“Helena? Are you ready?” Ursula called from the base of the castle stairs, her voice echoing against the colossal walls.

Coming out from her bedroom, Helena’s long dress dragged against the floor. She leaned over the banister, “I believe so my friend, how do I look?” Taking in a deep breath, anxiety was beginning to settle in. She has resided in Taranqar for approximately a month and still, she felt as though she knew nothing.

Tonight, Ursula had arranged a large ball. Despite Helena’s questions concerning the occasion, Ursula had only answered in a very dramatic tone to live. Which answered none of her questions.

“You look beautiful.”

A pink heat fluttered over her cheeks like a warm sunlight’s caressing. At the bottom of the staircase, Ursula gazed upwards with slicked back hair and dressed in a lengthy velvet gown that hugged the ridges of her body. A stygian colouring around her eyes highlighting them in the shadow. Helena smiled as she pulled her alabaster hair behind her ears. “As do you.”

Breaking open the dark oak front doors, the ground around the Athanasia Castle were fluttering with ballroom gowns, ruffled suits and everything in between. Ursula’s much unused path in front of the main doors was now filled with carriages and neighing horses.

“Welcome friends!” Ursula greeted warmly.

Slowly, a long line of others trailed in. Each one pressing a warm kiss to each of her cheeks. Each one’s dark eyes becoming illuminated by the ivory moonlight as it streamed through the main windows of the castle from behind the large staircase.

For once, the castle seemed full to the brim. She almost found it jarring, the quiet she had come to find solace and peace in was so suddenly replaced by moving bodies and bellowing conversations.

Inside the ballroom had been finely and expertly decorated with an orchestra to the side playing an enchanting melody. In the middle of the ceiling, hanging at the center of a golden highlighted painting of the sky, between misty clouds backed by a navy sky like the moments before a night-time rain was an aureate chandelier. Three rungs of lines of lines of crystal teardrops held together by what seemed to be an invisible string.

Helena watched with a shoulder-tightening interest as Ursula stood before the bustling crowd. In a moment her presence made them fall silent, captivated eyes set onto her. They all seemed to respect her as she began a short speech in Taranqian, everyone in the crowd hanging onto her words. Helena caught onto bits and pieces of her speech, still trying to filter and translate the Taranqian in her head. Yet, she caught onto the last sentence with clarity and ease. “To our long and plentiful lives!”

Across the long ballroom, the crowd rippled and repeated, “To our long and plentiful lives!”

Ursula disappeared a moment later into the rushing crowd, Helena could only see her in glimpses through the natural holes in the cluster. Beside her, the older woman began a conversation. “Have you known Ursula for long?”

“I am writing a piece on her interesting life for the Goodlands newspaper. I have been here, in Taranqar for about a month.”

The woman sipped a long sample of her wine. Helena could see it sloshing around in her chalice. Intrigued by the people within the ballroom, Helena inquired, “Have you travelled far for tonight? Where are you from?”

“Tixhir.”

“That is in the east is it not?”

“In the north. The Lowlands.”

“Excuse my ignorance, it seems my geography has not gotten better with time.” In her mind, Helena attempted to conjure a more precise map of Taranqar but to no avail.

“No issue my dear. I could not even tell you where the Goodlands are on a map.” She cackles and others follow suit easily. “Do you like the wine?” She interrogated.

“On ocassion.” Helena answered truthfully. She liked trying new things, but the buzz that came with it did not suit her. Instead she loved tea and hiding behind the pages of a novel.

“You will love the wine here, I promise.” She urged, taking a large gulp of wine. Throat bobbing to accommodate the red liquid.

The woman is gone a moment later without another explanation, as though the ball had swallowed her whole. Now left to her own account, Helena’s hand drifted to her necklace hanging squarely on her chest.

Her own gaze fell on the peering eyes of others. They circled around her as they danced. Suddenly the silver felt ablaze, as though it might burn through the palm of her hand.

“Helena!” A voice called from behind her. Swiveling she saw Ursula waving her over, “Come meet my beloved old friend, Zasria Kriska.” As opposed to the demure colours most who entered the castle tonight, Zasria doned a bright yellow dress along with silver earrings which cascaded down her front; not simply earrings but also an accessory.

Enveloped in a sudden and tight embrace, Helena allowed it to happen, remembering the proper way to greet the people of Taranqar now. “Wonderful to meet you! I hope you have been enjoying your stay here. ”

“You as well.”

“Helena is here writing a piece on me.”

“Surely you cannot be that interesting Ursula!” She cracked with a smile so large Helena could see her gums. A warm and fantastic smile. One that brought out the frost Ursula’s smile. It was genial, something like coming up for air or seeing the stars for the first time. Helena liked when Ursula smiled. “I kid, I kid, but how fantastic! I run the newspaper for Taranqar. We are not a large newspaper but we do fine work.” She bends forward, extending an arm between the small group, “Vere over there is also a journalist.”

“Women write for your journals?”

“Yes?” She replied, sharing a confused look between Ursula and Helena.

Filling in the gap, Helena expands, “Women do not generally write as journalists. I have only been given the opportunity because the real journalist is sick.”

“How peculiar.” She noted.

“How peculiar indeed.” Helena murmured.

Helena and Zasria continued speaking of journalism as Ursula continued her mandatory sentence of mingling. Over such time Helena learned that Zasria learned to write and read later in life due to growing up in a small village, but even as a child she loved stories and to interview and learn everything about the people of where she lived.

Glancing around, Helena noticed another peculiar note; other women twirled around the ballroom hand in hand, marvelous smiles brightening their eyes with yellow happiness.

Helena’s heels clicked silently under the swelling music as she weaved through the spinning crowds. Her gaze set firmly on the tall, captivating woman of the castle. Coming up behind her Helena fixed her dress and slipped her hair behind her ears, “Ursula?” Helena’s delicate voice spoke like whispers beneath the instrumental sounds that swirled through the ballroom. Her nervousness trembling in her knees, “Would you dance with me?”

Whirling around, Ursula answered simply and without hesitation, “Of course.”

Ursula takes Helena’s hand in hers; her other pressing into the moon-spun silk wrapped around Helena’s waist. “Ready to begin?” Ursula queried with her velvet and raspy voice.

“Of course.” And so they began, uniform steps evolving into gliding and twirling dresses. Swaying in small circles and twirling as their dresses spun trails on the archaic flooring.

The heavy instruments vibrated through the oak floor, it felt as though the world enclosed around them. Ursula’s magnetic eyes turning the hundreds of others within the confines of the ballroom into nothing but camouflage.

You are so close to me…