Lexie didn't know what was happening to her. There was something very wrong.

There had been something very wrong for some time now. There had to be some way

for things to get back to normal, but it didn't look like there was much hope for her at

the moment.

First there were the dreams. Dreams of darkness, painful darkness, like a hole in

her soul. A stone altar, a sacrificial altar, with the knife that lay on it still wet with the

blood of its last victim. There were flames lapping at the bottom of the altar. The

colour of these flames changed from dream to dream. Then a symbol flashed, and

everything else disappeared. The symbol changed as the flames did. The symbol

seemed to burn in her head, a searing pain, and then she woke, panic-stricken and

drenched in sweat.

Then there were the deaths, so… she didn't like to think about them. Horrid,

horrid deaths. She found herself thinking about them anyway. Why, why, why? Why

her? Why not anybody but her? Why should she suffer while the passing of others

was eased, and by her own hands no less? She hated them, she hated them all, but that

wouldn't help. No, she must stay calm.

She couldn't bear to think what would happen if she got angry again.