The brackish miasma of the bog never tasted sweeter than when Skyfall broke the surface, gasping and spluttering for every breath of air she could to quell the burning in her lungs. A viscous blanket of ooze sloughed free as she was hauled from the clutches of the mire, granting sight and sound as it dribbled clear of her ears, but doing nothing at all about the stench of the swamp.

Nor, did it deal with the rather more pressing issue of her captors, their shadowy forms lurking around the firmer edges of the bog. They didn't care about the ache in her outstretched arms or the litres of liquid sludge sloshing and squelching obscenely within the confines of her suit, but rather, about niggling little things like the answers to the questions they had.

For her part, perhaps a death glare from the panting pony wasn't quite the answer they were wishing. When the nearest form steps forth, the sucking sound of a hoof slipping into the edge of the bog comes in tandem with a disconcerting lurch, as gravity and the yielding morass claimed dominance over Skyfall's fate once again.

“If that is what you desire, then a little longer in the mire.”

Her captor's rich accent washed over her, sending a shiver down the unicorn's spine which wasn't simply the noisome swamp steadily gurgling it's way into the confines of her skirt. Their wicked smile was matched only by the cold gleam in their eyes as they watched a mare swallowed alive by the treacherous ground. Their gaze meeting the unicorn's own until all the way down, until the filth finally folded shut over her face.