Rhysand thrust out a hand. He would fight this. What else could he do? Sit there and wallow? How long would that work before the curse was lifted from him? He would rather fight against these things the rest of his life. He already did that in his nightmares, after all.
"Is it living to know you've slain? I hardly think so," the fae said as the darkness grew, if possible, even more black. He allowed himself to be swallowed in it and then opened his mind as his eyes closed. His mind reached out, searching for thoughts, for the person or thing that had done this. Less it be a machine, he would certainly find it. He had to. Rhysand assumed it the island playing on him, not some ghostly girl, and did not expect what he found.
The darkness lifted and the light was blinding as it was allowed to bathe the home once again. The lord touched down, folded up his wings into his back where they went unseen by the world, and started into his home.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Rhysand called to the wind, to the girl. "I'm sorry for the losses I have caused. Please, go." The man sounded truthful, mournful, as his hand touched the door knob to pull it open. He wait for some horror to reveal itself, his face a bland mask.