He reached her door, knowing which it was without needing to see the number carved onto its surface, for he had visited it with her on a couple of occasions; he had a memory for that sort of thing. His steady fingers wrapped around the handle slowly and cautiously, testing it, and he bit his lip at the cold surface as it stroked along his palm. The door handle was still, unmoving as he applied pressure and he sighed; he should have expected that it would be locked. Slowly the dark figure bent down onto one knee, lining his dark brown eyes with the keyhole beneath the handle, inset into the door. �Simple enough�� he murmured absently to himself, reaching into his thigh pocket and removing from it a small dagger. Without a second thought he placed the dagger into the keyhole, angling it with perfection. His eyes were as keen as his hands were steady; precision was the key to the lock. A sudden jerk of the positioned blade and a satisfying click marked the lock snapping open. A thin smile crept up his shadowed face as the dagger was returned to his pocket. This time the handle fell to a vertical position, and he teased the door open.

He made certain that the hinges did not creak and that the door did not scrape the floorboards as he prized it slowly open, just enough for him to slip into the room. Similarly, he closed the door behind him with a purpose, so that none might know he had entered. As he both suspected and hoped, the small bedroom was empty save for his own dark reflection, in a mirror over the dresser, glancing vigilantly around the space. The bed was made, and this didn�t surprise him in the slightest, although the armoire door had been left open, and a sky blue dress lay at its foot, typically unrevealing in its design. He remembered that she had had something to attend to urgently, and that he had delayed her in attending it; he could be more than persuasive when he wanted to be. This was, almost certainly, the reason for the act of uncharacteristic untidiness. Here he would begin the search then.

He moved closer to the armoire, flicking through rows upon rows of clothing. There were dresses and gowns, robes and shirts and sweaters, but nothing that he recognized, nothing that answered any of his nagging questions. He moved quietly away from the armoire now, looking to its side. His dark eyes scanned the surface of a dresser; a small figurine of a hare, a pocket mirror and a comb, a book of which a quick inspection proved to be a fictional novel of romance; this surprised him slightly, but not to the extent he was looking. If only he knew what he sought� something� anything� a clue�

The bed proved as fruitless as the armoire had, though he tossed back covers and blankets, he found nothing there either save for sheets, a mattress and two feather-stuffed pillows. The windowsill was empty, and the windows closed and locked from both outside intruders and the cold night winds. The dark figure bent down again, fiddling with a small cupboard but a tiny copper padlock had it sealed closed. He cursed to himself when he realized the lock would be too small and awkward to pick. After a moment�s pondering, he found the solution, using his small dagger to unscrew the catches from the cupboard and pull the entire locking mechanism off the wooden doors. He swung them open eagerly; knowing that a locked door meant something precious was behind it. On the top shelf there was nothing of interest to him; some candles, a feather quill and inks, a pendant with a coin on the chain, a clockwork watch�

It was the box on the lower shelf that caught the intruder�s interest. He lifted the lid and coughed at the cloud of dust that doing so produced, before gently laying it down on the floorboards. Something glittered from the dim moonlight pouring in over it, despite the dust� a small dagger, its hilt curved and a small blue sapphire in the handle.

�Strange� looks jus� like Lia�s did��

He furrowed his brow and lifted the dagger from its box, looking it over before laying it down in the lid. Beneath it there lay a small book, pages held together by a ring binding, and a cover of leather around the outside. The cover was plain, but a small strip of blue silk acted as a bookmark, and it was with curiosity that he flicked to the marked page. Empty. He flipped back a page, and this time saw before his dark eyes a pair of pages filled with flowing writing in ink. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar to him, which helped him in reading what was written there�

��the first time we met he looked so familiar to me, but I know I�d never met him before. I felt like I wanted to grab him and hug him, like a long lost friend, but I knew myself being silly. It was probably his eyes, so dark and mysterious, very unlike the eyes of the people back home. But he seemed happy enough to greet me, which was nice� I couldn�t have made the effort myself. He said his name was Raphael� but he said I could call him Raph if I liked. I don�t, though. He seemed oddly taken back when I told him my name, like he recognized me too. Well, I didn�t want to encourage the idea so I said nothing, but I did start thinking things� and even saying things that I didn�t mean to say. They just came out. At times I keep on thinking that maybe I�m possessed, but that seems such a silly thing to think, really� perhaps I�m becoming too attached to him, that could be it, because I do keep feeling things for him that I shouldn�t do. And when he touches me and kisses me, I hear her voice in my head, I think� not my voice, someone else�s and maybe that�s why I know him� it is all very stupid of me, really, I think. Maybe I am just��

He closed the book, reading no more for now, yet smiling slightly to himself. Possessed? Despite his need for silence, he gave a small chuckle, slipping the little diary into his pocket. He placed the dagger back into the box gently, looking it over a moment before finally closing the lid onto the box and sliding it into the cupboard. He pushed the doors too, but left the lock lying on the floorboards for the moment, his hunger for more information steadily becoming hungrier. He moved to the drawers piled beneath the dressing table, three of them, painted white and with small silver handles. He pulled open the top drawer, finding the contents to be various skirts. The majority was blue, but there were other pale colors there too; greens, whites, khakis. He made a mental note to buy her some bright clothing sometime, an outfit expensive and fine that would make her beauty stand out like a rose in a field of daisies.

With a smile he pushed the drawer closed, quietly always, and then moved to the next. In this drawer he found her underwear, and bit his lip with a shake of his head, sorting through the garments taking care not to spill them onto the floor, what he was doing seeming now strange for the first time.

�Raphael?!�

He froze completely still and cringed, slowly turning his head to look to the doorway. There Calia stood, clad in a gray dress that flowed from her shoulders to her ankles, clinging though to her stomach in a manor akin to a corset with a little more breathing room. A look of horror was on her face, which was hardly a surprise considering she had just come to retire to her bedroom to find a dark figure crouched down, sorting through her bras and panties. Raph gave a small grin and dropped a bra from his fingers, hastily into the drawer, pushing it shut. Calia raised both eyebrows as her eyes cast to the open armoire and the padlock broken on the floor.

�Raphael, what are you doing?!�

Raph stood slowly to both feet, staring at her through the flowing lengths of dark hair shadowing his eyes. She didn�t look impressed, unsurprisingly. How had she managed to get in so quietly?

�I�m� searchin� fer somethin�, darlin���

�In my underwear drawer!?�

Raph managed a small chuckle, which he quickly ceased when he realized she wasn�t laughing along with him. He hung his head slightly, shuffling his foot, trying to buy himself time to work out a way of explaining himself. Perhaps the truth was his best hope for once�

�Alrigh� alrigh�, sit down sweet�eart��

Almost reluctantly, Calia let him guide her to the bed and she sat down on the edge of it, folding her arms and sucking her bottom lip, wondering for the life of her what he was about to tell her. �This should be good,� she thought to herself. Raph seated himself beside her, but made certain not to touch her just yet.

�I was �opin� ta find summat that might� that might confirm me suspicions. Ya see� no, �old on darlin�, lemme speak� I reckon there�s summat between ya and me� dead lover, Keilia� I was �opin� I might find somethin� in �ere ta stop me thinkin� I�m goin� mad, ya know? Ta prove me right� or wrong, even� I didn� mean ta invade or nothin�, sweet�eart��

Calia gave a faint smile and finally she chuckled, shaking her head and looking down at her toes. She knew what he meant; she didn�t think he was mad at all. She had heard the voices in her head, felt the feelings she was convinced didn�t belong to her, had a confidence that was not hers� He must have noticed her expression or read her thoughts, for he sidled up beside her and put an arm over her shoulders. She tensed slightly, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, which was not the most encouraging of reactions. But Raph knew she would often take a little softening. More than characteristic of him, his eyes became soft, though darker than ever, and she saw forced, false sadness on his lips that made her chuckle as he mouthed the words:

�Forgive me, darlin�?�

He batted his eyelids at her and she laughed again, giving him a shove away from her. He chuckled with her, but by the time she had stopped she realized he had fallen silent moments before and sat now, staring at her, almost assessing her just by the look in her eyes and the smile on her lips. She felt her cheeks flush under his overly intense stare, and looked away from him and across to the underwear drawer, which even now made her shake her head in disbelief, but her eyes were quickly pulled back to his as he cupped her chin and turned her face to look at him. He stared at her eyes now, and she at his, and he noted to himself how much like jades the deep green depths really were. He pushed his lips against hers; insistent but gentle, holding onto her chin to prevent her turning away as she had done in the past, and he forced her to embrace his tongue as he brushed it over hers. She whimpered, both in surprise and in unexpected pleasure, bringing her both her hands to his chest. His hand, steady as a rock, rose up through her blonde hair, glowing in the moon light, letting the strands flow seamlessly between his fingers. She relaxed against him, melting under the tender touch of his fingers and the gentle caress of his tongue, letting her own roll gently along it. She knew she should enjoy the sensation of him whilst she was able to�

Raphael loved how she slowly caved in to the pleasures he offered; he could almost feel the resistance crumble away beneath his lips, feel her eyes drift closed and her breathing pick up. She brought her hands to his chest, holding onto the front of his dark shirt, keeping him close. He let his hand trail off her neck and through her hair as his other released her chin; he knew she would not pull away now. His hand found its way to her thigh, stroking along the smooth fabric before slipping beneath, his fingers teasing themselves along her soft and pale thighs, upwards towards her hips. As he touched her, he heard her give a whimper into his lips, and she suddenly bit down on his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth and sucking eagerly on it between her own lips. He arced his back forwards, into her, as she tiptoed her fingers deliberately under his shirt, scraping her fingernails down his chest, raking the skin. She lifted her eyelids slowly now, allowing herself to take him in as he moaned against her, her ice blue eyes roaming the length of his body.