With a puffed chest and tightened hands on the jingling reigns, the driver barked, “No.”

“No?’

“I will not go up that mountain.” He repeated. His voice becoming more annoyed by the second.

“Please.” She clasped her fingers together into prayer hands, “I will pay you extra. It is important. I have to get up there.” Cold wind was burrowing beneath the layers of her dress. Before Helena, white puffs were huffed from his onyx horses’ maw.

“Miss, I think you do not understand who lives at the peak of that mountain. Not to mention the wolves and the night.”

“I understand perfectly, thank you very much.” Leaving the driver sitting with an empty carriage in the middle of the cobblestone street and Hiking up her dress with a huff, Helena began her long hike. Midnight hung over the winding road, tracing shadows around the peaks of the world beyond her.

Not paying attention, as she forged a stomping path ahead, Helena crashed into a thick puddle of mud. Spaying and decorating her heaven-white fabric with brown spitting mud.

“Wonderful.” She moaned, hiking her dress up higher. It was no matter, she would clean it later. Now was not the time to stop. If she stopped, Helena worried she might lose any lingering sense of courage that was shooting her up the mountain; even with her burning legs.

Gloomy trees dip forwards with lethargy. A swollen forest; a world she had gotten used to.

Heavy winds blow her side to side. They howl through the trees and shake the ground. Another strong gust of wind sprays a smattering of mud, dipping her dress into more of a brown than white now.

But still, she kept on forwards. Up the mountain, higher and higher. The moon gazes up on her as she races up the hill, short and heavy breaths sparking in her lungs. It gazes up on her, watching as though its presence illuminated the path upwards.

If she could, she would sprout wings like the angels of scripture and let them carry her up that winding mountain. Let them drop her at the doorstep and confess everything as though she found herself in a priest’s booth.

A forbidden feeling, yet it brims in her like the soft waves. Beckoning her to what feels right.

What would she say? How would she say it? Did Helena even deserve such a woman after her actions? She had run from her that night.

Finally, she could see the dramatic stygian peaks of Athanasia castle. Coming up to it, her last step was to bypass the castle gates. Sharp and shadow brimming beak, the crow set its sights on Helena, staring down and into her from atop the ornate and stone cross. It’s talons digging into and wrapping over the mineral.

“Do not look at me like that.” She commanded the winged-beast.

It’s beady eyes glanced away.

The wrought iron fence opened with a gentle push despite its rusty moan.

With anxiety, Helena tries to soften the wind-swept look currently donning her frame. Her hands press down her hair, trying to hide the heavy mud stains and fix the way her dress at on her with all its newfound wrinkles.

Opening with a long creak, the door winds to reveal a dark staircase. No candles filled the holes of the castle, they stayed unlit.

She gulps and steps in.

Climbing the stairs, she looks around with ever heightening anxiety, mind rumbling like the mountain beneath her. Finally, Helena spots her down a separate hallway. One lined with paintings of the sea, the sky and the Earth. Each ornate and colourful and so enchanting it feels like she might slip between the paint strokes.

Though Ursula looks so much more beautiful. Her dress trailed behind her, a sharp chin and jaw that reminded Helena of the statues Gods would have erected for themselves made of marble and sandstone. Her stygian hair draping down to her lower back; she truly was something to stare at, to remark and to gape at.

Ursula positioned herself before the face of one painting; a gentle and coasting sea. Despite the grey-inked waters, the sea was not swollen but instead calm. In the sky, ghost-white birds glided over the still sea.

The castle groaning beneath her steps as Helena walks forwards. She stopped, donning a similar position to the owner of Castle Athanasia. Inches stood between their shoulders.

Ursula, however, did not glance over. She gave no indication of recognition to Helena’s presence. Face impassive and refined, like a predator hiding in the brush.

“I have one last question to inquire about,” She began with a wavering voice, tucking her hair behind her ears and swallowing her hesitance, “What if I were not to leave?” She asks in gentle Taranqian, trying her best not to let her voice crack with knowing trepidation.

She tried but petal-like teardrops flowed like the rivers beyond the castle. What would she say?

Finally she looked over. And a flood of feelings, of senses still remaining from their kiss, from her days here, returned.

A knowing smile graces Ursula’s features. “I have lived many pasts, presents and futures, but my dear Helena, all pale in comparison to you.” Her eyes fluttered slowly as her head tipped up. Ursula held her face in the palms of her hands. Tenderly, like a porcelain statue or a priceless painting.

A tight embrace begins, arms wound around each other as if they never desired to break again. Whispering, I have already compiled a few books I am sure you would like.”

Helena laughs.

She knew this was the woman who would kiss away her heavenly tears and recite the words to put her at ease.

🕈🕈

Placed along the long line of oil paintings and luxury oak frames, there was a new addition. “What do you think?”

Holding a silver chalice, Helena’s ivory hair blends with the lace and silk of her dress. At the edges of her eyes, a few crow’s feet wrinkles blossom in accordance to her sly smile. Matching with the silver of her chalice, Helena’s simple cross hung low beneath her collarbones.

Within the strokes of the canvas, a golden source of light reflected in the chrome gross and illuminated Helena’s cheekbones, eyes and beneath her chin. As well as dotting over her lace covered figure.

Helena immediately melted; made of water and one long, smile breaking grin she gushes, “It is absolute perfection. Oh, Ursula, I love it!”

Embracing Ursula, they shared a short kiss before breaking, though only enough to continue studying the painting. They stood still, the shadows of the dark blackening their world as Helena’s warm hands tenderly caressing Ursula’s cold ones.