In this pocket guide, I am aiming to write every single correspondence that you will ever need for the food in your kitchen, meaning that you can make every single meal (even cheesy toast), magickal! Too many times have I frantically been searching from book to book, trying to locate the correspondences for obscure cooking items. I wouldn't wish that faff on anyone! Now, I have created an ultimate list to save you the hassle of owning or searching for hours just to find the associations of a specific item. Enjoy and happy cooking!
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Azalia was child in a farming village that was hovering near poverty but getting by just fine. She had friends, family, peace, health, free time, and happiness though she never had what one would call a luxury. She was happy. Until the bombs started dropping. She didn't know why. No-one did. They just knew that there were many different ways to lose your loved ones.
Right now she's trying to provide for her loved ones, trying to survive. But to the soldiers anything is fair game. Anyone is fair game. For whatever their purposes are.
The seventeen-year old is Queen. She should be happy about that, right? She's not only married but she's married to the king.
She's not only married but she's married to the king. She's got a husband who has money and power and rank. Someone she can honour and obey and give herself to. Someone who will provide for her as long as she stays in line. As long as she stayed quiet, stays submissive, stays without an opinion, stays calm and ladylike and (of course) beautiful. As long as she stays worthy of love, worthy of belonging, worthy of what he gives to her.
The seventeen-year old is Queen.
That means she has giant, ornate palaces, crystal chandeliers, hundreds of dresses, and a bunch of food she can't actually eat but can indeed stare at (fat women aren't attractive after all).
The peasants, the people lower down on the hierarchy, don't have that. They don't have food, often, as the price of bread can soar too high for them to buy it. They don't have warmth in the winter, or medicine for when they're sick. What they do have is hard work. Hard work and calloused palms, calloused fingers, calloused feet.
And her heart reaches out to them. But what does her heart know? It's not her place to have opinions.
She has to be loyal. To her man. ... Unless... unless her loyalty truly belongs with someone else.
Maybe the thing she has to be is brave.