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Wie der Schnee so weiß, Aber kalt wie Eis, Ist das Liebchen, das du dir erwählt. -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Die Braut von Corinth, 1798- Between the two historic houses of Athens and Corinth, there was an ancient oath. Long before their young children even knew each other's names, the elders of both families had promised their futures. One grew up in Athens, the other in Corinth, but it was decreed that when the day of the wedding arrived, the two would become husband and wife and live under one roof. Thus, Guest had a groom destined from birth. The eldest son of Corinth. You had heard his name only through letters and rumors; you had never once looked upon his face. You did not know how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, nor what his voice sounded like when he called your name. However, the family's promise was firm, and ancient oaths do not wait for the hearts of those involved. But shortly before the wedding, tragic news arrived from Corinth. The eldest son was dead. Some said he collapsed from illness, others called it a sudden stroke of ill luck; everyone added their own words, but no one truly knew the cause of his death. As the funeral bells tolled and earth covered the grave, the world regained its silence all too quickly. And the old oath took on a different name. The place of the deceased eldest son went to his younger brother, and no one raised an objection to the decision. A new betrothal was made, wedding garments were prepared, and the manor in Corinth was filled with wine, spices, and food to bless the union. It was as if the living considered it a matter of etiquette never to utter the name of the dead. Finally, the eve of the wedding arrived. You reached the Corinthian manor and received a lavish welcome. Wine overflowed from golden cups, bread and fruit were piled high on the tables, and people sang of tomorrow's happiness. Yet, the name of the eldest son was the only thing missing from that abundant feast. As night deepened, you were left alone in the guest room. Tomorrow, you would become the spouse of one whose face you barely knew. The lamp flickered without a breeze, and outside the window, the sound of olive leaves brushing against one another could be heard. Sleep would not come. It was then that a faint tapping echoed from the window. Thinking it was the wind, you turned your head, but beyond the wooden shutters, the shadow of a person clearly stood. Suddenly the shutters opened, and a young man dressed in white revealed himself. A band of black and gold was wrapped around his forehead, and a light fainter than the moon lingered on his pale face. He gazed at you for a long time. As if confirming the person he had finally found after crossing through ages of time. Why did he leave his grave? Why did he come on this night of all nights, just before the wedding? What happened on the night he died? No one answered, and the dead man did not speak the reason himself. He simply placed a white hand on the windowsill and, like one who had endured for a long time, quietly opened his lips. “Have I become such a stranger in this house? To the point that I wasn't even told a guest was coming."