Wow! Two chapters in as many days! I'm impressed, haha. And this chapter is longer! I want to give a thanks to my reviewers - sorry I couldn't reply personally, but I've been fighting with the system as to whether the link in the email was valid or not x.x. But thank you regardless! So, anyway, I can't really think of anything to talk about for this chapter. It just kind of...happened. I hope you enjoy this one!

Labrador lay tightly curled on the floor, where he had been unceremoniously dropped after the little session ended. He was finally alone again – though he had despised those long hours in the dark little room at first, he had come to crave the silence and cessation of feeling that came with the shadows. As it was, the bishop was staring incredulously own at the tip of his flaccid member, where the twinkle of bright metal caught the little light and magnified it back to him. It hurt. It made moving hurt. It made breathing hurt. He hated it. The twin bars that had been jammed through his nipples were cold and uncomfortable. The plug that had, admittedly, felt good earlier was starting to make his insides ache.

Finally, the bishop pressed his forehead against the cool floor. "I have to get out..." he mumbled,slowly unfurling himself and moving gingerly to lean against the wall. "I can't take this...I have to get out!" He exhaled slowly, and his eyes fluttered shut, body relaxing.

Unseen, a shadow formed in the room, twisting about to see its surroundings in a new light. It bent slightly before springing up, fazing through the ceiling. A swift glance showed an empty room. Up again – this time, the figure emerged into a room of light. About the shadow people moved, completely unaware of its existence. They seemed focused on a stage set up at the back of the room, on which stood a man talking intently, loudly. A swift gesture, and a man who was more of a boy, brown haired by with gorgeous cerulean eyes, was pushed into the spotlight. Scared eyes stared out into the crowd as his hands scrambled to cover nudity. The shadow looked and saw, noted, and moved on. Nothing could be done. Not yet.

Another upwards push left the being hovering feet above a snow-covered alley. Cold winds shot at terrific speeds between the buildings, driving the white powder into banks against thin walls. A dirty figure wrapped in rags huddled in a corner, struggling to stay warm. She would be dead by morning, the shadow knew.

Making it to the center of commerce for the area was not hard when one was incorporeal, the shadow mused. One did not have to fight through crowds, and buildings were no obstacle. Unfortunately, when the local market was reached, the area was unrecognizable. If the figure had been here before, it did not know it.

It was a run-down part of town. Tall buildings of crumbling plaster lined the streets, and gutters ran to overflowing near the cracking sidewalks. The food in the booths was half-rotted, the breads crawling with maggots. The people were very quiet, ruefully handing over the meager change to pay for products. The shadow saw all this and was sad.

Flying higher now, above the rooftops, the cloaked figure gazed about the horizon. There, off in the distance, was a familiar white gleam, a shining cathedral of white. The shadow shot forward, its conscious screaming out familiar names. Castor! Frau! it shouted, Fiest! Zehel!. There was no answer – yet.

Those beautiful tall spires were just taking shape when a strange feeling called to the wayward spirit. An odd tingling, the sensation of sounds not quite heard...

Pain burst behind his eyes as Labrador snapped forcibly back into his body. Above him was incomprehensible screaming, and punishing blows fell on unprotected skin. Dazed and confused, all the bishop could do was lie there taking the beating as he was forced to come to a new realization – he was far worse off than he could have ever believed.

Perhaps going to the impoverished side of town was not the best decision Castor had ever made. The place reeked, and thieves stared greedily out at him from the shadows. The footing was treacherous at best. About him, the poor of the Seventh District tried to make decent livings for themselves.

One of the vendors managed to strike his eye. Though the shacks surrounding his were crumbling heaps of rotted wood, this woman's shack made the honest attempt at being well-kept. As he approached, he saw that the food on the counter looked passable, and smelled far less than foul.

Manning the booth was an old lady, flitting back and forth between goods and oven even as she chatted with the customer currently awaiting food. Castor walked up just as they were ending a conversation.

"So he just vanished?" the woman outside the booth asked excitedly.

"Yes," the old woman replied. "Yes, their boy disappeared as he was walking home. At night, I believe. With eyes that blue, they should have known they wouldn't be able to keep him long. Not here. Take care, Anette," she finished, laying a steaming meat pie before the woman. A word of thanks was passed, and she went on her way.

Castor was amazed. A boy, one of apparently uncommon looks, vanishing at night. There were too many similarities.

"Ma'am," he began, "What is this about vanished children?"

"Children? No, sir. Late teens or older. And he wasn't the only one." The keen old woman stared at him with startlingly clear eyes. "And I guess you know a similar story? A friend went out and never came back? A friend who was remarkably beautiful in some way or another?" At Castor's nod, she sighed, turning to the ovens. "That's a common story of late. I've heard plenty of stories, you know. The best anyone can guess is slavers. There is one tale of it being a warsphile, but let us be true, here. Even in this part of town, the bishops would know if a warsphile were rampant, hmm? Will you be buying anything, dearie?" she finished, turning back and depositing a few more goods onto the counter. When she looked up, the russet man was gone.

Ah! If you didn't catch it, my little shadow figure was Lab floating about as a ghost. He would have had to make the attempt at some time, no?