"Come here, my darling."

"Why, mama?"

"I would like to do your hair."

After a moment's hesitation, the slight, dark-haired girl put her porcelain doll down and obediently padded over to the window, settling herself on the reclining couch before her mother, her hands folded neatly in her skirted lap. Behind her, the stern-looking woman's face softened into a vague smile, and she began dragging a silver-backed hairbrush through Helle Anatolia's thick wavy hair. "Did you wash last night?"

"Yes, mama."

"Good girl." In silence, Ionna brushed her daughter's hair out with strong, fluid movements, watching the black spill over the cream silk of the girl's dress. Carefully she laid the brush aside and ran a white hand through Helle's hair, pausing to disentangle one lock from the heavy bronze ring she wore on one finger. Helle sat very still as her mother began sifting her hair into two chunks, watching the morning sun continue its steady ascent above a landscape of rich red rooftops. A sea breeze sprung up, stirring the heavy dark trees that intercepted the mismatched streets. Somewhere amongst the whitewashed houses a goat began to bleat, the sound cutting through the still Mediterranean climate.

A small island, Samothrace was unremarkable in both appearances and culture. Most of the richer gentry made their homes on the mainland, in Greece, and usually owned second homes on the larger, lusher islands such as Crete. Although the proud and socially-conscious Ionna would never have admitted it, the Anatolia family were not quite affluent enough to afford such luxuries; their large airy home on Samothrace was inherited from Ionna's grandfather, and while it was not as lavish or well-furnished as their residence in Greece, it was nonetheless pretty, and extremely comfortable.

Humming absent-mindedly, Ionna slipped the lid off a delicate wooden box and began pawing through its contents, extracting several lengths of silvery ribbon, so thin as to resemble spider's webs. Inserting them into her lips and letting them hang from her mouth, she began combing through one half of hair, creating the beginnings of a plait. "Your father and I shall have to go out again today, my dear," she said awkwardly through the ribbons.

Inwardly, Helle sighed. She stared down at her dainty hands as her mother began weaving the first of the silvery threads into the plait, intertwining it with the locks of hair. As she examined her fingers and palms, she noticed that the skin was pale, and sallow from being confined indoors for so long.

"Helle?" Ionna paused in her plaiting. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, mother." Helle began picking at the cuticle of one nail, earning herself a sharp tug from the back of the head.

"A lady does not fiddle," said her mother reproachfully. "I hope you will behave for poor Elena."

"I always behave, mother," said Helle between gritted teeth, thinking bitterly of her round-figured nursemaid. "It's Elena who misbehaves."

"Now Helle, darling, lying does not become you."

"Elena tells tales about me, mother, and she steals plums from the kitchen," averred Helle, hoping her mother wouldn't see that she was lying through her teeth.

"Yes, well," sighed Ionna, adding a second thread to the plait. "I shall speak to her then. I only hope we don't have to dismiss her as we did with Sofia."

Unseen by her mother, Helle smiled wickedly to herself as she remembered her last maid, crying and begging on the doorstep as her father glowered sternly down, Sofia insisting desperately that she had never once touched the mistress' belongings. Helle had watched from the top window of the house, and had then turned away, admiring the rich shine of her mother's rings on her tiny ten year-old fingers.

"And Elena sometimes - "

"Helle, please. I will speak to her."

Helle lapsed into a sulky silence while her mother finished off the first plait with a pretty silken blue bow. It hung down against her back, the silver threads glimmering in the strengthening sunlight in the depths of her otherwise jet-black hair. Smiling in satisfaction, Ionna began on the second plait.

"Mother, when can I come into the village with you and Papa?"

"When you are older," said Ionna mechanically, in a voice that suggested she'd told Helle this many times before.

"But mama," whined Helle. "It's so boring, staying inside all day!"

"If you go outside too often, my dearest, your complexion will darken," explained Ionna. "Do you not want to be beautiful and pale like me?"

Of course Helle did; she loved the beautiful and rich ladies she met at her parents' parties, and always admired their powder-white skin. She, like all little girls her age, doted on the prettily pale princesses and heroines in all the storybooks. But she was getting so tired of playing in the nursery by herself. "I want to come with you today, mama."

"No, Helle," said Ionna in a firm voice that invited no argument. "Your father and I will return for lunch."

"And then can - "

"No."

Conceding defeat, Helle allowed her mother to finish off her hair and then slid off the velveted couch, brushing her skirt down and proudly touching the thick glossy plaits now hanging from her head. "Thank you, mama."

"Good girl," smiled Ionna, picking up the hairbrush and getting fluidly to her feet. She, tall and magnificently elegant, towered over her diminutive daughter, her equally glossy hair gathered into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Ionna had a rather heavy-jawed face, giving her a severe appearance that was not helped by her dark eyes. But she still smiled genuinely at her daughter, and waved a bejewelled hand. "Now go and play with Elena."

Nodding dutifully, Helle trotted out of the morning-room, only to stop and dash nimbly into a side door, nearly colliding with a bundle of brooms that were propped up inside. Muttering dubiously, she crouched by the cupboard door and watched carefully through the narrow crack as her mother glided into the corridor and then away towards the front door.

As silently as she could Helle slipped from the broom cupboard - first brushing herself free of any dust - and tiptoed after her mother. Towards the end of the corridor she peeped cautiously around the corner, and watched as a maid helped Ionna into a gauzy shawl by the front door.

Athanasios Anatolia, a tall, thin-faced man, was waiting impatiently ahead of his wife, tapping a polished cane against his expensive shoes. When Ionna was ready, he offered her his arm without so much as a glance and together the pair drifted away through the white front door, a second maid scurrying after them with a parasol.

"Helle, what are you doing?"

At the sound of Elena's curious voice, Helle jumped violently, tripping on the floor tiles and landing heavily on her knees. From this position she glowered meaningfully up at the slightly plump, fair-haired Elena, who was hovering uncertainly, hands twisting nervously in her apron.

"I was doing nothing," Helle muttered, getting to her feet.

"I was not doing anything," Elena corrected the girl, gently steering her up a set of stairs. "It sounds better."

"I don't care."

"Come now, let's look at your reading."

"Don't want to."

Elena sighed, and removed her hand from the difficult little child. "Your mother wants you to. Now come."

Grudgingly Helle allowed herself to be steered into the schoolroom, staring distrustfully around at the books adorning the walls. "I can't have lessons today, Elena. The governess is away."

"Nevertheless, you will read." Elena sat Helle firmly down in a chair and pushed a book into her hands. "I must clean the bathroom, so I'd like you to be quiet for me for a bit."

"Yes," said Helle, pretending to pick the book and start to read. Warily her eyes followed Elena as the nursemaid strode from the room. As soon as the schoolroom door banged shut, Helle tossed the book aside and leapt to her feet, her chair scraping noisily on the bare floor. After listening carefully for a minute or two, she smiled wickedly to herself and danced over to a second door, pushing it open to reveal the night nursery. It was windowless and the sunlight poured into it, suddenly illuminating the entire room, from its impeccably tidy bed to the crystal jug perched atop the chest-of-drawers. Quietly Helle padded over to it and tugged the top drawer opening, plunging her arm in among piles of heavy dark skirts and white chiffon to the bottom, where she found a small wooden box, square and shallow. After a moment's difficulty she extracted it from the clothes and flipped the lid up to reveal the twisted remains of several cheap cigarettes. Wincing in disgust from the smell, she skipped back into the schoolroom and headed straight for the only window.

Humming to herself, Helle struggled for a few moments and finally succeeded in pushing the window up, the sea breeze rushing in and stirring her hair. Cautiously she leaned out and emptied the contents of her box out, watching the burnt white stubs tumble to earth and landing in the dried-up flowerbeds below.

She shut the window, and went to return the box to its hiding place.

"Elena, I am disappointed," Athanasios said grimly, folding his arms. The woman wrung her hands and keened miserably. "I swear, sir, it wasn't me! I don't smoke!"

"No other staff uses the schoolroom," snapped Athanasios. "And the gardener tells me that's the only place he's been finding them! Do you take me for a fool?"

"No, of course not, sir, it's just - "

"Be quiet. I'm giving you one more chance."

Tearfully Elena nodded, and bowed. She knew that she was lucky. However frightening he might appear, Athanasios was fond of giving second chances. It gave him opportunity to torture his staff some more.

In the next door room, Helle smiled to herself from the sofa, where she was at last engrossed in her book. Next to her, Ionna quietly leafed through a newspaper, pretending to not hear Athanasios' voice get louder as he rebuked Elena further.

Distractedly Helle folded and unfolded a corner of the page, staring vacantly at the same line of text. "Mother."

"Yes, my dear."

"May I ask a question?"

"You may ask one further, yes," said Ionna, smiling slightly ironically.

"What does it mean for a man to have no head?"

Ionna's smile slipped slightly and she stared at her daughter. "I beg your pardon?"

"Is a man without a head terribly ill?"

"Darling, a man cannot live without his head," said Ionna, frowning in confusion. "Where did you see a man with no head?"

"I dreamed it last night, mama."

"And was he dead?"

"No, mama."

"Well, dearest, it was a dream, wasn't it? In reality, a man with no head is, well, dead," said Ionna, smiling once more. It was an insincere smile; behind it hid a flicker of worry.

"He did die, mama," explained Helle, turning several pages in her book. "Although not at first."

"Oh." Ionna was silent for a moment, brows creased with concern. "Well Helle, I think that headless men and death are terribly unsuitable subjects for a little girl. Why did you have this awful dream?"

"I don't know," admitted Helle.

"Did Elena read you a horrible story before bed?"

"No."

"I don't want to hear any more about headless men, all right?""But it wasn't just headless men, Mother," added Helle, lowering the book. "I saw much more. I saw a whole army of men, and they all fell and drowned in their own blood."

"That's enough, Helle," snapped Ionna, throwing the paper aside and advancing on her daughter. "You must not talk about such horrible things! Come, go to bed."

Bewildered, Helle stared up at her mother's angry face, and then leapt off the sofa. "Yes, mama."

Ionna watched her daughter disappear down the corridor, and her frown deepened.

Upstairs, Helle sat down on her bed with a creaking of springs and stared at the patch of dying light that was slowly creeping across the schoolroom floor. Irritated, she got up and slammed the bedroom door closed, cutting off the view of the empty and still schoolroom. Then she opened it again, frightened of the darkness she'd created.

At the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, Helle gave an involuntary squeak of panic and dived into bed, ensconcing herself between the newly-washed sheets. A moment later, and the door to the schoolroom creaked open. A wide shadow was cast across the barren floor, and Helle watched it nervously through her bedroom doorway.

Elena appeared suddenly, blocking out the evening light. Even in the purple shadows, Helle could see the maid's dishevelled hair and tearstained face. Taking a deep breath, Elena moved into the bedroom, and bent over the bed. Without a look at Helle, she lifted the duvet with trembling hands and tucked the little girl in, trying to ignore the glittering dark eyes that watched her every mood.

As Elena straightened up, Helle stirred. "Do you know what it means when a man has no head?"

"No, Helle, I do not."

Helle watched Elena carefully. "Then you're not very clever, Elena. Mother knew."

"You may think that, you wicked child," said Elena through clenched teeth. "But I know that it is you who constantly untidies the bathroom, and who steals food and blames me, and who fabricates lies about me smoking."

To Elena's intense disappointment, no look of horror crossed Helle's face. She merely shrugged and snuggled deeper into the covers. "Mother and Father won't believe you."

"You awful little girl!" cried Elena, spinning to face away from Helle and her shrewd gaze. Desperately she pressed her hands to her already damp eyes. "I may be dismissed because of you!"

"Then I'll get a new nurse."

"And what of me?" shrilled Elena. "I need money! I need a job!"

"You'll find another," said Helle dismissively. "Now go away. I want to sleep."

"Don't you feel any remorse at all for me?"

Helle paused, and then shook her head. "I don't think so."

"You are an guiltless child!" sobbed Elena. "You feel nothing for what you've done!"

"Go away."

After a moment of trying to find the appropriate words, Elena simply burst into tears and scurried from the room. Helle giggled and turned on her side, tucking one hand comfortably under her pillow. She yawned hugely as her eyelids grew heavy, and several minutes later was snoring gently, eyelids fluttering as she dreamed.

Several hours later, and Helle shot abruptly upwards, hair tousled and eyes wild in the dark. Gradually her panicked breathing slowed, and she slumped backwards against the pillow, one hand pressed to her eyes. Again she saw the pitiful woman loom out of the darkness, mouth stretched wide in a scream of anguish as she clutched her dying child to her breast.

Helle whimpered and dragged her pillow over her face, but the image remained. The woman shimmered, twisted, and mutated into Elena, crouching on the floor and sobbing into her apron. As Elena cried, a deep red stain began to creep across the landscape of Helle's dreams, slowly dying everything a brownish damask colour.

Elena collapsed before Helle's eyes, and she watched in repulsion as the woman's body began to twist grotesquely, and then shoot skywards. In awed horror, Helle tilted her vision upwards and watched the heavy grey object disappear into the black clouds.

The entire landscape was doused in red now, and pain-stooped shadows began creeping past, some dragging themselves by only their arms. Several simply ground to a halt and lay there helplessly, crying piteously to their unresponsive companions. Some began howling and pointing towards the crimson sky in terror, where weirdly indistinct shapes were rapidly gathering.

Somewhere in Helle's dream a pair of shining glasses loomed, glinting out from beneath the heavy shadows cast by an immense top hat. Dead and dying figures cascaded past behind the glass lenses, and they gradually began to fill with blood as a wine glass fills with red wine.

"You guiltless child!"

"I am sorry, Elena."

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do," replied Helle impatiently.

Someone clicked their tongue in amusement. "You are even pitiless in lies."

That was not Elena's voice,

"Sometime you will have to learn…" The blood was brimming over the glasses now, and red began trickling down in a cruel imitation of tears. "…Everyone feels remorse in some form or other."

"What business is that of yours?"

"It is entirely my business, my dear. Guilt is a massive burden."

In disgust Helle looked away from the pouring blood, only to rest her gaze upon a terribly desolate landscape spread out below her. The cliff under her feet was blackened from soot, and the land below was a strange purplish red. People wallowed helplessly in flaming pits, and some crawled brokenly across the rocky ground, smearing their own blood everywhere.

"…Is this Hell?"

Someone chuckled at that. "No. That's you."

Helle scowled slightly. "That joke is in very poor taste."

"Can you see what I see?"

Helle pointed at the distant ground. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

She bit her lip and watched a woman stagger to her feet, crying to the sky as the wind battered her burnt clothing and frail body relentlessly. As she lurched forwards, a man clasped her ankle, gesturing madly to his disembowelled stomach. Helle could hear his cries for help even from up here.

She closed her eyes. "I don't like it. Make it go away."

"Impetuous child. Why should it?"

"Because," she insisted, pressing her fingers into her shut eyes, and trying not to hear the increasing volume of the terrible screams from below.

"Noah has done some terrible things in his lifetime."

"I don't know who you're talking about."

"That's a shame." The voice began to recede. "You're going to have to bear the consequences of his actions, after all."

"What?" Helle opened her eyes and spun around, to be greeted with more black rock, and emptiness. "What are you talking about? Why should I?"

The voice continued, and she could hear the smile in it. "How would you feel, knowing that you had caused all the suffering you have witnessed?"

"But I didn't - "

"But imagine."

Helle hesitated. "…I would feel terrible."

"That's good," sighed the voice, and now she wasn't sure if it was there any more, or if it was simply the wind playing a cruel joke with her. "You're on the way to accepting responsibility. And with responsibility comes the guilt."

Helle awoke in a panic, sweat streaming off her frightened face, the eerie voice still ringing in her ears.