I apologise once again to anyone who is still waiting for an update to I Cannot Leave Your Eyes

I apologise once again to anyone who is still waiting for an update to I Cannot Leave Your Eyes. I will write the sequel, but I need a break from those boys.

This is going to be a fairly longish story. 6-8 chapters maybe. We'll see. Plenty of angst and twists. seriously, don't expect this to go like other Jizabel fics. I hope you enjoy.

Oh, and like the last Godchild spree, this fic is inspired by Lacrimas Profundere, this time by their songs 'A Pearl', 'And God's Ocean' and 'Sacrificial Lamb'. Lyrics may be included.

A shoutout to DarkAngelJudas if she's reading this for having a kickass name and sharing my murderer XD

Oh and I'm looking for a betareader. Please message me if you're interested

Sorry for some of the random punctuation things. Symbols appear if leave it normal. I have no idea why

One - Falling in Darkness

Westminster Abbey, midnight.

It was like receiving a letter from a dead man.

In a way, it was receiving a letter from a dead man. The man who had once controlled the fingers that held the pen while writing, the one who could have pictured those hands in an instant and forgotten nothing; that man was dead. The hands were now controlled by someone still getting used to the sight of them and shuddering as he remembered just what those hands had enjoyed before they came under his control.

Jizabel wondered if Cassian could sleep at night, knowing that he was not sleeping in his own skin.

Perhaps lack of sleep would explain the letter. For all intents and purposes, Cassian was dead to him now. The Cassian that had thrown himself before Gladstone, the Cassian that had laid dying in his arms and murmuring of freedom. . . the Cassian that had left him, horrified of what Jizabel had allowed him to become, forced him to become. It must be worse than death, living inside the body of a man you despise and yet Jizabel felt no remorse. The Doctor never felt any remorse. So, why did this simple collection of words leave the bitter taste of regret in his mouth?

Jizabel himself stood motionless in the centre of the operating theatre, white coat still streaked with blood. He was the sole occupant of the room now and couldn' t seem to bring himself to move. Once the surgery had been completed, some low ranking trump card had placed an envelope into the doctor' s bloodied hands and he had clicked his tongue in irritation, assuming that only the card master would force him to read a letter here. Upon opening it, Jizabel had become rooted to the spot, reading the letter over and over in the vain hope that he would detect some flaw, some mistake that would brand the writer as a fake. He could find nothing, and the card that delivered it to him had vanished. So he stood alone, reading endlessly.

Westminster Abbey, midnight, the letter read. We need to talk, Doctor. I fear that if you do not come I will simply lose my mind, and if you do I may anyway. All you have to do is be there; you owe me this much at least. Take care if you do come. London can be dangerous at night, you know that as well as I. Cassian.

It was strange. It didn' t sound like Cassian at all. And besides, why would he suddenly want to initiate contact? He had fled hating Jizabel, or so the doctor himself has felt. And it was better that way. Why would anyone willingly put themselves back in the way of Delilah?

Jizabel smoothed the edges of the paper gently, almost caressing. The paper was soiled, dirty and smelt stale. If the envelope it was deposited in had been of the same quality, there was no way the letter would have ever found its way into the doctor' s hands.

He wondered what kind of condition Cassian was living in and whether he had really saved him at all. . .

"Enough," Jizabel hissed, and flung the paper onto the cold tiles of the floor before stepping smartly over it and heading into the corridor. He stripped away the layers of bloodied clothing as he walked and simply let them fall to the floor, leaving him walking in nothing but shirtsleeves; a sight that was rare within headquarters. As he passed them, other members would flinch and quickly turn their eyes away.

Jizabel smirked. Death. He scared them. Good. Of all the privileges he had gained by becoming the Death card, this was the greatest. In fact, it was the only plus point. Other than this, all he had gained was humiliation and pain. He had lost so much, so much. The image of Cassian impaled on Cassandra's sword flashed into his mind with razor sharpness. Jizabel flinched and then doubled his pace, hissing quietly under his breath.

Why couldn' t he get Cassian out of his head? Even before the letter, Jizabel had been haunted by images, little fleeting memories of moments that had meant nothing but now felt like they meant only too much.

Jizabel rushed through the corridors as though his life depended upon it. He had to get outside. These halls contained too many memories.

"Jizabel."

It never failed to amaze Jizabel that just hearing his name being spoken by his father would cause him to cringe, even more so now than in the past. He turned his head away from the body lying in front of him to see Alexis standing in the doorway to Delilah's makeshift mortuary, dark suit immaculate, smirk set in place.

"Yes?"

Alexis took a step into the room and let his eyes travel from the grey skinned corpse on the low table, to the scalpel in Jizabel's hand and finally let his gaze meet his son's.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time down here, Jizabel."

"I. . . " Jizabel tried to shrug nonchalantly though he knew his eyes betrayed him. "I hadn' t realised."

Alexis' smirk widened. "Well, they do say that time flies while you are having. . . fun. What have you been dong down here? I hear that you're keeping the waste disposal boys busier than ever."

"Research." Jizabel was careful to keep his voice blank, not to rise to the bait.

"Oh?" Alexis smiled. "Well, I look forward to a report, Jizabel." He took a step towards the door before turning back, his eyes cold. "Surely you aren't waiting for that boy to come back, Jizabel? It would only mean death for him if he did."

Jizabel tensed, fingers curling so tightly around the scalpel that the knuckles turned white.

"I don't know who you are referring to."

Alexis grinned then. "Good. Make sure it stays that way."

He left the room, shined shoes tapping on the floor loudly until they finally faded away in the maze of corridors. For a moment Jizabel was still, pale hair curling around his face, eyes unblinking. Then, with a hiss, he plunged the scalpel deep into the cold flesh in front of him and tore at it in a frenzy until the skin ran red.

He then threw the scalpel away and sunk against the wall, bloody hands coming to rest in his hair, streaking it copper.

Westminster Abbey, midnight.

Jizabel knew then, knew exactly what it was he had to do to stop himself from losing his carefully kept control.

He would go that night, to the Abbey. And there, he would destroy the thing that was plaguing him.

Cassian had to die.

Cliffhangerish, eh? I promise this isn't going to turn into a murder fic, love Cassian, really I do! So please hold out for the next chapter. Don't forget to drop by and leave a review. Loves! Sorryll.