A loud rapping sounded at the door, and Eiren sat up at once. He had been dreaming, something with violent eyes and many teeth chasing him through endless corridors.

He looked around, confused. When had he come to bed? Sweat pooled around his head, and his shirt was soaked. He was... fully dressed?

Pulling his legs out of bed and wiping his neck, he wobbled to the door and pulled it open.

There was nobody in the hallway.

"What the hell..." He whipped his head from side to side, but there was nothing to see in the gloom. What knocked on the door? There was nothing resembling a door in his dreams, but there, he forgot what he saw in his sleep.

Ruffling his hair and yawning loudly, Eiren crossed back to his bed and shuffled under the pillows for his notebook, peering in the foggy moonlight at his maps.

Crude as they were, he could now see exactly where he was, and how far he needed to go to reach the lake. He had been roused from sleep - why not make the most of the interruption?

He left quietly and descended the stairs with his shoes in his hands. His toes curled in discomfort, the chill from outside creeping in and nearly icing over the steps. Oh, he moaned silently, it's only a few months into the season... Summer seemed so far away, and he had always taken the warmth and company for granted. Never again! As soon as I find my way out of this bricked-up coffin, I will take advantage of every smile and ray of sun that I come across!

Almost glad to have been jarred awake, he slipped his shoes on in the entryway and pushed open the door as silently as he could. The moon streamed around the black clouds, creating a swirling display of light and darkness. From where he stood, the steps were bathed in a shine of the milky white light, and he stood speechless for a long time.

The clouds eventually moved, erasing the beam and sending it elsewhere. That's the song, he thought breathlessly, as he began his trek towards the statues by the lake. That's exactly what I see when Caelony plays that song! He wondered how she had captured the image so well, and how often she was up so late that she could witness such a magnificent display. As he walked, the grass crunching under his shoes, his eyes followed the rays of light as they appeared here and there. The stark contrast of the darkness just beside was almost as terrifying.

He realized his path had varied, unconsciously hypnotized by the light. He spun around, but the clouds covered this area, and he could see nothing. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard something chattering, like a great many teeth, and his heart froze for several painful seconds.

"Why did I come out here?" He winced as the sound grew louder and resolved to bring something he could at least defend himself with next time. "What that hell was I thinking...?" There was no choice left - he would have to investigate the sound. If he was going to die anyway, best to do something about it, and not be taken by surprise.

He groped about in the dark until he secured the familiar texture of tough leaves. The hedges were the one thing he could rely on here. Whatever they were made of, they never stopped growing, even through the iciest part of autumn, and covered nearly all of the Estate. Come on, come on, you have to do this. Don't die cowering!

He pulled himself forward and stepped directly into one of the moving beams of light. Stunned, he blinked rapidly, his pupils shrinking in shock. This is it, isn't it? You've gone and thrown it all away, haven't you?

"Mr. Adair, darling, what are you doing out here at this time?" Eiren brought a hand to his brow and gasped. Sitting against an unlit lamp, his various tools and instruments strewn about the ground, was Severin Quilby. Eiren spluttered and stared, but inside, he felt an immense amount of relief - and embarrassment - that the beast of his dreams, or something equally vicious, was not waiting to consume him.

"M-Mr. Quilby, sir?" The sculptor laughed in an odd, low voice and looked up at Eiren. His glasses were twisted, hanging from one ear and slanted dramatically across his face. Sticking up in all manner of directions was his hair, which appeared to have been ruffled repeatedly. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, halfway wrenched open. Was he... drunk?

"Mm, no, little lord, I am not inebriated," he slurred, and he looked down at his feet. His legs were pulled up, and his hands lay limply on his knees. "My most wonderous medication causes these delightful symptoms of dizziness, you see, and it's quite... disorienting!" Eiren approached the sculptor quickly, who did not appear capable of standing, or much of anything, Eiren thought.

"Sir, why are you outside? You need to rest, somewhere other than the cold!" He propped the sculptor's back up with an arm and tried to drag him up, but as light as Severin was, Eiren was still unused to much physical labour, especially heaving around disabled men.

"Worry not!" Severin held a finger up and chuckled, his voice breaking at the end. The laugh turned into a cough, and he heaved away, until he spat out a mess of phlegm and blood. "The cold helps, Mr. Adair, indeed." Eiren stared, feeling something akin to sorrow for the foreigner. How miserable, to be trapped in somebody else's strange country, and forced into the cold with sickness!

"What have you taken ill with, that the remedy is so debilitating?" He removed his hand from Severin's back and stared with worry at the blood on the ground.

"Something native to my country, fret not." Severin waved a hand and smiled, exposing his unnatural teeth, stained red at the base."Unfortunately, I fear it shall soon eat away at me! I haven't much longer, you see..." He shifted and reached a trembling hand out for one of his hammers, but the effort cost him too much, and his thin hand fell down the ground.

"Are you dying, Mr. Quilby?" Grasping the hammer and gently handing it to the sculptor, Eiren looked, wide-eyed at Severin. Of course, now that he'd said it, death did not seem terribly surprising. From the moment they'd met, the sculptor had been coughing, and even a short walk to share the nymph-like statues had rendered the man unconscious.

"Please," Severin rasped, red spit popping in the corners of his mouth, "call me Severin!" Before Eiren could respond, the moonlight twisted away, and they were left once more in darkness.

They sat in the gloom for a few minutes, unmoving.

"I have to say, Mr. Adair, darling, I don't suspect I'll be sculpting anymore, not after these five are finished." Eiren could hear the sculptor shift and spit again, his lungs still pushing out shrill breaths. He sounded almost like the beast by his room, panting in the darkness.

"W-why not?"

"Oh, it takes quite a bit out of me, if I may be so bold as to say so. I am not what I once was..." In the darkness, he began to laugh, and the sound sent prickles up Eiren's back.

"I really think you should be inside, Mr. Quilby." Eiren swallowed uneasily and slowly stood, reaching for the hedges behind him. Frozen leaves jabbed at his fingers, but he held on.

"You're not very good at listening, are you, Eiren?" Another cough burst out of the darkness, lasting a good deal longer than the first. When he had finished, the sculptor was breathless, but still, he laughed. The sound was unsettling in the daylight, but here, it attacked all of Eiren's senses. His instincts urged him on, but he couldn't move just yet. If only that light came back, he silently begged, not daring to run away without direction.

"Where are you, Eiren? Come, let us talk together, until I am well enough to stand!" Something scraped and Eiren couldn't help but scream, ripping out a handful of leaves from the hedge as he jumped. He couldn't wait for the clouds to part anymore, and he turned around to flee. Rushing past branches and smacking his hand against various light posts, he ran until he could no longer hear that choking, spluttering laugh.

When he felt as though his eyes would burst, he stopped, his feet catching on the ground and sending him to his knees. As he kneeled there, his hands trembling on the ground, the image of the sculptor came back to his mind.

Why was he even out here? Eiren swallowed a mouthful of air and trembled. Whatever sickness the sculptor had, it went much further than physical. There was something wrong with him, deep in his mind, and it worried Eiren even more than Lord Van Wyk entertained and employed such an unstable person.

When he had shaken the image of blood and those terrible teeth from his mind, Eiren rose to a wobbling stand, his stomach clenching with every inhalation. He pulled the notebook from his shirt, dropping it several times before his hands could stay still.

If he had run in the direction he thought, he was somewhere near the pond and the nymphs. That's not so far, he sighed in relief, ready to do something productive before he crept back inside. As long as he stays there, I should be absolutely fine.

His trek to the East was uneventful, but still, the fear of everything Kelfordshire had to offer made him flinch at the slightest sound. The clouds had expanded and spread across the sky completely now, so the light that hid on the other side disguised the path ahead, and made every danger invisible. Eiren did not know how he wanted to die, but he knew he didn't want to expire tonight, especially not here.

It'll be the cold that kills me, I guarantee it, he thought bitterly, a shiver so violent running through him that he dropped the notebook again. When he stood up, he heard that whisper, the slithering sigh of the water.

He hadn't realized he was so close. It had to have moved, or perhaps, the sound carried further at night, when the hammering and shouting of life had died out. Eiren slowly stood straight and looked on in fearful awe.

The lake reflected the barest of light and swallowed it whole. It shivered there, in the emptiness, and seemed to call out to him. Waves, small and silent, pressed at the edge and strained, before slipping back into the rest of the gray body.

His feet moved against his will. Soon, he stood at the bank and wavered, so close to simply falling in. There was mysterious magic at work here, there had to be! Even the smell, the disgusting stench of Lord Van Wyk's room, could not drive him away. He despaired in his head - how was he to defend himself against this hypnosis? Vaguely, he could tell that his hands grew limp, and the notebook seemed to slide from his grasp in a time greatly slowed down. It bounced on the grass and fell flat, invisible in the night. As he slipped forward, he noticed something tall and powerful, right in the center of the lake.

The lake shivered in monstrous joy, and sent reflections of a hint of the moon across its surface, and the shape in the center was illuminated. No, no, it can't be! Eiren forced his mouth open and inhaled sharply, but his scream of horror was cut off abruptly by the water.

Unaware that Severin Quilby sculpted anything more than the Wives of Kelfordshire, the sight of Lord Van Wyk, etched in all of his terrible glory, was enough to wake Eiren from his paralysis. He flailed in the lake, gasping and screaming through the foul, metallic water, the Lord watching silently from his stand.