Jack Lamia gripped Mist firmly on the shoulders, looking down at the girl with contempt.
'Are you going to get back in the van, or do I have to put you back myself?'
Mist felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
'No, you can't,' she said. 'You don't understand. I'm hurt... I'm bleeding.' She put a hand to her head, where the pain was strongers. Her hand came away bloody.
Jack just sneered, and a ghoulish, high pitched giggle sounded from his lips. He shot his arms out, and Mist felt a strong wind. It blew her far back into the van. She hit her head again... and went to sleep.
When she woke again, she was lying down in a dark, dank room. The walls were made of stone and it was chilly. She pulled her cloak up to her chin.
She touched her head. It still hurt, but there was a cloth wrapped around it. Somebody had bandaged her on her way in.
A cough. She turned, and to her utter horror, there sat the Dark Lord himself. She couldn't see that it was him - his identity was hidden well by a hood over his face... the sort an executioner might wear. But she could tell it was him. The way he sat atop his throne, fingers resting in a claw over the sides. The way he looked relentlessly at her. But most of all, the three gold bands he had fastened along the sleeve of his left arm. He radiated power... he looked confident, self assured.
This was the Dark Lord. Mist cowered down, not wishing to see. But then Lamia stepped forward - he had been standing in the shadows all this time - and dragged her along. Hre fulng her at the Dark Lord's feet.
'My dear Mist,' he said. He had a low, smooth voice, just tinged with malice. 'Do you know why you are here?'