I finish brushing the tangles from my hair, and Iago springs onto my bed beside me, his legs moving a little stiffly now, and a few gray hairs around his eyes giving away his age. I lie back on top of the covers, too restless for sleep, yet weary. I cannot recall the last night I slept well. I know only it was some time before the Anstruthers’ ball. Before Stricklend murdered my brother. Now the small, quiet hours are filled with the threat of nightmares and remembering. Nightmares about Freddie, about what I did to him, and how I failed him. And remembering the one other living person in this world who has ever made my heart dance. Bram. I know him to be living, even though I have not seen him or heard from him since the ball, because I frequently call upon one of the more reliable spirits who can assure me that he still treads the earth. It gives me such comfort to know he is safe. Comfort and hope, though I do not deserve such a gift. Would he ever forgive me for treating him so badly? I failed to meet him at the station that day as I had promised, and I sent no word of explanation. Mangan told me he had left London, returned to Yorkshire. I started so many letters to him but never posted one. He has never written to me, but then, why should he? I later discovered that he enlisted soon after war broke out.

My spirits tell me they do not see him in Darkness, so I know he still lives. At present, they do not hear heavy guns near him, so I am certain he is not in France now, and I thank the heavens for this. I pray daily that he be spared. Even if he is lost to me, I dearly want him to be safe. To be happy. I hope that he is able to know true happiness again one day. I fear I never may.

Iago sets up a rumbling purr and curls up next to my feet. I lean forward and stroke him gently.