Ellen felt her body become weightless as if she was lighter than a feather. She drifted in nothingness for a split second; suspended in between destinations, and in a state of limbo.

And then her feet hit solid ground and she came back to reality.

She opened her eyes and was met with a familiar site, a site that stirred a mix of emotions within her. Sadness, anger, and loneliness. They all reared their ugly heads.

Ellen's childhood home loomed over her, the painted-white manor bringing back a surge of memories. The once well-groomed flower beds were a sickly brown and had begun welting; the gravel driveway was being invaded by weeds, and the lawns that she once played on as a child had started shooting upwards. It was becoming derelict but with her parents perished, she wasn't quite confident of its impending fate.

Was it hers? Could she come back to live here?

It was a possibility. As far as she fathomed, she was the only child and therefore the sole beneficiary of her parent's belongings.

She moved forwards – towards the building – one step at a time. Each step placed her one step closer; each step seeded and bloomed emotions which brewed like a wild storm. She perched onto one of the steps, and then the other, and the other. Her feet were as heavy as gold bars, weighing her down as she approached the front door. Each time she placed one of her feet down, there was a knock on the wooden slats. They almost sounded as if they were trying to warn her; it's a trap, escape whilst you can. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time she reached for the metal handle, and laid one finger on it. But then she drew her hand back, overwhelmed.

The handle was searing hot and scolded her finger. It glowed red, the same shade of angry red that were glowing embers. Ellen hastily moved backwards, almost tripping over her own feet. She blinked, and the redness was gone.

"I can do this," she told herself. "It's just your imagination."

She let a fresh spell of air fill her lungs and pushed down on the handle. The door slowly opened, exposing the lifeless, cold hallway which used to be warm and welcoming. She stepped across the threshold, onto the rug that her mother had put there years ago to catch dirt and other unwanted debris. Her mouth opened by habit, to call out she was home but then she realised that no one was here and it was caught in her throat, a giant lump that sat there stubbornly.

With the hardest part over, Ellen walked to the doorway that marked the entry of the lounge room and gazed inside reminiscently. Someone had already been here.

The chair and sofa was covered in stiff storage plastic, as was the coffee table and the antiques cabinet. A fine layer of dust had already began accumulating on the coverings, meaning that it must have been done a time go. The TV was disconnected from the power outlet and that, too, was flicked off at the wall.

She wandered into the kitchen.

Someone had done the job consistently – plastic coverings and electrical appliances unplugged.

Letting this mull over her mind, she doubled out of the kitchen and vaulted up the staircase. Both, her own bedroom door and her parents' were ajar but only just. She caught a small glimpse of the inside of the rooms, and made to go to hers first. And then she stopped in her tracks.

She traced back her steps and visited her parent's room. Not knowing what to expect - what was waiting for her behind closed doors - she held her breath and pushed on the door. It slowly swung open, revealing a bedroom that had been meticulously cleaned from top to bottom. The bed was cleanly made and sheets looked freshly laundered and showed no signs of death. Or murder. Her vision became blurry and Ellen found this the perfect time to move on. She closed the door, hoping – needing - that shutting it would give her renewed strength and determination to carry on forwards.

She turned from the panel of wood that now lay between her and her parents' private belongings – from the room they nursed her in as a baby – and wandered to her own. She placed her palm on the handle and swung it open. Her room, too, had been cleaned. Taking a few hesitant baby-steps into the space she had occupied for years, she cast her eyes in each direction. Everything was back in its respective place and the library book was nowhere to be seen.

She pulled the chair from behind her desk and sat down like many a time she had before; before, when her life was normal.

When her parents were still alive and killing someone was unimaginable.

When she wasn't a murderer. A murderer like Lucien.

She stared up at the ceiling, wandering, her mind drifting and unconsciously looking for a sign that everything will be okay. A glint of light caught her attention and her gaze sat transfixed on the small object in front of her. She picked it up and let it fumble in her shaking hands. The totem was still there and it reminded Ellen that everything was reality. It had all happened. It continued shining in her palm, reflecting the rays on sunlight that entered through her bedroom window.

"I wouldn't have taken you to be one that resigns so easily, my child," a whisper came from behind her; soft, authoritative yet motherly. A hand fell on Ellen's shoulder and she was tempted to shrug it off. But something told her to resist.

"I'm not who everyone thinks I am. I can't live up to the light everyone holds me to," she uttered. Each word was difficult; each word came from deep down. Her eyes connected with Claudia's and Ellen's heart fell heavy with disappointment.

"What do you think happened?" the Grand Master asked her. Ellen was searching for the anger; the threat of in her voice of an upcoming trial. Surely there were guards waiting outside to escort her.

"I killed someone. It's fairly obvious, even Rolland said so." She was now growing hysterical and her words were wavering. She hated how composed Claudia was in front her.

"Guardian Rolland thought that. But did you make it happen? Was it in your mind?"

"Well, no... But he's had years of experience an-"

Claudia spoke, cutting of Ellen's words. "Even the greatest of our kind make mistakes, and he was quick to judge without first properly analysing facts. Unfortunately, he can also have quite a temper especially when he is out on duty. What you need to understand is," she paused and took Ellen's hands in hers, the totem now in both of their palms. "That no one is perfect. And if that doesn't make you feel any better, then remember that he doesn't have the power to do anything to you. Those types of formalities are mine and Hans'."

Ellen let out a giant gust of a sigh.

"But what if I did it?"

"You didn't. Do you remember what you need to do? You need to consciously have that in your mind. Things like that don't just happen."

"What if I was thinking about it?"

"You'd remember, no doubt."

"But-"

"Ellen. It was a set up. Generally, things this ummm...," Claudia swirled her empty hand in the air, trying to grasp for invisible words. "Messy are done by rogues or Necromancers. Not by innocent people such as yourself. To the point – you didn't do it."

"Dvorak is in trial though, he couldn't possibly be there!"

Claudia let go of Ellen's hand and let her own hands smooth over Ellen's hair. "The trial proceedings are private but there can always be more than one traitor. They want to make you vulnerable. Don't let them do that. We can only help you so much but if you vanish off to random places, we can't even do that much. It's all you."

Ellen sat in her chair, the words cutting into her and etching themselves into her mind.

She was foolish, again. She exposed herself; exposed herself more than she should have. She was snatched already and she didn't want to relive that experience.

Claudia clapped her shoulder. "I believe Hans is waiting downstairs. Let's not keep him any longer than we need to."

Together, they left the bedroom in silence. Just as Ellen was about to stop and glance backwards, Claudia leaned down to her ear and told her: "do not look back. It makes it harder. Leave what has happened behind and move forward. You can't move into the future if you remember your past in the present." Ellen knew she was correct and they filed down the stairs.

Hans came into view as they descended, more and more of him becoming exposed with each step down they took. First his shoes, followed by the bottom of his pants and then his t-shirt. Finally, Ellen saw his face. His hands were behind his back and his face portrayed absolutely no emotion. He was stiff as a board as he watched the two women go towards him.

Ellen rubbed the totem that was still in her palm, as if for luck. Feeling tearful she approached Hans, trying hard not to think of what he was thinking about her.

But this wasn't needed.

Hans held out both of his arms and Ellen walked into them. The embrace was comforting, and he was all she had close to a father figure. She needed him and it became more obvious than it ever had been. It was a tender moment, one that Claudia refused to interrupt. No words were spoken but no words were needed. Claudia ran a hand through Ellen's hair gently. And then the embrace of Hans and Ellen broke as Claudia cleared her throat.

"Should we move on?"

"Let's," Hans replied, an arm lingering on Ellen's back. Claudia stood on the other side of Ellen, so now she was in between the two Masters. Claudia's arm, too, rested on the young girls back.

"Together. On the count of three. One. Two," she counted. "Three".

And the trio vanished.

They vanished as a team, and as one.