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Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

	2011.08.28  22.52 Oh, the fear of dark and unknown things is ripe today, no? A good storm tickles the heart strings. Mass hysteria takes the mortal gaze elsewhere, like children, scurrying to and fro in their hurried pace to escape, and the shadows grow long, and longer still. Gracious, they best be careful. The shadows might eat them up whole, no questions asked. A pity that would be. A pity.

	2011.05.21  13.44 If mass disappearances of the dim-witted fools do happen to occur at nine-o-clock this evening, it will make our existence much less interesting - for what is life if only surrounded by sinners? Truly, it is the devout that keep monsters thriving. At precisely noon, Baba Yaga had arrived in New York City. The so-called 'Rapture' was not due for hours -as if there was a specific time for such a day, as if their reckoning could go by precise clockwork. That is not to say there weren't disappearances throughout the day. Throughout all of the burroughs of New York City, throughout the day, twenty-five children disappeared. Feverishly fanatic Christian families believed that they had been punished for their own earthly sins and for a moment - perhaps it was something in the water - truly believed that their children had left this plane for something better. Which wasn't entirely far from the truth, except for the 'better' part.

	2011.05.21  00.13 Baba Yaga has eyes and ears in many places, it is written. It is time to start moving the pawns. Somewhere, a little girl with golden hair thinks she is just a little girl, and her father, once a wolf, thinks himself living a relatively normal life. But the Crone watches, and she knows. And she pushes one of her pawns further up the proverbial board, whilst dining on blood pudding by candlelight. At midnight, she finds her way onto the roads, and by dusk, she is halfway there. A blue and green canary will find its way to Odin. Zhar'ptitsa will speak in that small voice, small eyes narrow as they eye the ravens gazing upon her. LORD OF THE GALLOWS, the once-Firebird says. JEZI BABA WILL BE IN THE CITY COME NOON. SHE WILL FIND YOU. Matches held between Zhara's beak and delivered, and the bird is gone, likely to flock to its other malcontent mistress of the Midday sun in time to witness the woman go mad from joy at the citywide dehydration from being afraid of the water.

	2010.10.02  19.21 Baba Yaga is in the Appalachian Mountains, now. Hikers who seek support from granite walls of rock and limestone find themselves in slippery situations, when the thunderstorms come, when the wind howls, and their support becomes utterly unforgiving. With broken limbs, they fall into the forest, and she comes to them, heals them - for a price. As the month of October waxes sweetly on, she sends Zhar'ptitsa out on yet more errands - seeking out old alliances long untouched. The blue and green canary will brighten to a gold and fiery orange when it finds the man it seeks, this time. A small note, on familiar vellum, and familiar, antiquated script is delivered to a certain Archibald Lockhart. My dear Professor, 'Tis the season for witches and ghouls to find their way. Whatever happened to the Transylvania twist? Warmest regards, Bea. Baba Yaga would not be returning to the city, quite yet. Her direction was set for an entirely different, and much more suitable, course.

	2010.09.23  23.13 On Friday morning, a blue and green canary, after much searching, would find the window sill of the one she seeks: Odin. The name is vaguely familiar to the Firebird but much more familiar to she who sent it: Baba Yaga. He is hard to find, but the witch-death-crone who sent the canary had a vague idea of where to look and what indications to look for. Also known as Zhar'ptitsa, the once-Firebird had been Lady Midday's captive since the 1930s, although for the past month, the Firebird had flown to the Sierra Nevada mountains, where Baba Yaga had been secreting herself away in since late Spring. Not many ignored a summons from the Russian crone. Most favored having their bones in their bodies and not the ingredients of soup, or the accents to her questionably-legged homes. Little birds made especially beautiful wall sconces. It would have taken the bird some time, of course, and some trial and error - for she was only a canary, now, and canaries could only get so far without curious glances (certain ravens were more adept at this, supposedly). Though, Zhar'ptitsa supposed it would be more difficult were she in her original shape. In her beak, once delivered, as a small note, written in a conglomerate language of Old Norse and Russian, in rust-red ink on a piece of vellum so small that Woden would need a magnifying glass to read it. It read: Old friend, Gangleri, The king tells the plebians the world tree is not crumbling. But what of the investors? Warmest regards, Beatrice

	2010.08.04  23.40 Goodness, it appears as though I have misplaced myself. If memory serves, I was last at the carnival. Oh, I love carnivals. But this was quite some time ago. It is quite possible I was somewhere else entirely, oh dear. Age is a fickle mistress.

	2010.07.17  15.51 [Viktor Zmey] It appears the tea house needs something to make it cooler, I believe it is called an air conditioner. Customers are melting (this is not an exaggeration), and the Niavka's complaints are grating. This must be remedied.

	2010.05.08  16.18 / Viktor Zmey / There is now available retail space downstairs. These nickel and dime stores do not last very long, it seems, and there seems to be nothing left of it. It is an okay thing to have it gone, as I did not enjoy the people there, they were not good for business upstairs. No sign of Beatrice.

	2010.03.22  22.08 [NPC Viktor Zmey] This is very unsettling and highly suspicious. Baba Yaga is missing.

	2010.03.02  23.13 ( Delivered to Twee at dawn on Wednesday March 3 )

	2010.02.14  20.38 ( An envelope left for Twee beneath her door at Juilliard. )

	2010.02.14  18.36 ( Delivered to Larisa, Andjelija, Pscipolnitsa, Czernobog, Viktor Zmey, Atropos, Ereshkigal, and Ereshkigal's charming errand boy, A. Messenger [Namtar]... and Twee. )

	2010.01.19  23.58 While hovering over my fire this afternoon in a park, something occurred to me. There has been a change in the air, a darkening in the sky that others may not see. On the wind, I smelled death -- and it was not from what precious pieces of meat were roasting over the fire. Could it be? It makes my unbeating heart almost flutter. Oh my goodness. What will become of the city, with him here? How exciting things will become. Locked to Viktor He has arrived. He is here. The skies, while the city is blind to them, turn black. Keep an eye on your... investments, darling dragon.

	2010.01.10  02.51 [NPC] Viktor Note to self: Mailmen do not like to be threatened. Interesting.

	2010.01.09  20.03 'Speak to me of universal lore.' How intriguing, how marvelous! Dubravka Ugrešić's novel has been received quite well, it appears. Why, while continuing on my search for my misplaced home, I ran into a most charming, what do they call them? Oh, goodness. It may take an old lady a moment, do pardon the wait. ... Oh, yes, a review, that is what it is, a review! It must be the heavy meal. Mm, anyway, where was I? Oh, yes! The Times declare Ugrešić's story as, "Blisteringly postmodern in its execution but at its heart is a human warmth and even a silliness that infuses it with the sweet magic of storytelling." How deliciously verbose. Gracious. Now, all a woman can do is hope the tone is not lost in translation when American shelves are graced by its presence. And oh, the title! What am I to make of it? ( Private musings, written on the back of a copy of Juilliard's student handbook Viktor Zmey had 'somehow' or another acquired. )

	2009.12.07  02.02 // Viktor [ Private notes jotted down on lined yellow paper in a notebook.] She plays in the snow and looks happy. So pure. She is with a man, tall and blond, who looks upon her kindly. Not certain who this is, possibly the Greek I have seen her speak to on the internet. (???) Still uncertain if and when should approach in waking. This thing we are doing, does it serve a purpose? Does there need to be one? /end notes

	2009.12.02  01.08 ( Phone call between Beatrice Yvette and Viktor Zmey )

	2009.11.29  16.37 Hand written note left for Baba Yaga at the teahouse In New Orleans. Will return when T. does. Make yourself at home. -Viktor /end hand written note

	2009.11.28  23.57 [Viktor NPC post, hand-written in a notebook] Written in a notebook tucked away in a drawer of Viktor Zmey's desk, written for Baba Yaga's eyes only. Followed T. to party on Thursday evening. T. arrived with female, pink hair (??) This female with pink hair and a tall male exited party, carrying on about what to do about T. Second car that arrived black, driven by long haired male wearing black leather, joined by pretty female with long hair and two males, one carrying guitar case -- T.'s family ??? Heard lots of music no, this music was felt (????) T. was carried out to vehicle late at night by tall male, followed by evidently drunk male and pink-haired female. Friday morning T. leaves building with small dog wearing pink -- alone. T. looks exhausted and wearing clothes meant for lounging - black pants, white sweater, pink socks, etc - small dog barks, but T. quiets the animal, remarking on the early hour, 11 am (???) Considered approaching - did get closer. Eye contact was not met but it can be assumed T. may have glimpsed but not recognized. Only went down the block and back could have taken her T. may be going out of town over the weekend, re: online exchange -- will follow. /End hand-written notes

	2009.11.18  15.47 ... Oh... dear me. It seems Viktor has obliterated the sweet princess's little magical device. And possibly one of the poor dear's fingers. She calls it an iPhone. It is now in shards. Goodness. Such violence. There seems to be a fuming cloud of smoke surrounding him now, and not due to his need for cigars. He is smoking, quite literally. We were going to inspect the device for some foul magic within it, but I suppose that it is... out of the question, now. As for my own insatiable need for smoking after my meals, I have always fancied other things. This is not to say my loose tobacco supply is slowly... thinning. How unfortunate. I suggest you all lock up your children. There are hungry, frustrated monsters afoot, and they wear quite kind faces.

	2009.10.22  18.51 ( Phone call between Baba Yaga & Viktor Zmey )

	2009.10.14  12.45 All Hallows' Eve! A gathering! How quaint! What a lovely concept. The day of the year when hags are celebrated, witches honored, and darkness - and death - delighted in, when getting lost in the woods of the unknown suddenly sounds thrilling. I will certainly be there, and I will certainly bring my mortar and pestle. [Private] He knows. I am certain of it. But, I do so love playing games. I always have! He does not seem to mind he housing Baba Yaga of Russian infamy. It is quite easy to realize my identity, considering my access to a mirror and a means to bathe means my age suddenly seems much less haggard, and more, as Attie would say, 'spry.' Glamour is easiest when you have, at your disposal, the means to tidy your appearance. There are some days where I may as well pass as a maiden of forty. Marvelous. I am delighted by this invention, this 'crock pot', in which stews simmer and cook within their own juices for full days without having to pay heed to them. Merlin now has enough stew to last him through 2012. And, by no means are there the bones and meat of innocents within the stew. Simply dark meat. I would have him believe I am not the monster certain stories may paint me to be. [/Private]

	2009.10.08  21.04 And I ask, who needs plants, when you live in a space that has enough to accommodate half of Central Park? Oh! One easily forgets how delightfully squishy mattresses are. It is not that I sleep, truly, but how pleasant this all is. He makes quite lovely food, and I have made quite enough to last him through winter, as well. I am, as ever, adept at using a kitchen, even if the kitchen has appliances I have never seen before, and his living quarters, in general, are filled with machines that are beyond my understanding. But oh, the furniture! Positively delightful. [Private] Merlin. The kind 'wizard' has opened his doors for a haggard crone, and in such he has found my good graces. My, my, my, what a story this will be. I of course intend him no harm; by his kindness, he has my utmost kindliness. Young folk do misunderstand me so. It has been so many years since I have looked into a mirror, done up my hair. I am still so tired, however, from the power used to rebuild Midday's Herbs'n'Things. I am certain he knows not who I am, although the way he comments about my cooking suggests he might, or my strange fascination with watching that device in the 'living room'... goodness, is there a dying room? Dining room does sound close, does it not? Fiddlesticks. I forget how quickly this thing called 'technology' advances, breeding mini versions of itelf like rabbits. Merlin has many of these rabbit-like gadgets. Too many, many of which seem to be broken but take up space regardless. My, my, my. [/]

	2009.07.25  16.19 Something's amiss! [Open to All!!!] I found myself a new pair of spectacles, and my, they are just fabulous. It appears, though, as if I have lost something of mine while I ran this material errand. I am flabbergasted about it, truly. [Screened from mortals] My charming cardboard abode has relocated itself on its own, and for the first time in centuries, I cannot seem to find it. Sweet things, help an old lady? Please let me know if anyone has spotted a cardboard hut held together with twine and animal bones, moving upon chicken legs, wandering around your neighborhood like a chicken with its... well, darlings, you can imagine! It would settle my nerves immensely to know that the poor dear is not lost, wandering and sightless in this metropolitan forest. [/End screen] If anyone has happened upon a cardboard home held together with twine, be a dear and do let me know its location. It is a very flighty thing. "Baba Yaga's Hut: standing on its magical Chicken-Leg, yet revolving like the solar symbol it is, always rising & setting in a new place, bringing birth -- and death -- daily." ( Begin OOC: )

	2009.06.24  23.12 Oh, goodness. It seems as if Pscipolnitsa found herself mingling with quite interesting fellows lately. She is referring to one as Bright and Shiny, and the other, well. Her words for him are far less endearing and more delightfully wicked. But for her, that means she probably enjoyed his company quite a bit more than the other. The poor dear never gets out, you know. She spends much too much time in dark, dank motel rooms, in the cardboard hut I reside in, or in the park talking to ponds about her bloody laundry. [Private]I truly believe the Mittagsfrau has gone insane. Woe be to any who cross her. She has become as flighty and unpredictable as a Wila, and to think she has befriended such a creature.[/Private] I do not think I had ever seen Lady Midday drunk before. I do sincerely doubt she actually was intoxicated by anything liquid, but instead by the sun of the Solstice, and of the company she kept that day. An old lady is intrigued. Mood: amused