Restless nights were the worst for anyone, but restless nights for Criston were like torture. Every mistake he had ever made came to him like a flood after a heavy rain, every last thing he hated came to claw at him like an angry cat. Tonight was no different than the others. Instead of laying in bed like he should have been, Criston sat by the fireplace with his white cloak in his hands like he was holding a precious gem. He couldn't stop thinking about all the things he had done in his life, things that sullied the very cloak he held in his hands. He had never intended to have led the life he had been living, he never intended to ruin the white cloak like he had.

Criston was so lost in his own thoughts of regret and remorse that he barely registered the knock on his door. He wasn't expecting anyone to be calling on him in the middle of the night so he had no reason to pay any mind to it.