The single sixty watt bulb that illuminates the room is no match for the darkness that is to be revealed. Hecate makes no effort to compose herself as she shifts into a sitting position. Her long delicate fingers tug the pin from her hair. Onyx eyeliner is smudges her face. The zipper on her dress remains unsecured. Her beating heart quickens, and her breath hitches. Her diaphragm shifts into hyper drive. Her world spins out of control, and nothing can stop it. A familiar voices tries to drag her back to reality.

"Hecate, what do you mean?" Dimity responds.

"After careful research I was able to locate a chant, and potion that would reveal to me the hours that were lost."

Her rigid upright posture and the look of utter disgust are signature Hardbroom as she relegates herself to an empty corner of the event all. Her arms are folded across her chest as she watches the scene reveal itself from the sideline. She appears utterly unapproachable as she contemplates which subject to tackle first; her disdain for the level of opulence of the event, or the irascibility she feels in regards to the throngs of vapid attendees in the room. A sharp inhale reminds her of a different event from her youth. A dance with her feeling like the odd one out. Sneaking out of such an event to hide out, and smoke. As she reminisces a tall, ill-shaven wizard approaches her. She furrows her brow trying discern why he is wearing a mask at a black tie event.

"Could I trouble you for a dance?"

"I don't dance," she answers as her mind wanders to a fox in the hen house.

"We could blow this popsicle stand. The oxygen, and quiet seem to be lacking in here. I was considering popping outside for a smoke. Do you want to join?"

She eyes him suspiciously as her gut churns, "I don't recognize you. Which school are you faculty at?"

"Greenstone."

She arches an eyebrow, "There is no such place. It seems prudent that you find the exit."

"I will gladly oblige, if you would be kind enough to show me the way."

Hecate gesticulates, "The door to your immediate right."

His fingers wrap around her wrist, "Show me!"

She transfers to the other side of the ballroom. She finds Dimity who is nibbling on a snack.

"It is time to depart."

"We only just got here," Dimity replies.

"Darkness is afoot here."

"I don't remember any of that," Dimity responds.

"By design. The tale only darkens from there."

"Go on."

"Perhaps ignorance is the more humane option, Dimity."

"Living in the darkness alone ensures it will consume you. Staring into the abyss alone only encourages it to stare back. Together we may stand a chance at lighting the way."

"The endless challenge to keep a flame beyond a flicker in the midst of a tempest is utterly soul crushing."

"You mustn't go it alone."

The two of them round the corner towards broom storage. The attendant is unavailable. Hecate opens the door to the storage room with a single hand gesture. The portal flies open as the urgency of the task grows. One footstep closer to the entrance, and a figure materializes in the doorway. She remains steadfast, refusing to retreat. Before she can manage to summon her broomstick a thick muscular arm wraps around her from behind. An examination of her periphery reveals Dimity has already vanished. A hand claps over her face. A towel reeking of chloroform, and nutmeg covers her airway. Her long fingernails tear at the bare arm she finds pressing against her airway. A freshly inflicted wound is the last thing she sees before darkness envelopes her.

Her head throbs as she begins to regain consciousness sometime later. Physically she feels weak and nauseated. Her arms are secured to the bed posts. Her face rubs against her the inside of her shoulder repeatedly in an attempt to loosen the gag. Footsteps approach as she succeeds in her efforts. Her mind races itself as she tries to gain enough clarity to utilize the tools at her disposal.

Familiar eyes glare at her from above. The ill-shaven beast stands over her sans mask. Despite valiant efforts she finds it impossible to force her body to cooperate with the commands she delivers as he mists her face with an aerosol. He tightens the restraints that are secured to her wrist. His face presses against her ear. His breath is laced with the acrid smell of stale cigarettes.

"Don't fight," he warns her. His hand moves desperately close to her as his fingers grasp the gag that is now lying slack around her neck. Rage bubbles to the surface as she fights the effects of the drugs used to subdue her. A single intrusive thought breaks through. Her teeth clamp around his forearm. He thrashes about in an attempt to free his flesh. As his panic rises he frees himself, and reaches for the aerosol. She spits his blood, and flesh into his face. Everything once again fades away.

Hours later she awakens in her own bed, with no memory of how she has managed to return. A sense of panic washes over her as she scurries to turn on the light. Her entire body aches as she vacates the safety of her bed. After securing the door to the bathroom she practically rips her clothes off, and casts them aside. Water in the shower is near the temperature of an autoclave as she crawls inside.