The only light in the room glowed dimly, the last bout of a candle’s flame as it struggled against the smothering wax, the darkness of the night waiting at the edges of the light, to swallow the last of glimmer of light in its great and terrible maw. Laid out on a rug, another struggle was taking place, amid the half-dozen empty beer bottles and clothes strewn about the room. A tall, but thin woman was laying back on the floor, a dull ache pulsing through her, from her left leg to her neck, from which point it turned into a splitting headache, the final remnants of her drunken stupor. She lay in silence, the only sound escaping her body was that of her quiet breathing. She was still, unable to conjure the will she needed to move.

Nearby, a clock ticked endlessly, the noise agonizingly loud as it echoed through the darkness.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The flame from the candle ceased to exist as darkness engulfed the room, like a following of manticores closing in for the kill of a demanded sacrifice. The woman opened her eyes. Stormy grey eyes peered unwillingly into the black above her. Yet she still did not move.

Tick... Worthless. Tick... Stupid. Tick... Failure. Tick...

You didn’t deserve it.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Why else wouldn’t they do as promised?

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Maybe they deserved it more then you.

Tick...

You are no High Priestess.

Tick.

With a small growl, in part from pain, and in part from her own thoughts, the woman twisted and rolled onto her flat stomach. Bits of curly black hair bounced in her view, but her mind was elsewhere as she reached out with her long nails, her one leg kicking out behind her, as she gradually clawed her way towards the small bed, plowing through everything that was in her way. Scratching at the covers, she eventually found a hold and heaved herself up, grunting in pain as her body, fatigued and hurt, rebelled against the movement.

Curling up into a ball on the sheets, she closed her eyes, even though it would be of no use. Until dawn, she would slip in and out of consciousness, haunted by guilt and fear evoked by both memories and hallucinations alike - the state of dream and reality blurred beyond the current capacity of her tortured mind.

Tick... Tick... Tick....

Why? Why release me now?

Tick.

The first pale rays of dawn broke over the horizon, piercing the dark sky. However powerful they could have been, they could not gaze upon the woman who needed the comfort they provided. Caught in her small, windowless rented room, she was curled into the corner, although she remained on her bed. The plain white sheets were twisted and thrown about, as if some sort of struggle at taken place. The woman’s tears were streaking black, soaking up her make-up as they fell uncontrollably. Gasping for air, it felt as if her lungs were being slowly and agonizingly crushed by the growing senses of fear and guilt that welled up inside of her. Fearfully, she stared at her hands.

Blood.

The still-warm liquid crimson covered her hands. It stained her clothes, drowned out the floor, splattered the walls and torturously imprinted itself onto her mind.

It did not belong to her - no, it belonged to them.

The corpses of those standing in front of her bed - swaying slowly, waiting for the look that would be her downfall. The smell of decay assaulted her, twisting her stomach into an endless array of knots, dragging up memories of the mirrors like the dead from a long forgotten mass grave. And the thoughts came flooding with them.

If it weren’t for you, they wouldn’t be dead. Like the crusades of old - all you left was dead bodies in your wake. What did you accomplish? You gave food for the worms. Really, you’ll be marked down as a hero for the ages, I’m sure.

Amber slowly clenched her hands in aggravation, the blood slowly seeping out from between her fingers.

The mirrors are gone, but your gods abandoned you. So much for that reward, huh? You’ve been left with more questions then ever, and no answers. My my, what is a girl to do?

Suddenly, she could hear the floorboards around her creak violently as the corpses lunged. Taking a sharp breath, she waited for the merciless hands to strike.

My guess is, however, you will find out all too much, in the end. Or not enough. Either way, life is not done with you yet. I doubt the gods are, either - After all, you are still alive. Whatever your next move may be if - if you trip, lets just hope you die and stay dead this time, shall we?

They never hit, however. The only sound in the room now was that of her breath that she released after holding it for some time. The pressure on her lungs faded away into nothingness. She opened her eyes.

No blood. She gradually opened her hands, some fear still locked inside. No blood there, either.

Another hallucination...?

Shuddering, she pushed herself off of her bed. All she felt was the urge to escape - to run away. But she new what she was running away to hurt her more then the solitude of this room did.

~~~

Despite the throbbing pain in her stump of a left leg, Amber limped on, occasionally bumping into gravestones in darkness. After several twisting turns, having walked in the wrong direction - she sat down.

“Lumos.”

She had to blink several times as the bright light temporarily blinded her, illuminating the trails her tears and make-up left on her face. Carefully, after she became adjusted to the light, she directed the tip of her wand to the name carved onto the gravestone: Bowen Wells.

He had been rather... annoying, at times, but.... he didn’t deserve to die like that. He was one of the victims of the mirrors... of those men... of me.

With a calm exterior masking the troubled interior, Amber reached into the bag she had brought with her, plucking out many of the crystal roses that had been left for her in the suffocating building that was St. Mungo’s. She directed the wand’s light to them, eyeing resulting coloured glow, before resting her wand on the ground. Gingerly picking one up, she held it above the grave.

With surprising force, she slammed it into the grass before the tombstone. She repeated this movement with each of the roses, as if it was some ancient ritual. Staring at the crystal roses, she picked up her wand.

“Nox.”

Darkness engulfed her.

For the first time in a long time, things were working out.

Amber couldn’t help but smile down at the pile of photographs she held as she stepped out of the store and began to walk back to Angel's apartment. With each step, her high heels clicked against the pavement below. Even with her limp, she strode confidently towards the apartment, her thoughts drifting through the events of last night, briefly weaving in thoughts and memories from different moments in time as she quickly approached her destination.

Last night had been a unique thrill to her. The buzz of the alcohol. The blinding flash of the camera. The joy of creating new looks with the help of cosmetics, beautiful outfits, and a touch of editing to make the photos that much more exceptional after it all was said and done. It had been a result of Liss’ plotting, but a joy, nonetheless, to photograph both Liss and Angel, along with letting Liss use the camera a few times to photograph her.

Chuckling quietly at the thought of Liss’ attempts to handle the camera, Amber held up the first two photographs in her left hand – her favorites - to examine them as she walked up the steps.





It had been a celebration of sorts, in her mind. They had helped her to regain things that had been lost or taken from her, physically, mentally, and spiritually. They had lifted her up out of the gutter of hate she had been secretly rotting in for all those months. They were helping her down a path that could ultimately lead to what she wanted more than anything else.

Glancing down to the photograph now at the top of the pile clutched in her right hand, Amber found herself examining her own features, in a split second where it seemed that nothing from her past was eating away at her.





More than anything else... to be the Knightess again.

“We can still save him... we can still save John...”

The words sounded desperate as she uttered them, strained by the grief that began to take over. In the ancient stone chamber she called home, Amber held her sister close, resting her head against her sister’s side. In her anguish, she felt empty, hopeless. The tears poured from her eyes, dampening the white cloth pressed to her cheek as she silently slipped into a state of mental shock, unable to comfort her sister, or herself.

I'll save you. I promise.