It just appeared there one morning. No one knew from where it came from. No one even knew who ordered it. But there it was, hung open one of the walls leading to the dormitories.

The canvas was dark and reeking of the dank cell it was kept for untold spans of time. The paint should have been faded but it hadn't. For many of the students and staff who took the time to see it, that would have been a better fate.

At the portrait's center, a haggard-looking man, obviously in his youth, crouched, his expression haunted and wild, as his pale claw-like hands clasped his ears as if his entire world depended on those nubs staying where they are. Rising around him, from the ground around his ragged garments, appeared to be a night-black seven-fingered hand with the most bizarre masks attached to the pads of taloned fingers.

One face was a mangled simulacrum of the twisted amalgam of a wolf and an elephant. Another looked to be modeled after the symbols of drama, though the artist appeared to have only the vaguest idea of what the symbol looked like, resulting in a hideously formed blob, one side of its scar of a mouth curved up while the other took a converse route. Another was an elegantly carved face mask, one side painted black while the other side an emerald shade. The middle mask was plain, like a Japanese No theater mask, with its only eye fixed balefully upon the crouched subject. The fourth was the most intricately carved half-skull one could ever imagine, the golden light in the eye-holes painted so beautifully one would almost imagine it could see. The fifth looked to have been hacked out of a soiled white sheet, with three gaping tears serving as eyes. Of the last two masks, one couldn't tell as all one could see was the outline of white, but if the five served as evidence, one could tell they would be ghastly.

The level of detail was amazing, as if the artist had a nightmare so vivid, he could not bear to forget. It was this painting that Prof. Montclair, for the better part of the morning, stood examining, a cup of tea in his white palms and slippers shaped like wolf puppies on his feet. Other than that, he wore his usual dark suit as his golden eyes surveyed the work in front of him with nary a change of expression on his face.

((Posting for my Katrina character--I apologize for not posting here yet. Kinda got hung up for a while. I'm going to be heading out of town tonight. got some family stuff to tend to. Probably won't be back for about a week. I promise I'll post a response when I return.))

The doors to the Students Dormitory slowly and quietly swung open, and in walked Katrina Young, a large, overstuffed blue bag strapped to her shoulders, slumped in exhaustion from the day's earlier activities, her head lowered to the ground as she shuffled across the foyer towards the staircase that would take the fatigued blue-haired student the three floors up to her dorm room and the comfort of her warm, soft bed.

Looking up as she neared the staircase, Katrina jumped back in shock at the sight of what had to be the most horrid, terrifying piece of artwork that she had ever seen. "Wh-what kind of demented lunatic would create such a nightmare?" The words came out as a whisper. The expression on the blue-haired girl's face was a mix of terror and awe as she stared wide-eyed at the hellish painting.

Katrina gazed at the painting in silence for some time, completely unaware of the black-clad male standing nearby. The petite blue-eyed girl looked away several times, forcing herself to move away from this ghastly horror. But try as she might, Kat just couldn't keep her eyes off of the grotesque portrait displayed on the wall before her. There was something strangely compelling about the painting. She felt somehow drawn to it, but for the life of her, she could not figure out why...

Prof. Montclair's attention was soon captured by the sound of haggard foot steps. From the corner of one golden eye, he spied blue eyes wide with horror against a creamy-skinned face.

"I take it you too were attracted by the work, no?"

Even addressing Katrina, his eyes were still riveted on the ghastly painting as he sipped his cooling tea.

What is it about this painting that captivates me so? Katrina thought as she examined the nightmare captured on canvas. Her mind screamed at the horrified girl to turn away...to race up the stairs to her dorm and hide under the covers of her bed...but, for some unfathomable reason her body absolutely refused to budge. Her head would not turn, her eyes, wide with terror and awe, would not tear away from this madman's masterpiece of horror.

Then someone spoke to her. The petrified young woman would have jumped back in surprise from the voice, for, as focused as she was on the painting, Kat had not even noticed the black-clad man standing next to her until he had spoken...but, entranced as she was by the strange and terrible masks adorning the night-black, seven-fingered hand that appeared as if to attack the frightened haggard-looking man in the painting, the equally terrified student could do nothing but slowly nod her head in confirmation to the professor's question.

"Yes, sir, though I don't know why. Normally, even having a only brief glimpse of such things would make me run screaming in terror. But there is something about this painting that compels me to stay here in this hall and stare at this nightmare come to life."

The transfixed student's words came out in a slow, monotonous tone, as if the petite blue-haired girl had become hypnotized by the painting on the wall.

Something was wrong, indeed, though Katrina did not see it at this time, so mesmerized by the bizarre work of art at that moment that she could think of nothing else. Normally, Kat would not stand there next to a man, especially one she did not know, and engage him in such an intellectual conversation--or any conversation at all, for that matter--if it could at all be avoided. The traumatic experiences Miss Young had faced in the years prior to arriving at Shokushu had made the girl become extremely distrustful towards males of any age (except, of course, for those in her family, especially her father) to the point of paranoia.

The countless emotional scars left on her jaded soul by the wickedness of men caused her to avoid males at all cost. Any conversations she ended up having with men were usually forced upon her and were always extremely awkward on her part, and the nervous young girl always stuttered, often umming and ahhing when she spoke.

"I can't help wondering what had driven this artist to create a piece as dark as this. Was this man on drugs? Was it the result of some terrifying nightmare that he was unable get out of his mind? Was he driven mad by some tramatic event or events in his life? Perhaps it is these questions plaguing my mind that draws me so to this painting. What about you, sir? What is it about this man's work that captures your attention?"

As Katrina had so openly admitted to the golden-eyed man standing next to her, the mere sight of something as horrifying as the image in front of her would typically have her running and screaming in terror. And yet, here she was, standing in front of the most terrifying sight the wide-eyed teen had ever seen, theorizing with a man she would have never spoken to or stood so close to under normal circumstances, would the man-fearing girl be given a conscious choice.

What other strange and unusual events were in store for Katrina Young this evening?

Whatever might happen next, even the happenings taking place at this moment would be enough to give the petite, ivory-skinned young woman nightmares for life...

Now, that was a question, Prof. Montclair mused. He stayed quite for the span of nine heartbeats, occasionally sipping what had to be bone-cold tea as his complete gaze returned to the frame.

"It speaks to me," He whispered, barely audible to Katrina's ears. Almost eerily, he turned his head towards her, his golden eyes meeting her dulled gaze, the ethereal shine within them forcing her back into the real world.

A pale hand lay upon her slim shoulder and a smile had wended its way on to his lips. "Go on, it's been a hard day. Get some rest and think no more of the painting, alright?" The dark-suited professor bade her as he gently nudged her away.

Kat nodded dully, barely aware of his response, as she continued to engross herself with the painting. Then she caught his eerie gaze upon her out of the corner of her eye. The formerly entranced girl, fully returned to the present, turned to face the darkly clad professor. Her deep blue eyes opened wide as she stared into the man's golden orbs.

Those eyes are really creeping me out...

Katrina took a step backwards, ready to turn and run at any moment, when the strange man laid a hand on her trembling shoulder with a widening smile. "Ye-Yes sir!" The suddenly nervous girl stammered as the professor gave her a nudge. "Have...Have a g-good evening, professor!"

Kat turned from the creepy golden-eyed man and ran for the stairs, grabbing onto the rails as she raced up the steps as fast as her tired legs would take her as she made her way up the three flights towards her dorm room.

Why the heck had it been so hard to tear my eyes away from that painting, Kat wondered as she moved on down the hallway, It's not like I had actually enjoyed staring at that thing...

Opening the door to her dorm room, Kat stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and dropping the cumbersome backpack onto the floor, where it leaned back against the wall by the door. Too tired to even slip out of her school uniform, the exhausted teen simply slipped out of her shoes before turning off the light and walking over to her bed and plopping down on top of the mattress, not even bothering to pull the sheets over her slender body as she laid her head back.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, Katrina was out like a light, eyes tightly shut, breathing slow and steady as she curled up in the fetal position. Almost immediately after she closed her eyes, Kat began to dream...

"Take care of yourself, Ms. Young..."

Prof. Montclair kept smiling, even as he watched her heels disappear up the flight of stairs that led to what she hoped would be welcome respite. He turned to the recently polished locker door and rubbed the underside of his jaw.

I believe my face my have imparted some kind of notion to Ms. Young.

He choked back a snicker as his ears picked up the ticking of his phylactery. The being within the mortal coil could feel her drifting consciousness as he wrapped the weak shadows around himself and walked through the darkness to his musty-smelling office.

The professor had been quite interested in Katrina since their first encounter. The shy quiet girl had drawn him easily. Her fears and doubts had called to him like some twisted beacon.

And who was he to deny the call?

He sat upon the massive oaken desk, his legs folded underneath him. The psionic power that was the gift of the Nal'senshi pulled the curtains close and the door too heavy for humans to budge.

Magadon willed himself free from the physical body and hunted the latent psychic signature of the blue-haired girl.

Kat tossed and turned in her bed, sleeping fitfully as images of an evil, vicious-looking giant of a man with glowing red eyes and seven fingers on each hand chasing her through the night filled the poor, terrified young woman's tortured mind, sending shivers and goosebumps down her pale, smooth body, fear gripping the frightened teen to her very soul.

The giant stunk of the grave, as if he had been buried for many centuries, and his skin was night-black and covered in a ragged and tattered robe so black that it seemed to be made out of the very shadows themselves. Half the skin on his face was gone, looking as it had been torn off by some angry beast, revealing rotting bone underneath. Many exposed parts of his body showed the same. The flesh on one arm was stripped completely clean, all the way from his shoulder down to the very tips of his clawed fingers.

On other arm, however, the skin mostly remained. Only small patches of skin were missing. At the end of this arm, on the end of each finger, was a mask exactly like the ones attached to the hand in the painting on the wall in the foyer.

Kat was naked from head to toe, her clothing stripped from her body by the creature that continued to haunt the petite blue-haired student. Her body was covered in scratches from the undead creature's cruel taloned hands. The petrified young woman's loud, high-pitched screeches filled the dark, moonless night, brittle leaves and fallen twigs crackling under her bare feet as she blindly fled the endless, light-bereft forest in a futile attempt to escape her evil tormentor...

From hiding in the shadows formed in by the skeletal trees of Katrina's nightmare, Magadon could only smirk yet marvel at the fell effects the painting had wrought upon her mind.

It went without saying that it had been the Nal who had affixed that painting there, for all the students to pass by and be drawn in by. He had viewed it by the nature of an experiment, testing the mental strengths of the dorm's inhabitants. Unfortunately, too many had been far too busy to give the art more than a cursory glance before hurrying off to the first classes of the morning. The matter left him chagrined for most of his early teaching periods.

Oh, how joyous he'd felt when Katrina was snared by the painting's latent malevolence, laying the ground for a nightmare most potent and mind-rending. After all, a broken mind yielded all the quicker than a whole one.

But not too broken, he thought with distaste. Her panicked shrieks were like a dry martini, good taken singly and moderately yet numbing when drank one after the other. He waved his arms in mimicry to the wind she thought was rustling the brittle branches, weaving his fell powers into the dreamstuff that formed the base of all subconscious activity, recreating the frightful image to better serve him.

And to calm down his victim. He so loved to play with them.

As it happened every time he toyed with a student's dreams, Magadon could not help but roll his eyes as her bare feet flew across the blighted ground. He swore, time and time again, that he would be tolerant of the fear they would exhibit, but then there was just something about the way they easily broke with but minor modifications he'd made to their dreams. One'd almost think she believed that all this was real.

His witchlight eyes narrowed in amusement as she passed into the threshold of what she perceived as sanctuary. Carefully, he dislodged himself from the grasping branches and slid across the grounds like a river of sinuous ink, casting all the while as he reached into Kat's subconscious.

An eerie laugh was given voice to, and even the girl's dreamself shuddered at the chilling sound. Magadon found a key piece, and even as she raced faster up the stairs, the Savant wove an enchantment, alluring and evil all at once, drawing upon her desire for safety even as she reached the floor of her hopes.

Kat...

He could get used to mimicry.

Kat... Hurry! Please! God, I'm scared! Hurry!

Ghostly sobs echoed down the corridor. If that didn't attract her attention, then Magadon was stumped.