Mist swirls on an unseen, unfelt wind, as if the mist itself were writhing and bubbling with something ... else. Angharad looks around, frowning. This place seems ... familiar somehow, but how could it be? Angharad looks down, smoothing her dress with a hint of nervousness. Blue. How oddly appropriate. Smiling slightly to herself, Angharad smoothes the blue silk, her voice drifting in the strangeness, "Darial would like this..." Darial? Why is she thinking about him? Angharad grins to herself, bemused by her own thoughts. Reaching up, Angharad pulls her braid over her shoulder. Angharad smiles even more as she looks to see a red ribbon entwined within the braid.

In the distance, a clap of thunder strikes out against unseen land. The unfelt wind you sense turns colder, and slowly, a scent of exotic perfume fills the area. In the distance, you hear footsteps, and yet, see no one.

Angharad puts a hand to her chest, and the braid disappears, the red ribbon floating to the ground. Angharad's dress shifts to wool, but still blue. Brown eyes search. "Darial? Is that you?" Again the dress shifts as Angharad smiles, this time to an Ebou Dari dress, a deep slit showing off Angharad's bosom. "Darial, this is no time to play at hiding. No one is around." Angharad licks her lips, then mutters to herself, "Light, let it be Darial." Shaking her head, Angharad starts walking in the direction she heard the footsteps. "Intended, this is no longer funny. You are frightening me."

"Anghaaarad..." the voice comes from behind you, and suddenly the perfume grows stronger. The air still grows colder, not as cold as winter in your homeland, though. The voice you heard was soft and raspy, as though they had a cold. Does Darial have a cold? Another round of thunder can be heard, this one sharper, and closer too. The sound of footsteps come from behind you, no matter which direction you face. They too, start to grow louder.

Angharad frowns deeply. Something isn't right. Angharad cannot remove the apprehension from herself. Slow, careful steps are taken from the direction her name was being called. Angharad shakes her head. She shouldn't follow the voice. This is wrong. But Angharad's feet seem to be moving on their own. Angharad furrows her brow, and tries to fight herself, but cannot. One hand clenches at her side as she walks on into the mists.

As you walk into the mists, they begin to take shape. It is a bedroom, and from the looks of it, one of the bedrooms in the Tower. However from its size, it is obviously meant for an Aes Sedai. But as you look around, you notice things of yours...and of Darial's too, perhaps. The footsteps grow louder, as though they are almost here. You can hear rats squirming around somewhere outside. The wind that was blowing so calmly begins to grow in strength. "Anghaaarad," you hear it again. That raspy, hideous voice. Are thoughts of Black Ajah running through your head? Abruptly, the wind dies down, stops entirely. An ominous knock sounds at the door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Angharad blinks and then smiles faintly at the room. Her room. Darial's room. Yes, this is how it is meant to be. Then the voice calls out again. Angharad gasps and looks around, clutching at her blue Domani dress. The beat of Angharad's heart almost reverberated through the room. Then Angharad jumps again as there is a knock at the door. Sighing in relief, Angharad adjusts the blue fringed shawl about her shoulders and stands calmly in the middle of the room. "Enter," she calls out.

Big mistake, Angharad. Slowly, the door opens. The halls outside are black, the torches long since extinguished. And those who enter...well, they aren't dressed in the most vibrant of colors. Each black robe seems to swallow more light than the one before. The source? You cannot touch it, they must have you shielded. You see the rats you heard only moments ago, it looks like they are feasting on something. On someone. Can you see who it is? Not exactly. But you do see a ring...a golden ring you spotted with Darial, the ring he promised to buy for you...before you were wed. One of the rats sits up, and it almost seems to be smirking at you, its eyes glow red with evil.

Angharad's face slowly drops, and she wants to let out a scream, desperately. Then she looks at the black robed figures. Angharad's eyes harden and she closes her mouth, glaring at them. "I see what this is about. Is it my turn now?" she asks. Angharad is not about to show them any weakness, despite the fact on desperately wanting to fall to the floor and sob. Slowly, brown eyes scan the room. A staff, or even a sling. She'd have a chance with one of those.

The figure at the head nods oh so slowly, their face well hidden within its shrouds. The rats rush into the room once their feast is over, and line up neatly, all staring at you intently, each pair of beady eyes glowing a fiery red. The thirteen circle around the bed, slowly but surely circling closer. Yes, there are weapons, but can you find them in time. And then, as if it were not bad enough, more creatures begin to enter the room. But these aren't your everyday haunted robe-wearers, most certainly not. These thirteen are all men, taller than average, and each dressed in colors woven of midnight. They would be almost handsome, except they lack eyes, not to mention the slug-white color of their skin. Yes, Angharad, there are thirteen Fades now in your room.

Angharad inhales with a sharp hiss. It is now, or forever be damned. Moving as quickly as she can, Angharad dives for a quarterstaff, rolling in her wide Kandori breeches, rolling back into a standing position. The quarterstaff twirls in her hands, and lashes out at one of the original figures. The women. Angharad's hands shake even as the wood bears down on it's target. This is a fight for survival. This is a fight for revenge. Angharad will -win- this fight if it is the last thing she does!

The figure crumples, the robe flailing on the ground as if it had been knocked off a hook. As it settles, you realize there is no body beneath that accursed robe. Another of the robed figures chuckles, a woman's chuckle, and she slowly removes her hood. Zicara, complete with an angry scar where she was hung. And then another remove her hood as well. Raemira, the Amyrlin herself. And soon they all remove their hoods, and you recognize their faces. But it is the woman at the head, who's face is the most disturbing of all. Your face, and yet radiating a cruelty you have never before possessed. "Anghaaarad," your twin whispers, that raspy, disturbing voice.

Angharad gasps and drops the staff, putting hands to her head and shaking it violently. "Not again! Not this dream again!" Angharad's hands start to clench and grasp at her short hair, her dress an Accepted's dress once again. "Wake up, you bloody fool of a woman! Wake up!"

But you can't wake up, can you? Not yet at least. The more you look at her, the more you realize you and she are not the same. It's as if time changed her, as if she was woven into the Pattern...evil. Her features are schooled with a pouty, angry look, and the lines around her eyes appear when they narrow in anger. And yes, she's always angry. Just like some suggest you are. Perhaps you aren't so different? Perhaps you should give in. And when the other-Angharad opens her mouth yet again, its not with her voice she speaks. Oh no. It is with a far more melodious, and confident, husky voice. "My Master has great plans for you, Angharad. Imagine the Stole around you neck," if you look down, you will in fact see the Stole sitting over your dress. Your gown flickers between several colors, and you know them to signify the Ajah you were raised from. "Zicara was a fool, but you, you have talent. The Tower could sit in the palm of your hand, and you could bring it back to its days of glory. All you must do, is submit to His will..."

Angharad looks down, almost as if forced to. Angharad lifts one edge of the stole up to stare at it. Angharad frowns slightly, almost as if truly thinking it were her won. Then Angharad shakes her head again. It's so hard to ... think. Angharad looks around, something her other-self said. No, the way she looks. Angharad takes a step backwards. "No. This isn't right. This is not who I am." Angharad looks pointedly at her other self. "You are not who I will be!" Darial. Angharad's thoughts flicker to Darial once more. If only he were here to give her strength. Oh, she so needs strength right now.

Darial is here, Angharad, look out into the hall. Or what's left of him. "Aren't I? Haven't you felt out of place in this Tower, amongst these so-called Aes Sedai?" the melodious voice continues. "Can you be sure this is not the way the Pattern has woven your fate? Can you truly? My Master gives rewards, child, and even one such as yourself can benefit. Think of it, a sa'angreal of your very own, one not even the Tower knows of, one not even the Hall knows of! Knowledge of things that no other Aes Sedai has had in centuries. All you have to do...is swear."

Angharad puts fingers to her lips. It's so hard to think; to fight. The Two River's woman shakes her head again, trying to fight against the words. Why are they so ... appealing? Angharad closes her eyes, and looks like she might fall over. "Knowledge?" whispers the woman, before shaking her head, coming to herself again. "No. I found my first cause in hunting your kind down...."

You smile, the other you, that is. "You can continue on your hunt, sister. Each and every Sister you have ever hated, have ever wanted to see suffer the way they've made you suffer. With your connections, it will be easy enough to arrange their capture, and frame them for your own deeds. The Tower will rule the world, and you will rule the Tower. With an iron fist. Swear, and even your beloved can be returned to you. The Great Lord can cheat even death, if you swear now. If you do not, you know what will happen." The voice stops, and then the other Angharad's real voice returns, still raspy. "They can force you to the Dark, if the numbers are right," she whispers.

Angharad shakes her head at her other-self. "It is not the same hunt. Can you not see that?" Then Angharad frowns. The other-self has let it slip. She doesn't know the true Angharad. CLosing her eyes, steeling herself, Angharad shakes her head once more. "No. I will not. Darial would not want to return that way. You are not me. You do not know who I am. You cannot read my thoughts. Begone." Then Angharad opens her eyes and takes a step closer to her other-self. "I have made precautions already in case that event takes place. You are too late. Change me, and I will die. Kill me now, it will be just as easy, and you will not have wasted your time."

The Fades move forward, to stand in front of the thirteen Sisters. Your friends, your companions in the Tower. All of them Black Ajah. And yes, once again there are thirteen, at some point, the one you knocked over has reappeared. You see them all glow as the Source springs up around them, each weaving a complex flow of spirit that goes into the Fades, and comes out the other side. Those flows of spirit seem dark, dirty. The weaves snake around one another, forming into a single, thick weave of Spirit. The weave nears you, and just before it touches...you awaken.

Angharad's face contorts in the dream. They can't be willing to make such a waste... they can't. "Oh, Light, NO!" screams Angharad as she sits up in her bed, dripping with sweat. Breathing is painful because Angharad's heart is racing so badly, she can hear nothing but the pounding of it in her ears. One hand clutches her chest, with the other clutches her sheets. Tears roll down Angharad's face and she shivers and quiver sin fear. "Oh Light. Oh light." Then Angharad turns around, tossing herself onto her pillow, sobbing.