As the climax of the spell reached, Aurora's voice echoed loudly, in Balthazar's prison realm, and in the chambers where she sat astraddle her maid in the bed.  When the last syllable faded, Aurora felt the power stir in her breast, in her hands, in her mind, burning her like a black flame, making her cry out in joy.  Too quickly, the power left her, flowing through her fingers like a mist she could not grasp, and she fell to the side, panting, sweaty, but triumphant.<br/><br/>The dream image of Sophie burned in the recreation of the Black Chamber, blazing in light, as the enchantment that both stilled her tongue and bound a portion of her mind and soul to the bloodstone seared through the false memories and forgotten truth of the dream state.  Sophie, still asleep, looked in Balthazar in horror as the full truth of what she had fallen into was thrown in her face like a pail of icy water.  She began to babble hysterically, screaming, weeping, but still, she did not wake, could not wake, until the drugs had faded, though she thrashed and turned in the bed.<br/><br/>Aurora stood, moving on shaky legs to her dressing table, and looked at her reflection.  Her silver and gold hair was plastered to her face, her azure eyes were wide and crazed.  But it also seemed that she had never looked half so magnificent, as she did as the last traces of sorcery faded from her senses.<em>I did it!  The power, grandsire, the joy!  More, pray, teach me more.</em>