She as pale as her castle’s walls, as youthful as a drop of melting ice. Some say she is eternally young. The gulls cry the names of Knights who sought her hand, a reminder that suitors and signs of Anthelia’s age disappear in conjunction. But who listens to a gull? And in
Kergüs, even gulls freeze in the cold that rolls from the dreams of the Countess. Dreams of her unending youth.
Anthelia’s Ambivalence
Anthelia is well aware time is short. Neuroses burden her. “Why is everything so pale? So cold?” She cries out for colour or warmth. She drains the world of both with every glance, touch and breath. Those who bring her vibrant life are promised great rewards. All fear to do so. Excuses are made, explanations found. The feelings of the Countess are fragile, her powers absolute. Court life entails grey opulence, excitement and fear.
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