The corridor was like ice as she moved. It widened out into a circular room at the end. It was filled with followers, their black robes flowing about them like wind. Her own robe billowed around her as she walked towards the crowd. In the center of the room before her stood a single man. A single shaft of light illuminated the room, the man's silver hair glowing bright as the sun. She felt her throat close at the sight of him.

Pressing forward, she glided between the stoic, faceless bodies of the people before her. They let her slip by, unnoticed, as she weaved towards the dais. Before the man there stood erected a throne of black glass, the smooth panes of it reflecting it's shiny exterior around the room. There sat the one man for whom she held the greatest hate. His red eyes bore into the man before him, burning their way into his soul. She froze just behind the man, her robes stilling around her as she stopped.

Although no one else could see it, the man before her shook with obvious effort to stand. His shoulders shuddered once before he was forced to his knees. It was then that she saw the wand in the hand of the man on the throne. It was time for her to act. She removed her mask and moved forward, dropping it to the ground as she moved. When it hit the floor, the sound it made was the sound of metal hitting marble, ringing out through the room as she made her way towards the throne. At the sight of her face, the people drew their wands, hisses emitting from all around her. Unclasping her robe and drawing her hood back, she dropped the fabric to the ground, bearing to the world a dress as black as night that clung to her body as if were formed specifically for her and no one else.

She held her head high as she moved ever closer to the throne. The man it bore gazed at her with such fury she thought she would burst into flames right then and there. However, as she neared him, he did nothing. When she reached him, he lips did not tremble, her fingers did not clench. Her very eyes defied him as she gazed into his own, bloody pits of despair. And then, she did the unexpected. She knelt.

"My Lord." As his shocked expression was masked, she bowed her head and waited. She had made her move, and now all there was left to do was wait for him to accept. He spoke.

"How dare you? How dare you come into my domain and humiliate me this way!?" She had expected this. "You know we cannot touch you! You know the treaty forbids it! So I ask again, how dare you!" She blinked once. When she opened her eyes again, she raised her head and looked him in the eye.

"I am part of the treaty. You should know this. . .unless you have yet to sign it. In that case, I might as well leave." She began to stand, but a boot on her hand froze her in place.

"Part of the treaty you say?" His voice was cold.

She flinched as his boot pressed down on her hand. "Yes. Part of the treaty. Why else would I be here?" Her voice was equally cold.

"Ah, well, signing that treaty should be very prudent then shouldn't it?" He turned to his left. "Bring me the treaty." The man beside him aparated out of the room. The boot lifted from her hand. "As for you, I say it is high time you were marked. Hold her." Two men stepped forward and took hold of her arms, yanking her up as they did.

"I'm not going to run away!" She shook free of them. "I am here to honor the treaty that is signed by both sides! I will stand on my own, without your help!" Her eyes were fierce as the men backed away from her. The man on the throne chuckled as he stood.

"It is a fairly painful process. Their purpose of holding you was merely so you wouldn't faint from exhaustion. But, to each their own. I am a merciful Lord, and I was only thinking of your welfare, of course. You may refuse their help, but you will eventually take it." Raising her head high, she thrust her left arm out towards him, bracing herself for the inevitable pain.

He chuckled again. "Oh my dear, I couldn't help noticing the extremely low back of the gown you're wearing. Turn." She gritted her teeth as she slowly spun to face the crowd before her. One pair of eyes caught hers. They bled with unshed tears of silver and pain. Her own golden brown eyes were full of fear as she felt the cold tip of a wand press into her back. Pain blistered across her flesh as the spell was cast, marring her skin for all to see. As the sting spread down her spine, she felt a single tear trickle down her cheek. A matching stream flowed from silver eyes at her feet.

The wand lifted from her skin and a last blast of pain splintered over her body. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he spoke. "Turn." She obeyed. Her eyes met his as his handiwork was displayed for all to see. A single gasp echoed through the room. Splaying the length of her back, from shoulder-line to hip-line, a writhing tattoo swirled in black over her delicate flesh. The one mark she swore she would never allow to touch her skin.

The Dark Mark.

~*~