A/N: Sooooo, I've decided to do a short-ish story on Skulduggery Pleasant where I will be focusing to audience's attention to Valkyrie Cain. I think this story might be when she was 18 or something near that. And obviously, this will contain spoilers from almost all the books from the first to last. Darquess is in it too, oh yes.

"Valkyrie," a voice of velvet drifted into her nightmare. "Wake up."

She awoke with a scream of horroric, inhuman terror. Skulduggery tried to calm her down by wrapping his arms around her shoulders. As soon as Valkyrie felt the hollow frame of his body, she had calmed down immensely. Another nightmare, she realised. She breathed heavily into his shoulder. Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping down onto Skulduggery's navy-striped suit.

"Shh, it's okay. It was just a dream." He whispered softly into her ear.

Valkyrie nodded bravely and forced a small small. "Yes, I know... but it was so horrible..."

Skulduggery let go of the hug to rooted through his coat. He reached into the hollow space inside his ribcage and brought out a handkerchief. "Here. Now, are you going to tell me what happening in this 'nightmare'?"

"I-I don't really want to talk about it..."

"Spendid. Are you sure? It might make you feel even the tiniest bit better."

She nodded again. "Yes, I'm sure, but..."

He didn't need to ask, "Darquesse?"

` A single nod. "Yes, it was about... when... I had to... and Alice..." She paused between words, and at the mention of Alice she was crying again. She cried at lot recently, especially after Stephanie was killed by this 'Darquesse' who had taken over Oblique's body, a horrible sorceror working under Vincent Foe - who had been working for Darquesse at the time.

"I understand," Skulduggery replied. "But you have to let go. Sorcerors live a long life, Valkyrie, your going to make mistakes and hate yourself but you need to make it through or else you will be living forever regretting not forgiving yourself when you live in a hole and your wasted off your head." That last part wasn't true, but he mostly knew what he was talking about. During his 'adventures' as Lord Vile, Skulduggery had endured going through killing many of his friends and colleagues. But unlike Valkyrie, he had done this willingly under the influence of his darker side during the war. Valkyrie, how ever, had to kill her sister to gain control of the sceptre - an ancient weapon of destruction powered by a black cystal and used by the Faceless Ones themselves. After killing Alice, she instantly tried to get her to breathe again using a Sunburst. Valkyrie hated herself for what she had done and could never forgive herself for it.

"I-I c-can't!" she cried, "I've done a horrible thing and hurt my little, baby sister and she will never know about any of it."

"You done what was needed to be done at the time. And hey, Alice is fine, isn't she?"

Valkyrie didn't reply. It wasn't that she didn't know the answer it was because she did. She didn't hurt her phsically but she hurt herself emotionally. She couldn't see her family after that, she couldn't look at her baby sister after what she had done. What if Alice didn't make it, she thought, what would I tell my parents? 'Hey mum and dad, I just killed your youngest child I hope you forgive me because it wasn't actually my fault anyway.'? No, she couldn't do that to her parents, and she didn't want to put Alice in harms way again.

She lay back down on the bed, the blanket scruntched up in her hands and held tight to her chest. If she wore make-up, Valkyrie knew it would be streamming down her face at the minute, mixing with her tears before falling onto her pillow to leave a black dot that couldn't be removed in one wash. She closed her eyes again, trying to go back sleep. She blocked out the nightmare, banishing it from her mind as she fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

Skulduggery took the blanket from her hands and straightened it out, covering her with it in one small movement. She done barely muttered as he did so, her eyes screwed shut. He pulled out a chair and sat by the bed, keeping himself ready for the next nightmare to come. A nightmare which would be worse than the last.