Author's Note: Thanks to CarrotsGomeow once again for editing and proofreading help.
Slowly I became aware of my surroundings; once again, I found myself in the eerie dream world. This time I was not on the white beach, but instead in the ruins of what was once a great temple. At first glance one might mistake the crumbling structure as a place of worship for one of the many gods that humans commonly believed in, but I knew just after spending a few moments within that it was devoted to something far more alien and sinister.
The one eyed Arab stood at the pulpit, gazing down at me, his wicked leer and mad solitary eye serving to remind me of the nightmare I was trapped in. He offered me mocking applause as I stood before him, waiting for my new orders.
"You have done so well," the Arab laughed. "The two beauties you have provided me are worth a king's ransom, but forgive me for demanding more. Before I give your soul over to Great Shibaroth, you will acquire two more beauties."
"Shibaroth?" I asked, barely having the wherewithal to utter the words, so resigned to my fate as I was.
"The Elder Being of Insatiable Hunger," the Arab said. "The mask is her gospel, your lust her feast. She will feed on you for a thousand aeons."
This disturbing revelation terrified me. I wished for escape with increasing fervor, but knew there was none available to me. It was with an ever-growing sense of despair that I awaited the Arab's next orders.
"The 3rd woman I require must be a woman of prowess. Hazhad will look upon me favorably if I give him a strong woman who can bear him warrior sons."
I nodded. "It will be done."
The Arab's sneering grin stayed with me as my perception of the dreamscape faded. Soon I would return to the waking world to continue my reign of terror.
In my next moment of awareness I found myself standing outside the Manor, waiting for the carriage. I wondered if I would ever again wake of my own free will or move about the world without the cursed mask upon my face. I had no answer as the silent carriage pulled up and I climbed in.
Along with the large medical bag waiting for me, a large brown suitcase was sitting across from me. I was intrigued by the suitcase as the shadow horses thundered down the streets of Waitwich, hell itself in the thunder of their hooves.
The police were out in force now, my taking of Gretchen having aroused them in a way that the taking of a thousand Merilyns never could. Not that it mattered; I was a servant of Shibaroth's mask and was beyond the reach of mortal law.
The carriage made its way into the bustling heart of Waitwich, towards an apartment building that catered to people of means who moved about the world a great deal. As the carriage came to a stop outside the bustling building, A name came to mind: Vesper Dare.
Vesper was an adventuress, an independent woman who scorned polite society and was always seeking out the untamed corners of the world. Long black hair framed her face - set with dark green eyes - and continued down her back, outlining her athletic frame. Even at 25 years of age, her competitiveness was legendary.