Critic-Ishire.
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Helena and the Lady of Critic Arley managed to sleep until the sun's rays fell upon their faces. Lydia stirred first, a frown creasing her brow as she squinted, only for her eyes to widen in sudden realization of where they were. With urgent fingers, she shook Helena awake.
"Lena," she whispered, her voice soft yet laced with nervousness.
Helena groaned, her arm draping over her eyes in a futile attempt to block the light. "Is it morning?" she asked groggily, unwilling to open her eyes.
"Glaringly so, yes," Lydia muttered with a hint of pity. "We are still in Grimwraith Mire."
At the mention of Grimwraith, Helena sprang into a sitting position, suddenly alert. Her head spun slightly from the abrupt movement, but she knew they could not afford to linger. Gathering her long, dark tresses into a hurried bun, she moved toward the flowing stream nearby.
Lydia joined her at the water's edge, both washing their faces in the cool flow. The refreshing splash did little to ease the tension between them as they resumed their walk. They had forgotten entirely that winter had been due to start, as the strange land they found themselves in had its own rules—it was summer here, unbearably hot, and their journey would not be easy.
Moments later, Lydia's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she struggled against the confines of her dress. The tight bodice, which had seemed elegant and flattering earlier, now felt like a vice around her ribcage. She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to alleviate the pressure, but it only worsened. Panic fluttered within her chest like a trapped bird.
"How did I manage to sleep in this thing?" she wondered aloud.
Her gaze darted behind her for her sister. "Helena," she gasped, her voice strained. "I must rid myself of this infernal contraption. I cannot breathe."
Helena, eyes wide with concern, stopped and surveyed their surroundings. The sun streamed through the trees, dappling the ground with gold and shadow. There was no time to lose, but the sight of Lydia's distress halted her. She nodded quickly, her own breath catching in sympathy.
"Of course, Lydia," Helena said, her voice low but firm. "Hold still. I shall assist you."
With deft fingers, Helena reached for the small, concealed zipper beneath the layers of lace and fabric. Lydia stood as still as possible, her hands trembling as she tried to maintain her composure. The dress, once a source of pride, now felt like a cruel prison.
"Be quick, Helena," Lydia urged, her voice barely a whisper. "I fear I shall faint if I do not breathe freely soon."
Helena nodded tightly, her fingers working to loosen the bodice. She tugged at the zipper, pulling it free with increasing force until, at last, it slid open. The sound of fabric against fabric echoed in the morning quiet. The relief was immediate, but it was not enough. The bodice remained fastened tightly around Lydia's ribs, suffocating her.
Helena's hands moved to the clasps, brow furrowed in concentration. "Hold your breath, sister," she instructed, her voice calm despite the urgency.
Lydia obeyed, her breath catching as each clasp was undone, releasing her little by little from the constriction. Finally, with a satisfying snap, the last clasp fell open, and the bodice dropped away, leaving Lydia's torso free. She inhaled deeply, her lungs grateful for the cool morning air.
"Oh, Helena," Lydia breathed, her voice a mix of gratitude and relief. "You have saved me."
Helena smiled softly, though worry still darkened her gaze. "Think nothing of it, Lydia. We must hurry now, for we do not know what dangers lurk nearby."
Lydia nodded, holding the removed bodice in one hand. The dress hung loosely now, granting her freedom of movement, though the hem still dragged behind, catching on twigs and stones. She gathered it slightly, preparing to run if need be.
As they moved on, Helena shut her eyes briefly, her head tilting as though listening to a distant voice.
"What are you doing, Helena?" Lydia asked, curiosity and concern mingling in her tone.
Helena opened her eyes, her expression one of intense concentration. "I am attempting to sense which path will lead us home. This forest is strange... I fear we are lost, but my intuition has not yet failed me."
Lydia watched her sister, trusting Helena's abilities but unable to shake the unease that settled deep within her. "I trust you, Helena," she said softly. "You have always had a sense for such things." Her eyes spoke volumes—filled with pride and admiration for her sister's strength.
Helena nodded briefly, her gaze settling on a narrow path that wound through the trees. "Let us hope my instincts do not lead us astray this time."
Together, they pressed forward, each step cautious and their senses alert. The morning sunlight illuminated their way, but there was something unsettling beneath the surface—a feeling that the forest itself was watching, waiting. Lydia clutched the loose bodice in her hands, her thoughts drifting to the safety of their home, to the life they had been torn away from.
"I find myself missing our garden," Lydia confessed softly, her voice wistful. "The roses, the lilies... the scent of home. And Hound. I wish to see him again."
Helena glanced at her sister, her expression softening. "We shall return, Lydia. Of that, I am certain. We must hold fast to hope."
She missed him too.
Lydia nodded, though her heart remained heavy with doubt. They continued their journey, the path uncertain but their resolve unbroken. The morning stretched into noon, the dappled light casting long shadows over their faces, and ahead of them lay the hope of a way home.