MARY

This is not the place where you make things perfect, neither in your marriage, nor in your work, nor anything, nor your love of God, nor your love of family or country. The thing is imperfect.

And worse, there is a crack in everything that you can put together: Physical objects, mental objects, constructions of any kind. But that’s where the light gets in, and that’s where the resurrection is and that’s where the return, that’s where the repentance is. It is with the confrontation, with the brokenness of things. -- Leonard Cohen

* * *

"Jules?"
"Mm?" She licked her dry, cracked lips and yawned, kicking the blanket off of her lap while she swung her feet around to touch the floor. She rubbed her eyes. "Wait, where am I?"
Greta smiled. "You're still in the waiting room."

Notes: Prazsky Hrad is Czech for Prague Castle. The Vltava is the Czech name for the river running through Prague.

It seemed the cold was the enemy that night.
The castle walls of broad-hewn stones built high,
Stood stalwart against the angry wind’s fierce fight,
But still hearth-side we heard its battle cry.

The moon shone high in the midnight sky, a silver ball, beaming down on the fading lights of the town; whispering its goodnight to a sleeping world. I watched as its path slowly traveled across the wooden floor of my attic. The room was far from pleasant, and I could not stay warm. Sleeping under the thin covers of my bed was the best I could do when it came to warmth. But I was not sleepy. I never was on nights like this. The wind had yet again blown the clouds above, leaving a window through which the moon could smile. In spite of the cold, I smiled back at it.

Jules rushed into the kitchen and gasped for breath. "Kevin, he's not waking up! He's breathing, and he has a pulse, but he's not waking up. Should I call 911?"
"Yes! Yes. Or would it be faster for us to take him to the hospital ourselves?"

Memories come alive
In every photograph;
They take me back again
To sorrow or to laugh.

Reliving every moment
Captured in one scene,
Each picture bringing more
Of what the past has been.

Ah, those good old days!
When carefree lives we led.
A laugh, a skip, and trip, a hop,
At once my years are shed!

Come back again! Come back again!
Nostalgia seems to say;
The memories are fading fast
They’re fleeing far away.

Spring comes and the trees are softly clothed
With delicate, soothing white.
The roads, in velvet, are royally robed
And blossoms dance ballets of sunlight.

Summer springs forth and the ripe fruits fall,
Free for the picking in the sultry days.
The sun is high and the roaring waves call-
Soon, the world wakes from the humid haze.

Autumn walks in, crisp and proud,
As she sheds her crimson hair.
She closes the world in chilly shroud,
Then billows away in wake of freezing air.

My plans of showing Mira around Havenwing were dashed by torrential rains that lasted all day. By the time it finally relented, the sun was going down and it was time to prepare for the ball.
Mira and I declined the lady’s maid’s offer to arrange our hair for us, in favor of experimenting on each other. After hearing of our intentions Aunt Monria presented us with her entire chest of hair ornaments to choose from, offered a few casual suggestions for styles that would suit our hair colors, facial shapes, and dresses, and then left us alone.

Jules sat on the edge of the counter, a dazed look on her face. She brought her hand up to her heart, trying to still its wild beating. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.
Kevin reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay, Jules?" His voice held genuine concern.
"I don't know. Yes... no. I'll be okay. I just need to wrap my brain around this. What is she doing now? Is she clean? Do you know?"
"No, I mean, last I heard she was a few months clean. But Jules, that was twelve years ago."
"Do you have contact information for her?"