Rosethorne's eyes opened wide as she painfully regained conciousness. The pain made her body sing in low, discordant waves of agony. She was in the same torturous contraption again. It had only been a little more than a week since she had been released from it's agonizing and life-suppressing grip, but it seemed like it had been months. Her wish that it had been months at least, or never again at best were put to the side, as she concentrated on separating herself from her body's torment.
She was unable to move her head even a fraction, as it was held still by the soulsteel collars around her neck and head. Long, spiraled needles were embedded between the knuckles of each hand, with each wrist securely bound to the arms of the contraption. Clamps, more needles, hooks, and other things she couldn't recognize by feel held her motionless to the strange, chair-like contraption.
Rosethorne heard his voice, even if he was out of her immediate and rather limited view. The voice of the being that had tortured her mercilessly and unfairly just a short time before. She felt other memories rising in anger at him as well, but they were as formless as dreams, fading away before she could remember. "Did you really think you could fail me, and then evade my notice?"
The Mask of Winters, her former Deathlord; it could be nobody else, with the assured cold certainty in his voice. He moved into her view now, as he seemed to float to the side of the contraption and turn a knob. Her body again screamed its torment at her, but she didn't allow the pain to be shown outside of her mind. Not when he broke her leg with surgical precision. Not when he removed part of the broken bone, and not even when he poured some of the hated black ichorous substance into the wound. She could feel the ichor boiling and frothing, fighting her body's natural healing rate to a halt.
Her face never changed expression. She would not give him the satisfaction of hearing or seeing her give into her agony. His voice seemed to drift like a hungry, poisonous snake into her ears. "Yes, resist all you like, my fallen weapon, my failed general. I will have you tortured until you see the truth of things, that you are my pawn, and nothing more."
The Mask of Winters moved out of her line of sight again, and she felt the skin of her scalp being frozen by the touch of his hands. "Pawns who do not know their place become dangerous, but only to themselves."
He moved back into her line of sight once more, bending slightly to look her in the eyes. Even though partially hidden by his ever-present mask, his eyes seemed to catch hers with frozen certainty, his gaze seeming to worm its way into her mind. "I know not what nonsense your Essence has been telling you, but it most certainly let you go in a direction contrary to what you are. Once you realize the truth of this, I will give you the blessing of death, that you may continue serving me."
The Mask of Winters moved his face closer to hers as he continued. His voice sounded almost...paternal. "It's not entirely your fault that you ran astray, as you didn't know any better." His voice grew coldly certain once more. "However, you still did so, and you must pay the price."
He took a metal, spiral instrument, and began slowly and lightly boring a hole through the skin over her abdomen as he continued. She did not, she could not let him see her in pain. She would not allow him to see. "You failed me in much more than one way, that fateful night. It took me some effort to find you, and track you down."
The instrument he was using had pierced the lining of her abdomen. He paused as he drilled a little bit further, nodded in satisfaction, and put the implement away. The Mask of Winters continued as he returned with a jar of the black ichor. "Just know to the depths of your failed and soiled soul that there is no escaping your fate. Your destiny is to serve me, and serve me you shall."
He began slowly pouring the ichor into her abdomen. It began hungrily devouring her internal organs, even as her body fought back to heal the damage as quickly as it was caused. The pain was sharp, and she was almost unable to mask it. The only sign she gave of this was to slowly blink.
"Because of your contributions to me, I will purify you by pain and agony, and show you through torment the truth. Once you have seen and understood this truth, I will allow your torment to end." He finished emptying the large jar into her abdomen.
He put the jar away, and floated back into her line of sight. "I do this because I value your service to me, and what I control. In this incarnation, you appear to be flawed, and it was my fault for not spotting the flaw until it was too late. Do not worry, I will find the perfect container for you once you are ready to serve me once more."
She still said nothing, and continued looking at the dimly-lit ceiling. He glided out of her view, and out the door. Greta and Kaesta came in together a short time later. Greta with her usual aimless, random meandering, and Kaesta with long, purposeful strides. Greta spoke up first in her usual sing-song voice. "Our Lord decrees that you must be purified of your soul's taint. I will use all my skill to make sure you are cleansed properly."
She began manipulating a few of the knobs of the contraptions, and Rosethorne's pain seemed to double, and then triple in intensity. Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to meditate, to move beyond the pain. She managed to move her mind to slightly outside of herself with great difficulty, the pain almost bringing her back more than once.
Kaesta moved into her view with a look of concern on her pale face. "Oh, I'm so sorry this had to happen to you, my dear." She moved a cold hand to caress Rosethorne's face, who forced herself not to glare hatefully at Kaesta. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction, either. "Even though you and I were both given the beautiful Black Exaltation and have grown apart over the years, you're still my daughter, and I still love you. Just know that there are larger things to be worried about now. I'll still take care of you after you are reborn."
Through great effort, Rosethorne forced herself not to respond. A memory surged to the surface of her mind, one of the many she had supressed long ago. She remembered that because of her mother's selfishness, both of them were taken by the Deathlord's minions to be sacrificed, and later both given the Black Exaltation instead. Rosethorne would never forgive her for that. She would never forgive Kaesta for leaving her father's and brother's memories behind so off-handedly, to become little better than a harlot to anything that desired her company. And she would never forgive Kaesta for her selfishness and short-sightedness.
"Nothing to say, daughter? That's alright, I know you're still confused about what happened to you in the last week. It'll be easier on you if you just think of it as a dream." Kaesta finished stroking Rosethorne's face in a horrific parody of motherly affection, and pulled her hand away.
"Your daughter died that night, Kaesta. Just as my mother did." Rosethorne couldn't quite suppress the urge to give vent to how she felt about Kaesta, even if it was in a minor and small way.
Kaesta laughed melodiously. "Aww, you're still angry about being shown that you were wrong, just like any other rebellious teenager. Don't worry, you'll see the truth in time." She left the room with graceful steps.
Rosethorne fought with great effort to keep her face and body calm and relaxed, distracting her from the pain she felt all over her body. But the sneaking suspicion crept into her mind: what if she was right?
What if she was simply being rebellious, and trying to run away from her responsibilities and proper place? As tempting and bright as the surface world was, she felt alien and unwanted there. She didn't know how to live a quiet life, as Kale seemed to manage doing, most of the time. War and battle was what she was best at. It seemed to be all she knew anymore.
Rosethorne shut out the thoughts and cleared her mind, even as Greta began imaginitively inflicting new agonies upon her. A more quiet voice in the back of her head reminded her of what the wraith had told her a few months ago, and what had been almost seconded by the Essence within her. She was a living being, touched and chilled by Death and Oblivion itself. A parody of life that was perfectly suited to extinguishing life.
But what was taint, really? Was it wanting what was beyond her? Wanting to feel the head and light of the sun on her face, feeling cooling breezes across her skin, feeling the grass beneath her, even though it caused her bare skin to itch slightly? Or was it what had been forced upon her more than five years ago, turning a frightened and angry young woman into a hardened general, a skilled taker of lives?
Greta finished her work, and began just as aimlessly leaving the room. Some parts of the contraption expanded and contracted its bone and soulsteel parts within her skin, stretching and tearing still even as her body reformed and healed itself. A single tear slowly formed in her right eye, making her vision become blurry and indistinct, even as the tear began a slow and mournful journey down her face and toward the floor.
No matter what she thought of it, there was no escaping this. Was resisting the pain worth it, really? It only seemed to prolong the inevitable. She knew with a sinking feeling that she would give up sooner or later, and it was only stubbornness and anger that made her want to make sure it was later, rather than sooner. Her eyes closed as she drifted off to sleep, the only way to really silence her mind and help block out the pain.
Rosethorne's dreams were strange, and more distinct than usual. She saw a blinding, burning light in front of her. It seemed to scorch her skin, but even as it burned, she wanted to walk toward it. She looked behind her, and saw a sea of cool, comforting shadows that enticed her to cool her burned body within its depths. Tendrils of shadow rose from the sea, and began creeping toward her. She knew she must pick which extreme to walk toward, as there seemed to be no middle ground, but there was a quiet third option to her. A single, sharp blade, which she knew would be for taking her own life.
The ramifications of each slowly became clear. The sea of shadows was familiar, cool, comforting, even though it stifled and quelled any life within its depths. The cold, even cadence of shadow and death was predictable and comforting as it was familiar. The bright, burning light on the other side of her hurt to look at, hurt her skin where it touched, but something within her wanted to be a part of its burning, unquenched depths, to feel that brightness more.
The short blade caught her attention. It was the only other way out, to choose neither shadow nor burning brightness, to choose the death she had been denied and yet given to so many others.
All of this faded into darkness as shadows of a different sort surrounded her. These shadows were familiar, at least. She knew their whispering movement, she knew their touch.
"I am still hiding your mind from them, but it is...difficult to do now."
She spoke up to the shadows, and the being she knew was lurking within them. "Why do you still do so? What motivated you to convince me to turn my back on what I knew, even for a short while?"
There was a lengthy silence. She was almost afraid he had gone, but his voice made itself heard unexpectedly. "What motivated me was what I still remember, even now. For you, being Exalted was something that helped you to leave all your past behind and start anew. For me, it was giving up and giving into greed and anger at what had happened to me."
"But you are a part of Oblivion! Why do you confuse things?" She was growing confused, which made her more angry.
"It was not always so." His voice was even more quiet than normal.
"But it is what you are now, is it not? Why do you wish for something else?"
"Because I feel...something wishing it for me. I know not who, or what, but I feel it just the same. It's so dark...too dark to see. I've been deafened and blinded for so long, I've forgotten what it's like to see or hear; the darkness that suffuses me prevents it."
Rosethorne narrowed her eyes, obscuring them in shadow. "What do you mean, you cannot hear or see? You seem to be communicating quite well, for a deaf and blind spirit."
A half-hearted shadowy chuckle drifted into her ears. "I can speak to you alone, and see your immediate surroundings. But I cannot see into the realm of souls as I once was able to."
She thought for a few moments. "You never answered my earlier question. Why are you still not bonded to me? Why do you still try to hide my thoughts from others?"
His voice was barely a whisper. She had to strain to hear it, even in dreams. "For you, being given Exaltation was a positive thing. For me, it was confirmation of my own thirst for revenge...and lack of will."
Her eyes narrowed again, her voice was a hiss of anger. "What in the Yozi's infested hells are you talking about?"
His own voice grew to an echoing shout of anger. "You have no idea about what happened to me, nor do you have any basis of comparison! You cannot begin to comprehend how it feels to die a righteous, clean death in battle, despite being betrayed by those you cared about. You don't know what it feels like to be trapped without a body, in a dark place so far away from the sun's life-giving light. You especially don't know what it's like to finally give in to the whispers that fill your very mind, encouraging and cajoling you to give into the dark blessings of power bestowed upon you by the very foul things you slew so long ago to make this world safe for people to walk. You especially don't know what it feels like to leave behind someone you love more than life itself because you gave into your own greed, and know that she never gave in. I've been reminded of it by that thrice-accursed Malfean ever since I gave in; that foul thing will never let me forget that I was weak by giving in, that I was a failure, that I was terrible at every thing I ever loved doing, that the only thing I could be good at again was helping others to extinguish life, as killing was the one thing I was good at. For two hundred years, I was trapped in another cage, with nothing but the whispers of that accursed thing as company!"
Rosethorne thought for a few moments in silence once he had finished his outburst. "So you crave that which you cannot have, now?"
He was silent for a while before responding again, in a lower voice, filled with an undercurrent of anger. "I crave that which I once had. Ever since you went to the surface and felt the sun on your skin, I felt it too, and remembered with stark clarity what it once was like to not be trapped in this place of darkess and death."
She began to think that perhaps, just perhaps, the Mask of Winters was right. Her Essence was tempting her to serve his own ends, which brought her into conflict with those she served. Once served, Rosethorne amended to herself. She still wasn't sure what she should do.
His voice was quieter now. "The real question isn't a real one. The real question is a metaphorical one: if the chance came for you to leave this place and return to the sunlit lands, and leave this place behind, would you do it?"
She couldn't help but sound a little sarcastic. "There is no way I am escaping this place without help, and there is no help coming. Thinking of such things is dangerous."
Rosethorne could almost see his smile. "You didn't answer my question."
She sighed, and gave it at least a moment's thought. "Fine. In the highly unlikely...no, impossible chance that someone will ride in on a white horse and save me, I might consider it, yes."
"Then I ask you this: just be patient. Don't make any decisions for at least a month; I know you can hold out that long."
Her eyes narrowed again. "Why a month?"
He was silent for a few moments. "It seems like a reasonable amount of time to wait. If nobody comes, then I admit to being wrong, and you can do what you think is best with no argument from me."
She took a deep breath as she considered. "Fine. I can hold out a month, for the impossible chance of rescue."
"Good." He paused for a few moments in silence. the only sounds in this place being the whispering touch of shadows touching each other. "You're not a dead being, you know."
With that, she awoke, angered at him having the last word yet again. She felt pulled in two different directions; one she knew and was familiar with, even though she was never quite happy. The other was unknown and frightening, and burned her, but it drew her like a moth to a flame anyway. The last option...yes, she could simply take her own life, and escape the decision. Her jaw set in annoyance. However, the option of suicide was the coward's way, and she would not take that route.
A few days passed; she was unaware of the passage of time in this place, so she was only guessing at how long she'd been trapped here in this machine. Days? Hours? Years? In any case, it seemed almost like an eternity. She still stubbornly kept silent and unmoving, even as Greta's skillful imagination and hands performed unspeakable agonies upon her already tormented body.
She was feeling weak, and numbed. Her ferocious strength seemed to be a fading memory of another time. She couldn't even really feel the soft breezes any longer, all that she really felt was the pain she did her best to separate herself from. Sight and hearing seemed to slowly become irrelevant, as the Mask of Winters or Greta only used her sight and hearing to impress upon her that this agony was for her own good; her own purification. It certainly seemed as if that week in the sunlit lands was a dream, for she only remembered parts of it. Kale's amused look became more indistinct and dreamlike. Had it simply been a dream?
The Mask of Winters glided in with purpose then, and moved himself to look into her face from up close. She could barely feel the warmth-stealing cold from his mask any longer. "Why do you simply endure, instead of trying to trancend the pain and learn what I have placed before you to see?"
Her tongue felt thick and dry in her mouth. She doubted she could give a reply even if she wanted to. She chose not to try, and instead look past the Mask of Winters, staring at the ceiling.
His eyes seemed to narrow behind his mask. "My patron is becoming impatient. It wishes to see you reach this level of understanding sooner, rather than later. Perhaps it disapproves of my rather gentle methods of doing so."
Rosethorne couldn't quite hide her look of utter incredulity. On the contrary, this was far, far worse than the month she had previously been trapped here, to be tortured at her captor's whim.
The Mask of Winters spoke, as if reading her thoughts. "I am trying to help you to learn and see what you must learn and see in the most direct method possible, and yet you resist. Why?"
Rosethorne said nothing, returning her face to a neutral look, staring at the ceiling once again. The Mask of Winters stood upright, and seemed to give her a baleful gaze. "Very well. Just remember that my ways of helping you to trancend your own frailties are but a caress next to what my patron will do to you. It will show you the error of your thinking far faster than I would, as I believe the person must reach their own conclusions, and learn by themselves. My patron is not as...merciful."
Rosethorne barely had time to swallow before the world went black. She realized with a start that she was no longer bound to the contraption; her arms, legs, and body were free. But this happy realization was short-lived, as she realized she was falling. She seemed to be falling through pure, inky blackness, her eyes unable to penetrate even the shortest distance in the gloom.
The Mask of Winters smiled behind his mask as he saw the torture chair suddenly vacant. He glided back into his throne room, seating himself comfortably on his throne. He smiled wider as he kew that the errant Abyssal was no longer his concern, though his patron would give him back the pure Abyssal Essence of her when it was finished with her.
He gave into a dusty chuckle as he could only imagine the torment that awaited her. He had heard of only one other being falling foul of a Malfean's wishes, and that being was the first Deathlord; far older and far more resilient than a pitiful Abyssal could ever be. He knew that his patron would prolong her agony as long as it wished, and it was no longer a matter of her resisting. It was now a matter of how long his patron wished her agony to endure. He gave into loud, wheezing laughter.
He never noticed the innocuous, silent figure darting through his throne room, and behind his chair. Into the Malfean Labrynth.
With a sickening squishing noise, she hit a surface. With growing horror, she realized that she had fallen onto a huge group of large, primeaval snakes, all as black as the darkness around her. She feebly tried to escape the uncountable serpents, but they seemed to move as if controlled by a single hive mind. They wound around her legs and arms tightly, slamming her back down with breath-stealing force, and holding her there.
To her rising panic and horror, she felt two smaller snakes worm their way into her ears. Two more bit deeply into her eyes, turning the inky backness around her into a universe of sparkling lights. One forced itself into her mouth as she opened her mouth to scream, the primordial serpent sinking its fangs deeply into the back of her tongue.
Two more burrowed into her hands and up into her forearms, biting into the bone. Two snakes burrowed into each of her thighs, one biting into the bone, the other into the muscle of her leg. One snake burrowed into each of her feet, gnawing their way up into her calves. Even though there were two snakes with their fangs still in her eyes, her eyebrows widened as she felt herself invaded by two more snakes.
A voice seemed to crawl from the mouths of the snakes in her ears. This voice seemed to change from a baleful whisper that made her want to die no longer endure hearing it's hateful caress into her mind, into a loud scream that made ever nerve in her body that was still able to feel recoil in horror. "yOu ARe mINe NOw, cHIld oF tHe abYsS. yOur esSENcE cAnNOt hIDe yoUr mInD FRoM mE anY lONgEr, AnY loNgER. YOU ArE MINe, NoW!"
The voice sounded almost exultant. She knew within the depths of her soul that this thing was older, far older, than even her Deathlord. If she was able to shed tears before this, the venom in her eyes made them swell large enough to prevent her tear ducts from working at all. She couldn't scream, as even that small luxury was taken from her. Her nose had not been invaded, but this meant that since all her other senses were so suddenly dulled, the reek of decay and death around her was almost too strong to bear.
Even so, she knew what she must do in order to avoid going quickly insane from the pain and indignity. She concentrated on her breathing, slowly entering mediation.
"yOu cANNot rEtrEaT iNto yoUr mInd, rOSEthOrnE. YOuR miND is MinE to dO wiTh aS I wIsh!" The voice seemed to try pulling her back out of her mediation, but she stubbornly kept going.
"It may have entered your mind and body, but it cannot claim your soul. Not until you give in." His voice was soft, but she knew from feeling it that he was speaking directly into her soul. This was as close and direct as communication could ever be, realizing that her body's hearing was now taken over by this...thing.
In her mind, she smiled. She still felt the horrific pain and swelling agony that beat through her like a second heartbeat, but it was more at a distance now; enough to concentrate on other things.
"dO nOT LIStEn tO ThE liEs of An olD fOol. YoU arE bEYond rEdemPtiOn nOw, cHilD. tHe ONly thInG tHaT cAn sAVe YOu noW is rEAliZIng thAT i aloNe cAN giVE you rELeASe anD tRAncENdanCE, RElEAse AnD tRanCENDancE!"
She heard her Essence's voice again, but in her ears. "I'm sorry, but I cannot save you. Resistance is useless, as the Malfean has you now. Just pray it doesn't take long."
Rosethorne heard the same voice, but echoing through her very soul. "Though it's a little late to remind you of your promise, don't give up yet. Someone comes."
Her mind was awhirl. Which was the real voice? Which did she want to be the real voice? She heard his voice in her ears once more. "A Malfean trick, don't listen. There is nobody coming to save you now. Don't hold onto foolish hope."
His voice again came to her, echoing softly and less forcefully than the one in her ears. "Choose which voice is real after I give you my sight. See for yourself."
Past the crashing fireworks that danced in the darkness of her corrupted and fouled eyes, she saw...something else. She focused on it, and though it was strange, it was an image. She could see all around her in this dark, huge chamber, but she couldn't focus in on any one area. She saw one large sarcophagus, which she knew she was held within and under. But what...something...something was moving just beyond the edge of her vision, and it was growing closer.
His voice echoed in her ears again. "Don't you see? It's just trying to give you hope to destroy it! It wants to give you something to pin far-fetched hopes on, just to shatter them later. Don't listen!"
The voice that made her want to be anywhere but here spoke up again, seeming to echo throughout her mind. "fOR oNCe i aGRee wIth tHe wEak fOOl wHo gAVe yOu eXALtAtiOn. hE bEgINs to sEe hIs fOLly!"
Her Essence's voice in her ears paused a moment, and agreed. "Yes, I was wrong to have chased a fool's dream. Don't make my mistake, Rosethorne."
Even through the conversation, she still concentrated on the image. The figure was darting swiftly and silently into the chamber now. She could see the figure's face now, and her eyebrows widened in surprise. What did Kale think he was doing here?
Her Essence's voice filled her ears once more. "It's a trick of the Malfean, don't you see? He's giving you a false image that springs from its own imagination!"
She noticed with deepening gloom that she hadn't heard his voice within her soul any longer. Perhaps the voice she heard of his in her ears was the true one. But then, she heard it. His voice was strained, and soft. "Decide for yourself. You see how I am able."
The Malfean's grating voice seemed to echo throughout her mind, and throughout the entire chamber. "fOoL! HOw dArE YOu INvAde mY chAmbERS!"
In the vision, she saw Kale replying, his face a stony mask of determination. "Give her to me, and I'll leave."
"THe FoOL DArEs tO AsK FOr WHaT hE cANNoT haVE! GrEeT MY rEWaRd fOR sUCH aUdAcITY!"
Rosethorne shuddered as a huge figure seemed to congeal from the shadows in the center of the room. She recognized him, even in the vision. He was an Abyssal, if in name only. His body was huge, far larger than any human had a right to be, with hugely muscled oversized arms. She had only seen or heard of him twice, but he was said to be able to tear soulsteel swords and other weapons like paper with his bare hands. There were rumors that this Child of Oblivion was actually much older than the five years other Abyssals had been in existence, though his exact age of Exaltation was a matter of pure conjecture.
The huge, hulking figure appeared in the dead center of the room, his giant-like frame growing slightly larger and smaller as he breathed audibly. Kale turned his head slightly to the giant Abyssal, and spoke in clipped tones. "Get out of my way. Now."
The behemoth of a man just stood there, growling menacingly from deep within his cavernous chest. His growl slowly grew in volume, just before he rushed with shocking speed at Kale. Unable to blink or avert her eyes, Rosethorne watched with horrified fascination as the giant Child of Oblivion swung his massive fist at Kale...who was suddenly no longer there.
Her eyes widened again slightly, ignoring the voices seeming to crawl into her ears, and concentrating on the vision alone. She noticed with surprise that Kale was suddenly near the sarcophagus, looking concerned at the huge size of the lid. A small, grim smile flitted about his mouth briefly as he looked away from the sarcophagus, and toward the giant Abyssal. "Hey, you fatass bitch! Over here!"
With a roar that shook even the ancient soulsteel stones of this room, he charged at Kale, and swung another massive fist at where Kale's body was. Rosethorne wanted to close her eyes, to not see him get killed...But Kale was once again no longer there, the giant's fist slamming deep into the stone lid of the sarcophagus. The lid broke with an audible crack, one of the halves falling backward and off the coffin.
She noticed with further surprise that Kale was now on the other side of the room, grinning at the highly angry Abyssal, who promptly rushed at him. Kale's voice seemed to echo throughout the room as the Abyssal's fist met nothing but air, and the barely-yielding rock. "Never fought a ghost, huh fatass?"
Kale seemed to reappear in front of the huge stone opened sarcophagus, looking intently inside. From her point of view, she was looking at the back of Kale's head as he looked within the huge stone coffin. Her eyes widened again as she saw some of herself past him, and she saw the snakes that covered every inch of her body. Her still-poisoned abdomen gave a lurch at the sight.
The huge Abyssal had now reached the other side of the room, and was looking around, bewildered. Kale yanked out his huge blade, which now seemed to glow; softly at first, but brighter, and brighter still, filling the room with a strong, soft golden light. The snakes bit deeply into every part of her body, within and without, trying to hold on. He moved the blade closer, and the snakes as one withdrew from her body, hissing angrily as they retreated to the deeper parts of the coffin.
She couldn't see his face from her point of view, looking down, but she could see the slight shudder that went through him once he saw her body. He set his jaw determinedly as he grabbed her, pulled her out of the primordial snake-filled sarcophagus, wrapped her in his cloak, and promptly began rushing for the exit.
She felt her senses slowly returning to her body, the sense of each swift step seeming to jar her entire being as Kale ran. She still couldn't hear or see, let alone speak, but somehow she knew the giant Abyssal had seen Kale. His roar of anger seemed to make her entire body shake, with each vibration of his huge footfalls growing stronger, and stronger still.
Her sense of touch slowly returned, and she felt Kale's arms around her, cradling her within his cloak. "This must be another dream..." she thought to herself, as darkness claimed her.