Avril sat up tensely in the darkness and drew her covers close about her. The night was silent as the grave and black as ebony. And it unnerved her. In the cover of true night, she held her breath and remained as stiff and silent as the dead. And though the silence was terrible, she was well aware that, on a night like this, the slightest noise would've sent her screaming. For an eternity, and a second, she sat there, too afraid to blink, just waiting for the light of dawn. Then slowly, slowly, cautious as a mouse in a room with a sleeping cat, she slank back under the sheets and covered her head with them, cringing and trembling in her fright.

Nearby, one crystal blue eye blinked, shifted in place. It absorbed the images around- straining in the total darkness to make out the shadows of familar objects: the silhouette of a beaureu cluttered with undiscernable shapes, each melding in to the other's form, for all the night would say; the vague, blurred outline of a lamp; a large bulking shape in a corner one could only suppose to be the bed. Too difficult. Even creatures of sharper night vision required some light. In the pitch black of a starless, moonless sky, it was impossible to do as it was bid.

Frustrated, the eye shifted once again, and rolled on to the floor, where it was promptly recieved by it's counterpart; a hand with flesh as white as death, that moved and crawled about like a spider, neatly seperated from it's rightful place with a cut just about as clean as if it had been hacked through with a chainsaw. Together they were a ghastly pair: the eye melding in to the hand's grotesquely done severing with vines of blood and flesh holding the form in place with the foulest of black sorceries.

Nothing to be done. The homonculus retired it's quest, and returned to the outside, in the streets below.