Photo story: Paris

This is a fictional photo-story starring Tamzyn and Sioul, from my game Caverns and Dryads. It’s set in the real world, which they entered after Sioul gained mastery over time and space.

Paris always felt like a safe haven for us—a hideout where we could pretend to be like ordinary people. Our favorite time was autumn, and the beginning of spring.

In its busy streets, and in the melancholy of rainy days, we were just two strangers, hand in hand.

A good place to disappear from the rest of the world. The Council of Sorcerers was after us, but in a city this vast, they’ll have a hard time finding us. When they come, we’ll be ready.

She likes to dress in black when she's here. What might seem too serious—or even sinister—on another woman, on her looks like the dark space that surrounds a star.

She was smiling the whole time—maybe because we’d escaped our enemies, or maybe it was the champagne and wine.

She told me about the parties of the Hyperboreans, three centuries ago. How they adored the taste of grapes and wine, the sound of flutes, the wild chases, the pounding hearts.

Some things she told me, I’d rather not repeat. Others felt like dreams spun from nature and fantasy, painting vivid images in my mind.

After that, we walked along the Seine.

The country of the dryads lies in a parallel world—between this one and another, like an inter-world. The same inter-world the Persians spoke of in their mystical texts.

That Land of the Skies exists somewhere in modern France, but on a different wave of reality. And no, it’s not in Paris.

“Someday we’ll go there, my Sioul,” she says.

At nightfall, we took pictures on the bridges. After a quiet walk, we returned to the hotel.

In the night, we were like petals of a black lily—like ivy and bark, clinging to each other, inside and around.

At breakfast, I conjured a cake for her—it was her 324th birthday. Lighting all those candles would’ve been madness, so I placed just two: one for each of us.

She looked at me with gratitude, and for a moment, her gaze held the weight of a very old soul—quickly replaced by the cheerful warmth I know so well.

“Where will we go after Paris, Tamzyn?” I asked. 

“Maybe somewhere in the East,” replied the daughter of fire. 

As a birthday gift, we went to one of those fashion catwalks. With a little enchantment, we mesmerized the guards and designers so she could join the show as a model.

Shorter and more voluptuous than most of them, she surprised the audience—who welcomed the change with delight. 

She took it as a joke. Fun to try, boring to do all day, she said. She prefers adventure and exploration.

We ended the trip on one of the terraces. That left us with this final picture—her caught in one of her silly pranks, grabbing all the beer cups while I was distracted.

Oh, these dryads...