The blond hair dissolves in the wind like golden dust, the red eyes no longer observe her gently.
She hears a pleased, low, poisonous laugh in the background.
Jericho steps back, while the wonderful castle with pink stones, home to her and the tailor-made Lancelot by Arthur's chaotic magic, suddenly appears raw, sharp, rough.
"You seem to be very inventive, aren't you, Jericho?"
The unwelcome face of King Arthur appeared to her instead of her beloved adult Lancelot's.
"What can I do for you, Your Highness?" the lavender-haired woman answers him, bowing ceremoniously but without preventing a gasp of annoyance from tainting her voice.
"I'm sorry to have interrupted your moment of idyll... But I must say that your reasons for being here, at my service, are rather chaotic too... You have abandoned everything, your honor, your friends, even the real Lancelot … For an unhealthy passion that exists solely in your head. If this isn't chaos..."
Arthur's eyes flicker wickedly with a quick blackish glimmer.
Jericho lowers her head, and the orange-haired king lifts her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.
"Why did you fall in love with Lancelot? Is it revenge for not being able to rival the fairy? Do you see the silver fox in him?"
Jericho immediately looks away.
"I don't know. There is no valid reason, I should only feel the affection of an older sister for him, but that's not the case and I feel disgusted about it."
"And you thought that by inventing an adult Lancelot you would clear your conscience?" Arthur urges, fiercely.
Jericho takes the hit, it's like a punch in the stomach.
"He loves me."
She cries. Her tears wet the stones of the floor.
"He loves you because that's what he was invented for. He's a puppet, just a simple wave of my hand and he would disappear, or he would stop loving you."
Arthur uses the words "loving you" very unceremoniously.
"NO PLEASE! DON'T TAKE LANCELOT'S LOVE AWAY FROM ME!"
The violet eyes of a predatory feline scrutinize the bowed woman with disapproval.
"If Ban hadn't been so stupid as to choose that silly winged creature over you, by now you and him would be happy together… I don't understand why you decided to pursue a relationship with that arrogant hybrid… Humans must stay with humans, Jericho… The other creatures despise us, they would like to subjugate us. However, we are more numerous, and we must never lose sight of this advantage. You know what I mean? Human beings must not dilute their precious blood with impure marriages."
Now the gaze of the ruler of Camelot has softened, with a fake sweetness, steeped in arrogance.
Jericho watches him, without replying.
"Keep your fake Lancelot. You are a very good soldier, I can even forgive you a little guilty pleasure. But beware, Jericho… It won't last forever. The sooner you forget about the hybrid, the better will be for you."
In a breath, the king disappears beyond the castle door and the tender figure of the adult Lancelot reappears to offer his hand to his "beloved".
"Jericho, what are you doing on the pavement? Are you feeling sick?"
The woman would like to lose herself in those ruby eyes, but it's as if the enchantment had been broken, that enchantment that has kept her suspended from the harsh reality, that is, that the real Lancelot is not within her reach and would never think of her in that sense, not in a million years.
"No, it's nothing. Go to rest. It's getting dark."
The man obeys her, without saying a word, his steps almost make no noise, it is as if Jericho was speaking with a projection of her desires.
She looks into the bedroom, sees the blond hair of her ideal Lancelot.
He is there, his weight deforms the mattress, shakes the covers, casts a shadow on the wall.
But at the same time, without Arthur's magic, that mattress would be smooth, those blankets without a wrinkle, that wall pristine.
And she would be there, lighting the candles in solitude, waiting for the evening.