leeches. I was striding through it, pretending I was an adventurer, in my gumboots and my straw hat. I saw a flash of red towards the river, and made my way towards it, thinking it might be a robin, or some other bird. Imagine my surprise when I found a girl, a girl, bathing in the river. She was tall and slender, with long, curly red hair, and freckled skin. Kisses of the sun, my mumma called them. She was also naked. I could see her breasts, and I had to look away. Her lack of shame made me ashamed. “What are you doing in the river, miss?” I asked her. “Did you lose your clothes?” She gave a silvery laugh. “Oh, no, just bathing!” her accent was odd, and I could not place it. “You do know that this is my daddy's land don't you? He'll be angry if he catches you here!” She laughed again at this. “Your daddy hasn't caught me once, yet! And he won't. Most grown men can't see anything beyond what they understand to be real. Anyway, if he comes too close, I'll sing my other song”, she opened her mouth, and the most horrible sound came out, a sound I will never be able to describe. I felt like my brain was melting, and running out of my ears, and felt nothing but the will to run away. Dark, grim images of war, of corpses dead but still walking, filled my mind. I stumbled away from the river bank. The girl closed her mouth. In an instant, the terror was gone. It was a summer afternoon again, and I was in the most peaceful place in the world.I would no more think of leaving it than this girl would. Besides, I was curious now. “How did you do that?” The girl smiled. “ I would have thought that was obvious. I'm a siren.” I looked at her blankly. “Like at the fire house?” “No, silly, haven't you ever read a book? We used to lure sailors into the sea with our voices, back in the old days. We were famed for our beautiful song. You've heard it yourself, you've dreamed the dreams.” I thought of the dreams I had, lying in the grass in summertime, that sweet, elusive song, that I thought a part of them. “That was you?” “It was.” She smiled at me, the sweetest smile possible, and I could not believe that she would ever hurt me. After a while, I stripped down to my underwear, and we played in the water together, splashing each other and laughing, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and I had to leave. The next few days, we played together in the river, the sun making my skin as freckled as hers. But the days began to get longer and colder, and she talked of swimming back upriver. She would not tell me where she was going. One day, she was simply gone. I waited for her for years, but she never
  • Quote Book:
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  • Hollister Chronicle Books #OOTD: Fashion Flat Lay Coloring Book
    hollisterco.com
    A paperback coloring book filled with black and white fashion flats waiting for you to give them life by adding color. Fresh outfit inspiration is an additional perk, Illustrated by Laura Hickman, Published by Chronicle Books
  • 100 Years of Fashion Illustration (PB)
    momastore.org
    By Cally Blackman. A visual feast of 400 dazzling images, this is a comprehensive survey of the genre over the last century. The book also offers an overview of the development of fashion, as seen through the eyes of the greatest illustrators of the day. Early in the century fashion illustration reflected new, liberating currents in art and culture, such as the exoticism of the Ballets Russes, while the postwar period saw inspiration from the great Parisian couturiers. After the dominance of the celebrity fashion photographer in the '60s, a new generation of illustrators emerged, embracing the medium of the computer, while many returned to more traditional techniques.

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