Someone was kissing her. A boy, no, a young man, in his early twenties. Military uniform. His eyes were closed, and his kissing inexperienced.

It is not... unpleasant, she thought. She threw her arms over his neck and kissed him back. After a minute, she put a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently.

„Where are we?” she asked.

„Who are you?” he shouted, almost falling on his back. „Where is Li-Hua?”

„Look into my eyes,” she asked, caressing his cheek. „I’m your love; you’ll do everything for me. Now, tell me, where are we.”

„On the outskirts of the Arts Town of the Western Autarchy, my love. Arts, Crafts, and Pleasures Town,” replied the youth with absent wide-open eyes and monotonous tone.

She looked around. The air was thicker, it smelled of real summer flowers, roses, thyme, and it was later in the day, passed the evening. The magic around was powerful.

I’m back on the Realm, she thought. Go figure.

She inspected herself, feeling her chest, her head, incredulous to be still alive.

Mom’s medallion saved me. And our amulet. The escape bead is gone... it must’ve broken, and the spell brought me here. They are ancient, and you never know where you’ll go, that’s what the elders say.

While walking towards the city, she extracted more pieces of information about the years she missed. The Western Autarchy was now opened to the world. She decided very fast where she wanted to go.

„You like opera, my love?” he asked.

„I do not know yet. We’ll see.”

„It is expensive, but I’ll do anything for you. I’ll buy the tickets.”

“There will be no need for spending money. Wait for me here, on that bench.”

Using the Voice, she convinced the doorman to let her inside and point her to the official lodge. Inside, only a solid man in his early forties, big mustache, glasses, not very tall, with dark skin.

„Jean Paralle,” he presented himself, kissing her hand. „Critic.”

„Alienor” she replied. „Not a critic.”

The man offered his seat, a better one, but she preferred to stay in the back and the shadows.

„You’re in time for the second part; the break is just ending,” he informed her. „The first was The Madness Aria, an abridged version."

She nodded and let herself back, sighing, with her eyes closed.

The sudden orchestra attack made her jolt; the previous empty stage had now a sumptuous décor, a seaside landscape in a village. It was a revolving stage, explained the critic. The intrigue was simple: a beautiful girl was courted by two men: one wealthy merchant and one poor farmer. There were only dances and folk songs but arranged very well. Suddenly, the peacefulness of the scene broke. Explosions everywhere, the sand is thrown up, steam machine guns fire, engine noises. Bodies falling. People crying.

Providence! They cried the same just an hour ago when I was preparing to make luncheon meat out of my own people! What was I thinking? Am I so desperate?

Gradually, everything stopped; everyone on the stage was lying still. Silence. Softly, a slow breath, the only noise to be heard. Slowly, from under the farmer's body, a hand moved: the girl. The poor farmer had saved her, putting himself in front of the bullets. She exited, limping, her naked feet leaving bloody footsteps in the sand behind. Then the scene went dark. Applauses.

She cried. It was too much. She tried to stop, she tried to hid her face in her palms, she couldn't stop, she cried.

The critic softly put his hand on her shoulder, offering his handkerchief.

„I know. This is why Ejlsa’s company’s so famous. It’s striking, isn’t it? This is catharsis.”

„How is it called. The opera?” she asked in between softening sobs.

„Nothing, it’s not an opera!” he replied. „I thought you knew. This was the morning news, arranged on music – amazingly, in such a short time, no? Media broke the armistice and invaded the main island of Balirbar. They destroyed that village and killed everyone to hide they landed, but a young woman escaped and reached a telegraph. I think the Royal Family of Ohst is apoplectic by now; they were the main brokers of the deal.”

She stopped crying. Thanking him, she raised to leave.

„What are you doing?” said the critic, holding her by her hand. „You have seen nothing yet. Ejlsa Scarabeida will sing a song upon a poem by Secretary Lau. It is the best moment of the evening.”

She sat back, and as she sat, a lonely spot of light appeared on the scene. Inside it, a woman. Tall, but not too tall, deep-blonde hair, a little curly, touching her shoulders, let naked by her evening dress. Her skin was like ivory, and without the slightest blemish, her slightly oblique eyes a pale green, her body perfect, her waist waspy, her breast the optimum balance between generous and firm, her lips and smile were those of a siren. The only imperfect feature on her, a nose slightly bigger than the perfection standard and somewhat irregular shaped, made her even more stunning because it was the only detail to distinguish her from a classical statue. She walked like a queen, making men wish to kiss her footsteps and prostrate at her thin ankles. And her voice...

„You see?” whispered Mr. Paralle. „The light is now only black and white, like in the old printings. I do not how they do it. And for some reason, they close the doors; no one can leave until she stops. She’s amazing, isn’t it? A perfect spinta, could you hear any weakness in the passage range? None. The orchestra is a little loud for my taste, but...”

„Shhh... No. The orchestra is not loud; it is at the perfect level. She’s the tip of a spear and the orchestra the shaft, helping her stab your heart. The light is black and white because her voice makes it so; it’s magic. You’d turn blind or mad if you’d leave now. Now shush, let me listen...”

The aria, sometimes soft, sometimes lively, about the burnt wood scent of the stove on an autumn day, held for almost fifteen minutes, but no one was bored. The applauses were interminable, the critic overwhelmingly thankful.”

„It was the most splendid description of Ejlsa’s voice I’ve ever heard, madam. Can I use it in my chronicle?”

Alienor approved with a nod, let her had to be kissed again, and went out. She walked around the building to the back door to the artists' door with her, the young knight. Another doorman, another look in the eyes and whisper. Five minutes later, they were escorted to a private salon.

Ejlsa was waiting for them, sitting in front of a mirror, arranging her hair. She had changed into a house robe. Although the robe was less elegant than the concert dress, it was more complimentary to her beauty and several levels more enticing, its transparency showing more of her perfect body and long shapely legs.

„I was told an important impresario wishes to talk with me?” she raised an eyebrow.

„Good evening, mother! Don’t you recognize me?”

Ejlsa jumped up, hurrying to kiss her on both cheeks, hugging her gently.

„Providence! Alienor! You’ve returned on the Realm?”

She kissed her again on the cheeks, then pushed her at arm's length to better look at her.

„You look splendid... well, just some wrinkles here and there, but I have a cream who’ll erase those in a matter of days. Are you married? Who’s the good looking man here?”

Despite Alienor's previous charm spell, the soldier was salivating all over the carpet, following Ejlsa with his wide-opened eyes.

„My present protegée, a tenor, is quite cute too. But yours is better, what muscles! Did you attend the opera?”

Alienor acknowledged but mentioned.

“Only the second part.”

“You noticed that I became a soprano? I hope you were moved by the subject. I wonder how the fundraising has gone; we have to raise a lot of money to oppose those Median beasts... And how are you, darling? What have you been up to? Please, come to sit near me and tell me all!”

Ejlsa went and sat on a couch, her legs under her.

Seeing her so happy and carefree, Alienor froze. It was not what she had expected.

She forgot me... moved on... I cannot blame her... She must be what now? Forty-three, I think. She was a kid when Fits seduced her... When I left, she was still young... and I’ve abandoned her, it was my choice to go... She moved on...

Her mother had perfect skin and beauty. She could see the knight looking at her delicate rose heels, who showed from under her thighs, maybe wishing to bite them. Her own soles and heels were like sandpaper and dirty; she felt ugly and old and miserable. She turned to leave, forever.

Her toes were still pushing the ground, tensed, her ankles strained in the motion when a faint whiff of perfume hit her nostrils. Either the scent had not reached that stage of the pyramid before, either her mind had been too busy taking in the avalanche of information... Ejlsa had on her some wooden scents. Oud... and something else that didn’t matter. Oud shouldn’t have been there; it was the one smell Ejlsa hated with a passion before they parted. It was Fits’ favorite. Fits, who had seduced then abandoned her when she was fourteen and pregnant. Fits, who had gone mad, destroyed her life, kidnapped her and her tribe's woman and sold them into slavery, and had convinced her, Alienor, to follow him on another planet... Oud was not a perfume to be on Ejlsa.

She turned around abruptly, walked to her mother, grabbed her chin, and pulled her face up.

„Look me in the eyes, mother!”

She looked and couldn’t notice how soft and wrinkle-free her mother’s skin was.

I have to ask her for that cream, she thought. But after.

„Somebody put a mind spell on you!” she hissed angrily. „Someone powerful! Nemesis level powerful!"