Outside the City of Stalt was a mountain. This mountain was once mighty, with a single snow-crowned peak and verdant forests below. Within the peak was a- well it hardly matters anymore. It’s gone now. Now the mountain has two peaks and a near-perfect crescent shape between them, as if someone had taken a bite out of the middle. The Twin Peaks Mountains serve as a reminder of an epoch of lost history, in which earth-shattering displays of power shaped the world itself. And even the mountain was fading like the era that formed it. One peak was crumbling slightly, spilling rubble down the east side. At the base of that crescent curve was a lake, and on the south side of that lake was a house.

To call it a house would be ambitious. It was a dream, and like dreams the house was confused and unfinished yet unmistakably grand. That dream had been a Manor, a fortress of wealth in the shape of a fat upside-down 'U'. Abandoned before it could reach infancy, forsaken before it could stand at all. Years had turned the bare construction site furry with weeds, the low walls peaking above chest-high grasses. Occasional cellar openings lay filled with water and mosquitos like forgotten buckets. Around the middle several walls stood above the rest in stony stubbornness, the only eye-level remnant of aspirations once cherished.

Following a floating light, Clara and Petra led Jasson through the foundations and into the high-walled section. After a few turns they arrived at a large opening with a curtain over it and tarps pulled tight above for a roof. It was more stone than home, but Jasson could see that a lot of effort had been put in.

I thought that they had been in Stalt for a while, Jasson thought, but this feels…new? More like unfinished.

“Welcome to our home,” Clara said, “It’s not much, but it’s enough.”

“Ah,” Jasson said, “this is where you’re staying? It’s…nice.”

Petra snorted behind Jasson.

“It has a great view,” Clara said, holding aside the curtain that served as their door, “and it’s never stuffy in the summer.”

Clara said that like it was a cheerful line she’d practiced, one of those little lies you tell yourself and others. Like how it was fine that your car was dented and dirty because that means it won’t get stolen. Or how you enjoy seeing your toes poke through your shoes because it meant you got your money’s worth out of them. Silver linings painted on the rusted and worn, making them glint like new. At least from a distance.

“Thanks” Jasson looked up at ‘the view’ before ducking inside, “That was a few more miles than I anticipated and I have to say, I’m not sure this was worth the walk.”

“Yes it was,” Petra said, “For you at least.”

Unsure of what to make of that, Jasson looked around the room. It was a large kitchen, with several wood stoves along one wall and a couple of suspiciously modern-looking sinks. There was a table on the stove side of the room and two other doors leading out, one of which was boarded up. The other half of the room had a pile of supplies on the floor and a couple of mattresses against the wall, as well as another door that had been boarded up.

“I know that it’s not much,” Clara said, “But we keep the beds made and the table filled with food. We’re making progress.”

“It’s a pittance,” Petra said, “I’d be ashamed to show you but I doubt that you care. Then again we will be eating standing up since we don't have any chairs. I’ll understand if you complain after fainting from that.”

“What?” Jasson said, “Why would I faint??”

“Well the walk was so far,” Petra said, mocking tone grating on Jasson, “I wouldn’t want to push your delicate constitution. Maybe you’ll have to take the meal in bed.”

“That had to have been over a dozen miles from the city to here.” Jasson said, “How was that a short walk for you two?”

“You get used to it,” Clara interjected, “Now come on Petra. He’s probably grown up in the city.”

Petra rolled her eyes and said “That doesn’t stop him from being a whiney g-”

“Petra!” Clara said, “He is our guest. You’re better than this.”

Petra stopped, then shut her eyes and sighed, saying “You’re right. I guess I- well I’m not sorry. But I am hungry, and that probably isn’t helping things.”

“Me too,” Jasson said, “Hungry that is. Umm…are you- is there anything I need to do?”

“No,” Petra said, “As Clara said, you are our guest for the night. Eat, sleep, eat. Then you’re out of here.”

Clara said, “Unless there’s further invite.”

“Why would there be further invite?” Jasson said, looking around, “You guys don’t even have a proper ceiling, never mind a guest bedroom.”

Petra glared daggers at Jasson and said, “It’s not an option and there’s no point talking about it. I'll start cooking. Clara?”

Maybe I shouldn't have said that, Jasson thought, But how am I supposed to tell? She seems to hate me on principle.

“I agree,” Clara said, smile making Jasson feel warm, “You just relax. This is our treat. Then I’ll go grab the extra mattress for you after we’re done with dinner.”

Petra snorted and looked Jasson dead in the eyes as she said “You better not get handsy tonight mister 'Hero'. I'd feel bad if I spilled your guts out after feeding you. It would be a waste of good food to plaster you across the ceiling before you finish digesting.”

Despite Petra's protests, Clara had talked on their way there about how Jasson could stay the night. They had a spare bed, although there was no spare bedroom, so he could stay in theirs. Clara was optimistic as she said this, looking at Jasson with faith that he was trustworthy. Jasson would have felt uncomfortable with Clara's trust if it wasn’t for Petra. Every few minutes Petra would threaten Jasson by making it clear that every piece of his body was removable. This was the tenth time Petra had blatantly threatened Jasson, and he was getting a little ticked off about that.

And so, due to the sense of immortality that stems from youth, Jasson said “I’d like to see you try. Your ceiling is a freaking tarp, you couldn't 'plaster' me against that. At least say the wall if you want to be overly threatening. Gods, if you were a guy I’d ask if you were compensating!”

“Oh?” Petra said, voice dangerously low, “Is that a challenge? Are you gonna be the big man here? Or maybe you’re just feeling lucky.”

Each threat had felt over the top and unrealistic, but now it dawned on Jasson that Petra was serious. Rocks started to float in the air as Jasson saw Clara vigorously shaking her head. 

Ah, Jasson thought as his throat dried, right. #$%^&!

“Look,” Jasson said, mind flailing, “I wasn’t challenging you. I was just making an observation that-”

“That what?” Petra said, “That I'm too weak to put a roof over our heads? That it may ‘never be stuffy in summer’ but we’ll die with the first frost?! That, with all of my power, I still can’t protect my sister from the simple cold?! Go on! What were you going to say? You obviously thought that it was worth hearing. Pick wisely.”

Various things ran through Jasson’s head, a disturbing amount of which was him vividly picturing exactly how a plastered human looked. He'd gotten plenty of examples from the battlefield. Jasson wrestled with his panic and desperately tried to figure a way out.

I have to understand Petra. Jasson thought. So that I don't screw this up like normal. This is serious.

Petra was probably itching to vent her anger and obviously thought very little of him. To the point where she'd kill Jasson if he said the wrong thing, or at least try with Clara there. But no person was randomly filled with rage. Something caused her to feel like this, and all Jasson had to do was appeal to that reason.

Why? Jasson thought, Look at her sister. Clara’s walking sunshine. And they’re identical twins! Why would Petra be like this? Why would she feel like this? Maybe...Petra is the older sister? Responsibility?

With a sharp breath, Jasson took a chance.

Jasson gestured to the room and said, “I think that this...this is enough. I’m sorry for implying otherwise. You have beds and blankets and walls to shelter between when the wind whips coldly. This roof may be scant but I’m guessing that even it was not present a week ago. The first few nights must have been a torture of exposure and rock pillows. Every part of this place portrays progress and dreams, and it warms my heart to see.”

Jasson looked Petra in the eyes and said “I don’t think that I could have done what you did, and I can see how much all this matters to you. It is not yet a house, but with your sisterly warmth, it is most assuredly a Home. I will respect it and be grateful for what small part of this I may enjoy.”

Jasson looked between the two of them, shifting as he tried to read their expression. Clara was grinning widely, but Petra had a cool expression. Emotionless.

That’s better than the anger, Jasson thought, I’ll take it.

Breaking the silence Clara clapped her hands together and said “Well done. But dinner's not getting any closer. I’ll get the wood for the fire. Jasson, want to come help me?”

Jasson nodded and stepped towards the door. Petra didn’t react beyond a brief nod.

Good, Jasson thought, She's not angry with me anymore. At least not murderously.

“Actually,” Jasson said, “I need the restroom. Where is it?”

“Down the hall to the left,” Petra said, “First door on the right. Actual door, not a gaping hole between the walls. I don’t want you to $^*&# in one of the chambers.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Jasson said, “But thanks.”

There was a distinct change in Petra’s tone from before, and Jasson held back a smile as he left. What he had said, wherever that had come from, had been the right choice. Beyond that Jasson even felt a little closer to Petra, as if she’d warmed up to him. She felt like a reasonable person with edges and walls, not a labyrinth filled with traps.

****

Ten minutes later Clara pulled Jasson bodily from the kitchen. This was because, despite Jasson's recent burst of wisdom, he had missed the signs. Petra wanted to be alone. Apparently, people weren’t supposed to chop meat into tiny pieces with savage enjoyment, especially while glancing at Jasson.

So Clara, being familiar with the symptoms, led Jasson outside. Then the tour began, Clara dancing in the night as she flitted from ruin to ruin telling Jasson what was supposed to be there. A bedroom, a library, stairs to the second floor. One after another she described what the Manor should have been in her ideal world.

“Over here was supposed to be the family room.” Clara said, walking Jasson around a knee-height wall. “It would have had a beautiful view of the courtyard on one side and the gardens on the other. There was supposed to be a massive fireplace along that wall over there, despite the in-floor heating making it more decoration. The kids were supposed to play on a soft rug made from eastern cotton, confined between a set of enormous sofas.”

Clara walked over to the north side of the building and sat on the wall there, then said “I like to come here and imagine just what the gardens would have looked like if they had been finished. Maybe I’m naive, but I feel like the drawings never did any justice to the dream."

“How do you know all this stuff?” Jasson said, “Did your family own this place?”

“Sort of,” Clara said, “You see-um…well the thing is-”

Clara stopped and thought for a second, then said “Yeah, that’s close enough. I used to look at the blueprints and the artist renditions all the time when I was a kid. It…it was a big dream for our family.”

And for you, Jasson thought, I doubt Petra thinks about it at all

Jasson looked around at the foundations sticking out of the ground and said “And now all that's left are ruins.”

“Not ruins,” Clara said, “this place never had anything to ruin in the first place. It is barely even unfinished. In most areas only the foundations are in place, and the grass and dirt mostly cover those. What is there to ruin?”

“Huh.” Jasson said, “I don’t think I get it. What’s the difference?”

“This is an unfinished dream,” Clara said, looking out to the lake, “But there’s not enough to actually crumble. No ceilings caving in, floorboards filled with rot and bugs, or walls that would tip over with a breeze. After all, we’re sleeping between five-foot-thick walls. So no. This place is untapped potential, a castle with a head start, not ruins.”

“Not-ruins,” Jasson said, “That’s what I’ll call it from now on then. Not-ruins. How are you two planning on building this place? Adventuring?”

Clara shifted then said “We don’t know yet. It’s only been a couple weeks and we’ve been doing dungeon delving and exploration just to make ends meet. But this manor…five thousand gold at least. That’s all at once though. We’ll be buying the materials for now and building it ourselves, room by room. At least until we can afford otherwise."

Clara stared into the distance, fiddling with her dress as she said, "Petra figures that she’s good enough at math to make the joinery and masonry work. I can do the heavy lifting. I just hope we can get enough together in the next few months. They tell me that winter isn't that harsh here, but it still freezes. We'll have to work hard to survive before we can finish this house.”

Clara sat, simple dress rippling in a breeze coming off the lake as the moon caught in her flowing golden hair. Jasson was not a poet so he merely committed the moment.

“I know we will do it,” Clara said softly, as if forgetting that Jasson was there, “That’s the kind of world I want to live in.”

Jasson let the moment stretch, eventually pulling his eyes away from Clara. She was beautiful in a way that made Jasson deeply uncomfortable, like his eyes were too dirty to see her. The spell was broken as she leapt off the edge.

“Come on!” Clara said as she disappeared, “I want to show you the fountains!”