It was getting late and so Marry's father had sent her up to bed. Once up the stairs and in her room, a lusciously girly place that didn't fit her true personality, she took a good long look out the window. As usual, the rows of tombstones seemed like a beautiful landscape to her. The way the shadows seemed to flicker, as if mimicking the restless thoughts of the dead, soothed her enough to prepare her for the torture awaiting her in her dreams.<br/><br/>After a long moment of gazing, Marry turned to catch a glimpse of the decrepit old building that held so many memories for her. For a moment, she thought she could see a human outline. Thinking she'd been mistaken, Marry rubbed her eyes and looked again. Sure as sunrise there was a person examining the hotel Withers.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Oh yes,</span>Marry thought.<span style="font-style: italic">Technically speaking it's been years since I killed a living human.</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">You can't go,</span>whispered the voice in her head.<span style="font-style: italic">You have payment to give. Go to sleep now.</span><br/><br/>Marry frowned, disappointed in the sheer truth of the words. "Another time then," Marry sighed.<br/><br/>The dark-haired girl laid back in bed and pulled the covers over her slight figure. Then the dream began. This time it wouldn't be a whip, but bugs made of molten lava. Which crawled over her being as she was strapped to a wooden table. Each tiny foot left a deep burn which soon swelled and blistered. The worse ones would ooze puss which the bugs would then be delighted to lap up with their scorching tongues. Then the bugs which weren't quite hot enough to produce such a meal from her, would instead burrow into her flesh, tearing her sinews as they feasted upon her entrails. And through all this she was forced to remain attentive, for she was already, in fact, asleep.