A frolicsome gust played over the plastic veil. Dim light flickered on the still face, and Marie fell back. In one hand, the Venetian mask was of polished ivory, gold and turquoise accented the eyes. Under a felt tricorn hat, the gaze glittered. The voluminous dress matched the mask, lace of the finest quality. Marie put a hand on her heart, felt it race. Calmer, she drew closer in awe of the attention to detail.

The figure's face, girlish though sad, was extraordinary in its attention to detail. Closer, she lit the face, "oh, my GOD!" Marie cast her gaze about, eyes wide, but capped the flashlight.

She saw the perfectly preserved woman was set in a mock street corner in Venice. The detail of the scene was obsessive. Marie stepped back, swallowed, and tried to steady her heart. Her mind was a tangle of horrors. Urge to vomit wrenched her guts. She breathed slow, held the scream behind her lips. A life time of terror, had hardened her, yet the mind could only stand so much terror. Flight or fight tore at the mind.

More of the women were set throughout the old mining warehouse. Another stood near, which was dressed as a Russian princess. Regal as a queen, she sat on the throne with her hand clasped. Youthful features would forever be young. The cloak she wore was of a deep pine green with flowers embroidered upon the expensive material. Across from her a Spanish princess stood at a mock balcony, eyes upon the some distant land. She rested a hand on the stone; richly adorn dress of black and gold. The gentle countenance was free of the worries life carved into the face. Marie looked away to the lady doll dressed as British nobility. Glass eyes of artic blue were turned down. Some unknown pain gripped her, posed as a chased maiden. Whoever set the scene, they had a ghastly attention to detail that passed obsession, Marie thought dazed. This perfect replication of British, Victorian upper class was dressed in a deep plum-purple. Material rich, it was modest and conventional.

Marie looked about the vast warehouse to see they were throughout. She kept a hand over the flashlight, in case anyone was here. Hopefully, she prayed, Tim would make his way inside. The menagerie of youthful princesses had to have a way out.

Whispers rose among the dead women turned to dolls. A conflagration of shadows turned into a firestorm. It swirled around the women to pull the clear plastic free, and reveal the princesses. Each demanded to be seen, justice fulfilled. Gusts of chemicals battered her, laid over the scent of expensive fabric. Marie withdrew from them, felt their gazes upon her. Inside flat, glass eyes, madness pranced about in enraged glee.

Her step quickened. Shadows drew closer. In the whirl of insane shadows, a hulking wraith stood among the dead women. Marie froze, and the figure took a step forward. Crouched low, she turned off the flashlight. They moved silently, and her eyes adjusted to the gloom. As the large silhouette drew closer, she retreated. The urge to flee pounded in the mind, her heart galloped.

The wraith came closer as she fled. In the warehouse, the blackness pooled together, and Marie could hear the great serpent stir. Its low hiss peeled through the menagerie of princesses. Out of the shadows, a wail of murmurs echoed. Marie felt the world grow distant, cursed, but moved away. Her body grew light, mind bogged down. She could smell the figure's soul, she fancied, and it was cold, dim, like frozen blood grown hoary. White eyes found Marie, who fought the urge to run.

Eclipsed by the tide of shadows, the wraith was swallowed. Light was smothered. The dead women, who were dressed in regal garb, sunk into the mass. Marie's steps quickened. The Uroboros slithered through the warehouse, mouth wide to consume all. Breath that crawled over the floor was a snowy-white, and held a pure light that faded to a Stygian hue of onyx. Up into the air it raised, coiled, ready to strike. Those eyes of pearlescent-white burned; a fury lived in them.

Resolve broke as cold brushed against her face. Marie bolted across the room. The wraith halted. Away from the figure she dashed. A sliver of light flashed at the bottom of the door. Her foot fall was loud in the stillness, yet the figure glided across the floor in silence. Terror brought the name of Bethany to her lips, prayer of deliverance.

Before her, the door opened to douse a guileless maiden. This Madonna held a baby doll swaddled and ready for bed. Tim froze, eyes wide, and the color drained from his face. Tears spilled at the visage dressed in the finery of a queen. His mind numbed, for never in the darkest musing of his heart had he ever believed such possible. People were essentially good, he believed, so his mind numbed. Gun and flashlight shook in his bloodless hands.

"Eve," he blubbered, but any other words were drown in the broken sorrow of his heart. Tim's flashlight trembled, but found Jacob, "you," he accused, "vile!"

Marie blinked at Jacob, who looked dazed as Tim. She cast a gaze back to see the wraith drew close. Tim raised the shotgun with murderous hands.

"Wait," she shouted, and grabbed the shotgun. It boomed in their hands, but Marie had turned it towards the dark figure. The blast missed, but struck some chemicals. Flames flared up. Jacob dashed away through the warehouse. "Tim," she called as they ran, "he dies and you kill us!"

Over the dry rich fabric, fire spread. Old dry timber, caught ablaze as if it knew that flames would cleanse the evil committed within its walls. Shadows recoiled from the light, whispers filled with relief. Jacob darted between the princesses. Tim cursed him as a coward, but Marie was much faster. She pulled ahead of him.

Through another door, Jacob burst. Marie followed.

"Finally got you," Rutger spit at him, "no way you're going to get out of this!"

Vomit spilled from Jacob, who had been struck in the gut, "I didn't—"

He kicked him in the gut, "Shut up, it's time for you to dance, boy!" Marie burst through the door, and the Sheriff's pistol aimed at her heart in an easy, quick draw.

"Sheriff," she blinked.

"Yes," he looked down at Jacob, "I followed you here. Your mother helped me, so I know a La Voison always unearths the truth. You would find him. I was sure, but what's inside," Rutger kicked Jacob in the mouth, "There will be no cell or judge, and after I'm done, he'll be with his master, the Devil!"

Tim emerged, "Sheriff, how did you get here?"

Rutger ignored the question, "I saw…your woman," he looked back at the Van Lear, "but don't worry, and I'll see justice done for her."

"Sheriff," Marie stepped forward, but a wave of nausea struck her to fall into darkness. She fell forward, and Tim caught her.

"Tim," the Sheriff put a hand on him, "stay with her. I'm going to do what my ancestor should've done to that filthy Confederate Lance!"

"Yes Sir," he said, and held Marie to him.