“I thought I would find you here.” Helena gaze drew upwards from the scrawling on her page to see Ursula leaning against the library arch. Still adorned in iridescent jewelry, each jewelry caught the reflection of the candle flame in its center.

She existed as a figment, as a representation of midnight as her long gown coasted over the castle floor and towards the comfortable Helena.

Once again the castle was humbled with silence. The guests had disappeared back into their carriages after many hours of dancing and conversations. It had been such a wonderful experience, one that truly immersed her in the world of Taranqar and showed the diversity of the people of whom walked in Ursula’s world.

It had been a question of Helena’s that swirled in her mind often since her arrival; who knew Ursula Athanasia. Who did she spend her time with outside of the confines and iron-wrought fences of the castle.

Ursula took a seat next to Helena, the fabric of their dresses mixing into a grey hue. “Did you enjoy your time tonight? Meeting everyone?”

Closing her book Helena placed it to the side, “Yes I did. Thank you for allowing me a new insight into the people of Taranqar, they are nothing like how they are portrayed in the Goodlands. It is absolutely astounding.” To think of everyone else who passed on this assignment, who were missing out on every fascinating and astounding piece of Taranqar simply because of an ignorance in the educational system.

“I am truly glad you enjoyed yourself.” Both dragged their gazes to each other. Eyes locked with a tranquility swimming through.

Another bundle of cracks from the fire shot upwards, golden embers swimming through black seas. Both broke their gazes again, tracing the details of the walls opposite to the other. “I have stolen another book of yours. I hope that is okay.”

“Of course.” Ursula’s eyebrows pinched as she looked towards the book. Something peculiar catching her attention.

“Where did you acquire this?” Her bitter-cold fingers traced over the line of Helena’s scar on the inside of her right ring finger. A prickling series of goosebumps crackled down the dips and raises of Helena’s spine.

Placing down the book once again with her other hand, Helena did not pry her hand from Ursula’s palm. “I grabbed a knife wrong as my father taught me to cook.” Her chuckle at the glimpses of memory makes the fire glow brighter, “I had freaked out at the sight of my own red blood, and so I began to cry. Wailing and wailing I am sure the neighbours resented me so much for those few moments. My father, instead of holding me hand or kissing the wound, flicked me directly in the forehead and then had the audacity to ask what was wrong!”

“Being the young me, I was absolutely befuddled at his actions that I stopped crying right then and there.”

Continuing, Helena inquired quietly, her hand still being held by Ursula. “Do you have any scars?”

“A few.” She replied easily, the expression on her face did not betray her.

“Any stories to go along with them?”

“None you would care for.”

“If you are reciting them, then a listening ear it beckons.” She spoke confidently before explaining, “I noticed that earlier, everyone watching you so intently as you gave your speech.” It was something to admire, the way she drew a crowd - not only here but also in Vakar - the way no one seemed to have the ability to tear their eyes from her.

“They were simply being polite I imagine.”

“Alright.” Helena sang, unsatisfied with Ursula’s political answer. Both had felt and had seen the crowd that Ursula’s home had drawn in. They were not simply being polite, that much was quite obvious.

“Do you play?” She questions, changing the topic and letting a lazy finger pointing towards the grand piano placed not far ahead of them. Dark oak and ivory keys. Carved legs and an intricate design stemming across the top of the piano.

“Why else would I have such an instrument?”

Helena smiled and waved her away, towards the piano bench. The wine blanketing her in warmth. “Will you play for me?”

“You would like me to play for you?” Ursula asked, her eyebrow just raising by a hair. Within her dragon eyes there was a flicker of something. A scarlet or fuschia that flickered like that of a candle’s flame.

Helena does not reply, instead staying mute other than one long sip of wine. Their eyes continue to be locked together despite the silver of the chalice invading the view just so slightly.

“Very well.” Ursula hoisted herself up from the couch, a few candles dimmed as she walked by. Before beginning to play, Helena as though her body made the decision itself came over bent forwards onto the piano, her elbows resting and her hands pressed against her chin. A few pieces of hair fell near her eyes, they were dark and light was lost within them.

Ursula took a few breaths before her fingers began to tangle with the ivory keys. Her head rose and fell like slow waves of a crescendo and decrescendo. The song was a reminder of a storm upon the ocean. Deep baroque notes wallowing in the moan of the black seas. A hail of rain and sleet filtering itself into the song as Ursula’s fingers glided to the other side of the piano.

In that moment Helena lost herself within them also. Ursula widened her lips, letting the song splay from her vocal cords. It made Helena gulp, saliva drying up in her throat and on her tongue. Ursula’s lips were blood red and her teeth a sparkling ivory. Her voice was melodious, enchanting.

The sound of the song filled lakes with each treble and emptied them with each bass note. When she was small, Helena had heard the story of Eve in the Garden of Eden. She wondered if Eve had felt the same way she did at this moment.