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.]

The world had always been vexing, cumbersome, furtive, specious and unruly. Lena would never understand all of its complexities, all of its intricacies and complications, but she always tried, a resolute paragon pulled and swung by tenacity, by perseverance, by unruly disregard for all the faults of her curiosity. A quiet mind driven to solve mysteries, drawn to the peaks and valleys of circumstance, of paradoxes hovering in the distance, now struggled to separate apparitions from fact, specters from corporeal essences, wraiths from withering plumes. Just when she’d found purpose, sought guidance, rekindled the aura of her motivations and goals, the kingdom struck another match into the fire, stoked the coals and embers of enigmas, coaxed riddles and puzzles to the forefront of her mind. Pervading darkness, varnishing ivory converted into altered, misshapened ebony, plucking stone into ebony, scorching caverns into brutal shapes of monsters and demons, of tenebrous lacquer stained to once safe, content layers. This was the sovereignty, the empire, the kingdom, she pledged her soul upon, wandered over crag and creation to defend, to serve, to refresh and anew, and so abruptly, so swiftly, so quickly, it had changed. Transformed and morphed from perilous peaks to daunting, starless coal, from rime and glaciers to deceptive, hidden runes, and if she wished to survive again, if she longed, yearned and desired to become stronger, tenacious and indomitable, she’d have to evolve too. But as her gaze strayed over the memorized hilltops, over the crushing arms of stalwart summits and pernicious pinnacles, she wondered how she’d accomplish such a task, such a force, wandering in deep, bottomless ignorance. How does one conquer the unknown? How does one vanquish the obscure? How does one slay the ambiguous, the incomprehensible, the perplexing and peculiar? How does one escort, model and shepherd when they’re unsure of their own trembling footsteps? When each tremulous pathway could lead them further into the Stygian oubliette? When memorized footfalls fell away, became ash and soot, rubble and ruin? Where each trail became a primrose path? When the sun died and the moon drowned in twilight, and all one could see was their breath curling in the gloom? A coiled voice signified her answer, pierced and penetrated the core of her being, washed over the varnish of all her doubts, all her misgivings, all the shards and remnants of doubt, suspicion and weakness. Be brave. Be fierce. Be dauntless.

Lena’s gaze pursued the juncture of icy massifs then dragged their sights back to Blue Duck, where the warmth of her rich stare shown through the barbs and thorns, the nettles and spikes. They spoke of reassurance, of soothing, assuaging depths, where tenderness invoked calm layers to break through the hasty calamity, the cruel, callous sentiments surrounding their relics and remains. Even over the stag’s sarcasm, she could sense the hurt, the despair dragged over his lips, some harkening, painful memory that clashed and crashed with the weight of Mauja’s acceptance. So easily, effortlessly, she related to his anarchy, to the twist and turn of approval, how many times she’d sought the alms of her brethren and found naught to show for it. Only with time, smiles, laughter and dedication had she managed to break into their foundations, to obtain trust, to show steadfast power, even if it came in another form. The nymph was sure that it wouldn’t take Blue Duck half as long to garner their convictions and reliance. Her grin appeared again, as if it had never left in the length of their stead, hadn’t hesitated over the dungeon-esque qualms of their homeland, extended and prospered to the cerulean stallion, forcing away the chill of the flourishing wind, the glacial air. Her voice rang too, birdsong, aria and melody, covering the darkness with the radiance of her valor. “He liked you.” She shifted her cranium, allowed her steps, elegant, refined, to move forward, into the depths, into the fathoms, of the unknown. But his statement remained, hanging over the bounty of the Stygian hold, because this was something different, something foreign, something new and dangerous. Their past Frostfall had not been like this, when they’d been scavengers in the Steppe, defeated and belligerent, disappointed and hungry. The sun had set, and the moon had risen, dusk followed dawn, but never stayed like an undying foe. Her voice floated across the breeze, tangled in the haze, but remained intrepid, valorous. “No, not like this.”

They continued, past the outlying borders, where the guards stood in shadows, frozen monuments and monoliths of safety, security and preservation, and Lena stretched her limbs across boundaries of snow and ice. Imogen hastened thereafter, plunging her pale paws into rifts and drifts, and the sylph contorted her features to bliss, to harmony, to rapture and reverie where naught could be found. His words ambled across her ears, and she took the phrase, held the consecrated syllables in the mellifluous courts of her head, sang the voice in silent absorption across the secretive landscape. “You’re welcome.” For instead of discomfort, she wanted to show him the earth he’d accepted, the country he’d grow to cherish, the nation he’d protect, and her brilliance, her pluck, her daring, wove a subtle essence of magnificence and intensity. She wouldn’t wallow, wouldn’t despair, wouldn’t foster a dread to brew in his guts. She would lead him into their sanctuary, their shelter and their sovereignty with the blinding spirit of her gaze, of her movements, of her motions. Today, she would be the light.

He distracted her from the rust, the onyx abyss, the sinuous glide of bravery and spirit with the conjuring of foolishness. Were she allowed to gaze out over the endless labyrinth, she would have remained coiled, relentless, strong and determined, instead of returning to the ambient, glowing qualities she’d mustered and blossomed over passing tides. For slender snippets of time, she relaxed, loosened the hold over her muscles, proffered whimsy and fancy to the strangled minuets of sable and gloom. Her motions were dance steps and her elegance was composed by fey whispers, collected and joined together in the oeuvre, the masterpiece, of merriment – gambling with the distorted runes, the flailing paradoxes, the nettled barbs and strings of never-ending dusk. His words echoed across her ears, varnished with amusement, contorting and cavorting without hesitation, and in awe, shock and surprise, her head swung back to meet his suggestive brows, his mocking, narrowed stare. Had she been a coquette, exotic and wild, she may have pranced and smirked, simpered and coyly embarked along pathways with pride and fixation, a swaying, sultry, serpentine bolero. Had she been a shy damsel, she may have blushed and sunk into the floor, embarrassed and dismayed by the scandalous, wagging portions of his tongue, innocence misconstrued and pilfered, a solo wail, a saddening lament. But since she was none of these things, no seductress, no ingénue, only fairy, nymph and sylph, her jaw dropped, her temple aligned to match his wily, artful machinations, and laughter rang from the mellifluous cadence of her throat. “You’re quite mistaken, sir.” Lena curled her muzzle upwards once, signifying his rash decibels, before proceeding in another mischievous bout of giggles. Her sovereign was a steady, loyal friend, one of the many souls she’d fight, sacrifice and die for, heed the call of command and stroke the idle villainy of battle (she’d already committed such actions before and she’d do it again despite the savagery, despite the commotion, chaos and unraveling pinnacles).

Lena proceeded no further in their teasing intrigues and the world quieted beyond their voices, beyond their thoughts, beyond their movements across ice and twilight, slid into repose. Her noble cranium shifted back, ghosted along the shadows with the rest of her frame, Imogen a snippet of ivory beside her, shifting sometimes to ease between them, delighted in the twirls and pirouettes of snow rustled by their footsteps. Only when his vocals started again, rekindled by his vacant thoughts, did the femme cease all motion, twisting her gaze to settle along his taut frame, perhaps captured by great, cumbersome means, grand burdens unseen, incorporeal, discarnate and spectral. Her head tilted, curiosity ignited but not compelled across hushed lips, silent and stoic, composed and noble, while he ushered confessions. Perhaps she’d known all along that he was not Blue Duck, but their Threshold journey had been marked and mottled by secrets, unexposed mysteries that captivated minds, that threatened to unravel, tiny pieces assembled together in quick fashion, to disguise, to camouflage reality buried beneath the surface. Just as he’d hidden his wares, she’d covered hers, and there was no guessing as to who’d become the master of concealments, tucked away under cloaks, daggers, mantles and shields. But she would never be the one to reveal, to guess at masked faces and peel away the masquerade, she would never ask him the queries that sparked across her mind, and she would never travel across the earth to untangle the knots he’d snared around his strong form. The sprite simply listened, absorbed his divulgence, and stored it along her beating heart, her fluttering, ethereal soul, locked it away with all the other keys she used to sequester and obscure. Her smile reappeared along the corners of her mouth, soft, dulcet candor, guidance and deliverance, liberation for the soul that may have struggled to piece together the shambles of his existence. “You may tell me when you’re ready.” Warmth and tenderness, compassion and beneficence, ushered in one smooth gesture of kindred spirits. I was somebody else… The notions didn’t fade away from her thoughts, straying into her membrane like a hot knife, carving its way through her past, through a bloodied history, a lonesome, vacant wood, divinity never within reach, scars scratched below a grinning veneer. They struck close to home and stayed there, nestled and encroaching, beguiling snares clawing and rasping. She looked away to the snow, to the ice, to the familiar chambers of mighty peaks and wide monoliths appearing in the glow of the lanterns’ lights, and wished that she couldn’t remember.

But when she tried to press on, to gather herself deeper into the sanguine shades of the Aurora, amiable familiarity, he spoke again, told her to wait, ceasing her movement with the singular, splintered, fragile command. The terrible ache in his demand, the ravaged baritone in his request, left her nearly rigid. She watched the vapors curve from her breath, felt Imogen stir beside her, and the temptation to flee suddenly sprang upon her, a deer in the darkness. I can’t live with them…I’ll kill them all. What was real, and what was fake? Who was this creature? Not the Blue Duck lacquered with merriment and teasing, not the wry beast with his stubborn pride, but a different alteration altogether, formed by taut workings of a world she’d never ventured within and didn’t know how to cross. But she didn’t want to show him distrust, wariness or misgivings, she didn’t want to bestow or present trepidation, distress or foreboding, she didn’t want to be seen as the little girl withered by tainted phrases. Hadn’t she wished to prove herself as indomitable, honorable, stalwart and reliable? Steadfast, unwavering, faithful and determined, persevering through the quickening sands of anarchy, of insurrection, of iniquity boiling, bubbling and brewing through the infernal intoxications of these lands? Air fumbled from her mouth, as if it would be her only stumbling moment, the rocky aperture of her trepidation, flung from her body. When her stare met his rancorous, hostile, frigid sight, her honeyed depths were only entities of beneficence, bright, luminescent, radiance in the writhing, wrathful chill. She didn’t stray, she didn’t flee and she didn’t wander off into the nighttime escapades to escape from the stag’s fallen disguise. Instead, she bestowed and displayed her selfless ardor, her caring, tender grace, stretching her maw to meet his shoulder in one silken stroke, brandishing his growling tones with the formidable stature of her spirited poise, her ethereal brawn, her tenacious grasp on confidence and soothing reveries. Lena’s rapture and repose danced on her solid, refined voice, distinctive, spiraling like a song into the depths of his desecration. “Your enemies aren’t here.” Truth, resolute and adamant, sprung from her lips, the aria of her serenity, the warble of her tranquility, the harmony of her invocations. She didn’t know his adversaries, opponents or rivals, she could pledge ignorance to the bounty of his tale, but here, in the caliber of mountains, comrades and loyalty, he was secure. Another croon passed over the wind, ruffled the breeze with its calm, assuaging notes. “You’re safe.”