The faintest hint of a smile pulled at Smaya’s lips as Ghent struggled to respond.
	“No,” she answered in her airy, downtrodden voice, “I suspect you wouldn’t.” She opened her eyes, gaze still on the waterfall. “Just as I suspect you have not called on me merely to admire the scenery at my side.” About a hand’s width taller than Ghent, her eyes shifted downward to him, waiting with silent patience.
	Smaya gave a slow, graceful nod in welcome to Ghent’s thanks. Her expression remained its unreadable melancholy as he nervously continued with his newest request.
	She looked to him fully when he finished speaking. A short silence fell, broken only by the gentle rush of the waterfall. Her head cocked slightly, as if listening to its whispered counsel.
	“You are… [i]unusual,[/i] young Madrail,” Her words came slow and unhurried, giving no hint if Ghent's antics affected her. “I am aware of your plight. I will do what I can to provide you with swift travel from my forest. But I have a favor to ask of you in return.”
	She looked away from him and stepped to the waterfall’s pond. Her bare feet glided silently over the soft, damp earth, even the mud not daring to soil her clothes. Her dress shimmered in the light as she knelt before the rippling pool, momentarily revealing a pattern of vines wrapping around it. 
	“As I trust you know,” she began, the mournful woe in her voice taking on a deeper, darker heaviness, “an illness has befallen Wonderland’s physical realm.” She reached toward the water. Her draping sleeves brushed the ground as she placed the tip of one of her thin fingers to the wet surface.
	Color burst from her fingertip in a wave. Black veins streaking through a sickly shade of red replaced the moon’s monochromatic reflection on the pool, consuming the water from bank to bank.
	“The Crimson Curse.” For the first time, a tinge of revulsion mingled with her sorrow. But it vanished as quickly as it had come. “While its blight has not directly affected the Spiritayum or our magic, we are not entirely free of it.”
	The vivid colors faded, giving way to wispy shapes of lost, wandering soles. From toddlers in rags to the elderly in worn garments, they wandered aimlessly on the pond’s illusion, their faces void of emotion. Their wispy, translucent bodies twitched painfully as streaks of onyx and crimson zapped through them.
	“The Sorceress’ Curse has done more than what meets the eye.” She closed her eyes and dipped her head. “It has trapped the spirits of deceased Wonderlanders within your realm and the Betwixt. The Spiritayum will not allow their Curse-touched souls to pass its boarders to travel to the Beyond. To their true afterlife. Even in death, they suffer. Not even the Omitten have escaped this fate.”
	Smaya lifted her hand from the pool. The illusion faded, allowing the surface to again show off the pleasant glow of the moon and shifting stars between its ripples.
	“In turn, parts of the Spiritayum reliant on passing spirits have begun to fade and twist from disuse. Should they fade or warp completely, it will create a rift between realms. A hole where the two collide.” She stood slowly. “It’s a slow decay, but decay nonetheless. A decay that would bode ill for both your realm and the Spiritayum."
	She closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. “Forgive me for placing the burden of this knowledge upon your shoulders, young vinifcium. A burden I must further ask you to keep to yourself for the safety of both our realms, as well as ourselves.” She sighed, the sound so forlorn it could have spread its grief to even the hardest of hearts. “Not many would approve of one as youthful as yourself knowing our troubles. Our weak points.” 
	Smaya opened her eyes. “My request to you is simply this:” She turned to face Ghent, meeting his gaze. The eternal grief in her eyes turned her irises a couple shades darker, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. “Keep this—keep [i]us[/i] in mind as you embark on your quest. Remember that it is not only your living, but also your dead who will be freed once the Curse has lifted. That both your realm and mine are relying on Wonderland's Heir, your White Knight, and you.”