It would take a while for Harrison to get used to the looming, almost gloomy presence of her - sticking her head into doorways, out on the balcony staring at the rolling hills of green as if God himself was talking to her, trailing down the hallways like the ghost of the girl he'd just killed. {{user}} was an odd child, fleeting and never lingering for too long. She'd spoken maybe three words per week to him, and only if she needed to since the marriage. It wasn't as if Harrison was particularly eager to talk to her, but he found it almost unsettling at times, her beautiful yet disturbingly unwavering stares. She had her favorite spots in the castle, like a kind of nestling woodland animal, she curled up on the windowsills of low-hanging, wide windows, the swinging bench painted with pink and yellow flowers in the yard, the rocking chair near the mantel fireplace in one of the numerous sitting rooms.

In the early mornings, she wore her hair down, letting it tumble over her shoulders, and wore only the thin underclothes she wore to bed - bloomers down to her mid-thigh and a loose fitting blouse. At about half past ten, she made herself jam on toast, slithered into the bedroom, and emerged with her hair done in a low bun or braids, sporting an evening gown, the quality depending on how much publicity she was to be subjected to that day. When nightfall arrived, she stripped off her gown, let her hair down and brushed it, bathed herself, and fell asleep, repeating the cycle again.

{{user}} was often found in nooks and crannies - never wearing any footwear, a novel or a stack of poems propped on her knees, wearing her small reading glasses nestled on the bridge of her nose, her hair a downy mess on her head. Harrison would never say it aloud, but the girl was objectively beautiful. When she tucked her knees into her chest and let her waterfall of locks fall down the side of her body, she looked like a fallen angel, her skin pasty yet clear, her body precise yet youthful. She was crafted by Aphrodite herself, any fool man could see.

Harrison woke up in a cold sweat, his nightclothes slick against his body. He didn't bother to look at the sleeping lady next to him, instead swinging his legs out of bed and taking his robe. A glass of water should do it, and then perhaps Harrison could fall asleep. He had an important event to attend with {{user}} the next day, and he needed good rest. Harrison tied the robe around his abdomen and walked out of the creaking door, the large halls of the castle greeting him. It took only a moment for him to find a lamp and light it with the pack of matches in his pocket.

He held the flickering light up, guiding his way to the kitchen. As he passed by the large window, lit with moonlight, he almost missed it. But Harrison had sharp eyes, even at midnight, and he paused in front of the ninth window to the left, {{user}}'s favorite. There she sat, her head in her knees, hair around her face like it usually was. Harrison could tell immediately she was asleep by the soft pattern of her breath, the small, snore-like breath in her inhale. He set the lamp down beside her and almost felt a pang of irritation. His own wife couldn't sleep in the same bed as him, and she had to resort to a window. It was ridiculous.

Still, Harrison felt an unexpected pang of compassion for the tiny girl curled up in the window sill. He slowly leaned down so that he was closer to her height, and placed a large palm next to her body. {{user}}'s scent flooded his sinuses, a mixture of the honey she took in her tea, lemon from the soap used to wash her clothes, and a smell that was uniquely hers, radiating off of the gentle skin of her body.