As I step into Mass Hall with Holp's words ringing, I'm greeted with a deathly silence. Uh oh.

I'm late.

"FAVERLOW!" thunders Clutchem, her voice rolling in the hall like a cannonblast. As angry as a peeved lion, she marches up to me and slaps me across the left cheek, throwing my head to the side from the force. "How DARE you show up late!" she shouts, hitting me across the other cheek, drawing a collective flinch from the rest of the home while my face smarts away as if a thousand needles had been stuck into it. Clutchem knows how to hit people. Hard.

Enough is enough. Years of abuse is enough for me to crack at this. Determined not to show my pain and anger at an eternity of injustice, I look straight into her eyes. They're like two slabs of rock, blank and staring, sucking every positive thought out of people. But not me, this time round. Holp's strange message, however enigmatic, burns brightly inside my soul, fuelling me to do what I couldn't do before.

I feel myself stand up to Clutchem-Like-a-Vice.

It is, as everyone knows, the worst thing to do in front of her. It is an act of supposed resistance.

Clutchem goes nuclear. 

Her Puritan hate of magifolk bursts out of her like an atomic bomb as she launches herself at me, hand raised to strike me again. Only my reflexes save me from a thrashing. I neatly evade another attack while the rest of the home's inhabitants scurry away like ants, shocked at this outburst of violence.

My enemy grabs a nearby cane, bringing it whistling through the air, a sparrowhawk in a dive. Like a ninja I leap away, a split second before it descends. I shinny up a rough concrete pillar, its uneven surface rubbing into my skin. The cane strikes the pillar exactly where my foot had been half a second before.

Scrambling to the top, I swing onto the catwalk which runs along the walls several metres off the ground, while Clutchem takes the Puritan-only stairway. My heart pounds in my ears. I'm astounded by my moment of resistance, and I'm certain I won't end up well.

Clutchem reaches the catwalk at precisely the same moment as when I turn the corner and head towards an elaborately arched window at the other end. Surprisingly though, Clutchem's fast. Pretty fast as well. She races after me, and for a nanosecond I falter at the thought of outrunning this monster. Then, as I see her tremble for just a bit at the height of the catwalk, my resolve strengthens and my legs pump me right towards the window.

The drop's huge. A badly placed one could mean certain death for me. Rocks litter the grass below. Then Clutchem comes and I have no choice.

I jump.

There's a quick feeling of falling, and my instincts scream, What have you done??!!!, but I ignore them. A judder shakes my body as my feet make contact with the ground, but I don't feel any serious injuries. I make for the gate and I don't know why, but the guards at the door see me—of course they would—and the next moment, I'm...

The next moment I'm bound and gagged, and being pushed roughly towards Clutchem.

"You DARE?" shouts Clutchem as I keep my eyes strategically downcast. Like Kristen's just a bit before.

My legs now feel like lead. Hanging my head, I whisper, "I'm sorry, Miss. I don't know what got into me."

"Too right you didn't," she says. Her cold eyes grow ever chillier. "Punishment...the Downs."

My heart sinks down and settles somewhere under the floor. The adrenaline from the fight with Clutchem disappears like sunlight in the night as I bite my lower lip. "Yes, Miss."

"For ten days," she says, a malicious, murderous smile curling her lips.

Ten days. The most anyone had ever survived the Downs without going full-out crazy was a week, and that in itself was torture enough. But I don't dare to protest since it would guarantee me another month down there. So I swallow my panic and say, "Yes, Miss."

"Good. Guards, take her away."

Not the first time someone has ordered that concerning me.

In another minute, I'm shoved into the dreaded Downs. The Downs are a series of cellars which are designed to terrify people who stay in there for more than an hour. The corridors extend into darkness, disembodied footsteps sound like they're passing the door, people often start hallucinating and all this adds to the screams of the other inmates. It's horribly boring and lonely in there; which is sufficient to drive the average person to the brink of madness.

Sure enough, as soon as I step foot into my Down, a wave of sickening nausea washes over me like a tsunami, Stuffing the rest of me in, a guard unbinds and ungags me, letting me gulp in a few mouthfuls of air before slamming and locking my door. They make faces at me through the firmly-set bars—way out of character, considering the act that they're Puritans—and marched away. I can hear their laughter echoing down the corridor as they leave.

Slowly, I turn on my Telecoustic to call Kristen.

Hey. Kristen, you there? I totally need someone to talk to right now.

Ersline? Ersline, why did you do that?

I don't know, Kristen. I can hear my thoughts turn pleading. I just don't know.

Alright. That-that's fine.

Would you have done that, if you were me?

I'm not a resister, Ersline. I never was and never will be. I just wasn't born for it.

Sure?

Sure. The concern in his thoughts is obvious. How are you?

Wrecked. I grimace. Take care of Hataki and Desna for me, in case...in case I'm not myself when I come back.

They're not little kids anymore, you know. They can take care of themselves pretty well.

I know. It's just—

Don't worry. I'll take care of them. Trust me.

Really?

Really.

Really truly?

Really really truly. I won't let you down, Ersline.

Bit hard to, seeing as I'm in the Downs. I try to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out bitter.

A few Tweltian spells, and Kristen's voice vanishes. He couldn't want to talk to me anymore. I search myself. And see what he sees.

I'm ungrateful to him. I brushed him away with a supposed-joke when it actually sounded like an accusation. He's trying to help me and I still doubt him. How can I be this way? Is it the Downs? Or is it that, deep inside, I'm this sort of person? The type who's forever suspicious?

As time goes by, one thought sticks in my head. What are my feelings towards Kristen? I honestly don't know. But still, sounds are magnified to awful heights. I begin imagining things. try to keep tenacious, but it's hard. Guards come in with a meagre meal of bread, cheese and unclean water, warning that "there'll be less if you're not good" in a mock concerned voice. I glare back at them. The air is suffocating me as much as that gag did.

Hot air. Daytime. Hot air. Daytime. I feel a scream working its way up through my throat. Cool air. Evening. I sink into a hunch and clasp my hands over my ears. Try to drown out the increasingly terrifying noises. The bomb which killed my parents. Their final scream as it detonated. Desna and Hataki being tortured to death. Shrieks of pain pierce me like a multi-pointed sword. Although I'm no stranger to these, they get to me every time.

What feels like hours later, I hear footsteps outside my door. Whimpering, I dismiss this as a hallucination and breath the cold air. Cold air. Nighttime. I try to settle down to sleep, when the footsteps stopped right outside my door.

My heart flies into my mouth like a torpedo.

The door clicks open.

I jump into a defensive stance, then stare in shock at the two people who come in.

They aren't guards. They aren't anyone from the home. They're strangers, and they don't look like they're going to do anything good.