Wizard116: Yep, the mysterious housekeeper, coming up! I had fun writing this chapter...

Moondance K'Treva: Heh, I was thinking of it, but then I thought it'd come under the

category 'doesn't listen to reviewer advice'.

Tessabe: Ya, she's changing. She's only human, naïve and innocent, but only human.

And I'm sorry, but it is human nature to grab at power, to relish in it, to want to have more and more. It's hard for someone with power to use it fairly. And all this is fueled by her hatred and her fear. So I guess it's her magic, and the power of it, that really changes her.

Fergiaj: New reviewer!! Yay!! I'm actually going to take a bit of a long time cuz I'm off

Overseas for a bit, but as soon as possible!

Jezebel: Heh. Maybe notJ. I tried a story- three, actually, and failed miserably. I keep

quitting by the sixth chapter.

Dilemma: I don't know whether to be happy or sorry… But thanks so much and I will try

to review soon! Except for the next chapter which is going to take two weeks

about. So sorry!

SuzieQT: Another new reviewer!! Double yay! Glad you like it, will try to keep your

interest.

P.s. Has anyone noticed that I always post up a new chapter when the story is at number fifteen? But not this next chapter. So sorry. This one's going to take a while. I'm going overseas for a bit… Ah well, onto the story!

-

-

She screamed.

And forgot about all the horrors she had been and faced as she looked upon a new horror which was this, this thing.

It wasn't the lack of humanity that appalled her, for it-she-was human. Rather, it was the lack of. . . of soul.

With eyes of a glassy bottle-green, of a slightly glazed shade and shadow, the housekeeper stared at Maie uncomprehendingly. Quite as uncomprehendingly as Maie stared at it, desperately hunting for some character, some flame of life in the girl.

For she was a girl, probably no more than twelve, with limply curly red hair, which had probably pranced under sunlight like dancing flames, once upon a time. With wide, doe eyes, which would probably have been considered innocent, if there were any emotion reflected off the dull green. With a past personality, which would have probably been something innocent, something full of joy and laughter, before. . .

Before this.

The girl swayed slightly, staring blankly ahead, as if unable to comprehend the situation, as if she didn't know what to do now.

A minute past, and then two.

After the fifth, Maie slowly crept off of the bed, towards the stranger.

The girl didn't respond, merely walking towards the bed and tidying it. It was as if Maie was not even there.

And suddenly the realization hit.

Ley.

Her name was Ley.

Frantic now, she scrambled towards the bookshelves, scrabbling with the books in a panicked haste before she came across the worn, yellowed one that was a diary. She hadn't done much more than flip through it before, yet now she hastily turned page after page.

Yava, the old one with scrawled handwriting and deep blue ink. Arien, who spoke of laughter and sunrise where there was none to be found. Cerienne, with ink of purple and green and stories of great length. And Ley.

She stopped at Ley.

"It is so dark. I don't like it. I don't like him too, but mama said I must try to. She said I will soon, but I don't think so. I don't like him. He's dark and scary and he says mean things. Mama was crying today. I don't like her crying. I wasn't bad today. I didn't make her cry for four years. I don't know why she was crying. But she said I must be good. She said that he will take care of me but I don't think so. I don't think he takes care of anybody."

She skipped a few entries, her heart breaking for the scared, little girl, younger than even she was, more lost and unsure than any deserved to be.

"He was mad today. I couldn't lift the water bucket. I told him that I was only ten. I said that Mama never made me lift heavy water buckets. He doesn't talk much, but he talked now. He said I was hopeless and spoilt and a lot of other things I think were mean. And then he just went away. I don't like it here. I want to go back."

More entries like that. Daëmor surely had made a mistake when he chose. Reading the diary, Maie could see that the companion would only choose the innocent. Yet maybe the girl was too innocent for this. She read the last chapter, sparing a glance for the girl methodically cleaning her room.

"I'm scared. I think that he's really mad. But I don't care. I meant it when I said I want to go home! It's scary here. He's scary. I don't care if mama gets mad. I don't want to stay here. But I don't know where he is now. He just said "it apears that I had been mistakin, choosing you. You will never be a dark herald". And then he went away. He's been gone for a long time. I packed my things and hid them under the bed. I want to go home."

That was the last entry scrawled from her.

Slowly, Maie looked at Ley from across the room. The girl paid no attention to her, merely moving from the readied bed to the bathing room. Maie crept slowly to the bed, foreboding chilling her spine and illuminating her path in dark warnings.

Slowly, she knelt down to the unlooked shadows under the bed. She reached out slowly, past cobwebs and layers of dust and grit…

And grasped a bundle.

Maie froze, torn between the need to see and the need to not. Her hands trembled, white with strain and lined with tension.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, the leather bundle was dragged from its hiding place. Shaking fingers quietly pulled at the knotted coverings. The red haired girl paid no heed.

Little, paperback picture books. Sheaves of yellowed parchment. Big, black, sprawled words against neat, cursive ones. A framed letter with neatly written words.

"Ride tall and proud, little one. You will find your dreams."

Something in Maie broke. A dam of horror, of dread, or long-denied knowledge. Gasping, she stumbled backwards, away from all this. Away from any of this.

Then, staggering to her feet, she fled.

It was near dark before Daëmor found her.

She was curled in a fetal position, huddled between stacks of hay and straw. She did not even acknowledge his presence.

:Well done. I had thought that you would have no problems with the wyrsa I had sent. You dispatched of them. . . quite readily.:

"Get the hell away," she whispered harshly, "I know who you are."

A sardonic, blood-red eye raised.

:Really:

"Yes, really," now wrenching herself up to her feet, she hissed a venom-filled hiss, eyes bright with tears and voice quickly rising, "A companion, are you? I've never seen evil as pure and dark as yours. You think I do not know who and what you live on?"

"Yes," she continued with a bitter, bitter laugh, "the innocent. It is on them you feed, is it not? Their pain, their confusion, their despair. My despair. You think that I have not seen? I have seen your housekeeper."

The last words were uttered in a whisper, and yet were all the more potent in their use. Daëmor's eyes widen for a split-second, then turned back into themselves.

:I would have told you, even if you hadn't. Yet I know all this. I shall tell you later.:

Eyes glittering with hate and tears, Maie clenched her fists in challenge.

"No," she snarled, "you shall tell me now."