I know what I needed to bring back my motivation for this fic. I needed the Dark Before Dawn album to drop... ;)

Track 6: Failure by Breaking Benjamin

As Mitchell slowly begins to regain consciousness, the first thing he is aware of is pain. Not as acutely as he had felt it before, fortunately, but a dull throbbing that seems to resonate through his entire body. Before he even opens his eyes, he realizes that he's lying in bed, though not his own. The mattress and pillows feel as if he's lying on a cloud and the sheets are too soft to be the cotton that he's used to. Maybe silk? He takes a deep breath which is immediately released in a groan, his fists clenching on the outside of the covers drawn up around his chest. He feels the mattress sink beside him and a hand on his arm.

He opens his eyes to find Lucian staring down at him, his worried expression melting into that of obvious relief as brown eyes meet blue. "Hey," he says softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a bus," he answers hoarsely. "Which, going by Darius's reputation, I don't think is entirely inaccurate." He breaks into a lopsided grin in an effort to make light of the situation, but Lucian does not return the gesture, choosing instead to look away, his jaw clenched. Mitchell frowns. "How long was I out?"

"A few hours," Lucian answers. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't wake until morning." He pauses, his eyes downcast. "Mitchell-"

"Don't even start," he cuts in, giving him a pointed look. "I already know what you're gonna say. But I chose to come here. It was my idea to split up and it's my fault I didn't come back and find you like you said to when I found something. I don't need you feeling guilty about my mistakes."

Lucian shakes his head. "But it was my responsibility to-"

"Did you not hear what I said?" he interrupts, trying to sit up. "I'm not gonna sit here and let you- ow…" He drops back onto the pillows, squeezing his eyes shut as the movement jars his shoulder.

"Take it easy," Lucian admonishes softly, resting a hand on his arm. He eyes his shoulder with a frown. "You should let me take a look at that."

He opens his mouth to protest, but thinks better of it at the look he gets in response. He knows better than to argue with that look and so he obliges, pushing the covers down a little lower on his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as Lucian slowly unwraps the bandages.

"The bleeding has stopped," he observes, "but the wound still hasn't closed."

Mitchell sighs inwardly. Great. He grits his teeth as Lucian begins to rewrap the bandages. As his shoulder begins to throb painfully, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing. In and out. In and out. It doesn't help. The pressure leaves his shoulder. He feels a hand on his head.

"Can you sit up?" Lucian asks.

He eyes him suspiciously. "Why?"

"You need to feed," he answers simply, reaching for his arm. "Come on." He places a hand behind his back, ignoring his protests as he eases him into a sitting position. He then shifts around behind him, slipping an arm around his side.

Mitchell hisses as the movement jars his injured shoulder and takes a deep breath, leaning back against his chest.

Once he's settled, Lucian retrieves a small blade from his pocket and raises it to his forearm.

He grabs for his wrist. "Lucian," he tries, but his protests fall on deaf ears.

"You need blood and there's little to be had here," he answers, pressing the blade against his skin.

Mitchell sighs inwardly. He's too weak to argue and he knows he's right anyway. He only hesitates for a moment before sinking his fangs into the wound.

When he feels the older man begin to weaken he breaks away, breathing hard. "You never stop me soon enough," he admonishes, collapsing against him.

Lucian says nothing. He simply leans back against the headboard, hugging him tighter against his chest.

"Stubborn ass," Mitchell mutters as his eyes fall closed.

He presses a kiss to his temple, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know."

Mitchell follows Lucian through the long and winding corridors, deep into the depths of the old fortress. Sconces are lit along the way, casting strange shadows as they pass, which does little to settle his nerves. Neither does the line of tension he sees clearly in the set of the older man's shoulders as they make their way through the castle.

Ever since Lucian told him of the Elder's request he has been filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. While the older man had tried to pass it off as routine, he could sense his apprehension. He knows that no vampire his age has ever been given audience with the Elder, let alone summoned by name. You don't get the attention of the Elder unless you're at least old enough to gain a position on the Council- or you do something very wrong.

The deeper they go the colder it seems to get, and he finds himself sorely missing his gloves. He is dressed in black jeans- the nicest pair he managed to dig out of his duffle bag- a black button down shirt, and his leather boots. His hair is still a little damp from the shower, which isn't helping against the chill, and he's done his best to comb his unruly curls back out of his eyes.

It's been a full twenty-four hours since his run in with Darius, and though the wound in his shoulder is mostly closed now it still pains him. He knows he runs the risk of reopening it if he isn't careful, and he doesn't miss Lucian's sideways glances anytime his hand unconsciously travels to his shoulder. He tries to focus on keeping his hands at his sides.

As they approach a massive set of double doors at the end of the hall, Mitchell recognizes the Council seal set into the intricate carvings. The slow and steady beat of his heart begins to pick up the closer they get until he can almost hear it pounding in his ears.

Outside the doors, Lucian pauses and turns to face him, his mouth set in a grim line. He is dressed in black slacks, a navy blue button down shirt, and black tie. Mitchell had given him plenty of grief about the tie, which he then chose to offset by wearing his leather jacket over the ensemble; but even as he tugs at the black fabric in obvious discomfort, he finds that he doesn't have it in him to make light of the situation. Lucian must see something of the panic in his face because his expression softens and he takes a step closer, dropping both hands onto his shoulders.

"Take a breath. I can hear your heart beat from here," he says, allowing a small smile.

Mitchell draws a shaky breath.

"Do you remember everything I told you?"

He nods, jaw clenched.

"Good," he says. "Just keep your head down and follow my lead. I'll be in there the whole time, alright?"

Again, he nods.

"Hey," says Lucian, squeezing his good shoulder. "You're gonna be fine."

Mitchell takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. He gives a nod.

"You ready?" asks Lucian.

"Yeah," he answers, finding his voice again.

Lucian offers a small smile and reaches out a hand, patting his cheek. He releases him and turns to the door, allowing Mitchell a moment to take his designated place just behind and to his left. Then he takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and lifts a hand, knocking twice on the door.

The double doors swing open in unison and they begin their forward march, the entrance flanked by a pair of vampires that Mitchell suspects are not much older than he is. Based on what Lucian has told him, he infers them to be Darius's men. The entire floor is bare of furniture and appears to have recently been cleaned. He can detect the lingering scent of bleach and old blood. He swallows hard as the images that particular combination recalls to mind are enough to make him nauseous.

As their footsteps echo through the large space, Mitchell keeps his gaze low, focusing on keeping pace just behind Lucian as he was instructed. When they reach the center of the room, Lucian halts their progress. As he takes a short bow, Mitchell drops to one knee, eyes on the floor. He holds this stance as Lucian begins to speak.

"My lord," he begins, his voice rumbling through the space. "As requested, I wish to present John Mitchell. My charge."

For a moment that seems to stretch into eternity, there is silence; the only sound Mitchell is aware of being that of his own breathing. He holds is present position, not daring to so much as lift his head.

"Thank you, Lucian," says Julian, finally breaking the silence. "You may stand aside."

He hesitates for a moment before inclining his head. Then he turns and goes to stand beside Darius off to his right.

Julian rises slowly to his feet and descends the platform, taking long strides toward the center of the room.

Mitchell does not move as the Elder approaches, the power emanating from him unlike anything he has ever felt before to the point that he is grateful to already by kneeling. He does not believe he could keep his feet before such a presence.

The Elder comes to a stop little more than a foot in front of him and the room is silent. Out of compulsion he glances upward, but quickly returns his gaze to the floor, holding his breath. Just as the wave of power washing over him seems about to drown him he feels it begin to ebb away, making it a little easier to breathe again.

"You may rise," says Julian, though it is more of a command than an invitation.

Mitchell rises stiffly to his feet, his hands at his sides, but he keeps his gaze downward.

Julian begins to circle him like a shark, his expression a mask. As he passes behind him, Mitchell chances a quick glance at Lucian who gives an almost imperceptible nod. As Julian circles back around, he glances between the two as if sensing the exchange. Both lower their gazes to the floor.

"John Mitchell," drawls Julian. "Formerly of William Herrick, are you not?"

Mitchell flinches at the mention of his Sire and swallows hard to find his voice. "Yes, my lord," he answers a bit hoarsely.

"A bit of information that Lucian neglected to include when he made your introduction just now," says Julian, giving him a pointed look before returning his attention to Mitchell. "But then it is not unknown to me that he would rather claim you for himself."

"I cut ties with Herrick a long time ago," says Mitchell, finally meeting the Elder's gaze. "He means nothing to me."

"He made you, did he not?" says Julian mildly, folding his hands behind his back. "Surely that must count for something."

"Not to me," he shoots back, momentarily forgetting his position. "I'd sooner be dead than have stayed with him. He nearly saw to that himself. If Lucian hadn't-"

At a warning look from Lucian, he cuts himself off, feeling himself go pale as he remembers who he's speaking to. He bows his head, clenching his jaw.

Julian simply raises his eyebrows, surveying him with mild interest at the outburst. He spares a glance at Lucian who has his eyes closed. He returns his attention to Mitchell.

"Is it true that you killed William Herrick?" he asks.

When Mitchell hesitates, Julian reaches out a hand and cups his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "I want you to look me in the eye when you answer," he says.

Mitchell swallows hard, struggling to find his voice again. "Yes, my lord," he answers firmly.

For a moment, Julian is silent, boring into him with his gaze. He takes a step back, surveying him with renewed interest. "It would seem that there is much I have underestimated about you," he says. "And some things, I think, that have yet to be disclosed. There is more that I would have you tell me, however time grows short. I believe it will be easier for all of us if I see for myself."

"Julian-"

Lucian starts forward, but Darius catches his arm, shooting his friend a warning look.

Mitchell locks eyes with him for a moment, feeling a rising sense of panic at the older man's obvious distress.

"Lucian, if you proceed to make things difficult, then you shall be dismissed from the room," Julian says dangerously, pulling his attention off of Mitchell.

He clenches his jaw and steps back in line beside Darius, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Julian turns back to Mitchell who eyes him warily.

"Now, I am going to explain what's going to happen very simply," he begins. "I am going to read you; your thoughts, your memories. Your only job is to leave your mind open during this process. The more you resist, the more you try to shut me out, the more difficult it will be for you. I suggest you save yourself the headache. Is that understood?"

Mitchell stares back at him with a deep furrow in his brow, jaw clenched. He doesn't like the sound of that. At all. He spares a quick glance at Lucian, which does nothing to ease his concerns. It appears to be taking every ounce of effort for him to remain where he stands.

"Don't look at him, look at me," says Julian.

Mitchell complies.

"Is that understood?" he repeats.

He swallows hard. It seems he doesn't have a choice. He gives a short nod.

"Very good," says Julian. He pushes back his sleeves and raises both hands, beckoning him closer. "Step forward."

Reluctantly, Mitchell takes a step towards him. He can almost feel Lucian's gaze and it takes all his effort to keep his eyes forward.

Julian places his hands on either side of his face, the tips of his fingers resting at his temples.

He suppresses a shudder.

"Close your eyes," the Elder commands.

He takes a deep breath and obeys.

In an instant the world around him erupts into a hundred different sounds and images, swirling around him at dizzying speeds and giving him the feeling of falling though a vast space. The sensation threatens to drive him to his knees, but he is rooted to the spot by the hands that hold him in place. He can feel a pull, the hands beginning to claw through his mind, tearing through the images at an alarming rate. He finds himself reliving moments of his life faster than he can comprehend what is happening. Herrick on the battlefield, his first kill and snatches of later exploits under his Sire's influence. The flat in London, his first encounter with Lucian, that New Year's Eve in Vienna, the night he met George, Annie, he relives driving the stake through Herrick's heart. The images move faster, coming to a screeching halt inside the funeral parlor, Ivan at his side. He doesn't want to go any further. He pushes back against the force that is pulling these images from him and is met with pain, like hooks tearing into his mind.

"I warned you against resisting," Julian's voice echoes in his mind.

He's helpless again, bleeding outside the train car while Daisy and Cara massacre the inhabitants within. He can feel his own hunger threatening to take control. Lucian… He pushes back once more and the image skips. He's sitting next to Lia on the train.

"Your fate has already been decided… There's a war coming, and it's going to affect all sides… You're going to kill the one who started it…"

He fights against the hooks tearing through his mind until the pain nearly drives him to his knees. Suddenly, the images lurch forward. The pain in his shoulder flares again and he's leaning against Lucian. He tastes blood on his lips.

Abruptly, the presence in his mind rips free, lurching him back to the present until he finds himself kneeling on the marble floor, gasping for breath. He lifts his head to find Julian standing with his hands out in front of him as if he's been burned, but his attention is no longer on Mitchell.

"Darius!" he bellows, "Call Malcolm in here. Have him escort our 'guest' from the room. I would like to have a word with Lucian."

"Yes, my lord," answers Darius, quickly heading for the door.

Once he has left the room, Lucian takes a step towards Mitchell.

"You stay exactly where you are," says Julian dangerously.

With what appears to take every ounce of effort, he takes a step back, fists clenched at his sides.

Mitchell's gaze is fixed on Lucian from where he still kneels on the floor, trying to get some kind of read on the situation from the older man, but he will not meet his gaze. And he is too fearful of the consequences to even think of calling out to him.

He feels a hand on his arm and turns to look up at a face that seems familiar, but he struggles to place it. He assumes this must be Malcolm.

"Take him to the antechamber off the south wing," Julian orders. "He is to remain there until someone comes to fetch him."

"Yes, my lord," answers Malcolm, giving a low bow. He helps Mitchell to his feet and begins pulling him toward the door, seemingly in a hurry to flee the room.

Mitchell risks one more look back at Lucian before they cross the threshold and nearly halts their forward progress as he finally catches the older man's eye. He has never seen him look so desperate.

"Don't push it," Malcolm hisses in his ear. "Come on." And he pulls him from the room.

Lucian continues to stare at the door after the two have disappeared, until Julian's voice returns his attention to the situation at hand.

"Darius, you may stay," he says as the other man moves toward the door.

He comes to a halt and gives a nod, folding his hands behind him.

"Now then," says Julian, returning his attention to Lucian. "Exactly how long have you been allowing him to feed from you?"

Darius snaps his attention to Lucian, staring at him in wide eyed disbelief.

Lucian swallows hard, his gaze fixed on the floor. "When the situation has called for it-"

"How long?"

He clenches his jaw, refusing to meet the Elder's gaze. "Since I took him in," he answers. "But only in times of great need-"

"And did you ever once think of the consequences your actions might bring?" Julian shoots back. "Putting that kind of power in the hands of one as reckless and irresponsible as John Mitchell-"

"I only ever did it under extreme circumstances," Lucian cuts in, the anger rising in his voice. "In the beginning when I couldn't get him to stabilize from the withdrawal and in later situations in which his life was in danger."

"His life should not have been allowed to continue beyond the moment you first encountered him!" growls Julian. "You were meant to dispose of him like any other Rogue. What stayed your hand that day has vexed me for decades, but I chose to abide it because I trusted your judgment. It appears that I was mistaken. Since you put him in charge in Bristol, the entire clan has been wiped out and we have all been put at risk of exposure due to the little incident in the Box Tunnel. An incident which both of you failed to prevent."

Lucian stares back at him with a fire in his gaze, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. Before he can respond, Darius steps forward, cutting him off with a restraining hand on his arm.

"My lord-"

"Do not leap to his defense, Darius!" the Elder commands. "I will not stand for any further insubordination tonight."

He inclines his head and steps back in line, sparing Lucian a sideways glance, a clear warning in the look.

Julian looks thoughtful. "I have a job for you," he says. "Have your people reach out to your contacts in London. I want a full status report on the Box Tunnel investigation. I need to know how much damage control remains to be done."

Darius gives a short bow. "Yes, my lord," he says, and with one last sideways glance at Lucian, he turns on his heel and exits the room.

"Now then," drawls Julian, returning his attention to Lucian. "That brings us to the situation at hand. It is quite clear to me that I may not rely upon you as I once did."

Lucian's expression turns somber. "My lord-"

"Be silent!"

He bows his head.

"You have continuously disobeyed orders of late," he continues. "Now, I have been lenient, but you have taken this too far. You are not looking out for our best interests, only your own, and I must consider what is best for us all."

Lucian stands rooted to the spot, his head bowed as he awaits the Elder's judgment. The seconds seem to stretch into eternity.

"You will return to Wales with Mitchell at first light and await further orders," says Julian. "Darius and I will attend to matters here. Our list of allies grows thin and so I will have need of you later. But under no circumstances are you to involve John Mitchell further in Council business. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my lord," he responds, struggling to find his voice.

"Good," says Julian. "Then you are dismissed."

He gives a low bow, lingering a bit longer than is necessary before turning on his heel and heading towards the door.

"Oh, and Lucian," says the Elder, stopping him in his tracks. "John Mitchell will see the light of another day for the simple fact that I choose to allow it. Disappoint me again and you may find that my mood on the subject has changed. You'll do well to remember that."

Lucian stares back at him, feeling a sudden chill at the coldness in his gaze. He swallows hard. "Yes, my lord."

Mitchell is led through a maze of passageways until he no longer has any hope of retracing his steps to where he came from. After what feels like hours, they finally come to what appears to be a small sitting room off the main hallway and he allows himself to be guided to a chair for the simple fact that he doubts the integrity of his own legs at the moment. He closes his eyes and sinks into the cushions, even the dim light in the room being too much to bear at present. He feels like his head's going to explode.

Before he even realizes he's gone, Malcolm returns with a glass in his hand and nudges his arm. Mitchell cracks open an eye and looks at it suspiciously.

"It's just water," says Malcolm, extending it to him. "Here."

Mitchell accepts the glass and inspects it further, finding his companion to be telling the truth. He drains it quickly. "Thank you," he says.

Malcolm gives a nod.

He presses the empty glass to his forehead and closes his eyes, the coolness of it soothing against his skin. His headache has been reduced from agony to painful throbbing. He heaves a sigh.

"You resisted, didn't you?" asks Malcolm. He shakes his head. "You shouldn't have done that. That's how you get a headache."

Mitchell stares at him. "How did you-?"

"I've been through it a couple times," he answers. "Before I started working for Darius and then after he brought me here. It's how the Old Ones gage whether or not they can trust you. That way you can't lie. They just see everything and make their judgment. I figured you would've known that, having been in the company of one of the Old Ones."

Mitchell shakes his head. "No, Lucian's never done that."

Malcolm raises his eyebrows. "You're joking."

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember if he had," he answers. "I didn't even know that was possible."

He leans forward in his chair, studying him curiously. "So what's your story with Lucian then anyway?" he asks. "I know he's not your Sire. And you don't work for him."

"No, I don't work for him," says Mitchell. "He's…" he tries to think of how best to answer this, "a friend."

"How old are you?" asks Malcolm.

"A hundred and seventeen," he answers.

Malcolm shakes his head in disbelief. "I've never heard of anyone your age being 'friends' with one of the Old Ones," he says.

"Lucian's not like a lot of the Old Ones," he answers.

Malcolm nods. "So, why did you resist the Elder?" he asks. "I wouldn't have even thought to try."

"There were things I didn't want him to see," he says simply. "Things I wouldn't want anyone to see."

"Badly enough to risk the wrath of the Elder?" asks Malcolm.

He nods. "Yeah."

Malcolm shakes his head. "You know, you're either really ballsy or completely suicidal," he says.

"Bullheaded?" he offers.

He breaks into a grin. "Exactly," he says. "You remind me of somebody else I know."

He doesn't have a chance to elaborate as Darius appears in the doorway, and Mitchell has to catch himself to keep from flinching away from his looming presence.

"Malcolm, I've got another job for you," he says, barely acknowledging Mitchell's presence. "Find Isaak and Liam and meet me in the study, will you?"

"Yes sir," he answers, already on his feet. He gives Mitchell a parting nod before disappearing into the hall.

As the sound of his footsteps grows faint, a heavy silence settles on the room. Mitchell feels as if he's awaiting a sentence.

"You know," says Darius, finally giving him his attention, "Lucian is my oldest friend. We've been comrades since James I was on the throne. Do you know how long that is?"

He shakes his head. "I'm Irish," he smirks. "I've never really cared to follow the English monarchy."

"Three hundred and eighty five years," he drawls, folding his arms across his chest as he regards him coldly. "And he's always been the best of us. In fact, there are plenty that would've liked to see him on the Council, myself included. Those who would follow him into Hell itself."

"You think I wouldn't?" says Mitchell through gritted teeth.

"I don't know," Darius answers. "What have you ever done but hold him back; distract him from his cause? Or take from him for your own selfish ends?"

Any response he could form catches in his throat. Instead he clenches his jaw and simply stares back at him, a deep furrow forming in his brow.

Darius leans in closer, speaking low in his ear. "You've caused a lot of trouble for him, you know," he says. "If you had any shred of decency in you, you would walk away from here. Cut all ties. He'd be better off."

Mitchell drops his gaze to the floor and says nothing. Suddenly his chest feels tight.

Darius straightens. "I suggest you don't even wait until morning," he says, moving towards the door.

A moment later, he hears the approach of footsteps and Lucian appears in the doorway, coming up short when he finds Darius in his path.

"Darius," he says, "I thought you had business to attend to."

"I do," he answers. "I came to fetch Malcolm."

"I just passed him in the hall," says Lucian, glancing between Darius and Mitchell suspiciously.

"Yes, I sent him on ahead," answers Darius. "If you'll excuse me." He then slips past and disappears into the hall, leaving Lucian staring at his back.

Lucian observes his progress for a moment before closing the door behind him and stepping further into the room.

Mitchell doesn't lift his head. "I should never have come here," he says.

Lucian stops dead in his tracks. For a moment, he says nothing.

As the silence stretches on, the tightness grows in Mitchell's chest until it takes conscious effort to take a breath. He keeps his gaze on the floor.

"I'm sorry, John," Lucian says softly, prompting the younger man to lift his head. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

He shakes his head furiously. "That's not what I meant," he says, rising to his feet so fast that he has to grip the back of the chair as the sudden movement makes him dizzy. He takes a breath to steady himself. "I've done nothing but cause trouble for you since we left. You brought me along to be a help, not a burden-"

"Mitchell-" Lucian takes a step towards him, but he steps back out of reach, shaking his head.

"You need to stop making excuses for me," he says. "All I've ever done is hold you back. You'd be better off without me. I'm just-"

"Mitchell, stop," says Lucian, gripping him by the arms, having finally managed to corner him by backing him into the table in the middle of the room. "Where is this coming from?"

"You know that it's true," Mitchell responds, bracing his arms against his chest.

"No it's not," Lucian insists. He pauses as if struck by a sudden thought, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Did Darius say something to you?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, not meeting his gaze.

Lucian gives him a pointed look. When the younger man offers no further response he heaves an exasperated sigh. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" he says.

"Look, it doesn't matter, okay?" answers Mitchell, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his shirt until he can't distinguish whether he's trying to pull him closer or push him away. "It doesn't make it any less true. You're in trouble with the Elder and it's my fault-"

"Mitchell, stop," he cuts in. "That's enough. I'm not in trouble with the Elder and I have never considered you a burden. How many times must I tell you this?"

Mitchell closes his eyes and shakes his head, finding that words have failed him.

Lucian sighs inwardly. "Come here," he says, pulling at his arms.

He is met with some resistance, but eventually Mitchell gives in, stepping into the embrace and burying his face in his shoulder.

"Don't think on it anymore, do you understand?" says Lucian, stroking his hair.

He nods against his shoulder, hugging him tighter.

"Anyway, we're leaving tomorrow," says Lucian.

He lifts his head. "What?" he says, stepping out of the embrace. "What are you talking about? I thought-"

"I had a long discussion with Julian," says Lucian. "There's no point in us staying. Wyndam is long gone and Darius and his men have things handled here."

Mitchell stares at him. "'Have things handled?' Lucian, he attacked the Council-"

"Which is all the more reason for us to return," he answers. "Whatever his next play is, it won't be carried out here. And you'd rather be near the others when he does, wouldn't you?"

Mitchell considers this. "You're right," he sighs. "I'd rather we didn't leave them on their own. After Bristol there's no telling what he'll do."

"Good," says Lucian, squeezing his good shoulder. "Now why don't you get some sleep. We'll leave first thing in the morning, alright?"

He nods absently. "Okay," he says. And while he doesn't want to admit it; if he's completely honest with himself, he feels relief at the thought of putting some distance between himself and this gloomy old castle- along with its inhabitants.

I really need to stop with these super late postings, but I knew if I didn't finish this before bed it wasn't going to happen. Given my shitty work schedule and the fact that this job wears me out so badly, I knew I wouldn't be able to get it done on a work day. So here I am, finishing my edits at 3AM.

So what did you think? The plot thickens, as you can see. This chapter was really difficult for some reason and I feel like I've been staring at it for way too long, so I hope it came out okay. I'm planning (hoping) to post the next chapter by next week if I can keep this stride going. It's mostly written, so I'm fairly optimistic.

Anyway, tomorrow's my Monday, so please leave reviews so I have something to smile about during my shift! :P

Thanks for reading.