With a curious yet reserved eye, Sabrina took in her surroundings.

Before being called away by her butler Xavier, Celeste had promised her a “grand tour” of the magnificent yet eclectic dwelling that was Maison Blanche. As inquisitive as she was impatient, Sabrina, naturally, had set about exploring the mammoth manor on her own. What she discovered surprised her. From the music room which housed not only her mother’s collection of sheet music, but an incredibly diverse assembly of recordings, arranged not by name, but by genre; to the array of plush chaise lounges arranged at various locations in the mansion’s solarium, as if to provide an area for the room’s mistress to drape her form upon at any given moment should the urge to do so strike her. It was evident while replete with the requisite elegant furnishings, works of art, and untold antiques as befitted a mansion, the estate no doubt reflected touches of her mother’s personality.

A small part of the normally fearless young woman wondered if she could withstand any further glimpses into her estranged mother’s predilections; for they reflected a temperament that was far too reminiscent of her own. The little she had already beheld of her mother’s home was serving to rock what was already a somewhat unsteady foundation she teetered upon. If Sabrina had any doubt whether it was so, the room she soon found herself occupying confirmed it.

With each slow, almost painstaking step she took her hands likewise lingered upon the spine of book after book; many leather-bound, an impressive amount of them first editions. Despite her promise to keep her emotions in check, to remain focused, Sabrina instead gave in to the pull to surrender herself to what was always her intrinsic response whenever she found herself in a magnificent library. True, her mother’s reading room did not match either the scope of opulence of the Cassadine libraries (neither the ones at Wyndemere nor those of the ancestral home in Greece); but as was such with those sanctuaries it did exude the sense of both comfort and strength Sabrina always associated with the rooms.

Eyes closed, a serene smile etched upon her face, she allowed her head to fall back and dark tresses cascading past her shoulders, almost tickling the small of her back, she inhaled the almost musty-sweet scent of the tomes surrounding her. If she allowed the memory to linger long enough, she was once again a little girl among the throng of books in the ancestral home’s library in Greece; she was around four years of age, no more than five. Definitely not past her fifth year of childhood; that was when her world changed forever...

From the just inside the doorway, Celeste watched the moment unfold as if an exquisite ballet; lyrically beautiful move after move executed until a too-sharp turn resulted in a painful misstep. She knew the exact moment when the shift occurred for her child; saw the fluttering across her face of a flash of a pain she had—after all these years—still not learned how to process. The agony was almost immediately replaced by an almost detached acceptance it seemed as she watched the beautiful, unrevealing mask fall into place. Celeste recognized the act and knew instantly among whom her eldest had honed the art of masking her emotions.

The Cassadines.

It was a talent Celeste was all too-familiar with, as she was every bit the master of the form as was her love, Viktor; many were the times the two had waged battle over either’s refusal to, if only for a moment, allow transparency to exist between them—and not have the act wielded as a weapon. Sabrina had no doubt, Celeste was certain, borne witness to her father’s ability to disguise his emotions; but the tawny beauty knew to her core that her first-born’s mastery of the skill was courtesy of the man she for better or worse had positioned as a guiding force in Sabrina’s life—Stefan.

Refusing to allow her thoughts to dwell among the tangled, thorny memories of the past, of life among a family whose progeny had given her both moments of great agony and joy, Celeste instead drew strength from her present joy; a moment she quite honestly had not expected to experience any time soon. Her eldest child, of her own volition, in her home.

“There you are! I thought,” Celeste drawled as she crossed the library’s threshold, “we might take our tea in here.” Her languorous delivery of the line had been deliberate, an attempt to give her proud child enough time compose herself; to once again resurrect that 3” thick glass she seemed determined to keep between them at most times.

“That’s…that’s great,” Sabrina nodded as she turned to face Celeste. Mask firmly in place, she took a seat in the nearby high-back leather chair as directed.

“Sorry, I took so long.” With a grace so effortless one would swear it had to have been practiced religiously to perfect, she set the tray on the low table, settling her slim form on the nearby settee.

“Is…is everything okay?” Sabrina asked as she accepted the steaming cup of comfort.

“Yes, yes, cher.” A dismissive wave of Celeste’s free hand indicated the matter that required her attention earlier was of no great importance. “Go on, drink your tea.”

Sabrina took a small sip. Moments later her eyes widened as she proclaimed, “Peppermint!”

“It was your favorite…” Celeste began softly.

“When I was little,” Sabrina finished, averting her surprisingly shy gaze from that of her mother. “You…remembered?” Sabrina could not prevent the wonder that laced the query if her very life had depended upon it. Immediately, her lovely features flushed with shame as she realized how careless her comment was. “That did not come across the way it was meant to. What I meant was… I mean, I know you would remember. I just…”

“No need to apologize, cher,” Celeste responded, a loving smile adorning her features. “I understand. Trust me, I do.” A lifetime of masking pain where loving a Cassadine was concerned concealed the damage the blow, unintentional though it was, had inflicted.

If Celeste’s gracious words were designed to comfort her daughter, they were having the complete opposite effect. Her sincerity was evident yet Sabrina could not bring herself to accept it—her guilt refused to let her. Sabrina fell silent, her attention suddenly drawn to the amber liquid at the bottom of the fine china cup she held. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply; something akin to a panic attack seemed to be swelling within. It was as if a flood of emotion was struggling to burst forth; the harder she tried to quell it, the stronger it became.

“When I went to look for you,” Celeste’s soothing voice broke the silence, “the first place I checked was the Conservatory. You always loved the sun.” Her voice was distant, as if recalling a memory from long ago, yet the warmth was still evident. “When you were not there, I went to my music room next. When that room was empty,” she gave a soft laugh, “I realized then that I should have set out for my original destination. Your favorite place when you were a child.”

“The library,” Sabrina replied shakily.

“Yes. You have always loved books, since you were old enough to hold one in your little hands.” Celeste reached forth and placed her hand atop Sabrina’s, effectively stilling the ever so slight tremble that threatened to send the fine dishware’s contents spilling forth. “And I always loved that you did. I knew because of that thirst, that curiosity, your mind would stay sharp; you would never be able to be discounted as just a “pretty little thing.” I wanted to make sure you knew how important words were; that words were knowledge—”

“And knowledge makes you strong,” Sabrina finished.

“That’s right,” Celeste beamed. Her heart swelled so at that moment she felt it surely would burst. “Do you remember what I used to read to you when you were little?”

“Yes” Sabrina nodded, “The Odyssey. It is still my favorite book to this day,” she whispered, her eyes glistening.

“Shh…shh, Sabrina. Do not cry,” Celeste soothed. “Talk to me, cher,” she implored. “Tell me what is the matter.”

Smoothing away the tears, Celeste could feel the fissures begin to form in her own heart. Her daughter was hurting and it seemed there was not a damn thing she could do! As she swept a thumb across her child’s cheek, Celeste realized Sabrina’s current state went deeper than their issues as mother and daughter. She knew what that reaction felt like; especially when Sabrina was in pain. Or angry. Whichever emotion ruled at the time, it wafted off her child in waves when she was consumed by it.

No, this was a pain of a different sort.

As she beheld the turmoil behind her daughter’s gaze, realization began to dawn; when its full comprehension washed over her Celeste’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that look. All too well. What she saw was not a conflict between parent and child.

This was an issue between lovers.