A stork flies overhead as they sit on a bench by the pier feeding seagulls with breadcrumbs. Cicero chuckles at the birds, trying to feed them all, not just the most aggressive and eager.

"Sometimes I don't know what I see in you.” Helena says leaning back, taking in rays of the rising sun.

"It would have to be my good looks."

"Your new body is not the most handsome, have you looked at a mirror lately? You look like a librarian."

Cicero gets on his feet and throws the rest of the crumbs in the plastic bag upwards. A stork catches it and flies away.

"Then it must be my charming personality."

"You barely have one!” she laughs as she snatches the car keys from his pocket. "I'm driving."

"Can we use that one anymore? It is stolen you know."

"You worry too much.” Helena's already on her way.

Cicero slouches to a different direction.


She's already frowning when he comes back with a white plastic bag. He smells of alcohol.

"Took you long enough."

"Well, yes. You know I'm afraid of flying. Just something to take the edge off."

"You know it's a dry country. They might not even let you board the plane."

"Dionysos fuck'em” He exclaims. “Just a few sips woman."

"Yeah, be like that and see where that gets you... dear."

They speed out of the parking lot.


On the plane.

“You take the window seat.” Helena guides Cicero. “And take more of those breath mints I bought, you smell like a horse.”

“I took out the only horse that matters didn’t I?”

Amusement is not the sentiment on Helena’s face. Silence ensues until…

“When the belt lights turn off I need to piss…” Cicero yawns. “… Like a horse.”

Helena is already dreaming. But this is the unrealm dream of mortals.

It goes like this.

“Bliss profound is our sound. Waves of caress suffuse my brothers and sisters. We drink from the sky and frolic on the plains.”

A curious thing appears to Helena’s eyes. Surely a must see, for she sees pictures with perfect clarity.

Appearing in a querious place; wounded thing among so many others on a battle field? It is smeared with blood, mangled almost beyond recognitions. But still wields a smell of white malium. Magic.

The dark hurts her being. Grinning steeds ride among the dead rending them limb from limb. Devouring flesh and bone they gallop among carcasses. Sacrilege!

“I wasn’t prepared for a king’s banquet tonight” a droning voice booms; smashing down its hooves, the thing raises a black wind.

Helena breaths into the Faller’s mouth and runs away.

The days spent with her lover huddled in a cave are just for her and exist no more. Then he expired staring at her and took a part of her with him. A true lu.