The tower stretches up to the edge of the mountain, and in the middle of the tower is the room where Yarrod sits. It is a cold room, of stone and mocking echoes, of sounds you hear on the edge of your senses. Rosemary doesn’t like it, but every time she arrives, that is where Yarrod is.

They talk here a lot.

Rosemary says, “It must be awful.”

Yarrod replies. “I know.” He wishes he had not told her.

“And they took the key?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know, I didn’t realise that you were so much…alone.”

Yarrod does not look at her. His eyes are the colour of the castle stone. “I have been this way for a hundred years.”