The sky was black and the streets of Anor Londo were filled with the dead; the stench of their rotting corpses hanging so thickly in the air, the foul smell became a presence in itself. Men hung limp, impaled on spikes, the skin stripped from their bodies. Women lay piled against buildings, throats cut clean in half, heads drooping forth to their chests. The girl stepped warily forth, wrapping her arms so tightly to her body, her joints began to ache, but refusing to loosen her hold anyway; if she did, she knew the fear would overcome her, knew that she would be lost. Wind ripped forth from the South so violently, she nearly toppled over. It swept past the hanging men, sending their tattered clothing into a wild dance before gathering above the Great Chapel and coalescing into a swirl of snow and ice and death. The girl lost her footing and fell to her knees in the snowfall, clutching desperately to her robes for fear they would strip free as the men's skin had. Hollow soldiers began clawing up from the depths of Izalith, burrowing through the ground around, eyes red, hands twisted into hooves, teeth sharp and dripping with the black blood of the innocent.

From the rooftops, a scream of shrill, hysterical, laughter boomed out across the death-plagued streets, and when the girl lifted her head, she saw clusters of headless gargoyles were swooping free from the chapel's bell tower, descending into the swirl of snow towards her, coming to take her, coming to claim her. It was only as they neared that she saw they were, in fact, not headless at all, but had the heads of men and women sewn to their scaled necks instead. The girl screamed a soundless scream as the faces approached and took form. She saw the face of Quelana, Solaire, Chester and Logan, and finally, her own face.

Talons tightened around her wrists and arms and pulled. The girl's knees and feet lifted from the snows, and then she was being carried forth to the chapel as the army of hollows beneath her broke into a thundering chant of 'Chosen, Chosen, Chosen'. She screamed and pleaded and cried and screamed again, but if her mouth made any sound, it was lost in that mad chanting. The Great Chapel's doors burst open, a blinding white light erupting from within, and the dark silhouette of a man with a seven-pointed crown atop his head stepped forth, arms spread wide in welcome. Behind him, two more figures joined at his flanks, one massive and round and wielding a giant hammer, the other tall and thin and carrying a long, pointed, spear that stood taller than himself.

"Chosen," the three whispered in unison. "Come."

She tried to say no, but her jaw was numb and she couldn't be sure she'd replied at all. She could feel the gargoyle's talons tearing her skin apart at the arms.

"Come," the voices whispered, and now the sound came from all around her, from the men in the chapel to the hollows beneath her to the gargoyles overhead, they spoke with the same, hushed, malicious, voice. "You come. Or we come."

-o-o-o-

Abby rose in bed trembling, a cold sweat thick upon her brow and arms, sticking the sheets to them, and for one mad moment, she thought the sheets themselves had come alive and were trying to wrap her in their hold. She kicked desperately at them, clawing the things loose from her chest, and rolled out of bed. She dashed madly across the room, the stone floor as cold as ice on her bare feet, shoved open the door to the bathing chambers, and fell to her knees just in time to vomit into the bath.

When it was finished, she clawed at the edges of the bath to clamber back to her feet, her knees weak and feeling on the verge of buckling as she did so, and crossed slowly to the mirror, where the room's sole candle flickered orange light beside it. She stood for a moment, pulling long breaths to still her thundering heart, and staring at her own reflection. She barely recognized the woman who stared back her with her thinning cheeks and darkened eyes and short hair, but when she raised a hand to check if the thing was an illusion, the reflection did the same, and Abby knew it was no sorcerer's trick: this was her.

We're out of time, she thought, taking the bucket of fresh water beneath the mirror to wash and rinse her mouth of the vile taste the vomit had left within. I'm out of time and Logan's out of time and there's only one thing left to be done. She stared at her reflection, refusing to let the tears threatening her eyes to fall. You will be brave, she told herself. You will not cry.

Chester was leaned against the headboard of the bed when she returned, his arms folded across his bare chest as he watched her. The first night she'd let him share her bed, he'd followed her to the bath chamber and sat beside her as she vomited from her nightmares. The second time it happened, he'd only called in asking if she was alright. By now, he only looked mildly annoyed that she'd woken him, and didn't even bother saying anything upon her return. She didn't say anything either, only moved to the room's closet, opened it, and began rummaging through the clothing there for the warmest attire she could find.

"What are you doing?" Chester asked.

"I have to leave, Chester," Abby told him, her voice hoarse and weak and barely sounding like her own anymore. "I have to go."

"Go?" Chester echoed, and her words had finally stirred him enough to sit up in bed. "Abby, what are you talking about?"

"We're out of time," she explained, spotting a pair of heavy boots with wool insulation and grabbing them. "I'm out of time. I'm sorry. Tell Logan I'm sorry, too."

"Stop," he told her, and when she did not, he rose and crossed to her, taking her wrists in his hands. "Abby, I said stop."

"Please release me," she said, keeping calm. "You don't understand."

"I understand you're having these nightmares," Chester said. "But that is all they are, my princess. Nightmares. They will pass. Logan said so himself. Come back to bed."

"They're not just nightmares!" Abby insisted, tugging at her wrists, wishing she had the strength to free herself. "Chester... if I don't leave soon, maybe- maybe even if I don't leave right now, the darkness that lies in Anor Londo is going to march on this castle! I won't... I will not be responsible for these people's deaths! I won't!" She insisted and felt tears threatening her eyes again. She fought them away with a deep breath. "Please let my wrists go."

"You're talking mad, Abby," Chester said, his tone darkening. "If you go to them, you will die. Do you understand that? You will die."

"You don't think I know that!?" Abby shouted, more loudly than she intended, and pulled at her arms again. "I don't want to die, but..." Her voice grew shaky and the tears could no longer be kept from the corner of her eyes. "I don't want to die," she repeated as they fell to her cheeks. "But I have to."

Chester stared at her, frowning. "We'll discuss this in the morning. You, me... Logan as well."

"We might not have til morning!" Abby explained.

"Abby, I love you, I've told you as much many times now, and I'm telling you now, for your own good, I will not let you go wandering out in the freezing cold in the middle of the bloody night to go to Anor Londo!"

"If you love me as much as you claim, you'll let me do as I choose," Abby insisted. "Now let me go, Chester." She ripped at her wrists, and when he did not loose them, she shouted again, "Let GO!"

His hand came across her face so suddenly, she had no time to brace for its impact. The slap stung her cheek, blacked her vision momentarily, and when it returned, she saw she had fallen to the floor. Her hand reached tenderly to her face and her mouth fell agape as she stared up at him. "How... how could you that to me..." she croaked. "How could you treat me like this!?"

"Calm yourself," he said, turning from her to rummage through the closet himself. "It was only a slap. And you needed it. You're not thinking clearly. Logan will fix that tomorrow." He pulled a pair of belts from the top shelf and faced her.

Abby was still so stunned from the slap, she could only watch as he lowered himself beside her and wrapped her ankles together with one of the belts. "S-stop," she muttered meekly, but when she tried crawling away from him, he tightened his grip on her legs, finished the job, and spun her to pull her arms behind her. "Please," she pleaded as he bound her wrists with the other belt. "Chester, please don't do this to me. I won't leave anymore. I won't disobey you. Please don't bind me!"

"You'll thank me later," Chester said, and when he'd finished her wrists, stood, scooped her up below the knees and shoulders, and carried her back to the bed. He set her back where she'd been and stood over her, fixing her with a stern look from his dark eyes. "I've been very patient with you, Abby. I've listened to all your nonsense about Anor Londo and treated you as good as you could hope a man would in this new cold world of ours. And Gods know I've been patient in here," he said, pointing at the bed. "You won't even let me touch you. I'm a man, Abby. I have needs. And yet I put up with it. Day after day I put up with it. Do you know how good of a man I am to do all this for you?"

"A very good man," Abby replied immediately, her heart racing fearfully in her chest. "Please untie me."

"I'll free you in the morning," he said, moving to his side of the bed and lowering himself back into it. "Just lie there tonight. If I see you trying to free yourself, I'll lock you in the bath chamber. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered as a fresh crop of tears dampened the pillow beneath her head. "I understand."

Lies, she thought as Chester pulled the covers back over himself and closed his eyes. His love... his kindness... all lies. I am alone. I am utterly and truly alone. The thought awoke such a profound sorrow in her heart, she felt as if she would die there and then, lying bound hand and foot in her own bed. When the feeling passed, she sniffled and rubbed her face against the pillow to dry her cheeks. She lied there for a long time, a hopeless despair her only company in the darkness, so thickly laid across her mind she could barely muster a thought in her head. It was the sound of Chester's deep breathing beside her that snapped her out of it. She glared hatefully at him. This world is covered in barbs, and if you aren't wary, it will tear you apart, Lautrec's voice spoke clearly in her head, the distant echo of a long-ago told warning. How right he was, Abby thought as the tears finally ceased leaking from her eyes. She studied the dark outline of Chester's face, watched it to ensure he was truly sleeping, and slowly began bending back her knees, moving her ankles up towards her hands. When he stirred, she halted, when his breath went on, so did she, and soon enough her fingers fell to the belt's leathery surface around her feet. After a moment of fumbling for the buckles, she found it, worked her fingers beneath it, and popped it free.

Chester turned on his side, but his eyes remained shut, his breathing heavy. Abby rubbed her feet together, freeing them from the belt, and slowly swung them off the bed. When they hit the ground, Abby froze, biting at her lip and watching the ebb and flow of Chester's body as he slept, vigilant for any sudden movement. In took a good while, but eventually she had worked herself free from beneath the covers and off of the bed. She stood over him, hating him, wishing she'd never trusted him in the first place, then stalked across the room to the door, turned to find its handle with her still-bound hands, and pulled it carefully open as to not make any sound.

The hall outside the room was quiet and empty. Who can I turn to to free me? She thought, balling her fists at the small of her back, frustrated by how helpless she was. Voices drifted near from the bend at the far end of the hall, and Abby rushed herself into the nook of the doorway to hide. She peeked out and watched two armored men pass by, took a breath, and moved off to follow them. They pressed further into the Archive's labyrinth of hallways, Abby hiding herself in every shadow she could find as she trailed along, and eventually wound down a spiraling staircase.

It was as she was watching them from its top, leaned out over the barrier to spy the top of their heads, when a voice came from behind her shoulder, "You lost, girl?"

She spun, her eyes landing on the thin frame of a young man in studded leather armor and a steel cap. A spear stood against the ground at his side, the man resting against it. Did he see my hands? Abby wondered, staring at him. "I-... I could not sleep. I'm not lost. I just... went for a walk. I'm alright."

He eyed her shrewdly, running his tongue along his bottom lip. After an eternity, his shoulders came up in a shrug. "Alright then," he said. "Just, eh, be careful, alright?"

"Yes," Abby answered immediately. "Yes, thank you."

The guard walked off and she watched him go. When he disappeared around the corner, Abby let the breath she'd been desperately holding loose. They are all against you, she thought. You are alone. Truly alone. The thought, again, threatened to collapse her, so she pushed it from her mind, composed herself, and began descending the staircase. Twice she almost lost her footing, the world spinning madly around her as she teetered without her arms to balance herself, and by the time she found level ground, the cold sweat she'd awoken with had returned to her. She moved to the arched doorway, leaning graciously against the wall and watched the halls for movement as she caught her breath. Distant chatter could be heard coming from the Great Hall. Abby stared towards the sound, checked warily over her shoulder and down the opposite side of the hall, and hurried off towards it.

When she'd pressed to the shadowed wall beside the entrance, she found a smattering of people within, those likely who could not sleep like her, or whose jobs required them to rest by daylight and work by night. No one grouping was any larger than the other, and after a long moment searching desperately for someone she could rely on-briefly, and then be done with-her gaze fell upon the white-robed figure of the priestess Rhea sitting alone at a nearby table, reading from a book. You've shared words with that women, she told herself. She was kind to you and you to her, and there's not another familiar face in the room. Without further debate, she moved into the Great Hall, moving briskly but not quite running and keeping her hands angled away from any curious eyes that may have fallen upon her.

"Lady Rhea," she whispered when she came before the woman. "I require your assistance. Please do not ask me any questions."

Rhea looked up from her book, the woman's brow raising above her comely face. She eyed Abby up curiously before saying, "Abby? What-"

Abby sat beside her. "Please. No questions."

"A-Alright? I don't understand-" Rhea stopped, looked over Abby's shoulder, and when her eyes returned , there was a shrewd look in them. "Are you alone?"

Abby turned on the bench so her back was to the priestess. "Could you release my hands please," she pleaded, and when the woman did not immediately do so, thought, I've made a mistake.

"Hold on a second," Rhea told her, then raised her voice to call across the room, "Rickert. Could you come here?"

"You know what? Never mind," Abby said and began to raise. The woman took her arm and held her seated. Lautrec's phantom-voice spoke in her head once again: There will come a day when your trust in others will be your undoing girl. "Please let me go, lady Rhea."

"Be still, Abby, I mean you no harm," Rhea said, firming her grip.

Rickert, who'd pulled himself from a group of young men he'd been clearly entertaining with a tale, came halfway to the table before his mouth fell agape. "Abby?" He said as he drew near. "Rhea... what the hell-"

"The girl's come to us with a problem," Rhea said. "It seems someone has tried to kidnap her."

Rickert craned his neck to look at Abby's hands. "Is that so?"

"No," Abby said. "No, please. I made a mistake. I'll just go back to my room. You don't have to-"

"We'll protect you, Abby," Rhea said. "Just be quiet a moment and come with us."

Rickert moved beside her and hooked his arm around hers as Rhea stood and took up her other one. When she was between the two, they started walking her back towards the hall. Abby shook her head desperately. "Don't do this to me, please," she begged, glancing back at those who remained in the Great Hall, wondering what they'd do if she screamed for their aid. "I have to go! Doesn't anyone understand that!? I have to leave! You'll all die if I stay! You'll all die!" She shouted, so overcome with her frustraion she twisted violently in their grasp.

"Shhh," Rhea hissed. The woman's hand came up and clamped tightly over her mouth. "Just be calm, Abby. We are you friends. We don't serve that madman Logan. We serve... another."

Cultists, Abby realized, a sudden sense of dread making her skin crawl. They are the dragon-worshipers. They are the ones who wish to assassinate you. And you handed yourself right over to them. You stupid fool. She ripped at their arms, but she was weak from lack of both food and sleep and no match to wrestle free from the two of them. She tried shouting for help, but it sounded pitifully helpless and muffled beneath Rhea's hand.

When they'd gotten her out of the Great Hall, Rickert moved to her feet, scooped them up into the pit of his arm, and Rhea wrapped an arm around her chest, keeping one hand securely atop her mouth. They carried her like that down the hall, ignoring her pathetic squirming and fighting and muffled protests, and after a few twists and turns, hauled her inside a room and slammed the door shut behind them.

A small and dark room, only a table, two chairs, and a bed at the far end furnishing it, awaited. Rhea and Rickert hauled her to the bed and dropped her atop it. "Someone help me! PLEASE!" Abby wailed, scurrying back to the headboard to distance herself from the two of them. "The cultists are in here!"

"Cultists?" Rickert echoed, raising a brow. "Not the worst thing I've ever been called, but far from the best."

"Please don't scream anymore, Abby," Rhea pleaded. "Or I'll be forced to gag your mouth."

The priestess stepped closer and Abby threw a desperate kick at the woman. "Stay away from me! You're against me! You're all against me! I made a mistake. I shouldn't have told him. I should have just left... I made a mistake. I'm alone now... I'm alone."

"You poor thing..." Rhea said quietly. "What did they do to your mind?"

Abby's fear turned to anger. She set her eyes upon the woman and glowered. "Don't you pity me. Let me go!"

"Can't do that," Rickert said with a shrug. "Sorry. We can maybe talk about getting that belt off your wrists if you calm yourself down, though."

"Remove it. I'm calm," Abby snapped.

"As convincing as that was," Rickert went on with a roll of his eyes. "Maybe we just sit here and talk for a bit, hm?

"We mean you no harm, Abby," Rhea said. "We do walk the Path of the Dragon, you are correct in that, but we would never assassinate someone. That sounds like Logan's words poisoning your mind."

Liars, a voice hissed inside her head, and it didn't sound entirely unlike Logan's. Abby forced herself to appear calm. "Alright. I'm sorry for calling you cultist. I'm sorry for struggling against you when you only meant to help me. I won't fight you anymore. I promise." Her eyes flicked to the dagger at Rickert's hip and that voice spoke again, Kill yourself. Kill yourself and you'll return to the bonfire outside the castle. Dying was not a pleasant experience, but she'd done it twice now and what harm could a third do? "If you untie my hands, I swear I will behave and we can talk. Please, they hurt very badly."

"The fact that your such a bad liar means you don't do it often," Rickert said. "Which is a good thing. But we can't let you loose in your state of mind. You got this.. crazy 'Havel the Rock' sort of look going on."

Abby's fists were balled so tightly behind her, she had cut into her palms with her own nails. She looked frantically around the room for something to aid her. Rhea took another step closer. Demons, Abby thought, eyeng the woman. These are are a different sort of demons than the ones in my nightmares, but they are demons nonetheless. When Rhea moved in range, Abby shouted and drove her foot into the woman's stomach. Rhea doubled over gasping for air as the kick connected. Rickert dashed forth to grab her, but she lifted her knee just in time to catch his chin, dazing him. Abby scrambled off the bed, nearly tumbling to the floor without her arms to steady her, but found her footing and made a mad sprint to the door.

She was three feet from it when it opened.

Quelana stood before her.

"No..." Abby whispered, freezing in place and staring at the witch in black robes before her. She blinked and Quelana's body became that of a gargoyle's, but when she blinked again, it had vanished. "You're... an illusion..."

"Abby," Quelana said, putting her hand out and stepping forth.

Abby backed away. "Get away! You're not real. The real Quelana abandoned me. Abandoned me like she abandoned her sisters! You're a gargoyle! A demon!"

Quelana's face contorted with confusion. "A demon? Abby, please, listen to me-"

"We're all going to die in this castle," Abby cut her off. "Unless you stand aside right now. Get out of my way. Get out! GET OUT!" Rickert and Rhea took hold of her arms. "NO!" Abby wailed, twisting in their grasp. "NO! LET ME GO! YOU LET-" A thick cloth fell between her lips and pulled tight, silencing her screams.

"Don't hurt her!" Quelana pleaded. "She needs help!"

"I'm not trying to!" Rickert snapped. "She's bloody mad!"

Abby wailed into the gag and felt warm tears trailing down her cheeks. Mad, she thought, and the word sounded so funny in her own head, she nearly laughed. Perhaps she was laughing. It was hard to tell: crying and laughing were so similar. They are the mad ones, she thought as Rhea and Rickert wrestled her into a chair. They are the mad ones and they are the ones who will die when the hollows march and the darkness of Anor Londo spreads across this castle like a plague and they will die and they will die and they will die and I won't help them. I won't help them because I am alone.

Utterly and truly alone.