Last updated: 30th September, 2006

It was a warm spring day, giving Bianka a wonderful view from her balcony. She saw the castle's gardens with the flowers lightly rustling in the breeze and the statue of her mother (of whom, so it was said, had given Bianka her beauty) and, although she could not see it, she could hear the falls of Shallya , beyond the castle, softly raining down behind her. Beyond the gardens stretched the city proper, containing many lovely old buildings. Past the city itself she could distinguish the rows and rows of beautiful trees in the morning light, sparkingly with the dew each leaf had collected the night before. A grin danced across her face as she went to prepare for the day's events.

The festival seemed to pass by much too quickly, at least for her. Bianka was crowned with a wreath of flowers, and the party had commenced. She had danced around the feastpole a while, drank a little wine, ate, danced some more, and watched a juggler in amazement. Bianka unfortunately missed the last part of the juggler's act because she was required to preside over the main feast. Every person she had met was very polite and kind, every emotion was a happy one. The sun soon vanished and the moons had begun to rise, letting their soft light add to those of the lights of Bergsburg. She tried to hide the yawn, but her father was not caught unawares. After a final sip of his wine, the Lord sent her back to the castle.

Reluctantly she trotted away. A few minutes of walking led her through the iron barred gate leading to her garden. She shut the gate and walked over to the bronze figure standing on a pedestal amidst a ring of colorful roses. Bianka went over and sat on the marble pedestal, so she was right below her mother. Leaning back into the statue's legs and hugging her knees to her chest, she watched the world around her. Out of the corner of her vision she spied a figure looking through the iron bars of the gate.

Bianka turned to see a young boy, probably not much older than herself from what she could gather. The boy was standing outside the fence that surrounded the garden, patiently looking at Bianka. He bore a faint aura of sadness as he stood there in the shadows of the iron bars, alone and haggard looking. In all, she would find it hard to imagine him as being handsome, though he was far from ugly. It was just that he was... plain, very ordinary. Except his eyes, those noble eyes seemed keener than an eagle and had a depth that she could not fathom in a thousand turnings of an hourglass. No shadows dwelt there, only Morrslieb's soft glow. As Bianka studied him the boy did not turn away, instead stepping closer to the fence, allowing her to examine him.

He bore a black cloak, wrapped tightly around his compact frame. A mane of short black hair stabbed forth from the hood of the cloak and she saw his hands were covered by gloves of a fine grey velvet. Silently he put both of his slender hands on the circular bars of the gate and smiled. It was strange this smile, for it was obviously heavyhearted and strained. Still, his smile was a smile, and put her at ease as she was regarding him.

"Good evening, may I ask who you are?", Bianka asked with her best mannered tone. Although young she was well versed in social etiquette. The boy did not respond right away, seemingly lost in thought.

"Yes... my name... I am Kaspar." He nodded slightly to her as he spoke. "I did not mean to intrude, I just wished to observe what you were doing. Many people don't notice me, you understand. " He seemed very mature and eloquent as he spoke this to Bianka, as though he were much older than he appeared.

"My name is Lady Bianka von Kleist. My father is a noble, but you probably already knew that. You may call me Bianka, ... if you want.", she frowned as she said the last part, hoping her title would not scare away the boy.

If Kaspar was frightened he gave no sign. A few moments of uneasy silence passed until Kaspar spoke. "You wear a crown, even if it's just for today. Thus you are a queen." At this his smile lost its tinge of melancholy and truly beamed. "Queen Bianka, fairest maiden of all the Empire. Your beauty surpasses that of the crown that you bear." Kaspar bowed after he said this, and then straightened.

Bianka was flattered. She had never heard anyone talk about anyone that way, except maybe her father when he was talking about her mother. Blushing, she stood and moved towards the gate. "Would you like to come in?", she said shyly. Before Kaspar could answer she opened the gate and motioned for him to enter. He did so, and she closed the gate once again.

"Your majesty, did you enjoy today?" Kaspar asked, looking very curious. Bianka laughed causing Kaspar to echo her chuckle for a few moments. She told him about what a wonderful day it had been, everything she had experienced, and the joy she felt. Bianka described the sour-sweet taste of wine that warmed her insides. The colorful cakes and sugar sweet pastries. The vibrant dance around the feastpole, everyone lighthearted and energetic. The rythym of the juggler, winging his arms with a magical percision. Most importantly, she told Kaspar how she felt indispensible, needed. Not a moment had gone by in this day that Bianka had felt neglect, in any form.

"So you are content? I mean, is there anything else that you wish to do?", inquired Kaspar. He seemed intent on her every word and had responded enthusiastically to her story.

Bianka thought for a moment, and then said, "I loved today. It was almost perfect. But.. one thing I did miss at the celebration was the last part of the juggler's act. They needed me to preside over the main feast, so I had to leave before he finished."

Kaspar began to respond but suddenly a cold wind wipped through the garden and a dark terrifying figure appeared, encased in a black obsidian shroud. It was huge, at least three times Bianka's height, and it rippled the very area around it with whispers of darkness. She could not make out any features of the face except the eyes, which held darkness dotted with twinkling lights. It held out its faded arm, as if to shake her hand. Startled, she jumped, dislodging her crown, which fell to the ground.

"Bianka, take my hand", the dark figure said, with surprising gentleness.

"No, please! Give me a few more moments. Please!", Kaspar said as he placed himself between Bianka and the entity. The thing locked gazes with Kaspar. Bianka was frightened, yet also filled with wonder. Kaspar was protecting her, she knew, but as time went by she grew less afraid of the figure. She failed to notice that it had begun to snow.

"I am sorry, but it is past her time and I am very busy. I am always very busy", said the figure. It reached for her hand and she reached back. She began to trust this dark thing (why did it remind her of a raven?). Bianka was growing very tired and the figure drew her near to its wrappings, which were soft and warm. Still, she felt strangely incomplete.

"Where are we going?", Bianka asked slowly, as if she had to force the words out.

"We are going to see your mother, your majesty", responded the figure gently. The thing then began to half lead, half carry Bianka towards the gate. Oddly, she thought of the juggler, wishing she could have seen him finish his act.

"Bianka...", she heard Kaspar whisper her name, and it seemed to clear her weariness a little. She looked back towards him and the statue of her mother. In his hands he held brightly colored wooden balls (that he did not have before!) which he began to juggle. Bianka stopped, forcing the figure leading her to do likewise. Kaspar had begun with three balls, but added more (apparently from thin air). Each one seemed to fly in the air as his hands wove up and down in a faster and faster motion. The snow which had begun falling seemed to slow for a few moments. Bianka watched awed by the paths the balls took, the magic of their cycles. Kaspar's hands were now a blur. She could no longer discern the individual balls, only an oval rainbow of sparkling colors. Suddenly, as he began, Kaspar stopped. The balls had disappeared. He knelt towards the statue, picking up her crown of flowers and walked to her. He smiled sadly and spoke softly, "You'll need this in the garden you're going to, my majesty", and with that placed it on her head. She returned his smile and closed her eyes, looking forward to seeing her mother again. She felt complete.

The cleric looked at the dead peasant's body. She was like the others, yet unlike. She bore the marks of the plague like the other refugees who had come from a nearby town hoping that the Falls of Shallya would save them. She had probably been passed over many times and ignored, he had seen it happen all to often to those living in the shanty town (there were all too many who came to the gates of Bergsburg only to die during these dark times). This girl was pretty, too. Still, that wasn't what had gotten the cleric's attention. What had was a small smile on her face. That and a colorful wreath of flowers crowning her head. The cleric shrugged mentally, gave a small prayer for her soul, and put the body in the wagon with the rest of the refugee plague victims. Steeling himself, he slowly trudged along the road to look for the other luckless victims who had died.

It was a cold cruel winter night, snowing heavily on the city of Bergsburg, the capital of Hochland.