Our favourite local potter has now been running her pottery classes for several years – a fantastic achievement, I’m sure we can all agree! This author is the proud owner of an entire tea set by now, and of rather passable quality. But to skip the drollery, this author calls upon you, dear readers, to take a moment to appreciate what Lucy has done for our community; bringing us together, one lump of clay at a time.

This collection, arranged as it was by Councillor Lucy, a survivor and key figure in the Bexgate crisis, reflects some very personal experiences with the period. This piece is one of my favourites in this collection. It may not be the most technically advanced, but the artist has managed to translate their passion for the subject matter onto the canvas in such a beautiful manner. You can get a real sense of their inner turmoil from the striking colours used, and yet seen from another angle it seems to be first and foremost a peaceful scene. See how the light from the sun catches the cap of the mushroom there. And look at the contrast between the greys and blacks of the mushrooms and sky to the bright autumnal colours of the surrounding leaves. Growth from decay. Hope in darkness. The perspective here is also unusual, as you might expect from such an inexperienced artist, but it is evocative for me of the change in perspective discussed by the artist in their accompanying dedication. There are a handful of later works from this artist, most of which focus on similar scenes of nature, but I have always had a particular soft spot for this piece. Their brash brushstrokes and choice of composition seem to me to be reflective of their emotional turmoil in the immediate aftermath of events in Bexgate at that time, where the later works are more composed and contemplative of the slightly more conventional beauty of nature. As you can see here, they wrote a rather extensive dedication to another artist well-represented among this particular collection. In fact, to compare their styles side by side you can certainly see the influences of Ms. Sawnes particular style on Mx. Grey’s work. More appealing to me, though, are the ways in which they differ, Mx. Grey bringing and building his own distinct vision and, well, perspective. Truly one of my favourites. Shall we move onto the next piece?

“So, tell me,” an actor holding a teapot asks as she leans in close to Lucy, “what do you think should happen to witches? You can trust me.”

“Lucy” turns to the audience. “What should I tell her?” They ask. “Should I say they shouldn’t be punished?”

“NO!” The audience shouts back, the enthusiastic voices of children predominating.

“What was that? Did you say I should tell her?”

“NO!” The audience shouts again, louder, followed by disparate variations on “Don’t tell her!”

“Don’t tell her? But she said I can trust her. Why can’t I tell her?”

“She’s an agent!”

“She’s a what?”

“She’s an agent!”

“Don’t be silly! Does she look like an agent?”

Behind “Lucy”, “Millie Denton” unzips her jacket and reveals a black suit and tie. She dons a pair of sunglasses and grins broadly. The crowd shouts, some of the children trying desperately to articulate full sentences above the din.

“Fine! Just this once, I won’t tell her,” “Lucy” says. She twists around to face “Millie”, who closes her jacket and loses the sunglasses just in time. “Well, Millie, I suppose what they did is very wrong.”

The memories are still too fresh for you to laugh along, even all these years later, but you manage to smile and give a warm round of applause for the actors and stage crew at the end.

The audience gathers in the lobby of the community theatre afterwards for tea and a chat. Again and again, smiling attendees come and shake your hand. “Councillor Lucy,” they say again and again, “thank you so much for this!”

Time and time again, you say that it is good to see them but that you didn’t have much to do with it. All that you did was approve the booking for the theatre. Unusually, the community event wasn’t even funded by the council. It couldn’t have been – at least one member of the council would have doubtlessly been offended to the point of apoplexy by the suggestion. At least the director had been savvy enough to choose a theatre in the east of the city, where an unspoken convention among the Councillors and citizens allowed considerably less than pious events to go ahead. Politics. Something which you expected upon entering the Council from its second election, but which you still dreaded to navigate. That dread has only been a little attenuated by the discovery that you are very, very good at it.

Darion Holton-Woodward approaches, still in costume. “How did I do?” They ask.

You smile, and say that their portrayal of you was very flattering. They smile, and suddenly it is like looking at her father.

“Nice! I still can’t believe that it was all real. Did it all really happen that way?”

You pause. Not quite, you tell them. They deflate a little, so you follow it up by saying that you were nowhere near as brave and funny as their portrayal. That smile returns to their face, and they dash off elsewhere to speak to another member of the cast.

You realise that you weren’t many years older than them when the Bexgate Crisis happened - maybe only four or five. It’s a strange thought. You think about how you were when you were Darion's age. They seem so much younger than you were then. You chalk that up to another unspoken cost of how life was in those days. Now, you have built a world and a town where people can stay young. Where they don’t have to age too quickly in the face of the world.

There are some things you do miss, though. Although you hate to admit it to yourself, your workshops were nicer then. Nowadays, only half the attendees are actually interested in pottery. The other half attend once and, once there, seize whatever opportunity they can to seize the ear of a Councillor. You tell yourself that it’s a good thing that they know where to go if they have a problem, but you still miss the older, quieter workshops.

Thrl, sometimes with Amnity - the 'friend' they mentioned, in fact more than a friend - is a constant attendee at Lucy's workshop. They are possibly still a source of caution for others, but Lucy doesn't begrudge their presence for a second. Whatever the truth about Pfmsltr, Thrl seems to be proof that demons can change.

You also miss some of the people. So many people have left, and occasional visits aren’t the same. Still, as some people exit, new ones enter – and there are always new people to meet and see time and time again, at every play, performance, fair, market, and workshop.

Your thoughts are interrupted – someone you don’t recognise introducing themselves. You smile and say that it’s nice to meet them.