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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1892. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.

Where will you fall?

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“Got the morbs” was Victorian slang for a temporary melancholia — Dante
In a panic sort of reaction, she shut the door but neglected to make sure she was on the other side of it.
the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

mining for stars in a field of diamonds;;
March 24, 1892 — Mountbatton Residence, Wellingtonshire
Poppy was glad that Easter respite had finally come. She had missed her bed here in Wellingtonshire for what it was: a place of refuge. It did not compare in the slightest to the elegance of her room in Surrey at Dashwood Hall, but it was comfortable. Poppy knew she ought to get even more used to it as, when she debuted, it would be her most frequent stop-over. Hogsmeade had become a fashionable place to host events, almost as much so as London. Perhaps she would ask mama if they could redecorate it a touch. It would give her something to focus her attention on, outside of just the social season.

Today however, Poppy had nothing but thoughts of a social nature. Her Lonely Hearts informative had generated quite a few responses on Atticus’ behalf, and his young cousin was pleased to filter through them for the best candidates. She’d been sitting on a few of the responses since February, corresponding consistently to try and glean the information she could. One such promising correspondence had been handed off to her Aunt Viola, but Poppy was sure it would be handled with all the grace and tact she could only hope to one day emulate. As it was, she hoped desperately to emulate her aunt and mother today, reviewing all she’d ever learned from them about social management on her brisk walk through Wellingtonshire.

It was a touch chilly today and Poppy was glad of her gloves as she nodded to the chaperone her mother has insisted accompany her to the door. With a gentle knock, Poppy waited to be admitted. A butler greeted her pleasantly and she stepped into the parlor.

It was a beautiful entry-way, much as she’d have expected from a home in Wellingtonshire. It had a distinctly foreign touch to it, elegant and graceful in all the best ways. Poppy marveled at the home a little bit and took mental pictures, trying to imagine Atticus in this house. She smiled then at the footman who accepted her calling card, and laced her fingers together as he excused himself to inform Ms. Mountbatton that she’d arrived.

Suki's home, the home that had once been her fathers, had changed a great deal since her fathers time. It had been locked up for years, so when Natsuko came into her inheritance following her graduation from Mahoutokoro, she had gutted the place, magically expanded the inside and bent the stately English home to her unEnglish will. The wall papers were from Japan, and beyond the main rooms there were hints of the paper doors of her homeland - her intimate internal spaces; washitsu rooms set out as a tea room, a zen garden and magically created courtyards with róka accommodating the cherry blossoms she had had transposed from her a nursery near Osaka. The paper doors differentiating between the outer parts of the house where her English guests could wear shoes, and the inner rooms where she expected shoeless travel and as such few of her English companions were ever permitted into that space.

Her Butler, an old Japanese man, had shown Miss Dashwood into one of the English parlors, that still had more than a few Japanese touches, painted screens, calligraphy art and a prominent tiger skin rug before the fire, it's head set into a vicious snarl forever.

'Miss Dashwood,' Natsuko greeted with a gracious bow to her guest, Natsuko didn't 'dress down' there was no such thing as a 'casual tea dress' in her wardrobe, and today was no exception, the water patterned dress shimmered and fluttered, the magical pattern moving as she did. The amthsyt and jade ornaments in her hair, standing in stark contrast to her jet black locks. 'I am honoured that you came to call?' she greeted warmly, after their letters it was still a little awkward to be meeting in person off the back of lonely heart letters.

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MJ made something stunning
Poppy marveled some more at the room she was led to, intrinsically feeling just a touch out of place. She was very, very English and entering this house was much like being transported to another place and time. She had to admit, it was thrilling and exciting, in a way she hadn’t expected it to be. (Though, Poppy always discounted her urge to travel and learn about new places and cultures as silly.) Still, today, she would indulge herself a little and hopefully have a chance to ask Ms. Mountbatton a bit about her home, for this looked like the place of a woman who traveled.

Settling in, Poppy waited patiently until Ms. Mountbatton arrived and the very look of her was a surprise! Poppy couldn’t help the shock that flittered across her face at how… beautiful and foreign Ms. Mountbatton actually was! Her hair was astonishing and her attire even more so. Immediately Poppy broke into a grin. If her looks did not radiate excellence, well then Poppy didn’t know what would! But! There was more to a good match for Atticus than simply looks, she reminded herself.

Offering the lady a small curtsey - because she didn’t know what else to do in exchange for a bow - Poppy smiled delicately. “Ms. Mountbatton, thank you for inviting me to your lovely home. I did not realize it would be so exquisite.” Poppy made a vague gesture at all the little trinkets and things that were unfamiliar to her. She resisted the urge to immediately jump into asking about the woman’s travels and experiences, knowing it would be rude to seem so eager. Instead, she carefully passed her coin purse from one hand to the other.

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