Saturday night around midnight, week 5, Lady Illyrie's apartments
The Academy stands in ruins, the broken, bloodied bodies of her charges spread about like broken toys carelessly flung from a child's uncaring hand. Tears stream down her cheeks, her throat closing up with a mixture of shame and horror. NO!
Oh, YES, witch! a hollow voice resounds in her head. You will imprison me no more!
She doesn't even have time to scream before the thing she had bound engulfs her and devours her whole...
Lady Illyrie wakes with a cry, sitting bolt upright in bed. Hastily wiping the wetness from her cheeks, she dons her robes and takes up her athame and wand. She gathers the Glamour to her, determined that the terrifying tableau of her nightmare shall not come to pass.
Oh, YES, witch! a hollow voice resounds in her head. You will imprison me no more!
She doesn't even have time to scream before the thing she had bound engulfs her and devours her whole...
Lady Illyrie wakes with a cry, sitting bolt upright in bed. Hastily wiping the wetness from her cheeks, she dons her robes and takes up her athame and wand. She gathers the Glamour to her, determined that the terrifying tableau of her nightmare shall not come to pass.