The training room was filled with nothing other than the strictest silence as Ellen stood in one spot, as rigid as she could. She was nervous.

Although she had the freedom to move about, she wasn't sure of Dvorak's training techniques and found it safest to keep still and out of his way. She watched as the beefy, elderly man in front of her scrimmaged through a peeling black suitcase, his back to her. He finally cleared his throat, found what he was looking for and turned to face Ellen. He wasn't much taller than she was but she still found him strangely intimidating.

"They tell me you are good, somewhat of a prodigy and the infamous century-born," he drawled, emphasising every word. He circled his fingers as he spoke as if he was explaining something. In his other hand, he held a long, black piece of cloth which pooled on the ground.

"Well, I don't know about that," she replied. She didn't know what else to see. She didn't want to give the impression that she was arrogant, nor the impression that she was full of self-doubt.

He stared at her, now twirling the cloth with his fingertips. "What I am about to teach you lass, is something not even the best and advanced of our kind can accomplish. Not only is it difficult, but it is also unspoken about as it can be regarded as despicable and a sign of pure evil. If you want to live a full life – if you want to live – I suggest you keep everything we do to yourself. Only you, myself, Hans and Claudia knows what is going on inside this room. If you tell anyone what we are doing, I will deny it and you will be seen the fool and a rotten liar. Am I clear?"

Ellen swallowed hard. She found her hatred for the man growing. He continued with his speech; a speech, she assumed, that was built on his loathing of her.

"They seem to want me to teach you so you can have these tools as part of your arsenal and to protect yourself to greater avail. But we will really see just how talented you are, won't we Miss Winton? Or should we call you Miss Grey as you seem to be his little pet?"

She flinched as he spoke her last name, she flinched again as he spoke about Hans. "Yes sir. I have a question."

He stared at her, his eyes burning with the hate he was inflicting on her. "And what would that be? We haven't even started."

"How are you supposed to teach me how to enter a Necromancer and channel the darkness if there is not a single one in sight?" She pressed onwards. "Or do you happen to be chum-buddies with one in this manor?"

He strode towards her, his face getting redder and redder underneath the dim lighting of the room. She closed her eyes as he lifted a hand to strike her but the strike never came. "I don't give up on hopeless causes like you but another move like that and I will certainly discipline as I see necessary, you stupid little girl."

Ellen opened her eyes to see him lowering his open palm. He then lifted his other hand, the one carrying the piece of material that he had extracted from his briefcase. "This is a blindfold, if you haven't figured out as much. During your training, you will have absolutely no vision because you need to concentrate and focus only on the task at hand. You'll do something wrong either way, but you can't have too much stimulus."

Dvorak walked behind her and put the middle of the cloth across her forehead which spanned down to her nostrils. She was plunged into an uncomfortable darkness,] and her senses went into a state of frenzy. He then pulled tight and knotted the ends together. "You can breathe, yes? Not that it matters to me."

"Yes but," Ellen murmured, running her hands along her forehead wear the blindfold cut into her skin. "It's a bit tight."

"Fantastic. First things first. It's no use teaching you to do anything else, unless you can recognise a Necromancer which means being able to detect them. Tell me, what are the signs that they are near?" She hated not being able to see where he was. Dvorak's voice seemed to drift around the room, floating around her.

And so the lesson spanned over an hour; two hours, and almost three. Ellen's tiredness increased as each minute passed and her ability to concentrate decreased. It was a fight that she was losing, and losing greatly. Reaching the point of frustration, she stopped responding to Dvorak's instruction to regain her composure.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked. She could tell her was moving towards her as his voice became thundering and almost next to her ear.

"I need rest." It was a cross between a pant from frustration, and a statement from sheer fatigue. Neither Claudia nor Hans trained her this rigorously, for hours at a time. Her focus was wearing thin.

Dvorak laughed, the quietness of it booming louder and louder. "That's because their training methods are weak! My clan is trained only to the highest standards. Tell me you foolish girl. Do you think Lucien rests?"

Ellen didn't say anything. She knew the answer – no – but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her say it. It felt that as if he found happiness and glee in making her feel his emotionally-charged hate.

"Well. I asked you a question. Do you?" His patience was wearing thin and his words became more pointed and more deliberate.

"No, sir."

He clapped his hands together close by her, the snap of it making her jump. "Then try again. I want you to bury yourself into me and take over my body. Possess me."

Ellen concentrated as hard as she could, trying to use the last ounces of energy that powered her body. She tried to focus on entering his body – entering his mind – but it did not seem to want to happen. She opted for a change in technique, hoping that it would produce a small linkage at least. Focusing not only on his body, she tried tapping into and channelling the hate that flowed onto her from Dvorak. There was a resurgence and she amplified this energy away from her like a sonic boom.

And almost immediately, she found herself with split vision. Not only was she staring from her own eyes but also from Dvorak's. It was unnerving to see herself standing there in a blindfold and being able to see Dvorak however, it was something she quickly adapted to. She tore off the blindfold so it hung from her neck and raked her thoughts for a command to give him, to truly find out if she had accomplished what he wanted.

Sit down, she ordered on her mind. And so he did, immediately sitting down where he stood. It appeared that he had succumbed to the command without a thought. Stand up. He was now on his feet. Ellen looked at his face, which seemed expressionless.

It appeared that the key to possessing someone was hatred.

She continued projecting her energy and maintaining a strong link, so strong that she now begun to see flashbacks of his past. The first was him as a child, laughing and ripping off the colourful paper from his presents bright and early on Christmas morning. His parents watched onwards, brimming with joy. This scene began to change; another one emerging. Dvorak was now a teenager, a senior, and he was walking through the gates of a school with rubbish and taunts thrown at him. He kept his head bowed and his books clenched close to his chest. It reminded Ellen of herself. The scene changed once more. He was now an adult, him and his family running in the middle of the night through cold, heavy snow. What appeared to be out of nowhere, the unmistakeable man that was Lucien stepped in front of his two children and tore them away. After putting up a hefty fight, like the battle of powers, Dvorak fell to his knees with his hands pushed together and he started sobbing. But it was a pointless exercise. He watched as his two children were taken from him – murdered – in front of his very own eyes.

The Dvorak in front of her – in the room – slowly dropped onto this knees; one first, and then the other. He emitted a pained cry as his hands flew towards his forehead. He rocked back and forth, the strangled cries becoming more and more forced. Ellen's possession of him and her view threw his eyes began to flicker, the connection between them getting weaker. And then it abruptly closed as Dvorak forced her out of his mind. He remained on the floor, his chest heaving now from his expended efforts.

Ellen saw his lips move but struggled to hear the words that he spoke. Once she heard them, she regretted that she could.

"How," he snarled, venom-filled. "How dare you use my memories against me. You are tainted! You are not one of us. You bear all the makings of one of them!"

Sickness, nausea, swept over her and her skin became wet with sweat. The monster named panic started to settle inside her and the room appeared to be getting smaller and tightening around her. Her breathing became shallow and constrained and she couldn't block out Dvorak's cursing no matter how hard she tried. Each word was another stone added in her already heavy heart.

"-are a disgrace to us all. What were they thinking when they-"

She stepped backwards, away from the man in front of her. He was becoming more and more hysterical and she found herself fearing him ever more. She had to get away from him before her instability worsened. Ellen fled from the room, the blindfold still hanging from her neck. She didn't get very far when her body gave way and she found herself sitting in the hallway against the wall. Her face was buried in her hands, and the back of her head rested on the hard-wall behind her. The wooden-panelling of the walls; the navy carpet, the chandeliers seemed to warp around and talk to her. She clenched tight her eyelids, trying to come to her senses.

She wasn't a bad person.

She wasn't a bad person.

Soft, warm fingers gently entangled with hers and she continued to sit with closed eyes. "There comes a time where we all doubt ourselves and our place in the world we live in." A pause. "But the world is ours to make what we want of it. You can spend your time running and letting things hit deeply. Or you can let it go and keep living the way you want. Our life isn't an easy one and you've just begun your journey. You're just a baby and you have a big burden on your shoulders. It will get better."

Ellen angled her head and opened her eyes. Rolland was sitting next to her, his hazel eyes trained on her.

"Why does all this happen to me?" she asked, as if he could answer her question. She knew he couldn't; it was more rhetorical, but she asked anyway. She needed a Guardian now, someone to look out for her when Hans couldn't.

"It should show you that you are something special, something revered. You are one of us, and you were destined for it. If no one believed in you, Hans wouldn't be spending so much time on you. Surely that's an indication and is worth something, right?"

She sighed and started sobbing. The drops ran down her cheek and onto her lips, the saltiness leaving an aftertaste in her quivering mouth. Rolland reached a finger out and wiped a tear that threatened to snake down further. And then he looked away – hastily, guiltily.

"What's wrong?"

He breathed out, refusing to make eye contact with her. His eyes were glued to the carpet in front of him.

"Rolland, what's wrong?" she repeated, urgently.

"You need to be strong," he replied, almost choking on the words. This made Ellen cringe, her instincts kicking into alarm mode. Bells started ringing somewhere in her mind.

Something wasn't right.

He was hiding something.

"What for?" She blinked, flinching. Did she want to hear this at one of her darkest hours? Could she bear to hear it?

"Ellen," he said, clenching onto her hand harder. What went from a warm and gentle grip turned into one of worry and concrete. He finally looked at her, his eyes betraying his composure. "Hans has been taken to trial."

And Ellen's world combusted – collapsed – as she fainted and fell to the ground.