Mirror, mirror.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, & today I'm all fondness for my legal wyf (as I'm her were) & so I'll set it down in the alchemist's al jibr: absence æ fonder. They are æqualis today for sure. After my Black Hat workshift had ended yesterday, I was pretty sore-- of the heart. Felt less Sapienta & more Fortitudo! So when I was back in our Witchcastle suburb out of the Old City (the Long-hammer's Great World & Great Rail took me their, sussuruss of pounding & black tongued words), I stopped by the vintners & the victualers. My feet walk those labyrinths without even needing my considerance. A fat hunk of bull to broil, some large white vegetable (snow cabbage some call it), toadstools, & most importantly a stout bottle of wine. I may speak against Eponyms but they certainly can put squashed fruit in bottles & let it ferment. After the bellies of wyf & were had been filled, we put a picture show on with the magic lantern: an angel, a girl, the girl fought a ghost, the angel fought a monster, there was an enchanted cabaret hall. I had seen the train of images before, but she hadn't, & I was happy to again; it is part of a much larger serial that we've been enjoying since Yule liberation. Then to our berth, where we slept with our legs entangled.