* A birthday feast * The Queen of Sheba * Denizens of the Spring Room

* The doctor's prescription * My daily routine * We learn of each other

* Caterpillars grow

The Count came not to see me the next day, the butler informing me of his master's tiredness and regrets. I busied myself with my fantasies of marriage and redoubled my efforts at researches and my repeated attempts at the strange door. I was not hungry all that day, the repast of the evening before having left me quite sated for a measure of time commensurate with my copious consumption. Indeed, I had consumed so much food during the feast, that I wondered if I should ever need to dine again!

The following morning, I awoke to find my bedstead covered in a carpet of rose petals, their sweet perfume sending my soul into flights of ethereal delight. The two maids were dressed in matching white muslin gowns and had woven tiny bluebells into their braids. "The Count has given us these new gowns and bade us wish you a happy twenty-second birthday," they said in unison, helping me to my feet. "He wishes you to join him in his chambers for a breakfast."

They helped me to dress quickly and soon we were heading up the staircase to the Count's chambers. I was quite out of breath by the time we reached the top and I had to pause a moment to collect myself, feeling the effects of my indolence and overindulgence, and resolving to attempt to reduce myself in some way, that I might regain the vigour and energy that had lately begun to escape me.

My resolve was quickly broken when we entered his chambers and I saw that another banquet had been laid out. The aromas and the sights of so many delectable dishes aroused my appetites once again, and after many wishes of "Happy Birthday!" and "Many more returns!", I joyfully began to partake of the bounty. There were pies and pastries and many types of porridges, kippers and sausage and cheeses in abundance. Before long I had once again consumed so much more than my fill, that feeling dizzy, I had the Count escort me to a chaise longue, where I stretched out my legs and rested my hands on the swollen hillock of my stomach. After relaxing for some time, Cambel plucked a grape from a platter and lovingly proffered it to me. I opened my mouth and took it in, tasting its sweet juiciness bursting on my tongue.

"I feel like the Queen of Sheba," I said, taking the pit from my mouth and replacing it with the next grape he offered me. "I am being pampered and spoiled and plied with sweet offerings."

"That is fitting, for the Queen of Sheba could not have been more beautiful than you," he replied.

"That is doubtful," I said, "but she could not have been presented with a more wonderful birthday feast as this one! And, more beautiful or not, if she lived in the way that I have been living for these past weeks, she would certainly have been much fatter than me! Indeed, if I continue in the gluttonous habits I have acquired of late, I shall soon become so obese, that I should find it quite impossible to walk about."

"Should that day come," he said, feeding me a confection of richest chocolate, "then I should be glad to carry you about."

"Yes, but then soon, I should become too great for you to carry."

"On that day, I shall enlist the entire staff, if need be, to bear you wherever you should choose to go."

"And what shall I wear, then?" I asked, devouring whatever morsel he fed me. "What garment should suffice to clothe me?"

"Why we shall plant new fields of flax, that we might have sufficient material to clothe your bounteous frame in the finest of linens. Or you could dress in none but the glorious garments of flesh in which you were born."

"How scandalous," I said, laughing. "And you expect me to be seen in such a state by all those men who carry me about? I think that too immodest!"

"We shall have them blindfolded," he said, "for there should be none worthy enough to gaze on your earthly charms. None but myself, your humble servant, if I may so hope."

"Indeed you may hope," I said and reached up my arms to encircle his neck and pulled him into me for a deep and long kiss. His hands roamed about my body and I shamelessly allowed it, thrilling with each new place he touched through my fine garments. His hands were cool and their contrast with my warmth set all my hairs on end. The gentle breeze from his nostrils tickled my cheeks, and then his kisses began to stray to my chin and my neck, pausing to brush over my ears. His loving nuzzles and nibbles on my shoulders and throat stirred me, and when he reached the deep cleavage between my full bosoms, my chest was heaving and I could not help but thrust my hips upward, arching my back and propelling my soft stomach ceilingwards. I moaned softly and his face returned to mine, biting my lips and teasing my tongue with his, all the while, his hands were kneading my breasts and I was lost in the tempests of passion. "Please," I moaned in ecstatic agony. "Please take me. I want nothing more than to have you lose yourself in my softness."

"Not today," he said, softly kissing me, until my fire had dwindled to hot embers. "But soon. When you are mine. When I have gained some strength."

I opened my eyes then and saw the exhaustion I had noticed previously, an expression comprised of equal parts sorrow and joy painting his handsome face. His dark eyes were even more intense against the pallor of his skin. "You are ill," I said, feeling a sudden wave of fear.

"As I have said: I need the sunlight," he replied. "Much as you require water."

"Then, glorious as these moments here may be, I must return to my work with that accursed door, that I might find some way to save you." I began to rise, suddenly impatient, frustration flowing through me.

"Yes, you must" he said, "but first, let me show you something I have discovered here in this strange room." His gentle voice soothing my impatience, he helped me to my feet and we moved to a planter box, in which grew several young oak trees. He gently turned over one of the leaves and I saw, to my surprise, a row of tiny pearl-coloured butterfly eggs. Through their translucent covering, I could make out subtle stirrings, and I became quite certain that, despite the winter season in the rest of the world, these creature were about to hatch.

"It shall be no more than a day or two," I said "before the caterpillars emerge from these shells and begin to crawl about the leaves. Then, three weeks later than that, they shall cocoon themselves for two weeks more, before emerging as glorious butterflies, frolicking about for only a short time before they lay their eggs and die. Such beauty and such brevity."

We kneeled, holding hands, and watched the barely perceptible motion within the eggs for a few moments before I determined that I should resume my attempts at solving the mystery of the doorway that entrapped us. Cambel said he would come and assist me, but upon our rising from our knees, he became quite disoriented and I had to help him to the chaise which I so recently inhabited. All colour had drained from his face, and very alarmed, I summoned the doctor. He arrived almost instantly, examining the patient then turning to me and saying, "His condition is quite severe. I do not know how much longer he will last. A month or two at most. His body is weak and the indirect light of the indoor world is only enough to barely sustain him. You must find a way out of here if you truly love him, and you must do it yourself, for I am confining him to this bed that he may conserve whatever strength remains within him."

Thus charged, I began anew at my task. I examined the portal from every angle, observing with great attention the comings and goings of the house staff through the tiny door, accepting, without so many words, that something akin to magick was definitely occurring here. Nonetheless, I was certain that rational processes could only serve to explain the magick, understand it and master it. To that end, I tested all the latches and catches and pressure plates and hinges, confirming my initial observations and uncovering no more than I already knew. I tried all my ciphers once again and began preparing new ones, reading from each book amidst the numerous volumes which lined the walls of the passageway.

My days began to grow into a routine. I would arise and bathe and dress, eat a small meal just to provide me with a modicum of fortitude, then I would proceed to the hallway, where I would pick up the next book in order and begin translating the underlined words into the various ciphers I had devised. Next, I would go back to the doorway and play out these codings in sequences of the five latches and handles.

By noon, when I had wearied of that, I would make my way up the staircase to visit with Cambel where he lay confined to his bed. He tried to put on a brave face, but I could see that as each day grew slightly longer, he still grew weaker. Nonetheless, he was quite interested in the caterpillars which had hatched just two days after we had first observed them. He had his bed moved close to the planter box where they resided and he spent much of his time sketching the little animals, watching as they fed relentlessly on the broad green leaves of the tiny tree, growing larger and fatter every day, moulting several times as they grew too large for their skins.

The caterpillars were the only things that grew fatter, though, for Cambel was wasting away, and in my monomaniacal determination to solve the infernal puzzle of our imprisonment, I had lost some of my appetite and had even begun missing meals. The maids informed me that I had dropped from nearly fifteen stone at my birthday to my current thirteen stone six just a few short weeks later at the same time as the caterpillars themselves stopped eating and spun their cocoons in preparation for their great metamorphosis.

We had determined that the caterpillars were most likely of the genus Nymphalis, and thus, akin to both the Mourning Cloaks which were quite common in the springtime woods and to the Caitlin's Gown butterflies which I had discovered. But what disturbed me about this variety was the lack of sturdiness in its members. Of the thousand or so eggs which we had catalogued on the small trees, fewer than one hundred had hatched. Then, of the hundred or so caterpillars, only thirteen had survived long enough to spin themselves cocoons. From the stillness and coolness of many of the casings, I was fairly certain that only four had survived the process and would emerge as butterflies in a few more days.

My afternoons, in those winter weeks were spent in examinations of the rest of castle Scudamore, attempting to unearth an alternate route of escape. Each day, I explored another room, testing each brick for fastness, each barred window for looseness where the iron met the mortar. I discovered several hidden passageways, but each ended in one of the tiny doors through which the staff travelled so effortlessly and which only served to prevent my passage.

My evenings were spent by Cambel's side, conversing with him on topics ranging from the affairs of nations to the silly gossip of the castle. I told him of my father and our journeys together, of my fine education at his insistence, of my deep sorrow at never having known my mother. He, too, participated in these discussions, telling me of his childhood in his strange country. He was not only Count Meta, he confessed, but also the Prince of Triamond and heir to the throne in that kingdom. His mother was the Queen and his father, the Royal Consort, and he had no brothers or sisters. He described his country as warm and verdant, with bountiful harvests and long growing seasons. There had been no outbreaks of illness in as long as the eldest could remember, and so their recent troubles were all the more vexatious.

"Are we doomed?" he wondered aloud, and I could not help but think that he was referring to more than his people, but also to himself and to me and to our predicament. His complexion grew greyer by the day, as did the leaden skies of late January. Snow covered the land in whichever direction I looked from the barred windows of Cambel's apartments. The small river I had crossed upon my unwitting arrival at this prison was frozen over, yet from this height, I could make out the signs of the creatures who still dwelt in those icy waters.

Within those rooms, however, and despite my lover's illness, Springtime reigned in all its fecund glory. Flowers bloomed daily, each morning's floral display more brilliant than that of the day before. And our charges, the butterflies, were near the end of their encapsulation, their cocoons having become dark and translucent, and their emergence only days away.

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