The room smelled... peculiar. On one hand, Eiren could smell the flowery scent of leaves and pollen, but he also found the decaying scent of roses and such almost overwhelming. Coupled with the imagery of the jars scattered about the tables, and the heavy dust that filled all of the available air, it appeared to Eiren that this room hadn't even been opened in several years.

Strange, he thought, dragging a fingertip across the surface of a jar, I thought she undertook painting only... recently. He looked up at the walls and found that the paintings had a sort of dated style, like that which a monk or a nun might undertake. Perhaps these aren't Caelony's after all. Maybe someone older put them up, and she found they inspired her in some way.

Eiren found that, although Caelony had wounded him more deeply than anyone had before - making Lorian's actions at the end of summer seem like a petty joke - he still cared enough to learn more of her past. He wasn't sure where this concern came from, and he didn't like to consider it. It could have been fate, or simply her charms, and somehow the effect of seeing the truth had failed to fully unattach his feelings from her. If either of these was so, it would have ripped him asunder, so he chose not to contemplate too severely why what Caelony did and what Caelony was like interested him so. Perhaps it was boredom! It's not like there's anything else to really concern myself with, he thought with a grumble, before picking up a jar and peering inside the thin glass.

Clearly stuffed and positioned by the same artist who had posed the mouse, the rabbit within the jar was fitted with an extra head and two additional tails. Half disgusted, Eiren leaned forward and stared in shock at the critter's malformed body. It was looking up, its rather normal looking hands clutching a very tiny daisy.

Moving down the table, he next saw a squirrel with an even six tails, and then a pert little raven with three legs and three wings. I wasn't aware that taxidermy involved mutilating things! He backed up from the table with a foul look on his face. Not sure if he wanted to be in this forgotten room anymore, he forced himself to look about for something other than a stuffed corpse, although that was a rather difficult task, as this room looked to be an above-ground cemetery for the poor creatures.

He focused his attention instead on the paintings, particularly the ones decorating the area around the window. Well, not decorating, he thought with a critical eye. More like... messily jammed together on any sort of free space. Sighing at the sight, he stared at a smoky picture of a city, beautiful and elegant in its nighttime setting. The buildings didn't look altogether familiar - was this somewhere within the vast country, or was this a product of imagination? Affixed above the picture was a portrait. The same figure in the painting was nailed to the wall on several other canvases, but Eiren couldn't count exactly how many. There were far too many to be sure - whoever the likeness belonged to, they were either an exceptional narcissist, or had a very devoted admirer.

The figure was a woman, something Eiren noted was popular throughout the house, despite the lack of females running about the castle. Caelony aside, Eiren wasn't even sure another one had lived at Kelfordshire for quite some time. She had messy blonde hair, scattered wildly about her face, and wide eyes. Were all the women attached to this estate so horrified and helpless? Reaching out and pulling down a picture about the size of his hand, he gazed closely at the lady for a moment, before gasping aloud.

This was Caelony's mother! It made sense, then, that there would be so many, especially in this room of her so-called passions. Eiren was quite sure that Caelony had never known her mother - childbirth had killed her, as quickly as illness had killed his own. Almost regretting that his mother hadn't caught her sickness sooner, so that his inevitable marriage would never have to take place, he looked with interest at the figure.

Blonde hair never remained in the bloodline of the Van Wyk's, as his initial tour of the family portraits had shown him. Caelony barely resembles her, he thought with almost a laugh. All of her obsessing, and not one bit carried over! Their eyes were different colours; their shape was all wrong from one to the next; their hair was not only vastly different in terms of colour, but texture as well. Where the late Lady had thin, high cheeks, Caelony's face took on a noble roundness, smoothing into a pleasing oval shape. It occurred to Eiren how very childish her feud against her father was - she was indeed his daughter, undeniably so. Aside from the shared expressions the two often wore, Eiren would not have believed them related, at least not in these particular paintings.

A bird outside of the window squawked and broke the silence, the salience of noise sending Eiren back with a yelp. The painting slipped from his hand and bounced on a table, throwing a jar to the floor with a shatter and eventually clattering on the ground.

He stared in disbelief at his clumsiness. Hoping that absolutely nobody had heard the rather painful amount of noise he'd created, he hastily returned the painting, swept the pieces of the jar under a desk - far into the corner, where he highly doubted anybody would be looking - and slid out of the room. Closing the door behind him, he made his way down a hall, not sure where he was going, and not exactly caring.

Eventually, he found himself wrapped around back to the stairs. These were the Western stairs - was perhaps now the time to return the Lord's letters? Eiren decided it wouldn't be terribly wise to keep them from their owner; he ran as quickly as he dared, trying not to slap his bare feet against the cold floor. Diving under his bed, he replaced his notebook with the box, making note to record his findings in Caelony's abandoned room, before he sped across the castle. When he at last skid to a stop in front of the Lord's door, his heart beat so harshly, it was nearly five minutes before he was able to push open the door and slip inside.

Shrill breaths wheezed out of his nose as he inched into the room. A sprint across a very large castle was not, in fact, a very good idea when running towards what was quite possibly the worst smelling room Eiren had encountered in his life. Unable to hold his breath, he was forced to inhale far too many gasping mouthfuls of pungent death. Something had to have died in here, he thought as he dropped under the bed and inched further into the dark. Nothing in the world created the strength of such a horrible smell outside of decay.

He wondered vaguely if any of the late Ladies of Kelfordshire were perhaps still in the bed, though he immediately regretted allowing such a thought to plague him.

Suddenly and sharply, footsteps echoed rather severely against the floor. Only one person could be wearing shoes up here, and only one person had any real business this side of the castle: Lord Van Wyk had returned.

Eiren hissed out several curses. There was really nowhere to hide, but he would have rather died than expose himself in the bedroom of such a terrible person. They were high on the second floor - Eiren did not doubt for one moment that he would avoid being thrown from the nearest window if he was caught.

With the footsteps nearing, he had no choice. He slid under the bed until he hit the wall, and then he curled up as tightly as he could bear. The door opened violently - was the Lord in a rage? Was that the force of merely being glad to be home? Eiren had no way of telling, but the terror that his painfully loud breathing would be discovered and further fuel the terrible mood of the Lord made his heart quail once more.

The footsteps entered the room, and something heavy was thrown on the bed. The weight somehow forced the overwhelming smell further down on Eiren, who felt his vision go fuzzy from holding his breath. Please don't hear me, please don't smell me, please don't see me! Eiren repeated the words to himself with a growing fervor as the heavy, black boots, finely tapered and just the right kind of sharpness for kicking bedside intruders, made their way to a stop a few feet from his head.

The agony was intense. The boots stood still for far too long, and the Lord Van Wyk made no sounds. What is he waiting for, Eiren wailed, you've brought back your things, now get thee gone! His heart executed a most painful lack of movement - the sloshing of blood lingered far too long in his chest. He risked a thin breath and winced at once. Reluctantly moving as it should have once more, his heart began to pull the blood back into its appropriate rotation. The spots gradually faded from his eyes, but the desire to release a breath from his stale lungs was almost overpowering.

Lord Van Wyk directed his feet at last towards the door, and Eiren timed his breath accordingly, crossing his fingers as he did so until he felt his bones would snap. The boots marched out of the room, and Eiren pulled himself free, taking in a great, wavering breath that seemed too big for his body. Of course, after several scares, an impromptu sprint after decades of leisure and lounging about, and the unearthly stench emanating from the bed, this breath proved at last too much for Eiren, who promptly fell over in a trembling heap.

. . .

It was with much fear and embarrassment that Eiren made his way out of Lord Van Wyk's bed chambers and to his own when he came to. Terrified that his clothes would betray his recent activity, he quickly changed out of his dusty, sweaty, fear-drenched attire and into something presentable for dinner. Dressing like a gentleman and future Lord of Kelfordshire would surely erase any shred of suspicion.

Before he made his appearance downstairs, he pulled out his red notebook and hunched over his desk with it. There was so much to write! There were far too many things Eiren had discovered or encountered to write and still make dinner on time, so he simply settled with this:

Caelony's things are locked up in an old room - why?

How long have they been closed off, gathering dust, across the castle from her room?

What happened to her mother?

What is causing that terrible smell?

He stared at the paper, wanting to write so much more. It occurred to him that he would have to add some answers to this book, but answers were in short supply on this side of the house. He stood up and ruffled his hair in annoyance. Everybody seemed to know something different, something vital, but nobody cared to alert him. If I'm to marry that... that heartless woman, he swore, using the politest term he could muster, and oversee everything in this icy pit, then the least anybody could do is tell me something!

Throwing his notebook aside, and watching with satisfaction as the book ricocheted off of his bedpost, Eiren turned to the door and stepped outside, slamming it in his wake.

The sound was extremely satisfying, especially in the frigid silence of the castle.