Laura Morrigan

This skirt was adapted from the McCalls M7500 pattern. I used the skirt from view C and D, which has the ruffle. I cut out the pieces, sewed them together, then simply turned over the top of the skirt piece and made a channel for the elastic.  In future, I might make a waistband instead, as the tapered nature of the skirt pieces made the top of the skirt a little hard to turn over and sew. Luckily the gathering at the top hid any issues. Apart from this, and a LOT of gathering on the ruffle, it was an easy pattern. I used a sheet to see if I liked the pattern, and if the fit was right. It ended up so nice I will be wearing it as the cream colour looks good with other Victoriana or Steampunk clothes.  I will definitely use the skirt pattern again for Steampunk or Lolita themed skirts. I have some Steampunk fabric that I think would go nicely. Maybe with a cream ruffle.

Jack'o'lantern mini pies Halloween altar Bleeding cupcakes Selfmade Halloween dress Bat pancakes Halloween Tree Witches Finger Cookies Vintage Halloween inspired decor Pana vegan white chocolate screaming faces with a chocolate/ candy mold Spooky Cat mini pies Selfmade Halloween dress Spiderweb brownies Pumpkin and spice cupcakes Halloween costumes

1. Thorn Jack by Katherine Harbour Night and Nothing #1 The first in the criminally underrated Night and Nothing trilogy. Thorn Jack is my favourite book of all time, with lush, spooky haunted houses and wicked dark Fae who throw the kind of parties you would happily die to attend. 2. The Autumn Castle by Kim Wilkins This was my favourite novel until Thorn Jack just managed to supersede it. In Autumn Berlin, a chronically injured girl meets a childhood friend stolen by Faeries. They do not know there is danger in the form of a man who kills faeries to build a macabre statue of their bones. Full of magic, horror and human secrets, this is a must-read. 3. Roses and Rot Another of my all time favourite books. Two abused sisters attend a mysterious performing arts college run by the Fae. What will they give to achieve their dreams? A heartfelt novel about family, and the importance of creative arts as self-expression. 4. The Replacement by Brenna Yovanoff A changeling raised by humans must

This short story was inspired by the recent article about a missing gravestone that was found being used as a slab to make fudge on in someone's kitchen. Characters are my own and bear no resemblance to anyone living or dead. No disrespect is intended.  For as long as anyone could remember, Granny Crux and Granny Waller had lived next to each other. And for as long as anyone could remember, they had been feuding. Granny Crux was tall and thin as a bean pole, with a long, hooked nose like a olden days witch. Her clothes were a many times mended patchwork, so that no one could see what the original looked like. Granny Waller was short and plump, with pink cheeks like a child. She still had all her teeth and the sweetest smile. She always wore a big starched apron that nearly engulfed her in its folds. Granny Crux was a baker. She made cakes and pies and tarts that were so good, people flocked from miles around to eat them. People would even walk for miles along the dirt road to get a

I realised that I never made a post about the Tea Duel I attended last year. The event was organised by my friend Yasmin who acted as Tiffin Mistress. It was 7th of March 2020 (pre-Corona in Australia).  Tea duelling is a popular Steampunk game. A simple version of the rules is that duellists dip their biscuits in tea and hold them up. The last biscuit to crumble wins. The event was held at Vintage on Melbourne in Newcastle, a very cute and quirky café filled with charming antiques. There were prizes for duellists and for the best costume. It was a wonderful day and I hope to be able to do this sort of thing again once it is safe! The lovely Yasmin Me with our friend Mardo Mardo Caroline and James have a Steampunk serial you can read here The winners

I am really feeling the warmer weather (at least during the day) and soft breezes here in Australia.  Here is a poem from 2011 that captures my spring feelings.  Persephone, Spring is here. Awaken from your long sleep. Throw off your blanket of cobwebs. Flowers rise through the earth To the world above, It is time for you to do the same. Persephone, Rub your cold hands and feet back to life. Rub the sleep from your eyes. Put on your dress woven all of bright flowers And your shoes of birch bark. Persephone, Kiss your dark lover goodbye. Remind him how to keep house while you are gone Up in the bright world above where he dares not venture. Pin a list on the wall- he always forgets. You'll see him again when winter freezes the earth. Persephone, You know you don't belong in these dim halls. You do not walk with the silent footsteps of the dead, But with the sounds of flutes and drums. Persephone, Love cannot be a stone about your neck.  You were born to freedom. Walk the bright

 I'm the kind of faery That turns your milk sour And steals your bread And tangles your hair while you lie asleep at night I coax the weeds to grow in your garden I like them more than your neat and controlled Rows of flowers and vegetables I don't like things that have an order And a purpose I peel the paint And crack the plaster in your walls To let the damp in I like untidiness Wildness Disorder When the shelf crashes down in the night And the plates all crack That's me When you only have odd socks I've taken the other halves of every pair I'm probably wearing them Dancing in the dewdrops somewhere One spotted sock One striped But what if you let go Of this obsessive need for order? Use the mismatched crockery Come dance in the dew in your mismatched socks Let the damp in  And a rich carpet of moss grow on your roof And maybe flowers and vines Will grow out of the floor Making your own jungle garden And you'll dance Dance A wild dance In the garden of your ow

Content Warning: murder My head pounds, my stomach growls, my fingers bleed. I cannot stop playing. The same song, over and over. The same silent song. My eyes are stinging, my tears dried up days ago. I have had no food or water for at least a week ;  I should be dead by now ,  but it wants me to go on. Wants me to keep playing. I don’t know if it will ever let me die. My body is not my own. It is perhaps a unique torture that my mind is still free, that I can drift back in time to when we first came here. How unhappy I was then, unaware of how much worse things could still get. * I remember when I first saw the house, solid and imposing   despite its ramshackle condition. An old manor house, with   peeling paint and boards on the windows . My mother’s face was white and stiff, holding back the anger that had been simmering for days now. My father was trying to make this seem like a big adventure. My younger sisters actually thought it was . They were laughing, running and hiding behi

 Content warning: Hunting, animal death * The officer slides the hot chocolate  to me across the metal table. His eyes are sympathetic, but I don’t know if this is one of those things to trick you into confessing to something you didn ’t do. “Look kid, I know you’re in shock, but we really need to know what happened. Do you think you can help us out?” I pull the blanket closer around me. It smells like someone’s dog has been using it as a bed. Maybe the police dogs were sleeping on it. I think of Skip, his warm fur and smelly dog scent. An image of his body flits before my eyes and I smell the bitter tang of blood in my nostrils. “I didn’t want to go,” I whisper. * I didn’t want to go on the trip but dad wouldn’t hear of it. Hunting, fishing, violent sports, getting drunk: They were all his idea of what it meant to be a man. I guess that’s why mum and dad weren’t together anymore. Mum was more like me. We didn’t like movies where the dog died or dad’s drunken friends. Once dad finally

Me with Sabrina the Wedge-tailed Eagle and handler The Blacktown City Medieval Fayre took place at Nurragingy Reserve on the weekend of the 22nd-23rd of May. Run by volunteers from the Blacktown City Council, and many re-enactment groups, it was a large and enjoyable event.  There were a range of stalls selling food and medieval wares, and many demonstrations by re-enactors. The highlight were the jousting, fighting and the birds of prey demonstrations. Unfortunately I was only at the event for about three hours and was not able to see everything, but I was able to catch these three: One of the lady knights The jousting involved several trained horsemen and women who are professional jousters and participate in competitions around the country, some even overseas. There were quite a few broken lances, and it was a very exciting event to watch. The knights and ladies also demonstrated their skill at tasks such as collecting rings with a lance and hitting the quintain while riding past. T

I miss my wings. I miss the feeling of soaring through the sky untethered, the wind ruffling my feathers.  The witch  thought she cursed us but really she set us free. Free from rules and expectations.  Free from the human forms that bound us to the ground.    We were boys when we were turned into swans. Now we are still boys in the clumsy, over - large bodies of men. Everything feels wrong. In the years we were birds ,  our human bodies somehow kept on growing without us. They are foreign to us now , c overed in pimples and body hair ,   filled  with strange urges.  How can we tell our sister she didn't set us free, rather chained us back to the earth we had escaped?  She sacrificed so much. She was nearly burned alive. Her feet still bear thick red scars from the flames and she stumbles when she walks. I don't know how she could ever forgive her husband but she says she has. I know when he sleeps at night she still wanders the graveyard where she used to pick nettles. I suspe