Confusion was an imminent piece to Helovia, a crooked, gnarled spider web slinking in its sinuous breath, casting a lonely haze over the horizon, wrapping its sticky sinew over the just, the proud, the desperate and forsaken. It dabbled in mysteries, it courted mayhem, it gestured wildly to parties gleaming in smug idleness, became a witness to the fall of their Cheshire grins as it played with them once more, toys and puppets on strings. It left them befuddled, perplexed, misaligned and shaken, wondering in the beautiful arts of the mystique and Sphinx riddles, puzzles purposefully discarded, pieces missing, waves of sovereignty hastening to find answers where none were to be found. When Lena had arrived within the Threshold, with all of its charms and enigmas, it had been dawn, breaking over the sumptuous air, delicious and wild, prosperous and auspicious, treasuring the earth with all its shards and trinkets. The sun had mingled with the heavens, laid luminescent rays across pillars of snow and ice, great columns of noble pine and fir, and spread its loving fingers over softening icicles. The morning claimed another for their brethren, the charming and humorous Blue Duck, whimsy and fancies in the insurrection of secrets and games, and sunrise proffered a glimpse of the icy sovereign, never shaking, never shuddering, in the rimed realm of clandestine, covert cloaks and daggers. But as she’d wound her way over familiar trails, primrose paths and wicked parlors, the light begun to shrunk, waning and withering, a dull, dying oath, with no sign, with no warning, with no hesitation. Had they traveled for so long? Had she somehow managed to lose her way? Her gaze knew the retort; the lanes and alleys were the same, carefree stones and rapturous pillars, chunks of pebbles and listless dabbles of brine and glaciers, peaks tipping and bowing their heads to the sky. Had they lost so many hours, laughing and chatting in the glen, or in the thick meadows of snow? Had they wandered off into some newfound obscurity, bleak and frustrating, captured and played with by devil’s hands?

The shadows grew, extending, expanding, lengthening until she could scarcely make out the familiar borders of the Aurora, until the brazen, audacious lights no longer lit up the sky, until all that glowed was the everlasting lake, becoming the only welcome they received. A pervading gloom, a hastening dusk, twilight twisted and bestowed when it was not the right moment. She furrowed her brow, laced her eyes across the earth, along the intertwining kingdom, now only given in Stygian torment and onyx mantles. Her voice carried to the stallion following her, adrift and mystified, soft, dulcet croons that only embarked upon her disconcertion. “I don’t know why it’s dark. Surely we didn’t lose so much time.” What could have caused this madness? Had the night conquered the day? Had they roamed for too long? Had they all become damned, condemned and beguiled by the immorality, the iniquity, of nocturnal decay? She turned towards Blue Duck, a cerulean beacon along the ghostly tides of the Basin, and she was ultimately dismayed, for he wouldn’t be able to see the beauty, the grandeur, the splendor of his new home, only the eerie glimmer, flicker and flare of the lake. “Welcome to the Basin. I’m sorry you cannot see her at her best.” The sylph bowed her head in forgiveness, a slight dip, a tender smile, then continued her movements across the borders, felt the slush and snow slide along her feet, cordial greetings from her beloved empire, cold suddenly a warm familiarity. Imogen trickled along at her side, silent and grave as her companion wandered into the midst and abyss.

[Continuation from this thread. Mitz first please, then anyone who would like to join.]