"Quite a beautiful city," Tylor commented as the taxicab
worked its way across the twisty avenues and side streets in the way
all taxi drivers across Shadow take.  The street lamps illuminated the
sidewalks and store fronts, casting a glow over the pavement and paint,
and the people who walked along and in front of them.
        I nodded in agreement.  "Oh yes... and even with the new
lights, you can still see the stars."  I glanced ruefully out the
window.  "Admittedly, it's not like it was in the past... but progress
marches on, I suppose."
        Tylor nodded.  "I'd noticed that.  But there's not as much
light pollution as you'd expect for a shadow-city of this size and
technology...  how do you suppose they managed it?"
        "Well..." I coughed, a flush rising on my cheeks.  "I managed
to make a little noise when the electric company was laying out plans
for going from gas to electric.  With the help of others, I was able
to convince them that by using lower-wattage bulbs and reflectors to
cast the light downward, they'd save money."
        Tylor laughed.  "Ahh, that's my sis!"  He patted me on the
shoulder, and I continued to blush.  "Always looking for new ways to
do things that work out better for others in the long run."
        "I wouldn't go -that- far, brother..." I quirked a smile.  "I
just felt it'd be nice if it worked out.  A city such as this should
still allow the stars to be seen."
        "Oh, I agree," Tylor replied, glancing out the window,
watching the ladies along the promenades in their spring finery,
accompanying their dates for the evening.  "Many beautiful stars..."
        I rolled my eyes, and sighed.  "Tylor, be a dear and pull your
brains out of your pants?  I swear, some days you're as bad as Touga
and Saionji."
        Tylor looked at me, a slightly hurt expression on his face.
"Well, at least I just -look- most of the time.  There's no harm in
that..."
        I blinked, and then coughed, embarrassed.  I had over-stepped
my bounds.  "I'm sorry... that was uncalled for.  Forgive me?"  It was
a shoddy apology, but I had to say something.
        Tylor's expression softened.  "It's okay, Corrine.  You're
forgiven."  He smiled, and gave me a kiss on the cheek, which did
nothing for relieving my embarrassment.  It did alleviate some of my
worries, though, which was something.  I relaxed, and watched the
procession of the streets and people of Paris as we travelled south.
        Paris at night was indeed a beautiful sight.  The heights of
the buildings sparkled, glistening as if dusted with tiny gem stones
from the many small lamps arranged upon them.  Every so often, I could
see the reflection of the moon and street lights in the Seine in the
distance between the buildings.  Cars and trucks travelled along the
streets, their engines providing a basso background rumble to the
sounds of the city.  People walked along the sidewalks, crossed the
streets, rode bicycles, or lounged around the tables in open-aired
cafes, enjoying the mild spring weather.  A street mage conjured up
dancing, glowing illusions for the enjoyment of patrons in a
courtyard.  A wide-winged dragon crossed the disk of the full moon for
a moment, and then slid off further into the starry night, dancing
past a cloud bank.  In the distance, on the opposite side of the Seine
towards the west, rose the tall spire of Tour Eifell, laced with
glittering lights.
        I sighed, quietly.  I loved this city.
        Tylor stirred from his side of the back seat, looking towards
me.  "Hm?"
        "Hm?"  I looked back at my brother, curious.  "What is it,
Tylor?"
        "You sighed.  You okay?"
        I blinked, and blushed, and sank against my seat.  The street
lights reflected off the side window and my face as the taxicab
continued its progress through the avenues.  "Just thinking... about
things."
        "Such as?"
        "It's just..." I shook my head.  "... It's just, I'm not sure
anymore.  As to what 'home' -is-.  Sure, Amber is and will always be
the land of my -- of -our- birth; but does that necessarily invalidate
homes in Shadow?"  I gestured towards the passing street life.  "This
city is -alive-, Tylor.  As alive as the wards back in Amber City and
Amberport, if not more so.  I've lived here for over fifty years; I
ought to know.  But if I leave it, do I condemn it to fading back into
the Shadows?  I couldn't live with myself if that was the case.  I
have too many friends here as it is."  I sighed again, closing my
eyes.
        "Mmm.  An interesting philosophical question, I suppose.
Unicorn knows we've discussed it to death before back home.  But think
about this."
        I opened my eyes again, and looked over at him once more.
        "Yes?"
        "Wether or not the Shadows exist because we will them, or
because they always existed, is immaterial.  They -do- exist, and we
can visit them, and revisit them, any time we wish it.  Which means
it's always possible for you to return."
        I nodded slightly.  "This... is true.  But would it be the
same?"
        Tylor shrugged.  "All places, all people change, sis.  That's
as true for Amber as it is for Shadow."
        "Which makes me wonder if I -have- a home in Amber anymore, if
it's changed so much.  From what you've told me, a -lot- has happened
in the past half-century..."
        "Don't worry, sis." Tylor smiled slightly as he offered his
hand, resting it on the seat near the side of my hip.  "No matter how
far you roam, you've got a home.  You've just got to make it yours.
Wether in Shadow or in Amber."
        I returned Tylor's smile, and rested my hand atop his own.
"Thank you, brother."
        "Hm?  What for?"
        "Just... for putting some things straight for me."  I chuckled
softly.  "You know how I can get with things like that."
        Tylor chuckled.  "This is true."
        I mock-snorted, and then the two of us shared a quiet laugh.
I relaxed some more, and we rode the rest of the way to the restaraunt
in silence.

        Chardenoux was one of the more elegant restaraunts that I knew
of in Paris, and it showed.  A footman waited at the base of the
stairs that led up into the building, opening the doors of the taxicab
for myself and Tylor (ladies first, of course) after we had paid the
driver.  A maitre'd efficiently took our names and determined the ideal
location for us to sit given our apparent stations as naval officer
and attractive socialite.  A waiter escorted us to our table,
effortlessly sliding through the sea of patrons and employees to seat
us at a relatively secluded booth that still afforded us a wonderful
view of the goings on inside the restaraunt.  He provided us with
menus, and then slipped off to allow us to decide on our meals.
        What really made the restaraunt special, however, were the
stylish engraved mirrors that lined the walls and ceiling,
transforming the the space into a whirlwind of colors and light.  The
mirrors made the main areas of the establishment seem larger than they
really were, which was why it was fortunate for us that the staff was
so well-trained.  They would never be at risk of getting confused by
the mirrors, nor overestimate the restaraunt's current capacity.
        I had dined here before, when entertaining clients, curators,
or other artist friends, so I had a good idea of what I wanted to
order.  I pointed out some choice selections to my brother, and when
the waiter returned, we placed our order and selected a suitable wine.
        While we waited for our meals to arrive, we began to exchange
our stories.  For a family such as ours, they were the primary means
of figuring out what the rest of us had been doing while gallivanting
about Shadow, and there was always something new to be learned from
the tales of others.  I talked about some of my more amusing anecdotes
from my time in Paris and traveling around its particular Shadow
Earth with its dragons and magics and machinery, and Tylor regaled me
with more of his adventures of sailing through the Shadows.
        We both avoided the topics of what had happened in Amber in
the recent past.  It was an implicit, unspoken agreement between the
two of us that for this night, we would not sour the mood.
        Our meal finally arrived, and we settled down to an evening of
good food and good company.  While we ate and talked, I reflected on
my eldest brother, who sat in front of me.
        Some days, it was hard to believe that father had produced
Tylor.  He was almost everything King Gendo was not; open, friendly,
cheerful, helpful, and a generally good person to be around.  Unlike
father, who had a tendency to plot and plan to such a degree that it
was doubtful his left hand knew what his right was doing (something
that had rubbed off on Touga, Drake, and Saionji), Tylor tended to
stumble through life, trusting to luck and the Unicorn to save him.
        What was amazing was that for the most part, it worked.
Circumstances that any of the rest of us would be sorely tested by,
Tylor could make it through, grinning and oblivious to the dangers.
His reputation as a great naval hero was not entirely undeserved,
though a good number of his successes appeared to be due to his
uncanny sense of arrival when things looked bleakest.  His wanderings
had taken him far throughout Shadow; out of all of us, he was the most
travelled.
        Of course, Tylor was not perfect.  None of us were.  He had a
reputation for drunkenness and a disregard for general authority; I
sometimes suspected that the true reason he had been put in charge of
the navies of Amber was so that he would have no superior officer,
save for father, to irritate.  He had an eye for the ladies, although
I doubt he actually managed to successfully woo them to any great
effect.  He was the type of man who would declare a general holiday
for his men and then take them out to the nearest pubs across Shadow
for a week and a half, even though they were supposed to be patrolling
Amber's waters for our defense.
        However, for all his stumbling, devil-may-care, lazy attitudes
towards life, Tylor was cannier than most people would give him credit
for.  This was demonstrated to me once again when I had started
describing the school that I had founded.
        "So, anyway," I was saying, as I cut up some pieces of my
steak, "with the encouragement of my teacher Johann, and a little seed
money, I ended up setting up the Conservatory back in 1875.  It was
just a little thing back then, not the big boarding school and art
academy that it is now, but we expanded quickly within the first ten
years.  We had to buy out the rest of the building's tenants and
arrange for its conversion to what it is today."  I blushed slightly
before shoveling another forkful of my meal into my mouth.
        Tylor nodded, consuming his own meal with equal gusto.  After
chewing and swallowing, he regarded me with a speculative expression.
"Johann Pariseau... he's related to your assistant, isn't he?"
        I nodded.  "He's Catherine's father, actually.  Johann all but
-insisted- that she attend the school when she expressed interest in
the arts, instead of studying under himself.  I don't know -what- I
did to warrant such respect..." I smiled a bit in embarrassment.
        "Oh, I'm sure he had his reasons."  Tylor's eyes twinkled as
he took a sip of his wine.  "But I find it interesting..."
        "Hmm?"
        "Oh, nothing... just interesting that but for your respective
ages and different parentage, Catherine appears to be an exact double
of your own older sister."
        I paled slightly, and looked down at my plate, wordlessly.
Finally, I was able to speak again.  "You... noticed that too, didn't
you."
        Tylor nodded, quietly.
        I looked up at him, my expression haunted.  "I don't know HOW
it happened, Tylor.  Catherine died when I was -eleven-, when she
tried to get revenge for Eowyn's death on Lake Harad.  I remember her
only in the vaguest of terms even now, in her interactions with
mother, father, Juri, and myself; more memories of experiences than
full details.  Just that she was strong, and kind, with father's hair
color and Juri's eyes, and that she deserved a damn sight better
than... than what happened to her."  I twisted the napkin in my lap
with my hands, beneath the edge of the table.  "Johann was already
married when I met him in 1855 and studied under him, but his wife had
not yet had any children.  When I went out into the world to paint it,
I had no idea that when I came back she'd be -pregnant-, of all
things.  I even helped deliver her baby, for Unicorn's sake!  But I'd
written off the naming of her only daughter to be a coincidence...
        "The year my art school was founded, Catherine Pariseau was
already five years old.  I watched her grow up, helped babysit her
whenever I visited their home, and quietly cheered her on through her
elementary schooling.  I encouraged her without pressuring or implying
the inheritance or strictures of any 'legacy' on my own or her
father's behalf when she enrolled in the Conservatory.  It was only
when she started to blossom into womanhood that I realized her
striking physical resemblance to mine and Juri's sister.  Her voice,
her mannerisms, her preferences for various little things that most
would ignore... are the same as Catherine of Amber's."
         I took a breath, hands still wrapped around my napkin,
threatening to tear it apart despite the tight weave of the cotton.
"Of course, that was where the similarities break down.  Somewhere
along the way, I don't know how, Catherine developed the kind of mind
that could keep track of all the fiddley little details that I tend to
struggle on or leave hanging to the last moment.  Coupling that with
her artistic talents, which our own Catherine never had... or had the
chance to develop," I swallowed to try and alleviate my drying mouth,
and plunged onward, "it makes it quite natural that I've decided to
name her my successor as Headmistress of the school when I move on.
She's smart, she's kind, she's conscientious, she puts the school's
concerns ahead of her own without denying either of us the chance to
unwind when needed.  She'll be excellent for the position when it's
time... which I suspect is coming very soon, given your own arrival
and the news from home."
        "You wanted to give 'Catherine' a second chance, even if she
wasn't exactly the same from what you remembered," Tylor replied in a
quiet, consoling tone of voice.
        I jerkily nodded in return.  "It's... it's as good an
explanation as any, brother."  I reached for my wineglass and drained
it in one gulp.  "I give you my word on the Unicorn's Horn than I did
NOT shift Shadow to make her this way, Tylor.  I have not done one
iota of the normal tricks we pull to tilt the odds in our favor since
I got here; not without reason.  And you know just how much I hate
playing around with people's personalities and reactions in such a
fashion, Tylor.  It's just not -right-, even given the infinite
shadings we can encounter.  Not for Eowyn's memory, nor Catherine's,
nor Haruka Minor's, nor..."
        Tylor reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder.  I
jumped, startled, but it successfully derailed me from my tirade
before it could reach more bitter waters.  There were places that even
now I do not like to visit, even though by now I had acknowledged
their occurance and moved on in life.
        "I understand, Corrine." Tylor smiled slightly.  "Quite
frankly, I think Catherine and your mother would have been flattered
that you cared about them so much, even now.  They live on, even in
your memories."
        I nodded, and managed a slight smile in return.  "Thank you,
Tylor.  To hear that, from you..."
        Tylor chuckled, and patted me on the shoulder before returning
his hands to the sides of his plate, ready to consume some more.  I
relaxed, and with the sour mood broken, we resumed eating our
respective meals.
        
        The remainder of the meal proceeded much better after my brief
depressive bout.  We cleaned our plates, drank more wine, and watched
the couples on the ballroom floor dance in time to the restaraunt's
string quintet.  It was a beautiful sight, and the mirrors made the
room feel filled to overflowing with ripples of color and sound.
Dessert for us at Chardenoux that night were chilled eclairs, their
insides stuffed with creamy filling, their outsides layers of
crystalline sugar, drizzled chocolate, and delicate pastry.
        Eventually, however, it was time for us to leave.  After we
paid the bill, including an extra bottle of wine for Tylor for his
collection, and leaving a very sizeable tip in the process, we headed
back out into the Paris night.  We spent a while wandering the streets
and observing the sights, occasionally commenting on what we saw and
filling the air with small talk.  The Tour Eifell sparkled in the
distance, as well as the Ile de la Cite' in the middle of the Seine.
The lamps of the new Electrical Era illuminated the rose windows of
Notre Dame from within.
        But, we did not want to stay out too late (due to the time of
my brother's departure the next day), so we hailed another taxicab and
rode the rest of the way back up to Montmarte and my Art Conservatory.
I tilted my head and nodded in approval as the taxicab pulled up to
the foot of the steps of the school.  The majority of the lights in
the upper floor windows were out, indicating that most folks were
asleep.  Tylor paid the driver, and we exited.
        As we walked up the steps and I pulled out my key for the
front doors, I paused and considered the structures to our right.  In
the far distance, I could see the bulk of the Basilique du Sacre'
Coeur hulking in the shadows of the Paris night, still incomplete, but
my eyes were more for the building next to the school, its own steps
lit by two gas lamps, no lights visible from its windows.
        "Whatcha lookin' at?" Tylor asked, looking in the same
direction.
        I hrmed, tapping my lips with the edges of the key.  "Just
thinking about something... oh, what the heck, I might as well show
you anyway, and if we're quiet enough, we won't disturb anyone."
        "Hmmmm?"
        I looked up at my brother with an impish expression.  "You'll
see," I replied, before putting key to lock and opening the front door
of the school.  I escorted Tylor through into the foyer, locked the
door behind me, and replaced my parasol in the appropriate stand.
Taking his hand, I walked further into the school, but took the
right-hand turn instead of the left-hand one down the hallway that
would lead to the building's main staircase.
        We came to a pair of double doors, which I again unlocked and
guided Tylor through.  I didn't bother to lock up behind me this time,
however, instead moving to a side wall where there were several large
installed fuse banks and switch boxes.  I opened the latter in the
dark with the ease of practice.
        "Corrine, what are you doing?"
        "One moment, Tylor..." I flipped several large scissor
switches in succession, the clunk of transmitted power relaying to
lights audible even from the small electrical room we were in.
"There.  That ought to do it.  Come on." I grinned, taking my
brother's hand as I led him through the second set of doors.
        Tylor whistled softly as we stepped out into the light.  We
were in a large room, one with several large paintings arranged around
the periphery.
        "Is this...?" he murmured, looking around.  Portraits and
landscapes, as well as several more avante-garde works, hung from the
walls, each one lit by its own pair of lamps.
        "It's... well, it's a showcase for my students, for one,
Tylor," I explained as I led him from the side gallery into one of the
hallways.  "After all, it helps them get a leg up on trying to sell
their works once they graduate.  It's also a 'Hall of Fame' for those
who've gone on out into the art world."
        "You've got quite a talented group of students, Corrine.  You
must be proud of them."
        I blushed, but smiled.  "Damn straight I am.  Every one of
them that I've taught has succeeded in some way.  That's all I can ask
for."
        "And yourself?" Tylor looked at me speculatively.  "What of
your own works?  After all, if you're -teaching- art... and what's
this place called, by the way?"
        "Well..." I blushed again from embarrassment, guiding Tylor
into the main foyer of the gallery, where a large portrait, at least
as twice as high as any man, hung proudly and prominently at the
center of the room.
        Tylor gasped, his eyes wide as he looked upwards at that
portrait.
        "... welcome to the Juri Arisugawa Portrait Gallery, dear
brother."
        Juri's countenance, strong, wise, and oh so beautiful, looked
out over us from the painting's canvas.  She was clad as I best
remembered her in the uniform of the Marshal of Amber, tailored to fit
her body precisely with a minimum of slack, yet still allowing a full
range of movement.  The decorations from the various campaigns she had
participated in glittered on her jacket above her left breast, the
arrangement such as to hint at the shape of a rose.  Juri's gold
hilted rapier hung at her left hip, and her right hand gently rested
against a map of Amber, creamy parchment against a dark oak desk.  The
sun gleamed through the windows in the painting, lighting Juri's form
and giving it a soft glow that made her look like a martial angel, a
defender of the realm and force of nature all in one.  Her eyes were
proud, and her smile composed.
        "... did you...?" Tylor murmured taking several steps back to
be able to see the painting of Juri in full.  I nodded silently, my
blush continuing to increase, and I pointed towards the plaque mounted
next to the portrait's frame.  Tylor moved over to read it, but I
already knew what it said:

            THE DEFENDER OF THE REALM
            Ursala Cori d'Ambrelle (1840 -  )
            Oil on canvas, 1881
            Juri Arisugawa Portrait Gallery
            Not For Sale

        Tylor quietly whistled, glancing up and over at the painting
again.  "This is just incredible, Corrine."  He then raised an
eyebrow.  "You know, you're looking remarkably well preserved for a
sixty-five year old."
        I coughed.  "Well, Tylor, I needed to put -something- down as
my birth-date that would have sounded plausible, given my apparent age
when I started learning."  I scratched my head, embarrassed.  "Though
I must admit, I've gotten more than my share of comments as the years
have gone by."
        My brother chuckled.  "Well, hey, don't sweat it, sis."  He
patted my shoulder.  "You and your sister are two of a kind; both
smart and beautiful.  No matter how much you try to hide it, you're
going to stand out."
        I blushed some more.  "Now you're trying to flatter me."
        "Just telling the truth, Corrine."  Tylor grinned.  "Got
anything else, sis, or is this it?"
        I brightened, my flush fading as I grinned.  "This is just the
tip of the iceberg, Tylor... you have yet to see the rest." I winked,
and took Tylor's arm once more as I continued to lead him through the
gallery.  Paintings by myself, Catherine, and Johann hung on the
walls, as well as those of my students and associates.  Some had
listed prices, but many did not, having become a part of our permanent
"collection" of artwork.  There were also some sculptures as well,
carved from marble, cast from bronze, or welded together from chunks
of steel.  The sculptures were nowhere near as numerous as the various
portraits and landscapes and occasional abstract painting, but they
were a sign of the continual branching out of the student's efforts.
        I commented as much to Tylor as we passed by a painting by
Edgar, one of my students, and he nodded in return.
        "I'm impressed, Corrine.  You're definitely encouraging
quality over quantity, but still allowing for experimentation in
styles and media."
        I chuckled.  "But of course, Tylor... how else are they going
to survive and thrive in the cutthroat art world?  Bland repetition is
all well and good for mass production, but it doesn't get you a good
commission..."
        Tylor laughed.  "Since when is the art world 'cutthroat',
Corrine?"
        I grinned.  "You ever been to an auction or unveiling of a
classic work of art, dear brother?  The sharks just surface from -all-
over.  And never mind the self-proclaimed 'art critics' who nitpick
over every little detail in a person's work."  I stuck my tounge out,
to show my opinion of that little habit.  
        Tylor chuckled.  "I don't see why they should, Corrine.
You've clearly encouraged your student's talents to thrive.  It shows
in everything here."
        "Well, what sort of teacher would I be if I tried to supress
them, to force them to conform to the critic's yammerings?
Constructive criticism is one thing, but most of those in the press
don't have a clue.  I try to provide the former, not the latter."
        Tylor nodded.  "They're very skilled -- and they obviously
take after their teacher.  I haven't seen such quality outside of
grandfather's Trumps."
        I blinked, and looked up at Tylor.  "Oh, now you're just
flattering me, Tylor..." I could feel a blush climbing on my cheeks.
        "No, I'm not."  He grinned.  "Seriously, you've got the
patience to improve your skills and teach them to others...  that's
the kind of qualities Fuyutsuki likes in his students."
        I nodded, slightly.  "This is true... considering that you
-need- patience to figure out what he's talking about."
        Tylor smiled.  "Well, grandfather does have his quirks."
        I chuckled, and worked my arm around my brother's.
"Indeed... remember the time he decided to perform a croquet match in
the middle of the Great Hall?"
        Tylor laughed, and the two of us walked back to the art
conservatory, talking all the while about old times before heading off
to sleep in our respective rooms.

        An urgent rapping at my bedroom door dragged me into
wakefulness the following day.  I tried to supress a groan, and
failed, as I pulled myself up into a sitting position in my bed.
        "Who is it?" I called out in frustration at the constant
noise.  I stretched, and scratched my side.  "What is it?"
        "Ursala, it's Catherine!" The voice of my assistant answered
back.  "Your brother, Tylor..."
        I rolled my eyes, and looked up at the ceiling.  "What about
him?"
        "I've tried knocking at his door for the past ten minutes, and
he hasn't answered it!"
        "So?"
        "Aren't his ships due to leave the harbor at noon today?"
        I blinked, and glanced over at the clock on top of the bureau.
The clock's hands proudly proclaimed that it was five minutes before
eleven.
        I cursed.  "Well, hell."  With a rush of adrenalin, I hauled
myself out of bed and grabbed my dressing gown from the back of the
chair that I had left it on the prior night.  I pulled the gown on,
and hauled open my bedroom door, startling Catherine as I strode past
her.
        "Ursala??"
        I glanced at her over my shoulder. "Well, don't just -stand-
there, we have to wake up my brother!"  I hurried down the hallway for
the stairwell before Catherine could respond.
        I garnered more than my share of surprised double-takes from
my students as I raced through the dormatory floor, my robe and gown
rippling in the breeze caused by my passage.  I ignored them, and
quickly reached the room we had allocated for Tylor.  I pounded on the
wooden door as Catherine hurried to catch up to me.
        "Tylor, WAKE UP!  You're holding up your ships!"
        My brother's only answer was the sound of snoring behind the
door.
        "Oh for the love of the Unicorn," I groaned, and reached for
my keys.  This action was complicated by the fact that in my haste to
leave my bedroom, I had left my keys behind.  
        Damn.  
        Well, there was always another way to gain entrance.  My left
hand tightened around the doorknob, and gave it a rapid twist.  There
was a sharp snapping sound as the wood around the knob and lock
shattered, allowing the knob to turn, and a startled gasp from behind
me.
        I inwardly cursed a second time.  Catherine had seen my
actions, and while I was known to be stronger than the human norm to a
select number of my friends, I tried to not advertise it too much.  I
looked over my shoulder at Catherine, and attempted a smile to assauge
her. 
        "We don't have time to be polite with Tylor, Catherine," I
explained before shoving open the bedroom door, revealing a still-
sleeping Tylor in his bunk.  "This is just the most expident way to go
about waking him."
        Catherine slowly nodded.  "Er, yes..."
        I strode over to the side of the lower bunk.  Tylor was
murmuring in his sleep, something about Cathay, or Cathuria, or some
other place, but I ignored his mumbles. Instead, I reached over,
grabbed Tylor's shirtfront, and hauled him out of the bed.
        "OW!  Corrine!" Tylor winced as I pulled him to a vertical
position, rubbing his forehead where it had hit the upper bunk's
bedframe.
        Catherine stared at the treatment of my brother.  "Ursala!"
        "He's been through much worse," I commented.  "A bump on the
head isn't going harm him --"
        "-- I beg to differ, here!" Tylor interjected.  "That hurt!"
        "Well, much." I let out a sigh, and looked at Tylor, straight
in the eyes.  "I'm sorry about interrupting your sleep, brother, but
while you were dreaming, flowers were growing, men and women were
breeding, and your ships are still waiting."
        Tylor blinked, and glanced over at the wall's mechanical
clock.  The time was now a minute past eleven.  "Um... oops?"
        I managed a smile, but it was rather forced.  "Yes.  'Oops.'
Now, if you want to keep this 'Oops' moment from turning into an 'Oh
Shit' moment, I suggest you get yourself out of bed and together and
downstairs within the next ten minutes it takes for me to get dressed
so we can get you on your way before Vice-Admiral Yamamoto pops a 
blood vessel from stress."  I let go of Tylor's shirt, and turned
around to exit the room.  "Catherine?"
        My assistant headmistress blinked at me in confusion.  "Yes,
Ursala?"
        "Call the nearest taxi service, would you?  To be here within
the next fifteen minutes, hopefully?"
        Catherine nodded, glanced between the two of us again, and 
hurried off down the hallway.
        I glanced back at Tylor.  "Meet me down at my office as soon
as you can, brother.  We don't have much time."
        I returned to my rooms as quickly as I had left them, leaving
my hurredly-dressing brother in my wake.
        
        It did not take me long to get properly dressed.  Even with
the fasions of the day, my prior military training had made it
possible for me to get clothed even when there was time pressure.
Practicality won over fancy, and I donned a blouse and green skirt 
combination over clean ulitarian undergarments.

   [Funky Tyloresque sidebar -- Tylor wakes up late!  They have to get to
    the city docks (which, btw, in Paris, were NOT deep-sea ports, since
    Paris is in the middle of the country) to reach the boats in time.
    Fortunately, Kiki happens by, and offers to take the three of them.
    *pause* Sadly, Kiki's broom has problems with even TWO people... she
    can manage 3 for a bit, but of course things start giving out about
    the time they're halfway to the docks.  Fortuantely, Tombo shows up
    with his scratchbuilt aerothropter, and is able to divide the load.
    They make it to the port (which is still somewhat dumbfounded at
    -25- fully rigged sailing vessels having just appeared the day
    before) in time for Tylor to depart.]
    
http://www.lepaquebot.com/GB/nous/plan.html
    
   Corrine starts making arrangements to
   settle her affairs, liquidate her assets, and whatnot.  She wills   
   her school to her primary assistant, the daughter of the man who had
   taught Corrine painting when she'd first arrived in the Shadow.  She
   promises to come back at least for some of her paintings, packs up
   a few choice momentos on a horse, and then a few days after Tylor
   left, she rides off into Shadow.]

        I stared for a long while at the waters of the Siene, lost in
my own thoughts, before turning around and hailing a taxi for myself.
I had things to do, and not much time in which to do them.

        "Ursala, you -can't- be serious!  Surely you must be joking!"
        I sighed, and rubbed my left hand against my brow.  I had
expected this, and would have had to confront it sooner or later, but
it did not make things any easier.
        "Catherine, I only wish I -could- be joking," I said, looking
back up at her as I sat behind my desk in my office.  "But the matter
still stands as it is.  Within a week, two at the most, I'm leaving
the school and leaving Paris.  And I very likely won't be coming
back."
        "But, Ursala!" Catherine continued to protest.  "The spring
quarter hasn't even completed its first month!  This will leave the
students in the lurch, for certain, never mind the instructors.  Where
would you be going that could warrant -this-?"
        I winced with guilt at my assistant's admontation, and closed
my eyes.  "Home, Catherine," I whispered, not without a trace of
bitterness.  "I'm going -home-."  I opened my eyes again.  "Does that
help?"
        "But..." Catherine blinked.  "That doesn't make sense, Ursala.
I thought your birthplace was up in Laon.  Is this some sort of 
sabattacal?  Like mother said you took before I was born?"
        I looked aside, trying to avoid Catherine's gaze, my eyes
catching on a small darrougtype portrait that was framed on my desk.
Johann and myself, standing in our Sunday best with his wife Giselle
seated in front of us, a six-year-old Catherine sitting in her lap.
My eyes teared slightly, and I tore myself away from the picture with
regret.
        "No sabattacal, Catherine.  And Laon is not my home... it's 
just a place for me to rest occasionally."  The words I spoke tore at 
me from the inside, but I pressed onward.  "Where I'm going is much
further than that."
        "Your beach house in Spain... is that it?  Or is it somewhere
over in the United States?"
        I shook my head.  "Regretfully, no, to either of those."
        "Then -where- is it?" Catherine's blue-green eyes were wide
with incomprehension and the need to know what exactly was going on.
"Where is your home?"
        I took a deep breath, and got up and out from my chair.  I
started to pace in front of my office window, feeling the need to
move, to cover up my nervousness.  "Where my home is... if you drove
to the ends of the earth... convinced the mightiest dragons to carry
you for eternity... commanded the most powerful of mages to transform 
a dirigible to cross the stars... you could not reach it.  Yet, by my 
mind's eye and the motion of my feet, I could go there as I willed and
as I walked.  That's where my home is, Catherine."
        My assistant looked up at me, confusion on her features.
"Ursala, you're not making any sense..."
        I paused in my motions, and pursed my lips.  I glanced over at
Catherine, and my eyes then flickered towards the small portrait on my
desk.  I considered the image for a moment, and a thought occured to
me.
        "Catherine?"
        "Yes?"
        I picked up the framed photograph, and tossed it towards my
assistant.  She blinked, and immediately caught the portrait before it
could fall on the floor.  "Tell me about that picture."
        Catherine raised her eyebrows at me, curious.  She then
glanced down at the picture, righting it.  "Well... it's a photograph
of father, you, mother, and me... when I was six, yes?  I remember not
wanting to sit still..."
        I pursed my lips, and looked at Catherine, meeting her eyes.
"No, Catherine. -Tell- me about that picture.  Tell me, using
everything I've taught you about art and observation.  -Tell- me what
you see."
        Catherine blinked, and looked down at the portrait again, and
studied it more intently.  I patently waited, and my body unconciously
mirrored the same pose that I had been in when the photograph had been
first taken.
        "Well... Father's wearing the greatcoat he used to wear more
often before he got a little pudgy around the waist," she started.
"His hair isn't as grey as it is now in this picture, and he doesn't
look as wrinkled."  I nodded for Catherine to continue, and she did
so.  "Mother's still wearing that dress that she saves for special
occasions; given she wears it so little, it's still in good shape.
Again, she looks younger in this portrait than she does now, and now
has white hair, but she's still beautiful.  And I look like a total
-scamp- in that dress; as if I'd rather be out playing in the park
instead of sitting there under the lights."  She blushed slightly, and
I quietly chuckled at her description of her younger self.  It was an
accurate accounting of how she had been in those days.  "And as for
you..."
        Catherine paused.  She looked up at me.  She looked at the
darrougtype again, and her eyes narrowed for a moment, before they
widened in what had to be realization of an impossibility.  I held my
breath, despite myself.
        She looked up at me again.  "... you... haven't aged a day
since that photograph, haven't you, Ursala," she breathed out in a
whisper.
        I nodded in mute confirmation.

[Then corrine's announcement of her own departure to Catherine
+ Maria, glossing over the preparations over the next week. -- BUT,
remember the trump fortune!]
 
    [Perhaps Corrine deals a Trump Fortune in here for herself? keep
    as an option. -- use the format devised in the game.  Hint at
    future developments, but use Fuyutsuki's standard deck at the time.]
     
    [She's personally asking wether or not to stay or go back, and
    what might her future hold if she did go.  Though, by this point
    she's actually committed, so this is more to focus herself on the
    matter.]

    [Perhaps defer this to the next chapter if it'll take up too much
    space here?]
 
Corrine's Fortune:
     
1)  The Distant Past  -- Charlotte, reversed   (Actually Sakura,
                                                Corrine's Exile, much evil)
2)  The Recent Past   -- Tylor                 (Recent Fortuitous News)
3)  Purpose           -- Drake                 (Combat, Battle, Warfare)
4)  Inner Secrets     -- Juri, reversed        (What happened to Juri?)
5)  The Near Future   -- Saionji               (Association with Saionji)
6)  The Far Future    -- Great Plaza of Harad  (Fighting in Harad,      
                                                showdown with the Alans)
7)  Destiny           -- Fuyutsuki             (Corrine's eventual
                                                Trump Artist training)
[Ironically, this also precursors Corrine's repair of the Fire Pattern
and recreating Ember....]
8)  Hopes and Fears   -- Haruka, reversed      (Family -- Lost/Found)
[...and Queenship...]
9)  Other's Views     -- Corrine               (A true view now that she's 
                                                no longer exiled)
10) Self-Image        -- Arden Forest          (Protector of Arden)
                         Stronghold
11) The Heart of the Matter (The Quandry)
                      -- Courtyard of Castle
                         Amber                 (The decision?  Return!) 
12) Present Conflicts -- [?]                   (?)

[Then, transition to herself, Catherine, Maria, Johann, Kiki and Tombo
driving out to the northeast, where Corrine's little cabin is (with
truck and horse trailer.)  Corrine goes and gets changed, and comes
back out.]

[The cabin itself is in Tremblay, which is to the northeast, outside
the suburbs]

        There was a collective gasp from my compatriots as I stepped
out of the cabin door.  I suppose I should not have been surprised at
their reaction, but I could not help feeling more than a little self
conscious.  After all, it must have seemed to them as if a totally
different person had exited the cabin, unfamiliar and opposite to the
art teacher who had entered the little building.
        While the woman's body was the same, the clothes were
different, and the bearing that they gave me made me feel transformed.
No longer could I say to them that I had been nothing other than an
aspiring artist before arriving in Paris.  I -felt- different, the
leather vest and pants comfortable and supple around my body, the
broadsword sheathed over my right hip and the crossbow slung over my
shoulder on my back familiar weights.
        "... corrine?" Catherine tentatively asked, her eyes wide.
        "Yes?" I smiled slightly as I stepped out further into the
light, making sure my vest was laced, my belt was secure, and my 
Trumps were in my left hip pouch before pulling on my brown leather
gloves. "What is it, Catherine?"

[]

        "Please," I whispered into Catherine's ear, unable to contain
my own trembling voice, "call me 'Ursala'.  It's as good a name as any
other... moreso for here."
        Catherine let out a tentative chuckle as she drew back, and a
faltering smile touched her lips as her tearing eyes looked into my
own (which weren't much better).  "All right... Ursala."  She wiped at
her eyes with a handkerchief, and I reflexively cleaned my own, 
rubbing them with the back of one of my gloves.  "We'll... -I'll-... 
miss you."
        "So will I," I managed to say.  "Oh Unicorn, so will I."

[Goodbyes, promises to return, somehow, if she can, within the next
100 years]

[Corrine rides off, and stops at one point at a mountain overlook of
Paris for some reflection.]

        No.
        For I was Corrine, Princess of Amber.  And no matter where I
wandered, my mind and my memories were my own, and no one but myself
could say who I was in my heart.  I had changed here in this Shadow,
hopefully for the better, in the fifty years that I had lived in this
place.  I had become something more, and "Ursala Cori d'Ambrelle" had
become as much a part of me as the exiled Warden of Arden had been
when she had arrived so long ago in Paris.  She was me, and I was her,
a person whose whole being was more than than the sum of her parts.
From now on, wherever I traveled, the memories and experiences would
stay with me, enriching whatever I may do.
        These thoughts warmed my heart somewhat, and made leaving this
place, while bittersweet, more bearable.
        I spurred my horse, turned her around, and rode off into the
depths of the forests of Paris without looking back.

[End chapter.]