In Fair Verona

Chapter 4

Kenna awoke inside a thundercloud.

She sat up and looked around, blinking in the hope that it would clear her vision, but it was no use. Everything stayed hazy as if obscured by a gossamer veil.

Something grey and smoky and smelling like a metal fence in the rain surrounded Kenna, slowly curling inwards as if curious.

"Where am I?" The question slipped from Kenna's lips even though there was nobody around to answer it.

Kenna's eyes flitted about, seeking an escape or anything to help her understand what this foreign place was.

Was she in a dream? A nightmare, perhaps? Or some realm she didn't know the name of?

In a story, the possibilities would be endless, but this was reality. There had to be a sensible explanation for what was going on.

The thundercloud receded like an ebbing tide to reveal a woman of unnatural height towering over Kenna.

Kenna started. As if it wasn't strange enough to be inside a cloud, now she had company.

"Kenna Fernsby." The woman's pale pink lips shaped each syllable of her name. "We finally meet."

Kenna studied her face.

It was sharp and almost white in complexion. Her downturned hazel eyes gave her a permanently mournful look. Dark hair fell in voluminous curls to her shoulders.

Her features were little more than images without meaning because Kenna still had no idea who she was.

"I am Melpomene." The woman answered before Kenna could ask, her thin mouth curving without humour. "The Muse of Tragedy."

Kenna blinked. She had read about the Greek pantheon countless times, but she hadn't realised that they still existed centuries after they were last worshiped.

Kenna's gaze slid over the dark, long-sleeved garment the goddess wore belted at her waist and the cothurnus boots half-obscured by the mist at her feet. As legend said, she dressed like the tragic actors of the past.

Was Kenna's love life so sad that she had gained an audience with this Muse? She didn't know whether to be flattered or heartbroken anew.

"You're very self-absorbed, aren't you?" The goddess's voice was cool and sharp like shards of rock. "How like a mortal to think she's the centre of the universe."

"I do not think that," snapped Kenna.

Melpomene made no comment, just watched Kenna with her strange, sad eyes and bitterly-set mouth.

Kenna squirmed at the intensity of her gaze. It gave her the sense that the goddess could see through her, right to her heart, right to her thoughts.

"Well, won't you tell me what you want from me?" The question burst from Kenna, as impatient as she was for answers.

"You truly think love has not known more tragedy than you have?" The goddess tilted her head to the side with a curious expression.

Kenna raised her eyes to the cloudy ceiling that the air stirred into whorls. It was all coming back to her—the breakup, the phone call with Gloria, and watching Romeo and Juliet.

Kenna really shouldn't have drunk the whole bottle of wine. Maybe then she wouldn't be in this strange situation.

This wasn't a story or reality but something in between, an alcohol-induced hallucination, perhaps.

The Muse's question seemed to have only one correct answer, but Kenna felt bold enough to be honest instead.

If this wasn't real, what did she have to lose? Maybe the dream-goddess would disagree with her, but at least she'd wake up feeling lighter after venting her feelings.