We go to the Hidden Place.

They got out of his way when they saw him coming. Rather, heard him coming. There was no sound like that of Larkin’s footsteps, fast and meaningful as they came or left, dreadful or relieving to those who listened. Guards and prisoners alike, rattling their chains, stepped aside as he flew through the corridors, cape billowing out behind him, fists clenched and swinging at his sides. There was a way that he held his head, bright orange pools peering through narrowed eyes.

“Bastard! You jerk!” Miraye’s words echoed throughout the silent dungeon. Only someone foreign to the knowledge and rules of Larkin - or just horribly stupid - would scream such insults at him. Lips quivered, guards and prisoners cringed and closed their eyes, but Larkin only continued to walk. Even as the shaking began, he was indifferent to all. Then he was gone, but he had not left the dungeons.

A few long moments after the tremors and silence passed, whispering began in the dungeon.

“An earthquake?”
“Poppycock, not strong enough to be one.”
“No matter the might - an earthquake it was!”
“We’ve never had an earthquake.”
“Perhaps... it was not an earthquake?”
“Don’t be silly.”

~-~-~-~

Larkin entered the realm of torture - the deepest parts of the dungeon, so deep that the screams were mostly unbearable in the rest of the underground. The stone floor was black and in some places it was puddled with water that seeped from the walls. Because, as you know, the Dark World was quite wet. He entered the quarters of one of his favorite people - a most creative man.

He lay on his cot, covered in a wool blank, the wispy white hair of the back of his head and his bare feet the only thing showing from under it. His was room was mostly empty aside from drawings and layouts of new machines and devices. Which were part of this man’s favorite hobby: torture.

Larkin stood in the doorway, and stomped his foot gently. This was enough to rise the long, thin man from his nightmarish sleep.

“Master,” he gasped, his lips cracking open into a grin. He sat up slowly and pulled away the blanket, putting his feet on the floor and sliding them into his shoes. He was so pale, as if there was no blood in his body at all. But that was untrue. Most everyone in the Dark World was pale, but this man had never been out in the light of the moon more than five times in his entire life. The light was his enemy - he hated it with a passion. It was the reason he was in this dungeon. He wanted a job, something he was good at, and he got it. He was a carpenter, and a sort of morbid man, and Larkin hired him, replacing his previous torture overseer, with one that proved to be very effective.

Larkin liked this man. Quite a bit, and the man knew it. His name was Grub, but Larkin disliked that name and called him Lovely instead - because an albino human was a rarity, and the color white was to the Dark World the way Blue is to Earth.

“Lovely,” spoke Larkin, “Did I wake you?”
“Not at all, Master Larkin, the earthquake did. I would have waken gladly for you, though, I would have.” Lovely nodded and stood, straightening his white undershirt and fetching his over shirt, shoving his arms in through the sleeves quickly. Larkin only came to see him on special occasions - or when there was something of great importance that Lovely had to do. Much to Lovely’s dismay, he had work.
“I need your skills today, Lovely,” said Larkin, stepping gently into the room to look about. He hadn’t been down in awhile, and there were many new creations sketched and pinned to the wall. He examined them closely, eyes squinting. Meanwhile, Lovely said nothing and dressed in his work clothes. He pulled his shoulder length hair back into a ponytail. He was nothing near royalty, but Larkin liked his hair so much he had ordered Lovely to grow it long. And his order was obeyed graciously.
“What is on today’s menu then, sire?” Lovely came up behind Larkin, who was staring fixedly on one of his newer creations. He smiled.
“What’s this?” Larkin asked, touching the large charcoal sketch with the tip of his finger, careful not to smudge it. He avoided the subject of work for now. Larkin always went his way with the conversation - there was really no other way to get along with Lark but to go with the flow. Lovely was not disappointed by Larkin’s interest. In fact, he was quite flattered and gladly explained.
“Something new... I’ve been working on it for a long while now. Finished just yesterday, in fact.” He didn’t really need to explain - it was all drawn out, the each slow stage of dismemberment that the device carried its unfortunate victim through.
Rarely did Larkin ever tell Lovely to build one of his creations. There was no need to waste space on something that was not going to be used. Already there were so many effective ways of getting someone to speak, or just plain scream. And the words that came from Larkin’s mouth surprised Lovely into near speechlessness.
“Build it.”
“What?” Lovely’s white eyes widened dramatically. Lark was not offended by the question; he knew Lovely heard him. The poor man was just shocked. Larkin plucked the sketch from the wall, turned, and faced Lovely. He smiled wickedly.
“I want you to build this.” he held the paper out to Lovely and he took it gently in his hands. It had been so long since the last time he had built something for Larkin, and oh, was he so thrilled! He bowed, close to tears of joy.
“Thank you, thank you so much.” he said, keeping his head bowed.
Larkin touched the top of Lovely’s head, gently running his gloved fingers along the smooth hair.
Lovely shivered.
“When can it be done?”
“Ver... very soon, if I have enough workers.”
“Good,” Lark nodded, “you will have plenty of workers, I assure you. Start immediately. I will send more supplies down today, if need be. Just send word up.” He walked across the floor and out the door.
Lovely breathed a gentle sigh, stood straight and stared down at the sketch.

Larkin took care of business the rest of the day.