Hi everyone, bit of a short one this but my excuse is that I'm all ill and flu-ey and lacking energy! I'm sure this will keep you amused for a while! Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, on with the show...

Chapter Four. Half a Shadow.

1767.

Water. Never-ending water. Swirling, churning, rushing-faster and faster. It was dark water; so dark that you could not see the bottom, or even if it had a bottom. Perhaps it was a river of eternal darkness—the doom of whosoever plunged into its icy depths. Rushing, swirling, churning. Never the same river twice, always different, always fearful. He couldn't stop it. It just kept coming—on and on and on…gurgling, whispering, mocking. Daring him to jump in and swim in its murky nothingness. Down, down, down, claiming him, drinking him in. He was struggling to keep his head up. He was trying to move but it was dragging him down below the surface. It was cold, so cold he felt his blood begin to freeze. His hands were clawing but water was floating in between his fingers. He was running out of air. He was suffocating on his own breath. He felt as if he was about to burst. The pressure was building. His arms were now useless, rendered immobile by the bitter cold, but he still had his legs. He could still kick, and he did kick, he was kicking as fast he possibly could. He was desperate now. His chest was contracting, growing tighter and tighter. He couldn't hold on much longer. He thought he could see daylight glimmering on the surface miles above him but he couldn't reach it. He kicked harder still, causing the water to churn beneath him. Churning, swirling, rushing.

He screamed and the water rushed in.

Chip woke immediately, as he had done almost every night for the past sixteen years. Regular as clockwork. The drowning dream was just one in a whole series of nightmares, but out of all of them, it was the most potent, the most terrifying. And he could never escape them. They'd started appearing in the daytime now. Whenever he allowed himself a moment of peace and closed his eyes in the warm sunshine, they happened. Over the years, he had learned to cope with them though, and live along side them. He had ways of disguising his tiredness and he could function on a few hours of sleep. That didn't stop them being any less frightening or real though.

He swallowed several times, gasping for air, and then he got out of bed and went to the sink. Every night. Regular as clockwork. He splashed his face with water and drank greedily from the tap. It tasted good—so different from the vile water in his dreams. He lit a well-worn down candle and stared at his face in the mirror with its light. He was half in shadow, one side of his face disappearing into the darkness, the other side illuminated by the dancing flame. It emphasised the fine lines that had begun to appear at the corners of his eyes, the eyes that were never shut long enough. He splashed his face with water again and watched the drops drip down his face, travelling along from his eyes to his cheeks and catching on his unshaven chin before plopping back into the sink and causing minute ripples on the surface. He watched the water until it was still and calm. He preferred it like that. He stared at his face again.

'What is wrong with me?' he thought.

It had been the same as long as he could remember. Nightmares, dreams, visions, sights—they came so frequently now that he was finding it difficult to distinguish them from reality, Most of the time they were repetitive, like the drowning one, but sometimes they were different. Images of the past, present and future, and guest-starring the people closest to him. Those were the ones he never told anyone about, and for good reason. While the repetitive ones were abstract, symbolic maybe, he occasional ones were crystal clear, like moving portraits in his mind. He had seen things happen that no person should ever have to see or want to know. He kept quiet. After all, how could you tell your step-father that you had seen his death? How do you tell your mother that you know she isn't really your mother?

Of course, it wasn't always negative events he saw. He had seen the King and Queen's coronation, her pregnancy, the birth of the princess, all before they'd happened, but he had been a child then. He had discarded them as quickly as old toys and books. The vision he'd had at baby Raisse's crib side had been the turning point. He had been so scared that he had refused completely to see her for months afterwards, lest it happen again. Now, sixteen years later, he had had no more visions directly involving Raisse since, which only meant that he was unable to forget that first one and every night that he stood in front of that mirror, he knew that he, and she, were one night closer to the moment when it would come true. He had never seen how it ended, and that just made its inevitability all the more horrifying. He could not even begin to describe his elation every morning when he saw her and she was not dressed the same as in the vision or she had her long, blonde hair up in some complicated style. As far as he was aware, she never wore her hair loose and she didn't own a dress even remotely like the one he had seen her in, and that gave him hope. Hope that maybe this was one vision that would never come to be.

He adored the young princess. He had grown up protecting her like an older brother, although technically he was her step-uncle. He knew that he would not be able to live with himself if anything were to happen to her, not when he could save her.

And so it was with fear, yet weary relief that he stood half in shadow by the mirror, knowing another twenty-four hours had passed and Raisse was safe. Or was she? He'd better check.

"Show me the princess," he whispered.

The mirror sparkled, and then flashed before showing him the image of the sleeping princess. He hated doing it, he knew it was an invasion of her privacy and if anyone found out about, he'd be in trouble, but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep himself unless he saw her safe and well which, happily on this occasion, she was. He smiled faintly, then turned away and blew out the candle, then made his way back to bed to try and steal back a few hours of sleep.

Every night. Regular as clockwork.

Outside Chip's window, and Raisse's window, and indeed outside every window of the castle, for it could be in several places at once, the dark figure was waiting. Another night was drawing to a close, which meant time drew ever nearer to the moment when his plans would finally become solid. The boy was feeling it, he could tell, and it would be very soon now.

The little man…that pitiful man, who had been slaving away all these years, obsessed with love and revenge, and being driven slowly crazy by his continuous failures to achieve what he wanted. Well, soon it would be time to put the fool out of his misery and set in motion a chain of events, climaxing in the ruin of the kingdom and the creature finally claiming what was rightfully its to claim.

Yes…it would be very soon now…

It slunk off as the castle slept. Half in shadow.