I awoke in a large bed completely covered in pure white linen. My head felt so odd. The past events felt so much like a dream if it weren't for this strange room I'd believe it was. But no I'm hear in this bed. In this realm.

Who was he? The man in the mask.

A knock come from the door quickly followed by someone entering. It was him again. He handed me a glass of water, I couldn't see anything behind his mask.
"Thank you." I said back weekly. My voice was still soft from underuse.
"Their's no need to thank me my dear." His voice was calming I could listen to it for hours. "Now tell me, what brings you here?" Something about his voice was unsettlingly familiar to me.
"I came here to find Philip Wittebane." I paused "please can you help me find him."

"I haven't heard that name for a long time." I couldn't see his face but I could tell he was smirking behind his mask.
"You know him?" My heart raced at the thought of already being so close.
"One could perhaps say that, yes." He stopped a moment "let's not get ahead of ourselves here, you don't even know my name." He removed his mask to reveal a weathered face that once might have been called handsome. His eyes reminded me so much of Philips that I found my self staring to weep.
"My name is Belos, Emperor of The Boiling Isles" he stoped and looked down at me, a frown crossed his face for a moment. "What's wrong my dear? With his gloved hand he reached up and began to wipe away my tears.
The metal of his glove was cold against my skin.

"It's your eyes, sir, they remind me so much of his." He pursed his lips together in thought. Many unreadable emotions flashed across his face before it again settled.
"I hope you find him again, for both your sakes." I nodded and wiped away the remnants of my tears. "I have something of his if you would like to see it." I again nodded at him.
"please, sir." He smiled softly at me. I could see a glint of something in his eyes.
"Very well, I'll show you." He walked towards the door and held out his arm.

"Are you well enough to walk?" I nodded and stood up, as I did my vision started to fade, I could feel myself loosing balance, but somehow he was there to catch me. It was like he knew it would happen. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, thank you. It just happens sometimes when I stand." He held his arm out for me to lean on and I took it.

He lead me down a hall and soon we entered a study. The walls of the room were lined with shelves holding what must have been hundreds of books. In the centre of the room stood a large wooden desk and behind it sat a grand leather chair.
He turned to one of the shelves, this one held what were clearly journals. As he pulled one out I recognised it eminently; it was Philips journal.

He held it firmly in his hand. It fit perfectly in his grasp, almost like he'd been reading through it for centuries. His brow was lined with thought as he stared down at the journal. Something flashed in his eye, something I can only describe as a wistful yearning; it was the kind of look that was only given by those who had lived and those who have lost. This man had clearly been both.

"It isn't much but I hope it will bring you some comfort." With that being said he placed the book in my hands. his touch lingered a little longer as if he was afraid to let go.
"Thank you." I hug the book to my chest tightly.

Slowly, I open the cover of the book; as I do a note falls out. I pick up the lose pice of paper. My eyes grow hot with unshead tears as I look at it. It's a portrait of me and the title reads 'my dearest love.'

I place the items on the table and just stair at them.
"Thank you." I say again, tears flowing freely now. I can feel his presents lurking behind me, and I know he's watching me with great interest. I turn and hug him, at first he just stands there, unmoving, until he gently wrapped his arms around me. I cried into his chest.
"What have I done, my Jannie?" He breathed to himself. I hug him tighter.

Jannie, he called me Jannie.