Cold, good drops of rain fall softly in Evie’s cheeks seeing that she emerges from the darkness from the ship’s interior to the grey, overcast sky of the main deck. Pulling her dark peacoat tighter to her body, the blowing wind lifts crimson tendrils of her locks. She walks gradually to the railing looking over the water.

She catches her first sight of the Irish coastline; its craggy surroundings makes her shiver in dread. She discovers it difficult to imagine now the way the Gancanagh experienced made this their home for such a long time without anyone recognizing it. The chilly, moss-covered edifices practically scream their presence. As she studies the shadows between your falling-down rock, she imagines creeping forms of undead Faeries grasping the rock, waiting for their dispatch to draw nearer to their position.

Tipping her encounter up, she enables the rain wash over her. It bathes apart the frigid sweating of fear which has broken on her behalf brow. ‘You don’t know how fiercely gorgeous you are, perform you?’ a quiet voice behind her asks, leading to her to stiffen and fix her eyes in the stones along the shoreline.