Milthorne Manor [#Wattys2016]

Prologue: Waiting

April 2, 1871

A dark-shrouded figure appears in the faint light of a guttering lantern, lost in his thoughts. His lip twists in frustration, dwelling on the charge of his Master. Outside the stone walls of his home, his prison, a storm wreaks its thunderous fury.

How?

The man paces the hallways of the Master's castle, waiting.

I must watch.

The chill of the stone, the echoing keen of the winds, the drip of condensation falling from the cavernous ceilings are lost to him. He clenches his fists, still pacing.

I must watch. The bride, the bride, the bride. I must watch for the bride as pure as untouched snow. Snow. Cold, so cold; but pure. The bride. The Queen. I must watch.

An owl joins his song to the wind's, partaking in the madman's vigil. He drops to his knees, hands clawing at his face.

"WHERE ARE YOU!?" he shrieks, losing the question in a hysterical bout of laughter. Writhing on the cold, cracked stone floor, he wails his question to the walls, the storm, the winds, and the owl.

"WHERE ARE YOU!?"

Curled on his side, he rocks back and forth, whimpering his question to nothingness; then he stills abruptly.

She will come. She will come here. How? Howhowhowhowhow? I will... I will bring her.

In a flash, he is on his feet, throwing open the remains of the rotten wooden shutters on the glass-less windows of the castle. Oblivious to the slashing rain, he stretches his face into a garish smile and screams to the empty moorland,

"SHE IS COMING! SHE IS COMING!"