Helen secretly retraced her steps in the light of a moon diffused. Her wedding was fast approaching, and with it the threat of impending war. She felt a shift in the nocturnal air, wondering whether war had already shown its shiny claws. She almost imagined Tyndareus’ pleading voice, which was quickly joined by Menelaus’ voice. These voices became but mild protestations in the now storm-like burst of wind. She wanted her unquiet inner world to subside and revel in the unbridled joy of the coming day. Helen now hears nothing but utter silence seeping into her dimmed senses, feeling a black thunder usurping her unseen presence. Memories seem to her as becoming manifest to her, floating aimlessly in the blackness. They appear to her as being helplessly adrift in the murky sea that entwines the upper and lower horizon. Helen moves in the darkness. Her wedding day feels distant now.