As much as Eiren would have liked to question Caelony the next morning about her abandoned hobbies - and the paintings that horrified the priest so - he saw naught but the ends of her hair the entire day, and that, but once. Coupled with insufficient sleep the night before, and a distrust of being downstairs at all, he attempted only one time to venture onto the grounds and explore the many gardens that Caelony and her father had constructed. The cold that greeted him was quick to remind that blankets were warm, and houses had fire, and he had immediately given up the idea of the outside for the day. He had even been denied the small rest he hoped to take, due to the shrill, abusive wind that whipped itself about the castle and waged war against his window.

The day was ill-suited for discovery, and much less for Eiren's peace of mind. He remained huddled under his blankets, shaking with cold, and jumping every time that disastrous tree rapped against his window. The day passed without much interruption from the weather. Around sunset - barely indistinguishable from the rest of the day - the priest had forced himself indoors, having been trapped inside his abbey since the early morning. Only when the wind abated could he make his way to the castle, lest he be blown rather fiercely away.

Eiren answered the call for dinner several hours later and found that only he and the grey priest had lent their presence to the dining hall. Conversation was scarce, as the heat of the meal and the desire to return quickly to their rooms kept them largely silent.

When the time came to lay himself to sleep, Eiren made sure to keep a lamp lit at his bedside. He doubted he should be able to fall asleep soon, but the light would provide much greater comfort than yesterday's darkness. Staring at the paintings on the wall, soothed by the large bed, and gently shushed by the swaying of leaves outside, he soon drifted off, only vaguely recalling that he hadn't expected to sleep at all.

A noise awoke Eiren at once. He noticed first that his lamp had burnt out and he was, once again, in a deep, smothering darkness. The wind was the next thing he perceived, or rather, the lack of it. It was strangely quiet, as though the entire world had paused to listen.

There, again! The sound pulsed and shook, pressed itself against the door. Eiren trembled and opened his mouth, silently taking in breaths. If he could remain silent, perhaps whatever it was would just go... The door creaked as something on the other side pressed against it. A single, drawn-out scratch echoed in the room, and the resolution to be quiet fled immediately from Eiren's mind. He released a gasping shriek, not so loud as to be heard beyond the hallway, but definitely shrill enough to be heard by whatever was waiting outside of his door. The noises paused. It's going to come inside any moment now, he thought despairingly, cursing himself for not covering his mouth.

Thinking quickly, Eiren ignored his body's desire to crawl under the bed and threw himself instead at the door. If whatever's out there decides to come in here, he thought, trying poorly not to panic, then I can run out when it breaks down that door. The wood seemed almost to bend - was the thing throwing itself at the door? In a moment, the wood splintered and broke free, sending the door flying inward.

Closing his eyes and screaming, Eiren ran out into the open doorway and fell down the hall. His feet couldn't seem to find any purchase, no solid ground to support himself. The scratching followed; it wasn't just on the door anymore - it was definitely following him, and the floor was ending too soon, or was that just the stairs? He didn't want to go downstairs, not where the thing first made itself known, so he turned and fled, passing what looked to be the piano room. Why was the door open, he wondered, and the scratching on the floor, why was that getting closer? Was the thing chasing him? What did it want with him?

Eiren's desperate shrieking ended rather abruptly when he collided straight into the astonishingly sturdy chest of Lord Van Wyk. His run from the thing that had disrupted his sleep had taken him further through the castle than he thought - he'd somehow run from his room on the East wing, to the now-open bedroom of Lord Van Wyk on the West, clear across the cold building.

He took a single, wavering breath as he looked into the surprised face of Lord Van Wyk before fainting dead to the floor.

Eiren awoke seven minutes later, looking up at a ceiling he did not recognize. He took in a lungful of much-needed air, only to gag at once as the thick, pungent odour of rot filled his mouth. He sat up and looked around, eyes watering at the intensity of the air. Lord Van Wyk, leaning against a bed nearly as big as Eiren's entire room, stared with a blank expression. No, blank was not it; he regarded Eiren with something closer to... however one might a specimen, or some strange animal that crawled in the door, dragging extra limbs along. He shivered and sniffed.

"What is the matter, Mr. Adair?" Lord Van Wyk pushed himself off of the bedframe he leaned against and approached Eiren, ignoring a flinch to press a cold, sculpted hand against his forehead. "I fear your midnight excursions have rendered you ill."

Eiren turned his head away and frowned, trying desperately to ignore the smell. It was thicker than the foggiest morning. It smells like a cave, he thought, before remembering why he was even in this room.

"Lord Van Wyk," he began, standing up and facing the severe-looking Lord. He was interrupted by a raised hand.

"I cannot say what it was you ran from, Mr. Adair." He smiled and turned to a dresser, revealing a series of letters, bundles of envelopes, and packets of pressed flowers. He combed through the piles of things until he revealed a small red book. He handed the book over to Eiren and resumed his place against the bed. The curtains that wrapped from the ceiling to the bottom of the posts rustled gently, and Eiren regarded them suspiciously as he accepted the red book.

"May I ask," he said hesitantly. The Lord bowed his head.

"Of course. It is one of those rare things that is what it appears to be."

"It's... just a book?"

"A notebook, Mr. Adair. I would recommend that you write of the things that send you running across the grounds so late at night." He inclined his head and waved a hand ahead at the door. "I trust that I need not explain its purposes further. I understand you are no stranger to writing; the benefits of a journal are endless."

Eiren felt at a loss for words.

"My Lord," he faltered, "are you quite sure you heard nothing, nothing at all?" He felt desperate; the priest heard nothing the night before, and the Lord Van Wyk was now giving him a notebook as an answer. I have notebooks plenty, he thought as the Lord merely gave him a smile and led him out of the room. Before he could question why Van Wyk was even awake at this hour, especially to send him so quickly on his way, he was alone once more in the hallway, armed quite uselessly with a half-lit lamp and an empty book.

His return trip lasted only a fraction of the time it took to arrive. The notebook was dropped to the floor several times, but Eiren solved this delay by kicking the book far enough down the turning halls so as not to slow him. Upon closing himself safely back in his room, he stared at the door for several hours, shaking the more he considered the injustice of being locked in this terrible castle. There's something dangerous lurking inside, he bristled, and not one person gives a damn! I could very well die here, but the second the notion pressed itself against the forefront of his thoughts, he felt panic settle around him. Clutching the lamp to his chest and trying rather poorly not to cry, he spent the rest of the night in sleepless terror. The smell of the bed in the West Wing seemed to seep in under the door and through the windows.

It was not until the morning that Eiren, at last, fell asleep, the lamp having gone out hours earlier.

The next week passed in much the same manner. The mystery of the person, beast, ghost, even? remained unsolved. Eiren felt that somehow, he was the only person capable of experiencing this terror. Burdened with many clerical and domestic affairs for the estate, Father Bele was often too tired to notice Eiren's growing discomfort, and Caelony was strangely cross when they happened to meet. She apologized before breakfast one morning, explaining that her birthday was approaching, and her father held demanding standards to her before such occasions. Unable to help her - "These are women's affairs, my love. You would be unable to aide me even if it was your strongest desire" - and thus distract himself from his nightly torments, Eiren found himself ready to forgive the Luttons for their abandonment of him. He wished every morning that he could be back in the arms of dear Lucy and Lila, basking in their youth and talents. The cold distance of Caelony, especially drawing closer to another decade of her life, made him far lonlier that he would have thought she could have made him.

One of the worst parts of his isolation, Eiren decided, was the red book Lord Van Wyk had given him. He pondered its purpose in every spare moment. Was it to be used? Was there something hidden in its pages, that perhaps he was not prepared to read? The book was hidden, after all, in the personal dresser of Lord Van Wyk. It had to have some importance beyond its pages - what good would there be in hiding it in the dresser if it was merely a book? He was unsure if he was looking too far into something so simple, but the lack of sleep or any real conversation turned him into something different, something fragile and desperate.

The horror of sleeplessness had driven all thoughts of Caelony's hobbies from his mind, but her approaching birthday provided a surprising source of distraction for him. It was the ceremony that reignited the interest he had, just a week prior, wanted deeply to explore, and it was brought back to his attention by none other than Caelony herself.