The hand mirror fell off the dressing table and smashed against the floorboards. Kraar opened a sleepy eye and peered out into the blackness of the night. His fairy slept safely in her bed, Chip had nestled himself on the window ledge and all seemed quiet. The raven ruffled his feathers and closed his eyes again. He gave a cry of alarm as the wardrobe he was perched on lurched violently to the left. It rocked onto its corner before hitting the ground with a thud. The drawers begun to rattle, the handles clattering against the wood until the entire draw bust open, spilling clothes out onto the floor. The raven flew down towards the bed, dodging around the flapping bed curtains to land on his faerie's mattress.
"Morgana," Kraar said, resting his foot on her arm and clenching his talons. She stirred but she didn't wake up. "Morgana," he cawed again, hopping up onto her chest. Her heart was pounding and her face was stretched in an expression of anguish; Kraar's heart clenched with worry prompting him to renew his effort to rouse her.

It didn't work. Without warning the candles scattered through the room spluttered into life, illuminating the night with an amber glow. Kraar glanced up, and saw the flames reflected back at him in Chip's beady black eye.
"Help me," he urged his brother in raven-speak. Morgana tossed in her sleep, ignorant to her familiar's presence on her chest, and he was almost crushed beneath her. Kraar hopped to the safety of the bedpost. The window behind them burst open and the wind pulled the velvet curtains out into the cold with a ferocious roar. The candle flames grew taller, stretching up towards the ceiling as the trinkets on the surrounding shelves clattered to the floor in an avalanche of noise.
"Morgana!" Kraar tried again, his voice mixing with Chip's urgent calls.

Morgana sat bolt upright, her black eyes wide and her breathing ragged. The candles were extinguished in an instant, the furniture quieted, but the resulting quiet was deafening. Kraar hopped back onto the bed, but his faerie didn't see him. She threw back the bed covers, clasping a hand over her mouth to stifle a terrified sob. The floor was cold against her bare feet and her skin pimpled against the chill but she didn't pause to gather up her slippers or fetch her dressing gown from the stand by the door. Grief had a strangle-hold on her throat and her fingers slipped from her mouth to her neck, itching at the pale flesh in a vain attempt to loosen its grip.

She fled along the familiar corridors, rendered horrific by the ghosts that pursued her. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thundered down the first flight of stairs she encountered, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and her bed chamber. Finally, exhausted Morgana came to a faltering halt, her back pressed up against the cold stone of a naked wall. She slipped down it as her legs gave way beneath her. Burying her face in her knees, the fabric of her white dress tangled around her, she wept.