He is ushered into overwhelming warmth and removes the pale shawl he had around him, draping it over the back of a chair to dry. He's not sure where to start, as he begins to pace about the room, the moonlight streaming in through the window to catch in his dark hair, making it shine like oil slick. With the ocean churning outside the window behind him - wild, white waves - he's framed dramatically, making him seem suddenly, incredibly striking, even now, drenched as he is in rain, in a drowsy, hypnotizing way.

"My husband is dead."

The words hang in the air and he makes a delicate expression.

Then -

"And...I haven't been entirely honest with you," he confesses, a strange thrill in his voice that is difficult to shake: a singing compulsion, a whispered listen. "I'm...not who and what you think I am."

Alecto isn't sure what to do with his hands, traitorous things that they are, fingers flexing nervously. "Back then when we first saw each other at the market. You said you thought you knew me from somewhere else. As if we were already old friends. ...You were right." He searches Josh's face, knowing it won't bring him any answers or reprieve. But damned if he doesn't hope. "We've met long ago. When we were both very young. By the cliffs here, below us now. I was the white seal you came to visit every evening." A pause. "...well, I mean to say, I still am. This is just how I look ever since I lost my coat."

He waits for the dawn of recognition and realization to hit the man in front of him.