It was a solemn autumn in 294AC when I disembarked the vessel that carried me only to cross the great white plains and stand before the stretching gates of Left and Right. Stuck in a stupor I remained standing, my eyes drifting between the cast-iron archways. Either flung open time to time, though no man or woman left their premises neither did any approach and enter. For hours I hesitated before I gathered my strength and approached the guardsman standing ward. “Through which gate may I enter?” I asked. “Either.” He answered. “Though none yet.” Shocked and unable to advance I recoiled to find solace on a solemn bench and settle myself waiting. Time-to-time I stood up to pose the same question, meeting similar answers. I found myself loitering around the bench for five years before I first understood. “Through which gate may I enter?” I asked. “Either.” He answered. “Though none yet.” “When will I know which one to pass?” I asked. “The last time we will ever meet.” He answered and extended a hand. I grasped and shook it, then turned to cross the white plains again and depart on my vessel. Adrienne d'Ortonnaise More stories: Promotion The Forest Carnival The Character: Adrienne d'Ortonnaise House d'Ortonnaise
