AN: Hello, wonderful people! I was kind of postponing to write this chapter, but I quite like how it turned out in the end. Hope you guys enjoy it as well. ^_^ (above is how I'd picture Margo's room, without the lamp though LOL)

If you like it, please leave some love. :D Thank you! Peace out,

fearsome_hamster

The very moment she closed her bedroom's wooden door, Margo crashed on the dusty floor and gathered herself up in a small ball. Unknowingly, she started rocking back and forth with closed eyes, desperate to erase what had just happened not even an hour ago in the ancient cemetery. It was futile. Her mind seemed to amplify her fears and turn them into living nightmares, each one with pointy fangs and bottomless eyes trained on her. The once terrifying monsters hiding underneath the bed now seemed to pale in comparison to the one she left behind, howling for her.

She raised her hand to pinch her dainty nose, willing the thoughts away. Instead a damning evidence of that night met her gaze. Dried blood marred her fingertips. The crimson liquid had seeped from the gashes gained while crawling on the unforgivable ground of the tombs. Either that, or Quintus' blood had splashed her when he was so viciously attacked. No scenario comforted Margo's troubled mind.

As fast as her tired bones let her, she peeled away her now tattered dress, throwing it in the slow-burning coals of the fireplace, it was not as if she was ever going to wear it again. She watched the fire slowly enveloping the cloth, turning the once soft material into fiery ashes.

If only my memories of this night could disappear into nothingness as easily...

Nevertheless, she inwardly mourned for her purple wool shawl. It was a dear garment of her late mother's. Most likely in the struggle, the cloth had ended up in the unholy tomb the creature had arisen from.

Now left in her thin white slip, Margo crossed her room to the bathing region. Knowing no hot water was available in the pipes this late at night, or actually early morning, she rubbed her skin viciously with ice cold water and soap. The memory of Quintus' hands upon her renewed her intensive scrubbing, her ivory skin turning an angry red at the harsh treatment.

Barely holding herself up anymore, Margo turned with shaky steps back to her bed, letting herself fall in the sweet warm embrace of her comforter. The young woman moved her eyes to the long window across her bed and thanked her lucky stars for the timid rays that now decorated the sky.

The sun saved my life tonight. Knowing she was finally safe in the gentle light, Margo closed her eyelids and let the darkness capture her.

...................................

She was running.

The moon was full and shining brightly in the sky. Its cold light was helping Margo shuffle though the crashed tombs of a cemetery. Broken crosses littered the dark paths near the tombs, resembling an apocalyptic horror where demons had taken dominion.

Her lungs were screaming for air and reprieve while she jumped over yet another shattered funeral monument. Margo was not sure what she was running away from, but in her heart of hearts she knew that she should not stop. Not for the world. Not if she wanted to continue living.

"Margo...," someone hissed ominously in the darkness of the night.

Something icy cold brushed her right arm. She shrieked and fought down her fear, while forcing her legs to continue running.

"Margooo..."

The voice now seemed closer. Much too close for comfort. Also, she could distinguish that its owner was undeniably male. Not soon after, she felt a gentle caress upon her cheek. Whatever it was, the hidden person was toying with her, as if a predator would with a prey. If that was what it wanted, it had most certainly achieved its goals. Margo was terrified.

Her clumsiness seemed to follow her in the world of dreams as well, for she soon stumbled upon a forgotten branch. Preparing herself for the painful fall, Margo was pleasantly surprised not to greet the hard dirt. However, her surprise shortly morphed into boundless horror.

A creature, the creature, was holding her form in his arms, having prevented her from crashing. Her imagination did not fail to paint him in morbid detail, his soulless gaze freezing her still as it did in reality. Grimly, the trapped girl noticed  that the rotten holes in his cheeks were now healed, the skin still retaining its grey sick pallor.

Margo screeched, trying to wrench herself from his grasp. This time though it did not prove to be as easy. His grip remained firm, though she noted it was not strong enough to hurt her.

Leaning his head closer to her, his breath fanned her face when he whispered.

"My Margo, my Margo, my Margo," the creature said in a continuous obsessive murmur.

The sinister atmosphere was however interrupted by another voice. A more childish, innocent one that did not seem to belong in that harsh cemetery.

"Margo!"

The creature barred its teeth at this unwanted disruption. He tried to keep his arms on his treasured prize, its claws slightly ripping the satin slip covering her. Nevertheless, her body was becoming weightless, as if something was pulling her soul from within.

And just like that, she disappeared.

...................................

Margo violently woke up, scaring her little brother in the process. He was standing near her bedside, having been trying to wake her up when he heard her scared whimpers. Her eyes madly scanned the room, glad to find the familiar surrounding of her chamber.

"Thomas, what are you doing?"

"Nana sent me here to wake you up to break fast. She prepared french toast, my favourite," Thomas replied, his eyes glinting with pure happiness at the prospect of sweets. "And besides, you do not usually sleep this late, Margo. Are you alright, sister?" his childish voice dripping with worry.

Not wanting to concern him, Margo replied. "I am alright, munchkin, thank you." She extended her arm from the covers and ruffled his dark locks playfully.

"Uhhh, you should know better than to call me that," he said pouting. Thomas gaze dropped lower and then he reverted it just as fast, blushing beet red. "Uhh, I will be waiting downstairs for you, Margo. I will let you get dressed." Thomas then took off, his energetic hops reverberating in the entire house.

Letting her calm mask fall off, Margo trembled, remembering her awful nightmare. She needed to let go. She could not remain frightened for the rest of her life. She had Thomas to set an example for. With her new resolve, Margo raised herself from the warm bed, her comforter falling to reveal a bone chilling sight. And just like that, her resolve crumpled just as easily as it was contoured.

Her white nightdress was ripped, tiny holes in the sides. Exactly like in her recent nightmare, from the way the monster held her desperately when she started dissolving from the dream realm.

To make matters even worse, on her nightstand near the bed, resting peacefully on her books, was the purple wool shawl which she had lost in the graveyard. In perfect condition. Its vivid colour assured Margo it was in fact very real. Still, she reached with trembling fingers towards it, almost dreading to touch it and validate its presence.

Giving it a hesitant tug, the material floated softly on the crumpled sheets of her bed and and in its wake, a tiny sheet of parchment was revealed. Written in an elegant, cursive form, the note sealed Margo's fate.

"I am coming for you."