Visitation Descending
I would recall a vision which I dreamed
Perchance in sleep?for in itself a thought,
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
And curdles a long life into one hour.

--The Dream by Lord Byron


The road to knowledge begins with the turn of the page.

Quiet streets and quiet neighborhoods existed as a profound prelude to the arrival of a plain woman stepping through the double doors and into the lobby of Ambrosio Enterprises that day. A hush would have fallen over the crowd, if there were any present to speak of at the time. For she brought with her a smothering sense of calm that silenced even the click of keystrokes when the receptionist behind the desk looked up at her and blinked in surprise.

This woman was an ordinary woman. There was nothing exceptional about her in any physical way. She was dark of hair, dark of eyes, and had skin the color of coffee with a splash of cream. The dress she wore, as she always wore, was long and white with the faintest shimmer of silver sewn into the threads. Her feet were bare and she wore no other adornments. With an ethereal serenity, she walked sedately toward the desk and observed the receptionist with the most purely apathetic expression that could ever be worn by anyone at all.

Business being usually slow, the receptionist had not expected anyone to enter the building that day. Her appointment book was empty. The woman standing before her, for reasons she could not explain, was a bit unsettling. "G-good afternoon," the receptionist said, at first stammering due to unease and then forcing on a professional smile. "May I help you?"

When this woman spoke, a shiver coursed down the poor girl's spine. Hers was a hauting voice that held no inflection at all. As emotionless as her face, her voice was purely monotone. "I am here to see Bastian Laurec," she said.

The receptionist glanced skeptically at the open book on her desk, blinked at the blank page. "Do you have an appointment?" She was trained to respond like that, as all receptionists are.

"No," said the woman, as plainly as her features. She expressed a slow blink that may have said something further. Even she was aware of the empty date book. All it took was a glance to see it over the ledge of the counter. She glanced at it pointedly, and then looked back at the girl.

The receptionist swallowed down her discomfort and then picked up her phone. "Let me see if he's in," she said, dialing the boss's office. "May I tell him who's to see him?"

"You may tell him..." A thoughtful silence hung between woman and girl for a count of three full seconds. The woman in white blinked slow as she considered. Then she said, "Tell him that Salvador's mother requests an audience." She spoke in strange Old World terms that made the poor girl behind the desk blink uncertainly again, but she did as required of her.

Autumn Song

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

-- Dante Alighieri


"My Lady," Bastian greeted her. At the base of the stairs, cautious to stand in the shadow of the balcony, he stopped and waited for her to reach him. As the woman in white moved closer, he sketched a low and courtly bow that shattered all of Sabine's thoughts of him even further. The girl was awed by how one lone woman could influence her boss like this.

Bastian Laurec rested one hand to his chest and tucked the other around to the small of his back. He bowed deeply, but not too low, and when she was near enough he rose, offering the woman his hand. Maybe this woman was a queen? She slipped her hand into his slowly and cautiously, but barely seemed to be touching him at all. "An honor to finally meet you, Monsieur Laurec," she said. Still her voice lacked inflection. An honor it may have been, but she certainly was not pleased. Then again, she didn't exactly sound displeased either.

"The honor is mine, Madame," Bastian said. He lowered his brow over her knuckles and then rose completely, turning aside. With her hand in his, he gestured up the stairs. "Shall we go upstairs?" Briefly, he flicked a glance to Sabine.

The woman was not so subtle. She turned her head to look at the girl directly. Her dark eyes betrayed nothing of her thoughts. She only looked at her, and Sabine felt ill at ease for reasons she still could not explain. Only when the woman took her eyes off the girl could she relax. The woman in white looked to Bastian, then up the stairs. She nodded slowly, and without a word the pair of them ascended together.

"It is kind of you to welcome me into your domain," Sabine heard the woman say, just barely. She had to strain her ears to listen, and that was the last of it. The woman spoke so softly, and her boss may have said nothing at all in reply for he too was so quiet. When they were both gone from view, the secretary sighed out her relief, being left to wonder why she had felt so uncomfortable at all.

Though the curiosity still lingered as to what the rest of their conversation may have been, the only thing left to do was to turn back to her computer and continue her work. Sabine still wondered, however. Later in the day when she was home and resting, she could not help but wonder. As too would anyone who had looked death in the eye that day and lived.