the enigma atop the perilous trek

The ruins of a chateau swayed sinisterly, with the echoing breeze wrapping itself around the alluring figure and enveloping the surroundings in a haunting haze. The remains lay atop a looming hill, with one wondering if it was a protector or a dictator of the town that lay beneath it. The cobblestone path strayed from intentions of warmth and cast a hopeless glow in the swirling night sky. It deceived those that were fearless enough to wander the vicinity, the foolish youth that confidently cast aside the treacherous warnings in an attempt of their own self worth, the hungry businessmen, intending to convince the owner of profit margins and tourism worth, or the roaming strangers, with an eye for survival and any place to rest. Those that returned with the reputation of forcing themselves to make the trek did so to placate themselves, with intentions that strayed from witnessing the concealed. It was a hopeless journey, but curiosity could not be suppressed.

If the mind had reluctantly settled upon undertaking the journey, intention be damned, then one had to account for other disasters. The path was often blocked by fallen trees, with the whirlwind of storms and winds thrashing against the weak, uprooting the evergreen in an incredulous, senseless manner, knocking them down like pebbles and it made out so carefully that they just had to lay upon the singular road that would bring visitors to the chateau. The whispers from the cowardly town below suggested that nature was intentionally warning, protecting the living from whatever strange inhabitants, and the rumours had infested the folks into avoiding the large stretch of land by whatever means necessary. One evaded every inch of territory, so fearful as if one intake of breath on the disgraced might inflict dishonor upon themselves. 

If transport did manage to escape the aftermath of a carefully calculated storm, and the path was abnormally clear and safe, they must wind their vehicles up, up, up against the extensive driveway. Those that would return from the perilous trek, recounted the upward climb as a never ending spiral, wondering if the end was an honest sight or a mere betrayal of facts. Maybe the chateau was a facade against the haunting mist and no ruins lay bare on top of the hill. Many only returned in response to defeat, the spiral so exhausting, a labyrinth that seemed to direct them towards the exit, and they came back in large droves, with only a sprinkling truly able to state that they had accomplished the impossible. 

If even that did not deter, if even nature's own warning did not bear any heavy weight, the task that succeeded cast a heavy cloud against the gullible mind. It filled the most determined with dread, and the most weak stepped away until they pressed their backs against the hard, cold wall and hid their faces with shame. Even the most unfeeling would feel.

What arised within the ruined hulk of mess, was the venomous and armoured gaze that could drill bullets into your body, and peel the skeletons hidden in your closet until they felt far removed from you, an entity of their own. Her hands could wrap themselves within your pumping heart and strangle it until your lungs felt crushed, until you felt paralysed by the need to move, to do something, until oxygen felt far out of reach. One would finally understand the vitality of breathing when it finally seemed impossible to do so. Amongst this vulnerability and intoxicating hesitance, the shell of a woman would gaze at you with raw disgust. Her nails, once clasping dollar bills and golden chains, now cracked and worn, gripped your own skin. A subconscious welling of disgust trailed within, almost natural, succeeded by admonishment, forcing your own mind to feel pity and sorrow. Your eyes deceive you and one can only smell the stench and can only see the grime. One rips their hand away instinctively, but an apology wells in their eyes, a sight that the woman has seen for a while. 

Rebecca was her first name, and she inhabited the ruins of the castle. She had become a living legend, the villain of the tale, but essentially an enigma. Her home was once vast and beautiful and valuable. She emphasised valuable in a wistful tone, as a visitor could only avert their eyes from the ruined state of not only the chateau but of Rebecca itself. The castle had certainly strayed from its grandeur, becoming much a shell as the woman who owned it. The cobblestone path was meant to resemble the entree before the main course that was the chateau itself. Now it was torment and caused many to turn back, a sight that meant Rebecca had less and less visitors. 

The foolish youth turned away in fear of garnering the attention of the infamous Rebecca, if they could ever gather the courage to continue up, up, up the winding driveway. The hungry business winced at the sight of the scrutinising glare and turned away, content without an answer. The roaming strangers were left with the remnants of kindness that Rebecca had left to give. Some escaped her gaze, and slept on the edges of her property while some were offered a warm bed and a meal. 

No, Rebecca was faced with only two kinds: the government officials, reminding her of the debt that she was now buried under, or the local tourists, fed by the haunted stories of the townsfolks, with curiosity, hunger and slight boredom filling their bellies. The most fearless of townsfolk were the only constant companions for Rebecca, driven by their humanity as they offered food to someone who once had every materialistic richness that one enviously desired but could now barely acquire a pan to cook their eggs in. 

"The Sword" is on Goodreads

Goodreads

I'm very excited to announce that my book, "The Sword" is available to view on Goodreads! If you've read the book, you can leave a rating and a review or you can now add it to your shelf, if you want to read it. To view "The Sword" on Goodreads, click here. 

To order, you can reach me through my email, which can be found if you click on "my complete profile". If you can not reach me through there, you can comment down below :)

"The Sword" Update

Hello,

I just wanted to come on here and express my gratitude to everyone who has reached out to me, whether it be on here or on social media to buy or order my book. It took a long time to make with a lot of thought and I'm really happy that its out in the world now. The good news is we managed to sell out every single one in such a short period of time! I never expected this much demand and I'm really thankful. Because of the demand, we've ordered more of "The Sword" to be printed and it is available now!

The Sword by Najwa M

To order, you can reach me through my email, which can be be found if you click on "my complete profile". If you can not reach me through there, you can comment down below :)

Najwa M

"The Sword" Release

The Sword by Najwa M

It's finally here! I am incredibly happy to announce that my debut novella, "The Sword", with an exclusive bookmark launched on my birthday and is available to order by reaching through my email, which can be found if you click on "my complete profile". If you can not reach me through there, you can comment down below :)

I appreciate anyone who can buy the book and I've had so much wonderful support while writing it. It took me a few years to write as I managed writing, editing and all the logistics as I still had school and exams but I'm very proud that I got it published. Many people put a lot of hard work into the creation of this novella so show some love. 

Celeste Albus is the heir to the throne of Aerion, a kingdom in the midst of a realm ripped apart from the Great War, a conflict that forced the Energy Guardians into near exile and left a bruising mark on the Elemental victors. With the tide beginning to turn and the wounds of an old war beginning to heal, Celeste is preparing for her ascension with a sword gifted to her on a momentous twentieth birthday. 

But the sword harbours some deceptive links to her origins, establishing the unravelling of her own existence, as the past, present and future collide. Facing uncertainty across all paths, she starts to uncover secrets that have consequences on everyone, especially on the growing peace within. Now racing to prevent another war, both inside and outside the kingdom, Celeste must truly fathom her purpose and what it means for the new world. 

Autumn

He truly hates autumn.

They liked to say autumn was a season of wonder, of new beginnings as the past was swept aside, with the leaves falling off trees, the hands buried in coats, the dogs barking in parks and the children laughing in the playground. It was deceitful, he glared, filled with spite. Leaves fell off trees because the bond of leaf and branch had weakened, science had dictated it so. Wind carried it away, forcing them to separate and never to see another again. Hands buried in coats hindered human interaction, although he quite enjoyed that fact, but often caused collisions on the footpath as one went away with the other bumping into them. It was quite strange, he observed, as they acknowledged the other but continued on each other's path.

He supposed that was what he seemed to other people. Just a stranger they bumped into on the footpath. A small overlap on their universal path but never to be seen again. He knew they would never wonder what happened to him. It wasn't like being given a trophy by a stranger or being served by a waiter in a grand hotel. Those were core memories, forever etched into their minds but people bump into one another everyday and faded from one hour to the next. But never to him. Never mind, he never won awards or saw no need to visit grand hotels. Those strangers on the footpath were all he had and he remembered every face. Whether they were old or young or weary or elated. Whether they rushed past him, barely sparing an apologetic glance or smiled at him, embracing the walk. He remembered them all. 

It did not change his opinion of autumn. The new beginnings optimistic people often referred to were a facade for the bracing of the plunge in temperatures in the following months. It irritated him, yes, that he couldn't take one foot outside his apartment building without the bristle of dried leaves beneath his feet but he'd rather the winter chill arrive sooner. At least it did not have mood swings; bitterly cold one day and slightly warm the next. Autumn and spring were all the same, differing in temperament of temperatures, as one season tended to be warmer than the next. Never mind, spring was supposedly filled with hope, just as he believed autumn was filled with despair. 

But he did not obsess over the underlying effect of the season. He hated autumn the most, yes and remembered every human who could not place him in a crowd even if their life depended on it but may, july, october, january were still the same for him. Months on months of restlessness, teetering on to madness, as summer came and went and the ocean that seemed to beckon towards him swelled and thrashed but never swum in.

The ocean didn't call to him as it grew colder. Maybe that's why he liked winter, each passing day was a sign it would end, that summer would be here. But autumn just meant that winter was coming, it meant more minutes would have to pass before the salty air would even seem seducing. Now, it was cold and barren and the water would feel as cold as the air they breathed themselves. He sighed, staring at his window.

He hoped it would all change. Summer was upon him soon. Autumn waved far away in his gaze but he should have begged. Because as sunlight rose on a fateful fall day, bathing his old, rundown house in a glow and the sight was one to behold. 

He did not notice the creaking of the doors the night before, nor the tiptoeing or the hidden shadows. The lights continued to flicker and remain aglow and he assumed all was well. His snores were the only sound that filled the echoing hallways of the vacant buildings, a feline purring ever so slightly but it awoke with a yelp, scampering out the door and into the street as the cars honked their horns and the glow of screens never seemed to waver. Slightly at first, a movement in the very core of the earth that no one noticed as they walked quicker and talked faster, afraid of wasting time, colliding with another but swerving away. Only he awoke with alarm, faltering, pausing as his breath quickened. The paintings started to shake, begging for relief as the walls of the house began to collapse inwards. 

He didn't scream. He didn't cry. He did not beg to be saved, nor did he even attempt to save himself. He saw no ending that was worse than what had befell him, saw no reprieve except this feeling. The house remained a wreck for a few months. It had collapsed inwards so it caused no pain for any neighbours. They were too afraid to venture inside and no saviours came. No one was sure of the man who had dwelled, whether he remained inside, or had ventured to the ocean or to the footpath he often strolled, and no one decided to even see. 

He truly hated autumn.

Humanity

The weary clock tower struck, with a shrill chime that clambered through the labyrinths and haunted the laboratories. He awoke with a slight gasp, eyes widening and his chest heaving with every indulging breath, with a trepidation that had him clutching the lavish seat. The gleam admist the lanterns pertubed him, his lashes fluttering rapidly, struggling to ease his breaths. The impalpable ticking of a timepiece measured his regained recovery, an unwelcome reminder of reality. As his vision cleared, he yearned to return within the endless depths of his pedestrian mind again. The train reeked of expectation, with the mere hundred souls that wandered its dormant anatomy, with intimacy dispensed for glory and triumph, each to their own narrow perspective. Past tales of endearment and passion seemed like disintegrated memories. 

The man seemed to be the only slumbering being, with not a murmur nor a flinch recurring around. It astounded the neighbouring occupants, their muscles tightening, eyes glowering towards him and youth were shielded. An unsettling stranger diverted his attention, staring so blatantly. It mirrored his own reflection, one he was desperate to disguise and did not aid in deterring the many pairs of eyes that lingered. His face contorted with worry, his forehead creasing and his nerving knack to scratch his arms arised again. Red marks became starkly prominent as the stranger seemed to intensify his stare. He wished for it all to just stop. 

The train slowed to another gradual halt, the wheels hitting the track silently. In the many decades of the new era, it had never malfunctioned nor failed them, not dissimilar to any other new contraption. Those that boarded the shared transportation had large thick briefcases and faded polo shirts, with shoes especially shined. They were particularly on the cusp of death wasting their squandered existence, death being an inevitable surrender so feared like failure, with their anguished eyes and quiet resolution. It was not an affair to be associated with as those that strided through the station barely made a sound. The stranger bent his finger towards the widening doors, forcing the man to have no choice but to glance outside.

The first click of a gun reverberated through the walls and the mass of those that they feared most deeply, crowded the archway of the dimly lit station, visible past the widened gap. These uniformed soldiers loitered the few and far mass transportation stations, with much success. The sky lit a pale glow and if not for the visual, it would remain a mystery whether they hit their mark or not, with not a scream nor a cry could be discerned. The shadow of a faceless man slumped to the ground, with whatever belongings he was clutching hitting the ground with a soft thud that seemed like a roar. Those that vacated the general vicinity barely blinked, but their eyes wandered away. The man flinched slightly and sunk low into his seat, praying to success that not a pair of eyes had caught him. Afraid that his languishing existence could lead him to a similar fate of the man that was just murdered, his perception heightened, fidgeting. Through the closing crack, the body lay on the stairs, with those rushing to get to the train brushing past him, marching away into the distance.

The doors closed, intending to leave for their next destination, but not before a piercing yell echoed within the station. It was the regimented troops, forcing their way in. The stranger’s other hand climbed out of his cashmere coat and gripped his bag lightly. The glint of gold prompted the man to visibly straighten and bury his hands beneath his briefcase, clasping it more tightly. These enforcers of law marched in, with their weapons drawn, individuals victim to their blazing, daggered glances. Instinct overwhelmed sanity, gripping their plaques and badges, certificates of declaraton signalling their superiority to those that sat next to them, a regretful but necessary occurrence. They were imperative shields, repelling these troops as they were abiding with the laws. These trophies gestured their contributions to advancing society.

Concluding their search, they glared at the stranger and the man, raising their eyebrows with their palms facing upwards. Waiting. The man’s heart seemed to race even faster, with his white-knuckle dying grip grasping his briefcase, afraid. Deliberating, he reached to unclasp it, but his hesitation had cost him dearly. In a haste, the nearest soldier grabbed him by the shoulders, pining him to the wall, clawing at him, searching. The man crossed every digit he could, praying to the ancient gods, spouting off lies for if only he could live for another day. His briefcase was knocked to the ground in the altercation, and they scoured it as well. Pages that endowed no value were carelessly chucked to the ground, pens and pockets grabbed.

No signs of records, or plaques, or badges, No certificates of any contribution bequeathed to society. The man was exposed, laid bare and dissected to the keepers who would eradicate the average. He glimpsed the flagrant stares that made him seem like a circus animal and those that caressed their trophies with considerable more care. He knew what was to occur. Had seen it and feared it for so long. There was no justification, only his own brain to blame. But the man feared death itself, and fought it, struggling against the enforcer, powered by the looming terror, with a stake at heart. It was no use though, and the familiar gun aimed, his chest beating erratically. Death was nearing. He was desperate, and the glint of gold caught his eye again. The stranger was observing with bored interest, his medal hanging from the bag knocked carelessly to the side. Summoning all the man’s courage, he veered to the left and seized it.

“He is worse than an average being, he is a rare thief! He snatched my hard work away,” he cried, shaking in a performance of disbelief whilst clinging to the cold metal.

Without any hesitation, the troops aimed their guns at the stranger, who flinched in alarm. Murmurs began to ripple throughout the carriage and the stranger raised his arms in defence, a grave error. He had shielded his physical entity but had not defended his greatest shield, his brain. The muffled gun clicked again, and the stranger was gone, slumped to his seat. The splatter of blood mingled with the burgundy fabric and echoed throughout the train. Satisfied with a fulfilled errand, they passed the man again, clinging to the medal, as the train slowed to another stop, and they departed.

The man stared at the corpse, alone. The train was empty, with the individuals eager to escape the body and the man accused of an alarming crime, enabling him to grab the rest of the stranger’s trophies, shoving it quickly down his briefcase, along with his other belongings. He stripped him of his identity, with only the clothes left on his back. Any rising feelings of regret or sadness were swiftly buried, commonly surpressed with the repetitiveness of the several occasions he had committed this sin.

He was, after all, just a man.

Taylor Swift's new album TTPD is here!

So Taylor Swift just dropped her album, The Tortured Poets Department (TTPD) and of course, I was waiting for it and so excited to hear it. I listened to it all in order, as soon as it dropped and I need a few business days to process the Tortured Poets Department. Not even days. Weeks. 

I did have an initial ranking I did, which will certainly change as I listen and some songs probably went over my head. I won't tell you what it is but a few favourites I had that probably won't change are: My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys, So Long London, So High School and thanK you aIMee, will probably remain top ten, maybe top five. 

I went to the shops for a while after I had listened to TTPD twice and when I came back, I was shocked to discover that it was a DOUBLE DROP and screamed so loud, my mother thought I fell. I did have my suspicions with the hints she was giving on social media such as the emojis in the captions of her posts but I didn't actually believe it. Also FIFTEEN MORE SONGS? The mastermind was writing. 

I like Fortnight (ft Post Malone) but I'm scared I might not when the music video comes out and it'll feel like a single and might get overplayed, like Anti Hero. I have to say, from my first initial reaction, it automatically went top two in my album rankings. It definitely suited my taste of music and any songs that I liked, not loved, Taylor immediately swooped in with the bridge that it was so hard to do a rough rank. And it felt so personal and she was so angry and then sad. 

I am also knee deep in a school assessment and keeping up with Formula 1. I have been sucked into the sport, I fear. I was relistening to TTPD, while texting my Swiftie GC, while watching Sprint Quali, which by the way was a rollercoaster with Lando getting pole, not getting pole and then getting pole again and trying to read the lyrics for TTPD because I just discovered they were on Genius so that is basically my life right now.

Thanks for reading!

P.S. Everyone affected by any of the recent events in Sydney, I see you and hear you and I hope that Australia can get through this calmly and peacefully.

Monthly Update; tips on studying

The month of March is nearly over and I am still suffering from post-concert depression. I've been distracted though, what with studying taking up most of my free time outside of school. It has been a bit of a cooldown, without any major events or milestones but I thought I'd update you on the month anyways. 

I started fasting, which is a Muslim practise to abstain from eating or drinking from dusk until dawn. It means I have to wake up much earlier to eat and then, I can not consume any food or drink until a specific time in the evening. Although it can be quite weary and drains a lot of energy from your body, I actually managed to find some silver lining. By waking up earlier, I decided to not go back to sleep again and instead study until I had to start getting ready for school. This actually helped me greatly and I managed to get on top of a lot of homework which freed up more time in the afternoons. It also helps me save a lot of money, as most of my weekly allowance won't go towards my school canteen. But it is not without its difficulties. I had to do some of my exams during this fasting period, which obviously had some impact on my brain and what I could achieve. But it has been a somewhat smoothful fasting and I hope that everyone who is currently participating in the month of Ramadan has a peaceful and easy time. 

Speaking of studying, when I say the workload is crazy, it is crazy. I have work from every single class I have to complete, whether that is just catching up, doing some homework, getting ahead of classes just to lessen the load and starting to complete assessments. If I had to offer advice to anyone currently struggling is:

Always place your assessment information into one folder or one place. At the start, I set a time of when I would start my tasks but I always lost a good ten minutes trying to find the information. It is always helpful to know where your most important pieces of information is. My teachers reminded us countless times to not lose them so put them in a safe place right now!

Know your style of studying. I was never the kid who could start assessments the day before and get an A. I would always start a large chunk of it as soon as I got it and then finish it at least a day before it was due. It left a lot of time for procrastination but I always managed to hand in a good result. 

Set boundaries. Everyone is distracted by the phone and I am too, a lot of the time. Teenagers are also lazy so I always placed my phone on the opposite side of the room because I knew I wouldn't want to get up to go get it. I also gave myself half an hour of uninterrupted time to just go on social media. Whether I was in the middle of a paragraph or a worksheet, that time would always be for my phone. It allowed my brain to rest for a bit before I could get back into it. This is extremely helpful but when its time to get off your phone, you need to get off! I wouldn't start playing any games or striking up a conversation. I would reply to some friends and even if I was scrolling on social media, I would allow myself one more post, or TikTok and then turn my phone completely off. 

Get on top of flashcards right now! I was planning to write mine all term and I thought, its fine, I still have time. I do not have time. School holidays, I am doing my flashcards immediately. So if I could tell my younger self anything, start utilising flashcards before this year.

I hope some of the tips I gave you on studying help and that you enjoyed some insight into my March. I'll be back next month for another update.

Happy reading :)

Taylor Swift Eras Tour Sydney

Where do I even begin? I have been a fan of Taylor Swift since reputation and when she announced she was coming to Australia, I was ecstatic. I managed to survive the Great War in the first general sale in June. I was really lucky and I was so grateful that I managed to get two tickets, one for me and one for my mum. She played four back to back shows, from Friday to Monday, and I got the best day, which was the second night, Saturday, at Accor Stadium in Sydney (it was also the first one to be sold out). I can not believe I got to go to the Eras Tour, dressed in the Lover Era and my mum was dressed in the Red Era.

Sydney Olympic Park was really ready for Taylor's arrival and everywhere you went, you could either see some swifties or some posters of tay herself. I forced my parents to arrive really early because I knew the place would get packed really fast. My dad dropped us off and we immediately got in line for merch. It took us a solid hour to just get to the front and they had already sold out of many small sizes. I ended up getting the navy crewneck in a size M (because they had run out of size S). Because we had a lot of time to kill, me and my mum hopped into another merch line and had to wait ANOTHER hour before we made it to the front. This time, they had more size S's and I got the white tour t shirt. 

We had about two hours before doors opened so we found a shady spot and ate some lunch. Coincidentally, Blink 182 also had a show in the arena next to us (Qudos Bank Arena) and I knew my best friend was watching the show so I actually met up with her as she got her merch (spoiler: it did not take her an hour). We also heard the opening act, Sabrina Carpenter soundchecking Feather! 

When the doors opened, we found our seats and I was actually surprised how close we were. I managed to get C Reserve so we were in the stands but we were Row 19 so it wasn't that bad. Then Sabrina started her performance and I love her. There was only a handful of girls standing, I was one of them and the outro was killer, iykyk. 

Then of course, after another wait, the countdown came on and then when Taylor came on, I was screaming so loud. I remember every detail of the past shows I have been to but I kid you not, I really have to focus hard to remember that night. I would film the start and the bridges of songs (while singing) and then turn my phone off in the middle so I could just sing and be in the moment.

My surprise songs were: Should've Said No x You're Not Sorry (guitar) and New Years Day x Peace (piano) and when she started to mash up Peace with New Years Day, I felt my soul LEAVE MY BODY. I can't even begin to express how much those two songs killed me and I'm glad she finally got to hear all the Aussie says 'naur'. 

This is a video of New Years Day x Peace and if you listen closely, you can hear me losing it:

I can't even rate this experience. You just have to know, it was the coolest one ever and I'll probably remember it forever. I only got about 90% of my voice back TODAY.

To everyone who went, I hope you all had a nice nap and the post concert depression doesn't hit that hard for you after.

A rant from a writer

Hello,

I thought I would come on here to give you some exclusive looks on how my book is going. I'm nearly at the finish line but I haven't hammered down a release date yet as I haven't sorted out the next stages after the editing progress but we are getting very close on my end :) 

To describe what my days have been lately, I've been working in the mornings, trying to aim for 1000 words everyday (writers count in words not pages). The skeleton of the book is complete and I've been focusing on ironing the details, making sure there are no plot holes, which is why there is a lower word count. I work for a solid three hours before I have lunch and the majority of the word count would have been completed in this time. In the afternoons, I either continue to edit (while watching a few shows because I am also a teenager guys) or if I've done a considerable amount of work in the week, I just clock off entirely. Sometimes I do pick it back up in the night. I've learnt that I gain the most inspiration at night and my words always flow the best so its a great way to end the day. 

Writer's block is a big issue that a lot of people face and it has been an obstacle for me. On days where I feel that I'm not flowing as well, I will do 20 minutes of solid work and then 5 minutes of just scrolling through my phone. Its a nice reward and when I start to write, I always feel more refreshed and it just works better. This doesn't mean you get to spend however many hours you want on your phone, I only stick to five just to stop my brain concentrating so much. Or I just grab a snack. I would read a book, except that I know I wouldn't want to stop reading and then I wouldn't write. If my mind is in a better place then I'll keep writing but if I'm continuing to struggle, its nice to take a longer break. The world won't end if you don't get your daily word goal, it just means you work harder the next few days. But I would like any writer to know that everyone goes through writer's block and it really helps to just take a break and think about something else. You might get inspiration from someplace else!

Speaking of shows, I've really been getting into Drive To Survive on Netflix and I've gone into an F1 deep dive. I definitely recommend the show, just be aware that a lot of the rivalries they try to portray aren't all true and you should go watch interviews of them on YouTube and I assure you there is NO tension whatsoever between the drivers. And I've learnt the rules very quickly but don't ask me to list every world champion because I'm not that deep into it.

I was trying to give you insight on my day but that did turn into a rant. If you did make it to the end, thanks for reading and be on the lookout as I post more updates!

character aesthetics of the core four :)

ALL PHOTOS TAKEN FROM PINTEREST!!

Celeste Albus:

Riven Markham:

Trinity Albus:

Ky Robertson: