She knocked four times in perpetuity, rattling the wooden door. Crickets hid in the thick brush between the homes. Small puddles of mud held the ivory glance of the moon in its black waters.

It broke open to reveal Zasria Kriska. A small night cap covering her hair as she wore a long nightgown with bundles and bundles of flowers embroidered into the pink fabric.

“Come in. Come in.” She ordered with a concerned voice. “It is late and it is cold, what are you doing here?”

She knocked four times in perpetuity, rattling the wooden door. Crickets hid in the thick brush between the homes. Small puddles of mud held the ivory glance of the moon in its black waters.

It broke open to reveal Zasria Kriska. A small night cap covering her hair as she wore a long nightgown with bundles and bundles of flowers embroidered into the pink fabric.

“Come in. Come in.” She ordered with a concerned voice. “It is late and it is cold, what are you doing here?”

Pieces hang on every wall, side by side, painting and art pieces share the area next to each other haphazardly. In her small abode, fleece blankets were thrown over the couches. Bright colours and fabrics woven into the curtains and wallpapers and into every decoration Helena could see.

“Sit.” Helena took a humbling seat at a nearby round table. Into a small porcelain tea cup Zasria poured a flowery smelling tea, “What has happened?”

“I have lost it!” Helena yelled, gasping for air as though she had never breathed it before.

Patting Helena on the shoulder, Zasria took a seat across from her. Placing a hand under her chin as she listened. “What have you lost?”

“My sanity? My soul? Must I name you more?” Helena gulped down her still steaming tea, mind lost in the mess of what she was feeling. A million thoughts running through her, each saying something completely different.

Brows furrowing, Zasria commented sarcastically, “You might name the reason for this loss.”

“We kissed! I kissed her! She kissed me!” The burning of a thousand suns and the colouring of a claret made its way onto her face.

It still lingered. The shadows and dotting of the kiss. The way Ursula had gripped her. The way she gripped Ursula. Helena could still feel it in her bones, it tangled her up inside and she felt as though she might trip whichever way she stepped.

Leaning back in her chair, Zasria rolled her eyes dramatically. “That is all?” She shook her head and clicked her teeth with disappointment, “Ms. Helena of Bathurst you are quite dramatic I might say! I thought something truly horrible had happened!” Clutching the area over her heart, Zasria huffed out a heavy breath.

Gaping, she bellowed, “What do you mean? Something horrible did happen! Have you gone righteously mad?” How could she be so nonchalant about such a thing?

She is a-!” The words caught in her throat, “A-a.”

“A vampyr.” Zasria finished. “I am aware.”

“You are aware?” Helena pressed her hands to her temples in shock, “And you said nothing about the person I have shared an abode with for months now?” Others had known.

“Is it your place to reveal the secrets of your friends? Of your brethren?” Zasria pointed out.

“Brethren?” And then it dawned on her, “Ah. Have I been so blind throughout my entire stay?”

Low, like the whispering moon, Helena confessed, “I do not know what to do. I wish I were afraid of her. Then perhaps my feelings would be easier managed.” Fear seemed to be an easier emotion than the one that was currently tumbling around in her stomach.

And yet she still wished to know everything about her, how it seems to be a paradox with no in-sight solution.

“I had been swept up in the moment. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more.” Zasria obviously mocked.

“Do you want to go home? Back to the Goodlands?” She inquired. Helena bit her lip, her own mind mulling over what to do. To return home she would pass her time on the cold metal of trains and upon the cold dark of the sea once more.

She felt as though she was stuck between two worlds now. What was keeping her in the Goodlands? What was keeping her in Taranqar?

The last time she sat in the salon, fingers flipping through the pages of a new book with Ursula lounging not feet from her; both of them enjoying the silence and tranquility of the company and the castle? Was there any way of repairing it now? Now that she had seen it? Now that she knew?

Perhaps this would end with no such respect to the poets. It would simply finish as it began; a black night, an ivory moon and a heavy silence. Perhaps this was made to be a tale of woe. They had always been fated to part ways, perhaps Helena had simply overestimated their timeline.

Should I bury my doubts?

Do I return home?

Letting her gaze roll softly over the room, Helena’s eyes landed on a painting hanging above Zasria’s brick mantle. Gently nestled in the grass two women laid with their heads back and the sun beaming over their features. Rolling around in a mellow happiness among white flowers and shifting grasses. She nods.

An ache burns her chest. She bites her lip until it hurts. Rising from her chair, Helena pulls her hair behind her ears as she makes her way to the doorframe.

“Thank you for your help tonight Zasria!”  She feels the Taranqian wind brush her skin before yelling, “Driver!”She knocked four times in perpetuity, rattling the wooden door. Crickets hid in the thick brush between the homes. Small puddles of mud held the ivory glance of the moon in its black waters.

It broke open to reveal Zasria Kriska. A small night cap covering her hair as she wore a long nightgown with bundles and bundles of flowers embroidered into the pink fabric.

“Come in. Come in.” She ordered with a concerned voice. “It is late and it is cold, what are you doing here?”

Pieces hang on every wall, side by side, painting and art pieces share the area next to each other haphazardly. In her small abode, fleece blankets were thrown over the couches. Bright colours and fabrics woven into the curtains and wallpapers and into every decoration Helena could see.

“Sit.” Helena took a humbling seat at a nearby round table. Into a small porcelain tea cup Zasria poured a flowery smelling tea, “What has happened?”

“I have lost it!” Helena yelled, gasping for air as though she had never breathed it before.

Patting Helena on the shoulder, Zasria took a seat across from her. Placing a hand under her chin as she listened. “What have you lost?”

“My sanity? My soul? Must I name you more?” Helena gulped down her still steaming tea, mind lost in the mess of what she was feeling. A million thoughts running through her, each saying something completely different.

Brows furrowing, Zasria commented sarcastically, “You might name the reason for this loss.”

“We kissed! I kissed her! She kissed me!” The burning of a thousand suns and the colouring of a claret made its way onto her face.

It still lingered. The shadows and dotting of the kiss. The way Ursula had gripped her. The way she gripped Ursula. Helena could still feel it in her bones, it tangled her up inside and she felt as though she might trip whichever way she stepped.

Leaning back in her chair, Zasria rolled her eyes dramatically. “That is all?” She shook her head and clicked her teeth with disappointment, “Ms. Helena of Bathurst you are quite dramatic I might say! I thought something truly horrible had happened!” Clutching the area over her heart, Zasria huffed out a heavy breath.

Gaping, she bellowed, “What do you mean? Something horrible did happen! Have you gone righteously mad?” How could she be so nonchalant about such a thing?

She is a-!” The words caught in her throat, “A-a.”

“A vampyr.” Zasria finished. “I am aware.”

“You are aware?” Helena pressed her hands to her temples in shock, “And you said nothing about the person I have shared an abode with for months now?” Others had known.

“Is it your place to reveal the secrets of your friends? Of your brethren?” Zasria pointed out.

“Brethren?” And then it dawned on her, “Ah. Have I been so blind throughout my entire stay?”

Low, like the whispering moon, Helena confessed, “I do not know what to do. I wish I were afraid of her. Then perhaps my feelings would be easier managed.” Fear seemed to be an easier emotion than the one that was currently tumbling around in her stomach.

And yet she still wished to know everything about her, how it seems to be a paradox with no in-sight solution.

“I had been swept up in the moment. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more.” Zasria obviously mocked.

“Do you want to go home? Back to the Goodlands?” She inquired. Helena bit her lip, her own mind mulling over what to do. To return home she would pass her time on the cold metal of trains and upon the cold dark of the sea once more.

She felt as though she was stuck between two worlds now. What was keeping her in the Goodlands? What was keeping her in Taranqar?

The last time she sat in the salon, fingers flipping through the pages of a new book with Ursula lounging not feet from her; both of them enjoying the silence and tranquility of the company and the castle? Was there any way of repairing it now? Now that she had seen it? Now that she knew?

Perhaps this would end with no such respect to the poets. It would simply finish as it began; a black night, an ivory moon and a heavy silence. Perhaps this was made to be a tale of woe. They had always been fated to part ways, perhaps Helena had simply overestimated their timeline.

Should I bury my doubts?

Do I return home?

Letting her gaze roll softly over the room, Helena’s eyes landed on a painting hanging above Zasria’s brick mantle. Gently nestled in the grass two women laid with their heads back and the sun beaming over their features. Rolling around in a mellow happiness among white flowers and shifting grasses. She nods.

An ache burns her chest. She bites her lip until it hurts. Rising from her chair, Helena pulls her hair behind her ears as she makes her way to the doorframe.

“Thank you for your help tonight Zasria!”  She feels the Taranqian wind brush her skin before yelling, “Driver!”

Pieces hang on every wall, side by side, painting and art pieces share the area next to each other haphazardly. In her small abode, fleece blankets were thrown over the couches. Bright colours and fabrics woven into the curtains and wallpapers and into every decoration Helena could see.

“Sit.” Helena took a humbling seat at a nearby round table. Into a small porcelain tea cup Zasria poured a flowery smelling tea, “What has happened?”

“I have lost it!” Helena yelled, gasping for air as though she had never breathed it before.

Patting Helena on the shoulder, Zasria took a seat across from her. Placing a hand under her chin as she listened. “What have you lost?”

“My sanity? My soul? Must I name you more?” Helena gulped down her still steaming tea, mind lost in the mess of what she was feeling. A million thoughts running through her, each saying something completely different.

Brows furrowing, Zasria commented sarcastically, “You might name the reason for this loss.”

“We kissed! I kissed her! She kissed me!” The burning of a thousand suns and the colouring of a claret made its way onto her face.

It still lingered. The shadows and dotting of the kiss. The way Ursula had gripped her. The way she gripped Ursula. Helena could still feel it in her bones, it tangled her up inside and she felt as though she might trip whichever way she stepped.

Leaning back in her chair, Zasria rolled her eyes dramatically. “That is all?” She shook her head and clicked her teeth with disappointment, “Ms. Helena of Bathurst you are quite dramatic I might say! I thought something truly horrible had happened!” Clutching the area over her heart, Zasria huffed out a heavy breath.

Gaping, she bellowed, “What do you mean? Something horrible did happen! Have you gone righteously mad?” How could she be so nonchalant about such a thing?

She is a-!” The words caught in her throat, “A-a.”

“A vampyr.” Zasria finished. “I am aware.”

“You are aware?” Helena pressed her hands to her temples in shock, “And you said nothing about the person I have shared an abode with for months now?” Others had known.

“Is it your place to reveal the secrets of your friends? Of your brethren?” Zasria pointed out.

“Brethren?” And then it dawned on her, “Ah. Have I been so blind throughout my entire stay?”

Low, like the whispering moon, Helena confessed, “I do not know what to do. I wish I were afraid of her. Then perhaps my feelings would be easier managed.” Fear seemed to be an easier emotion than the one that was currently tumbling around in her stomach.

And yet she still wished to know everything about her, how it seems to be a paradox with no in-sight solution.

“I had been swept up in the moment. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more.” Zasria obviously mocked.

“Do you want to go home? Back to the Goodlands?” She inquired. Helena bit her lip, her own mind mulling over what to do. To return home she would pass her time on the cold metal of trains and upon the cold dark of the sea once more.

She felt as though she was stuck between two worlds now. What was keeping her in the Goodlands? What was keeping her in Taranqar?

The last time she sat in the salon, fingers flipping through the pages of a new book with Ursula lounging not feet from her; both of them enjoying the silence and tranquility of the company and the castle? Was there any way of repairing it now? Now that she had seen it? Now that she knew?

Perhaps this would end with no such respect to the poets. It would simply finish as it began; a black night, an ivory moon and a heavy silence. Perhaps this was made to be a tale of woe. They had always been fated to part ways, perhaps Helena had simply overestimated their timeline.

Should I bury my doubts?

Do I return home?

Letting her gaze roll softly over the room, Helena’s eyes landed on a painting hanging above Zasria’s brick mantle. Gently nestled in the grass two women laid with their heads back and the sun beaming over their features. Rolling around in a mellow happiness among white flowers and shifting grasses. She nods.

An ache burns her chest. She bites her lip until it hurts. Rising from her chair, Helena pulls her hair behind her ears as she makes her way to the doorframe.

“Thank you for your help tonight Zasria!”  She feels the Taranqian wind brush her skin before yelling, “Driver!”