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[Cezanne Abella]

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Cezanne tucked stray, tousled curl behind her ear as she shuffled the leaves of parchment, front to back. She scanned each page slowly, not quite taking in the words she had memorized through years of reading and rereading. The candle’s glow still seemed muted by the last golden wash of twilight that spilled over the windowsill.

This was the time of day that should bring peace and comfort. Yet Cezanne felt a sensation in the pit of her stomach as if she were falling…constantly falling. She could not bring herself to admit what it was that unsettled her, and so she continued mulling the words that she had written in years past--not quite seeing, but absorbing them all the same.

A rumble of thunder in the distance roused her encumbered mind, and Cezanne rose and stepped lightly to the window, as if fearing that her step would frighten the storms on the horizon. Lightning forked and flashed in brilliant blues, rending darkness of the towering clouds as they slunk across the sun. The wind had shifted, blowing toward the storm, inflating it ever-further as it inched closer.

Suddenly, a lively smile overtook her solemn demeanor. It had been far too long since she lost herself in the belly of a dungeon. Perhaps this was exactly what she needed to clear her head. The past wasn’t going to change, and the present was still so utterly chaotic and confusing. Cezanne flew upstairs and thew open the chest in her room.

Thunder rumbled deeply outside as Cezanne slipped out of the pale blue dress and pulled on her soft leather armour. The rain-kissed winds streamed in through the open window. They smelled sweetly and promised change. She buckled her armour and threw a flame-orange sash across her chest. She stopped for only a moment to note the impulsive change in her reflection in the windowpane. Her brilliant red armour was in stark contrast to the soft flowing blue of the dress draped across the bed.

Cezanne opened a rough leather pouch inside the chest, reaching inside and throwing a handful of reagents into her pack. Carefully, she folded the leaves of parchment that held her words and tucked them away alongside the reagents and her spellbook. Somewhere nearby, lightning found its mark and a powerful crash rattled the lanterns hanging on the wall. She took out her runebook and flipped the pages, browsing for a moment before choosing an ice dungeon rune. The falling sensation in her stomach was fading with the anticipation of a danger greater than unsurety. Half smiling, she bit her lip before virtually singing out her spell. Kal Ort Por!

[Cezanne Abella]

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Cezanne trudged, battle-weary, toward the narrow crevice where she had entered the ice dungeon…how many hours before? There was no way of knowing what time it was, or how much light she would have on the trek back home again. As she reached the entrance, no glow betrayed the world beyond. Cezanne grimaced. At least it would be warmer outside…

The moon’s golden haze brushed the heads of grasses that rippled in the night breeze like waves lapping over one-another at sea. It was a calming, serene image. Times like this, it was easy to see how her father had fallen in love with the ocean so many years ago.

The grasses nodded peacefully as Cezanne led Covenant to a puddle to drink. She retrieved a pear from her gold-laden pack and held it patiently, waiting for him to drink his fill.. The black horse was hidden in the night, but for the moonlight which glinted off his back as he drank. To anyone who passed, he would appear to be a Nightmare. That suited Cezanne just fine. She didn’t have the energy to deal with any more predators tonight.

Covenant sidled up to Cezanne, snuffling at the hand which held the pear for him. She smiled and handed over his hard-won reward, then took out a bunch of grapes she’d bought from a monk in Yew. She savoured the tart skin and soft, sweet flesh of each grape as she chewed it slowly. But as peaceful as she felt in this moonlit asylum, the questions that had stirred in her mind began anew to weigh on her heart.

“Moonglow.” Cezanne’s voice was soft despite the raging thoughts that spun violently in her head. She said the word with no more reverence or disdain than any other. She thought back to the years she spent at the Lycaeum studying as a young girl. In those days, she never ventured beyond the gardens. Moonglow was still a foreign city to her in so many ways. But Malicite seemed so kind. Surely the truth and gentleness she saw in his eyes would be a reflection of the city…

There had been rumours of late. She could not deny that she’d heard her share. Though she had never given audience to rumours. They could be started at any time, for any reason. Those within the Moonglow Town Council whom she had met seemed distinguished, honest, and carried themselves with an air of integrity.

“Moonglow,” she repeated, softer this time, her voice wrought with contemplation. Cezanne shook her head, attempting to clear her mind as Covenant rubbed alongside her shoulder and leaned against her lightly. His head was lifted, ears perked, listening to sounds from every direction.

“Lucky you,” Cezanne chided, smiling playfully. “The only question that plagues you is ‘Where to from here?’” Her smile softened a bit as she added, “But I suppose that’s the question plaguing me, too, isn’t it?”

[Cezanne Abella]

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First things first, she told herself as she took a deep breath. It was late, not far from morning, by her estimate. Time to go home. But even that had taken on such a new meaning for her over the past couple of months.

How many nights had she spent in hostels, inns, tents, taverns, and anywhere else she could find rest? Must be the gypsy in her, she told herself, and smiled realizing that even after so many years’ absence, her mother’s heart still guided her like some wayward star. Now, having saved every gold piece and sold every gem ever given as payment or tips for her words and song, she was a landowner. And yet it wasn’t so different. A tavern, a theatre, an inn…Malicite had asked her once why she chose to combine the three. Of course he wouldn’t have understood if she hadn’t told him. It was where she felt at home. Anything else wouldn’t do, not at all. She reached inside her pack and ran her fingertips along the edges of the leaves of parchment which held some of her oldest poetry. Those edges were fuzzy from such a repeated action over the years. But it reminded her of who she was, who she had always been. She recalled the words from one, without even looking:

All I can give is all that I am:
The single thin braid that hides in my hair,
A silver ring from a gypsy queen,
Words older than myself, arranged anew by my heart,
My heart,
Peace,
Old Sorrows,
And Hope.

Cezanne sighed and reached into a small pouch at her waist. She took out a cluster of reagents, and spoke quietly. In Lor. Covenant watched her narrowly as she walked toward the puddle to wash her face in preparation for the ride home.

“Blast!” she hissed, looking into the puddle. Her armour was a wreck. Slashed this way and that. But not beyond repair, never gone to waste. Cezanne loosed her ponytail and ran her fingers through her hair, this time just pinning the sides back again so that her battle-frayed curls would keep her warmer on the way home. Then her eyes caught a subtle glimmer across her cheeks and chest. She squinted and leaned toward the reflective surface of the water

A brilliant blue was spattered across her face like freckles. Blood from an ice fiend, of course. It took her only a moment to recognize the azure hue. It had soaked the top of her bustier, too. This time she didn’t curse. This time she only examined her reflection closely. Maybe blue was a good colour for her.

She chuckled as she remembered how she’d teased Malicite about her reluctance to change from her beloved crimson and blaze to Moonglow Blue. But, she supposed, there was no pressing and urgent need to be noticed, to be seen, if her livelihood no longer depended upon it.

Cezanne thought back to the turmoil that plagued the land of late. Decrees of execution on multitudes of innocents, and a declaration of war on a city that had denied generations of rightful heirs. The realization struck that perhaps it was time for her to become a part of something greater than herself. To put aside what she’d always been, and transform into something new. It was as if she had been crashing into walls, looking for a way to escape for years, and now someone had opened the window.

Her heart beat frantically as she took out the leaves of parchment and shuffled them, front to back, never even seeing the words, as her night sight had worn off. Covenant nudged her from one side, sensing excitement but seeing no reason yet for panic. Cezanne smiled broadly and hugged Covenant around his great, muscular neck.

Without so much as a last look at the pages in her hand, she tossed them to the wind. The leaves of parchment caught on the waves of nodding, moonkissed grasses and fluttered wildly. The tiniest rosy glow touched the horizon, and Cezanne didn’t even take the time to wash the azure daemon’s blood from her face before mounting up. Covenant knew Cezanne’s intention; he did not wait for the command. Together they tore out of the clearing, racing toward the dawn.