Twirling around the kitchen, Helena finally finished plating two bowls of traditional Taranqian goat soup. The recipe page - given to her by the lovely Zasria after Helena had seen her in town square - was dotted with small dots of oil as well as crumples and wrinkles from Helena’s stressed hands as she tried to follow the directions to each exact period.

Plucking the bowls from the countertop, Helena pushed open the door to the dining room with her back. With a rigid position that reminded Helena of the stained glass portraits she had seen in the salon, Ursula took a sip from her silver chalice filled with crimson wine that sprang circles from its centre as Helena approached.

Depositing the bowls on the large oak table she huffed, the musky smell of the goat soup twisting together with the cold spice leaves. “Here you are.”

Helena scrambled down to her seat to the left of Ursula, flattening out the wrinkles in the fabric draping over her lap.

“I am not particularly adept at cooking as you are most likely aware, usually I am only cooking for myself. Even then it is not to the standard of gourmet you serve often here and I-.”

“Helena.” Ursula grabbed Helena’s spiraling attention with one simple word. “I am quite sure it will be amazing.”

“I tried. I hope you like it.”

A wide-eyed Helena watched as Ursula dipped her silver spoon into the thick of the soup before lifting it upwards. Just as she was about to put her lips to taste it, Helena interrupted, set on explaining herself, “Not to mention the recipe page was in Taranqian.”

On a quiet sigh, Ursula deposited her spoon back into the soup, “If it is inedible I will simply force you from my home.”

“W-w-was that a joke?” Helena’s smile grew as she blinked. Not during her entire stay had she heard the woman even utter what could be interpreted as a joke. It seemed both were venturing into unknown territory tonight.

As night settled in, the two retired to the library.

Ursula hunched over the fireplace and quickly setting a warming fire. Lighting up the darkness of the room with dancing red flames and spirited shadows as she stoked the fire. Beside her, Helena looked up and down the shelves, “I believe I have now read every last book in your collection.”

“Then next time we venture down to Vakar’s main shop, we will collect a few more, how does the sound?”

It sounded like a fantasy? To fill her arms with the weight of books stacked upon books, to be able to devour every inch of information teeming within the pages, it sounded heavenly. “Are you sure? I do not want to impose, our tastes our not exactly alike in every aspect. Although your taste in this scientific fiction genre that I have discovered is fantastic.”

Rising from her position beside the fire, Ursula declared, “Your dinner was fantastic tonight, if I did not know better I would believe you hailed from the hills of Taranqar. Your Taranqian has come a long way.”

My taranqian. Helena chuckled lightly, feeling the heavy flutter of flames over her cheeks. “I simply desired to thank you for being such a gracious host as I stay in your abode.”

“Tell me, have the Goodlands changed since my time there? I remember the thick fog of steam and beige buildings that lined your cement streets.”

“You have been to the Goodlands before? I had no idea. When did you travel there?”

“Oh long ago. I visited the capital as part of a series of meetings concerning my investments. I also visited surrounding towns such as Weston, Aux Aspen and Phiastret. Beautiful and rushing cities.”

“That’s from where I hail! Aux Aspen is where I live.” She leaned closer, “Did you enjoy your time in Aux Aspen?”

The shifting of the flames like the dance they had done together flickered auburn and vermillion and amber over Ursula’s cheekbones. The colours, though were not heavy or saturated, more like that of the colours of a falling evening sun. “I did.”

Helena gave a comfortable sigh, unheaving and simple. “Good. I am glad to hear that.” Helena was extremely grateful to the Goodlands for her upbringing.

“Aux Aspen was one of the reasons I wanted to become a journalist.” Flashes of walking the streets of Aux Aspen, a grey colouring seeping through it all, “It was the people at first, I noticed the way our clothing differed, and then it was our accents or the foods we prepared. Journalism allowed me to hop into these worlds, to see through the eyes of the others in my town, to appreciate what they did for me.”

But the winds of change were exceptionally slow in the Goodlands and a female journalist had not yet been given the chance to prove herself. Yet, the Lord works in mysterious ways. She simply prayed that soon her true dream would realise itself.

“Did you ever want to be something else? To not work in with investments?”

“When I was child, I wanted nothing more than to study books and literature. But higher education was for people born into a wealth I was not bestowed with, and so I worked until I could invest and now I have all of this thankfully and incredibly gratefully.” Helena could envision it easily. A version of Ursula making notes and studying the great classics of literature, scribbling down her in depth analysis and enrapturing the masses whom listened to those analyses.

“But now you do it. You live your dream.”

“…” The corners of her lips raised just ever so slightly, barely noticeable without a prolonged glance. But Helena noticed, “I am.” A glimmer of satisfaction brightening her irises.

She wonders how she might string along the newfound facts about her host in the journal. A sudden scene appears in her mind of what later tonight might bear resemblance to; the tip of her tip balancing between her teeth and lips, fingers tapping against the edge of the rough paper.