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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1894. 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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Queen Victoria was known for putting jackets and dresses on her pups, causing clothing for dogs to become so popular that fashion houses for just dog clothes started popping up all over Paris. — Fox
It would be easy to assume that Evangeline came to the Lady Morgana only to pick fights. That wasn't true at all. They also had very good biscuits.
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Life in Fiction
Daytime, 21st March, 1894 — Greengrass Home, Bartonburg
She had resolved to stay at the house today, so as not to have a repeat of that abortive shopping trip. (At the house: she wasn’t at ease enough yet to dare call it home.)

It might have been easier to settle in if Ford had been here during the days – she had just adjusted to spending all that time in his company at the Sanditon, and now he was at work. Not that anyone had been dreadfully unfriendly to her yet, but she still felt uncomfortably like a guest whom no one had actually wanted to invite. And – unlike a guest – even if Jemima took the hint, she had nowhere else to go.

So she had been doing her best to seem busy without getting into anyone else’s way – and without having any real purpose in life, either. (Previously most of her daily activities had been spent in debutante-esque pursuits, which were altogether irrelevant now.) Jemima was hovering at a bookcase downstairs, not-so-casually scanning the shelves. Ford had been reading something at the Sanditon, a book of poetry she thought she would recognise if she saw it again (and it felt mildly useful to learn a little about the things he liked). She hadn’t found it yet, but the door opening behind her made her jump out of her skin.

It was Clementine. “Oh – sorry – I was just looking for something to read,” Jemima explained quickly, although Clementine hadn’t so much as asked yet and she was sure she hadn’t been doing anything wrong, besides. Still, she turned away from the bookshelves just to gauge whether Clementine wanted possession of the room and preferred her gone. (Jemima would have been perfectly happy to cede the space to a dormouse if it had thought her a nuisance.)
Clementine Greengrass/Aldous Crouch

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Bride and groom were home now, and Clementine was doing a very good imitation of someone who felt altogether pushed aside in her own house if only to avoid seeing her brother cast in any sort of romantic role. She was Perfectly Pleasant™, of course, but spent little time outside of meals in the common areas of the home, and found as many opportunities to spend time out and about with friends as possible. This latter had been hindered slightly, though, by the stain that the new addition to the family had brought with her when she moved in.

Jemima Greengrass was, to Clementine, a conundrum. She was no longer Miss Farley, that much was clear to all involved parties, but she had never been close enough with the older girl to call her by her given name, and Mrs. Greengrass was both painfully formal and also her Mama's name. And so, she was still Miss Farley much of the time in Clementine's thoughts (and diary), and nothing at all as much as it could be helped out loud.

The Greengrass household was clearly a den of love and togetherness.

She had sat down at the small writing desk in her bedroom to respond to Hermia's letter, only to realize she had left it in the parlour. Resolved, she descended the stairs and listened at the door. Satisfied that no one was in there (and thus, she was unlikely to be roped into conversation), Clementine entered the room only to see that it actually was occupied by her nameless new housemate.

"Oh," she said lamely. After a beat, Clementine added, "you needn't apologize. After all, it is your house now."
Jemima Greengrass

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She had known Clementine the best of the Greengrasses previously (which did not say much, really, because they had been fellow Hufflepuffs more than bosom friends) but Jemima had seen startlingly little of her in the last few days. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Should it be a relief, or did it make things more concerning?

But she had been civil thus far (for all of ten seconds), so that was – good. Maybe. Jemima tried not to flush at your house. “Well, yes, but – you have lived in it longer,” she returned, just as lamely. “And I don’t want to be in your way. I’m still finding my way around.” She had said so with a peaceable smile, but she regretted it, for it wasn’t a particularly clever statement: not funny enough to be a joke, and (as Ford had technically warned her) the Bartonburg house was hardly big enough for that to be true unless one was very directionally challenged.

Technically, Noble had lived here longest, but Clementine often forgot that part given how frequently Ford liked to play the I'm responsible for the family card. Truly maddening.

"Are you... looking for anything in particular?" Clementine asked. Her tone wasn't exactly helpful, but since her words were, she doubted anyone would suggest she was not at least trying. She could not very well mold her future nieces into little feminists to terrorize their father if she was not on good terms with their mother, and while she wasn't eager to be best of friends with... her, she likewise did not want to burn any bridges for the future.
Jemima Greengrass

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“Oh, not really,” Jemima said airily, because she didn’t want to explain she was looking for one particular volume of poetry that Ford had brought on the honeymoon – and what if it wasn’t here, and he had kept it in his bedroom? It would only make her look worryingly nosy.

“Just a novel, maybe, or some poetry,” she said instead, and it was not wholly a lie – she did need something new to read, now that her days were not dizzyingly filled with rushed wedding plans and she was not crying incessantly. She tilted her head at Clementine, wondering if the other girl was too clever for novels, and looked down on them as frivolous, compared to non-fiction. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in particular you’d recommend?”

Clementine's nose wrinkled as she made a face at poetry. If pressed, she might have simply insisted that it was frivolous, that her time was better spent on more intellectual pursuits, but in reality, Clem had never really much gotten poetry. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Why on earth was that so famous?

"I am... not one for poetry," Clem answered diplomatically, her facial expression suggesting very much that this was an understatement. "I do have some Austen in my room, though, if you need fiction—or, I wonder," she hesitated a moment before asking, "have yu read "The Subjection of Women"? It's an essay rather than a novel, but I do have a copy of that, as well."
Jemima Greengrass

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