The rain continues to come down in sheets. Ribbons upon ribbons of dark, unforgiving water.
It’s been three days since his husband died. Drowned, they said. He had been working late into the evening and the black tides had risen too high in the storm, consuming him. His lifeless body was found washed up onto the wet sands, miles from home. What a pity, they said. I’m so sorry, they said.
And the first thing Alecto did when he heard the news was tear through the house. He ransacked the bedrooms in a manic frenzy, throwing furniture upside down and over, checking every corner, every trunk and chest, smashing locks with whatever blunt object he could find, desperate to look for that flowing, magical coat he knew could set him free from this landlocked curse. He trashed the closets, upended the kitchen and emptied out the pantry, the cupboard, the drawers. All around him, a mess of items, the echo of a home once made and sustained with care, now nothing but clutter and nonsense.
But after hours of this, his chest heaving and flushed with exertion, Alecto found he could only wail in frustration, having found no trace of his beloved coat anywhere, not a single glimpse of its bright diamond sheen. Could he even be convinced that Nathaniel kept it in the house? He did not know.
What he did know was that he was now a widow. With no human next of kin, no means to sustain himself, no promise of where his next meal might come from, no protector, and no guarantees. Nowhere to turn.
Except —
The idea comes to him suddenly, an uncertain warmth blooming in his chest at the thought. And it’s with bright desperation and deep sorrow that he finds himself now at the lighthouse, it’s golden beam swinging through the night in large, graceful arches.
He knocks - three tender raps of his knuckles - and when the door finally opens, Alecto breathes the man’s name like a prayer, his eyes wide and luminous as polished moonstones. “Joshua. Please. I - I need your help.”
[Those Left Behind]
It’s been three days since his husband died. Drowned, they said. He had been working late into the evening and the black tides had risen too high in the storm, consuming him. His lifeless body was found washed up onto the wet sands, miles from home. What a pity, they said. I’m so sorry, they said.
And the first thing Alecto did when he heard the news was tear through the house. He ransacked the bedrooms in a manic frenzy, throwing furniture upside down and over, checking every corner, every trunk and chest, smashing locks with whatever blunt object he could find, desperate to look for that flowing, magical coat he knew could set him free from this landlocked curse. He trashed the closets, upended the kitchen and emptied out the pantry, the cupboard, the drawers. All around him, a mess of items, the echo of a home once made and sustained with care, now nothing but clutter and nonsense.
But after hours of this, his chest heaving and flushed with exertion, Alecto found he could only wail in frustration, having found no trace of his beloved coat anywhere, not a single glimpse of its bright diamond sheen. Could he even be convinced that Nathaniel kept it in the house? He did not know.
What he did know was that he was now a widow. With no human next of kin, no means to sustain himself, no promise of where his next meal might come from, no protector, and no guarantees. Nowhere to turn.
Except —
The idea comes to him suddenly, an uncertain warmth blooming in his chest at the thought. And it’s with bright desperation and deep sorrow that he finds himself now at the lighthouse, it’s golden beam swinging through the night in large, graceful arches.
He knocks - three tender raps of his knuckles - and when the door finally opens, Alecto breathes the man’s name like a prayer, his eyes wide and luminous as polished moonstones. “Joshua. Please. I - I need your help.”