Author's Notes: I have taken down the old and incomplete version of this story, Screaming in our Hearts. I have tweaked it, revamped it, added scenes and took some away, and changed…a lot. It was years ago when I first posted it and it didn't get many hits, so I don't think there will be any old faces around here – just thought I'd throw out that warning anyway. I'm still doing plenty of editing, and of course the story itself never progressed past chapter five, so I have actual writing to accomplish as well. I'm pretty confident that I can do it in a timely fashion, though. I have everything mapped out in the good ol' noggin.

This story is only based on the first three seasons of Slayers. I like Revolution a lot so far, but it's not finished yet, so my story will just take place after the events of TRY to make things easier.

I like angst. If you don't…sorry man, then this probably isn't for you. I'll try to keep things in-character though. Oh, and reviews are pretty cool.

Summary: After living in seclusion for nearly three years, the only thing that Zelgadis wants is to continue his life in such solitude. But the nightmares that have been plaguing him for months became too painful to ignore, and he finds himself traveling the familiar path to Seyruun once again…


Prologue
'trapped'

Six months after Dark Star...

- -

She thought she was dead.

When she woke to the hazy fog that wrapped snuggly around her brain, she was too disoriented to realize where she was. It was pitch black and she was freezing, that she was able to discern. Her arms couldn't move. Her legs were numb. She couldn't muster the strength to speak. Wherever she was, her entire body was powerless, immobilized.

She had to be dead. But could the spirit feel cold? And could it not move when the body was at its final rest?

Why couldn't she move?

Thoughts slowly trickled in with more solidity. A sword. Yes, it was a sword that had struck her down, impaled her through her abdomen and taken her life. She hated swords. Once upon a time, she had known how to use one; she had received mandatory lessons from the general himself. But it was a sword that had slain her mother, and so she grew to despise them. And now, she had been killed by one too.

By who's hand?

Maybe if she had wielded a sword of her own, she could have defended herself. Her cowardice and stubbornness brought about her own death because she refused to be prepared.

No.

Through the dreamlike fog that her mind was still prisoner to, faint images crawled through the murk to form a face: ominous black slits for eyes, a pointed and crooked nose, white translucent skin that pulled tightly over blue and black inhuman veins. And a rough, raspy voice that hissed sadistically into her ear as a sword was thrust straight through her belly.

That voice…oh gods, that voice…

Booley.

He should have been dead. Gracia had fired their mother's only known offensive spell, Chaos String, and the cord of terror had pierced his heart and shredded his soul. She had witnessed it all, saw the puddles of crimson blood soak and spread into the creamy white carpet, felt the scarlet droplets splatter across her face and nightgown, heard the chokes and gurgles erupt as it spewed from his mouth like a fountain of rubies.

He did die. But what she hadn't counted on was his rebirth into something even more diabolical than what he had been as a human. And years later, the revived Mazoku came after the sisters in hot vengeance, but only found one. His sorcery rivaled hers, but it was his sword that made the final strike. He had stabbed her hard, carried her to a clearing in the woods, and stuffed her lifeless body into a narrow wooden box.

Box…lifeless…

No.

And just like that, the slothful bleariness gave way to terrified awareness. Her arms couldn't move because they were pinned to her sides. Her legs were numb from the thick braids of rope that bound them together at the knees and ankles. And she couldn't speak because of the tape that was pasted down over her chapped lips.

Wait, she thought with mounting dread, not tape. Her mind recalled the image of a silver needle, its sharp point blinking in the moonlight as a strand of thread was passed through its eye.

Her mouth had been sewn shut.

And Amelia Wil Tesla Seyruun had been buried alive.


Disclaimer: I do not own Slayers.