Teárlag crept through the dark passage, a hand outstretched in front of her, touching the wall. Even with the lit candle in her other hand, the light didn't reach far; the tunnel seeming to absorb light. Similar to the way the tunnel's owner absorbed love and joy with his presence, leaving only despair and hate. It was time for her report to Lord Blackthorne, a day she detested with all the fervor remaining in her soul. At least this time, she had news to report so perhaps he would be less cruel, although she doubted that was possible. She reached the end and fumbled for the hidden latch.

The door...