Hours later, the door to the laboratory opened quietly as Bishop crept into the corridor, cautiously glancing left and right.

It had taken him some time to shake himself out of the stupor the events today had left behind. He still wondered if the scenes she'd shown him were real, but after pondering over them for hours, he was inclined to believe they were true. Because he knew Jaluth very well, and he knew that what she really loved doing was tormenting people not with lies, but with truth. The truth was so much more cruel than the most elaborate lie in most cases.

And there was the strange behavior of the Captain to consider. Her concern, when he collapsed after Jaluth revealed herself. The uncharacteristic tears in her eyes. The way she reacted to his proximity all of a sudden, when she had never even batted an eyelid before. The risk she had taken to free him out of Jaluth clutches.

And finally her parting words. The words that had been ringing in his head those last months, the words that had been a total enigma up to now.

I did not do it for you. I did it for a friend I lost.

She had spoken of him. Of him during that time he did not remember. It seemed they had spent an awful lot of time together then, and had grown quite close. But since he regained his memory, he was not worth the title of friend anymore, it seemed.

He scowled while he slowly crept along the corridor. Why had she not told him? Granted, the way he had acted had not been very friend-like. But still, the thought stung. She could have told him.

Of course it stings, idiot. You have been trying to get into her pants for how long? And when you finally succeed, you can't even remember.

Yeah, that had to be it. His final triumph over the tin can, and he did not remember a thing. But gosh, what a joke.

Here's to you, asshole. I finally fucked your woman. Eat this.

But strangely, he did not feel like laughing.

Well, I can laugh all I want after I escaped from this cursed place. I better hurry up, before Jaluth gets bored and comes back for entertainment.

Soundlessly, he moved down the corridor, dimly lit by flickering torches. Gods knew why Jaluth had such a thing for rustic decorations when she could clearly afford the most modern gas lamps, but right now, he was thankful for the semi-gloom the torches created.

He peered round the corner and retreated quickly when he saw a guard approaching. Not daring to breathe, he pressed himself flat against the wall to minimize his shadow, thankful again for the dim light of the corridor. When the guard reached the corner, Bishop jumped forward, grabbed the head of the man, and with one swift, forceful movement, twisted his neck.

There was a nasty crunching sound when the spine broke. Bishop caught the sagging body and dragged him back into the room he had just escaped. There, he arranged the body in the cage, so that for a cursory glance, it would look like someone was lying on his side, sleeping soundly.

He looked down on his work and smiled grimly.

"Nothing personal, buddy", he said to the corpse. "You've just got something I need."

With those words, he crouched down and pulled the sword from the scabbard at the guard's side. His smile widened while he tested the weapon with a few swings through the air. It was nothing special, just a simple, perfectly ordinary sword, and certainly utter crap compared to his beloved scimitars, but it was a weapon.

He was free of the cage, and he held a weapon in his hands. Things were looking up.

"Not that easy to kill, huh?", he muttered under his breath. "Well, we'll see about this, won't we? I probably never tried hard enough. This time, I'll just chop your head off. See if you can heal that, bitch."

Her words from after the ritual came to his mind. Would he really have to stay here, not able to leave, until he starved after her death?

Well, for someone as twisted as her, she usually was very fond of telling the truth, but probably this had been a lie. As far as he knew, there were three ways to lift a curse, weren't there? Kill the witch, kill the witch, or kill the witch. So he'd choose the first option, and kill the witch, and boy, would he enjoy that.

And what if she's telling the truth? You said she loves tormenting through truth yourself.

But he found he did not really care. The hot, burning hatred that had risen during her little speech was still churning in his stomach, and he thought that if he could just see her face when she finally breathed her last, killed by his hand, it would certainly be worth dying for. Especially since he had found himself not too adverse to dying just a few hours ago.

His resolution hardened by the memory of those few nearly peaceful moments, despite the pain wrecking his body, he sneaked down the corridor and continued into the direction the guard had come from, until he reached a broad stairwell, the stone stairs covered by a thick red carpet.

Very considerate, he thought wryly. Making sneaking around so easy for me.

But where to go? Up, or down? He'd never been here before. Before, he'd always been dragged to her mansion in Luskan.

He stood on the platform of the stairwell, and listened carefully. Weren't there voices from above?

He crept up the stairs, and found himself in a similar, torch-lit corridor. But now he was sure he could hear voices from some distance away, faint, as if coming from behind a closed door.

Carefully, he moved around the next corner and found himself facing a large, lushly carved wooden door, depicting various ugly creatures, some bat-like, some snake-like, some spider-like, all in the process of gleefully tormenting human figures.

Very nice, he thought, the corners of his mouth twisted down in disdain. No doubt about whose room this is. Thank you for advertising.

He put his ear to the wood, and now he could understand the murmured conversation from beyond. And sure enough, it was Jaluth's voice that reached his ear.

"You've been warned", she said coldly to her unknown opposite. "He'll certainly try to wreak some havoc tonight. If some of your men die because you don't take the necessary precautions, I don't care a fig. Dismissed."

Footsteps approached the door, and Bishop quickly retreated behind the next corner, pressing himself flat against the wall again. Seconds later, the footsteps came along the corridor, and then a guard rounded the corner and went down the stairs.

Bishop watched the retreating back with raised eyebrows.

Didn't you just listen to your mistress, moron? Did she not tell you to watch it? You did not even look around. You're lucky she's first on my list and I can't risk raising a fuss before I get to her. But don't worry, you and your men will be next. I'll slaughter me a bunch of Luskan swine tonight.

Smiling broadly at the thought of shedding a good deal of Luskan blood, Bishop carefully sneaked up to the carved door again. He put his ear against it and listened carefully, but could not hear a single sound. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pressed down the handle and opened the door a crack.

He realized that his heart was beating wildly, and his hands were getting moist. This was it, probably his one and only chance. He could not risk being noticed by Jaluth before it was too late for her to react. He knew pretty well that he'd probably just get the one swing. If she got the chance to get out just one spell, it would be over for him.

He peered through the crack into the brightly lit room. Of course, no torchlight for Jaluth's private quarters. He could see a lush, blood red carpet, covering the floor from wall to wall.

Slowly, he opened the door a bit more. The room he was looking into seemed no more than a small ante-room, holding a large, ornately carved ebony table, flanked by two equally ornately carved ebony chairs, which looked uncomfortable enough to count as torture instruments.

A large opening in the wall led into the neighbored room. Bishop could see the same blood red carpet covering the floor, and an enormous fireplace in the opposite wall.

He listened again, and heard something move in the room beyond. He frowned. The movement sounded... odd. Of course, it was muted by the thick carpet, but still. These were hardly footsteps.

The sound was more like something sliding.

Was she on the bed, and what he heard had been the sheets rustling?

Ever so careful, he crept through the opening of the carved door, until he could see a bit more of the next room. A huge poster bed came into view, in design similar to the table and chairs in the ante-room, the posts being made from gleaming ebony and carved into gargoyles, their ghastly faces looking inwards, down on whoever slept in the bed.

Bishop shuddered. Jaluth sure had peculiar tastes.

But the bed was empty, and untouched. No trace of Jaluth. Where was she?

And then he saw it. The shadow.

He froze and stared at the floor of the bedroom in disbelief, as the shadow slid into view, not understanding what he was seeing, but a deep, primal fear slowly creeping up in him, making his blood run cold.

First, there were arms. Way too many arms. He counted six of them. But if there were too many arms, there were way too few legs. None, if he was correct. Instead, the body continued right to the floor, and moved forward with a sinuous, sliding motion, like a... snake?

He gasped involuntarily and saw the movement of the shadow stop while the head whipped around, long hair flying.

"Who's there?", Jaluth's sharp voice rang out.

Suddenly, the icy fear that held his limbs frozen up to now turned into hot panic, and Bishop dropped the sword without even realizing it, sprang to his feet, turned on the spot and ran, ran as fast as his legs would take him, out of the room, along the corridor, all the way down the steps where, until he reached some kind of vestibule. One wall held a large portal, and still without a conscious thought, he threw it open and found that it led outside. Bishop just ran on, on, into the night.

He only stopped running when something seemed to squeeze his chest, making his breath short. He leaned against a tree and doubled over, gasping for breath. Slowly, his breathing growing a bit calmer, his mind cleared at least some, and he could think about what he had seen for the first time since he started running.

But what had he seen? Had that been Jaluth? That... that thing without legs, and with the three pairs of arms? The voice had certainly been hers, of that he was sure. Had she just been in the same room? But then, the voice had rung out just as the head of the shadow turned. Coincidence?

Somehow, he did not think so.

So that just left one conclusion: Whatever he had seen, it had been Jaluth.

Her true form.

Whatever she was, it wasn't human.

Her human form had been nothing but a disguise. Hiding that hideous body.

Images of years and years of abuse invaded his mind. Her lips on his, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth. Her hands and mouth all over his body, coaxing it to react. Her body riding his, her face full of glee as he could not help but surrender to that mixture of hate, fury and arousal she caused in him.

Her body under his as he pounded into her, trying to vent his anger by using his fists, teeth, and cock.

He retched as nausea rose in a sickening wave.

I have touched that. I have fucked that thing. My hands squeezed that flesh, my teeth sunk into that skin.

I have fucked that, and I have come in that body.

He fell to his knees and bent forward as the bread and cheese he had for supper suddenly forced their way outside. Retching and gasping, he was violently sick, until finally not even bile would come out anymore.

Still, he could not stop heaving, the thought of what he had done to that body, and what it had done to his, making a fresh wave of nausea rise every time the retching lessened a bit.

After what seemed hours, his stomach aching like crazy, the dry heaving subsided, and he sat back on his heels, breathing heavily. His thoughts were still a mess, but there was one thing that seemed brilliantly clear to him.

I can't go back there. Ever.

That thought like a beacon in his jumbled mind, he climbed to his feet finally, and with shaking knees, started to make his way deeper into the dark, nightly woods.