"Balloon?" came a voice from behind the door - it was her mother coming to get her for breakfast.
"Where's the balloon Charley?" she asked in her cheery good morning voice.
"Bloon" burst out Charley, very pleased to share her treasure with her Mumma. She held it out proudly to her in both hands.
"Oh Charley" she said gently taking the glass from her ... "wherever did you get this from?"
And as she reached to take it Charley pulled it back unexpectedly, having decided to keep hold of it herself, but instead it fell hitting the wall, and as it dropped, it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces on the rug.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
Little Charlene discovered very early that if she closed her eyes tightly and pictured something in her mind, it would often as not appear there and then, before her in real life. This had first occurred one day when she had wanted some ice-cream and wishing with a picture, a bowl had appeared exactly as imagined with sprinkles on vanilla.
Marley was not awake yet and the toddler was bored - she wanted something new to play with. Thinking of the shiny hourglass that sat on her father's desk back in his house, in less than a minute she was holding it in her small chubby grasp.
Delighted at the way the blue dust fell down the fine tapered neck, Charley was mesmerized to watch it drizzle into the bulb at the other end. The glass glittered and the colour inside was so pretty.
"Bloon" she said, turning if over and over and peering inside.
"Ba-loon" the rabbit beside her corrected.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
Puck had sat himself down on the steamy ground, in a darkened cell, away from it all: deep in the hot damp depths of Hell.
He often went there to collect his thoughts as this inspired him - he found it woke his mind well, stripping it of its usual bliss and fizz and endless poetry.
Over the ages Puck's visits became alike to a human frequenting a lost dogs' home, pitying the shivering creatures who mourn audibly, whining to be released. It really was no more or less than a simple compassion drawing him back, and when it was possible he would even adopt one or two.
Now and then he would take the 'Celebrity Walk' down to some of the out of the way corridors where few would go. These sectors were for long staying souls impounded - brutal men and women whose influence on worldly history had been significantly dire.
The small enclosures ran side by side, with no precipice or shared company. There they lay in solitary, reliving the hardships caused on others - feeling every terrible suffering inflicted, now upon themselves. Poked by their own barbs, these experiences were detailed and true, with many destined to remain over centuries to endure and work through it all.
The perimeters of karma are set firmly and close - much closer than the mortals ever realize ... with its balances and adjustments coming from within, and not, as supposed, from without.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
Scrooge sat at his desk that was laden with chestnuts and elephants' toes (they were not real elephants' toes, but a nut that went by that name having a rather large wrinkled bulbous shell).
He had retired to the enchanted woods, after a brief recovery in one of the better short-term suites of Hell.
His friend Charles had brought him to the seed farm for convalescence; in a gesture of goodwill for inspiring a literary invention that had turned out to be quite popular.
The literary Scrooge was not so very different to the practical spirit who loved to go through his labours of addition and revision daily. He carried his ledger book everywhere and referred to it constantly.
He would not use a calculator, believing it to circumvent the pleasure of a good sum. With quill to paper he scribbled his scrawl, excited at his totals in a nest of columns and zeros.
"Gordon" he called, when reaching the end of his spreadsheet.
Goober obligingly appeared with a coffee and a box of gold wrapped chocolates.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
It was St Agnes Day and the women had come to the little chapel to pray for their fertility. Each of the three had wanted a child very badly - but so far their menses had continued and their cradles lay vacant.
Ralph looked endearingly at the men and in reading their questions he shook hands with them saying: "It will be better this time, I promise you".
Jobe shrugged. He still had no idea why life continually called him back into the land of the living. He was just getting used to being a spirit, and very happy with his companions.
"Boys" said Ralph with an energetic smile and flourish of his hands - "meet your mothers".
No sooner had he said this, all three vanished from where they had been standing....
"They will be good mothers", said Puck approvingly. “St Agnes will be glad."
"You must send her my best Robin, when you see her next."
"I'll be sure to" he said.
A moment later he was back in London, standing at the bedside of his sleeping Charlene, watching her as she dreamed peacefully her infant visions of Faerie.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"It is not my place - nor has it ever been - to tell Nervina who or what to be." he said, almost to himself.
"Is it because of his disposition?" Sardonicus could feel the anger emanating from his boss. Puck hesitated. He rarely spoke of things of a personal nature - it was not done amongst their own.
"It has nothing to do with his key in what lock - but more with his bad choice of company.”
"Passion is to blame here though, don't you think?"
"No, not passion. True passion motivates the life forces and brings forth all things good. But it is desire perhaps moreover - for desire is the poor cousin to passion, ever hungry, and with no real result.
“Passion mediates the Heavens and its creatures therein; desire is the counterfeit hope, that tires itself in the longing.”
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"Nervina is dead."
"That can't be true."
"It is - it might as well be ... he is dead to me anyway."
Sardonicus looked concerned - Puck continued on:
"I want you to take his imprint from all of the locks and permissions. He is to have no access to any of the estates or communications. And, please, put an Elven alert out also, should he be seen in this region."
"What on heavenly earth are you talking about?" asked Sardonicus who was now more perturbed than ever. "Have the two of you had a falling out?"
"It’s nothing like that – it’s much more. You know how a tree can go bad from the inside but look perfectly stable until it falls? Well, his discernment has corrupted and he can no longer be trusted - he's gone bad on the inside...”
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
