While on an expedition in Switzerland to capture the raw majesty of the Matterhorn, he had insisted vehemently that the group walk the perilous trail that led to what he had known to be a better view of the famous mountain. No one had paid any mind to the last member of the line, and when they had arrived at the cliff, no one had suspected that young Candida had fallen over the edge of the trail, but when she was not found after a week of searching, everyone knew what her fate had been.

      "As blonde as my brother, her father," the Count announced to Melania, his own daughter and heir to his title, "and handsome. But not as handsome as you, my raven-haired Melania." He paused to contemplate the state he had rendered onto canvas with his brush so recently. "I have lost more than my ward in Candida. Were my brother and his wife alive to have to explain this to, I would surely be struck dead from the onus."

      Melania Hamadriatti knew to stay silent, for her father was talking more to himself out of grief than to her out of a need for a response from her. Her own grief at the loss of her cousin had silenced her for the most part at the foot of Matterhorn when she had been told after seven day’s searching that Candida had not been found. Unlike her mother, Countess Astrid of Berne, who had learned of the tragedy upon the return of the expedition to the castle, Melania came out of her room and walked about the halls of Nuvola, though only with half a heart to do so.

      "You miss her," her father said, "as do we all, but I know that you and she loved one another more than you loved any of us. I always used to say, when I saw the two of you stroking each other’s hair, that it would be a great sorrow if one cousin lost the other. Sadness fills me that she is gone, true, but even more heavy is my heart that I should see your mirthless visage, constant reminder that she is lost."

      "You portrayed her so faithfully," Melania replied, "that one would say upon seeing this vignette that she still lives, ‘How can a creature such as she was die?’ I am happy that you did not decide to burn this one with the others, father."

      "I hadn’t the heart of rock it would have taken!" he exclaimed. "So lovingly did I paint it that I could not burn it, for fear of damning my soul for such transgression." He approached the hearth, bowed before the portrait, as he would have before a visiting dignitary of higher title, and whispered, "Forgive me, Bella, forgive me."

      "There is nothing to forgive, Father," Melania insisted. "She fell neither because of you nor anyone else. It was an accident."

      "If I had not insisted that we go on up the path…."

      "You are blameless," she returned. "Now, go comfort Mother in your chamber. She does not blame you either." She held him close for a while, before wandering off to her own chamber to sleep.

      The halls of the castle were long and less bright now that they had been shut up with their somber mourning drapes. Melania knew the way to her chamber very well, however, and quickly walked there to make herself ready for bed. After letting down her long, wavy hair, Melania undressed herself in front of her looking glass. Though she knew herself not the most beautiful young lady in all the Aostan Valley, she knew how much her cousin had envied her body. Many times in the past, she had caught Candida staring at her from behind the curtain on the north wall window. Now those curtains were black, but when they had been scarlet, Melania had stood in front of that same looking glass many times and listened to the stirring in the curtains that Candida had thought unnoticed.

      She had been observed, but not betrayed. After Candida had stolen to her own chamber, Melania would walk over to her bed, cover her nakedness with a linen sheet, and fall to Morpheus’ caress.

      That night, however, the curtains blew ebony, not scarlet, and Melania knew that she would never again see Candida, nor hear the rustling of the curtains. Melancholy, she wandered to her large bed, covered herself with her heavy blankets, and drifted slowly and painfully into sleep. When she reached the point of near sleep, she thought she glimpsed Candida behind the curtain, but knew that, since her eyes were closed, this could not possibly be.

      With sleep came dreams, and Melania’s dreams flew many that night. As she passed from one night image to the next, she noticed a common factor in her body that bound all of her reveries: she was on fire. It felt not like the lusty fire that burned from deep within, but like flames that tickled from outside. It ignited her completely, waking her with the intensity of the pleasure that it scorched into her body.

      Though Melania knew she was alone in her chamber, she felt she was not. Unsure if she saw someone behind the black drapes, she rushed to the window, naked and anxious. Although no one was there, she instantly perceived the strong scent of Egyptian myrrh, a scent that had only ever been worn as perfume by one of the Hamadriattis.

      "Candida?" she whispered, still tingling from the dreams. "I can smell your perfume, mischievous cousin. You cannot fool me. Stop your prank now and reveal yourself." She waited for a long while in among the curtains, until at last she accepted that all had only been the fantasies of a dream. Reasoning that the myrrh had saturated the place from the many times Candida had hid herself there, Melania returned to her bed and to her sleep.

      When she awoke in the morning, Melania rushed out of bed to open her drapes and let the new day’s sun warm her body. Her window looked eastward, into the small valley below, and despite the cold of the season, the sunlight poured in every morning to make her pleasantly warm. She would not dress until it came time to go to the Hall for the first meal. Since her return from Switzerland, however, meals had become irregular and distanced, so she decided to stay in her room, naked and sun-comforted.

      As she stood at the window and let Apollo tickle her face and neck, Melania could see the white peak of Mount Ghiaccio, the sister peak of Pericolo, but no count had ever built a fortress there. She wondered if the legend was true that Count Giovanni Hamadriatti, the first Count della Nuvola and the builder of her home, was buried in an ice-tomb high on Ghiaccio, awaiting the day that Castle Nuvola fell to an attacking army to send an avalanche into the valley below. Castle Nuvola would never be taken, she knew, since it was inaccessible and the Hamadriattis had had no enemies since the days before Count Giovanni had built the fortress on Pericolo.

      Indeed, Melania knew from the occasional wisps of smoke that crawled up from the small villages in the valley that the people of County della Nuvola mourned the passing of their beloved Princess Candida just as passionately as did they.

      "You do not dress early," Countess Astrid noticed as she entered the chamber, paler than usual, "but I do not mind your nakedness, Bella."

      Melania did not move to cover herself from her mother’s view. "You’ve finally come out from mourning," she whispered.

      "To see my Melania," the Countess returned. "One must not neglect the living to mourn the dead. You are my daughter, and I cannot deny you my company now. Were your uncle alive, or his wife, to mourn Candida, they would have asked me to turn to my own duty now."

      "Do you think your family will come from Berne to console you?" Melania asked. "I have not seen Aunt Sonja for so long I can hardly remember what she looks like." She leaned to rest her hands on the stone window ledge.

      "They will stay in Switzerland at my request," her mother answered. "Too many mourners make the mourning less bearable," she explained. "You are a young woman now," he mother then added, "with the body of a woman."

      "Mother, I had a strange dream last night." She was not sure if she should continue, but decided that nothing bad could come of it. "It was a sensual dream," she admitted. "A very sensual dream."

      "Sensual?" her mother asked. "You are really becoming a woman, then," she added with a smile. "Tell me of it."

      "Well," she began, "it was not so much one dream as it was a collection of them. I dreamt of many unsensual things last night — from dreams of sitting in a field with the family to dreams of dining in the Hall — but what I felt last night were sensations in my body that carried from one reverie to the next, if you understand me. It was as if, as if…."

      "As if? Go on. Don’t worry that I will be taken aback."

      "As if someone were making love to me as I slept. Not in the way a man would, but rather, in the gentle way and the gentle places a woman would."

      Countess Astrid laughed. "O, Melania! I am content that I did not have a son," she announced, "since a son would have dreamt himself a raging bull taking some helpless heifer. A son would have been Zeus, attacking some maiden, but you, sweet Melania, dream such blessedly erotic things. Come, let me braid your hair as we talk." She opened her arms widely and invitingly, enticing her daughter to come to her bosom. After she began braiding Melania’s long, black hair, she again spoke.

      "Your father is being too harsh on himself. He finds no consolation in anything I say to him. I again walk the halls of Nuvola, and see so many things that recall to my mind images of Candida that could make me cry, but he grows worse with every passing day." She finished the braids and gave Melania a strong hug from behind. "But we shall recover, Melania," she then added. "Get dressed and come to the Hall to dine with me," she suggested before going to the chamber door. "I shall be waiting," she said as she left.

      As Melania sat along on her bed and wondered how she would pass her day, she noticed that the long drapes shivered in the wind and that the scent of myrrh spread delicately throughout her chamber. The wind blew it about, she reasoned with herself. Indeed, a strong gust of wind had blown through the open window and could have spread the scent that she had noticed earlier. The wind in the curtains made her think that she saw someone hiding behind the long, black pall.

      "Candida?" she whispered. "Is that you behind the tendina?" She oscillated between wanting to run, investigate, and wanting to stay supine on her comfortable bed. When no reply came, she lay back, closed her eyes, and imagined herself to be lying in a large field somewhere in the valley of her county. Soon after she had closed her eyes, she noticed that the wind started up again she could hear the rustling of the drapery. A new wave of myrrh filled the room, intoxicating her.

      As she went over the last lines in her head, Melania noticed the gentle current that blew in from the eastern window and caressed her thighs. Her eyes still closed, she thought she could feel the warmth of a kiss against her inner-thigh, but she could not be certain she was not just apostrophizing the wind. When another kiss followed, she knew it had indeed been a kiss, and not her fancy.

      When she opened her eyes only to see no one, Melania at once knew that she was completely alone. A chill shot like an arrow up her spine as she lay on the bed. After recuperating, she regarded the span of her chamber. The myrrh was stronger than before. She quickly dressed and hastened to join her mother in the Hall. Once there, she greeted the Countess and sat at her usual place.

      "Have you taken to perfuming yourself with Candida’s myrrh?" Countess Astrid asked after some time. "I smell that scent she was so fond of."

      "I found a small vial of it that she must have forgotten in my chamber," Melania lied, not knowing how her mother would react to the truth. "I am sorry if it is unsettling to you."

      "No," her mother insisted, "it does not disturb me at all. In fact, it helps me feel as if Candida is still among us, watching us as we eat."

      "You feel that, too?" Melania inquired cautiously.

      "Not so much feel as know it," Countess Astrid explained. "I know her spirit would find its way to the place she loved so in life. She would miss you too much not to return; you were her beloved."

      "I think she is here, too," Melania dared say. She thought that perhaps it had been Candida who had kissed on her bed. "She is definitely here," she then announced.

      The meal was soon over and the two women returned to their chambers. After a few minutes there, Melania decided to enter Candida’s chamber, which was directly beside her own. She hurried through the hallway, opened the door to Candida’s room, and entered.

      Despite the smaller size of Candida’s chamber when compared to Melania’s, it was far more elaborately and exotically decorated than any other place in the castle. From the Persian carpets on the east wall, to the collection of Greek busts near the west wall, Candida had decorated her intimate sanctum in the style of a rampant sensualist. Only one space on the wall was bare, but before Count Tulio had taken down the landscape to burn it with the other canvases, that space, too, had been a place of color and life.

      One piece that had always pleased Melania in particular stood naked before her, draped only by the narrow scarlet banner of the Hamadriattis. Eros with the golden tree on the scarlet field of the family banner looked as free and as wild as Candida had always been. Hanging overhead, on the wall behind Eros, was the family shield, displaying the motto under the tree.

      "Non Omnis Moriar," it read. Reputedly, Count Giovanni had said this on his deathbed. "I shall not wholly die." Perhaps this was why the people of his ancient county believed his wrath would pour from Mount Ghiaccio should the sword ever take Castle Nuvola.

      "Tell me, Eros, where my cousin is," Melania addressed the perfect marble guardian of the chamber. "Is she here?"

      Eros did not reply, but merely pointed across the room at Candida’s library as he had always done. Melania walked over to the shelves of books and perused the titles. After a long while of looking and finding nothing of comfort to her, she said, "Eros, you have failed me." Just then, she noticed an old tome entitled Non Omnis Moriar. "But perhaps not," she then added as she pulled the ancient book from the shelf.

      Although she had been in Candida’s chamber many times before, she had never seen such a work as she now held in her hands. The cover, which bore the family crest, looked as old as the castle itself, making her wonder where her cousin had come across it. Not even Nuvola’s immense library had ever contained such a book. Upon opening the archaic leather binding, she found that the volume was entirely in Latin—a language she read not fluently, but proficiently enough to understand.

      As she read, Melania discovered that her ancestor had been a heretical practitioner of necromancy, the art of conjuring spirits of the dead. In his book he outlined how he had, as the youngest son of Count Leonidas the Just, been allowed to journey to the distant cities of Cairo, where he met the Egyptian necromancer Ihda Asher, from whom he had learned the dark art. Upon his return to Rome after seven years abroad, he discovered that a plague had taken most of his noble family, and that he was heir to the county. He immediately had the castle at the bottom of the valley relocated, stone for stone, to the heights of Mount Pericolo, and renamed it Nuvola. He became a recluse, shutting himself completely off from the people of his county and leaving affairs of state to his counselors. For many pages he spoke of the horrors he had seen abroad in the secret temples of the pagans.

      Finally, Melania reached the last section of her ancestor’s writings, the section that outlined in detail the alchemy of immortality. Many of the words were hard for her to understand, but one concoction caught her attention. In the margin, written in Candida’s hand, were the words Egyptian myrrh. The elixir was called, "Lotion to Insure the Immortality of a Soul and Bind it to One Beloved." Another word, clearly written in Candida’s round hand, lay at the bottom of the recipe: Melania. The Count declared that all one had to do was wear the mixture at all times on the left breast to be guaranteed a bond after death to the one most cherished.

      "Candida?" Melania whispered in disbelief. "Did you defy death?" She closed the tome and replaced it on the shelf where she had found it. "Dear, dear Candida," she muttered as she approached her cousin’s empty bed. Once close to the bed, she remarked that it, too, was more exotic than her own. The deep purple silk sheets had comforted Candida during many a night, she guessed.

      "How fiery were your dreams then, Candida?" Melania voiced as she lay on her cousin’s bed. Placing her hand on the patterned pillow, she discovered that it was warm. When she rested her head upon its sheer surface, she could again perceive the strong, unmistakable myrrh. The fresh aroma of the trees outside was also in the air, from having been blown inside by the wind. She closed her eyes and imagined herself lying in the evergreen forest from which the essence blew.

      Melania noticed that her long dress slid slowly up her calves, and then her thighs, but she did not resist. Even when it slid up to her chest and exposed her ivory breasts, she did nothing to resist, for she knew that she would be taken and that it would be good, and did not want to challenge her taker. Soon, her dress was completely off and she lay naked.

      This time, Melania wished to be taken with her eyes open, so she opened them and waited for it to begin. She watched as a fog poured through the window and spread several yards into the room. As the unmistakable odor of myrrh soaked the room, Melania watched quietly. A shadowy, naked female figure appeared in the fog, walked slowly out, and approached the bed.

      "Credo quia absurdum est," Melania said, spreading her arms open.