With the image of Caelony bolstering him, Eiren walked down the hall to Lord Van Wyk's rooms. She had said he would be out for the weekend, but there was still a strong sense of him in the hall. Fully expecting the Lord to walk out and greet him from some dark room, Eiren cautiously peered around every corner and into every doorway he passed until he reached the heavy door belonging to Lord Van Wyk. Wondering at the strength of fear, and how it had masked the terrible smell the other night, Eiren held his hand to his nose and turned the handle.

The room had absolutely no source of light. There may as well be no room at all, Eiren grumbled inwardly. He slid inside and pulled the door shut. Groping along the walls and trying very hard not to trip over anything, he made his way around the room until he reached the window. Once the curtains had been opened, letting in an oddly-coloured ray of sunlight, Eiren looked immediately to the bed. There was no other place for the smell to emanate from, and though Eiren wanted very much to look about for letters and notes from Lord Van Wyk, the source of the odour was a far more pressing matter.

He slid close, still clamping a hand to his face, and reached out for the curtain that stretched from ceiling to floor. Upon pulling it aside, Eiren nearly threw up in shock, and he wrenched it shut again.

He was unsure if what he saw was somehow worse than what he had expected. It surely wasn't normal to have a box of dirt and muck and filth in one's bed. He was half-certain that he had seen the unfortunate elk from his first dinner back in the bed, or whatever remained of it, and quite possibly the pieces of other things as well. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, Eiren stumbled over to the dresser he had seen Lord Van Wyk open to extract the peculiar red notebook.

There was nothing of use in the drawer. All of the letters he had seen previously were empty - not a solitary word was scrawled on any of the pages. The envelopes were all unsealed and unaddressed. Cursing quietly, and instantly regretting the decision to open his mouth, Eiren pulled out the drawer under this one and rifled through several layers of books and ties - Who keeps books in their rooms when a massive library is just one room over? - before reaching the same empty conclusion.

He stood and looked around, trying to picture where he would hide something personal if in his room. There were the dressers, of course, and the bookshelves that should have been in a different room, and the writing desk that, even from the door, couldn't have held anything. Eiren looked slowly at the bed and groaned. Oh, please, no, he thought despairingly, but the answer was obvious. If he truly wanted no eyes on something personal, what better place to hide it than the depths of the truly foul bed? He pondered briefly if the Lord even noticed the smell, and descended onto his knees, crawling to the bed.

Underneath the massive structure, gently hidden by the gloom and the curtains, Eiren could just make out several boxes. They were far under the bed, but he clung to the memory of Caelony's promise, and he forced himself under the heavy frame. The sunlight barely reached down here, but the outlines of the boxes reached out for him, and he grasped the edges of what he could.

Should I take these to my room, or will he absolutely notice they're missing? Still concerned that the Lord would arrive home suddenly, he decided to read what he could here. He pulled the boxes out and slid back, his vision going spotty for a moment as he held his breath.

The contents of the boxes were much the same as the dresser, save for one. It had no lid, but exposed its contents at once to the viewer. Peering inside, Eiren at last found something of value. Written in beautiful, elegant writing were several letters addressed to the Lord. Supposing they must have been written by one of his wives, Eiren eagerly pulled them out, staring happily down at them before remembering that he was trespassing. He slid the boxes back and ran to the window, tugging the curtains shut quickly and hoping the Lord Van Wyk did not have impeccable vision, or an eye for misplaced items.

With a bundle of letters in hand and a hopeful image of Caelony's excitement, he ran downstairs to the kitchens, cheeks suffused with a deep red glow.

"Caelony?" he called to the room, but only the cook came out, a forgettable figure of chalky grey. Were all of the staff made of the same lifeless colours?

"The lady left, sir, some fifteen minutes past." Unsure how to address the cook, he merely nodded and sighed. Where would Caelony be? He despaired to think of the vast size of the estate, but he calmed himself by remembering the events to come - where would Caelony go to prepare a grand birthday? This did not shrink the list of possible places she could be, but at least it removed the library and the abbey outside from areas to visit.

He wandered around the castle for close to half an hour, settling in the rhythm of roaming around rooms. Deciding that Caeolny would likely need whatever time she kept to herself, he happily walked in and out of the various painting and sitting rooms, feeling a unique sense of connection with the family members on the walls. Intense brown and blue eyes followed him, and seemed to encourage him with their frozen stares. The heavy, black hair seemed to flow from one subject to another, ensnaring Eiren in one of the rooms as he turned endlessly down a line of the family. He came face to face with Caelony, and the sight made him stop. He had not realized she would be on this wall of family, and he realized abruptly that he had been staring at a very recent family tree.

He stepped backward and stared in awe at the portrait of Lord Van Wyk first. The painter was obviously extremely talented, but Eiren felt that whoever the artist was had somehow never seen the subject in question. The Lord's eyes looked warmly down, and his mouth was uplifted in a slight, compassionate smile. Eiren shuddered and thought he had never seen an image more unlike its inspiration.

Next, he peered curiously at a painting of a smiling, blushing woman. He leaned forward and squinted at the painting, but no sign of a name other than Lady Van Wyk could be seen. Nevertheless, her warm face radiated happiness and seemed almost to reach out to suffuse him with the emotion. Smiling, he looked to the woman beside her, and nearly flinched. The contrast was severe - this woman, who bore the same name as the last, was dressed in a stern white and had a look about her eyes that reminded Eiren strongly of the priest. He shook his head and moved on, and found himself looking at the same woman he had seen frozen in the garden.

The painting appeared almost a photograph, so detailed were the lines and the shadows on the late Lady's solemn face. Eiren swallowed and held up a free hand to the painting, brushing his fingers reverently against the lady's cheek.

"I shall keep her from your fate," he promised the painting, and he looked beside it to smile upon the visage of Caelony. The smile dropped slightly from his mouth as he beheld the look permanently affixed upon her painted face.

She was scowling, as she usually did in photos of herself, but this scowl was twisted into a firm look, blended well enough to hide from the painter. Her hair was braided around her face, framing her high cheeks and her smooth chin in a perfect oval. The glare that she gave the viewer made Eiren's blood turn and curl in on his veins. I am going to marry the bearer of that face, he thought grimly.

Entertained enough, and thinking his delay apt enough time for Caelony to finish some minute preparation, he left, ruminating on the overwhelmingly strict appearances of the Van Wyks, and wondering how the current Lord had ever married anybody so pleasing as his first wife. He made a note to ask Caelony about the marriages later, perhaps after her birthday.

With no sign of her anywhere, and having wasted enough of the day in rooms she wasn't, Eiren decided at last to try her room. There was a perfectly reasonable place for her to be! He mentally kicked himself for having forgotten something so simple, and made his way to the hall where she resided, a new sense of purpose in his step. How wonderfully she would respond upon seeing that he could be productive! He burned with curiosity, to know what was lurking in the letters to the Lord, and how she might take the newfound knowledge.

He rapped on the door, an excited smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. There was no response. He leaned in and pressed his ear to the door - there, her voice, soft behind the heavy door. He frowned and knocked again. Nobody could have missed the knock, but still, she came not to the door.

"Caelony," he called, feeling rather foolish in the hallway. He reached for the handle and pushed the door in, feeling mildly peeved.

Caelony's room was a mess. Curtains hung haphazardly over her bed, on which were strewn pillows and blankets as though they had never been made up. Not one dresser was closed, and shoes and dresses lay on every surface visible. Books sat high in corners; various instruments and bottles were scattered across the floor. A deep blue rug could barely be seen from under the mess, and a vanity in the corner was completely covered in papers and pins. Hidden in the corner of the bed, almost mistaken for pillows themselves, was a youngish blonde man, and Caelony herself. She was leaned against his chest, which was half-covered by an unbuttoned white shirt, and her hands were wrapped around him. He had his lips pressed to her stark black hair, his hands pulling her close by the shoulders.

The sight paralyzed Eiren.

His lady, his bride-to-be... a strange man in her bed... the undone clothes...

He reeled, his vision swooned before him, and he sank to the floor, the letters swooping to the floor in strangely exaggerated arcs. His thoughts felt disjointed, and unattached to him, like they were of the same floating substance as the papers.

I thought... perhaps she really did love me...

Caelony's face appeared over his, a bemused frown on her lips. She sighed and shook her head.

"Oh, darling. I wish you had just left, but then, the damage is done." She brushed his hair aside, and she began to waver like a picture dropped in water. He realized numbly that he was crying. "Go back to your room, my love," she whispered, pulling him up and pressing her mouth to his ear. All pretense of sympathy and kindness had vanished, replaced with the stern voice that so perfectly matched the cold, hard look in her eyes. "Keep your thoughts and your letters and your desires to yourself, and you will blend so wondrously in with everybody else here. That is what it is to be the Lord of Kelfordshire Estate," she finished, and she pushed him away. He stood slowly, not daring to look past her to the bed. He could not bring himself to see the man who had allowed her to become this horrible thing, but he knew it was cowardice that held him back.

Ashamed and trembling, arms full of his spoils so ill-exchanged for knowledge, the knowledge of what kept Caelony alive, despite her burning hatred of all who lived in this dreadful castle, Eiren found himself wanderer once more. He felt his feet carry him outdoors, but he knew not where he walked, so dead was he to outward senses. He had been made a fool of, he knew, and the thought filled him with shame. How had he allowed himself to let Caelony Van Wyk into his heart? By what strange and sickening spell did she twist his former hatred into something resembling affection?

"Mr. Adair!" He turned and hastily wiped away the tears that washed over his cheeks. The priest came up the path Eiren had turned towards, his small frame moving oddly against the backdrop of the castle. "Mr. Adair, sir, what are you doing outside?" Was the weather any different than before? Was there any change in scenery since Caelony had marched him around the grounds?

"I was... just walking," he replied huskily, voice breaking as he cleared his throat. The priest paused and gave him a hard look.

"Has Caelony done something?" Eiren blinked and backed up, clutching the letters to his chest as though they would provide a barrier against the question.

"W-why would you ask?"

"Incorrigible girl," was all the priest said, and he beckoned Eiren close. "Come, we are near the Abbey. I would have something for you." Eiren shook his head and took another step back.

"I can't," he said hurriedly, but the priest grasped one of his arms and pulled.

"You have nothing keeping you back, Mr. Adair," he replied smartly. "Inside, out of this air. I promise you, you will appreciate this." Feeling as though he had no choice, Eiren reluctantly followed the priest into the white doors of Hatchhanger Abbey. He hadn't realized how closely he walked to the Abbey, and once inside, he was amazed that he was unaware of the church's presence.

Made out of some peculiar white stone, the Abbey opened into a long, wide room, with pews of the same colour filling the space. Each pew was cushioned with a startling black seat, and bordering every wall was a magnificent stained-glass piece of history. From the time before man and woman, to the progress of the world according to Sairwhen, Eiren looked on in awe at the artistic depiction of life in the Echoist Church. His own father had been a Returnist, and his life at Kenton Abbey had reflected such a lavish, expressive lifestyle; Eiren had not expected a place of worship for such a notoriously grim religion to be as beautiful as Hatchhanger Abbey. How had he forgotten the impressive display here? Why had he never heard a word in the defense of the Abbey's beauty?

Lost in his musings, and forgetting his pain for a moment, Eiren jumped at the sound of the priest's footsteps. In his absorption with the church, the priest had left and returned, a book in hand. He held it out to Eiren and nodded his head at it.

"You are having a rather hard time here, Mr. Adair. I am not unfamiliar with fear and distrust." Eiren held back a groan and took the book. Why does everybody want to give me a book, he thought angrily. Holding the letters and tucking the book safely between them, he sniffed and looked crossly at the priest.

"What good is a book going to do for me?"

"It is the sort of story that helped me when I was in a situation not far from your own." Crossing his arms and heaving what seemed to be a slightly exaggerated sigh, he appeared to Eiren like a man most decidedly not in the same situation.

"Such as?"

"My first arriving at Kelfordshire. It was a stressful few weeks, when I first was welcomed here, and the stories within gave me much comfort," he said quietly. "I have marked the story in particular that I believe you will take the same comfort in."

"...Thank you, Father." Eiren wanted nothing more than to throw the book into the pews ahead and run out of the church, sure that a book of stories loved by a miserable old priest would do nothing for his current state, but he held his tongue and merely nodded. Already, he could feel the effects of Caelony's... no, she has done nothing, he forced himself to think. We are as we always were. An increase in the level of cordiality was not supposed to translate any real change in character.

The priest led him back to the castle, taking care to see Eiren to his room. Seated at a desk and feeling more hopeless and trapped than he ever had before, Eiren threw the letters to one side and set his newest book down. Maedalyn Prynn's Book of Exotic Tales was written in fanciful letters over a faded image of a bear. He sighed and flipped open the cover, peering down the list of stories until he found an underlined one titled "The Soul of a Wolf." A deep sense of regret filled his heart as he turned to the story, but he felt he had no choice but to read. How right the priest had been saying nothing kept Eiren back, that he had nothing to do. How right of him, and the heartless wretch downstairs!

Wiping away another lone tear, Eiren began to read.