They'll eat your soul!
Rip it out and swallow it whole!
They're unholy! The spawn of Satan!
They are inhuman, unfeeling and cold!
So much pain....so much pain...never ending....
Sophia jerked awake, covered in a cold sweat. Her dreams had been like those of one possessed, nothing but darkness and constant whispering, accusatory and insane whispering that echoed in her ears even as she collected herself.
Good Lord, she was letting the situation get to her head. There was no one in the slightly drafty room but her and the sleeping Alice, whose face rested like that of a porcelain doll on her pillow.
Macdonald found herself wondering who could have angered such a dainty thing as Miss Carrol to the point of joining this arcane group. She seemed so young, too young to know the darkness in the world, the darkness in people. Despite her earlier hesitance Sophia found herself feeling a fierce protectiveness toward this child, and a desire to punish whoever had the evil enough to wrong her.
Yes, she would do that, as it had been promised to her. All in time, all in time.
A stinging pain seared itself into her left wrist and Sophia pulled down the sleeve of her dress only to spot a light, barely visible mark resting just below her palm.
It made the outline of a circle the size of a pound, too perfectly formed to be some small injury that had gone unnoticed.
Sophia quickly let go of the matter, attributing it to her far-sightedness and the dark, and tried to settle back into sleep.
Within an hour, the longest hour of her life, the creaks and groans of the house lulled her back into a dreamless rest, silent from the whispers of her imagination.