"Why are you standing out here in this freezing air, Gillian?" Ghea asked, her voice soft and trembling slightly as the wind whipped around the side terrace of the Mourning Manor.
Gillian stood at the very edge of the stone terrace, his dark coat billowing around him like the wings of a predatory bird. He was staring out into the vast, unforgiving expanse of the darkened forest that surrounded the estate. The air was biting, laden with the promise of early frost, yet he did not seem to feel the cold. He had been standing there for nearly an hour, a statue carved from grief and silent resolve, listening to the desolate howl of the wind. When he turned to look at Ghea, his expression was as unreadable as the deep winter sky. He did not answer her question immediately, preferring instead t
