With the night, came a storm, fierce and murderous. It tore through the Isle of Silthia in the darkness, howling against the windows, and rattling the shutters.

The faraway thundering grew ever near, and it kept her awake in its misery. Alanis lay beneath her blankets, trembling, eyes locked on the frescoed ceiling as she counted the number of engraved flowers.

Three hundred and eighty-two.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed shortly by a peal of thunder.

Three hundred and eighty-three.

It was a hopeless matter, to look for safety in the flowers on a roof, which could so easily be torn off should the winds rise high enough.

And it was even more hopeless to search for sleep on such a night. Even as she lay weary beneath the warmth of her covers, the battle of winds in the wisteria, and against the shutters did not wane.

She wondered how the man from the sea felt.

Despite her desperate attempts to keep him in her chambers, her governess, and indeed all her advisors staunchly refused the notion, and she had been forced to concede.

And now he was locked up in the furthest reaches of the castle. Presumably, this would be the first storm he had ever experienced, and he was isolated, undoubtedly terrified out of his mind.

"Your Grace." Came a harsh whisper from behind her door. One of the maidens. "Your Grace, there is an urgent matter."

Footsteps soft against the wool rug, Alanis crept to the door. A twist of the handle, a creak of the hinges, and Alanis pushed it open to find Daphne, the youngest of her maidens, shivering in a nightgown.

"Your Grace," Daphne's eyes fell to the floor, "he's gone. The man from the sea is gone. Mistress Miyra found the room empty."

"Gone?" Alanis exclaimed, "but he can not be gone! The door was locked from the outside, and he was in the highest tower; he can not have escaped."

Daphne seemed hesitant, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, then hurriedly closed it again.

Seizing her cloak from the hook on the back of the door, Alanis pulled it around her shoulders and stepped out of the room. "Take me at once."

"Yes, your Grace." Gaze still averted, Daphne led her along the narrow passageway while the faded oil portraits stared them down, through the double doors of mahogany, to the furthest reach of the castle. Here, at the base of a stone staircase leading to the tower, several of the guards, as well as maidens clustered together, muttering.

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Upon noticing Alanis and Daphne, they fell into silence, and several of the maidens shot quick glares at the servant girl.

"Who discovered him missing?" Alanis demanded.

Eyes raised to meet hers, before falling back to the ground, and there was silence.

"Who?" She repeated herself in a louder voice, and this time one of the maidens spoke.

"I did, your Grace." The woman stood hastily, clasping her hands behind her back. There was an uncertainty in her demeanour, in the way she refused to look up.

Alanis frowned, "you are fully dressed."

"It was cold." The woman sniffed.

Alanis gestured for her to reveal her hands, and reluctantly the woman did so.

"And your hand is bandaged." Alanis turned the woman's hand over, then let it fall. “Cutting potatoes in the dead of night?"

"No, Your Grace."

Silence.

"Mistress Miyra brought water, but when she knocked - nothing." Volunteered one of the maidens, pointing a finger at the woman with the bandaged hand. "An' when she opened the door, there was no one there, an' she came to find the guards an' she tripped down the stairs an' cut her hand open."

The woman, Mistress Miyra, nodded in agreement.

There was another uncomfortable silence, before Alanis pushed past them to ascend the staircase. "Wake the rest of the guard. Search the castle, and the grounds."

"Your Grace!" Protested several of the guards, "it's too dangerous to go up there yourself, suppose he has returned?"

"Daphne will accompany me." Alanis stretched out her glove to the young maiden, "come along."

"Daphne!" Cried the maidens, "she can not protect-"

Alanis shushed them, and Daphne took her hand, following behind her as they crept up the stairs.

Their footsteps echoed as they spiralled up and up and up, skirts rustling against their ankles. Alanis felt her heart crawling up her throat, slowly choking her as they drew nearer and nearer to the tower.

They reached the uppermost stair and were met with an open door.

The circular room seemed untouched. The bed in the centre was perfectly made, white silken sheets unruffled. The rugs were spotless, unstained, and the small bookcases lining the lower wall were ordered.

On top of the bookshelves sat an assortment of oddities, ranging from wrinkled old maps, compasses, candle holders covered in waterfalls of wax, to pages of a diary, torn up and discarded, and a one-eyed teddy bear.

The tower; a storage room for lost memories - her lost memories. Forgotten for years - and yet it appeared pristine.

It had been as if no one had entered at all.

And then she saw it, the tiniest mark out of place, in the corner of the nearest window.

Blood.

It was only a drop, but it was fresh.

"What a curious thing to find." Alanis mused. She scraped it from the glass with her pinky and wiped it on Daphne's apron. "Most peculiar indeed."

"Your Grace," whispered Daphne shakily, "I swear I had nothing to do with it."

Her head snapped towards the younger girl, "to do with what?"

"I..." Daphne's voice lowered to a quiet murmur, almost nothing more than a hushed draft of air, tremble-some and weak, "Mistress Miyra's never properly been with a sea man before and the others thought...thought...they wanted to see I suppose."

Alanis' face crinkled in disgust. The impurity never left them. She should have known.

"He escaped." Daphne muttered, head low. "Stabbed Misstress Miyra in the hand with a quill and ran. The guards tried to stop him but.... he kicked Elo down the stairs."

"I see." Alanis pursed her lips. "We'd better find this creature quickly then, before the rest of the court is after him in their undergarments."