The house is still standing after the winter storms; these older farmhouses were made to take a beating, and as chilly as Welsh winters get, they're still not quite so bad as could be further to the north in Wales, by the mountains proper.
     Gwen bangs her way up the side steps, dragging a large rucksack filled with odds and ends. "Open up," she calls impatiently to the house itself; there's silence, then a reluctant creak as the door hangs open. She nods, satisfied, then drags her bag over the lintel. "Sorry about the holdup," she calls back over her shoulder. "The house is feeling neglected, so it's a bit sulky. I'll have to do lots of repairs before we take off for the summer."

     Keiran waits patiently as Gwen has words with her place of residence, remaining at the foot of the steps for the moment and taking the chance to study the place with a critical eye before pausing to look around at the surrounding fields and woods. "Not to worry. We'll get 'er in tiptop shape, right as rain," he promises, in part to Gwen, in part to the house itself, as he begins up the stairs after her with one large bag slung over a shoulder, a slightly smaller one in his other hand; but he seems used enough to carrying the weight as he makes his way inside.

     Gwen drops the bag just inside the doorway, then makes her way to the kitchen. "Looks like the pantry's store spell is starting to wear a bit thin," she remarks mournfully. "I'll have to see what I can do about patching it together again. I suppose the first thing to do will be airing the place out - I'll open the windows if you'll go get some firewood?"

     Keiran follows suit in dumping his luggage beside hers in an unceremonious heap. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come down to having to resort to the old-fashioned methods of buying and cooking, aye?" he comments with a grin, tone light but not entirely unsympathetic. "Firewood? Yeah, think I can manage that. Just point in the right direction."

     "Just to the edge of the woods - we'll mostly need kindling for now anyway, and it shouldn't take too long to get the place opened up. I'll do some dusting once it's opened and then I'll check the cellar - you can come with me, if you like." Gwen offers a lopsided grin of her own, then moves to mount the stairs. "Don't stray too far in - there's dangerous things in the woods. Welsh greens, for one."

     Keiran's eyebrows lift just slightly at that, but he merely nods in understanding. "Gotcha. I'll be careful, luv, not to worry." He pulls up his shirt sleeves, moving towards the doors as she makes for the stairs. "Back in a jiff, and then we can check your cellar, sure." He pauses, tilting his head slightly to one side. "What are we checking it for exactly?" One hand on the doorknob now, he waits for her answer before pulling it open.

     "Oh, cobwebs, boglins, clean drapes and bedding, the washbasin for the laundry, venomous chitterbugs - the usual things you find in cellars," Gwen calls back, matter of fact as she pauses on the landing. "I promise, it isn't anything out of the ordinary." She disappears the rest of the way up the landing, and there's the sound of a door being opened.

     "Ah. Was just asking. Never been in an ordinary cellar before," Keiran comments with a wry smirk, though he doesn't really seem too concerned with whether or not she caught that before going. With a shrug, he finally pulls the door open, stepping back out into the yard and after a cursory glance around, finds the wood pile and heads in that direction.

     The wood pile's somewhat depleted. From the looks of it, Gwen's mother was too sick before her death to be doing regular trips to the pile, and with Gwen at school, it'd shrunk from use rather considerably. There's an assortment of broken sticks and one or two logs - not even enough to last the night. Fortunately, the edge of the woods is rather close by. There's also a man standing at the treeline, arms folded over his chest, apparently leaning against one of the trees.

     Keiran studies the pile of wood with a critical eye, as he absently dusts his hands off against his pants. "Well, that's not going to do it, surely," he mutters to himself, glancing back at the house and then towards the woods. With an easy shrug, he starts in that direction, which is when he spots the other man standing there. "Oi!" he exclaims. "Sorry, gave me a bit of a turn. Didn't realize Gwen had neighbors..." He's friendly enough to start, with no real reason to be otherwise.

     "The Morgans have never had much in the way of neighbors," the man answers easily, voice slow and meditative. His accent sounds Welsh, though flavoured with something a bit strange - Scottish, maybe? He's about six foot even, with reddish-brown hair that tufts at the sides and a sharp nose in a round, solemn face. His eyes are closed as if he's tired, but he keeps talking easily. "I'm not a neighbor. Just passing through on my way ... somewhere else. You're the Winchcombe boy, aren't y'."

     Keiran looks unmistakably puzzled for a moment, even as he nods slowly in confirmation. "Am, yes. Did ... Gwen mention me?" he guesses, glancing back over his shoulder at the house for a brief moment before promptly turning back to the man. He studies the man, not critically but perhaps a little more openly than he would if the man's eyes weren't closed. "Keiran Winchcombe. And you are?" he offers politely, though his friendliness has become a little more pointed.

     The man blinks, and his eyes open; they're yellow, with a slit-black pupil. "You've a crooked road to follow, and there's crooked things that follow in your wake. You're not a bad sort, but there's things you don't know - and your blood will tell. That's why I can talk to you - why you can see me as I halfway am."

     "Right... Well, I was more or less expecting a name there, y'see, but I suppose a riddle will do just as well," Keiran replies with a faint, crooked smile, something deeper in his eyes going a little more serious even as his tone and expression grow lighter. "What is it that I don't know then?"

     "Ah, but names are meaningful things and never given lightly. I could give you a name, but what will you give me in return? I already know yours; but your blood's too weak to easily be bound by it, not that I've any interest in binding you." The man turns slightly and spits to the side, something lobbing from his mouth to the leaf-litter around the trees.
     "When you go back to the house, look at the walls. See what's out of place with your girl. She's a good girl, for all that, but she's in danger." He stretches his neck first to the left, then the right. "Has less a clue than you - and if I knew more, I might tell you and I might not. It's not our way to interfere unless we're set to the task. The king is still missing, you see."

     "Wait, Gwen's in danger? What from?" Keiran's suddenly become a great deal less easy going with that bit, not angry, but certainly more serious. He crosses his arms over his chest, casting a protective look back at the house before frowning at the man. "What king? What- Look, if she's in danger, just tell me what's going on. Interfere, don't interfere, it's all the same to me, but enough with the riddles, hm?"

     "The trouble with having a three-sixty view of things is that sometimes I don't know exactly where a thing is in relation to everything else," the man comments. "It isn't as easy as you simple mortal creatures always seem to think it is. Haven't you ever met anyone with more ways of seeing than just straight ahead?" He cocks his head to one side, yellow and black eyes fixed on Keiran's face.
     "The king... well, true, there's many kings. But there's only two kings that are missing. One's dead - maybe. For now. The other's been gone for more years than I could tell you. Which king do you want to know about? Both affect you, though one more than the other."

     Keiran lets out a bit of a sigh, handing coming up to his temple as if this roundabout question and answer game is already beginning to give him a bit of a headache, but he manages not to get too impatient, though there is perhaps a slight strain to the politeness in his tone when he continues. "You know she's in danger: you must have some idea from what. Man, beast, circumstance...?" He furrows his brow a little at the question of the king. "I suppose the one that affects me more," he decides.

     "She's in danger from you, of course," the man says matter-of-factly. "Oh, not directly. But you will be the reason. And the king that affects you more? That would be the King of the Winter Diamond. He's dead... for now. His throne sits vacant - same as the High King's throne."

     Keiran's eyebrows lift a little at the one straight answer, and he doesn't seem quite sure whether to take the man more or less seriously for it. "From me..." he repeats, as if hoping the words might make more sense. "How do you figure that exactly? If this is about my intentions..."
     He just shakes his head a little, abruptly turning his attention to the second answer. "Dead for now. Right. Well, can see how that would put a wrench in things. Though I still don't see what that has to do with me or with Gwen being in trouble, honestly. Isn't my want to be thick here, but I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more ... context."

     The man holds up a hand that is as brown-skinned as his face is pale. "Your intentions have nothing to do with it - or, in a way, they do, but not the way that you think. I don't know more than the shape of it - and, frankly, the amount I've told you could put my neutrality in jeopardy. I'm wild, not tame - I answer to no king or queen's banner, and right now, we've been forbidden from taking contract. So, I'm sorry, but I can't tell you more - I will NOT betray my brothers." He blinks once, then turns his head, looking over his shoulder with unnatural grace. "...You had best go. There's a demon hound loose in these woods, and I cannot harry it to earth without my brethren. And you would be easy prey for it, even with your mixed blood."

     "Fair enough," Keiran replies after a moment, just giving a nod of acceptance as the man refuses to betray his brothers. "Didn't mean to ask you to. I ... guess I'll keep this all in mind. Thanks." He still doesn't seem quite sure how to take it all and is obviously being as noncommittal as possible. "A .. demon hound. Really?" He leans slightly to the side to squint warily past the man into the trees. "I need firewood though." Priorities, right.

     The man just shrugs, and there's a whirring sound and he is gone. An owl perches on a branch for a moment, blinking at Keiran - and then takes off in flight. There is a rustling sound from deeper in the trees - and an absolute absence of birdsong.

     Keiran blinks back at the owl for a moment, weighing his options. But at the rustling and the sudden silence of friendly animals, he takes a step back from the treeline and then another. "Right then. I'll just ... be getting along," he tells the owl, turning back. With some degree of haste, he makes his way to the woodpile, grabbing up what he can of what's left as quickly as possible, before starting at a goodly clip back towards the house.

     Back at the house, there is the smell of something baking - muffins, perhaps. Gwen is in the kitchen, her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a makeshift bun that's straggling free. "Oh, you're back," she calls at the sound of the door. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost." She turns, smiling with sudden warmth. "I've gotten the larder halfway working, at least, so there's bacon and eggs and fried mushrooms with corn muffins and butter. I can't seem to get it to do anything but breakfast foods for now."

     Keiran steps into the house, the scant amount of firewood balanced on one arm as he turns back with narrowed eyes to scan the treeline one last time before firmly and securely shutting the door, even giving a little tug on the handle as though to make sure it's properly closed. "Hm? Oh, yes, back. Sorry about that. I got ... distracted. Say, do you have any neighbors around these parts? Maybe one with an odd sense of humour?" It takes a moment for the rest of what she'd said to sink in through other thoughts but he does give her a quick if not entirely wide grin as it does sink in. "Smells great, luv. Whatever you've got will be grand." He pauses thoughtfully to study her with a mix of fondness and worry, before shaking free of it. "Ah, where should I put this then? Front room?" He lifts the modest bundle of twigs.

     "Neighbors? No, we're quite isolated out here. There's noone around at all for a good couple of miles - we own all the land to the treeline, and from the trees on it belongs to the Crown and to the University of Merlin, or so they say." Gwen scoops the mushrooms out of their pan and onto a plate. "Nooo, not the front room; better in the bedroom, don't you think? Wherever we're going to be wanting to keep warm." She rubs her cheek, then begins carrying plates to the table. "Why, did someone put up a scarecrow or something?"

     "Right. Bedroom. Sorry," Keiran replies, still noticeably distracted as he gives his head another shake, trying to clear out the cobwebs. As if in an attempt to cover, a suggestive grin comes a little too late. "Reckon we can find all sorts of ways to keep warm." He shifts the load, getting a better grip on the twigs so as to not scatter them all over her house. "And no, wasn't a scarecrow, exactly. Never mind. I'll go run these upstairs and we can chat over dinner. Or breakfast. Whatever it is." He gives her another quick grin, before turning to go with a nod.

     Gwen glances over curiously, then smiles with a slight hint of pink for a blush. "Oh, you. One track mind - why do I put up with you." It's said comfortably, though, and she shakes her head. "You go on, run them upstairs. I'm not entirely hungry, so you can have the main share of the food." She goes and fetches a large teapot, carrying it to the table as well, fragrant steam venting from its spout.

     Keiran says "That's me, aye," Keiran agrees easily enough. "And don't ask me why. I'm sure I don't know." With a shrug, he moves towards the stairs, pausing at the foot of them to study her for a moment again before finally making his way up. Booted footsteps sound above, to the bedroom, and then promptly enough, he's clomping back down the steps to return to the kitchen."

     There's a small smile to herself, and she settles in at the table. On the stairs, there are paintings - family paintings, from the looks of it, stretching back for a good couple of centuries. Morgans - none of them with Gwen's blonde waves, though you can pick out similarities around the nose, the chin, the eyes.

     The thud of his boots slows as Keiran pauses to examine the pictures a little more closely on his way down, the man's words coming back to him in a rush. He takes a moment to compare them with Gwen in his mind's eye, lingering just long enough to perhaps get her curious again before he remembers himself and finishes the journey, coming back into the kitchen with a reassuring grin. "There, think we're all squared away."

     "You were taking such a time about things, I was beginning to wonder if you've another girl tucked away in your pocket," Gwen answers lightly, without looking up from pouring tea. "Come and have dinner, won't you? ...What's kept you, anyway? No trouble, I hope."

     "Only one girl I want tucked away in my pocket," Keiran replies with a smile as he makes his way over to the table, pausing to place a kiss atop her head before he settles in across from her. "No, no trouble. Just ... was taking a look at the family pictures." He gestures with a jerk of his head back towards the stairs. "Quite a lot of them, isn't there."

     "Well, it's an old family, even if I'm the only one left." Gwen says it casually - it's not that unusual, is it? She nudges a plate in front of Keiran, then offers him another warm smile, with the same faint air of astonishment she so often has at seeing him still there. "I don't think I'd quite fit in your pocket, you know."

     Keiran takes the plate, returning the smile with one of his own, his expression responding in kind with a sort of 'but of /course/ I'm still here'. "Suppose so," he agrees easily enough, not specifying which comment it applies to. He takes a mouthful of egg, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing to comment casually, "Not a lot of blondes though, were there."

     "No, I suppose it must be a recessive strain," Gwen agrees, oblivious. "Mum always was after me to dye it - said that being blonde makes me look quite thick and just doesn't suit my skin coloring, but it seems to me that it'd be so much work! Anyway, there's so much that can go wrong with dye spells and potions, that it just never seemed worth it to me. At Hogwarts, we do get exposed to ... well ... so much."

     "Your mum said that, did she," Keiran replies through gritted teeth. Must not speak ill of the dead and all. "Well, I think it suits you just fine, and certainly doesn't make you look thick. I'm glad you didn't dye it. Just mentioning that it's curious that only you out of the whole family would get it, that's all. Nothing wrong with it, just curious is all." He shrugs, taking a bite from a muffin.

     "Probably a recessive strain in my father's side of the family - he was from a different branch of the Morgans, that's all I know. His picture's on the stairs as well, you know." Gwen stands, carrying her plate to the sink and turning on the water. "Just about out of soap. Oh, well. I'll go down to the cellar and fetch some, I saw some while I was down there earlier. You go on eating, won't you? It shouldn't take two shakes."

     "Yeah, guess you're right. Probably just that. Was only that... Nothing, never mind. Which one's your dad again?" He watches as she gets up, munching contemplatively on his food. "Sure you don't want me to come with? I don't mind," he offers upon swallowing.

     "Middle of the staircase, the one with the greying temples and the orange cravat," Gwen calls, going down the stairs. "It's fine, honestly - I already chased the boglins out earlier, can't imagine there being anything down here." Her footsteps recede. "I've just got to find the soap again, that's all - ouch!"

     Keiran is just sitting back to work on remembering the portrait in question when Gwen's exclamation comes. "You all right, Gwen?" he calls out, setting down his utensils and pushing his chair back to get to his feet. "What happened?"

     "Just caught my finger on a splinter or something, it's bleeding a trifle. Nothing terrible." Gwen comes up the stairs, frowning, finger in her mouth and clutching a box of soap in her other hand. "Mmf. See?"
     She holds her finger out; there's a droplet of blood, and a couple of minute pinpricks from which the blood wells up. "If you want to see where the splinter came from and possibly sand it down, be my guest - I'm going to run it under water and then finish up."

     Keiran frowns a little as he scrutinizes the offered finger, but even he can't find much cause to fuss over her more than he has already. "All right. I'll go take a look. You just worry about getting that cleaned up. Wouldn't want it getting infected."
     Okay, so he can always find cause to fuss. He grabs the last half of his muffin, taking it with him as he heads for the stairs. It's only another mouthful as he descends. "Where 'bouts did it happen?" he calls back up, his words a little muffled through muffin.

     "By the wooden shelving," Gwen calls back. "I thought it was all pretty smooth, but it's possible some dry rot's set in - that stuff's murder, and a cellar can't help being damp." The shelves are there, certainly, filled with various bric-a-brac. And in the louring gloom there is a single bulb illuminating things, and a tiny glass spider clicks hurriedly out of Keiran's path.

     Keiran watches the spider skitter away with a bit of a frown before moving over towards the shelves. "We should get you better lighting for down here," he calls back absently as he moves in to take a better look at the shelves and try to pinpoint the rough spot.

     The shelves look fairly uniform - no obvious dry rot, no obvious splinters, just the wear of many years. "Can't afford it right now," Gwen calls back down cheerily. "Maybe someday. If I had a knut for every time I said that! Oh, well - any luck? I'm about done with the dishes, I'm thinking of having a bit of a lie-down after the meal."

     "Not seeing anything here, luv," Keiran calls back, running his hand over the wood as if to make sure his eyes aren't deceiving him. "You sure it was these shelves?" He glances up at the bulb a moment, before turning back to the shelves. "A lie-down? Tired, are we?"

     "Well, while you were off gallivanting for wood, I was airing the entire place out, dusting, sweeping, mopping and rearranging the cellar, you know," Gwen calls back with a hint of a laugh. "And I made dinner! Can you blame me if I'm feeling a bit? But there, I've done with my dishes. For taking so long in the woods, you can do yours, I think! You can come up and join me in the bath or the bed when you've done."

     "I was not gallivanting," Keiran replies primly as he makes his way back up the stairs to give her a smirk. "But very well. Suppose I can manage to do my own dishes, even if I am just a helpless man. At least with incentive like that..."

     There's a flying dishtowel aimed at Keiran's shoulder, and Gwen laughs at him. "At least I provide you with some incentive to do what I want you to, hm? You go on, then. I'll just be upstairs. Everything else is done and I've closed up for the night."

     "That's all I ask, really," Keiran replies with mock sincerity, before playfully snapping the dishtowel in her direction but from too far a distance to come anywhere near making contact. "Go. Lie down. I'll be a good boy and clean up after myself right quick and be along in a jiff."

     He receives a smile, and then she turns and heads up the stairs. "It's all so very domestic," Gwen says dreamily. "I could get used to this, you know." She doesn't linger, darting up the stairs suddenly with a bit of a laugh. There's the sound of the bedroom door opening, then closing.

     Keiran manages to show only slight unease at all this discussion of domesticity. "Rest well, luv," is all he offers in response, giving her a nod as she darts away before he moves to fetch his dishes from the table, slinging the dishtowel back over his shoulder like a busboy.

     The house grows quiet with the lack of activity. There's crickets outside in the early summer evening, there's the lingering scent of cooked food and domestic effort. And from upstairs, there's a sudden sound of a door banging shut.

     Keiran runs himself a bit of fresh water and is just settling into the task at hand as the loud bang of the door disturbs the peace and gives him a bit of a start. "Gwen?" he calls out, glancing up at the ceiling and then over at the stairs as he strains to hear any response.

     There is no response forthcoming; or if there is, it's too quiet to be heard.

     Keiran shakes off his hands before drying them on the towel still conveniently slung over his shoulder. Still eyeing the ceiling and listening carefully for any noises, he starts towards the stairs. "Gwen?" he calls again from the foot of them as he begins making his way slowly but steadily upwards.

     Still silence, nothing to be heard.

     Keiran picks up his pace a little as he nears the top of the stairs, taking a peek around before he starts for the bedroom first. "Gwen? Luv?" His voice is a little quieter now.

     There is no sign of Gwen - or of anyone else. The bedding is slightly in disarray, as if she'd been lying down, but other than that? Nothing. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, as if it's what's banged - first into the doorjamb, but not latched, swinging back towards the wall.

     Keiran gives the bedroom a quick once-over, but as it seems pretty obvious that Gwen isn't there, he backs out and turns instead to the bathroom. He approaches it from the side, slowly moving to push the door open and look inside.

     Inside, there are hundreds if not thousands of tiny glass spiders swirling across every surface. When the door opens, they begin to immediately skitter towards the mirror, pushing through the glassy surface and vanishing.

     "O-kay..." Keiran breathes, stepping back abruptly as the spiders catch him by surprise. "What in the deuce..." Surprise is overcome by curiosity and he moves forward now, rushing towards the mirror in the hopes of getting there before all the spiders manage to disappear. Without consideration, his first act is to put his fingers to the looking glass and push.

     Almost - but not quite. The glass solidifies just as Keiran's fingers meet the reflective surface, and it's just a mirror again. But for a moment, the spiders remain visible on the other side, skittering away in apparent panic.

     "What are you?" Keiran calls out to them in frustration. "Where's Gwen?" It isn't clear whether he expects an answer or not from the creatures; quite likely, even he doesn't know.

     Silence, and then there's a thump from the bedroom.

     Keiran whirls back around at the sound of the thump. "Gwen?" he calls out again, torn for half a moment between the mysterious mirror and the new noise. But the noise wins out, and he abandons the bathroom to rush back to the bedroom.

     "What?" It's from the bed - Gwen's voice, sleepy and mildly put off, it sounds. She's got the covers pulled over her head. "I'm sleeping..."

     "Where were you?" Keiran asks as he bursts back into the room. "And what's up with the ruddy spiders?"

     "Spiders? Every house has spiders." Gwen rolls over, opening one blue eye from the gap between pillow and blankets and yawning mightily. "I'm right here. You must be tired if you didn't see me. Look, I'd like to go back to sleep if it's all the same."

     "Glass spiders that can somehow push their way through mirrors? Funny, don't think my place has those, and that's really saying something, considering." Keiran shakes his head a little, calming but still not seeming inclined to entirely shrug this off. "You weren't here a minute ago. Where were you?" He makes his way over to the side of the bed to look down at her with some concern.

     She sits up wearily, a listless expression on her face. It's certainly Gwen, but she's changed her hair and put on some makeup, it seems; her hair's now a medium to dark brown with a slightly purplish cast, lips slightly blue for that oxygen-starved look. She regards Keiran with something like disinterest. "I don't know anything about any glass spiders. Are you sure you weren't imagining it? And I was - and am - right here."

     "I was not imagining it," Keiran says levelly but firmly. "I saw one in the basement earlier too, but didn't think anything of it. Now your bathroom was filled with them. And they went- Weren't you blonde earlier tonight?"

     "So my hair's changed. Why is that so important?" Gwen shrugs again, moving to stand up. She's still dressed the way she was, even if her hair's changed. She looks at Keiran, then shrugs and looks away. "Look, if you're going to be like this, then perhaps you'd best just ... go."

     Keiran furrows his brow. "Be like what Gwen? Confused? What in blazes in going on? Your hair changed within the span of a few minutes, along with, it would seem, you whole demeanor, so - yeah, that's a little important."

     She sits on the edge of the bed, pulling open the nightstand's drawer and rummaging around without looking at Keiran. "I'm rather over you," Gwen says coolly, no trace of her usual warmth. "So can we hurry this along? If you like, I'll say all the right things. It's not you; it's me. I need space. I'm not into the idea of anything long-term right now, and frankly, you're crowding me. Can't think why I invited you in - it was just a matter of time anyway, wasn't it? I'd rather not hurt you, of course. Unlike you, I haven't got a heart to break."

     "All right, what's going on?" Keiran repeats again, his tone more firm now. "What's this about? Who are you and where is my girlfriend?" He stares at her now with less concern and more suspicion. "Save the breakup speech and start giving me some real answers, aye?"

     "Tsk!" It certainly sounds like Gwen. "What do you want? Are you that determined to believe that I'm not me? Just because I'm saying things you don't want to hear? Do I need to remind you of the things you've told me to prove who I am, Keiran? Do I need to hurt you in order to get you to go away? Or you could just ask the house if it's really me; if I weren't, it wouldn't do as I say, would it?"

     "I've heard plenty of things I didn't want to," Keiran replies levelly. "Never stopped me hearing them before. But when they don't make sense, yeah, it slows me down a little. Ten minutes ago you were saying how you could get used to a nice domestic scene like we had going and now I'm meant to believe you're over it all, never want to see me again? Must have been one hell of a nap. So if it is still you, then what the hell has changed in the past ten minutes? Where did you go and what happened? You want me to believe you are who you say you are? Well, Gwen would have at least talked to me."

     "So I changed my mind." Gwen shrugs, rolling over and lying on the bed, closing her eyes. "Sometimes these things rather hit one. I'm not in love with you, Keiran. Or at least, not anymore. I told you, I haven't got a heart to break now - hearts are such useless things, aren't they? And what are we doing, if not talking?" She gestures slightly. "If you like, I can describe down to the dimple in your thigh where you've got that little scar to prove that I'm Gwen."

     "Where'd your heart go, Gwen?" Keiran asks a little more quietly. "This isn't you talking. This is just you trying to scare me away; except you're forgetting I never scare easy. And knowing about my scar isn't exactly proof of identity. Look, just tell me straight up what's going on, and if it's a fitting answer, I'll leave you alone, as you wish. But that's about the only shot you've got at getting rid of me, I'm afraid."

     Gwen sighs, falling silent for a moment. "I don't know what to tell you, Keiran," she says finally. "I laid down. I woke up when you came out of the bathroom. And I just - don't have any feelings for you anymore, I'm afraid. It's nothing personal and it's nothing you've done. It's - just the way things are. Now, you can spend the night if you like," she rolls over, "but I'm tired. I'm going to get some sleep. Good night."

     "You said you don't have a heart anymore, Gwen. More than once. I assume when we were downstairs you still did." Keiran moves over to the other side of the bed to keep her facing him. "So where'd your heart go? And how do you know it's gone? Rather sweeping statement."

     "How does anyone know they haven't got a heart, silly?" Gwen smiles, faintly, but with that same indifference, that lack of warmth. She holds up one hand. "Feel."

     "Well, I don't know. I've never not had one," Keiran replies, though with a sigh, he obligingly reaches out to feel her hand. "Still doesn't answer my question of where it's gone. Or better yet, why it's gone. And how. Yeah, I'm a little fuzzy on this whole concept."

     Her hand is cool to the touch, and there is a distinct lack of a pulse. "How should I know where? Gone is gone." Gwen shrugs a little, pulling her hand away again. "Now, if you wouldn't mind? I really am tired, Keiran."

     "No, I do mind, Gwen," Keiran insists, glancing down at her hand with a discomfited expression before releasing it. "I want to help you Gwen. But you've got to tell me what's going on. So you just woke up, realized you didn't have a heart, also had the revelation that you no longer have feelings for me, and here we are? I find that a little hard to believe. You must have some idea. And what's with the change in hair colour? Where did you go?"

     "It just happened." Gwen looks blankly at Keiran. "I didn't go anywhere, Keiran. Maybe you did? Because I've been here, the entire time." She certainly seems to believe it.

     "You did go somewhere, Gwen," Keiran insists. "I checked the room and you really weren't here. And while I might normally accept that I'm just losing my mind, there's also the fact that you've changed, even you admit it. So these two facts seem to go hand in hand. Maybe you don't remember going anywhere, maybe you don't want to tell me where, but you did go. If it were me, I'd at least want to know what was going on with myself. But reckon you don't care about anything anymore, do you."

     "Why should I? It's just life. Life isn't exactly permanent." Gwen stares at him, then rolls over again, pulling the pillow over her head. "Look - do what you want. I really am tired, Keiran. We can talk in the morning ... assuming we're both still here then, anyway."

     "May not be permanent, but it's the best we've got at the moment," Keiran replies with a shrug, studying her with more concern. "Fine. Sleep. Maybe you'll be in better spirits in the morning. Think I'm going to go hunt glass spiders..."

     Gwen rolls her eyes, curling up under the covers. "Whatever turns you on, I suppose. Glass spiders," she mumbles, pulling the pillow down more firmly. "What'll you come up with next? Sleep well," she adds politely. "Get the light on your way out, won't you?"

     "Well, it'll depend on what life throws at me next, as to what I come up with," Keiran replies to her mumbling, moving towards the door. He watches her for several moments, just standing in the doorway, before finally hitting the light switch and stepping back out into the hallway, pulling the door part-way but not fully shut behind him.

     There's no sound from the bedroom save for the faint noises of Gwen apparently getting more comfortable. No sign of spiders immediately, either.

     Keiran heads back to the bathroom, keeping a close eye on the ground for any skittering glass spiders as he goes. He flips on the switch, planning on heading back to the glass again unless something else should catch his eye on the way.

     There's a light outside from the woods, visible from the window. Judging by the way it bobs and sways, it could be a lantern - or, of course, just willow-the-wisps.

     Keiran pauses to watch the light for a moment before moving closer to the window. As almost an afterthought, he hits the lights again to allow a clearer look out; or perhaps a more obscured look in.

     There's definitely a light in the woods. For a moment, there's a glitter of light off the mirror - and then a single glass spider scurries madly into the mirror. It must have been stranded earlier.

     Keiran turns back as the movement catches his peripheral vision, and he makes a dash to try and catch the mirror before it solidifies again; or perhaps catch the spider. Though it seems a little distracted as his attention almost immediately turns back to the light in the woods.

Posted by rowan at October 20, 2005 08:21 PM