One week later

The WF had visited several cities after the Buried Alive match. Faith would have enjoyed the travel and sightseeing more if not for the pain, but she still had a good time despite it. Life was going to be different with this adventure… and also physically hard. Still, she wasn't letting that deter her. It would come regardless. She could hurt here or at home, and although sometimes she wished it could be the latter, she wanted the former—needed it.

There had been no sign of the Undertaker since the pay-per-view, but they still mentioned him in the show. She wondered where he had gone. Did he go home for his vacation? Being on the road as much as he was had to make one homesick. The man was doubtless being waited on hand and foot like a king. Good for him. He deserved it, but she hoped he would return soon, even if she felt silly about it.

So stupid. He hardly said anything to me. Pretty sure he said what he did, so I'd shut up.

Lost in her own thoughts, Faith wasn't paying attention as she passed one superstar and accidentally bumped into his shoulder.

Faith stumbled back. "I'm so sorry!"

She looked up at the man, finding the handsome face of the Heartbreak Kid. Her stomach twisted into a knot. He did not look happy to see her and the feeling was mutual. This was the third time today she'd bumped into him. Today was just one of those days. The pain made it harder to pay attention and keep her balance.

"That's the fourth damn time! Do you have two left feet?" He growled.

Faith was speechless, too embarrassed to think up a response. She snapped out of her daze when he smacked the hairbrush she was carrying from her hand.

"Stay the fuck out of my way, Miss Piggy." He said, pushing past her.

"I-I know! And I'm sorry! Again." She called after him.

I see he's been talking to Hunter. Great. Two peas in a pod, those two. Equally beautiful. Equally mean. Equally stupid.

She sighed as she looked down at the pink round brush lying on the floor. Retrieving it would be a simple task for an able-bodied person. Too bad she wasn't and hadn't been for a long time. Even mundane crap like this involved strategizing to avoid the most pain. Bending was a no go. Squatting was a little better, but not her preference because it still hurt. The path of least resistance was the third option.

Faith slipped her shoe off as she looked both ways. With the coast clear, she reached out with her toes to bring the brush up halfway so she wouldn't have to bend as much. Prehensile feet for the win! Dealing with chronic pain as long as she had, you picked up a few tricks.

I'll need to sanitize this. Gotta get my combs out of the Barbicide jar, anyway.

The beautician started down the hall when a falsetto voice caught her attention further down. She couldn't make sense of their words, but their tone indicated anger. Curious, she tracked down the source to Paul Bearer's dressing room.

Oh. It's him. I should leave. Curiosity killed the cat and all that.

"What do you mean you don't know where it is!?" Paul Bearer screeched like a banshee.

This curious cat decided to take the risk and pressed her ear against the door.

"I told you, Uncle Paul! I put it on that table outside mommy's room. Then the table was gone."

Mankind is in there too? Who's Mommy? Sable or Goldust?

"That little tramp! I bet she took it."

"I don't know. She could be getting it cleaned."

"Find it! You find it right now or you'll wish you had! Do you understand me?!"

"Yes, Uncle Paul!"

They must be rehearsing for tonight. It's really convincing. Paul is a great actor. He's like a cartoon character come to life!

Just as Faith was about to pull away, she lurched forward with a squeak. The door had swung open and standing above her was the ghoulish ex-manager of the Undertaker.

He glared down at her; his ghostly face trembling with rage. "What are you doing here?! Were you eavesdropping? Being a little Peeking Thomasina on my Mankind? Were you?!"

Faith scrambled to her feet and dusted herself off. "N-no, sir! Not at all. Apologies for bothering you. I uh…" She quickly thought up a story. "I dropped a bobby-pin. I'm looking for it."

"I have some!" Mankind said, poking his head through the door. "I'll get 'em."

The wrestler went back inside, and she could hear him knocking things over. Bang! Crash! Wack! After a minute of tearing apart Paul Bearer's dressing room, Mankin returned with a sack. He shook it in front of her face and it made a metallic sound.

"Here!" He looked so happy as he dropped the object into her hand. Like an excited little kid… swinging a chainsaw around. It was kind of endearing. Mostly terrifying, but he was clearly trying to make her happy.

Faith stared down at his palm and then back up to Mankind. "Um… Those are thumbtacks."

"Yeah!"

"That's…" She forced a smile as she carefully accepted them, fearing what would happen if she didn't. "I can hang up so many pictures with these!"

"Or sit on them."

"O-or that. Thank you. You're very sweet, Mankind."

"Anything for you, sissy. I'll get you more."

A chill crawled up her spine. Jesus Christ. He plays that up so well.

Faith shook her head. "That's okay! R-really. This is uh… it's plenty. I'll get out of your way. Sorry for disturbing you again."

"And get me an iced coffee. Double the sugar." Paul said.

The beautician tilted her head. "But I'm not a—"

"Now!"

The woman yelped, "Yes, Paul Bearer, sir!"

"Have a nice day!" Mankind said.

Faith scurried away from them, running down the corridor until she safely got around a corner. She heaved a sigh and leaned back on the wall, patting her chest as if trying to convince her racing to slow down. There had to be an intern around that she could pass the order off to because she was not comfortable going back around the Undertaker's ex-manager or Mankind.

She returned to where Cheryl had set up their little office and checked the clipboard for who she'd be working on that evening. A groan left her lips as she saw the Infamous Triple H and Chyna on there again. Lovely.

As long as I keep quiet, it might not be so bad.

With much dread, she wrapped up her work at the counter and went to Hunter Hearst Helmsley's dressing room. It took her a full minute to build up the courage to knock on the door, her stomach twisting with anxiety. When she finally did, Chyna let the beautician inside, silent as always. The two weren't alone this time. Shawn Michaels lay stretched out on the couch. Fate must have had it out for her today, and she wondered if it could get any worse.

"Welcome back, Porky Pig," Triple H said.

HBK groaned as he saw her. "Not this girl! I don't think she can walk a straight line."

"I'm telling you, she tries to poke my eyes out every time she's in here."

"Wow. What a bitch."

Within seconds of them opening their mouths, Faith felt like they had sucked her dry of energy. That took talent. She was so fucking tired of them.

Well, if you didn't blink so damn much… is what she wanted to say, but she held her tongue

With a weary sigh, she looked at Chyna. "Ladies first, right?"

Funny how the one that had attacked her was the most amenable. The large woman sat down in the chair and glared at Faith through the mirror as she set out her stuff. While she dolled up the Amazon, the two men continued to press her buttons.

"Rumor has it you're a Creature of the Night, Porky." Hunter said.

Faith nodded.

"I thought only fat goth chicks and losers liked him. Good thing he's gone, because knowing you were a fan would make him sick." Shawn said.

"Right? Poor weirdo."

Faith continued silently for the next several minutes, Shawn and Triple H laying it on as thick as they could, insult after insult without cease. She wouldn't let them get a reaction out of her. After all, that's exactly what they wanted. If she didn't feed into their bullshit, they had nothing to enjoy. But they tried. God, they tried.

When she finished with Chyna, she beckoned Triple H over. He tightened his emerald silk robe around himself before taking a seat in the styling chair.

"Burying the Undertaker six feet under was so cathartic last week. How's it feel knowing your favorite is dead and gone? Well, deader, I should say."

When she remained silent, Chyna gave her a light push. "Answer him."

Faith bit the inside of her cheek. She wished they'd make up their damn minds. Did they want her to talk or shut up?

"I'm not worried. The Undertaker has defied death before because he is death himself. He'll be back." She said, softly.

"You're sure about that? You're not afraid?" Shawn asked.

"I'm only afraid of the dark." The second she realized what she said, Faith groaned. She hadn't meant to let that slip. Fuck.

The two men burst out laughing. "What are you? Three? A Creature of the Night scared of the dark?" Triple H stood up suddenly, turning on the beautician. "You should be afraid of me. I could take you out and no one would bat an eye."

Faith let out a shaky breath, scared of getting hurt again. "Please, sir. Let me finish so I can leave."

"Why? I thought we were having a good time," Shawn said.

"Please, please..." Faith kept her head down and avoided eye contact to appear as submissive as possible. "I just want to…"

"What?" Triple H asked.

"I w-want to leave."

"Leave? You should enjoy every second you're in my presence, Porky. Having the pleasure of being near me should be the biggest highlight of your fucking life."

She scoffed. Where did he get the audacity? "My biggest highlight was working with the Undertaker. Not you."

"Oh ho! I see how it is." The rich snob suddenly grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. "Not even a zombie freak like him would stoop so low as to fuck an ugly pig. He would cut you open just to hear you squeal and watch you bleed out. You know that, right? No man in his right mind would want you. You'd be doing him, myself, and everyone a huge favor if you removed yourself as an eyesore. And I don't just mean from the company."

This son of a bitch. That was it. Faith squirmed out of his hold and rushed for the exit.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

The woman spun around, fighting with everything in her to not cry. "Act or not, I can't work under these conditions!"

Chyna placed her hand on the door, making it impossible to open.

"Walking out on your client? Tsk, tsk. Cheryl won't like that," Shawn said. "I bet I could get her to reconsider you as an employee."

Faith frowned. "She wouldn't do that to me."

"I bet she would. Just a few honeyed words and that bitch would melt. Women will do anything for me and she's obsessed. I keep her in my back pocket. Never know when I'll need her for a rainy day. Which might be this very moment…"

After what Cheryl had told her a week ago, she feared he might be right. She didn't want to press her luck. "Okay, okay! Don't… Please, don't tell Cheryl I tried to leave. I'll finish. I love this job."

"Apologize to my man Triple H." Shawn said, nodding to the other blond.

The beautician looked at the blue blood. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have tried to storm out. That was very unprofessional of me. It won't happen again."

Hunter Hearst Helmsley hummed as if in deep thought. "Hmm… I'm not convinced. Are you, Shawn?"

"Fake bitch is fake. Come on, Miss Piggy. Try a little harder this time. You've wounded my friend here."

Why did it never end? Why was it so fun for people to pick on her? What had she ever done to them? Apparently, being born was enough to deserve their ire.

"On your knees. I want you to beg for it."

Faith hesitated, soaking in what Hunter told her to do. They truly wanted to humiliate her. She complied, figuring it was best to hurry and get it over with because, as much as she wanted to fight for her dignity, she knew that would make things worse for her. Slowly, she got down on her knees, her spine aching with every move.

"Please, forgive me for my incompetence, Mr. Helmsley. I am truly, deeply sorry."

"One more thing…" Triple H planted his boot in front of her. "Lick it."

The mere suggestion took her aback, and she felt disgusted. "What?!"

"Lick my boot. Show me how sorry you are."

"If you don't, I'll have a little talk with Cheryl," Shawn added.

There was no way out of this. Not easily, at least, and the woman wanted to take the path of least resistance. Grinding her teeth, Faith leaned down. What she was about to do repulsed her, and she feared she might throw up on his nice wrestling boots. A part of her kind of wanted to, but that would just bring her more pain in the end and she didn't want that—would do anything to avoid it. With much reluctance, the girl stuck out her tongue and dragged it across the shiny black leather. When she finished, she couldn't hold back the tears anymore, openly sobbing into her hands.

"Oh shit! She's crying." Triple H said, almost sounding regretful.

"Sheesh! Don't be so sensitive. It's just a joke." Shawn said.

A joke, they said. That's all it was. Then why wasn't she laughing? Why was she always the butt of it?

Faith convinced Triple H to get in the chair long enough to finish and then she left as fast as possible. Rushing to the bathroom, she nearly knocked the stall door off its hinges to get to the toilet in time. Her body strained as she heaved and retched up the contents in her stomach. She was a miserable mess.

Between the back pain and this torture, she didn't know if she could keep doing this for much longer. What they did to her didn't feel like an act, but… No. No, it was pure malice! That was real, and she knew it. And for what? Because she didn't fit the expected female mold for the WF? The sad thing is that it wasn't just them. She'd suffered this same bullshit growing up. Boys just had this innate need to torment her. Why? Faith didn't know. The world was just full of assholes.

The sun peeked through the blinds, landing directly on his closed eyes. The boy groaned, draping an arm over his face to block it out, but it was of little use. His circadian rhythm got disrupted and he couldn't go back to sleep. With a huff, he chucked his pillow across the room and looked at his alarm clock. 6:30 AM on a Saturday. He groaned, thinking about what a waste it was to wake up at the crack of dawn when he didn't have school. He wondered how he could salvage this. Sleep was out of the question, but it was early enough to sneak in a quick smoke before his family got up. There was a silver lining!

The teen got dressed, grabbed his Camels carton and matchbox from his bedside drawer, and tiptoed downstairs.

When he entered the kitchen, the aroma of fluffy pancakes and savory bacon flowed in the area, warm and inviting. His mother was already up making breakfast. As long as he kept his front facing her, she wouldn't see what he had in his back pocket. Nothing to worry about. Just play it cool. He felt confident he could slip past her, but as he gripped the doorknob, she spoke.

"You're awake." Her voice sounded strange. Far away.

So much for that. He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Wasn't really my decision, but yeah. Need any help?"

It was then that he noticed that something felt off. The windows were dark even though it was daylight outside. The water in the sink was running, a pot was boiling over, and the kettle let out an ear-piercing whistle that made him feel woozy.

"Hey! Hey! The stove!" He rushed over to help, grabbing a hand towel off the counter, but his mother was wholly unconcerned with the situation, keeping her back to her son. "Help me out here!"

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it's going to start a…"

Just as he was about to say the last word, he was suddenly hot. Very hot. Burning. Ash, sulfur, and decay replaced the comforting scent of food.

"Why?" she said again.

The tough guy act was gone. "Mom, what's wrong?"

She didn't answer. As fear sunk its claws into his soul, he steeled himself to approach her. The kettle's shrill cry was unending, the sink overflowing onto the floor, and the pot boiling over bubbled with a red, viscous fluid that stained the white stovetop.

"Mom?" His hand trembled as he placed it gently on her arm, turning his mother around.

The loving face he knew wasn't there. Instead, it was the blackened husk of a burnt skull. "Why did you do this to me, Mark?"

The Undertaker's eyes snapped open, greeted once again with darkness. Another nightmare. He slid a hand down his face, exhaling a shaky breath. They were unrelenting now, his memories returning to haunt him in new ways every time he drifted off to sleep. With no fights to focus on, no feuds or training, the Deadman couldn't suppress the horrors that befell him 20 years ago.

The only thing he had to do now was to contemplate his ultimate sin. He couldn't fight his way out of this, hide, or run. He had no choice but to be a prisoner to his own thoughts. The Undertaker chuckled. Perhaps it was the irony, or he was already slipping into the abyss of insanity, but he knew this was the perfect hell for him.

At the end of the night, Faith packed away the last of her things to leave. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder and spun around to find Shawn Michaels dressed in a black blazer, a white dress shirt, and khakis. He looked ready for a night on the town.

"Faith, right? Can we talk?"

His entire demeanor had changed from being a cynical asshole to this suave gentleman. The beautician was immediately suspicious.

"Um…" She looked towards the exit. It was so close and she considered making a run for it, but she was more afraid of what he would do if she tried that. Instead, she came up with an excuse. "I'm n-not feeling too well. Maybe tomorrow."

It wasn't a lie. He and Hunter had made her feel horrible today. She was tired, her back was killing her, and all she wanted to do was soak in a hot bath, watch some X-Files, and go to sleep.

"Come on. It'll only be a minute." He said, sweetly.

Faith was about to say no until she made eye contact with him. A pleasurable sensation surged through her chest and her breath hitched. Wow! They were so pretty. So blue. Why hadn't she noticed before?

While logically, she knew it wasn't a good idea to indulge him; Faith became filled with this overwhelming infatuation for the Heartbreak Kid. Had she always felt this way? It felt right, but she couldn't remember ever fawning over him. Not like that other wrestler. What was his name? Her memory failed her.

"Will you come with me?"

Eyes glazing over, Faith smiled as Shawn took her by the hand, willingly following him deeper into the stadium. A small voice in the back of her head was screaming for her to stop, and yet she couldn't look away from him. Damn, he was just a sexy boy, like his song said. Cheryl was so lucky to have touched him so intimately. Would she get her chance, too?

"I wanted to apologize for what happened today." He said as they reached a darker place, a busted bulb humming above them. "I didn't mean to get so carried away. You know we were just fooling around, right?"

Maybe she had been overreacting earlier. "It's okay. You were just doing your job to stay in character."

He gave her a puzzled look before realization hit. "What? Oh! Right, right. Staying in character. Yeah. That bit. So, we're good?"

She nodded.

He leaned in, resting his hand on the wall. "I want to make it up to you."

"Y-you don't have to do that." She said, blushing. He was close enough that she could smell his pricy cologne, a mix of musk and rosewood. It was intoxicating.

"No, I really do. I'm going to help you out tonight. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course, Shawn. Anything for you."

The Heartbreak Kid broke eye contact with her and the potent feelings Faith had for the man suddenly vanished. She stared at him like a deer in headlights, utterly confused.

Wait. What am I doing?

Shawn smirked and took a step back, opening the door to the storage room. Faith started backing away from him when she bumped into someone.

"You're going to face your fears, Porky." Hunter said.

She let out a whimper as she realized what was happening. This was a trap. A trap she had voluntarily walked into for reasons she couldn't quite comprehend.

Faith turned to flee, but she couldn't outrun two of the WF's best athletes. Not to mention how much the pain crippled her speed. She didn't have a chance in hell. One on each side of her, they hauled her up under her arms and dragged her into the room with no struggle.

After being dropped on her rear, she crawled towards the exit, but it was too late. They slammed the door in her face and locked it from the outside. The beautician pounded wildly on it. "Come on, guys! This isn't funny! Let me out!"

She suddenly found herself submerged in complete darkness. No! Anything but this. Terror consumed Faith, and she screamed bloody murder to the top of her lungs—loud enough to wake the dead. She hated the dark. It frightened her ever since she was a child, and that hadn't changed as she aged. If anything, it had grown worse. Bad things always happen in the dark. Bones break and lives change forever, leaving you as a shell of your former self. Faith knew this well.

On the other side, she could hear Hunter and Shawn laughing. Her despair was just another joke to them. They didn't care about her pain—emotional or physical.

"Have a nice night, Porky!" Triple H said.

"I'll take good care of Cheryl while you're dealing with this."

"Hunter! Shawn, please! Don't leave me here!" Faith's plea fell on deaf ears.

She thought they wouldn't actually be this cruel, that they'd have some shred of humanity and cut the crap after a minute, but that's not what happened. When the light peeking through the crack in the door vanished, she knew she was screwed. They offered her no mercy. Everyone was gone and no one would come looking for her. Not even Cheryl, if Shawn's hint was any clue.

Her heart raced, the anxiety building higher and higher until she felt she could hardly breathe. Utterly defeated, Faith slid down to the floor and curled up in a ball. This was too much. She couldn't do this. They wanted her gone, and she didn't want them to win, but dammit, this was hard to endure. Her back was in agony, her legs tingling with pins and needles so intensely she feared losing her mind. She'd be stuck in storage until morning. In the dark. Alone. Was this all she had to look forward to?

Calm down. Think for a minute. I know there's a light switch in here.

Moving at a snail's pace, she smoothed her hand along the wall as she searched. She sighed as a plastic rectangle met her fingertips. Her fear receded for a fleeting moment before it returned with a vengeance. She flicked it on and off several times, but the light switch didn't work. Those assholes had turned off the breaker!

Furious, Faith yelled and stomped her foot. "Lowlife degenerate scumbags!"

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly and focused on her breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Hysteria was just going to make things worse, nor would it get her any closer to freedom.

Faith wracked her brain for an answer. She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she recalled Sunny had given her a lighter to throw away earlier that day. She'd forgotten about it. The diva said it was out of juice, but maybe it had just enough to help the beautician find a flashlight.

Faith rolled her thumb over the igniter. Sparks flew, but there was no flame. "Come on! Come on!"

Third time's the charm! A modest, weak flame rose from the lighter, creating a pitiful circle of light. Faith wasn't complaining. Anything but pure darkness was great to her. The fire wouldn't last long, so she had to hurry. Her range of vision was small, but she could see well enough not to bump into anything too bad.

Carefully, she ventured deeper, hoping to find something—anything that could help her. The lighter went out at the worst time and she ran her hip straight into a metal corner. Blinding pain caused her to keel over and she broke into tears once more, dropping the lighter in the process. Damn bursitis. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. She felt like she was falling apart inside and out. It took her a while to recover, but eventually she got coherent enough to remember she'd lost the lighter. Great. Wonderful! Fuck.

By the grace of God or the universe, whatever was in control, she recovered it soon after. It hadn't skidded too far from her. She worked on getting the fire back, and this time it was remarkably more difficult to get it to ignite. A minute passed with sparks, but no light. Just as she was about to give up, a tiny miracle brought the flame back to life. Probably for the last time. She had to make this count.

Faith looked down at what she had run into earlier and her blood froze in her veins. Before her was a black wood and chrome casket, the lid chained shut with several padlocks—the same one she'd seen last week. Why was this here?

"You gotta be kidding me!" She took a deep breath. "Okay. Relax. It's just a prop. A prop from a casket match. No big deal." But she'd never seen this one in the show before. A prop for a future storyline then? That had to be it.

Faith continued her hunt, discovering some shelves with smaller items she thought might be of use. If there was a flashlight, it'd be here. Sadly, nothing met that description as she brushed her fingers over the various props.

When the weak flame reflected off of polished metal, she stopped. Urns. So many of them in different colors, shapes and sizes: brass, gold, silver, solid, banded, big, small—you name it.

A smile lit up the woman's face as she came upon this little piece of Undertaker history and she briefly forgot her predicament.

"Wow! They're all here. Some of these never even made it to air."

It was then that she remembered a fun fact. When the Undertaker returned after his defeat from Yokozuna, Paul Bearer would open the urn and light poured out of it. One or more of these had a bulb inside them. This could get her through the night!

The lighter dimmed further, snapping the beautician out of her fangirling. Time was running out. Faith hurried to find the right urn, opening and feeling around each one of them to see if they had what she needed.

"No, no, no… where is it? At least one of these has to have it."

As Faith picked up the last one, a brass urn with handles, the lighter died for good and plunged her back into darkness.

"Please, let it be this one."

She pinched the top, but the lid was stuck. Was it glued on? That wasn't right. She swore she'd seen Paul Bearer open this same one before. Faith gave it another try. Pulling harder, the lid budged a fraction of an inch, and silvery light peeked through the crack. Yes! This was the one, and the bulb was conveniently on.

Brimming with hope, Faith gripped the urn firmly so she wouldn't drop it and tugged with everything she had. It quivered in her hands and as the lid lifted again, a sound surrounded her like a swarm of cicadas. Finally, the lid came off and clattered onto the ground, bathing the room in brilliant light. Success! However, it wasn't without consequence; the edge of the metal caught and sliced Faith's finger open. It hurt, but she could worry about tetanus later.

Peering inside the ornate vase, it shocked her to see the ashes within churning like a whirlpool. The eerie voice of a man and a woman emerged from its depths, speaking in unison.

"Why does the living disturb the sleep of the dead?"

As Faith gawked at the urn, a bead of blood where she had accidentally cut herself rolled down into the ashes. Crimson swirled into the gray, suddenly basking the room in an ominous red glow.

"Your spirit drifts closer towards the veil… through the blood we can see you clearly..."

An eye manifested in the center and looked at Faith, her breath catching in her throat as an otherworldly coldness came over her. She shivered under its gaze. What kind of special effect was this?

"Hm… Such a wounded soul… yet still you cling to life. Yes, you will do nicely, child. We accept your offering. With this new pact, the betrayer's is undone and you shall become the Invoker…" the voices suddenly shifted into a sinister tone, distorted and infernal. "But know this, child."

Pain enveloped her chest as if her heart were being torn in two. Faith immediately thought she was having a heart attack and panicked.

"You will not have the chance to do the same as he did. Never again will the Reaper suffer another betrayal. Sealed by blood, your soul shall be his and bound to eternal service!"

Panting heavily, Faith collapsed onto the concrete floor. She called weakly for help, but no one was coming. Everyone had left for the night and she was going to die alone. What a way to go out. Dying in the WF storage room. Her death wouldn't even make it as a footnote at the bottom of her small town newspaper. Some fucking life this was.

What's happening to me? Am I dying?

Many times she wished she would, depressed by how drastically her childhood injury had changed her life, but now that she was here…

"I don't… I don't want to die!" She said to the silent dark.

She rolled onto her back as the tearing intensified, imagining fishing wire being woven around her heart as it reeled tighter and tighter. Then again. That might be less terrible than whatever she was feeling now.

"As above, so below… As within, so without… As the universe, so the soul…" they said.

Most of her life she thought she knew pain intimately, but in that moment she realized she didn't know the half of it. Her agony entered the next threshold, transcended beyond what a mortal could stand. Faith could no longer scream or move, paralyzed by forces she couldn't comprehend—a blessing in disguise that prevented the woman from ripping her vocal cords to shreds. Whatever was being drawn from her snapped like a thread and, just as quickly as it had begun, her suffering ceased to be.

"Invoker, guard him well as he shall you."

The red glow from the urn faded, but the gentle white light, thankfully, remained. Faith stared at the ceiling in a daze, her head spinning like a carousel. A bang accompanied by rattling chains came from somewhere within the room. Then another and another—a constant one couldn't ignore, but the woman did not react. As if in a trance, Faith looked at the urn and slowly crawled towards it; oblivious to the loud noises until she was cradling it against her chest.

Faith snapped out of it and, like a flashlight, directed the beam at the source of the commotion. It was hard to miss. Staring at the casket with her mouth agape, she watched it rock and shake on the table; the lid trying to open but prevented from doing so with the chains. For now. Those links looked as if they could pop free—and one did, the line coiling up on the ground as it slid off. She wasn't alone in here. Was this a part of the clique's prank as well? Faith couldn't approach it yet. Too distraught, too bewildered, too scared and overwhelmed by what she had gone through. Scooting to the corner, clutching the urn, she wept.