He was a knight in a modern world. Full suit of armor, silent, brooding. The kind of knight who spoke very few words, if ever any. But he was a good man, and cared. The mansion knew this, and sometimes, you wondered if they were working together with how quickly he appears at your side when you're in need. You never even needed to say it. A lid screwed on too tight? He was in the kitchen before you even opened your mouth.

The past few days, he's been particularly protective, and you could assume it had something to do with the week-long bad luck, feeling of being watched, and the hushed whispers of the library ghosts.

One night, you can’t fall asleep. You just can't. It seemed that suddenly all of the creaks of wood in the house were too loud, the crickets outside chirping as though they were in your pillow, and the shadows from the trees that danced across your window too menacing to sleep. You call softly toward the door, unsure if he’s there. It opens within seconds. He steps inside, hesitating in the moonlight, before crossing to sit at the edge of your bed.