The night was warm and cloudless, the stars bright through the window as if trying to outshine the coming of dawn. Tiff was sat in one of the many, spacious bedrooms Highhill House contained, gazing out. She often sat in one of the wicker chairs by the window constantly longed to roam outside. Yet she was trapped within the house's walls, a prisoner.

The room was quiet and dark, the other souls having gone elsewhere for the night. She was just wandering about how much the village must have changed over the years when someone staggered into the room. He tripped over the edge of the bed as he made his way towards her, slumping into the chair opposite. He glanced at her, his eyes a picture of misery, before leaning forwards and burying his face in his hands.

Although initially annoyed at being disturbed, Tiff's emotions turned only to concern as soon as she saw her visitor and his unusual countenance. Leaning forwards herself, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Why, Misty. Whatever is the matter?"

Raising his head, he answered "I fear I've ruined everything Tiff. Victor's probably killed Mr Snotem by now, therefore making me a failure. If, by some miracle, he hasn't, then by saving him I've doomed us all."

Tiff looked confused, "What do you mean?"

"He wants to demolish the house and build all over the land. And I've seen now that he is far from a nice man. But I can't let Victor kill him, that would be murder. But the house, all it's history. I can't let that be destroyed either." He buried his face in his hands again and started to sob. "I've made a mess."

Tiff didn't quite know what to do. She had never seen The Mist, always so mysterious and righteous, like this before. She thought for a moment before saying "It is alright Misty. If Victor has already got Mr Snotem, then it is not you're fault. We all know you tried your best. And If he has not... Well. Do what you feel is right. Don't let Victor kill him, deal with him yourself."

The Mist wiped his eyes, something Tiff had seen some of the others do when they forget they no longer shed tears. For a brief moment, when he lifted his head, she almost thought he had shed tears. His eyes looked red and his kerchief darker than she thought it should have been. It was probably the light, playing tricks as it came through the window.

"But how?" he murmured.

"I don't know. You will have to figure that our yourself." She looked into his grey eyes and gave a small smile. "I am glad you want to save the house." She said quietly.

A peaceful silence enveloped them, the starlight silhouetting them both against the window.

"Thank you." He said. Grabbing the arms of the chair, he stiffly raised himself.

"Are you in pain?" Tiff suddenly asked, realising that he must have fought with Victor.

"I'll be fine." He mumbled and walked off, the door of the room swallowing him into darkness.