So this isn't actually mine. This is a translation of someone else's fanfiction. When I went to go find the fanfic again to correct my translation (I translated this at the end of my first year of Spanish classes, so there's a lot of mistakes) it wasn't up any more. And I got mad and I was like DAMMIT FUCK DAMMIT, NOW I'M POSTING IT ANYWAY.

So if this is your fanfic drop me an email, I'll take it down if you want.

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He hears C.C. passing. He approaches her, but finds someone too similar to himself and so he stops, he has to open his eyes and see. Or he will no longer have strength enough to do so. Nor to rise. Nor to speak.

Centuries. Centuries had passed and this was nothing in the face of immortality, and now he is dying.

He is dying.

Sometimes he had imagined what it would be like. It was like a joke to Charles, but he never liked it. Ironically, this is why he is dying.

It does not hurt, but his heart is embarking on a pathetic desolation. In these last minutes, he wishes to live again. With Charles. With Marianne. He believes he's going to cry, but the tears never come. The blood, yes. It shines across his pale body. It runs freely.

He is dying.

What C.C. says is indecipherable. He feels warm lips on his face. Perhaps they only feel this way because he is too cold. He wants her to hold him, to ask him to save her, but he is useless.

Repentance? No, he is dying for Charles' sake, but…

V.V. does not realize what he feels is frustration until he is no longer in his infantile body.