As suggested by xiao32615987,and demanded by Slayer of Daemons, I'm posting this next bit, well, now really. So, here we go.

Hyara's consciousness returned slowly. Her first active thought was a decision to suppress her power as much as possible. There was something affecting her mind, and she was fairly sure it had more effect when her power was active. Opening her eyes, she looked around. Unlike before, the only light was coming from an elaborate lamp standing in the dark, varnished bedside table. She sat up, and allowed her eyes to focus. It seemed like Dareth had decided to leave Marianna to watch over her, and it seemed like Marianna had fallen asleep.

She looked peaceful, and though not apparently very comfortable, more so than if she fallen asleep in the chair. It wasn't far away, but Marianna's position suggested prayer. Her legs were folded beneath her as they would be under a kneeling person; her left arm had fallen across her lap as the rest of her body leaned to the right, supported by the side of the bed.

Hyara reasoned that it would be pointless to wake her up. The only reason to wake Marianna would be to show her that Hyara herself had woken up, which would leave them both awake in what seemed to be the middle of the night. What was strange was that despite having spent about half the day in a state of unconsciousness, Hyara found that her body was rested, but mentally, she was utterly exhausted.

Relaxing herself, she lay back, and allowed herself to drift away. A decision she would wake to regret.

-

Her mind is foggy, her vision blurred. There is something wrong. Something... This is not where she should be. Cold; why is it so cold? Her hands are tied behind her; tied to a post.

BURN THE WITCH!! PURGE THE HERETIC!

Voices drawing nearer; chanting voices.

BURN THE WITCH!! PURGE THE HERETIC!

Indistinct figures appearing from the mist; their forms melting and changing; flames give points of focus like stars in the night sky. The cold merely intensifies at the idea of the heat the flames can give.

BURN THE WITCH!! PURGE THE HERETIC!

The words are familiar to her, but again the sense of wrongness denies all recollection. She tries to move, but her feet slip away, and her arms jerk painfully up. The wood at her feet tumbles away as she struggles to stand again.

BURN THE WITCH!! PURGE THE HERETIC!

The voices are close now, and the shapes seem to resolve. The hideous creatures now before her are more disgusting than anything she had ever imagined. The flaming torches are held aloft by appendages which defy logic; sprouted from torsos of such impossible and horrifying variation that she is utterly unable to comprehend their existence. Their substance can only be described as flesh, but they twist and flex in ways which, to her, seem biologically implausible. She knows that they have faces, but at the same time has no explanation for what they might be. The words are coming from them, but it resounds within her mind, reverberating off every thought, disrupting her sentience and violating her soul.

The echoes of dying screams resolve from the cacophony of hatred. A sudden clarity floods though her, the screams have reached their crescendo, and through the unfading agony, she focuses on the truth of the scene before her.

Her voice, unnaturally high and keening, joins the screams within her mind, somehow pushing them to even more terrifying levels as the daemons hurl their fire towards her pyre.

The flames lick up around her, every colour she knows and more. The flames flicker between each other, and somehow they overlap themselves, all the while growing quickly towards her. The fire is not hot. She knows it should be, these flames do not heat her flesh; the wood beneath does not blacken and wither, it merely melts, in places it fuses together, in others it evaporates without even liquefying.

She raises her eyes to the sky, but she sees nothing but an utterly black hexagram rotating against the roiling, painfully crimson clouds. She lowers her eyes again, feeling compelled to look on the mass of flesh that is what the crowd has become; each individual blending their fellows. Suddenly a small figure emerges from the shadows. It, unlike everything else, is covered by a small dark robe. Its head sports an unusual detailed helm which shines like a beacon of stability in the turmoil. Its winged shape filling her perspective until with a shockwave of utter silence, everything is drained away.

-

Hyara's eyes jerked open. She shut her mouth, cutting of her subconscious' scream. She threw the sheet off her and, ignoring the protests of Dareth and Marianna, ran for the door. The butler helpfully opened it for her, and stepped aside as she hurried through, desperate to get out of the building.

She took the stairs two at a time, jumping off the bottom four, stumbling as she tried to keep up her pace. She managed to keep her footing however, and pushed open the big heavy front door as fast as she could manage, setting off at a sprint down the gravelled path just as Dareth reached the front door. He caught up with her as she slipped forwards. Catching her arm, he spun her round to face him; "What's wrong!?"

"My feet hurt."

He looked down instinctively, before looking at her in puzzlement. "What?"

"I forgot about the gravel." Seeing that this wasn't helping, she continued; "My feet are bare Dareth. Bare feet on small stones generally leads to pain."

Her smile relaxed him and he let go of her arm. She started moving carefully towards the grassy area. Unable to leave it at that, he asked; "Immediate discomfort aside, why did you wake up screaming, then run outside?"

She reached the grass verge, and sat down, holding the plain robe, which she now realised was the only thing she was wearing, close. "I had a nightmare, and it helped me realise why I kept passing out."

He looked at her expectantly. He was happy that she was awake, but he had never liked ambiguous answers. "Which is?"

"Well, either this Count is a witch, or he's unnecessarily paranoid about daemons. That place is basically one big hexagram. It's not a normal power-drain symbol; it's more like the seals on a Navigator's chamber."

He sat down next to her; "What does it mean?"

"Apart from the fact that it knocks me out cold every time I use my power? I have no idea."

I wanted the chanting to be in different sizes, but unfortunately that's not possible on this site. You'll just have to imagine the voices getting louder. A bit of muffling would be appropriate as well. That's how I imagined it, but I couldn't think of a way to represent it. If anyone has any idea about it, I'd love to hear them.

By the way; if it's confusing you... Muahahahahahahahahah!!!