Flailing and kicking his legs in the water, Eiren feared he would drown in the foul-smelling lake. As he gasped for panicked air, he swallowed and inhaled mouthful after mouthful of rusty, coppery water.

Eiren had never learned how to swim, so it came as a shocking surprise when he managed to kick and splutter his way to the statue in the center of the lake. A foot smashed into the center of it, and then his wrist caught painfully on the boot of Lord Van Wyk. This was a wonderous boot, though, for it allowed him to hold on to something, and at last pull himself free.

Having been settled on the statue, he wrapped his frail, shaking frame around the legs and looked back at the monstrous waves, chopping in anger from his panicked movements.

The sight overwhelmed him. He leaned over and heaved, sending bouts of recently consumed cookies into the darkness. When his throat was coated in bile and his tongue no longer tasted like freshly torn dirt, he sat back and cried.

All he wanted was to be rid of the Castle! None of his experiences had improved him, and he had only deteriorated since his arrival. As he sobbed into his arms, curled in a helpless lump at the foot of the statue, he regretted most keenly ever leaving Perrinton. At least they pretended to enjoy my company, he wailed. Everybody here seeks to ruin me in some fashion!

The shifting of the clouds proved a necessary reprieve from his agonies. Moonlight poured once more over him, showering his entire self in glorious, silver light. He gasped at the sight, and his tears caught in his throat. Was this a heavenly sign? Had the Golden one finally taken pity on him?

He snorted and sniffled, before turning around to look at the statue. Of course He hadn't, he thought bitterly, hiccups interrupting the silence of the night. It's only the moon, and you're just an idiot for standing so close to the water in the darkness!

Still, he was grateful for the light. As terrifying as the Lord was, illuminated in the pearly light, his stone figure was far more horrible without. Eiren wiped his nose against his sleeve, spreading the tears around with his sopping sleeve. The cold had already bitten straight through, and he considered removing his clothes - his shirt and trousers were completely useless, drenched in the water.

Lord Van Wyk stood, his stance spread powerfully, and his arms at his side. He wore a cape of sorts, or perhaps just a noble coat, and it was crafted in such a way as to resemble being in the wind. Even his hair blew back, and lent the imagery of him bracing through a wild storm. His expression, Eiren noted with another ill-recommended swallow, was impetuous, haughty. A frown creased his strong brow, and reminded Eiren of his folly in waking the Lord in his chambers.

Was this, then, a bed for the Lord? Did he collect filth and death in both his bed and this disgusting lake? The smell the two shared was uncanny - Eiren had never before encountered such a recognizably vile scent, yet, the Estate held two sources for this!

Eiren stood and held back a disgusted shudder from his stomach. He needed the rest of his strength to trek to his rooms - vomiting again would surely kill him, if he was unable to move from the cold. As he wavered against the statue, his gaze fell down at his feet, and he nearly fell back into the water. There was a door!

It was a small door, to be sure, and looked barely wide enough for someone as skinny as the sculptor, but he was still wildly curious. Was this the entrance to the tunnel he had noted in his maps? He dropped to his knees and clawed at the small doors, digging his nails into the rusted handles. After pulling and tugging for nearly a minute, he finally succeeded in prising it open, several fingernails splitting down the middle as he did so.

He jammed his head into the darkness, gasping in an unhealthy amount of rot when he saw, just barely illuminated by the light, a ladder and a pit, straight into the center of the lake. He jerked his head out and contemplated.

This tunnel simply had to lead somewhere. Every source in the library was never certain where - any map that acknowledged its presence somehow smudged, or erased the end location. This was, Eiren thought with a squishing skip of his heart, not ideal, and quite dangerous, if he indeed descended and never found the way out. What if the tunnel somehow connected him to the Lord's chambers? He calmed himself down with a nervous chuckle. The Lord's room was high up on the second story of the Castle, and had to be the absolute farthest room from his current location. To build a tunnel from the center of a lake and somehow up a tall, massive structure was... impossible!

His laugh echoed back, splitting and bouncing in a most peculiar way. The water surrounding the tunnel both seemed to mute sound, and amplify it. Well, there's no choice, really. If I don't discover where it goes, I'm absolutely going to die here, and if I do, it can't make my situation any worse. He shivered again and looked back at the moon. It stared back, silent and heavy in the sky. Will this be the last time I see light?

He closed his eyes and thought of Caelony, how she was before they first parted. Despite her being nearly an adult, and he no more than a child, she had treated him kindly, and convinced him he was in love. They were going to be married, and nothing gave him more pleasure than the thought of making her his wife. He opened his eyes and felt more tears pool and break free, running in icy tracks down his cheeks.

"Farewell, my love," he whispered to her memory, and he stepped down into the tunnel.

Eiren flinched at the sound of the cabinets and turned a pitiful eye to the cook.

"Apologies, Sir!" The cook creased his brow and fluttered around the kitchen, his hair unable to keep hidden under his hat. Eiren sniffed and hunched over his tea.

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

"The Lord's been away, Sir, and he expects a substantial meal on his return! It is," the cook added, casting a frightful glance at Eiren, "Mr. Quilby's last day as well, Sir, so this must be a well-prepared meal."

"Stop calling me Sir," Eiren said wearily, jumping as a pot came crashing down on the stove. "Is it really his last day?"

"It is... Mr. Adair." The cook whimpered as a small fire broke out under the pot, and he beat at it with a towel until it disappeared, leaving a small grey trail behind. "He sculpts outside every day, then finishes his statues, and then he eats his farewells."

"Hmph." Eiren stared at the cook for another minute and then out at the rest of the dining room. He was sitting at a small table, jammed between the two rooms, trying as hard as he could to absorb some of the heat of the kitchen. Since returning last night, he had been unable to get warm at all - the cold stuck to him like his clothes had. He should have crawled into a hot bath, and surrounded himself with candles when he returned, but, too nervous to wake anybody up, he had settled for a dark journey upstairs and a cold, quick rinse.

Last night had been one of the worst nights of his life. After crawling into that foul, dark tunnel, he wandered for what felt like weeks, groping about the darkness for anything at all. Though nothing seemed to live in the gloom, the sound of the lake pressed strangely against the walls, and sent thudding echoes around. Growing too weak to move, he made the decision to turn back. When he regained some strength, he decided, he would return.

He hadn't slept at all, of course. The sculptor leered at him when he closed his eyes, and the dog scraped his nails endlessly against the windows. Every groan of the house reminded Eiren of the lake, and its ever-hungry waves, and he knew that sleep was impossible. Shortly before sunrise, rain had begun to fall in earnest against the Castle, and each drop that thundered against his window or on the roof sounded like the chattering of Severin Quilby's unnatural teeth.

The cook had taken pity, but was unable to do much more than provide Eiren with a kettle of tea and a coat. The coat was frayed and clearly belonged to the cook himself, but it was large and warm, and Eiren greatly appreciated its honest, normal smell.

He sighed and slid further against the table. He knew he was going back tonight, but hadn't found himself capable of eating anything. Food made him nauseous, and he didn't want to throw it all up again when he reached those foul waves.

Unfortunately, he would have to leave anyway, despite his compromised stories of energy, for Eiren had come to the conclusion that he was most assuredly going to die today.

Going over every detail that he'd scrawled in his notebook, it became quite apparent that the relationship between the Wives, the Lord, and Severin Quilby was deeply rooted in death. Whether from love, religious dedication, or an unacceptable character, each of the Ladies of Kelfordshire had died, and each had their share of statues, realistic tombstones erected on the Estate by Severin Quilby.

The first wife was much loved, and her death - Eiren could not determine if it was a planned death, or merely an unfortunate passing - was commemorated by beauty. Everything around her statues was rooted in nature and peace, from the serene pond, to the still-blooming flowers that floated gently on her nymph-like rendition.

The second wife was devout, there was no question of this, but her tombstones were plain and severe. She most resembled the extreme heights of this horrible religion that Eiren read of. It would not have surprised him at all if he discovered that she herself offered to die.

The third and final wife of Lord Van Wyk was clearly killed in a state of rage. Whatever she had done to deserve her tragic fate remained a mystery, but of all of the horrifying things Eiren had seen painted and created around the Estate, Severin Quilby's creations were by far the most vile. There was no logical reason, Eiren concluded, for the very best friend of a man to sculpt his wife in so unappealing a manner, unless the husband found it acceptable to craft her so. Eiren need only recall the twisted look of fear on the face of Caelony's mother, and he was reassured in his decision to quit Kelfordshire.

After all, he was never anything close to a model guest, and had never done anything to prove to Lord Van Wyk that he would make an ideal, obedient son-in-law. His past shamed him, but it was far too late to change the Lord's mind. Eiren knew he was going to die.

It was with this grave countenance that he observed the dining room, watching in detached interest as the priest and the gardener scuttled by, arguing about tracks and prints left by the dog. Caelony had drifted in for breakfast, smiling to herself, though Eiren didn't know if she smiled for the upcoming departure of the sculptor, or because she had finished entertaining a visit with her mysterious lover.

It was almost dark, now, and she had stalked back into the dining room for supper.

He watched with a pained expression as she walked into the kitchens, sparing him an angry look before harassing the cook. She reemerged with a plate of chicken and a glass of wine, before settling at the table. Her cup had barely been touched before she looked up at Eiren and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you looking at?"

"I'm so sorry," he said suddenly, and she wavered in his vision.

"A-are you crying?" She stood up and stood before him, a rare concern on her round face. "What are you crying for?" Without warning, he too stood, and grasped her by the shoulders, pulling her into an embrace.

"I left you before, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am for it," he said shakily, his voice breaking as more tears leaked from his eyes. She struggled in his grip, and pushed him away, her eyes darting between his.

"What are you talking about?" She could hear his words, but the emotional distress changed his meaning. "Eiren, stop that at once, and tell me what's wrong!" He stepped back and smiled sadly, before reaching his hands up to her face. Before she could move away, he pressed his lips very lightly to hers and kissed her.

She did not move.

"I have to leave you again," he whispered against her mouth, and he looked into her golden eyes. Tears had begun to form in them, and it pained him that even now, despite his intentions, he was still causing her pain. "That is what is wrong. I cannot keep you happy, and I cannot live here any longer." He stepped back and removed the cook's coat, dropping it on the table.

"Goodbye, Caelony," he said softly, and he turned to leave the room.

"Wait! Eiren, come back!" He could hear her cry, but he ignored it and walked quickly out and into the main hall. "Eiren Adair, come back here!"

He pushed open the front door and stepped outside into the evening, another tear falling as he heard Caelony cry out. He could hear the priest now, roused from somewhere inside by Caelony, but he already said goodbye. It was time to quit the Estate now, and hope that the tunnel in the lake led him somewhere other than this hell.