Head on fire, eyes lit up, Powa drove in circle, but the so-called house on top of the hill was still alien to her cognition. Finally, after a long hour of search, in a slight rise like on a power spot, just on the edge of the town, there it was standing picturesque and grandiose.

Both stepped outside the car at the bottom of the hill, where they crossed path with Mr. Rolan. They only exchanged few words, since he was leaving. He had been responsible for maintaining and managing the green spaces around the property for years. He pulled the weeds, mowed the lawn, pruned the trees, cleaned the sidewalks and the fountain, near which was a lilac tree.

The tools and the personal protective equipment were kept in a little shack, which was at the back of the house. There, Mr. Rolan wiped out all the weeds before lodging a novel seed that was recently born into the world. Confident in its blossoming, he allowed nature to take its course, let it come to fruition in the silence of the germination. Then, in due time, offered one specimen to Anoa, a rare flower designed with intricate geometrical patterns of rare hues and shades of blue and purple petals.

On their way to the top of the hill, the couple faced a large creaky wooden gate, which seemed bored at its old white shading paint, in spite of opening a stone path that led to the famed house. By walking past through the gate and a funny thorny bush, already inside the property, they crossed over an old stone bridge that went across a river, which free flow cut through the rocks and ran through the land, notably reflecting a pure white dove hovering gleefully in the air and greeting their arrival.

At the end of the bridge, in front of the house was a fountain at the center of which a sublime sculpture of a mermaid rested in a pedestal of stone. It was holding tightly a pitcher in her hand, through which crystal pure water was flowing smoothly. Near it, presenting itself in its grandeur, the magnificent “Tales Mansion” stood the test of time to honor its designation. Atson surveyed the house before him, he remarked its medieval structure, made of Victorian bricks and slate roof tile, as if borrowed from another land within the full spectrum of time, mysterious wild excursions long lost in memoirs. Slightly on the left side, quasi-undetectable, a solitary well had been devoured by nature’s tendency to further growth.

The couple was astonished and enamored with the new idyllic possession. As they approached, a ray of the radiant hue surrounding the house touched Powa’s face slightly. It was then that the town bell started ringing, at least, that time, her mind caught the tiny sounds that echoed deep inside. She made sense of the fragments, she intuitively felt that she was standing at the point of origin.

Few meters ahead, a small forest was calling and pulling Powa’s awareness. An extravagant affection for its timeless beauty woke a sense of belonging, a joy to be there, a feeling her mind could not comprehend, nor could she make sense of the welcome cheer she felt coming from the Mighty Oak Tree. Its branches were waving without the help of the wind, spreading them to reach and embrace the two foreign guests, then, in a graceful movement it stretched them toward the sky, as a signal of appreciation for bringing the couple Gelan into the sanctuary. Equally, oak leaf butterflies were swirling around Powa, as if welcoming her before fluttering through the trees and the green bushes. She was delighted at the exchanges permeating the space, far, beyond and above.

Remained untouched by disrespectful weeds, the view was pristine, heavenly designed to glorify the gorgeous surroundings. In the far distance, Powa could sightsee an ecstatic sunlight glittering in the azure waters of a lake, like a sea of stars replicating the sunbeams, apparently recognizing the similarities.

The range of mountains sheltering the site were housing waterfalls, majestically orchestrating musical notes, freely flowing in the open air. She stood at that edge, looking over the world, rearranging the notes, questioning the nature of the life that she had been given, whether by chance or destiny. The birds’ chirping chorus, almost blended with her broaden thoughts, unconcerned with their visceral content.

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Powa’s sublime interest witnessed the day fading away, the sun disappearing over the horizon, the snow-cape summits absorbing the last strays of that dazzling beauty, whereas fireflies were flickering in the late evening. The dark face of the night caught trashes of the show, but it was too busy darkening the sky.

By then, Atson was sitting in an old rocking chair on the porch of the house, listening to the sounds of the waters running nearby, then, he dwelled on the magnificence of the starry night sky. Countless stars were shimmering above the hill, as if sharing wonders in their own language. His left hand in his pocket, Atson was juggling with two seashells.

Powa sat next to him, and she looked at the sky as well, a shooting star lit up the night sky brightly and in that special night, it shone down upon her. Promptly, she reached for the stars, exhaled a wish and recited a poem.

A shooting star

Was crossing the sky

Brightening other stars

Lightening up stories

Ready to be revealed

In glitters of mysteries

Still hiding in words

Yet unspoken

Among treasures

Held in man’s heart.

Atson smiled at her, she too was a sparkling star illuminating his dark night. He kissed her in the forehead and let her know how much he loved her.

Thrilled, she stood up and went to the double oak front door, above which she noticed strange Antique Symbols. Distracted, she bumped into a little gnome statue with a funny red hat, which was standing next to the door. Annoyed, the unanimated stone seemed to frown at her, yet, the fragrance and the glow, both coming from the drawing of Spetla, filled the air and illuminated the strange Antique Symbols.

Powa was granted full access to the house.

A loud click of the key in the lock, a hand reaching for the brass door handle, a soft hissing sound of the swung open door, a larger opening of the door, a grand entrance in the house, a vortex of dust that swirled and settled on her, Powa’s itching nose protesting, a strange atmosphere was already filling every corner of that enormous room.

One foot in, one foot out, a power beyond anything graspable, a silence that conveyed a deep stillness embraced her. She did not hesitate, she walked through that new grand door, only then did she glimpse the meaning of the pauses between Mr. Gilberg’s words.

Inside the house, she felt tingles on her fingers, the map got activated and led her straight to an oval silver framed portrait over a stone fireplace in the middle of the room. As she touched the frame, she felt an electrical current that had an enlightening effect upon her, she identified the woman as being ant Lita Tales without any doubts.

The young lady was dressed in fine clothes and was wearing expansive jewelry, a depth in her eyes revealed a shine coming from behind the portrait. She picked it up and turned it around, a special piece of jewelry, a necklace with a triple braided golden thread around a Pearl of Great Value had been hiding for decades. The jewel won Powa’s heart, straightaway she put it on with a natural impetus.

The door closed itself behind her as she felt.

Outside, Atson was absorbed in the brightness of the moon, which was unlike any other he had ever seen before. An owl’s hooting sound changed the direction of his interest, it was time to get up and leave the property.

Rushing past the fountain, the Pearl of Great Value caught a beam of the bright moonlight and steadfastly sent a multicolored stream of rays to the inanimate mermaid statue. The refined light reflections unlocked a chant that penetrated Powa’s ears with such a force that it was spellbinding, she got instantly thirsty. In a chain reaction, the chant also unchained Golden Antique Symbols that were held captive in the scales of the mermaid tail. They were pulled from the stone, they bubbled up from the motionlessness and were dismantled as Powa took a sip of water filled with microscopic droplets of gold pouring out of the pitch. She closed her eyes, she was settling into it, an elation filled her to the brim. Though, something else got triggered, lurking beneath, despite the shallow surface, the eye of a dragon was observing Powa’s ability to let it in.

The car full forced out of the hill at the stroke of ten o’clock on the old town clock.