"I have no words of wisdom to ease the anguish that has created this chaos inside you." Clairie shook her head slowly and gave Rosalind a sad smile. "We cannot help who we let inside our heart, be it one man or two."

"But what if it is a beast?" Rosalind uttered.

"It is no fault of your own. I know your soul, my lady. You are a kind, sweet and strong woman. What you have been through this past month would have destroyed many."

The wind outside howled and rattled the shutters of the windows as Rosalind spoke, "I feel like I am on the verge of destruction, walking on a wire that threatens to push me off."

"Yes, you are there, but you have not fallen off," Clairie said.

As Clairie spoke those words, phantom ones Rosalind had heard before came into her mind, howling and angry as the wind outside. You were not put on that wire to fall, you were put up there to fly.

"I want to return to bed, Clairie. I want to sleep until I no longer feel like this anymore." Looking pleadingly at her maid, Rosalind added, "Will you take me to my room and stay with me a while?"

Nodding, Clairie helped Rosalind up. "I will stay with you until you fall asleep, alright?"

Rosalind lay in bed, her covers tucked around her as Clairie sat by her side, caressing her hair.

"You will never tell, will you?" Rosalind looked up at her maid.

"No. A Watcher can never intervene, my lady. Not in any matter. Your confessions live and die with me."

"I do not know what to do," Rosalind sniffled.

Running her fingers over Rosalind's dark hair, Clairie knew her words would never offer the solace her mistress needed. "Perhaps when the time comes, you will know what you need to do. Whether your heart leads you or your mind, I have faith that you will do the right thing."

Letting her lids flutter shut, Rosalind longed for the sweet mercy of a dreamless slumber. "I hope you are right." Focusing on the way Clairie's fingers weaved in and out of her hair, she began to nod off, before sleep came to claim her, she whispered, "What would I do without you, Clairie?"

Bowing her head over her mistress's, Clairie touched her lips to her hair. "You will survive."

The wind would not give up its wailing. Talons of ice scratched along the windows yet Rosalind was lost in slumber.

Clairie watched the faint rise and fall of her mistress's chest, she waited until the rhythm became gentle and calm before rising off the bed. Making sure the covers were comfortable around Rosalind, Clairie paused as a wave of unpleasant thoughts came to her. Though she had not seen the Borgo Beast in person, she had heard of his terrible appearance. Leathery wings and reptilian scales. She could not imagine how anyone could love a thing as hideous as Lord Caspian let alone lay with him.

Letting herself out, Clairie felt overwhelmed. Her emotions for her mistress ran strong and she could not sever the Watcher from the friend. Needing some time to clear her head, she put on her warmest cape and gloves and stepped out into the dull gray of the frozen day.

Dusk gathered around Clairie as she headed further away from the Hershel's house and deeper into the woods. The Borgo spread out before her as a mourning veil. While a hazy glow remained over the city, in the forest it was as though someone had come and painted it with heavy strokes of the darkest gray they could find. The trees, though towering over her, looked brittle and dry, their skinny boughs reached to her, their tips creating claws of thinner, smaller bits. Below Clairie's feet, the snow was powder-fine, with every step she took, it kicked up around her as though it was trying to return to the sky.

The cold was ruthless, biting into Clairie's skin whenever it found an uncovered bit. Her cheeks stung and her teeth chattered. She did not know which way the lord's home lay but she stopped by a gnarled bush and looked northward. Clairie pictured a vision of horror, a grime-covered monstrosity with poison ivy clambering up the walls. The ground would be barren, all that would dare sprout from it would be headless roses baring nothing but thorns as long as lances. Clairie worried if her mistress had been greeted by a looming shadow at the threshold waiting to place her between a tomb of cold stone and nightmares.

Clairie closed her eyes and listened for any familiar sounds. No birds chirped, there was no scampering of red deer. The wind hissing at her feet created a solitary sound yet it was soon greeted by a single caw of a magpie. When she opened her eyes, she saw the bird flying off its perch and landing on a branch not too far from her. The bird was larger than any magpie she had ever seen. Its feathery body was the size of a vixen's rather than a bird's. When the inky creature leaned down to get a better look at her, Clairie noticed its eyes were red. With a shriek, she flung the hem of her cape at the bird upsetting it so that it took into the darkness with an angry sound.

From the shadows loitering behind the trees, a figure stood watching her every movement. His dark cape and dark clothing helped obscure him. In the darkness, he was a ghost. A gloved hand curled around the bark of a tree. Rapid breaths left ice crystals in the air. When the figure moved out of his hiding spot, he stepped on a fallen twig, causing a loud crackle to twine with the bird's fading caw.

Clairie turned to witness the dark-clad figure rushing to her and pulling a blade out of its sheath. The silver knife looked dull in the lack of light. She felt a momentary shock of blinding pain as the knife dug deep into her heart.