It was a strange night for the Count Alvore, he was more restless than usual. Something was bothering him and he was yet to find out just what exactly.

The documents and scrolls in front of him held the troubled words of important business and trade partners, many speaking their distress at the death of the King. It would be no easy feat but the Count needed to reassure them for he trusted the crown prince and believed he would be a powerful leader.

Count Alvore had met Prince Aleric on few occasions but gathered that, although young, the crown prince was truly a remarkable man however he still had a lot to learn. Under the right guidance and support he would make a powerful king.

The Count stared at the clock on his study wall watching as the seconds ticked away into minutes until the clock struck one sending a quite chime echoing off the walls.

The crown prince's coronation would be in a few hours...

The Countess and Sibyl had long called it a night and Sorin too once his father dismissed him. All were asleep on the estate save for the Count and the few guards on night patrol duty.

It was completely quiet and for some reason the Count did not like that. It was if there was something missing and knowing this made him restless.

He glanced at the whisky sitting on the side table beside the fire place. Perhaps that was what he needed.

He gave a deep breath and was about to stand when a gentle knock on his study door came.

"Enter." Was all he muttered.

The Count gave a quick glance to the clock once again confirming that it was indeed the early hours of the morning as the door opened for what appeared to be a messenger.

A message this late at night meant no good news. Something had happened, something bad.

The man looked nervous as he handed the Count a letter, there was a slight tremor in his arm. If the Count noticed this, he choose to ignore it focusing on the contents before him.

There was a long silence. It was awful for the poor messenger who wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. This was to much for him.

The Count showed no emotion, his expression was blank save for his cold eyes once he looked up. Count Alvore was a very intimidating man.

"Three days?" It was phrased as a question back came back much harsher. His tone was very low.

"Y... Your Excellency," The messenger took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves, "It was only confirmed a day ago."

"The body?" Again the Count used the same tone.

"Unfortunately it is impossible to retrieve but no one could have survived that fall..." the messenger trembled more, "Both horses were... Killed as well."

"I do not care for some horses." The Count narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, "It is no longer your place to speak of this, now leave."

The messenger nodded and rushed out the room like a frightened animal where he was escorted off the premises by two of the guards. Before he could leave, he was handed a pouch filled with money. He had done what he was paid to do.

Count Alvore read through the contents of the letter once more before crumpling it. He may not have shown it but the news had brought him distress.

He had not seen his youngest in years. In the Count's eyes, she was a strange child who did not fit in and thus held a lot of anger towards her family.

When she had lost her voice when she was little, the Count had thought it best to allow her space to heal. He believed that stress had been the cause and he was the main factor for it.

Unfortunately Erica never healed and grew jealous of her sister Sibyl who was rising in popularity as the years went by so she took it out on her on her thirteenth birthday no less.

The Count had been far to exhausted that day from clearing an important business deal to have the energy to deal with the unpleasant situation and truth be told, he actually did not know how to properly handle it so he deemed it best to leave his wife to it.

The Countess had informed him that Erica had felt wronged at the punishment and secluded herself to her room refusing to see anyone. Believing this was merely a result of adolescence, the Count thought it best just to leave her be.

He believed that she would come round in her own time or rather he hoped. Young females could be very unpredictable and overly emotional, something he did not know how to handle or wanted to know thanks to his eldest daughter Sibyl with her many outbursts.

It had been many years since then. It is rather surprising that once something or in this case, someone, no longer becomes present in one's life, slowly they fade away into the background.

Erica was never once brought up or spoken of again. It was if she was never there to begin with.

In the beginning it was noticeable for Erica's lack of presence in the family but no one spoke of it and carried on. Soon it became the norm and later she was no longer even offered the time of a thought. Slowly she was shoved back and slowly she faded away like a distant memory.

The human mind may be remarkable but it is so easily tricked. If the manipulator plays their cards right to the unsuspecting victim, no matter how intelligent or alert they may seem, anything can become possible. In the Count's case along with many others, they unknowingly fell victim.

The Count had forgotten about her. He had forgotten about his youngest. His own flesh and blood.

His eyes raked over all the portraits of his family that aligned his desk as if desperately trying to prove himself wrong. Sorin, Walter and Sibyl were all present with updated individual portraits neatly framed but no Erica.

How had he not noticed this?

Standing up he quickly made his way out of his study and down the halls searching the walls for any family portraits, searching for any pictures of Erica. There were none.

When he reached the final room, the main tea room where he knew for certain the family portrait hung with all his family together, he was disappointed to find not a single trace of Erica.

He tried to picture her face, his memories of her were blurry and gave him a very vague outline. He could not even remember what his own daughter looked like and he only realised that now.

An uncomfortable and unpleasant feeling graced the Count. Something he could not place at that moment but would later come to realise that it was shame and remorse, two feelings he had never felt before, not that he allowed himself to feel much to begin with.

The Count did not sleep that night.