She had always been drawn to the Taengean coastline. Like a siren's song it called to her, beckoning her to bask in its ancient beauty. There were no palatis here, the beauty is this space was divine, a testament to the artistic eye of the Gods. Golden sand kissed cyan waters that seemed to stretch on for eternity beneath the sapphire sky.

In truth, though, she was here to flee. No, not a monster or a dragon, not some terrible creature of myth, but her own weakness. Once more she had dreamed of Evanthe, shaming herself and her dearest friend by conjuring images in her mind that one should reserve only for thoughts of one they intended to marry. The things they had done in that dream were reserved for a woman and her husband. She knew that Gianna disagreed, but that was her business. She would not tarnish Evanthe, nor herself, by giving into these desires that were certainly some test of her virtue. Hera, perhaps, muddling her mind to test its strength, so that Ophelia might prove that she would be loyal to any future spouse the Goddess might see fit to bring her; Aphrodite playing a game to amuse herself -- but if that was so, the game had lasted far too long. Eris, perhaps, meddling in her affairs in hopes that her life would come crashing down around her. Well, if that was so, she would not not give the Goddess her wish. She would prevail. Eventually, a good man would marry her and her feelings for Evanthe would dissipate like the morning mist. Until that time came, she could always retreat to a quiet place.

This was such a place, and such a wondrous place it was. She had brought along only two attendants, a guard named Theron and a handmaid named Aoide, though immediately upon entering the space, she bid them follow her no more. Sliding off her gilden sandals, she handed them to Aoide and in exchange held out her hand for the woven bag the girl was carrying. The handmaiden released it to her, and she reached inside to retrieve two wrapped pastries, placing one in the hand of the man and one in the hand of the woman.
"I pray you not follow me, but take your own courses while not leaving the beach," she said softly. "Keep me in your sights so that I may call to you."

The guard gave a nod, and soon she was gone, the warmth of the sand between her toes soothing her more with every step she took. Aoide had bound her glorious dark mane into a braided bun, and helped her into a chitton of palest blue. As she gazed around, contemplating where to seat herself, her eyes fell upon the last person she had ever expected to see. Never had she met the girl, yet she knew her instantly from depictions in art; this was Lady Imma of House Leventi, the girl they had been whispering about. She was soon to make her Court debut, and speculation was rife about what her talents might be and when she might catch a husband.

Ophelia had tried to tune it out, for the surname 'Leventi' made her stomach churn. Their family was notoriously beautiful, wealthy and fortunate. Eirini, their matriarch, ruled the Court with ease, yet she had no right to the position. She had been in her former days a tavern wench, and though Ophelia had great respect for the fact that the woman had elevated her station, she felt that Eirini ought to be grateful for that position, not consider it her right as she seemed to. She sincerely hoped that one day the Gods would see fit to humble that woman. This girl, however, seemed to project an aura of innocence. She did not know what she had been expecting from Imma Leventi, but it was not to have found her here, her beautiful face scrunched in thought as she hunched diligently over a castle of sand. Some deep instinct told Ophelia that Imma was as far from Eirini in demeanour as they came.

She could not recall making the decision to approach the girl. Her legs had apparently developed a mind of their own, for she found that they were carrying her forward, towards the girl she ought to walk away from. And then, before she knew it, she was standing before her, her lips curving upwards into the slightest of smiles.

"That does not look like a Grecian palati," she observed. Curiosity overtaking her, she bent down to get a better look at the Castle. "No, it looks more like the Castles that the bards speak of. Are you much interested in stories then, Lady Imma?" she glanced at the girl, surprised by the gentleness in her own voice. This girl ought to be a rival, but a small voice in the back of her head whispered how nonsensical that sounded. Lady Imma was only thirteen. Beautiful, yes, but surely not ready for marriage. It was then that she noticed the Lady was also unattended; much like herself, Imma had chosen to leave her attendants at a distance. She let out a light laugh, knowing not why this amused her, simply that it did. "It seems we have both opted for privacy, do forgive me for intruding upon yours. I am Lady Ophelia," deliberately, she left out the 'of Condos,' part. Looking into those big eyes, she could not bring herself to strike fear into them, which she suspected her surname might do. Still, there was no getting around the simple fact that the first name alone might be known to the girl. "Would you prefer I left you to your building? It looks like your project is coming along quite well."